Average Joe and the Extraordinaires (8 page)

Those
thoughts were interrupted when the blue blur leaped upon the man in black and
landed two clean knockout punches to the man’s jaw.  The black suit crashed
into the brick wall behind him and slumped to the ground, where he slumbered.

The blue
clad man approached Joe and smiled at him.  He gave him the thumbs up.

Blue Clad
Man: “Good work, soldier!”

Joe
stared at the huge muscular man and tried to find something to say.  He could
only stare at the shining white “A” on the guy’s mask, as no words would come. 
Finally he managed.

Joe:
“Holy cow!  You’re Captain A—”

There was
a loud thud behind him, and Joe looked back at Borland and saw that his human
shield was now on the ground knocked out.  Borland pointed his gun at the blue
man in suspicion.

Borland:
“Who’re you, freakshow?”

Joe:
“Wait Borland, he’s Captain A—”

Borland:
“Let him answer it.”

Captain A—:
“You can think of me as the enemy of your enemy.  I understand your caution,
but I think we should discuss things at a safer location.”

Borland:
“You have a point.  Let’s get out of here.”

Captain A—:
“Let freedom prevail!”

Chapter
15

Extraordinaires
Assemble

Borland:
“Why are you still dressed like that?”

Captain A—:
“Because it’s a hoot and a half, as you people like to say.”

Joe
settled into the old gray couch.  The cramped stylings of Borland’s old
apartment seemed extra small when occupied by two other people, especially when
one of those people was a hulking superhero.  His bright costume crashed
drastically with the décor.

Borland:
“Well, you’re attracting too much unwanted attention, so stop looking like an
idiot and change back.”

The super
soldier saluted Borland and began to change shape.  His shoulders contracted
and slanted downwards.  The rough angles that made up the big man’s physiology
morphed into firm curves, the long limbs and torso shortened to a height that
was just a shade under Borland’s. The blues became blacks and the mask was no
more, as were the bright red boots and gloves.

Standing
before them was Beauty. Joe had forgotten about her once the fighting started
outside of Blonsky’s Pierogi Place, until she had admitted to them both minutes
before that it was her.  Joe felt extremely stupid; he had thought he was in
the presence of a real life superhero. And why not believe that? With all the
crazy secret buildings, shape-shifting spies, and murder plots, a superhero was
an easy thing to believe.

Joe
wasn’t quite so lucky. There were no superheroes, but everything else was true,
Beauty’s presence was a testament to that.  Now that she was in her own skin,
that familiar smell of loveliness that Joe associated with her had intensified.

Beauty:
“You guys miss me?”

Guys? 
Joe wondered if Beauty and Borland had met before.

Borland:
“Like a thorn in my side.  So what’s that, magic?”

Beauty:
“To simplify it, yes.”

Borland:
“Always thought that existed. Makes sense.”

Beauty:
“Helps me get the job done.”

Joe had
caught a flash of anger in Borland.  The man was prone to those, as Joe had
learned during his stay here.

Borland:
“And what job is that might I ask?  Getting this boy killed?  Ruining my
investigation?”

Beauty:
“None of those.”

Borland:
“Well then, tell me what gives you the right to kidnap this boy and use him for
your own purposes?”

Borland ended
up screaming those last words.

Beauty:
“Kidnap?  From who?  You?  Last time I checked, you weren’t either of his
parents.  As for why I did it, well, I did it for his sake.”

Borland:
“You could’ve gotten him killed or captured!  What in the nine hells was worth
that?”

Beauty:
“The proof of his innocence.  I have it.”

She
looked Joe right in his eyes.

Beauty:
“I owed him that … for his kindness.”

The room
fell quiet.  Borland looked anxious.

Beauty:
“I believe it was worth the risk, and I can assure you that no harm would have
come upon little Joe’s head.  You’re a good man, Borland.  Your apprehension
shows that you care about this boy, but at this point he has nothing to do with
your goals or my goals.”

