In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition Page 8

I almost snapped at her, but I caught myself. “I understand your feelings.”

  “Do you? Ha! How can you?” She punched my shoulder. “We’re not even going to talk about me. You made my mom a single mom. You don’t have a clue as to how tough that was for her. There were nights she put me to bed, then she’d just go in the other room and cry. You know that? No, of course not. If you had you’d have… Oh, hell, you wouldn’t have done anything. You’re just the sperm donor.”

  I rubbed my shoulder. It hurt less than the emotional knife she’d thrust into my guts. It’s one thing to recognize, intellectually, that you’ve disappointed and hurt someone. It’s something else entirely to catch the venom in the face.

  I studied my daughter. Every disappointment in her life, she’d tossed in my direction. Like a hand grenade. Every time her mother was hurt, it became my fault. Every time something didn’t go the way she wanted, I caught the load. I was an easy target.

  I stared out the window, then closed the partition between us and the driver. “When did you learn about your mother and the Scarlet Fox?”

  The question caught her off guard. She thought about not answering, but couldn’t find any advantage to it. “Not for a long time. I was twelve. It was when they expanded the Hall of Fame.”

  “What happened?”

  “Why do you care?”

  I turned back and met her stare openly. “You’re Vixen. I may not know you, but I know your mother well enough to know she wouldn’t want that for you. What happened?”

  She sighed. “Not like you can’t learn anyway. See, when they were expanding the hall, they wanted to add a villains’ wing. They were going to put the Scarlet Fox in there, even though she’d been out of things for a dozen years already. No one knew who Selene Kole had been. So, my mom sued to keep the Scarlet Fox out of the Hall. She retained The Advocate to take the case. I didn’t know that, I just knew my mom was meeting with a lawyer.”

  Victoria’s shades slipped again as she toyed with the end of her long braid. “Like every kid, I grew up wanting to be a hero. I worshipped The Advocate. The acrobatics, the gas-gun, her encyclopedic knowledge of the law, the fedora; I loved it all. So, I come home from school and there, coming out of my mom’s study is The Advocate. Well, I might have only been twelve, but I put things together. She’d gotten an emergency call while in with my mom, had changed and all of a sudden I knew her secret identity.”

  “And your mom explained everything.”

  “Yeah.” Victoria frowned. “That was kind of a bad year. Mom’s a villain. Great. She breaks it to me that my father was a guy in tights, not some guy who died in the war on terror. I liked it better when you were dead.”

  I didn’t let her escape. “You had grand ideas of being a hero, to redeem the family name.”

  She blinked. “She always said you were quick. Yeah, I wanted to be a hero. Mom wouldn’t hear of it, but, well, she guessed I wasn’t going to listen. So we made a deal. I keep my grades up, I train at Grant’s place and, if after a year, an independent body of judges says I’m good to go, I can do some heroing.”

  Victoria smiled but didn’t look at me, just played with that braid. “Grant’s kids want to get out, too, so we all trained together. We formed our own little super group: Young Giants. Ratings smash. Then Andie went vegan/pacifist, so her brother and I went solo.”

  “And the world knows Scarlet Fox is your mother?”

  “Yeah. Great ratings boost when we made the announcement.”

  I nodded. “Did you ever…”

  “What is it with guys and the mother-daughter fantasy? Coming from you, it’s creepy.”

  I held my hands up. “Just wanted to know if she ever came out of retirement, how she dealt with you going out?”

  “Couple times. We were on vacation and the resort got hit.” Victoria laughed. “That was fun. We both slipped away, returned and were surprised. But we worked well together. She’s still got it–unlike you. Thank God for nurture over nature.”

  I let that jibe pass as the limo came to a stop. I climbed out and turned, catching my first glimpse of the Superhero Hall of Fame. I leaned heavily on the cane. I’d have fallen over except for Victoria grabbing my shoulder.

  It wasn’t a Hall of Fame, it was a Temple. Huge beyond all human proportion, the portico had been styled after the Parthenon. The four pillars in front bore the roof the way Atlas carried the bowl of the sky. Graviton, L’Angyle, Nighthaunt and Colonel Constitution, muscles bulging, faces resolute and compassionate–a first for Nighthaunt certainly–labored there to keep the tiny people safe.

