that devilish duo certainly gets into some shenanigans

We discussed it and thought that night would be the best time, that way there would be fewer people around to see Linds.  We got to the park where she’d last seen her kid.

 

“Okay, so this is the last place you saw him?”

“Yes, it was right over there.” And she points to the jungle gym. “And the police looked all around it for stuff.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” I tell her and walk away.

 

“Where are you going?” I hear her say, “Where is he going?” she says again and I assume she’s asking Ash.

 

I’m going to make a phone call.

 

 

Linds is able to show up because I really, really need her to. While I explain the situation to her, she gnaws her lower lip.

 

“Should I go and give her a hug?”

“She doesn’t need a hug Linds, she needs her boy back.”

“Right. Okay. Um, there aren’t any people around right now.”

“Can you find some Linds? It might help keep me out of jail.”

 

She doesn’t say anything about that. In fact, at first I’m not sure if she heard what I said, but then she frowns at me and disappears.

 

It’s an hour before Linds shows back up.

 

“No one has seen anything.” She looks over at the lady again. “I should really go over there and give her a hug. She looks so alone. Where is her husband? He should be here.”

 

Her husband! Should’ve thought of that before.

 

I rush back, yelling that everyone should follow me. I’m so focused right now that Linds is compelled to follow.

 

“Do you still have some of your husband’s personal items at home?”

“Of course. Why?”

“We’re going to ask him where your son is.”

“Why would he know?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He’s still the kid’s dad.”

 

We get to her house and I can call him in seconds. It’s the easiest call I’ve ever done.

 

He shows up with a bang. The first time that’s ever happened.

 

“Oh my God, it’s about time you called me. You have to hurry, he’s in terrible danger. Oh God, it’s horrible! They’ve been holding him this whole time, waiting for tonight. I don’t know when it’s going to happen, we’ve got to go.”

 

We follow him in the lady’s car. He’s moving so fast we are having difficulty keeping up with him. We treat yellow lights as green, red as yellow and stop signs as if they’re invisible. We turn a corner onto a normal looking street and I see him standing in front of a house about six houses from the corner. We follow the dead dad to some house on Madison Street. This was never a nice neighbourhood, even when I was a kid. And it looks darker now. They haven’t really painted in the fifteen years since I was last near here. It was a party down the street. I came with Ash.

 

“Hey Ash, remember that party we went to near here?”

“Actually yes. But shut up, we need to focus right now.”

 

“Stop here,” I tell her and she does. Right in the middle of the street.

“I mean like, over on the side.”

But she’s already out of the car and running towards her dead husband.

 

“Is he in there!” she yells the question and everyone shushes her.

“Yes.”

Ashley is staring at the door, like he wants to punch it. “How many are there?”

“Six.”

“Any weapons?”

“I think so. One knife.”

“Hardly seems fair. Right let’s go darling.”

 

“Right. Right. Okay, but how do we get in there? Um, dead Dad, can you pass through and unlock the door?”

 

“I’ll try.”

 

He passes through the front door and comes back within seconds.

 

“It’s unlocked.”

 

“Great” and I go to rush in.

 

“Hold on!” says Ash, “There might be an alarm. Check for anything around the door. See if there’s an alarm set up.”

 

Dead Dad disappears back into the house.

 

“Nope. Nothing.”

 

“Great,” says Ash, “Because I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with one of those.” Ash tells Linds to stay with the mom and that she should call the cops if we don’t come back in half an hour.

 

“Why don’t we call the cops now?” It was a reasonable question and one I heartily endorsed.

 

Ash went full on flamboyant, “Listen darling, we can call the cops and try and explain to them how we know what’s going on, then hope they show up, then hope that your son is still alive, or, if in half an hour we’re not back, you’ll be so frantic that quite frankly they’ll have no choice but to come squealing down here with their sirens blaring and their big nightsticks swinging in the wind.”

 

“Twenty minutes.”

 

We actually needed ten.

 

We snuck into the house, guided by Ghost Dad. It was a big house but we weren’t on tour, so I can’t tell you anything about the décor. Wood. I remember a lot of wood. Anyway, we snuck through the house and down into the basement, Ghost Dad leading us all the way. As we walked down the stairs we could hear chanting. That weird chanting that you heard in the Exorcist movies and in the Resident Evil video games.

 

The room was dark, it was, after all a basement. There were cobwebs, an old fridge, and six cloaked figures standing over a small boy who was tied down to a huge marble slab. They’d gagged him, I guessed, because we couldn’t hear him screaming but we could hear him moaning.  

 

“Who has the knife?”

 

Ghost Dad swooshed away and came back five seconds later.

 

“The guy at the head of the table. The one by Justin’s head.”

 

“Excellent. Okay Rich, I’m going to have to do this quick so stay out of the way. Grab something heavy and hit anybody who gets back up. Keep hitting them until they don’t get up again. Then hit them two more times.”

And then he got up and ran screaming toward the table.

 

It was awesome. Since then I’d seen Ash in a few fights. Sometimes we’re grossly outnumbered, sometimes he’s grossly outnumbered, sometimes I hold my own, sometimes it’s him and one drunk guy at a bar. And in those fights he always, always wins. But this was the first time I’d ever seen him fight and like I said it was awesome.