Borland:
“He’s the center of all of this, he has everything to do with it.”

Beauty:
“He’s an unfortunate scapegoat in all of this, and I put him in this
situation.”

She had
it half right, but Joe himself had volunteered to help when he could’ve just
escaped with his friends.

Beauty:
“It should be up to him if he wants to continue or not, not you, not I, and not
Blonsky.  I’m putting that choice back in his hands before this gets out of
hand.”

She
produced a DVD case from her messenger bag that was labeled in comically large
letters: “Joe Not Guilty.”  She put the disc in Joe’s hands, along with some
sort of necklace.  The necklace was long and made of silver, and had a pendant
of what looked like the head of a crazed owl.  Joe lifted the pendant in front
of his face.

Joe:
“What is this?”

Beauty:
“It is a keepsake for all we have been through together.  It is said that the
owl watches over and safeguards those that wear it.  Take it, please, as an
apology from me for causing you so much pain.  I hope it brings you comfort and
tranquility”

Joe
studied the trinket and slipped it into his pocket.  It was ugly, but it came
from a good place.

Joe:
“Thank you.”

Beauty:
“Well, Joe, we are at a crossroads and you have a choice to make.  Because of
the prominence you’ve gained in this situation, and thanks to what you’ve seen,
you’ve became an integral piece in this whole mess.  Both Borland and I need
you to accomplish our goals.  We are both trying to take down two very bad men,
and Borland still needs your help in finding Dahlila and Melissa.”

Joe: “You
two know each other?”

Borland
brooded quietly against the wall.

Beauty:
“Our paths have crossed before.  We are neither friends nor partners for that
matter, but our goals seem to be somewhat aligned.  You have no obligation to
help us.  As a matter of fact, you have done much and more already to help us. 
That disc is my thanks for that help. With it, you have all you need to clear
your name.  You can go back to your regular, everyday, average lifestyle.”

Joe: “I, um…”

Villain
View 2

A
Powerful Motivator

The
office was warm, too warm, and so a black-suited man was ordered to crack the
window to let some of the night air in. 
Might as well put these fools to
use
, thought their master.  His office was also dim, as he liked, and smoky—from
both the fireplace and his own cigar collection.

Blonsky:
“So you’re telling me that a superhero came out of nowhere and knocked you all
out cold?”

“Yes sir,
a patriot!”

Blonsky’s
personal cadre of black-suited men all looked broken, both physically and
spiritually.  Blonsky wouldn’t let them stay that way.  They had work to do and
he needed them in tip top shape.  His suits knew how to follow his orders and
he didn’t even need to use pansy-pants magic.  He was the sort of man who knew
alternate ways to effectively motivate, unlike that wimp Billy-boy.  He spoke
to them all in a light and comical tone.

Blonsky: “Man
oh man!  I might have actually found this funny if you all didn’t make such a
complete fool of me by eating the dirt in Pierogi’s alley so hard tonight.  But
you all made me look baaaaaaad.  I mean real baaaaaaad.  And that’s the problem
because, you see, I live and breathe based on my reputation.  And what is my
reputation you may ask?  You there, loser number one, I’m looking right at
you.”

The black-suited
man with long brown hair pointed at himself in confusion.

Blonsky:
“Yeah you, ya long-haired moron.  Go ahead and ask me that question.  The one I
just asked you to ask me.”

Black-suited
man: “Umm, what is your reputation, sir?”

Blonsky:
“Why, I thought you’d never ask.  You see, eggs-for-brains, my reputation is
based on fear.  Fear from my enemies, fear from my partners, and fear from my
subordinates.  A guy like me is nothing without it.  Fear keeps the gears of my
operation running and motivates business.”

