Society of Heroes with Indeterminate Talent (11 page)

18.

The busking Buddhist beggar

"You got any spare change, man?" asked the beggar looking up and shaking his tin can.

Agent One stared at the unkempt homeless man sat cross-legged on the paving slabs with his back resting against the wall a few feet away from the ATM machine.  He had a long dusty beard full of knots and wore ragged threadbare clothing with no shoes on his dirt ingrained feet.

"Uhmmm…let me just look." said the agent rummaging around in his pocket for any loose change.

The beggar smiled showing crooked and uneven yellow teeth as Agent One fished around for some coins with the four members of the Fanspastic Four loitering behind him, slack-jawed and looking around aimlessly.

He pulled out his hand and rested some coins on his palm and counted them with his eyes.

"It appears that I do." said the agent cheerfully, as he pushed the money back into his pocket.

The smile instantly vanished from the beggar's face to be replaced by one of scorn and irritation.

"That's very condescending and insensitive of you," snapped the beggar.  "I'm just a struggling homeless man who is cold, hungry and in need of a drink."

"Like that bottle of cheap cider by your feet?"

The beggar sniffed and nudged the alcohol behind his back.

"It gets thirsty work surviving on the streets."

"Its 9am in the morning." countered the agent with an unsympathetic look on his face.

"If you're not going to give me any money, can I politely ask you to piss off because I'm missing some of my repeat customers?"

"If I give you money I'm encouraging you to stay on the streets.  A little advice though, you need to limpen that wrist of yours a little, and try and look a bit more pathetic.  Have you made much this morning?"

The beggar hawked and spat on the ground and peered into his tin can with a forlorn look on his face.

"Not yet, still early mind."

"What does your sign say?"

Scooping his cardboard sign up the beggar held it up so the agent could read it.

"Will work for food?" remarked Agent One nodding his head.  "So will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Will you work for food like your sign reads?"

"No," snorted the homeless man looking like he'd been insulted.

"Oh right."

Turning the sign over the beggar let the agent read the other side.

"Homeless veteran?" queried Agent One.  "Are you a veteran?"

"No, what are you the vagrancy police or something?"

"My name is Agent One and I represent S.H.I.T which is an organization tasked with cleaning up the streets of London of crime.  My four colleagues behind me work with the agency."

"Why is he licking the brick wall?" asked the beggar pointing at one of the members of the Fanspastic Four.

"He does that quite often." muttered the agent looking embarrassed.

"How often?"

"Every time he sees a brick."

"Is he okay?  He's starting to foam at the lips."

Sighing, Agent One stepped forward, guiding the superhero away from the damp brickwork.

"Just let it go Davey, you'll hurt your tongue."

Davey nodded his head licking his lips before edging a step closer back to the wall.

"I've got my eye on you, Davey." warned the agent wagging his finger.

"I thought I had issues." muttered the beggar in disbelief as the superhero looked over innocently then flicked his tongue out like a snake testing the brick.

"I think it's similar to what you see with Macaws in rainforests when they find a clay lick, irresistible.  He must be lacking vitamins or mineral or something."

"Can you leave me alone now?"

"Well sir, the answer is no, see we're here as part of a London-wide crackdown on crime and you're committing a crime."

"I'm not committing no crime." snapped the beggar.

"Actually you are.  In the United Kingdom begging is illegal under the Vagrancy Act of 1824.  Plus looking at your sign you're clearly also soliciting money by deception so you need to move on or you will be arrested."

"I ain't losing this spot," spat the beggar.  "It's a prime location right next to the cash machine."

"But you're breaking the law and people are feeling intimidated by your presence."

"Look, I need to buy baby milk for the boy." cried the beggar reaching behind him and pulling out a small baby swaddled in cloth sucking on a dummy.

"You have a child out on the streets with you?" gasped Agent One looking appalled.  "What's your son's name?"

"I don’t know his name," said the beggar shrugging his shoulders.  "He's just a begging tool I rent on a day-to-day basis to appeal to the public's sympathy."

"You can't do that!"

