Better to Die a Hero (16 page)

“And.”

“And she’s sick. I think you’re sick also.”

“Oh, how am I sick?”

“Let’s see, your face looks like pizza, the second you sweat you smell like someone shoved a pint of rotten cottage cheese up your ass. Oh yeah, you forgot to flush the toilet the other day.” Steve’s attempt to raise one eyebrow failed. “Both you and Nora have blood leaking out your orifices. Did I mention that every time you open your mouth you spew some hideous dragon breath? Except this time I think it really is a super power, cause it’s killing me.”

“Okay. Okay.” Bryan said. “So there are a few side effects. I didn’t see you or your girl friend getting any.”

“I’m fine, but Nora’s lost a clump of hair.” Steve stepped back fanning the air. “Man, how could your father miss that breath? I don’t think you’re well at all.”

“He saw my break out from down stairs and had someone from his office phone in a prescription.” Bryan softened. “I’m sorry about Nora. How bad does her hair look?”

“It’s not noticeable yet.” Steve crossed his fingers. “She’s not going to take any more powder. I just hope no more falls out. Doesn’t it bother you, going to class on Monday, the way you look?”

“There are more important things than looks,” Bryan answered. “Are you going on patrol with me tonight?”

“I can’t.” Steve dropped his head. “What we did was so dumb it was equivalent to eating paint off an old house. We were walking along, we found some candy lying in the dirt, and put it in our mouths.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Bryan said, walking to the shelf where the bottle sat.

“Well, look at it this way,” Steve said, cheering up a little. “If we stop using the stuff now, you’ll have more to analyze later. We were only going to go another month or so anyway.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Bryan said, “I was just hoping to accomplish more than we did.”

“The whole world is talking about us and that’s damn cool.” Steve slapped his friend on the back. “Don’t forget you got to kick Jake’s ass.”

“That was good.”

“Besides, with all the hero watching that was starting, someone would have gotten your license number or followed us home.”

“And the way you and Nora blab on patrol.” Bryan imitated, “I love you Nora. I love you Steve. We would have been caught for sure.”

“You’re probably right,” Steve said.

“So I guess it’s over,” Bryan said, picking up the powder. “I know this stuff survived for years in this bottle, but the scientist in me says to get it into a more secure container, protect it from contamination.”

“That’s a good idea.” Steve coughed. He was still suffering Bryan’s breath. “With you off this shit, I’ll bet your body returns to normal in no time. But if it doesn’t we should get you and Nora to a doctor. Agreed?” Steve held his hand out.

“Agreed.” Bryan said, giving his friend a firm handshake. He held the bottle to the light. “You haven’t watched the news today have you?”

‘No,” Steve answered, “We stopped so early last night, I didn’t think we were even spotted.”

*          *          *

Steve strolled into the kitchen and gently patted his uncle on the shoulder, all the while, fighting the urge to fill another bowl with ice cream. Bryan had taken the news a lot better than Steve would have guessed. Still he couldn’t shake his worries. His mind swirled in a sea of what if-s. What if the powder was carcinogenic? What if it caused liver damage? The possibilities were overwhelming. They weren’t out of trouble yet and his chest started to tighten.

“Bryan leave already?” George asked, the unlit cigarette bouncing with every word.

A weak “Yeah” was all Steve could manage as he pulled two cans of chunky chicken soup from the cupboard.

“That’s unusual,” his uncle replied.

Steve barely managed an even weaker nod. “I’ll make us some soup.” He rummaged through a drawer looking for the spare can opener, anything to keep from washing the one in the sink. “Hey uncle, you’ve been watching the news. Anything new about the superheroes?”

“Yeah,” George placed a finger over his trachea hole, “One of them assaulted a police officer last night.”