Blonsky
produced an expensive-looking cigar from his office drawer and snipped the
tip.  He lit it and took a few puffs.  An earthy, smoky aroma filled the room. 
Blonsky blew the smoke towards the group of black suits.  One of them let out a
cough.  They were all lined up shoulder to shoulder and kneeling in front of
Blonsky’s desk.  They were a gift from his partner, a poisoned gift if truth be
told.  Sure, they were obedient, but they were also fools.  He dropped the fool
voice and spoke in his normal tone.

Blonsky:
“Here’s a quick history lesson.  Back before the Revolutionary War, America was
a lowly servant to Britain.  Whenever the pretty little queen and king said
‘jump,’ America asked ‘how high?’  That’s because America was young, and like
any child feared to bite the hand that fed them.  Children don’t like to be
punished, so America obeyed.  Britain had an iron grip on the country, they
were not to be trifled with because they were the Red Coats, a strong name for
a strong nation.  Anyone that challenged a Red Coat was an enemy of the crown
and thusly doomed to a jail, gallows, or a life of indentured servitude only
slightly better than a slave.  But after a while, children get bigger and
bolder and they try you, they try to taunt you and challenge you to see how far
they get.  If the parent balks at this challenge, the child runs roughshod and
the parent loses what control they had.  Britain lost that control when
Americans stopped calling them Red Coats and started calling them
Lobsterbacks.  You give a child an inch and they’ll take a mile.”

Blonsky
pulled a bottle of some dark liquid from his desk.  The bottle had the labels
removed so one could only guess what was in it.  He opened it, placing the top
on his solid oak desk while he poured all the contents of the bottle into the
spray bottle that sat on top of the desk.  It didn’t take him long.  He got up
and walked to the front of his desk.

Blonsky:
“I know you guys have got to be thirsty after all that fighting.  Here, have a
drink.”

He
sprayed them all with whatever was in the spray bottle until their suits shined
in what little light the office received.  When he was done, he sat on the top
of his desk, in front of them, and set his nearly empty spray bottle down next
to him.

Blonsky:
“Good, good.  You guys look sharp.  You see, fellas, even controlling a rough
bunch of creeps like you is made difficult when you lack proper motivation. 
Today I will motivate you.”

The men
sat in silence and waited.  Some sweated, others looked off into space, others
looked at the floor. None looked at Blonsky.  Blonsky puffed his cigar nice and
long and flicked it into the air.  He exhaled an excessive amount of smoke and
grinned sickly when the cigar landed softly on the man in black that had coughed
earlier.  The man’s suit ignited quickly and easily.  He dropped to the ground
to try to smother the flames, but the floor was laden with excess amounts of
whatever liquid Blonsky had coated them all in.

Blonsky:
“I didn’t give you permission to put yourself out, ya moron.”

Blonsky
laughed as the man screamed.

Blonsky:
“Now that is proper motivation.  Fear is a tool and I use it to make money,
lots and lots of money.  I need to reacquaint those who have wronged me and
continue to wrong me with it.”

The man
on the floor screamed louder.

Blonsky:
“Now, fellas, let’s find a reason to make my enemies fear me—and for the love
of Jove will somebody please put this idiot out!”

One of
the men took off his jacket to fan the flames and caught fire himself.

Blonsky:
“No, no!  Don’t touch him!  What’re you doing?  Get an extinguisher!  Run,
don’t walk!  What circus am I dealing with?  Idiots, idiots, and more idiots! 
That’s what I’m cursed with.”

Chapter
16

Team Badd
Azz

Buzz Buzz
Buzz!

The alarm
clock seemed louder than ever before and Joe had to karate chop the big snooze
button to save his sleepy state.

Joe:
“Dang it!  Just a few more minutes.”

Nine
minutes later the buzzing came back, but this time Joe was ready to get up. 
The morning went by in a blur.  Joe vaguely remembered taking a shower, having
cereal, and watching T.V., but not really paying attention to what was on.

