Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (34 page)

He looked down at the sidewalk. 
“I’m a person, you know.  Not just a Cape.  If you want to turn into some kind
of crime-fighter, that’s great, but I just don’t…”

She smiled again, and cut him off. 
“I don’t want to be a crime-fighter, Wyatt.  And I know exactly who you are;
you’re
Wyatt Ferral!
  I’m not delusional, and you should know by now
that I don’t care if you’re
technically
a hero or not, you’ll still be a
hero to me.  No matter
what
you’re doing.”

He raised his arm to hail a cab. 
They had parked their getaway vehicle half a block from the bank, but in the
rush to get out of there before they were mobbed by well-wishers, it had to be
abandoned.  They’d have to return for it later once the police and media left. 

“You’re just trying to live out
your little screenplay, and it’s not going to happen.  I’m
not
a hero.  And
your friends?  They’re not heroes either.”  He opened the door for her and she
stepped in.  “This is what we do now; EVIL.  We’re evil. 
I’m evil
.  You
can tell yourself whatever you want, but the truth is that evil people can’t do
good things.  Period.”

She slid across the seat.  “I don’t
believe that.  We’re not heroes, and we’re certainly evil, but we’re not…you
know…
EVIL
.  There’s a difference between doing whatever you want, no
matter what other people think, and deliberately going out of your way to
hurt
people.  You don’t have to be a hero to be heroic.  Cape or not, you’re still a
hero.”

Wyatt opened his mouth to reply,
but the cabbie turned around in his seat and cut him off.  “Where to?”

Wyatt stared out the window in
thought.  “Take us to the Garden.”

The cabbie put the car in gear and
sped away from the scene.  “So, what kind of work you folks in?”

Wyatt didn’t bother to look away
from the window, his voice utterly deadpan.  “Costumed super-villainy.  You?”

The man gestured to the interior of
the cab.  “Can’t you tell?  I’m an
astronaut.
”

“Nice.  I’ve been in space.”  His
voice took on a sad quality as he thought back on another unpleasant chapter in
his life.  “Dad said I needed to learn how to kill aliens without mercy…There
was so much blood…”

The cabbie looked in the rearview
mirror at them.  “Hey…aren’t you that hero guy from TV?”

She opened her mouth to say that he
was, but Wyatt cut her off. 
“NO.”

The cabbie squinted at him.  “No,
no.  I recognize you.  My kid wrote you a letter once, and you showed up at his
birthday party and brought him one of those little communicator things all you
guys got.”

Wyatt turned away from the window
and blinked at him in surprise.  “You’re Jason’s father?”

The man nodded.  “Yeah!”

Harlot shook her head in disbelief
and smiled at him.  “Only
you
could take time out of your epic speech
about how you’re an enemy of all mankind, to talk about some kid he met
once
fifteen years ago.”

He frowned over at her, but didn’t
bother to respond to that observation.  He leaned forward in his seat.  “How is
Jason doing, Mr. Campbell?”

The man beamed.  “Fine!  Fine!  He’s
doing much better now.  Oh man, to this DAY he never shuts up about how great
you are, and still wears your T-shirts almost every day, and he’s going off to
COLLEGE
next Fall!”

Wyatt shook his head thoughtfully. 
“College?  Where does the time go?”

The man laughed.  “You’re tellin’
me!  Seems like just yesterday you were sitting in my house and he was talking
your ear off for hours about…whatever…”

“His digital pet.  He named it…Fluffy?”

The man laughed.  “Yep!  Yep,
that’s it!”  He chuckled.  “So, what you been up to?”

She cleared her throat.  “He’s out
to destroy the city.”

The man looked puzzled.  “Why would
you want to go and do that?”

Wyatt was quiet for a moment, and
then smiled humorlessly.  “They wouldn’t give me a job interview.”

She scooted closer to him on the
seat and put her hand on his knee.  “‘Cause he doesn’t think anyone remembers
heroes anymore, and that everyone just sees him as one of those cardboard
novelty cutouts.”  She winked at him teasingly.  “
Just a pretty face
.”

The man changed lanes.  “Doesn’t
remember heroes?  That’s a silly thing to say.”  He narrowly avoided
sideswiping a passing Mercedes and took a moment to scream obscenities out the
window at it.  “People remember heroes, they just…forget sometimes is all.”

Wyatt nodded.  “That makes perfect
sense.”

The man laughed.  “Oh, you know
what I mean.”  His voice got suddenly chipper.  “Well, if you’re going to be
evil now, I guess we should all get used to being destroyed.  You were awesome,
man!  I never personally liked the other heroes much…except for Seraphim, that
little girl can fly my skies ANYTIME, if you know what I mean!”