 

He was across the room and on the table before the six guys (I’m assuming they were guys, they could’ve been girls I wasn’t sure at the time) turned around. He had his knee buried in the head guy’s face before he was done screaming. He had the back of the guy’s head smashed against the wall before he raised his head and he had the guy on the ground before the knife hit the ground. He got hit three times. That’s all, three times.

 

He fought dirty too. Fishooked guys, kicked them in the nuts, smashed them with his elbows. Ripped ears off. Two guys got broken kneecaps, I heard them snap from across the room. Then I remembered I had a job to do and went running over to help, forgetting to grab something heavy. Although, in my defense, there was nothing heavy around. So I just kicked them in the nuts or the head until they stayed down. Okay, honestly, Ash was so thorough, that I only had to deal with one guy trying to get back up and I ended up stomping him in the nuts and then the head. Twice.

 

Ash was all over these guys. And it wasn’t a movie fight either, where the ninjas attack the kung-fu master one at a time and he easily dispatches them. He had two guys come at him at once. He put one in a headlock while kicking the other guy in the nuts and head. Nuts and head man! But while he was beating up those two, one guy came up on his side and punched him in the face. Ash did something to the guy in the headlock that might have killed him or just made him pass out (it killed him. We found that out later) swung at him, missed, swung again, took another punch in the face and then lost his mind. He went absolutely berserk on the guy. He went in low, brought him down to the ground and pummelled his face, ripping at it, smashing his palms into the guy’s ears.

 

We untied the kid. He had a nice reunion with his dead dad and then he we took him outside. I was still overwhelmed at Ashley’s badassedness and I had to ask him about it.

 

the story continues

I don’t want to give too much away in case this is a woman who is looking for child support from the long lost father or she’s somebody’s mother who is looking for child support from the long lost father of her daughter’s kid…or a child looking for support from her long lost father. Ash, you seed-spreading bastard, wear a condom next time!

 

“I need his help. My son is missing. He’s been missing for about three weeks and I need to know if he’s dead.”

 

She blurts this out. She looks horrible, just worn right out and it’s then that I recognize her. She came in to us when we were running the scam, her husband had just died and she needed to talk to him. We set it up and made a lot of money off of her.

 

I felt bad about it. About her. About her loss. She lost her husband and now she’s lost her son.

 

I invite her to the back room and offer her a coffee.

 

“Do you have anything of your son’s”

“Yes I do.” And she reaches into her purse and pulls out a stuffed animal.

“Are you going to take it to Ashley?”

“No, I’m going to do it right here.”

 

She starts to blurt something, but I’m too busy concentrating to bother with her. I call her son, call him from wherever he is, calling him back to us for a moment, to let us know where his body is or who killed him, but I get nothing. Nothing. Not one thing.

 

“He’s not dead.”

 

“How do you know he’s not dead?”

 

“Do you see him?”

 

“No.”

“Then he’s not dead. Now let’s try and figure out where he is.”

 

I called Ash and explained what was going on. He yelled at me, called me an idiot and said we’d probably end up in jail and how he was too pretty to go to jail but I’d probably find true and ever-lasting love there.

 

I waited for him to finish then he sighed, “Fine, what do you want me to do?”

 

Well I actually didn’t know. I mean I was working on an idea to find the kid, but if he was in trouble (which he probably was. Seven year old boys don’t often take off on their own) I was going to need back up. I knew Ash had taken fencing in high school (seriously, I don’t know how he survived) and hoped he might come in handy during a fight. This was long before I knew that Ash would come in handy during a fight.

 

After he showed up I let him and the lady know about my plan. It was this: She’d take me to the last place she’d seen her son. I’d call Linds and ask her to bring forward any deceased who might be in the area. If there weren’t any, or if it didn’t work, we were screwed.

more pages of Rich and Ashley

As they scrambled to write the cheque, I’d bring in the personal item of their dearly departed. Ash would explain that I was there to act as his focal point. To bring him back from the other side if he got too deep into the spirit world. Let me tell you, there were a few times were Ash had a pretty close call but I was able to bring him back. And when you almost don’t come back from the spirit world, people tend to leave a nice tip.

                 

So while Ash faked a trance, I’d stand behind him. Then he’d say something like, “I call forth the spirit of such and such.” And I’d repeat it because it had to be me to call them up. And pretty soon the dearly departed would be in the room with us.

 

Those little reunions would make me uncomfortable. Especially if they were a young couple. There’d be an attempt at an embrace. And since I’m that good when I help the departed manifest there would be an embrace. An attempt at kissing and again, because I’m awesome, there’d be kissing. Then there’d be a disappearance. A cry of “Bring him or her back! Please bring him or her back! I’ll pay more!” And then there’d be more money brought out and their dearly departed would return for a few more minutes and then they’d disappear again. Probably forever. Unless someone could come up with five thousand dollars. If they could come up with five thousand dollars, there would always be another reunion. But that one was the last one.

 

We pulled this scam for over a year before my conscience got the better of me. We’d also made a lot of money which made it easier to quit. Some people might think it’s harder to quit when the money is rolling in, but I wanted to get out before I lost my soul. Oh yeah, we’ve all got one of those. Trust me.

 

The dead we brought forth never protested. They never said, “Hey, don’t give these assholes anymore money!” If they did, I would have just sent them back. They were usually pretty jacked that their loved ones could see them again and I think when you’re dead money isn’t really important anymore.

