The Prospects (22 page)

“Wait,” said Steve. “I’ll help you get Pete.”

“Who’s Pete?” said the psychic defense agent.

“Rock Jock. He's my best friend.”

“This is going to get dangerous," said Alex. “You don’t have to put yourself at risk.”

“But I almost abandoned my friends once today. I don’t want to do it again. Please, Agent O’Farrell, I have an idea.”

“You’ll be a liability. What if the Idea Man takes over your mind and makes you attack us?”

“What’s the worst I could do, flash light? You can kick my ass with your eyes closed.”

Alex couldn’t argue with that. “Fair enough. Agents, bring back Stardancer. Jenny, support them as necessary. Kayleigh, punch anyone who gets too close. Deon, save everyone you can, but go easy with the painkillers for Le Parrain’s henchmen.”

Jenny saluted Alex. “Good luck, Agent O’Farrell.”

He saluted her back. “You’re one of the best I’ve ever fought alongside.”

Deon bumped fists with Alex. “Never thought I’d say this, but you’re a hell of a trainer.”

“You did all the work. I just shot goats.”

Kayleigh waved her stun glove. “You’re much cooler in real life than you are in the comics.”

Alex waved back but didn’t know what to say.

The teams took separate stairways to their destinations.

After walking up forty flights of stairs, Alex’s legs trembled with adrenaline, fear, and fatigue. He planned to lead three specifically trained agents against a familiar foe. Instead, he had one agent and an unprotected actor.

They were five flights from Doctor Von Dyme’s floor when the thundering footsteps came from above.

“It’s Pete,” said Steve.

Alex unslung his shotgun. The psychic defense agent turned the safety off of his carbine.

“No, don’t,” said Steve.

“It’s him or us,” said the agent.

“His skin is made of rocks,” said Steve. “He’s bulletproof.”

Rock Jock came into view. He kept running without hesitation.

“How do we take him down?” asked Alex.

“Let me try something,” said Steve.

Rock Jock jumped down the landing. He came down with enough force to shatter the tiles on the floor below him.

Pinwheel launched a blinding burst of light.

“Pete,” Steve shouted, “quit it!”

Alex pulled Steve back as Rock Jock swung blindly.

“You’re too in character,” Steve said. “Knock it off.”

Alex tried to think of how to fight something with few visible joints. At least Rock Jock was so lumbering that he couldn’t hit anything.

Steve hit Rock Jock with another burst of light “Remember you cues. You’re coming across as hammy. Tone it down.”

Rock Jock slowed down. “Hammy?”

“You acted like a fratboy at an improv class.”

Rock Jock looked at his hands and spoke in a much higher-pitched voice. “I never felt that in-character before.”

“It’s a wrap, big guy. Take a bow.”

“Yeah, I … it all felt right, but … that was weird. Thanks for the talk, Steve.”

“What just happened?” asked Alex. “Did you beat psychic control through actor coaching?”

“Psychic control is based on imposing a new identity on someone,” said Steve. “We actors become our roles by assuming a new personality. When we’re done, we leave it behind. It takes a lot of thinking and questioning who you are to do it.”

“Did you know that would work?”

“No, but I couldn’t abandon my best friend. I’m sorry, agent, but I must get him out of here.”

Steve and Pete walked down the stairs. Alex looked at the psychic defense agent. Both of them shrugged and continued up the stairs to Doctor Von Dyme’s floor.

“Remember,” Alex said, “I want Mind Dame apprehended alive.”

“Is wounded acceptable?” asked the agent.

“No.”

Under the stark fluorescent lights overhead, Alex felt the discordant energy that made the air feel thick and cold.

Alex and the agent walked carefully towards Doctor Von Dyme’s lab.

The lights went out.

Alex spun around. He heard the agent let out a muffled cry. He punched in that direction and hit something softer than the agent’s armor. Muffled footprints ran away.

The lights came back on. The agent’s helmet was off. He clutched his bloody neck.

Alex got his bandages out. “It’s not a deep wound. Stay with me.” He stuffed gauze into the wound and picked up the agent’s helmet.

