Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (7 page)

Cynic’s face darkened.  “Little
fucker’s evil.  I mean, a talking rooster?  
HELLO!?!
 He wears a little
UNIFORM!”  He said the word like it was a self-explanatory justification for
kidnapping; a hint of an Irish brogue in his speech.  “Do you have any idea what
the Nazi’s wore?  Do you!?! 
UNIFORMS
.  A talking Nazi rooster?  That’s
got
to be some kind of evil magic shit going on there.”  He paused.  “…I mean some
kind of evil magic shit that we’re not responsible for, obviously.  Our evil
magic shit is not Nazi rooster related.”  He squinted at the other people
around the table in sudden suspicion.  “At least… not that I
KNOW OF,
any way...”

“He patently refuses to give any
information on the extent or nature of his powers to anyone, even if that means
being defeated in battle rather than using a power which he is suspected of
possessing.”  Wyatt nodded.  “Nice.  Is there a particular reason why you won’t
say what you can do?”

Cynic rolled his eyes.  “Yeah,
forgive me if I’m not big on sharing.  Shit, what’s the first thing you
bastards are going to do with that knowledge?  You’re going to try to figure
out ways to
counteract
my powers in case you ever want to kill me. 
Forget it.  You sons-a-bitches are in for a big fucking shock the day you come
to take
ME
out!  You’ll have no idea what my weaknesses are, and you’ll
be left with
sweet-fuck-all!”

Wyatt squinted at him in confusion. 
“So, your plan is to spend the rest of your life not using your powers because
you’re under the paranoid delusion that the rest of us actually give a shit
about you?”

The man leaned forward in his
chair.  “You
really
wanna know what my powers are so bad?  Okay, I have
the power to ignore stupid questions from idiots who have already betrayed ONE
group of coworkers this week who foolishly trusted him with knowledge of their fucking
powers.”  He paused.  “Oh, and I can fly.”

The Librarian removed a pen from
her briefcase.  “According to Consortium of Chaos personnel files, Mr.
O’Probrian does not currently have the power of flight, unless he has somehow
managed to manifest these abilities since his annual company physical three
weeks ago.”

Cynic glared at her.  “Stay out of
this,
Libs! 
No one asked you.  I got a TON of powers that no one ever
gives me credit for, okay?  For instance, I have the ability to
NOT
dress like
Mary
fucking
Poppins
every day.”  He looked up and
down at her clothes.  “I can see
you’re
still struggling with that
problem though, so let me use my powers to help you.  Here’s what you do:  when
you go to the store, steer clear of the ‘Frumpy English School Marm
’
section
and then…”

Wyatt cut him off by continuing to
read the dossier.  “Currently wanted for all manner of crimes involving the
mail and the internet, as well as murder, stalking, throwing police stop sticks
onto the track during the last lap of the Daytona 500 causing all the racers’
tires to go flat and spin-out, industrial espionage, horse theft, somehow managing
to alter the Lincoln Memorial so that instead of showing the great emancipator,
it became a statue of himself giving onlookers the finger… and we’re
STILL
not sure how he accomplished that one exactly, criminal mischief…”

“…Throwing Baby Jessica down that
well…Shooting Bambi’s mom…”

“...destruction of both private and
federal property, and violations of the
1967 Treaty on Principles Governing
the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space, including
the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies
for his attempt to oversee construction
of the C of C’s Moon-based laser assault platform.”

Cynic shook his head in mock regret. 
“We would have gotten away with that too, if it hadn’t been for you
meddling
kids!” 
He laughed.  “And you forgot about that time I used the
10 items
or less
line at the Mega-Mart when I had…*GASP*…
TWELVE
items!”

Librarian underlined something in
her paperwork and didn’t bother to look up at Wyatt.  “Your folder is incorrect,
Fabricator.  The International treaty of which you are speaking, now known as
The
Outer Space Treaty
, covers only the signing sovereigns and not private
citizens within those countries.  As such, Mr. O’Probrian cannot be charged
with an alleged private violation of the treaty, despite the fact that he is a
member of a supposed international criminal organization.”

