The OK Team (15 page)

‘He's coaching now. That's all he does. He'd love to come to Australia, I'm sure. Has a lot of mates here.'

I'm still looking blank.

‘You've got to work on your Hero history, son,' says Papa Torch, reaching for some extremely old comics in a bookshelf near his chair. ‘Here. I want these back, but you read them before he arrives.'

I say, ‘You mean, THE Mr Fabulous?'

Torch appears at my shoulder and says, ‘Oh boy, this is going to be fun. Focus, we are SO back in the game.'

CHAPTER 19
MR FABULOUS

C
annonball's arms are folded across his chest. ‘So if this guy is, like, one of the most legendary of all Heroes ever, how come he has to fly Qantas to Australia?'

I sigh. ‘I've told you, Cannonball. He's incredibly old. He was a Hero back in the original Golden Age in the late 1930s and early 1940s, sixty or more years ago. His powers have faded over time. He could maybe manage to fly under his own power, if he could island hop across the Pacific, but he convinced Gotham to pay for a flight.'

‘To help us? Gotham is paying for him to come and help a bunch of losers like us?'

I turn and grin at my friend. ‘Believe it or not, popgun. Something called the Underachieving Trainee Hero Assistance Scheme.'

‘The acronym for that is L.O.S.E.R.S.'

‘No it isn't, Liarbird. Travelling around and helping teams like us is how Mr Fabulous earns his living these days.'

We all stand and watch as some tourists emerge from the arrivals gate, then a couple who are immediately caught up in shrieks and hugs from an excited wider family.

I frown. ‘Do you know what he looks like, Torch? Will you recognise him?'

‘I can only hope I don't make some horrible mistake, but I think I'll recognise him. Don't you worry,' Torch says. He's been more animated than I've ever seen him from the moment Mr Fabulous confirmed he was on his way.

‘Some old mouldy piece of Hero history is going to be just what we need to sort out our absolute brilliance when facing bad guys.'

It is Liarbird again, and everybody has to digest and translate.

‘Let's wait and see, Liarbird,' I say. ‘This guy is an alltime Hero. An original Hall of Famer. What can we lose?'

I look at her, slightly pleading, and she looks right back at me, the beginning of a smile on her lips. Suddenly I'm having trouble remembering the Hall of Famer's name.

‘Torch, I sense you're about to say, “There he is”,' says Yesterday dramatically.

A huddled old man, more wrinkles than skin, has emerged from the gate. He is wearing a massive overcoat, with loose threads and patches, as well as a giant cowboy hat that can't quite hide the fact that the grizzled old face below the brim is wearing a faded blue mask. Beneath the coat can be seen blue boots, scuffed and of an uneven colour, and the end of a yellow cape dragging behind his feet. He is leaning hard on a stick and carrying one small suitcase.

‘There he is!' says Torch.

Yesterday looks smug but Cannonball finds time to hiss to his sister, ‘Oh please, he was already out the gate.'

‘You are so unsupportive.'

We walk over and catch up to the old man beside a large rubbish bin.

‘So, are you lot the young punks who can't cut it in the real world?' he says.

‘Mr Fabulous?' I say in reply.

‘Oh sure, shout it to the whole world, why don't you, sonny. Ever heard of discretion?'

‘Umm, sorry.'

‘It's okay.' He looks around, warily. ‘I don't think anybody saw through my cunning disguise anyway. No autographs – that's rare. Maybe Australia is a good place for me to hang out. Get some peace from the usual crowds of fans.' He looks at us for the first time, appraising. ‘So you're such a big fan of mine that you've taken to wearing my “F” on your chest, huh?'

‘Actually . . .' I say, but the old man isn't expecting a reply. He's moved on.

‘You look like a chip off the old Torch flint,' he's saying. ‘Am I right?'

Torch sneaks a glance in each direction but nobody is watching, so he flicks a flame onto his right index finger.

‘Hey, hey, hey. Look at that! How's your grandad, sonny?'

‘He's great. He's looking forward to seeing you.'

‘Let's go now. Drop these losers.'

‘Um, but they're my teammates . . .'

Mr Fabulous squints at him.

‘. . . that you're here to help,' Torch adds lamely.

‘Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot. So who are you punks again?'

I decide to step back in.

‘I'm Focus, sir. My real name is –'

‘Don't tell me your real name! For crying out loud, ever heard of a secret identity? For pete's sake!'

I decide to shut up for a while.

‘Cannonball, sir.' Cannonball puffs out his chest and plants his hands on each hip. ‘Let's fire the cannon!' he says.

