In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition (12 page)

“But his gear looked genuine.”

“It was.”

Victoria looked back over her shoulder. “Your little act there. That was pretty cold. And convincing. You lie well.”

“An acquired skill.”

“You took my mom in really good.”

Before I could reply, a gloved hand closed on my left forearm. “I have you at long last, Sinisterion. And this time, you won’t get away.”

Chapter Eleven

The old man wore a buff uniform, with boots, gloves and trunks of darker brown. A snarling cat face adorned his chest, stretched by his breasts and burgeoning belly. His trunks had been drawn up to just below his nipples and a tool belt made from an old army web-belt encircled his waist. Canvas ammo pouches bulged with equipment. His cowl had cat’s-ears and the nose had whiskers. It left his mouth and chin open–he’d cut himself shaving that morning.

The young woman standing beside him grabbed his wrist. “No, Pops, this isn’t Doctor Sinisterion.”

Puma looked at her. “I recognize him.”

“He’s not Sinisterion, Pops, really, he isn’t.” She smiled hopefully toward me. “He really doesn’t recognize you. It’s just with Sinisterion’s book being advertised and his being on all the chat shows, it’s got Pops all worked up.”

“I understand.” I gently freed my arm. “And it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t recognize me, I recognize him. Victoria, this is Puma, one of the greatest heroes ever.
 
In fact, he was Sinisterion’s nemesis.”

Victoria frowned. “It was always Nighthaunt who was on Sinisterion’s case.”

“That was later.”

The girl nodded. “My great grandfather put Sinisterion behind bars. It was the only stint he spent in jail.”

I smiled. “I remember. Sinisterion’s wife, Calliope, tried to break him out. She died in the effort.”

Puma shook his head. “Terrible business. Sinisterion was never right after that.”

I shook the old man’s hand. “Tim Robinson. This is my daughter, Victoria. It’s an honor.”

Puma shook my hand, then kissed Victoria’s. His granddaughter rolled her eyes. “Ever the charmer.”

Victoria smiled. “At least you have him in your life.”

“And I’m glad for it.” Puma’s great granddaughter shook Victoria’s hand. “I’m Diana. I get to help on these outings.”

Puma planted his fists on his hips. “Did I ever tell you about the time that Axis King and Ruby Snake…”

Diana patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure these good people are a bit pressed for time, Pops. I mean, unless…”

I reached for my wallet. “I’d like a picture. Two, actually.”

Relief eased the tension on Diana’s face. “Thank you.”

“Things aren’t easy?”

She looked at me for a second, then glanced down. “Most folks think that since there was the Puma series on Murdoch that he’s set up, but most of the money went to the Hall, and only a little dribbled down after the original lump. And that was great–we got him into the assisted-living facility with that. Still, the residuals aren’t good and the blowback from the series…”

I frowned.

Victoria shook her head. “The actor who played him initially stuffed his codpiece, then declared he was a woman trapped in a man’s body, started treatment, and sued to get to play the part as a woman.”

“The producers had Axis King use a gender-bender ray on Puma, to make him a woman.” Diana shrugged. “The ridicule was horrible. Didn’t help that Pops has gotten, well, man-boobs.”

The old man remained oblivious to our conversation. He laboriously inscribed two pictures: one of him standing in Berlin, shaking hands with a Soviet hero on the smoking ruins of the Reichstag; the other a head and shoulders shot from the early 50s. His hand shook, but he finished with a flourish.

I went for two twenties, then just pulled out a Reagan. “Here.”

“It’s only ten per, sir. He’s just a ten-buck hero.”

I added another one. “Not in my book.”

Diana looked stricken.

“Keep it, please.” I accepted the pictures from Puma. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, young man. Be good.”

“I will, sir.” I smiled at Diana, then turned away, my throat thick.

Victoria took the pictures from me. “One to Tim, one to Sinisterion. We should have gotten you a table here in the has-been section.”