Wyatt nodded.  “Yes, I think I can decipher
your cryptic allusion, Mr. Campbell.”

The cabbie laughed.  “No, you and
Continuum were the only one who ever
really
had any connection to the
people, so if you’re evil, I’m guessing that evil’s the right side to be on.” 
He grinned.  “This is just so great.  SUPER-HEROES…ummm…
VILLAINS
in my
cab!  Wait till I tell Jason!”  He looked into the rearview back at her.  “How
about you, Miss?  You a super-villain or a super-hero?”

She nodded in certainty.  “Villain.”

The cabbie floored the cab to make
it through a light which had already turned red.  “Wait…weren’t you in the papers
a while back?  Stealing…something?”  He squinted in thought.  “Wait, don’t tell
me.  Don’t tell me…Tramp?”

Harlot beamed, obviously pleased
that someone had recognized her.

“Harlot.”  Wyatt corrected.  He put
his arm around her and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

The man snapped his fingers.  “Yep. 
That’s it!  I knew I knew you from somewhere.  So, you involved in that bank
robbery then?”

She nodded.  “Yes.  We
stopped
it.”

The man looked confused.  “Why would
super-villains stop a bank robbery?”

Wyatt gave her a look like he had
just been COMPLETELY vindicated.  “An
excellent
question, Mr. Campbell. 
Why
would
super-villains stop a bank robbery?”

The cabbie shrugged.  “If I had to
guess?  I’d say that they must not really be villains.”

Wyatt went back to staring out the
window.  “Well, they certainly aren’t heroes.  Not anymore.”

A
farmer placed nets on his fields and caught a number of cranes, which came to
eat his seeds.  With them he also trapped a stork, which was beseeching him to
spare his life.  "Pray save me," he said, "and let me go free.  I
am no crane, I am a stork, a bird of excellent character."  The farmer
laughed aloud and said, "That may well be true, but I know only this:  I
have taken you with these robbers, and you must die in their company." 
The moral of the story?  Birds of a feather flock together.

Wyatt hated birthday hats.  Hated
the little elastic strap, hated how ridiculous they looked.  He had
always
hated them. 
Apparently
.  This was technically the first time in his
life that he had ever actually WORN one, but he was
reasonably
certain
that he would have always hated them.  Strangely, he still found himself
wearing it though.  Harlot had given him the cheery cardboard cone and he had
immediately placed it on his head.  How…odd.

He glanced around the party.

They were holding a celebration to
commemorate the success of their bank robberies, but in patented C of C
fashion, it had branched out from that single purpose into a party for any
number of things.  There were decorations for Tut’s birthday, Christmas,
congratulations, welcome home, graduation and several others.  It was strange
and made absolutely no sense.  But the birthday cake was awesome, the egg nog
was flowing, and Wyatt found that he simply wasn’t bothered by the strangeness
anymore.  The fact that NOTHING here made sense…made a kind of warped sense.  A
logic in the illogical.  Or maybe he was just becoming as crazy as the rest of
them.

He glanced around the room at the
killers, psychopaths and madmen who surrounded him.  They were all nuts.  They
were evil, nasty, spiteful, petty lunatics, bent on nothing less than world
domination.  But together, they could accomplish more than he ever would have
thought possible.  THEY controlled this city, at least for the time being.  And
what’s more, after a while of being around them, their peculiarities and
homicidal tendencies became…almost endearing in a way. 
Almost
.

Wyatt had never had a big family
dinner.  His mother’s taste in food consisted of serving them Army Meals Ready
to Eat, so that they didn’t “get soft”, and his father’s consisted of making
Peter and him try to catch, kill and cook pigeons.  If he HAD eaten family
dinners though, he would imagine that this is what a large family dinner would
be like.  ALIVE.  Something was happening in every corner or the room, people
were yelling, laughing and then yelling some more.  It was nice.  Loud and
probably dangerous, but…nice.  No one was actually getting hurt though, despite
the incredible powers they all possessed, and the longer he was here, the more
he saw that they were holding themselves back in their altercations.  He
suspected that they just liked to fight.

Harlot leaned forward in her chair,
finishing off another bite of angel food cake.  “…So, then HE goes;
the sign
says it will only hold two people, but I…”

Wyatt put his head back in
laughter, finishing the anecdote.  “…
bet I can fit all twelve of you in
there if I try hard enough! 
HA!”  He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye
and took another bite of his own cake.  “Oh man…that’s awesome!  Great story. 
Never gets old.”