He left
his house and walked to the car, which was parked on the street.  His dutiful
girlfriend Kate had returned it—his parents said—after the whole stadium
incident.  He still hadn’t seen or talked to her since and wasn’t sure what
he’d say the next time he did.

He got
into his car and turned the ignition.  His car jumped to life but it felt
different.  Everything felt different.  The drive to school went by in a blur. 
Joe vaguely remembered seeing street signs, a stoplight, a slow old lady
crossing the street, traffic lights, more traffic lights, and a cute girl with
red hair in the school’s parking lot.  She smiled at him.  Her red hair
reminded him of Kate, but Kate’s was naturally red. He couldn’t say the same
about this girl.

The walk
through the school went by in a blur.  There were plenty of staring faces
everywhere he went, much chatter, some laughter, and many whispers.  No one
talked directly to him but Joe knew that they were talking about him.

He had
shifted through the halls and was almost near his locker when he bumped into
two guys that he was distantly familiar with but had never talked to before.  More
accurately, they bumped into him.  He knew them as Fleez and Dozz, and that they
were to be avoided.

Fleez:
“Uh-oh!  Badass alert!  Clear the hallway, peasants, lest you want to be just
another victim.”

Fleez was
the taller of the two, and had a distinct island tan and large dark eyes.  His
hair was black and curly but partially shaved on the sides.  He approached Joe
in a casual manner.

Dozz:
“That’s not fair, Fleez.  He’s been acquitted of his crimes.  That makes us the
only badasses setting off alarms here.”

Dozz was
very hairy, almost like a werewolf and had tiny beady eyes.  He already had a
full beard that hung down past his Adam’s apple even though he was only
sixteen.  His hair was equally as long, reaching down to the middle of his neck,
and both hair and beard were brown and completely messy.  Underneath all that
hair was flesh so pale that Joe wondered if Dozz had ever seen the sun.

Fleez:
“He’s been acquitted of half his crimes, so he’s a badass until proven
innocent.  How ‘bout it, Joe?  Wanna join the likes of us and raise hell?”

Fleez
stuck his hand out.

Joe:
“Sorry, but your friend is right.  I’m not a badass.  I’m just a regular guy. 
Excuse me, I have to get to class.”

Joe
sheepishly pushed past them and walked down the hall.  Further down he caught a
flash of red hair and saw her. Kate was facing her locker.  He stood still and
wide-eyed like a deer in the headlights.  She turned and looked in his
direction and they locked eyes, but only briefly.  She turned her head and
walked away down the opposite end of the hall.

The rest
of the day went by in a blur until lunch, when he bumped into the principal,
Mr. Patrias, a short and slender man with a penchant for tacky dress clothes. 
Today he wore an olive green suit with a yellow tie and pocket square which
made him look like a pickle someone accidently dunked in mustard.

Mr.
Patrias: “So, Joe, you’ve decided to join us in the land of the learning?”

Patrias
laughed at his own joke, but Joe didn’t find it so funny.

Joe: “Yes,
sir.”

Mr.
Patrias: “Well I’m glad you’re in good health and that this whole ordeal is
behind you.  Now you can get back on track to academic excellence.”

Joe: “Yes,
sir.”

Mr. Patrias:
“Remember, Joe, toeing the line won’t cut it anymore.  I won’t have it here at
my school.  I’ll be on your case until you’re just as bright and competitive as
my best.”

Joe: “Yes,
sir.”

Mr.
Patrias: “If you follow that, we’ll finally see eye to eye.  I know you can do
it.”

Principal
Patrias adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and smiled using only his lips.

Mr.
Patrias: “Now go get some lunch and fuel up for the rest of your classes.”

Joe
walked away from the principal, feeling ill at ease.  Neither he nor Joe had
seen eye to eye since he had been Joe’s teacher back in elementary school.  Joe
honestly didn’t think the man had liked him—ever.  He opted to get on with his
day, however, and grabbed some lunch.