"Why not?" argued the beggar bending down and sniffing the child's nappy with a grimace on his face.

"Because it's child neglect and inhumane," cried the agent leaning forward to check on the boy.  "Is that child sedated?"

"Sleeping, sedated same thing." replied the beggar tucking the child away behind his back.  "Now if there's nothing else, can you and your brick licking friends take your hobophobia and leave me alone."

"I cannot allow this crime to go unnoticed."

"But I've told you, this isn’t a crime.  I'm a Buddhist begging for alms and Buddhists have been doing it for centuries."

"You don’t look like a Buddhist!  Don’t they traditionally shave their heads and beards to show their commitment to the Holy Life and wear yellow robes?"

"I don’t have to justify the teachings of Buddha to you.  Now this is my temple, you're stood in my shrine and messing with my zen-like contemplation, so in the words of the great and mighty Buddha himself, piss off you twat!"

"I'm sorry sir, either you cease this activity or I will be forced to remove you from this are with the help of my superhero colleagues."

"They're superheroes?" asked the beggar pointing behind the agent.

Agent One turned to see Davey vigorously licking the brickwork with renewed determination, while another had his pants around his ankles slapping his buttocks.  The third was running around startled pedestrians with his arms stretched out like a plane while the fourth was headfirst in a bin with his legs waggling furiously.

"Come on guys!" yelled Agent One in exasperation.

The four members of the Fanspastic Four dutifully sauntered over to him with their heads hunched, looking like scolded puppies.

"Pull your pants up, Richard."

Richard hastily yanked his pants up.

"Now look like superheroes."

The four men growled low in their throat at the beggar who raised his arms in surrender.

"Okay, okay I'm not a Buddhist.  That was a lie.  I'm a busker and that's not illegal now is it?  Just wanting to share my talent with the world and if passerby's want to show their appreciation of my musical ability with a monetary contribution then that's fine by me."

"I don’t see a musical instrument."

Muttering to himself the beggar delved into his inside pocket and pulled out a black plastic recorder which he waved in front of the agent.

"Can I hear you play?"

"Sure." said the beggar lifting the recorder up to his lips in a clumsy and awkward fashion.

"It looks so natural in your fingers." commented the agent.

The beggar placed the mouthpiece between his lips and his fingers hovered over the holes.

"This is street theatre at its best, you just listen."

Suddenly he blew and a distorted high-pitched wailing screech echoed eerily around the area making the agent plug his ears with his fingers and winch.  After a few agonizing moments the beggar stopped playing and popped the recorder back into his pocket with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Beautiful and melodic, wasn’t it?"

"It's amazing that just that small amount of airflow could make me want to hold a rusty nail to the curb, pointy side up and head-butt it, repeatedly."

"I do need to work on it a little." admitted the homeless man.

"And another thing, where's your busking license?  It should be displayed at all times when performing."

"Hold on," said the beggar raising a finger.  "It's here somewhere I'm sure of it."

He swiveled on his spot and looked behind him, rummaging around for something with his back turned to the agent.

"Ah, here it is."

Agent One blinked once as the beggar turned back around, holding his middle finger up with a grin plastered over his face.

"I feel like I'm wasting my time here."

"Hey, I have an idea," offered the beggar.  "I'm clearly wasting your time and I don’t want you here, but you won't go if I'm begging, right?"

"Right."

"Well, just a suggestion but why not leave your four friends with me and they can watch over me and make sure I don’t beg for any more money."

"I don’t know if that's such a good idea if I'm honest." said the agent scratching his agent.  "But I am kinda busy you know."

"I wouldn’t dare beg if these four superheroes were stood guard over me."

"Really?" asked Agent One with a frown on his face.

"They are truly terrifying and there is absolutely no intention on my behalf to get any monetary gain from their presence around me."

Agent One thought for a moment and turned to look at the Fanspastic Four who were looking back at him, each with a sliver of drool forking down their chins.

"They're a bit of a handful but I suppose that might work."

"No more begging for me, no sir."

