Better to Die a Hero (14 page)

“Surprise!” Bryan said.

The man jumped, spun out of control, arms flailing, and his butt landing on the car hood. Bryan gave the dealer no time to recuperate. He pulled him off the car. The man was no longer a man, but a rag doll flung and shaken at the end of its captor’s long reach. Bryan grunted, spinning with all his might and propelled the flailing hood at the nearest brick wall. Without hesitation, Bryan sprang up concrete stairs to the doorway. A hand holding a revolver emerged from the darkness. The threat moved in slow motion measured by his perceptions. Bryan grabbed the wrist and in one explosive move, bent the exposed forearm around the door. The gunman’s scream didn’t dampen the sound of snapping bone. Jagged radius and ulna cut through flesh finding the open air. The silver pistol fell. An iron grip on the broken arm, the teenager leapt backward catapulting the assailant from the doorway, across the sidewalk into the window of the car parked below. The sound of breaking glass excited Bryan, but he defied the temptation to look back, instead jumping into the dimness of the building’s interior. Crouched low, legs spread wide, he spun several times ready to take out a third opponent. He found emptiness.

He stood straight, adjusted his goggles and walked tall out on to the street, chest out, chin high. His once concave chest now sported pectorals. A perfect toss of the second man left the criminal’s ass hanging out the car window.

The first man, lying at the base of the wall, oozed a pool of blood that to Bryan’s surprise didn’t look red under the midnight lighting, but rather the darkest burgundy—close to black. At the proper angle, streetlights and lit windows reflected in the growing puddle.

“Damn it,” Bryan said, looking around. He’d had a speech about the evils of drugs prepared and the boy was no were in sight.

*          *          *

Steve discerned a rhythm hidden in the chaos of slamming locker doors and stayed in time with an energetic slam of his own. The familiar end-of-school-day smile crossed his face. He wasn’t sure what made him the happiest, the buzz around school about the new superheroes or tonight’s “patrol” as Bryan called it. Really, the best reason to smile was because of a beautiful girl named Nora. The negative self talk usually echoing in his head—I’m too fat to be liked, I’m too stupid to be interesting—was uncharacteristically absent and gave yet another reason to smile. Anticipation built as the weekend drew closer and the possibilities of his first make out session with Nora grew stronger.

Down deep past the noise and confusion clouding his thoughts, he knew she liked him. How much did she like him, did she love him and all other particulars didn’t matter. After completing those first superhuman feats of strength and experiencing the raw power electrifying his body, he thought nothing else on earth could make him feel as elated. He couldn’t have been more wrong. The very thought of passionately kissing the girl he loved assured him of that.

A lot of pressure that first kiss, he thought, it has to be perfect.

The only time they’d be alone over the weekend is if Bryan took off unaccompanied for a while. That shouldn’t be a problem. He’d give his friend a signal when the time seemed right, something they’d agree on beforehand. Maybe he’d bring along a coat hanger and drape it from his belt. Whatever the sign, it best be before they got too sweaty. That meant early in the patrol. He’d probably kiss off a lot of her cat makeup, but what the hell. Steve exited the school.

Crap, no ride home.

Bryan had been a no show at school today, probably another bout of explosive diarrhea. His friend had no will power when it came to stuffing his face with junk food. The run home meant nothing now, considering how he would have to hold back. The once important activity would now be a monotonous endeavor. It couldn’t compare with running the rooftops. There were other considerations also. His choice of baggy clothes camouflaged his recent weight loss, but a change in the locker room might get his improved physique noticed. Determined to keep the vow he made, not to be the one that got them caught, a long walk home looked unavoidable.

The senior accepted his fate and headed off campus. He immediately began weaving an intricate fantasy that had him saving the girl’s life, all while suffering an arrow through his shoulder. He broke from his thoughts only long enough to recognize the category of daydream. In class, he’d learned it was called ‘the wounded hero daydream’. He’d had his fair share of those. A familiar double honk from the parking lot caught his attention.

“Hey dude,” Steve said, hopping in the passenger side of Bryan’s hatchback. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“I decided to play hooky today. I’ve earned it. I mean how many days of school have I ever missed?”

“Not many,” Steve said, searching the interior of the car for an aging milk carton or rotting banana. Not finding anything, he leaned over and gave Bryan’s shoulder a sniff. He recoiled from the odor. “No offence buddy,” Steve said fanning his wrinkled nose, “but you stink.”

“Sorry, I went patrolling last night. All night.” He rolled the driver side window down. “I didn’t get to take a shower this morning.”

“You stayed out all night! Your dad is going to go postal.” Steve rolled down his window. “Dude, you don’t want that kind of heat.”

“I don’t give a shit. I’ve got bigger things on my mind and if he gets in my face I’ll get back in his.”

“Wow!” Uncomfortable with the images of that confrontation, Steve changed the subject. “I guess we’ll see you in the news tonight.”

“I don’t think so. I hid in the shadows fairly well.” He sniffed the air around him, but failed to detect any odor. “I was only seen by a handful of people. The kind of people that don’t call the police.”

“What kind of people are those?” Steve asked, sticking his face out the window for a gulp of fresh air.

“Just street people... lowlifes.” Bryan lifted his arm and buried his prominent nose in the pit. “Woo wee.” This time his facial contortions were involuntary. “I do stink. That’s like sour or something. You’ve been going to the gym. Is this what it smells like if you don’t shower after running?”

“No,” Steve said. “The only time I’ve ever smelt something like that is when my Aunt would have this one friend over.” Steve paused and stuck his face out the window again. “She would sit there playing cards sweating until beads rolled down her face. George said it was her diet.” Steve chuckled. “You know, you have the worst diet of anyone I know, even my own.”