 

So Ash invested his money into various accounts and investments while I put my money into the shops. We both got richer and stayed in town. We enjoyed a quiet lifestyle, well, I enjoyed a quiet lifestyle, dated Linds, watched Linds die and Ash brought an assortment of women home, sexed them up in my house and watched them leave after breakfast. Practically the same life!

 

Then one day this lady comes into the store. She looks vaguely familiar. And I’m trying to place her face in different scenarios. Different outfits. Not like French maid or naughty nurse outfits, but coffee shop or grocery store outfits. Something that will cause me to understand why she looks familiar.

 

I can’t figure it out and suddenly she’s standing in front of me.

 

“Hello, are you a friend of Ashley Bancroft?”

“I might be.”

 

Three Things

Three Things

 

He has smeared “I WAS BEAUTIFUL ONCE” across the wall in a violent, vile mix of blood, bile, rot, and feces. A dead rat has been smashed into the T.

 

He sits alone in the room. It is filled with urine soaked paper, mould and mildew drip down the walls. He boarded up the windows a long time ago. He looks at the mirror. It is the only thing that hasn’t been destroyed, violated, or defaced.

 

He crawls to it. His eyes are downcast, his hands scramble through debris as he makes his way to it. Things crawl over his fingers, across his calves. When he reaches the mirror, he caresses it, leaving blood on its edges. Blood on new cuts, blood that drips over old gashes. He smashed the windows before he boarded them up.

 

He gathers the courage to look into the mirror. His face does not look back. His own face as it looks now does not stare back at him. His face from before looks back. His face that made women, and some men, swoon looks back at him. His unblemished, angelically beautiful face looks back.

 

“Are you ready,” his other face asks.

“Not yet, I want to, but not yet.”

“Take your time darling,” his other face says, “I will wait for you forever.”

The other face smiles after it says this, then dims and begins to fade away.

 

“Please,” he whines, “Please come back.”

“That was quick. Does this mean you are ready now?”

“No. I remember that you once said you love me. Do you still love me?”

“I do. You’re everything to me. The universe could collapse tonight and as long as I had you I wouldn’t care. You are my breath, my world, my soul.”

“Then why did you do this to me?”

 

A sculpted eyebrow is raised.

 

“I only gave you what you asked for. What you wanted.”

He screams, “I wanted this? This?” and spit flies onto the mirror. It rolls down the glass and puddles on the floor.

 

“What was the first thing you asked me for? The first time we met, I asked you what you wanted and what did you tell me?

 

“A woman.”

 

“And I gave you hundreds.” There is no anger in its voice. It is patient and tender. A tolerant teacher talking to an idiot child. The child who will be lucky if he ever has enough mental acuity to leave his parents’ house.

Simon Parsons

Like he did every night, Simon Parsons sat under his bedroom window reading. The book was spread out on his lap and his eyes were squinting with concentration as he fought off sleep while trying to focus on the history of Japanese haiku.

 

He stayed up every night because that’s when the cats met and made their plans.

 

For a year and half, while everyone else he knew slept soundly dreaming peaceful dreams, Simon Parsons stayed awake listening in terror for the cats to talk about horrible things that he’d never understood.

 

He knew he was the only one who heard them. And he also knew he was completely unable to stop them.

 

Simon’s alarm clock went off at exactly 7:15 in the morning. But like every morning, he’d been awake long before the music was playing. His bed was made. His clothes were laid out. And he was exhausted. He slowly walked down the hall and into the bathroom. Staring into the red-rimmed eyes of his reflection, Simon thought that he looked older than most eleven year olds. He felt older than most eleven year olds. In fact, he felt older than a lot of twenty year olds. Splashing cold water on his face, he felt the familiar pain of his morning headache and quickly finished his bathroom ritual so he could get downstairs. Trudging back to his room he put his clothes on and then walked out.

 

Walking down the stairs, every part of his body cried out for sleep. It was gravity that kept him going down the stairs because his legs were too heavy to move on his own. His arms were lead logs with useless lead twigs for fingers. He had to fight to keep his eyes from slamming shut. Even his hair was tired. 

 

Stepping into the sun-soaked kitchen, he was greeted with a cheerful, “Good morning Simon.” Every morning, Simon’s mother could be found in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee and fixing his lunch. And every morning she kissed him on the cheek and went back upstairs to finish getting ready for work. Simon walked over to the coffee pot and poured a big mug of thick, black coffee. He lifted it to his lips and poured the bitter, horrible, blasphemous concoction that passed for his mother’s coffee down his throat.

 

Quickly filling his mug with warm water he poured it back into the pot. Then he added three shakes of vanilla and a spoonful of sugar and sat down at the table just as his father came walking down the stairs.

 

“Morning Simon.”

“Morning Dad.”

“You sleep okay?”

And while Simon’s father proceeded to make his breakfast Simon lied to his father and said he slept great, like a log, best night’s sleep he’s had in a long time. And Simon’s father nodded and smiled then poured a cup of coffee.

The Hunkapillar

This is a children's story that I wrote that my friend Mike is supposed to illustrate. But he's too busy running an ass-kicking company. Nerd.

The Hunkapillar

 

Now, everyone knows that the Hunkapillar is the most colourful creature in the jungle. And while the the Hunkapillar should have been happy with being himself, that wasn’t enough for him. The Hunkapillar wanted to be the biggest, fattest, fastest, and loudest creature in the jungle. So out he went.