‘You've got to be kidding,' says the old man. ‘That's your tag line? Boy, have we got some work to do. Who are you, darling?'

He's looking at Yesterday.

‘I'm Yesterday, Mr Fabulous, the Girl Who Can See Into the Past. It's lovely to meet you.'

‘The girl who can see into the past,' he says very deliberately.

‘Weary is the head that puts suspicion ahead of belief.

I'm also Cannonball's sister.'

Mr Fabulous nods wearily. ‘OK, a brother-sister act. I can work with that, girlie. Gives me some bones to build on, plus Focus and Torchy. That's it, huh?'

‘Um, you haven't met Switchy,' I say.

‘Switchy? What the hell kind of superhero name is Switchy? What does he or she or it do?'

I can barely bring myself to say it. ‘He's a shape-shifter.

Switchy, you might want to change.'

The rubbish bin we are all standing next to suddenly begins to shake slightly and turns a strange pink colour before making a loud pop and turning into a Vespa scooter. Then pops again and becomes a giant squid, then pops a third time and becomes a large nose, filled with snot. Finally, it pops and turns into Switchy.

Mr Fabulous stares at him for the longest time before saying: ‘Ohhhhhh, boy. Good morning, Switchy.'

‘You can bet everything you own that I'm pleased to meet you, sir,' says Switchy.

The old man shuffles in a half circle and finds himself face-to-face with Liarbird.

‘And who exactly are you, toots?'

Her stance is all attitude. ‘Yeah, it's a good idea to keep calling me “toots” cause I won't hurt you much. I'm not Liarbird and I'm not pleased to meet you, you horrific and smelly old has-been.'

Mr Fabulous barks a sharp laugh that turns into a minor coughing fit. A couple of sparks of energy roll sluggishly across his back as he hacks. Finally he is able to say, ‘Well, at least one of you is honest enough to say what she really thinks. Let's go and get something to eat. I've only had airline food for twenty-four hours. I'm starving.'

CHAPTER 20
LESS THAN FABULOUS

L
aughter spills out from the porch where Mr Fabulous is playing cards and drinking whisky with Papa Torch and other long-lost Hero pals from the Golden Age. Old man laughter, in concert, as several old timers hack, wheeze and guffaw. On the lawn below the porch, the OK Team grumble.

‘Is he here to train us or to get drunk?' hisses Yesterday.

‘You should know,' says Cannonball nastily.

‘Don't you start, brother dearest!'

‘Start what? I'm too busy “visualising”.'

Next to them, Torch sparks a flame onto his left index finger and gazes at it thoughtfully, as though he's never seen himself do his one trick before. I'm sitting cross-legged, frowning at my right hand, while Liarbird sits on the other side of the grass, muttering: ‘Pink. Pink. Red. Rats! . . . Orange.'

Switchy is an anvil. He says he's 294 per cent sure that he's happy about that.

From the porch, another round of geriatric laughter can be heard.

‘Ah Fab, that's a good one! You haven't changed a bit,' says a voice.

‘Except for getting old,' Mr Fabulous replies.

‘Yeah, well, you're not the Lone Ranger there.'

‘The Lone Ranger!' says another old voice. ‘Whatever happened to him?'

‘Married his horse and moved to the suburbs is what I heard.'

Laughter peels off the porch one more time.

‘Hey, Fab.' It's an impossibly tall man, slightly stooped by age but still scraping the roof. I wonder if he's related to Lurch?

‘What, Mantis?'

‘You won't believe who is still around, now posing as a respectable artist.'

‘Um . . . Brown Nugget, the Human Poo? He was a nasty Villain.'

‘No, but good try,' chuckles Mantis. ‘I was talking about Scorch.'

Mr Fabulous is silent for a moment. ‘Are you serious?'

‘He's using the name “William Weld”. Makes metal artwork with his power, melting metal together for rich idiots to blow their money on.'

‘I can't believe he's allowed to roam free.'

‘He did his time. Got parole ten years ago and took on the new name. What can anybody do?'

‘Does he know I'm in town?'

‘No idea. But watch your back. He still packs a punch.'

‘Yeah, well, I ain't dead yet either. Whose deal is it? I wish the Ace was here. He'd be dealing ten hands a minute.

And nothing but aces and kings.'

They all laugh.

I scowl up at the verandah. ‘Man, this isn't what I expected at all.'

‘Look, it's not my place to say, but he gave us instructions,' says Torch hesitantly. ‘We have exercises to do.'

‘Yeah, but shouldn't he be down here, teaching us and urging us on?'