Society of Heroes with Indeterminate Talent (12 page)

20.

The end is just the beginning

"Enter!" barked the voice of the General from beyond the thick mahogany door.

Agent One looked across to Agent Two and offered a supportive smile.

“We can do this.” he said taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth as he reached for the door handle with his heart pounding in his chest.

“Hang on,” cautioned Agent Two.  “He's naked behind that door, isn't he?”

“I won’t lie to you, agent.  Inside that room awaits a world of strange and twisted homoerotism.”

“But I don’t think I can take any more man-touching in there!”

“You need to be strong, agent.  We need to make sure we are completely honest so we don't lead him on.  Let’s tell the General he has secured a warm seat in the “friend zone” and that’s the way we want to keep it.  Make it clear that we want him to stop texting and calling and then quickly wrap up the conversation with a firm handshake and get the hell out of there.”

“That sounds like a plan.” said Agent Two nodding his head in understanding.  “Wait! He texts and calls you?”

“Uhm…I was speaking metaphorically.”

“So, you got my back and everything, right?”

“I've got to be frank – I'm concerned about what may happen in that room,” replied Agent One.  “Things could turn real nasty so if it does, you better run like hell.”

“You would turn your back on me, man?” whispered Agent Two.  “Abandon your friend to face the humiliation alone?”

“In a heartbeat, agent.  Now stay focused and be on guard.”

“Get your lazy, worthless collective asses in my office right now!” roared the voice of the General.

Agent One sighed loudly, opened the door and they both stepped into the General's office onto the thick plush blue carpet.  Inside the room the General was busy clearing items off his desk and putting them neatly into a big, clear, plastic box.

He grunted some kind of acknowledgement to them and smoothed down his pencil thin moustache, before glaring at them with his piercing storm grey eyes.

“They’re shutting us down, boys!” he said with a hint of annoyance and sadness in his voice.

“Sir?” said Agent One raising his eyes quizzically.

“Politics, statistics and damn budget cuts,” spat the General.  “Our status is no longer recognized.  The government has said that they remain focused on fighting crime in the London area and are discussing a new approach to tackling the issues in the capital.”

“B-but they can't close down the unit, sir?” stammered Agent two.

“Believe it, boys.  I have an order to close this place down in ten days.  It doesn’t matter that we’ve reduced the crime rate in London, engaged with high profile targets or hunted down terrorist cells.  They say our methods are unorthodox, but I say when conventional methods of crime fighting fail then we should be as unorthodox as the criminals themselves.”

With a dejected sigh the General moved around his desk and pulled out his chair and hopped onto it with a glum expression on his face.

“Take a seat, agents.” he ordered.

They both pulled up chairs and sat facing the General in stunned silence.

“Unorthodox!” he muttered.  “You know what they said?  They said they had serious concerns over our approach to fighting crime, said it was unconstitutional and that they could no longer provide the funds to keep this operation running.  One of our wealthiest stakeholders, a London banker, said we shot his dog in the park and then he was held captive in his own house for days by one of our own agents.  Can you believe that?”

“Preposterous,” cried Agent Two a little louder than he’d intended.  “What an outrageous claim, sir.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” grumbled the General.  “Sure, we carried out a chemical analysis on the gunshot residue and a trajectory reconstruction and we matched it back through ballistics to one of our own firearms, but who listens to these nutcases anyway?”

“Scandalous.” said Agent Two in outrage.

“Exactly my thoughts, agent.  You know, they told me that four of our special agents were aiding a homeless man on the streets and begging for money?  They didn’t approve and said it brought the agencies reputation into disrepute.”

“What a disgraceful and deplorable accusation to make, sir.” gasped Agent One.

“I happen to think helping the suffering masses and the neediest in the community is an honorable thing to do.”

“That was my idea, sir.” said Agent One proudly.

“I know we’re not perfect agents, and far from it.  You know we caught Captain Cognitive in the evidence department passed out?”

“He relapsed?” groaned Agent Two.  “I never saw that coming.”

“At least the drugs are off the streets.  That man can absorb copious amounts of confiscated drugs.  But on a positive side it saves on storage costs and cuts the fuel bill on the secure incinerator.  You know I set this agency up from the ground up, spent my time selecting only the best to work with me on this pioneering program with only one view in mind, and that was to fight for people who couldn't fight for themselves.  I specifically designed this agency to detach itself from mainstream crime fighting units and battle crime in a manner the criminals wouldn’t see coming.  Some of you get that, some do not.  But it still wasn’t enough even though we’ve brought down some of London’s biggest and the baddest, and now it’s over for S.H.I.T.”

“What are you going to do, sir?” asked Agent One.

“Crime fighters fight crime and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, agents.  It’s in the blood.  I’m going to set up my own independent agency as a contractor.  I would be starting out small, working from home all by myself all lonely….” said the General, trailing off the sentence and staring at Agent One forlornly.

Agent One coughed loudly into his hand, breaking his daze and glanced at Agent Two with a worried expression on his face.

“Sorry boys, where was I?  Oh yes, I’m starting my own agency.  It’s obviously a large investment but S.H.I.T has given me an excellent severance package with added incentives for signing a non-disclosure agreement, which just so happens to include one shiny Bugatti Veyron.  I've got big plans for this agency, big plans I say and I’ve even already thought of a name for it!”

“What is it, sir?” asked Agent Two.

“The agency is called R.A.S.H.”

“Rash, sir?”

“Yes, Rent.A.Super.Hero.  Brilliant isn’t it?  Do you want to know what the best thing is?”

“Sir?” they called out in unison.

“I want you two agents to come work for me.”

Both agents shuddered as the General grinned and looked between them both rapidly gauging their response.

“I’m going to get leaflets printed out and business cards.  I’ve even already thought up a company motto.  Want to hear it?”

“Sir.”

“It’s goes a little something like this,” said the General excitedly.  “Today, not wanted by the government, we survive as soldiers of crime fighting fortune.  If you have a problem…if no one else can help…and if you can find them…maybe you can hire…The R.A.S.H team.  What do you think?”

“It sounds strangely familiar, sir.”

“You know what, you boys don’t know this, but I have a crime fighting alter-ego so I may even dust off the old superhero costume myself and get stuck into the action.”

“You were a crime fighter, sir?” asked Agent One incredulously.

“Back in the day, I was called the White Dolphin.  I was so agile and slippery,” he said staring deeply into Agent One’s eyes.  “So ridiculously fast and agile, and very, very bendy.”

Both agents shuddered once again and this time Agent One gagged a little.

“So, how about it, boys?  Will you come work for me and continue your good work?”

“Uhm…can we get back to you, sir?”

“I’ll give you a 50% pay rise, match your current pension contributions, give you travel mile vouchers, gym membership for life, performance related incentives and drop another ten grand in your bank accounts as a golden hello.  How’s that, boys?”

“It would be our honor to work with you, sir.” they cried out in tandem.

“Good, glad to have you both on board, agents.” said the General extending his hand.

Both agents took turns pumping his hand a couple of times before releasing it and wiping their palms on their trousers.

“Does my skin feel soft?”

“Feels like raw egg whites, sir.” replied Agent One with a grimace.

“It’s a genetic gift,” admitted the General, beginning to place more items into the big, clear, plastic box on his desk.

Agent Two leant forward out of interest and picked up a chain with large black beads on it that the General was just about to pack away into the box.

“Is this a weapon, sir?  Are the balls some kind of explosive device?”

“No agent, they’re anal beads.”

“Oh!” replied Agent Two letting the beads drop from his fingers.

“That will be all, agents.  For now.”

The end