Harlot was a strange woman; a
perky, beautiful girl growing up in the middle of this madness.  She spent all of
her time collecting things based on their worst enemies, and yet, rather than
try to stop her, the people here seemed to find it endearing.  Hell, WYATT
found it strangely endearing, and HE was the one being stalked.  What she
lacked in powers, she more than made up for in sheer force of personality. 

She was the heart of this group of
rejects, whether any of them realized it or not.  It was almost as if everyone
here wanted desperately to succeed, just so they could help her achieve her
dream of standing in the Sun for once.  Like they were trying their hardest to
put aside their own defective personalities and insane objectives, just so they
could win one for her.  Wyatt had never given them credit for any
kind
of teamwork before, but they seemed to be working on an unconventional, but
strangely
effective,
form of teamwork the past few weeks.  Sort of.

Wyatt understood that.  In just his
time here, he found himself trying to double-check all of his plans to ensure
their success so that he wouldn’t let her down.  He just really, really didn’t
want to fail in front of her, or crush her dream of succeeding in her evil
endeavors.  Which was an odd feeling to have, and he couldn’t really explain
why he was feeling it.  If she wanted these idiots to succeed though, Wyatt was
going to make it his
personal mission in life
to see that they did.  The
bank thing was just the beginning.  The Consortium was on the verge of a
veritable crime SPREE if that’d make her happy.  He’d drag their incompetent asses
right along with him.  They were GOING to succeed, or he’d die trying.

Despite her quickness in stopping
the bank robbery when she was supposed to be the one robbing it, the girl was strangely
OVERJOYED that all of the other Consortium robberies had gone off without a
serious hitch though.  He didn’t understand that kind of thinking.  She was apparently
perfectly happy to play the hero for once, but at the same time, was thrilled that
her family was so finally successful at villainy.

And what was odder still, Wyatt was
ALSO happy that their string of robberies was going so well.  Rationally, he
SHOULD have mixed feelings about masterminding several dozen bank robberies,
but through her eyes, it was like watching the
Bad News Bears
take home
the trophy or something.  It felt good.  Every criminal through the door
received a round of applause from the assembly, and a hearty slap on the back. 
Hell, HE had even gotten one, despite the fact that he returned to the Lair
empty handed.  Back at the Freedom Squad, if you had utterly failed in your
mission to the extent that HE had, you would have gotten your ass handed to
you.  Here, it seemed to be almost
expected
that failure was unavoidable.
 Like they didn’t care how much money you did or didn’t steal, they were just
happy you got back at all.  For selfish evil people, they were surprisingly supportive
and understanding.  …Or maybe this place was just getting to him.

Harlot began excitedly talking to
Holly about the robbery, and giving her a GREATLY exaggerated version of the
events.  Her beautiful eyes were sparkling in mirth as she mimed punching and
kicking the attackers.

Such a strange woman.

He only hoped that they would be
able to continue this winning streak when he left here once his mission was
over.  He paused and thought about that for a long moment.  He hadn’t actually considered
leaving this group in a long time.  It just wasn’t at the forefront of his
thoughts anymore.  There was too much else going on around here to think about
it.  There were groups to join and gossip to hear.  There was all kinds of
backstage drama seething below the surface of this place.  Bitter rivalries and
rumors of secret affairs; inner cliques and endless debates about what everyone
was doing, and whether the others were
truly
villainous enough.  Always
something to talk about, and a group of people eager to talk about it with you. 
It was a blast!  

Amity was teaching him to make
apple pie.  Gurrier was showing him how to wood carve…granted all of the
carvings seemed to be of Wyatt dead in a variety of gruesome and terrible ways,
but the
thought
was there.  There was always someone around to talk to
or hang out with, and he just wasn’t counting the days until he fled the crater
in terror, anymore.  …And Harlot was here, of course.

He would still have to leave, though.

She glanced over at him and smiled,
her face awash with delight.  He stared at her for a long moment as she pushed
a strand of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

…Damn.

He looked around the room at the
super-criminals that life had stuck him with.  This wasn’t so bad.  There were
probably WORSE places to spend time than here. 

Harlot waved at him.

Much worse
places.  He could
probably stay a LITTLE while longer, even after his plan succeeded.  …Just in
case another hero popped up, or they needed him for something.  Plus, it would
give him time to finish up season four of the
Freedom Squad
TV show with
Harlot.  So far, they were only five episodes in, but she was right; it was one
of the better seasons.