  “I had no idea.”

  “You’ve missed a lot.” She took my elbow, less to steady me than to get me moving up the stairs. I followed. The frieze above the entrance depicted the Capital City Crime Crusaders in battle with villains who appeared to be aliens and elementals–not a recognizable face among them. Around the building, right below the edge of the roof, ran a scroll of honor with various names. Goldie was there, making that the resting place for the fallen. Goldie wasn’t the only one I recognized. Colonel Constitution II showed up a couple slots away.

  The massive doors opened into a rotunda ringed with statues of various Hall members. The Hall of Heroes extended off to the right. To the left was the Great Battles wing and where they housed visiting exhibits. Computer kiosks dotted the walls between the statues and I started for one.

  Victoria stopped me. “Don’t bother. Footnote on a footnote.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a footnote on a footnote. You never made it into the Hall. C4 did, so you’re mentioned in the official history. I think the phrase is ‘and a variety of other associates.’”

  I shivered. “A footnote?”

  “Wiki commentary on a footnote. They called you a ‘Walmart Nighthaunt wannabe.’” She shot me a nasty glance. “When third-graders are playing heroes, the bedwetter has to be you.”

  I leaned heavily on the cane. That hurt a lot more than I would have ever imagined. I figured–I hoped–someone would remember me.

  I swallowed hard and looked at her. “Why wasn’t I included with C4?”

  “To get into the Hall you have to have fifteen years of heroing, ten if you die. You had what, four?”

  “Six.”

  “Whatever. C4 made the cut, you didn’t.” She shrugged. “Don’t whine about it.”

  “I wasn’t whining.”

  “Right, sure, if you say so.” She tugged me straight through to another pair of doors. “Come on. This is what mom wanted you to see.”

  We entered a vast courtyard. A dais had been set up at the far end with two-story tall panels depicting Redhawk through all four of his uniforms: boy, teen, solo and a super-team variant. I recognized all but the last. A lectern dominated the center of the stage, some chairs backed it and potted plants flanked it.

  Long rows of tents ran along both sides of the courtyard, parallelling the vast wings. People thronged, though they’d concentrating toward the right side. Victoria pulled me in that direction.

  I came along slowly. Something wasn’t right. I lowered my voice. “Why no heroes?”

  She shook her head. “This is Redhawk’s day. Out of courtesy, no active hero comes in costume. If Graviton showed up, or Nighthaunt, he’d be upstaged.”

  I caught a flash of white hair and a blue uniform within the tents. “But there’s Graviton there.”

  “Look closer, old man.”

  It was Graviton. And he stood next to another Graviton, and another, both younger. And then there was a kid in a uniform that looked like Graviton’s, but without the cape, and including a little domino mask. He stood behind a table with a sign on it.

  “Who is Gravilad?”

  She sighed. “They’re actors. They’ve all been Graviton in one of the Murdoch series. They spun Gravilad off for Graviton’s early adventures, before he came to Capital City.”

  “But there wasn’t any Gravilad.”

  Victoria shrugged. “Don
’t get your knickers in a knot. It’s just entertainment.”

  People had lined up to buy photographs, or to have pictures made with them and the actors. Some people had duffle bags full of stuff to get signed. And every actor had a handler who collected cash and policed the lines. Thousands exchanged hands, all of it in cash, all of it with a smile and a trademark catch-phrase.

  I raked fingers back through my hair. “Wow.”

  “Seen enough?”

  “I guess.” Past Gravilad lurked a younger version of Nighthaunt and a few other heroes, as if they’d gotten together when they were all teens. Beyond them actors portraying Puma and all the other heroes who had fought the fascist powers welcomed fans.

  “This is really astounding.”

  “Yeah. Come on.”

  Victoria pulled me across the courtyard to the other side. Those tents likewise had tables, but they were easy to see because no one had lined up. Inactive heroes, some halt and lame, the vast majority old, swollen and clad is sagging spandex, sat behind tables. A few, like the old Black Cyclone, had nodded off, while others smiled and looked hopefully at anyone coming close enough to be seen past their cataracts.