*          *          *

The Sunday morning chill failed to penetrate the layers of clothes and trench coat Bryan wore. He guessed, while walking the sidewalks of Little Italy, that the layers although successful at bottling in the heat had let his body odor, produced by ten hours of patrolling, permeate the air. Not a lucky guess, but one deduced from the reaction on a woman’s face he’d stopped to ask for directions. The wrinkled nose, the tone in her voice, her entire demeanor angered him; he deserved more respect. He had spent the night skulking among the shadows of Little Italy, in service of the citizenry, in search of Mob Boss John Savini. As fat and pale as the man appeared on TV, he should be easy to spot. Bryan now saw the absence of his friends as a blessing. They weren’t doing the public any service running around pretending to be hero’s, wasting the powder, all while he was out getting it done, making a difference.

Their lack of consumption would leave extra powder that he’d put to good use. At his current dosage, he could continue the patrols another month and still have enough powder left for future analysis.

I will do this for my mother.

The patrols would have to be daily, maybe 12 to 16 hours, to maximize the number of criminals taken off the street. In one month’s time, Ectoman would be known as the world’s first and greatest superhero- a legend. He envisioned a citywide celebration with kids, balloons, music and the unveiling of a giant bronze statue in his image.

I will do this for the children.

At that moment, he knew there was no finer way to spend a day on earth than hunting down criminals. It was sad how many people failed to find their calling. It seemed that the world was full of people making their way to jobs they barely tolerated. He’d witnessed the discontent in most of his teachers and a multitude of customer service personnel stuck behind a counter.

A sense of urgency interrupted his thoughts, pulling him off focus. A nagging feeling that he’d forgotten to do something. He dismissed it as unimportant. If it was unrelated to bringing a villain to justice, it was trivial. Did it have something to do with the cell phone in his hand?

“Put the phone away and focus on what matters,” he scolded.

Two hours of power walking the streets of the Italian neighborhood finally drew a bead of sweat from his brow. He fought the urge to move topside and let loose his physical prowess. The Sunday shoppers and tourist that populated the sidewalks would take on the role of security alarm. Without the night to mask his superhuman feats, he would be spotted immediately, his presence telegraphed to Savini and thugs by the wonderment shown on the faces of the people shielding their eyes, staring up at his amazing rooftop traversal.

Intent on staying groundside, his stride weakened at each passing restaurant. The smell of spicy breakfast so inviting, food quickly moved up on the list of priorities. He searched the pockets of his long coat for a candy bar, but found only empty wrappers. He made a beeline to the nearest hotdog cart.

“Two Italian hotdogs please,” Bryan said, handling the vendor a bill. The man built the meal fast and smooth like an artisan. The hungry boy looked for signs the peddler’s olfactory sense had been assaulted, but found none.

“Keep the change,” Bryan said.

The man smiled and handed over the dogs.

I will do this for the hotdog vendors.

Barely chewing, Bryan swallowed large bites from the two Italian dogs he’d paid too much for. Sunday brunch at his father’s club would have suited him nicely.

Caught in half swallow, bun and meat spurted over the sidewalk as Bryan’s peripheral vision captured the snow-white hair and ashen face of a large man exiting the back of a classic Cadillac. Men in dark suits gathered vigilantly around the man. The teenager pivoted in their direction. Hot sweat consumed his body and his heart exploded into frantic thunder so powerful the pulse threatened to escape his thighs and neck. Layers of clothing hid a ribcage bouncing to the will of his palpitating heart. He stood stiff, taking no action, not even a breath, as the group huddled around their boss and moved into a small restaurant.

I will do this because God demands it.

*          *          *

The New York skyline sped vertical as Bryan descended seven-stories. The world was a wind tunnel and he a rocket hurtling toward its target. Time, relative to human experience doubled in pace. The previous hour he’d crouched on the building’s roof, waiting for Savini and crew to exit the restaurant, had seemed an eternity. The raincoat, a gift from his best friend, flapped violently pinching his underarms. He liked a cape better. Unlike when they’d entered the restaurant, vigilant and alert, the criminals now huddled on the sidewalk slow and relaxed like a family after a holiday meal.