Wyatt flipped through the files quickly
and found the one he was looking for.  “Code name: The Librarian.  Real Name:
Marian Kristen Willson.  Age: 30.  Hair: Blonde, and always worn in a tight bun. 
Eyes: Blue.  Almost single handedly runs the C of C’s Accounting, Research, and
Legal Departments, as well as acting as CEO of ‘Commodious Corporation,’ the C
of C’s legitimate business corporate cover arm, which she has turned from a
single used car dealership in Nebraska, into a varied and multinational company
worth several billion dollars.  She has an alphabet soup of letters following
her name, indicating all manner of professional degrees and licenses.  If it is
possible to be taught, learned or achieved, she has done it, learned it and is
licensed to practice it.  Apparently once claimed to have…”  He read the
statement a second time to make sure it wasn’t a mistake.  “Memorized the
internet.” 
He looked up
.  “Highly
doubtful.”  Then continued.  “Her IQ is
reportedly somewhere well above 250, she speaks several dozen languages, and
collects antique buttons.  No arrests.  No warrants.  No known altercations
with any superhero; anywhere, at any time.”  He looked up at her.  “So, you a
shut in?  Or just don’t like violence?”

She made a note of something on her
notepad, still paying very little attention to the conversation.  “On the
contrary, I simply know the passwords to the Freedom Squad computer system, and
deleted all records of my history.  It was remarkably simple, really.”  She
pulled out a large ledger from her briefcase and started filling something in. 
“By the way, you mislabeled the vacation photos you took in the summer of 2005 and
stored on their system; it is spelled ‘
Teotihuacán
.’  One ‘E,’ not two.”

Cynic rolled his eyes.  “Now you’re
just trying to make yourself sound all badass and impress The Fucking New Guy.” 
He scoffed.  “Even if you
did
erase the records of the run-ins you had
with a Cape, no one’s
saying
they fought you.”

She rearranged her glasses.  “You
are correct; no hero has fought me and reported back on it.”

Wyatt squinted at that strange
phrasing, but continued down the table anyway.  He pulled out a new folder and walked
to another chair.  “Code name: The Troubadour.  Real name:  Gabriel Hartley
Hamelin.  Age:  appears to be in his mid to late thirties.  Hair: jet black. 
Eyes: Baby blue.  Head of the C of C’s Human Resources Department.  Almost
nothing is known about his early life.  He has no social security number, and
his fingerprints are not on file anywhere.  Hamelin seems to have simply appeared
out of the blue one day in Bombay, Mississippi, with the knowledge of how to
use music and musical instruments in a variety of violent and/or criminal ways. 
Oddly, no one in the Freedom Squad has ever heard him actually SAY anything
though, except when introducing or closing one of his songs.  Other than that,
every word out of his mouth is put to music.  He has somehow created deadly musical
instruments all of which have strange powers.  He won three Tony awards for a
musical stage play he wrote based on his own criminal exploits, and then promptly
took the crowd at the award ceremony hostage and robbed them.”

Holly started giggling, and pounded
her fist on the table.  “I remember that!  That was
hysterical,
Gabe!  I
still have that telecast on tape somewhere!  EPIC!”

Wyatt ignored her and returned to
the dossier.  “Once used his bagpipes to kill the masked hero known as ‘The
Barber’… Although he has since recovered.  Once used a flute he constructed
which could control woman’s minds to have himself declared ‘King of the
Amazons’ and seized control of their mystical mountaintop fortress.  It took
half a dozen superheroes, including myself, to finally bring him down.”  He
looked up from the paperwork.  “Incidentally, I’m told that afterwards, the
Amazons recovered and sent him armloads of love letters and invitations to come
visit them again.”  He refocused on the dossier.  “His felonious specialties
include: mind control, random acts of violence and mayhem, assassinations,
sabotage, musical drama, the works of Sinatra, and is an excellent dancer.  He is
facing charges in 23 states and 10 countries for murder, arson, inciting a
riot, making musical terrorist threats, three dozen bank robberies, using
dynamite without a license, disturbing the peace, grand theft auto, alienation
of affections, trespassing, and brainwashing.  There is currently a UN
resolution being reviewed which seeks to ban his music in all member states. 
Despite this though, his self-written ‘theme song’ titled
Breaking All
Records and All Laws
, is currently number 3 on the charts having already
gone double platinum.”  Wyatt took his eyes off the paper and looked at the
other man.  “As a side note, I heard it on the radio last week, and the lyrics
were terrible.  Not your best work, unless your evil plan was to make everyone
bleed to death from the ears.  I suggest more spoken word albums.”