“
Crap
. I might actually have to start eating right.” Bryan pounded the steering wheel and shook his head in disbelieve. The sacrifices he would have to make were starting to add up, exercising and proper diet. “You know though, maybe I could forget eating right and odor could be like a power. I could use offensive b.o. to distract the villains.”

“There’s an idea.” Steve laughed nervously, ninety percent sure his pal was kidding. “Let’s get to my place. You can toss your clothes in the wash and take a shower. By the way, if you didn’t go home after patrol and you didn’t come to school where have you been all day?”

“I changed out of my costume around five and headed back to Queens and man, I got so tired I had to pull over and sleep in the car. I only woke up a couple of hours ago.”

“Where’s your costume?”

“In the trunk, why?”

“Because, I’m staying clear when you carry it inside.”

*          *          *

Steve had attempted to engage his friend in one of their so-called geeky conversations. Implausible as it seemed, Bryan had lost interest in computer games and role-playing, even to the point of ignoring his Internet characters. Steve had forced himself to stay away from online gaming. He had watched friends become addicted and burn hours every day running characters on the web. For Steve, it would have been one more sedentary activity that placed his butt in a chair. Just a few months back he had made a New Year’s resolution to lose weight. He remembered setting a goal of losing thirty pounds by graduation, promising himself all kinds of rewards when he succeeded. The resolution and incentives had lost meaning. After all, his recent physical improvements had nothing to do with will power.

Reluctantly, Steve added a few of his own items to the wash load containing the stinky costume. Years under his Aunt Pat’s tutelage made running anything under a full load induce guilt equal to homicide. The trench coat Bryan had borrowed probably reeked of the same sour smell. Some later time, probably after their next patrol, Bryan would offer the coat back. Steve would refuse and make a gift of it. Maybe the coat should have held more sentimental value, after all, his father had worn that coat. The sword was the best piece in the collection, probably his father’s most prized possession. The sword was the connection to his deceased father.

Several hours passed as the two waited for Nora. When Bryan’s face wasn’t buried in an Internet porn site, he went on about the powder and his plans after he learned to duplicate it, plans that included “recovering” money from the mafia, investing in the stock market and building a headquarters. Bill Gates was on the short list of possible candidates to run the organization, while Bryan led the team or possibly teams of superheroes. Steve didn’t mind listening to the exuberant reverie, at least not after Bryan changed into a fresh costume.

“I’ll tell you what excites me the most about this powder,” Bryan said, pacing like a kid on sugar, “this internal telekinesis idea of mine. Our bodies are instinctively slowing down as we fall, like some kind of reflex. And we seem to be able to subconsciously move our momentum in the right direction when we leap.” He paused and looked up, reverence swept across his face. “I believe some day we will be able to fly.”

“Wow,” Steve said, “do you really think so?”

“Yes I do.” He sounded as confident as he did in chemistry class or any other subject for that matter. “We have the ability to affect the movement our bodies with the power of our mind even if it doesn’t seem to be conscious. If we can do that, can let’s say, levitation be that far away? And after we’ve levitated, our bodies suspended in mid air, is pushing our bodies in a certain direction that farfetched?” Bryan read the doubt in Steve’s face. “I’m not saying that we could fly like a Cessna or even a bird for that matter.” He paused and sniffed his armpit. “If there is an ability, however slight, to move our bodies with the power of thought, then increasing that ability is not that farfetched.”

“I see where you’re coming from,” Steve said. “So how do we get to this increased ability?”

“I’m glad you asked that my friend.” Bryan reached out, his fingers caressing the antique bottle. “We could get lucky and over time this telekinesis grows stronger and we train ourselves to fly. But how much more luck can we have? No, I think I will probably have to spend a few years in the lab tweaking the formula to affect the part of the brain that controls this power. We’ll stick you and Nora in a Computerized Axial Tomography, CAT scanner for you lay persons, shoot you full of improved powder and watch the colors change in your cerebral cortex and then kick your ass out of an airplane. I’m not so sure we couldn’t jump out of a plane right now and land safely. We may not be able to fly, but we might just land safely.”

“I was thinking something similar, not a plane but maybe a sky scraper.” Steve scratched his head. “I know I don’t have the balls to do it. I’ll have to go one story at a time. You know, start with say six stories and go up slowly from there. Can you imagine what it would look like to have femurs break though your thighs when you landed?”

“Oddly enough, I can imagine what that might look and sound like. My instincts tell me that it doesn’t matter what height we fall from, we slow down and hit the ground at the same velocity. The question is would I put my balls on the line and go for it.” Bryan grabbed his acne cream off the dresser and headed for the bathroom.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to put that shit on every hour,” Steve said, “When that crap kicks in you are going to dry up like a prune.”

“Believe me,” Bryan responded, “I am looking forward to it.”

*          *          *

Steve ducked behind the ledge of the South Bronx rooftops where his friends were crouching. He poked his head up and took another quick look at the man standing in the darkness one rooftop away. They might have missed him altogether had it not been for the cigarette glowing in the night. The man’s lighter illuminated his position.

“Must be a chain smoker,” Steve said, drawing his head back. “I should go tell him about the hole in my uncle’s throat.”

“Did you guys see what I saw?” Bryan asked.

“I saw a camera around the guy’s neck,” Nora said

“I didn’t see crap,” Steve said, “I swear I used to have some kind of heightened perception, now I’m as dumb as I ever was.”

“You’re not eating enough sugar, I’m not kidding.” Bryan said. He began talking in a whisper. “For now it’s important that we call each other by our character names. I don’t want to hear anyone using our real names. I know that sounds stupid, but that guy not only has a camera, but I saw one of those long distance microphones. They look like a small satellite dish. If he points it in our direction, everything we say could be recorded.”

“People are out hero spotting,” Nora said, “The first pictures and videos of us are probably worth a lot of money.”