Unaware of the human missile positioned to land square on their boss’s shoulders, this crew would be slow to respond. The plan would be to bounce off the obese Mob Boss inflicting massive injury then leap into the alley and up to where he’d left his street clothes, all before the thugs could draw their pistols. Hell, he might even take the time to bust one of them in the face. The familiar tickle of digestive fluids swashing about struck early in the descent, around the third floor, as Bryan could this time, actually feel his momentum start to slow.

A female scream let loose and the Mob Boss jerked reflexively. Faster than any member of his crew, Savini threw himself several feet up against the Cadillac. Unaware of which direction the threat was coming, two dark-haired hoods stepped shoulder to shoulder into their boss’s place. Both men took the force of Bryan’s knees crushing into their spines. They stumbled forward flailing and broken. The teenager landed solid, legs wide, setting his center of balance low.
             
Bryan snagged one of the men by the back of his greasy head, snatched the head tight and shoved two gloved fingers into the thug’s eye socket. He didn’t stop until his knuckles disappeared into flesh and blood. He barely noticed the man’s screams while hoisting him high by the skull and throwing him. The man slipped off Bryan’s fingers and slammed into the last two cohorts left standing.

Bryan spun in Savini’s direction and met a hammering blow to his collarbone. White fists dropped so fast there was no time to avoid them and the teenager reeled backward from the force. Savini pressed onward with several downward blows all glancing off the chest of the startled young man, whose backward momentum kept them from doing any further harm. Desperately, Bryan grabbed a leather lapel and pulled the Mafia Boss off balance, then slipped under the swinging arms to emerge behind his foe. Panic and powder driving him, he jumped the fat man from behind and wrapped an arm round his thick neck.

“Augh!” Bryan screamed. He bent Savini over backward and wrenched at the snowy head captured in his deadly headlock. He eased for a second, just long enough to meet the big man’s eyes; both men inhaled deeply.

“Have you… been taking hormone shots… or are… those regular man boobs?” Bryan pulled. He wasn’t sure if he heard Savini’s neck breaking or just felt the bones crackling. The bulbous head stretched farther and farther from its shoulders. Skin ripped, arteries exploded, blood showered Bryan’s face. He let go; the body dropped. He stared down at the nearly decapitated corpse. An open artery sprayed blood across Savini’s albinic face, reminding Brian of cherry syrup atop a vanilla sundae. Morning blood looked nothing like evening blood.

Bryan bolted toward the alley. He turned the corner at the entrance, squatted and released the powerful energy surging in his long legs.

His collarbone popped out of joint and back in and he screamed. One arm failed to reach for the fire escape as a burning pain shot through the limb. His fingers twitched uncontrollably. He slammed into the cold iron at the second story, caught the railing with his good arm and pulled himself over.

Shake it off stupid.

The voice that echoed in his head was not his own, but that of his father’s, hostile and unforgiving. He saw his father’s angry eyes beaming as he pushed upward, taking four steps at a time. Several pistol rounds exploded upward and sparks danced about the rusty iron just under his feet.

“Crap!”

He didn’t bother to look down. Frantic, he stretched his gait skipping as many steps as the narrow path would allow, lurching upward, but keeping his tall frame crouched. Pain stabbed his shoulder at every step. Another round of pops, clangs and sparks bombarded the space around him.

Viiip!

A bullet pierced the canvas material of his coat, low just to the right judging from the pull and recoil of the lose flap. Close enough to the adjacent roof Bryan hopped the railing and jumped across the alley. Chunks of brick and dust flew from the adjacent wall as bullets ricocheted to a staccato beat. There was a light tap to his rib cage as he cleared the ledge. He landed not so gracefully on all threes, one arm tucked in tightly. Flying debris must have hit his chest, it didn’t hurt at all. Unable to lift his arm, he pulled at the collar of the red flannel shirt with the other and looked underneath. Blood bubbles gurgled from a hole in his chest.