“I’m not there yet.”

“Says who?” She shook her head. “Have you seen video of that beat down? Even with the man-boobs, Puma could have done better than you.”

I stopped walking and leaned heavily on the cane. It took her a couple of steps to realize I wasn’t limping along beside her. She turned, insolent, contempt contorting her face. She stepped toward me, daring me to say something.

My voice remained low. “You can hate me all you want. You’ve got reasons, but that doesn’t give you a license to disparage Puma or anyone else. I say I’m not there. You disagree, fine. But do you think, for an instant, that you
won’t
get there? Puma and Tatiana, Green Twister and Chrome Scorpion all deserve your respect. They may not be much now. But in their day, they were everything Graviton or Nighthaunt ever could have hoped to be.”

She lifted her chin. “So, by implication, I’m supposed to respect you? Is this where I get the, ‘you can’t possibly understand the pressures I was under’ speech?”

“I ever launch into that speech, Victoria, and you can put a bullet right between my eyes. Don’t try to read anything hidden in my words. I meant exactly what I said. These people have earned your respect.”

I turned from her, furious, and watched the crowds waiting for actor autographs. I wasn’t going to begrudge them making money, but it’s like having Picasso sitting all alone and the guys who forged his work raking it in. And retired heroes living in poverty?

“How is it that they’re so bad off?”

Victoria rejoined me, her voice lower and calm. “Revenue sharing is based on air-time and ratings. Most of the old guys don’t have battle footage. Unless they’re picked up for a series, they don’t get anything. And then there’s taxes.”

“Taxes?”

“The big deficit reduction package passed eighteen years ago had a couple sneaky provisions in it. It targeted ‘passive income.’ The IRS went back and calculated how much heroes services were worth, assumed they were compensated for them, and then started pulling back taxes from royalties.”

I shook my head. “But even in my day we weren’t compensated.”

“Turns out a couple heroes had back-door deals with charitable foundations. The government figured anyone capable of hiding an identity could hide money. And since most heroes had a hard time holding down a job–being absent so often and beat up and all–they never put much into Social Security.”

“So, they don’t get much, and what little they get is taxed to death.”

She pointed back toward Puma and the others. “You made sure he was going to be the highest grosser today, all under the table. Some actors have done then-and-now shots and cut the hero in for a piece of the action, but those folks are rare.”

“The money goes through the Hall?”

“To guard anonymity and guarantee distribution.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Sixty percent of revenue is split among active heroes, ten percent goes to ‘reformed villains’ and thirty goes to the Hall itself. Half of that goes into pensions. The IRS takes its cut. Splits are all pro rata based on ratings.”

“And the Hall controls all rights?”

“They did until the strike ten years ago. Now heroes can cut their own licensing deals, though the Hall gets a piece. And there are a few foreign franchises that have come in outside the system.” Victoria shrugged. “All I know is that my lawyer puts a check in my trust fund each month.”

Puzzle pieces swam though my head, and not in any semblance of an orderly school. I had a million questions, but music began to play from the dais. We headed in that direction and picked seats toward the back. Several giant Murdochs guaranteed we’d see everything.

There was a lot of jostling for aisle seats. I studied how people moved. They were very practiced–too much so. They wanted to appear normal, but also watched and were conspicuously wary. Heroes all, I had no doubt, in disguise, always alert.

Victoria gave one guy a glare. He moved toward the center of the row. She took the aisle seat and I joined her one in. She nodded toward the dais. “You knew Redhawk?”

“We’d met.”

“He had a good run. In at ten, out at thirty-five.”

Retired for five years
. I found myself envious, but whether it was the long career or retirement, I wasn’t quite sure. “What does he do?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. No one does. Nighthaunt’s caution rubbed off on him.”

The music built to a crescendo, then sank back down as a tall man in a dark suit, with purple shirt and tie, came to the podium. “On behalf of the Superhero Hall of Fame, I would like to welcome you all here. We come to honor one of our own, Redhawk, for the many great accomplishments he’s achieved in his long and storied career.”