The agent’s face turned to pure horror. His breath became rapid. “Get away. Go back under the bed.”

“Use your training, agent.”

The agent fired a single shot. Alex fell backwards as the round slammed against the ceramic plate in his bullet-proof vest. The agent yelled, “Mommy!” as he ran down the stairs.

Alex got back to his feet. He tapped the ceramic plate in its body armor. It was cracked, no longer effective as armor. He unstrapped it.

Glossy red lips made a kissing noise.

Alex turned.

Mind Dame stood in the hallway and smirked.

“We meet again, agent.”

“Trista, I came to save you.”

Mind Dame stood and spoke far differently than Trista.

“You look much smaller without your suit. Oh, wait, you hate it when people say suit, right? Your exoskeleton.”

“Come with me. We’ll get out of here.”

“In a few minutes the Idea Man will reshape the world in his image. The only way to stop him is to get past me.”

Alex raised his shotgun.

Mind Dame spread her arms and put her head on her shoulder in a mockery of the crucifixion. “Shoot straight. Let’s not make a mess of this.”

Le Parrain took a deep breath from his oxygen mask. “I do hope Sergeant Hammer comes soon. I simply can’t stay awake much longer.”

Ashes and scraps of what were articles detailing the accomplishments of the New York Guardians covered the desk in front of him. At either side his bodyguards stood at attention. Behind him a steel sheet covered the window. And, in front of him, Stardancer extended her empty wine glass.

“Can I get a refill?”

“I think you’ve had enough, my dear.”

Her head lolled over. “Ah, come on. You told me to have a little wine to relax.”

“That was a few glasses and many hours ago. I counted on …”

The lights went out.

“
Torche
,” said Le Parrain.

A henchman drew a flashlight from inside his jacket.

“Finally,” said Le Parrian. “We come close to the final scene.” He said in French, “Men, take your positions. Sergeant Hammer and his friends may arrive at any moment.”

The henchmen drew pistols and ducked behind cover. One put a gun against the back of Stardancer’s head.

“Uh, what’s going on? Why is there a gun at my head?”

“You’re a hostage,
mon cherie
,” said Le Parrain. “This is the role you were born to play.”

Star Dancer’s smile disappeared. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I said that? Well, so I lied.”

“No, wait. I’m the leader of the Young Sentinels. I don’t get taken hostage. That happens to Knockout Rose, not me.”

“You are an actress. You play the role you are given.”

The seriousness of the situation struck Stardancer. “You’re not really going to kill me, are you?”

“It would certainly desecrate the home of the New York Guardians if they couldn’t rescue a damsel in distress, no? The world would know, once and for all, that they are not heroes, nor were they ever.”

“But, I mean, why kill me when you can kill the New York Guardians? Aren’t they your enemies?”

“I do not want them dead. No, they would die heroes, the bad they’ve done interred in their bones while the good lives on. I want them disgraced. I want the world to know how they cannot save themselves. By morning, everyone will know they are not gods, merely flawed mortals.”

“But everyone knows that. I mean, they only look great in the comics and movies and stuff. It’s not real.”

“Reality is made of stories. All that is real is what we believe.”

“Life and death are real, and I really don’t want to die.”

“Please. All you are is …”

A henchman interrupted in French. “Sir, after the heroes arrive, what is the plan?”

“You know all you need to know.”

“How will we escape?”

The henchman turned his flashlight to Le Parrain in anticipation.

Le Parrain said, “That is not my problem.”

Two of the henchmen gasped. The other two simultaneously said, “What?”

“Your problems are not mine,” said Le Parrain. “You lived your lives. You made your choices. They led you here. You could’ve walked away at any time.”

The closest henchman said, “We trusted you.”

“But you do not deserve my trust. You worked for me because no one else would have you. All of you are criminals, dishonorably discharged soldiers, mercenaries, and other scum. You saw me cheat everyone I worked with. Why did you think I’d treat you any differently?”

The henchman took his gun from behind Stardancer’s head and pointed it at Le Parrain. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you.”

“I can’t. My heart beats weakly. I can barely breathe. My bones are riddled with cancer. I’m not for much longer in this world. All I ask is you let me live long enough to see Sergeant Hammer come in.”