"Round up in a huddle," said the agent gathering the four superheroes together in a circle.  "Right, I want you four to stay here and keep an eye on this man, he's a criminal and he's not allowed to beg for money.  Do you all understand?"

"Beg for money." said Davey.

"Excellent!" said the agent turning back to the beggar.  "My boys will tell me the moment you start begging again.  Do you understand?"

"Completely," replied the beggar beckoning the four superheroes across.  "Come and sit down boys two on either side of me."

Agent One pulled out a long piece of leather with four harnesses with adjustable straps which he passed over to the beggar.

"You have a leash for them?" he asked questioningly.

"Reins, leash, same thing." replied the agent.  "It's just to direct them."

19.

The takedown

“Can I make love to my goats now?” asked Goatsrider pulling out the lubricant from his black leather jacket.

“No, absolutely not, Simon,” replied Agent Two.  “While a crime is in progress there is to be no forms of bestiality or zoophilia whatsoever.  Do you understand?”

“But I am Goatsrider.” boomed the superhero.

“Will you stop saying that?”

“But they enjoy the love.”

“Then do it in the privacy of your own home.  In fact, forget I said that.  Did you know that Section 63 of the Criminal Justice and Immigration act, also known as the Extreme Pornography act prohibits a person performing an act of intercourse with an animal whether dead or alive?”

“I did not know that,” admitted Goatsrider, nuzzling the heads of the goats with affection.  “Such unreasonable areas of the law.”

“Ignorance of the law is no excuse, Simon.”

“It will not change my love for them.  We are very much in love and talk about the future often.  We want to make little goat children, but I sometimes find it hard to satisfy their needs equally.”

“Simon, can we drop the whole illegal bigamist cross-species relationship thing, especially while we’re out on the streets representing S.H.I.T and trying to stop crime.  It’s unhealthy and a little too weird for my liking and cruel to the animals.  Let’s treat it like a forbidden boundary we don’t like to talk about.”

“But its consensual.” claimed Goatsrider looking hurt.  “Ask them?”

“Do you speak goat?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed.

“Can I hear an example?” asked the agent raising his eyebrows questioningly.

“Maa-maa-maa,” bleated the superhero.

Agent Two sighed and shook his head.

“Aren’t you worried about infections or things like that?” asked the drug pusher holding the crack-pipe and staring with his mouth wide open.

“The very definition of irony.  Common sense from the peddler selling illicit drugs to the parents of young children.  Now where was we?” said Agent Two turning back to face the man leaning against the wall outside the school gates wearing the baggy jacket and baseball cap.

“You were accusing me of selling drugs to parents dropping off their children on the morning school run,” said the man sniffing loudly.

“Yes, we’ve been watching and filming you from that car parked over there.” said the agent turning and pointing at a vehicle parked across the road.

“Nah, I don’t sell drugs.”

“But we saw you shake that man’s hand and palm him the drugs just a few minutes ago.” countered Agent Two.

“That was the headmaster.  He gives me his silent consent to deal outside the premises.”

“Really?”

“He gets a special discount.  Excuse me one moment.”

The drug pusher turned to greet another man who walked up.  They grasped hands, switched money and drugs, before giving a fist pump and walking on with a nod at the agent as he passed.

“You did it again!” gasped the agent incredulously.

“Did what?” asked the dealer stuffing his hands into his baggy jacket innocently.

“Sold drugs!  Do you realize that the camera is still rolling in the car and gathering evidence against you?”

Suddenly an old woman pushing a trolley and wearing a woolen hat over her iron grey curled hair rolled up next to them.

She held out her wrinkled hand and the drug pusher slipped her a small rectangular packet before she gave him a quick fist-pump and moved on.

"She's a patient of mine," said the man slipping the money into his jeans.  "It's for medicinal purposes as the old dear has rheumatoid arthritis."

"But what you are doing is illegal!" exclaimed Agent Two.  "It's unregulated and unlicensed and against the law."

"I'm offering a service," argued the drug dealer.  "Tell me, is what I do any different to what that man in the burger van does over there selling fast fatty food to the school children at lunchtime?"