  They had requisite photos, and a few had brought portable Murdochs so they could show grainy video of themselves in action. Iron rebar that had been bent into paperclips rested on tables, though the heroes who had tangled them up looked as if they could no longer lift them. Some heroes had bodies wracked with tremors–side effects of whatever serum or radioactive exposure had given them their powers.

  And then there were some who were not so old. I made a beeline for one man, about my age, with a beer belly. He wore a plaid flannel shirt and jeans, not looking at all like a superhero. Beneath the shirt he had on a brown shirt with an abstract image of a coyote’s head canted from right shoulder to left hip. A shock-rod like the one Kid Coyote used rested on the table along with a few other weapons, each with a sign reading “Do not touch.”

  And he had a stack of pictures.

  I stopped in front of his table. “Oh my God, it is you, isn’t it? Honey, come here, quickly.”

  The guy behind the table eyed me suspiciously, but smiled and stood as Victoria came up. “I don’t think…”

  “No, no, of course, you’d not remember, having saved so many.” I looked at him wide-eyed with admiration. “I remember, though, twenty-one years ago. We were driving, my wife and I, and we got t-boned. Drunk driver plowed into the car, crushed the passenger door. Broke my wife’s hip and ribs and leg and arm. Window blew out, cutting her. Airbags deployed, punching me in the face. Broke my nose. I saw stars. I struggled to deflate them and heard my wife screaming.”

  I shook my head, lost in remembrance. “The drunk, he got out of his car and he had reached into mine. I thought he was helping, but he grabbed my wife’s purse. He was trying to get it from her, but it was trapped. And he was tugging and tugging and tugging and she was screaming and screaming. Can you imagine?”

  He stared at me.

  “Of course, you don’t have to. You were there. I remember. It was a nightmare, then you showed up. You just grabbed the guy and bounced him around a bunch. You tossed him back through his own windshield. Then you took one of those things from your belt and you pried the door open. And as the EMTs helped my wife, you got me out of the car. And when I went to thank you, you were gone. Just gone.”

  The man nodded absently.

  I laid a hand on Victoria’s shoulder. “My wife’s gone now, but this is our daughter, Victoria. If not for you, she’d not be here, so I owe you everything, Coyote, absolutely everything.”

  He held his hands up. “Look, I’m not saying I’m Coyote or not here…”

  “No, of course, I understand. You have people to protect. Still, I know who you are. I know you were there that night.” I pointed to a picture. “Could I?”

  “Sure, sure, citizen, glad you came by.” He sat and pulled around a picture of himself posing beside a muscle car with the Coyote logo on the doors. “Who do I make it out to?”

  “Tim Robinson.” I reached for my wallet. “Twenty, right?”

  “No charge. I’m glad I was able to help you.” He handed me the picture. “You have a good day now.”

  “I will.” I let an edge creep into my voice. “And I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

  Victoria and I wandered down the row. I handed her the picture. She studied it for a moment. “He’s not the hero type.”

  “Not at all.”

  “But his gear looked genuine.”

  “It was.”

  Victoria looked back over her shoulder. “Your little act there. That was pretty cold. And convincing. You lie well.”

  “An acquired skill.”

  “You took my mom in really good.”

  Before I could reply, a gloved hand closed on my left forearm. “I have you at long last, Sinisterion. And this time, you won’t get away.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The old man wore a buff uniform, with boots, gloves and trunks of darker brown. A snarling cat face adorned his chest, stretched by his breasts and burgeoning belly. His trunks had been drawn up to just below his nipples and a tool belt made from an old army web-belt encircled his waist. Canvas ammo pouches bulged with equipment. His cowl had cat’s-ears and the nose had whiskers. It left his mouth and chin open–he’d cut himself shaving that morning.

  The young woman standing beside him grabbed his wrist. “No, Pops, this isn’t Doctor Sinisterion.”

  Puma looked at her. “I recognize him.”