 

The first creature he came across was the Explodapig. The Explodapig was wallowing in a mud pile, screaming and burping at the top of his lungs.

 

“I’m the Explodapig! I sing loud, I talk loud, I even eat loud! No one is as loud as me and that’s the way it’ll always be! Hey! That rhymed! Even my poems are loud!”

 

“You there!” screamed the Hunkapillar, “Everyone knows you’re the loudest creature in the forest. But I want to be the loudest so now I’m going to be louder than you!”

 

“Oh little Hunkapillar you should be happy the way you are. After all, you’re the most colourful creature in the jungle.”

 

“No!” yelled the Hunkapillar, “That’s not enough. I also want to be louder than you.” And he burped, he shouted, he screamed, squealed, and hollered.

 

“Wow little Hunkapillar, you are louder than me!”

 

“What?” shouted the Hunkapillar, “You’re talking so quietly I can’t hear you!”

 

The next creature he came across was the Bottomlesspopotamus. The Bottomlesspopotamus was just finishing up his third meal of the day, which is saying a lot because the Bottomlesspopotamus had just been woken up 10 minutes before by a screaming match that was going on in another part of the jungle.

 

“Hello Bottomlesspopotamus! I’m now louder than the Explodapig and I want to be an even bigger eater than you!”

 

“Oh little Hunkapillar, that’s not a good idea. You should be happy the way you are because you’re special the way you are.”

 

“No!” shouted the Hunkapillar, “That’s not enough. I’m going to eat as much as you!”

 

“You could try Hunkapillar, but I’ve just visited two all you can eat buffets, eaten two small pizzas, four large pizzas, six dozen doughnuts, some liquorice, a bag of chips, an apple, an apple pie, six dozen bananas, and a wafer thin mint.”

 

“Well watch this!” shouted the Hunkapillar. And he visited two and a half all you can eat buffets, ate two and a half small pizzas, four and a half large pizzas, six and a half dozen doughnuts, a lot of liquorice, two bags of chips, two apples, two apple pies, six and a half dozen bananas, and two wafer thin mints.

 

“Wow Hunkapillar, you did eat more than me.”

 

“Of course I did,” burped the Hunkapillar. And he walked away. Very slowly, very loudly,  and very burpily.

 

The third creature he came across was the Omegaphant. Well, he actually came across the Omegaphant’s foot because everyone knows that Omegaphants are gigantic.

 

“You there! Omegaphant! Everyone knows that you are the biggest creature in the jungle. But I want to be the biggest, and I won’t be happy until I’m bigger than you!

 

“Hello little Hunkapillar, I don’t know why you want to be bigger than I am. I’m so big that everyone is always calling me and asking me if I can reach things off the top shelf for them. People stand underneath me when it’s raining and no one makes hats in extra, extra, extra, humongous, extra large sizes. You should be happy the way you are.”

 

But the Hunkapillar wasn’t going to be happy the way he was, so he held his breath, he puffed out his cheeks, stood on his tiptoes, and he grew and became bigger than the Omegaphant.

 

“I hope you’re happy Hunkapillar.”

 

“Not yet little Omegaphant, but I will be!”

 

And with that he pushed past the Omegaphant and galumped through the jungle.

 

The Wunceasloth, who was in the jungle minding his own business suddenly heard a

 

BOOM.

 

It wasn’t a loud boom, as far as booms go, in fact, it wasn’t even the loudest thing in the jungle. After all, every one knows the loudest thing in the jungle used to be the Explodapig.

 

But it bothered the Wunceasloth enough that he stopped chewing for a moment and very slowly thought, “What was that?”

 

But Wunceasloths think slow. They talk slow. They eat slow. So by the time the Wunceasloth finished thinking several more BOOMS had already boomed through the jungle and the “What was that?” that the Wunceasloth was thinking about was suddenly there. And it was unhappy.

 

“I am the Hunkapillar,” said the Hunkapillar, “and I demand that you move, for I am the largest, loudest, and hungriest thing in the jungle and now I’m off to become faster than the Unitiger!”

 

“No,” answered the Wunceasloth two days later.

 

“What?” yelled the Hunkapillar, “You dare defy me? The Hunkapillar! The largest, hungriest, loudest animal in the jungle? Why I am larger than the Omegaphant, hungrier than the Bottomlesspopotamus, and louder than the Explodapig! Now get out of my way!”

 

“No,” answered the Wunceasloth, later on that afternoon. “It is rude to yell and tell people to get out of your way.”

 

“It took you three days to say that!” yelled the Hunkapillar. “And I’m not even sure what you said!”

 

“I said,” started the Wunceasloth.

 

“No!” shouted the Hunkapillar, “I’m in a hurry to become faster than the Unitiger and you are in my way!”

 

“Why?” asked the Wunceasloth that morning, “Do you want to be faster than the Unitigger?” and finished later in the afternoon.

 

“Because,” screamed the Hunkapillar, “It will make me happy. I wasn’t happy being just a Hunkapillar, I wanted to be better than everyone else.”

 

“Hmm,” hmmed the Wunceasloth, “And are you happy?”

 

“No! My feet hurt, I’m so full that my stomach hurts, I have a sore throat from all this yelling, and I’m beginning to think I’m afraid of heights! I liked it better when I was a happy little Hunkapillar.”

 

“Well,” said the Wunceasloth over the course of several days. “Maybe you should go back to being yourself. You’ll be happier.”