“Your plan seems to grow more
complicated by the day, Fabricator.”  Librarian spoke behind him so suddenly
that he almost dropped his cup in surprise.  

He cleared his throat and turned
around to look at the woman.  “…Are you going to threaten to kill me again if I
hurt Harlot?  Is that how this is going to go down?”

She shook her head and placed a
checkmark next to a box on her paperwork indicating that they were running low
on cola, and quickly made a notation to suggest at the next meeting that they
start ordering the cheaper generic brand as a cost cutting measure.  “On the
contrary,” she wrote something else down, “as I told you, that was the only
warning on the matter that you would receive.”  Her hand suddenly whipped out
to grab Cynic’s wrist in midair as he reached for a plastic cup on the buffet
table.  “That is your
third
cup in the last hour and twenty-seven
minutes, Mr. O’Probrian.  Those sixteen ounce red party cups cost us 9.71 cents
each
.  That means that during the course of this social event
alone
,
you have
personally
expended 29.13 cents of the Consortium’s budget on
cups
. 
As head of the Accounting Department, I find this wastefulness unacceptable,
and it will not be tolerated.”  She quickly scribbled something on her
paperwork.  “I am taking the overage out of your next paycheck.  As was
explained in the memo which was issued jointly by the Accounting and
Purchasing/Production Departments last August, we are all allotted
one
party
cup per event.”

Cynic ignored her and started
pouring coffee into a new cup.  “Yeah, you do that, Sweets.  Whatever makes you
happy.”  He turned to look at her, and gently patted her hand.  She immediately
pulled it away, which only made him smile wider.  “You know how much I love
seeing your pretty face all alight with the utter
joy
you gain from bureaucracy.”

Her eyes didn’t leave the paperwork. 
“Additionally, that is a
cold
liquid cup, while
you
are obviously
drinking a
hot
liquid.”  She underlined something on the form.  “I am
making a note of that as well.  Beverages of different temperatures are tracked
separately, and you are corrupting the system.”

Cynic winked at her.  “Sweets, I’d
LOVE to ‘corrupt’ your…’
system
,’ just give me the word.”  He put his
hand up to his head in a “call me” gesture, then meandered away, still
chuckling.

She ignored him and went back to
logging the supply of potato chips, apparently concerned that someone was
planning on stealing them, and wanted to keep a record of how many bags were on
the table.  Knowing the people here, that was probably a good idea.  Honestly? 
He was surprised that the chips AND the folding snack table hadn’t
already
been appropriated by one of the members here.   

Wyatt absently stared down at his
cup, and began to think about Marian’s warning.  Why HAD he come here in the
first place?  Marian seemed to think that it was because of Harlot, but that
was just ridiculous. 

He paused to consider it, and
turned to watch Harlot as she continued happily chatting away with Tyrant about
something.  The man looked almost PAINFULLY bored, but made no effort to escape
her company.  Every few minutes he would look down at the cage on his belt, as
if asking his prisoner for help in fleeing Harlot.  Wyatt smiled.  She really
was one hell of a woman, but he wasn’t here for her.  He was here for help with
his plan?  Wasn’t he?  Marian DID have a point, he didn’t REALLY need to be
here.  So why WAS he here?

He fished into his pocket for a
letter to get Peter’s advice.  He tore one open and read it.

Who am I?  Dear Abby all of a
sudden?  I can’t tell you what you feel for the girl, Bro.  You’re going to
have to figure that one out on your own.  You’re the one living your life, not
me.  This has always been your plan; I can help you accomplish it, but its
ultimate goal is your department.  So, I suggest you figure out what you want,
and go after it.  If you want to play, play.  Because sooner or later, you
won’t have the chance to.  Any other advice I give on the matter will be ENTIRELY
unhelpful…Like worse than “weird ancient Greek shit” unhelpful.

Multifarious strolled into the war
room party in his/her typical robotic fashion, interrupting his silent
contemplations.  Mull was carrying a large box giftwrapped in joyful Christmas
paper with dancing polar bears on it.  Holly had probably gotten to it.  She
had a habit of decorating things when people weren’t looking, no matter what
time of year it was.  He had woken up a week ago to find his briefcase neatly
wrapped and nestled beneath a tree which had
also
appeared in his room.

Cynic’s head popped up off the
table where he had been dozing despite his coffee intake, and he stood up to
give the masked figure a slow theatrical round of applause.  He raised his much
fought over red plastic cup in a toast.  “To Mull; that was some pretty
impressive ninja shit, man.”  His pointed at the box.  “How much did you get?”