Gabe pulled out a collection of cowbells of graduated
sizes from his bag, and started ringing them in rapid succession, switching
from one to another in order to create a tune.  Half the room immediately
started clapping along with the beat.

Gabe’s eyes narrowed at Wyatt.  “I call this one:  ‘Sit
Your Ass Down, Dickhead.’  I dedicate it to Fabricator, The Fucking New Guy
:

Don’t need to use words just to tell you that you
suck

Don’t need advice, from some ex-hero fuckup

Hoped you had died, but it seems I have no luck

I’ll dance a jig on the day you leave our club

I’ll rock any instrument you could put into my
hands

I’ve played to packed houses, all over this big land

I have a large part, in all Consortium crime plans

Remind me again: just what happened to YOUR fans?

There’s a difference between evil, and merely
annoying

I still ask myself, just why you we’re employing?

Harlot’s lost her mind, or with us she is toying

You failed at heroics, and soon world destroying

I’ve sung with the saints, and I’ve danced with the
Devil

I dared him in Hell, and came out the better

He soon found out that he’s not on my level

I AM Rock, and you’re just a pebble

Like The Phantom of Opera, but sans the lame
costume

I’ll sing a love song, and the ladies they’ll all
swoon

Then play a rock medley and buildings will go boom

I’m the grinder; you monkeys all dance to MY tune

Next time I kill Barber that bastard will stay dead

Fan letters in numbers that just can’t be read

Can’t help if Amazons love being naked in my bed

Think my talent’s small? Well, that’s not what they
said

But thanks for that rundown of the times that I’ve
cashed-in

My biography given, by some fucking has-been

I do all my own stunts and require no stand-ins

Musical crime from this Pied
Piper named ‘Hamelin’!”

Holly roared with laughter as the
song ended, and reached over to give Gabe a high-five.  “
Twelve Drummers
Drumming, what a BURN!
  Cowbells just make good things even
better
. 
I totally want that on my iPod now, you should put it on your next album.”  She
smiled and shook her head ruefully.  “…‘
Not what they said
.’  That’s
just
so
awesome!”

Wyatt dismissively tossed the file
at Gabe.  “Yes, simply
delightful. 
What an
artist
.”  He continued
walking around the table towards three people dressed as utility workers.  “Code
Names:  The Linemen; Voltage, KillerWatt and Undercurrent.  Real names: Wichita,
Killian and Stacy Bell.  Ages: 29, 27 and 19, respectively.  This brother and
sister team controls electricity… Which
sounds
FAR more effective in
theory than it actually is in
practice
.  They are currently wanted in 3
states for theft, destruction of public property, burglary, and face Federal
charges for causing a blackout two years ago, which crippled the Eastern
seaboard for a week.  Additionally, they are sought for questioning in the
theft of a…
plush Pikachu
toy from a Jersey City Mega-Mart?  Wow.  Some
big-time villainy, right there.  Congratulations.”

Undercurrent scowled, her features
contorting into a pout.  “We’re sitting right here, you know?  There’s no
reason to be
mean
.  And how come you spent more time with everyone else
than you did with us?  Huh?  That’s not fair.  There are THREE of us; you
should give us MORE time, not less.  Besides, WE’RE not the villains, YOU guys
in the Freedom Squad are the villains.”  She gestured to the people around the
table.  “We all are
totally
heroic.  We’re
always
doing good
things.”  She pointed at a similarly dressed larger man sitting next to her.  “Killian
almost took out Card Shark a few weeks back, didn’t you, Kill?”