 

“I think I know what you said there, although I kind of fell asleep for most of it! And you’re right! I’ll go back to being a colourful and happy Hunkapillar.”

 

And he did. And he was.

 

 

The Cleaner

I pictured this as a first person confessional. Picture a police station interrogation room from the perspective of the guy being interviewed. I thought this would be a good idea for a comic. If only I knew someone who could draw comics...

The Cleaner

Right in there? Do I have to sit closer or will it pick up what I’m saying? I’m fine like this? Great. I’m just gonna start at the start and give you the whole bit okay?

 

In 1972 I dropped outta school. I wanted to own a business, not study business, ya know. So I got a job working for Dougie Beerdstrom. Dougie owned three buildings downtown and I got the contract to clean one of them. I had to work nights, they were long and lonely, but they were mine.

 

The toughest part was getting used to eating dinner when everyone else was having breakfast. I’d be at a diner eating steak and drinking a beer while everyone else was drinking coffee and eating muffins. I’d get a lot of looks and at first I felt like I needed to explain ya know, but after a while I just didn’t care.

 

After a year goes by, Dougie calls me into his office. And I’m all scared, thinkin’ I’m gonna get fired. But Dougie sits me down and says, “Okay Chuck, you’re a good kid. You do a good job, you work hard and every day I come in here and nothing’s missing. I was giving you tests all year, leaving files and shit out, but you never touched anything. Even pennies man, pennies and you’d pick them up and put them on my goddamn desk!

 

Okay, so this is what’s gonna happen. I fired all my other contracts, they’re yours now. You’ve got the three buildings but I’ve gotta problem. You’ve gotta get some more guys in here. You’re gonna have to hire some people or we can’t do business. You’ve got three weeks to hire some people so get to it.”

 

It took me two weeks to find some people. Five more guys. I figured we’d work two to a building. So before we get working I sit them all down in my living room and say, “This is the way it is. I find out from our clients that anything is missing, you’re all fired. I don’t care what it is, you’re all gone and I’ll hire new guys. Okay?”

 

Oh, you couldn’t do that nowadays, no way. The government or the fucking unions would get right on your ass and shut you down. But back then I could, mainly because the guys were illegal so that meant I could pay them shit wages too. It’s weird how things work out though, I thought I’d get a couple of years out of those guys. Pepper and Jose are still with me. Juan died in the fire of ’86, Tariq went back to his country that doesn’t exist no more, and the other guy is really, better off…where he is.

 

Pepper and Jose don’t know nothing about this. They’re good guys.

 

So after two years of only working for Dougie, I got a call from some guy wanted me to clean his buildings, so I got Pepper to hire some people and take them over there. Soon after that everyone was calling me. Jose got his own crew, Tariq and Juan got crews, Devindar, Vinnie Patel we call him – he got a crew and we were busy all the time. We had to fire Jose’s crew and he got a kick out of it. Hired his brother, a cousin, and his nephew. They still work for me too.

 

Anyway, in ’82 everything changed. I must’ve been one of the first people to see Smoke in action. I was having a cigarette outside the Millside Bank when I see this guy running along the tops of the buildings. Now in ’82 the Dashielle Building wasn’t there, the tallest building might’ve been ten floors. So I see this guy running along, then all of a sudden he jumps off the Florshiem! Holy Shit! I seen him sort of floating in the air for a minute then he disappears in a puff of smoke…literally! He turns into this black cloud that was darker than the sky and it drops, Bam, on these guys running down Millside. Well holy shit, the next thing I know, I’m running up Millside and the guy is gone, all that’s left is these three punks that got the shit kicked outta them.

 

There weren’t so many of them then. You’d maybe hear people talking about the same five all the time. There was Smoke. And Crossfire – he was pretty amazing I’ll give him that.  And Spark, Dogstar, and Spitfire. Then as the city got bigger, there’d be more and more of them showing up. And the thing was the more supers show up, the worse the crooks got. Those punks Smoke caught that night; the worse they had on them was a knife. Now some high-school drop out drug addict is carrying around two sawed off shotguns and a shitload of grenades just so’s he can go and rob convenience stores. Jeez!

 

Anyway, I guess I had the idea when I saw Smoke grab those kids. He’d tied them up to a lamp post that got knocked over. And that’s what got me thinking. So I joined the chamber of commerce, got a bug in the mayor’s ear. Told him I could do the city clean up for a third of what it’d cost the city. The Mayfair Bank job is what sold him on it.

 

You remember the Mayfair? Yeah, it was a beautiful building. They don’t make em like that no more. Anyway, they were holed up in there for four days, waiting for the weekend. Problem was, they didn’t think about how they were going to the bathroom. Then that woman, the one that was on the news all the time after, she went downstairs to the vault and thought she smelled sewer gas. Next thing you know, the city sends over some maintenance guys and the fire department all because this bank broad smells some shit. Anyway, they open the vault and find fifteen guns pointed at them. Then all hell breaks loose. The robbers hold everyone hostage, no one can talk to them, then Crossfire busts in. That broad says he got shot about hundred times and nothing happened, then he channels all that energy back at them, blows the back wall out of the bank, gets the hostages out and saves the day. Only problem is, the bad guys set off a whole bunch of explosives in the vault, that along with the previous structural damage cause the building to collapse. The bad guys all died, but that was okay because the good people got out. It cost me four grand to clean that up and I did it in a week. Charged the city fifteen thousand and told ‘em it would’ve cost them fifty-five if they did it themselves. Got a long-term contract after that.