Lunch was
a standard affair, corndogs and tater tots.  Brussels sprouts were there too,
but who wanted those?  Joe grabbed his tray and looked for a place to sit.  He
usually split his seating arrangements between Mod and his friends, or the
Orangetown High benchwarmers.  The benchwarmers were usually good company and
had much to say about football, which Joe liked, but today he didn’t feel like
answering all the questions they were sure to ask.  Plus, even as benchwarmers,
they were too high profile for him right now.  He wanted to be as incognito as
possible.

He
spotted Mod sitting with only a few of his friends at their usual spot.  He
wanted to make sure that Mod was doing okay, and to also gauge the temperature
of Kate.

Joe: “Hey,
Mod!”

Mod: “Wow,
Joe!  You can talk?  I can’t believe it!  It must be a miracle, because I
could’ve sworn this whole time that your vocal cords were stolen by the
government or aliens or Australians.”

Joe:
“Very funny, Mod.  You know I would’ve called if I could.”

Joe took
a seat across from Mod and was again treated to the stares, whispers, and
giggles of those around him.

Mod:
“Well then, why didn’t you?  It’s been almost two weeks since the stadium and
they proved your innocence almost a week ago.  Why am I just now talking to
you?”

A lot had
happened between sitting on Borland’s couch and now.  Not only did Joe have to
stay in Borland’s protection for a few days after the incident at Pierogi’s
Place, but he also had to wait for the police to clear him.  Once he was
finally cleared to go home, the media whipped into a frenzy and his parents
decided that it would be better if they all stayed in.  But Joe had seemingly
shut down and he still wasn’t sure why.

Joe: “I’m
sorry.  It’s just … you know … I needed time.  I still need time to deal with
everything that happened.”

Mod: “And
that’s just it, nobody knows what happened.  None of us know what you saw or
why you stayed.”

Joe: “And
I can’t tell you for good reasons.”

Mod:
“That bad huh?”

Joe: “Yeah…”

Mod: “I’m
fine with that. Not too sure about Kate though.”

Joe: “You
and me both.  But I’m telling you, the less you and her know, the safer you’ll
be.”

Mod: “I
wish I was there with you.  Whatever happened, you shouldn’t have faced it
alone.”

Joe:
“It’s okay, Mod.  I wasn’t alone.  Just hearing you say that though makes me
feel a lot better.  I’m just glad you two got out safely.”

Mod
nodded.

Joe: “I’m
going to lay low until this all blows over.  As you can see, I’m a little too
popular today.”

Mod
grinned.

Mod: “You
can never be too popular.”

Joe: “I
don’t like the spotlight as much as you do.  For now I’ll let you enjoy your
food, free of stares.”

Mod:
“Psshaw, you kidding me?  I’ve never been gawked at by so many hot babes before
in my life.  Stay!  Heck, I might even get a phone number out of this.”

Joe
laughed.

Joe:
“You’ll never change, Mod, I swear.”

Mod:
“Change?  Why do that?  When life gives you lemons, eh…”

Joe:
“Yeah…”

They
talked for a while about Mod’s girl troubles, until they were interrupted. 
Fleez and Dozz had pushed themselves into the table the boys were sitting at,
each on either side of Mod.  One of Mod’s friends ended up being pushed from
the end of the bench when Fleez and Dozz sat down. His lunch fell to the floor
with him.

Fleez: “I
just came over here to continue our conversation from earlier, Josephus.  It
didn’t exactly end on the right footing.  For one, you didn’t let me explain my
terms.”

Mod
looked extremely uncomfortable between the two boys.  Joe had only now noticed
how big they both were.  Both Fleez and Dozz were over six foot, but Fleez was
a lot bulkier.  He was now wearing a green tank-top, and Joe took note of how
chiseled and large his biceps were.  With that in mind, he had no idea why he
was going to say what he was about to say.

Joe: “My
answer is still no.  I have a lot on my mind right now.”