“Wait,” said another henchman. “We can take him hostage. The police will go easy on us if we turn him over.”

The henchman with a gun said, “No, screw that. He’ll bribe his way out of this one. I say we waste him.”

The henchman closest to the door opened it. “How do we get out of here?”

“The building’s sealed in steel plates, you idiot,” said another henchman. “And we’d have to get past the Idea Man, the cyborgs, the ninjas, and that damn bony monster to escape.”

“But the Idea Man left Griffin Tower’s security guards on the landing below us, right? Maybe they’ll help.”

“No, he ordered them to stay put,” said Le Parrain. “They will stay as motionless as bowling pins. It was the Idea Man’s way of thanking me. To give me servants but no way to control them.”

“Screw it, then,” said the henchman with a gun. “I say we end this now and surrender.”

“To who?” asked the henchman with a flashlight. “No one’s here. For all we know, no one’s coming.”

“That’s why we need to get out of here,” said the one near the door.

The fourth henchman said, “Wait, I thought we established that was suicide.”

“If you surrender,” said Stardancer, “I’ll put in a good word for you guys. Honest.”

Le Parrain laughed until he coughed. “You see how well you do without my leadership? You can’t decide whether to fight, run, deal, or stand as still as those mind-controlled goons outside. You need my leadership.”

“And you led us here,” said the gun-wielding henchman.

“You were born to follow. Should you survive this night, you will follow someone else.”

“
C’est des conneries!
See this gun? This makes me more powerful than you. I can end your life right now.”

“Then shoot. But know that whatever power that gun gives you disappears when you stop killing. And then, you must face the consequences of your actions.”

“Please,” said Stardancer, “Do what you want, don’t kill me.”

The henchman with a gun aimed at her. “Shut the hell up!”

“Wait,” said the henchman with a flashlight. “The cops will go easier on us if we turn her over.”

“Forget this,” said the one closest to the door. “I’m out of here.”

“So what about us?” said the fourth henchman. “Are we supposed to wait or …”

“I am sure Sergeant Hammer will be here soon.” Le Parrain breathed deeply from his oxygen mask. “I want to see him one last time before I die. It’s fascinating, really. I only saw him once before, yet I think of him every day. In so many ways he shaped what I’ve become. I want to leave him with one last mental scar. The sight of me with ashes from articles and stories about his legacy and the corpse of a girl he failed to rescue should do it.”

Stardancer gulped. “No. I don’t want to die.”

“Sacrifice is an ancient tradition,” said Le Parrain. “Your death will show the powerlessness of the gods.”

“And what about us?” said the henchman with a flashlight. “Are we sacrifices too?”

“When Lucifer waged war against God, many angels followed him. They, too, fell from heaven to hell. Did you ever wonder if they rebelled against the devil? If they threatened to kill him, to bargain with God, or to run back to heaven? I like to believe they retained enough nobility to accept for their own actions and where they led them. After all, they are still there today. But they were angels. You are barely men.”

“Barely men?” The henchman with a gun pointed it at Le Parrain. “This is just a job for me. I saved what you paid me. In one more year I’d have quit with enough money to start a new life.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Le Parrain. “I keep strict records of my money laundering. I know what accounts all of my employees have, and I can take back every cent with a simple forged signature. Even if you lived another year, which I would do all in my power to prevent, you’d find yourself a pauper, wanted by no one but the police.”

“Why, you …”

“It doesn’t matter. You fool yourself with outward and perishing things, and don’t know what’s real inside yourself. Do you really think a man who kills for pay can retire to a normal life? That the blood you spilled hasn’t stained your soul?”

“Shut up. I can stop this any time I …”

“You threaten to kill me. What will you do when your wife disagrees with you? Your child talks back? Or your neighbor is rude, and all you can think of is how to kill him? No, peace is not for people like you.”

The henchman lowered his gun. “Don’t tell me who I am. I can control myself.”

“But you cannot control the world, and by dawn it will be a different place. Maybe the Idea Man will rule it. Maybe the Skreaks will kill us all. Maybe the Iron Pirates will become a force to be reckoned with. Either way, your dreams would have amounted to nothing.”