 

The Mayfair was the biggest job I had to do for a while. I mean, mostly it was uh, small jobs like busted lamp posts and some damage to the facades of a lot of buildings. “Mopping up” we called it. But then there weren’t a whole lot of the supers around either.

 

What’s frustrating is that the public doesn’t know anything, hell, we didn’t know anything was wrong until we pulled out the extra rubble and discovered the other building, But then I found a body. Then we found another. All in all we found fifteen people in there, you know. And then that got to be part of the job. Cleaning up the bodies. But the media never reported that, the people didn’t know. I’d try to tell someone and, and they wouldn’t listen! That goddamn Spitfire killed 220 people but it wasn’t his fault. Sure he set the fire around Sticks, but he didn’t know there was a gas main under there. I knew! I knew it! But did anything happen? No! Because it was for the greater good that they died. He saved two people that day. That’s all Sticks had was two people. And I’m not arguing that Stick wasn’t bad, I know he killed a hell of a lot of other people, but I don’t think he killed 220. What? Yeah, that was the fire Juan died in. The fire of ’86.

 

Fucking Spitfire he didn’t even know those people died. But I told him before I killed him. It was a few years later, but I told him.

 

The thing that turned me, you know, the thing that opened my eyes was that big fight in ’89. You saw the news footage, jeez you’re old enough, Crossfire carrying that plane down, the wings crashing into a building, but Crossfire, saved all 300 people on that plane. What they didn’t show you was the two buildings that collapsed when the wings cut into them. I pulled fifteen bodies out of those piles. Rescue crews saved 37. And the supers, who for once cleaned up after themselves, pulled out 100. Not bad, though, 152 people were saved, but 46 died. I say it opened my eyes, but I didn’t want it to, you know? I wanted to think that they still did good. But then it got to the point where every time we had a crew on a site, they was digging up bodies. We had ta get special suits made just in case there was biohazards and shit! And here I started out with a broom and some glass cleaner, now I got guys wearing hazmat suits and getting training on how to deal with ambient radiation.

 

Anyway, we kept pulling bodies out and cleaning up after them and they kept standing in the spotlight wearing those ridiculous costumes.

 

Ramrod was my first one. And he was easy. Well, he wasn’t easy, I followed him for five days before I got up the nerve to do it. On nights when Ramrod is on patrol, someone drives around the city, taking notes of where he’s been and what we’re going to have to fix; ‘cause he’s just so damn reckless and destructive. Anyway, it was my week to drive around. The first night I tracked him to his apartment. He lived in this shitty little ground floor apartment on Forrester. I was surprised you know, I figured a big shot like that would live in some huge house or something. But I guess that’s all he could afford. Anyway, I watched him from the bushes. But I couldn’t do it.

 

Every night I couldn’t do it. He’d be alone and I’d talk myself out of it. Finally, on the Friday, I watched him. He was sitting on his couch, in his underwear. I watched him drink an entire bottle of whisky like it was water. Then he put his head in his hands and cried. He cried for about twenty minutes and passed out. I realized I wasn’t going to get a better chance than that. So I slid the window open, snuck in and smashed his skull with his war hammer.

 

Seeing him like that I knew, they were just people. That’s all. Once you strip away the costume, they’re nothing special. Just meat. Just garbage.

 

The funny thing was, we got the call from his landlord to clean his rooms. Pepper took the call, I had nothing to do with it.

 

So there was a death in the family. Everybody was really upset over Ramrod, talkin’ about what a great hero he was and everything. You know, it was like once he died, everybody forgot how vicious he was. One guy I heard about had a car that Ramrod smashed and he turned it into a shrine to the guy. Had people lined up around the block to leave flowers there. Fucking morons.  

 

It never got easy you know? I was always sick afterward. I’d hold it together long enough to get home, then I’d puke all night. My throat’d be raw for days afterward.

 

After Ramrod, I did the Farmer. Nobody knew that Farmer was Dave Ramsarran. I only figured it out because I got the contract to clean his offices. To be honest with you, aside from Ramrod duty, I don’t normally do small jobs like that anymore. I tend to stay in the office, or I’ll help out on bigger sites. But I did Ramsarran’s offices because our regular guy was sick and no one else was available.

 

So he was there at his desk and I was talking to him. Once he realized I owned the company and wasn’t just hired help, he was a lot nicer to me. So we’re talking about nothing really important and he gets up outta his chair. Only he must of done it too fast because I see him wince and grab his side. Now, I’d seen the news the night before. And they reported that the Farmer was hurt in a brawl down on Main. The news said he’d been hit and beaten pretty bad. I go over to help him out and I get right beside him and notice that he’s wearing make-up. And I can see that his face is all bruised up. Then I see that his nose is broken and his knuckles are all banged up.

 

I thought that was pretty funny you know? The Farmer is some hick who loves to brawl and this Ramsarran guy is smart and rich and runs a business. I figured it out pretty quick then. So I poisoned his coffee. Took me three weeks.

 

Now I know Farmer died in a fight. So I didn’t directly kill him, but you saw the news. These guys always seem to have a news crew following them around. You saw how bad that fight was. Normally, he’d get kicked around a bit, but that last fight, whoo, he was dying on his feet. Didn’t even get a punch in, took a bat to the back, puked, went down, then that was it.