Dozz:
“He’s definitely got balls, Fleez.”

Fleez:
“Well, he wouldn’t be the badass we know he is without ‘em.  Now listen, Joe,
the truth of the matter is you don’t have much of a choice here.  Wait—no, that
ain’t right.  You have a lot of choices, but they aren’t the ones you think you
have.  We have choices too.  We could just make you join us and easily
establish our own badassery that way, but you’d probably just let us, and
that’s no fun.  It wouldn’t get us anywhere either.  So me and Dozz here—whoops—sorry,
Dozz and I, will instead make a friend of your friend.  Yeah, this little guy
here.”

Fleez
patted Mod on the shoulder and Dozz gave him a few rough slaps on his back.

Fleez:
“He’ll be our little ‘friend’ for the rest of his high school life, or until
you come to your senses.”

Dozz:
“I’ve always wanted a little red-headed brother.  What color do you think his
hair would turn if we burned it?”

Fleez:
“Good question, Dozz!  We should find out, you know how the principal’s always
going on about academic curiosity and whatnot.”

They both
got up laughing.  Mod looked mortified, especially after Dozz gave his shoulder
another tap.

Fleez:
“Here’s a little demo, Josephus.”

Fleez
took out a mason jar from a brown paper bag that he had.  He unscrewed the lid
and produced a wad of something that filled the air with a horrid and bitter
odor.  Dozz followed suit.  Loudly and in tandem they proclaimed:

“Welcome,
everyone, to pukeball, everyone’s favorite wacky, wretched, and whacked out
event.  We are your hosts.”

Fleez:
“Fleez!”

Dozz:
“And Dozz!”

Fleez:
“Today’s guest is Mod, which is short for…”

Dozz:
“Mod—er, or maybe Modicum, as in modicum of girls that like him, modicum of
athletic talent, modicum of coolness—”

Fleez:
“Or maybe just words that he’ll never hear from a girl ever.  Haha, get it
Dozz, get it?  Cuz when you break it down, it sounds like Mod-I-oh never-mind!”

The kids
at the other tables ate up the act and howled with laughter throughout.  An
adult had walked up to Fleez and Dozz.  It was Mr. Serano the math teacher.  He
typically monitored the lunchroom during Joe’s lunch period.  Kids usually
despised when he approached their table, but Joe welcomed it today.
Finally,
an end to this craziness
, Joe thought.

Mr.
Serano: “Keep it down, you two.”

Fleez:
“Aww man.  You’re gonna stop pukeball?”

Mr.
Serano: “Did I say that?  I said keep it down.”

Mr.
Serano looked at Joe and walked back to the front of the lunchroom, where he
sat.  Fleez smiled a nasty smile and pumped his fist.  Joe was speechless, so
was Mod.

Fleez:
“Now, Dozz, let’s continue.”

He and
Dozz held up the nasty wads in their hands for all to see.

Dozz:
“Behold exhibit A, the fabled pukeball.  It slithers with life in my hand.  It
wants … it wants to splat … real good.”

Fleez:
“Without further ado, here’s the main event!”

With that
they chucked the foul-smelling wads at Mod, which splattered gross grayish-green
muck all over him.  Everyone sitting at the table, including Joe, shuffled away
from the havoc.  Fleez and Dozz threw the wads with such force that Mod
stumbled to the ground after one caught him as he tried to dodge.

They were
more vicious with the second round, and decided to coat his face with the
stuff.  Joe was forced to watch in horror as his friend suffered.  When it
finally did end, Mod was standing and covered from head to toe with muck.  He
kept his hands in front of his face in case they weren’t finished.  Joe decided
then that he’d grab him and get the heck out of Dodge.  He walked two steps
before he saw Kate and stopped in his tracks.  She grabbed up Mod, her eyes
never leaving him, and whispered something to him, most likely to console him.  Joe
couldn’t tell what she was saying over all the laughter.  They were gone in a
heartbeat.