"Well, yes.  That mobile catering service has a permit, a street trading license issued by the council, a hygiene certificate and fills in a tax return and sells legal produce.  Are you seriously comparing the two?"

"Pretty much.  I'm a domestic mobile pharmaceutical supplier."

"They're nothing like the same and we're here to protect the public against people like you."

"Who's going to stop me?" asked the drug pusher with a sardonic smile playing about his lips.

"We are."

"You and that freak behind you fondling the two goats he's sat on?"

Agent Two closed his eyes momentarily and his shoulders slumped in resignation.

"Simon, I'm going to turn around in a second and I don’t want to see you touching the farm animals inappropriately.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, agent."

He turned around and stared at Goatsrider who was sat there smiling with his arms crossed over his chest looking almost angelic in his innocence.

"Look Simon, this street criminal won't take us seriously if you keep on touching the goats while we're in the process of apprehending him.  Can you please refrain from any sexual activity?"

"But my girls are very aroused."

"What is he exactly?" asked the drug pusher.

"He's supposed to be a superhero, a fighter of crime and defender of the weak." explained the agent without much conviction.

"He looks like a man in a leather jacket straddling two goats."

"I can see how you could come to that realization." said Agent Two.

"I am Goatsrider.” boomed the superhero.

"He also has what appears to be a huge erection in his pants."

"I can also see how you could come to that realization." said Agent Two.

"I am Goatsrider.”

"That is really, really annoying, Simon."

"So, if he's a superhero, what are his superhero powers?" asked the drug pusher.

"I'm not actually quite sure," muttered Agent Two turning to face Goatsrider.  "What are your superpowers, Simon?"

"My babies have super-soft and desirable wool used in many garments when harvested."

"Not strictly a superpower though is it, Simon?"

"They can eat shrubs and grass very quickly."

"Quite common in goats I've heard." said Agent Two scratching his chin.

"Goat milk has a higher butterfat content than cow's milk." offered Goatsrider.

"Yes, still not a superpower though Simon, if we were just to focus on what a superpower is."

"Goat poo makes great manure."

"I feel we're going off topic now, Simon."

"They have the athletic ability of a deer."

"Again, not a super power in the strictest sense of the word, but I think we'll leave that topic alone for now."

"They have no upper teeth and instead have a tough toothless soft pad and can suck very hard."

"That's more than enough, Simon.  Thank you."

Suddenly Agent Two heard the sound of running footsteps and turned to see the drug pusher sprinting up the street away from them throwing quick glances over his shoulder as he did so.

"Stop him!" cried the agent.

"Leave it to me, agent." said Goatsrider confidently.

The superhero stepped off the backs of the goats and raised a hand towards the fleeing man and looked down at the animals.

"Take him down," he commanded in a deep voice.  "Take him down hard!"

The goats looked up and narrowed their eyes to small slits before bounding off after the escaping drug pusher.  The man gave a terrified yelp as he threw another look over his shoulder as Goatsrider moved to stand beside the agent and watch the chase.

"I would say his sprint speed average is around twelve miles per hour, maybe a little less." commented Agent Two.  "How fast can your goats go?"

"My lovers can reach speeds of fifteen miles per hour."

The agent watched in fascination as the goats closed down on the escapee and nipped at his ankles.  The man cried out and kicked out with his leg at one of the animals but the other began gnawing on his leg.  Screaming out in pain and losing his balance the drug pusher fell to the ground heavily and thrashed around on the floor as the goats clamped their mouths on his flailing legs.

"Remarkable really," said the agent nodding his head in appreciation.  "Sort of like police attack dogs in goat form."

"They are trained to grab hold and bring down an assailant until he gives up." said Goatsrider proudly.

"Do they sit, stay, down, heel, and recall like a police dog?"

"They sure do."

"Incredible." whispered Agent Two.

"Get them off me!" yelled the drug pusher guarding his face with his forearms.

"Do you give them treats or anything as a reward?"

"We make sweet love under the moonlight." replied Goatsrider dreamily.

"We really need to work on that, seriously Simon." said the agent grimacing.