 

I figured someone would figure out how he died. But nothing happened. Then when I found out that you guys don’t do autopsies out of respect for their “secret identities”, I knew I was in good shape.

 

After Farmer, I took some time off. I focused on work and landed a huge contract. Just huge. After Ramrod and Farmer died, the city wanted to do what they could to protect the supers. So they commissioned an architect and built the Hall. I played some golf, took some guys out to dinner and got the contract without even having to bid for it.

 

That was a pretty impressive building, pretty high-tech, you know? My people had to go through security checks, psychiatric exams, and some other unbelievable shit. So we got the keys and contract and when it was all built up we moved in. You know, it was more like a remote office. My people wore uniforms and had badges, but none of the supers told them what to do. I gave Pepper that gig.

 

Have you ever been inside the Hall? It’s amazing. Stuff you’d see at a computer factory or a NASA. A lot of technology that is really out of place in a city like this. And medical equipment; they got surgeons and doctors who do shifts there like they do at the hospital. And I heard that a lot of doctors weren’t goin’ back to the hospital because they wanted to hang out with the supers. That bugged me a lot. That was wrong, they should’ve been helping everybody, not just the supers. So no, I don’t feel too bad that a lot of those doctors got hurt when I blew up the Hall.

 

Yeah, that’s right, I blew it up. Just me. Okay, I want to make that clear, I did it on my own. I’ll tell you later how I did it, but I’m glad it’s gone. It took up too much space, space that could’ve been used for houses or businesses. And I hear that they’re turnin’ it into a park. I guess I shouldn’t a done that one. Kinda came back and bit me in the ass.

 

So we cleaned the Hall. While Pepper ran the day to day, I made sure everyone had a chance to go in. We had 12 hour shifts, six people per shift. I had everyone do a week’s work because it was fair. I knew they were all dying to be around the supers, and I didn’t think it was fair to exclude anyone. And Pepper liked it when I came for my shift because he could boss me around. Pepper got pretty comfortable there. He made a lot of in-roads for us. They trusted Pepper a lot of those guys. And he deserved their trust. Pepper is a great guy, one of the nicest guys around.

 

Pepper always worked hard and I appreciated it. We’d go fishing in the summer. Well, we pretended to go fishing. He’d just say that to his wife so we could go up north and drink for a weekend. I don’t have a family, so you know? Who cares what I did right.

 

I never had time that’s why. I was always working, setting stuff up, buying supplies, making contacts. I woke up one morning and realized that I hadn’t thought about sex in three months. You know what happens when you realize you hadn’t thought about sex in a long time? It’s all you think about. So I thought about it then it went away.

 

Having access to the Hall was a real blessing. I could come and go as I pleased, I could find shit out about the supers. Like where they lived and other stuff. I mean, I can’t believe how stupid they are! How arrogant! I knew everything about them from one file on a computer. I knew everything about that building from another. They made it so easy.

 

You know what. I did the right thing. They’re gone now. And things are getting back to normal aren’t they? People still walk the streets at night. They go out and live their lives. No one has to worry about being hit by a thrown car or a collapsing building. We can live normally again.

 

I didn’t like killing any of them. I mean, it had to be done, but I never felt good about it. You know, after a while the shakes stopped, but I still have dreams about them. The stupid thing I did, but it was the right thing, was to blow up the Hall during the company picnic. I didn’t want any of my people getting hurt, that’s why I did it then. I keep care of my family.

 

Who? Diva? Yep, Diva had to die too. She really did. Some of those guys, a lot of those guys, they did what they did because, maybe, they wanted to help. Diva wanted the attention. I mean, her fucking name showed that she wanted attention. The only reason I got to her was because I overheard a few of them talking. I was cleaning out the change rooms and a few of the supers were in there talking about, well, about stuff guys talk about while they’re in a locker room. Crude stuff especially since they were talking about a colleague, someone who’d risked her life for them. Anyway, the one guy said that after she sings, she’s exhausted, can’t move a muscle at all. It’s almost as if she’s catatonic. So I followed her around one night.

 

She used her powers a lot that time and then got picked up by Bodyguard. Diva and Bodyguard. What a ridiculous team. He picks her up in the Cadillac and drives her home, puts her to bed. I broke into her house, that’s how I know. I was hiding in her closet. It was pretty easy to do, she was wiped right out, couldn’t move at all but her eyes were wide open. I watched her eyes the whole time. She was just looking at me as I came over and I strangled her. I figured that Bodyguard would be coming up to check on her sometime so I left him a note and a handgun. The note said, “good job.” You guys thought he killed her, then killed himself. No, it was me. I did it. Not sure what he did with the note though. That’s a mystery to me too.

 

Jarhead? Yeah, I did him. You haven’t found the body? I threw it in the river. Last November. Jarhead was a wannabe. That guy dressed up like a soldier, acted like a soldier, but I’ll be goddamned if he ever saw combat. He pranced around here like a flamin’ hero while kids overseas, real heroes, are dying. My dad fought in World War 2 and it pissed him off that there were kids still dying in wars. Broke his heart every time he heard about some poor kid dying away from home.