  “He’s not Sinisterion, Pops, really, he isn’t.” She smiled hopefully toward me. “He really doesn’t recognize you. It’s just with Sinisterion’s book being advertised and his being on all the chat shows, it’s got Pops all worked up.”

  “I understand.” I gently freed my arm. “And it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t recognize me, I recognize him. Victoria, this is Puma, one of the greatest heroes ever. In fact, he was Sinisterion’s nemesis.”

  Victoria frowned. “It was always Nighthaunt who was on Sinisterion’s case.”

  “That was later.”

  The girl nodded. “My great grandfather put Sinisterion behind bars. It was the only stint he spent in jail.”

  I smiled. “I remember. Sinisterion’s wife, Calliope, tried to break him out. She died in the effort.”

  Puma shook his head. “Terrible business. Sinisterion was never right after that.”

  I shook the old man’s hand. “Tim Robinson. This is my daughter, Victoria. It’s an honor.”

  Puma shook my hand, then kissed Victoria’s. His granddaughter rolled her eyes. “Ever the charmer.”

  Victoria smiled. “At least you have him in your life.”

  “And I’m glad for it.” Puma’s great granddaughter shook Victoria’s hand. “I’m Diana. I get to help on these outings.”

  Puma planted his fists on his hips. “Did I ever tell you about the time that Axis King and Ruby Snake…”

  Diana patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure these good people are a bit pressed for time, Pops. I mean, unless…”

  I reached for my wallet. “I’d like a picture. Two, actually.”

  Relief eased the tension on Diana’s face. “Thank you.”

  “Things aren’t easy?”

  She looked at me for a second, then glanced down. “Most folks think that since there was the Puma series on Murdoch that he’s set up, but most of the money went to the Hall, and only a little dribbled down after the original lump. And that was great–we got him into the assisted-living facility with that. Still, the residuals aren’t good and the blowback from the series…”

  I frowned.

  Victoria shook her head. “The actor who played him initially stuffed his codpiece, then declared he was a woman trapped in a man’s body, started treatment, and sued to get to play the part as a woman.”

  “The producers had Axis King use a gender-bender ray on Puma, to make him a woman.” Diana shrugged. �
��The ridicule was horrible. Didn’t help that Pops has gotten, well, man-boobs.”

  The old man remained oblivious to our conversation. He laboriously inscribed two pictures: one of him standing in Berlin, shaking hands with a Soviet hero on the smoking ruins of the Reichstag; the other a head and shoulders shot from the early 50s. His hand shook, but he finished with a flourish.

  I went for two twenties, then just pulled out a Reagan. “Here.”

  “It’s only ten per, sir. He’s just a ten-buck hero.”

  I added another one. “Not in my book.”

  Diana looked stricken.

  “Keep it, please.” I accepted the pictures from Puma. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, young man. Be good.”

  “I will, sir.” I smiled at Diana, then turned away, my throat thick.

  Victoria took the pictures from me. “One to Tim, one to Sinisterion. We should have gotten you a table here in the has-been section.”

  “I’m not there yet.”

  “Says who?” She shook her head. “Have you seen video of that beat down? Even with the man-boobs, Puma could have done better than you.”

  I stopped walking and leaned heavily on the cane. It took her a couple of steps to realize I wasn’t limping along beside her. She turned, insolent, contempt contorting her face. She stepped toward me, daring me to say something.

  My voice remained low. “You can hate me all you want. You’ve got reasons, but that doesn’t give you a license to disparage Puma or anyone else. I say I’m not there. You disagree, fine. But do you think, for an instant, that you won’t get there? Puma and Tatiana, Green Twister and Chrome Scorpion all deserve your respect. They may not be much now. But in their day, they were everything Graviton or Nighthaunt ever could have hoped to be.”

  She lifted her chin. “So, by implication, I’m supposed to respect you? Is this where I get the, ‘you can’t possibly understand the pressures I was under’ speech?”

  “I ever launch into that speech, Victoria, and you can put a bullet right between my eyes. Don’t try to read anything hidden in my words. I meant exactly what I said. These people have earned your respect.”