The Murdochs gained intensity as a highlight reel played. It began as expected, showing Redhawk and Nighthaunt fighting side by side. The two of them did work well together. I had always suspected that Redhawk anchored Nighthaunt in reality. While Nighthaunt clearly understood the criminal mind, it took Redhawk to understand normal human beings and prevent Nighthaunt from retreating into his Mausoleum.

And I meant that metaphorically as well as literally.

The highlights moved through his early teen career and when he went out solo. It included a lot of shots of Redhawk with other heroes. While there one was clip of a battle I was pretty sure I’d been at, I never appeared on screen. Finally it moved into the last decade of his career and he fought some heavyweights. He’d always been clever and a fast learner. If someone had made the effort to nail him to the wall, it would have been curtains.

But then, the way the system shifted meant things moved in his favor. If lethal force wasn’t an option, suddenly those who couldn’t generate lethal force became more powerful. Redhawk proved resilient, and often came back when villains thought they’d dispensed with him. Under the new system, he was the record-holder for escapes.

After the highlight reel, dignitaries and friends began their testimonials. Graviton appeared on screen, as did Nighthaunt, the Mayor, Governor and President. I liked the President’s remarks the best, despite their being the most general. She was funny. The Mayor was most on point, but he didn’t even try to get a laugh. He even quoted one of Redhawk’s corny battle cries and looked pained in the effort.

Finally, as the last tribute faded, the music began again. I didn’t recognize it, but the various smiles indicated everyone else did. I shot Victoria a quizzical glance.

“It’s the Redhawk theme from the first Nighthaunt movie. You musta seen it. Everyone did.”

“Once more, I disappoint you.”

“And still batting a thousand.”

Finally the Master of Ceremonies–who turned out to be Hall’s director and a hero who’d been known as the Amethyst Ferret–welcomed Redhawk to the stage. “And here he is, this year’s sole inductee to the Hall of Fame, the Amazing Redhawk!”

The crowd roared as Redhawk mounted the stage and strode to the podium. Tall, slender and clearly well muscled, he had some spring in his step. The shock of red hair had a few white strands in it. The dark lenses on his cowl kept me from seeing his eyes and the wrinkles at their corners.

Victoria elbowed me. “He’s in good shape for an old guy.”

I applauded mechanically, keeping a smile on my face. The hair was a wig. It covered a Kevlar and ceramic plate which protected his skull. His boots had lifts giving him another two inches. Where the red of his cowl come up over his chin it hid a prosthetic. Not only did that protect his chin in a fight, but it altered the shape of his jawline to help him avoid exposure.

And I knew that fact because he’d adopted the technique from me.

The body armor had been cinched a bit tight–he was breathing fast but shallow. He’d packed on a few pounds. It tends to happen in middle age, especially when you stop exercising and don’t watch your calorie count.

Or don’t have it watched for you.

Redhawk took the podium and raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Wow. The last time I faced this many people it was in one of those dreams where I’m standing here naked and don’t know what to say.”

Mild laughter. Folks knew more would come.

“I’m honored to be back in Capital City and can’t believe I’ve made it into the Hall. It’s been my honor to serve with the giants who have done so much for the city and the world. Nighthaunt, my mentor and friend, I would be nothing without him. Graviton, well, the number of bullets he stopped that were headed for me, I can tell you, wing and a prayer, folks, wing and a prayer.”

The crowd joined him in chanting “wing and a prayer.” It must have been something he started using after I went away.

“And Colonel Constitution, well, I huddled behind that shield a few times–with all three of them, in fact. I knew the second Colonel Constitution when he was just First Amendment. I was best man at his wedding, and godfather to the current Colonel Constitution. These are the great men and women who have set the standard for our behavior, and I don’t just mean those in a costume. It’s for all of us–and in retirement, I
am
one of you, a citizen.”