I followed Jarhead home. He was a loner. Didn’t like to stay at the hall and I figured out why. He was a druggie. Took a lot of drugs. Not sure what kind, but I went through his medicine cabinet and there were a lot of bottles. Different names on them, but the same looking pills. No. I don’t remember. I can’t tell you what the drug was. Because I don’t remember. It was a while ago that’s why. I was tailing him for a while. He was up at Bester and Fitz, breaking up a smuggling job. I don’t know what they were smuggling. He threw some smoke grenades in there, jumped in while no one could see, beat up six guys and after the smoke cleared, he was standing there in the middle. Like he was posing. Hoping for someone to see him. And he stood there for a while and I watched. And still no one came up to him. And his shoulders dropped, his hands came off his hips, and he looked like he was sulking. Damn! No one saw him save the day and he acted like a six year old kid who’d just been spanked. Like I said, I followed him home. He went in, I saw a light go on upstairs, then it turned off. I had a gun. Figured I’d pop him while he slept. But when I broke in he was sitting on the couch, in his underwear with a bottle and a bunch of pills. He looked at me and laughed. Not scared or cocky or nothing like that, just like seeing me standing in his living room was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. And I says to him, “How many of those have you taken?”

“A lot,” he says.

“Take a lot more,” I says and point the gun at him. And the son of a bitch laughs again and says okay. And I watch him take the pills, a few at a time until he nods off, then I watch him until he stops breathing and then I get rid of his body. Easy.

 

What pisses me off the most was the costumes. They look so ridiculous in those costumes. They were there to hide their identities, you know, to keep their private lives private. But they gotta wear those costumes so everyone can see them. So they can set themselves apart from everyone else. So they can get the attention.

 

Farmer was just a normal guy who liked throwing punches around. That Ramsarran guy probably went to his shrink, the doctor told him he had anger issues that he needed to work out, so he puts on a costume and beats people up. Because he needed the attention. A normal guy with anger issues would’ve taken up boxing or bought a heavy bag and beat the shit outta it. But not these supers. Fucking prima donnas!

 

Yeah, I said I’d tell you how I blew up the hall. It was easy. You know what kind of shit your average household cleaner is made of? Pretty dangerous stuff man. And I had gallons and gallons of that shit you know? It was simple. I hid the bags and buckets around the place. There’s this one room they don’t use, I don’t know what the hell it’s for, it’s like a closet. Anyway, I hid about sixteen gallons of the shit in there, wired them to detonate through a signal from a beeper and a disposable cell phone. Then I got all those bleaches and cleansers and stuff, you mix those together and you’ve got some toxic gases too. Shit like that’ll burn your lungs pretty bad. That’s how Puddle died. He inhaled a lot of those gases. You heard it took him three days to die? Yeah. I know. That’s a long time. No. No, I don’t.

 

Well, you can find that shit out pretty easy. The goddamn internet has it all right? Anarchists Cookbook? Library books. Hell, it’s easy. So I made sure none of my people where there. Made sure that I did it during our company picnic. I know that was suspicious, but there’s no way any of my people were going to get hurt in that, no way. And you guys weren’t going to figure it out were you? What? Bullshit! You guys found shit all. You don’t think I know how to clean up after a crime scene? Hell, I’ve been at more crime scenes than you’ve been to birthday parties. There was nothing you guys could’a found there that woulda linked anybody to it. Accelerant walked around that place all the time, who’s to say that the fumes from that closet didn’t mix with those flames of his and blow up. You wouldn’t have figured me for it. No way.

 

Hey, tell me honestly now, you guys must be lovin’ this. Really, you cops was here first and got looked over for all the good shit ya did. I always thought it was bullshit how you guys get sued by some asshole carjacker who got his arm broke when some cop kid pulled him out of a stolen car, but one of them fucking supers beats up Marginalized and no one gets sued at all. Bullshit man, it’s cause the city’s got money that’s why. That fuckin’ Farmer’s got deep pockets right, but the Repo Man never sued him. He should though, take Ramsarran’s fuckin’ estate for everything. But you cops right, you’re doing better now right? People’re respecting youse guys again right? Good.

 

Four o’clock, that’s when the timers were rigged, well, that’s when I called the beeper. I was in the middle of barbecuing hamburgers and Polish sausage. Davinder loves Polish sausage, his religion tells him to be a vegetarian, but I’ve seen him shut down buffet tables. I’m gonna miss those guys. Anyway, I was pretending to call my messages while I was flippin’ burgers and blew the fucking thing up. We didn’t hear anything about it until the picnic was over. People were crying, saying how tragic it was, others were crying saying they could’ve been caught in it, others were thanking me for not makin’ them go to work that day.

 

Yeah, I don’t think you guy’s ever woulda figured out it was me that done it. I don’t feel bad fer doin’ it either right? I don’t. I saved a lot of people’s lives. People who might have died because some super got thrown through a building, people just working for a living end up dead when their office collapses on them ‘cause some bastard with a huge ego needs to see hisself in the papers.

 

So why am I confessing? Maybe cause I haven’t slept right since it happened. It’s been three months since I blew them up and I might have gotten four straight hours of sleep in one night. And people’re still crying over them. They need to know how lucky they are that the bad guys are gone. They need to know that they’re actually safer now. Way safer. And I needed them to know. I need them to know. I saved them. And they need to know.

 

Do you need more than that? I think I covered everything.  I’m not sorry they died. I’m really not. They hurt too many people, did more bad than good, but everybody just fucking bought into it. And it didn’t matter. And they didn’t care and that made it so much worse than it should’ve been.