The henchman who left ran back into the room. “There’s a lot of shooting downstairs.”

Le Parrain huffed oxygen and widened his eyes. “Do you think it’s the New York Guardians?”

“I didn’t see anyone, but superheroes don’t carry guns.”

“I’m sure he’s among them. You, take the gun out of my face and point it at our hostage. You, put down the flashlight and restrain her. The other two, take your positions beside the door.”

The fourth henchman and the one who left got on either side of the door and drew their pistols.

“No!” Stardancer tried to cover her head but the flashlight-holding henchman grabbed her arms from behind.

“What are you saying,” said the henchman with a gun, “we go back to the plan?”

“Even when you challenge me,” said Le Parrain, “you still acknowledge me. Put the gun to her head.”

“Oh, god, no,” said Stardancer, “you don’t understand, Sergeant Hammer hates me.”

Le Parrain said, “He still won’t let you …”

“No, you don’t get it. He really hates me. He called me a trollop unfit to lead a pre-school in front of my team. And he insulted everyone else on the team too.”

The henchman with a flashlight said, “Sergeant Hammer wouldn’t say …”

“He did! Earlier today, when he led us to Soho.”

The henchman with a gun relaxed his arm. “But in the comics, he says all men should be gentlemen to all ladies.”

“He’s not like he is in the comics. The comics make him out to be this terrific guy. But he’s not.”

The henchman who held her arms said, “Should I gag her?”

Le Parrain slowly huffed oxygen from his mask. He thought back to the first time he saw Sergeant Hammer, that foggy morning in France so many years ago. He remembered the fruitless cries of “
Bitte! Ich ergebe mich
!” from the Gestapo agents that only stopped with the wet crunch of smashed bones. He always knew the gentle American giant was more monster than man. The man in the newsreels, and later comic books, and after that movies, was a thing of fiction.

And, yet, Le Parrain believed that fiction.

He consumed information about Sergeant Hammer since his first encounter. He read all of the comics. He watched the newsreels until the film fell apart in the projectors. He studied news articles in every language he could read to better understand his enemy.

Le Parrain looked at a scrap of Sergeant Hammer Comics #1 on the desk. He straightened it between two fingers and angled the flashlight to see it better. It was from the first page. It said, “Written by Jack Simmons – Based on the Adventures of America’s First Super-Hero.”

Of course. A story. Mere fiction. Sergeant Hammer was only a god because people believed in him. Le Parrain never thought him a god, but still he believed that Sergeant Hammer was more than a man. The belief alone was a driving force in Le Parrain’s life.

Le Parrain looked at the shredded articles on the desk. Sergeant Hammer fights Nazi menace. Sergeant Hammer hold off Viet Cong soldiers from the Saigon Embassy. Sergeant Hammer joins the New York Guardians, the first legally-recognized superhero team in the nation. New York Guardians defeat an invading army of fish-men from the ocean, with Sergeant Hammer clearly in the pictures. Sergeant Hammer faces dozens of villains, many using tools and henchmen supplied by Le Parrain.

But no stories mentioned Le Parrain.

So Sergeant Hammer was a driving force of Le Parrain’s life, but could it be that Le Parrain meant nothing to Sergeant Hammer?

The very thought made Le Parrain’s confidence leave him with one long breath.

Did he, too, fool himself with outward and perishing things? Was he blind to who he really was?

Of course Sergeant Hammer wouldn’t come. Sergeant Hammer was a public hero who battled public villains. He battled the men in garish suits who went off on long monologues, not the men who outfitted them.

Le Parrain always looked down on those arrogant idiots. He didn’t mind selling them whatever they would pay for. He always thought of himself as far above them because the heroes never got close to him.

So why did he trap himself inside the heroes’ headquarters?

He had to be honest. He wanted to prove he was better than them. He wanted to show these paragons of power how powerless they really were. He wanted to look into their eyes when they realized they couldn’t punish a dying man. He wanted them to remember that, despite their strength, intelligence, and powers, he was always their superior.