Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  “Right,” Arnold said.

  I turned back to LL and said, “How are things going for you?”

  She sighed, “I’ve been signing autographs non-stop. From opening till closing. Last night, I was up in Jeff’s hotel room for hours signing boxes of more comics for today. Boxes. They’ve been selling like crazy. Jeff, how many copies have we sold?”

  Jeff leaned over, saw me. “Oh, hey, uh, Don?”

  “Close enough.” I didn’t bothering correcting him. The fewer people who knew my real name, the better. I was a murderer, remember?

  Fortunately, Jeff looked so tired, there was a good chance that five minutes from now, he wouldn’t remember ever having met me. Not on Friday and not today. That said, part of me didn’t want him forgetting he had promised to send me those two S&M script pages for penciling. Then again, maybe that was a bad idea under the circumstances.

  Jeff blinked his eyes tiredly at LL and said, “What were you asking again?”

  LL said, “How many copies have we sold so far? Of my comic?”

  “Total?”

  “Total.” She wasn’t nearly as tired looking as Jeff was. In fact, her eyes glimmered with energetic excitement. Was it her super powers, or her success-charged adrenalin? Probably both.

  Jeff yawned, “Since yesterday? Including pre-signed? I’d say about seven thousand. I had to go to the warehouse to bring every box here. I bet Diamond is kicking themselves for not snapping up the entire print run.” He tossed me a satisfied smirk. “Isn’t that right, Don?”

  “Yeah,” I grinned.

  Diamond was the premier company that distributed printed comics to comic retailers across the country. They always had a booth at the show and sold plenty of books throughout the four days. I doubt they cared as much as Jeff thought about losing ten or twenty grand in sales, but Jeff was deservedly proud.

  I wasn’t going to ask how much money they had made, but if I had to guess, I would say between the Lady Liberty comics and her photo-op, they could have easily raked in $20,000 or $30,000 in the past two days. Yes, raked. This was probably the best sales Crash Comics had ever seen at a single Con.

  I was happy for Jeff and LL.

  Slightly jealous, but what can you do?

  Mistress Victory leaned forward and said softly, “Uh, should I bring up the next person in line or…?” She was waiting patiently to bring up the next fan for a photo-op. The fan looked anxious to meet the star.

  “We should go,” I said to Arnold.

  “It was good to see you,” Lady Liberty smiled earnestly. But that was all she did. Smiled. Didn’t even stand up for a hug.

  Whatever. She was a celebrity. She didn’t need me.

  I turned to go.

  Arnold grabbed my wrist and stopped me. He was frowning. He understood the situation. To LL he said, “Hey. You should call this guy. He’s awesome.”

  LL smiled nervously, wanting to say no without saying it.

  Arnold was making a scene. That didn’t stop him. “Doug is awesome! And he likes you! Don’t throw away a good thing!”

  I yanked Arnold away from the booth.

  Everybody was staring at him.

  He didn’t care. He shouted, “He’s awesome! Call him!”

  I glared at him as we walked away.

  “What?” Arnold grumbled. “You are awesome. She’s an idiot if she doesn’t see that.”

  “No, I’m the idiot. She’s not interested. I need to get over it. I mean, get over her. It’s that simple.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that. I saw the way you were drooling over her.”

  “Me drooling?” I laughed. “You’re the drooler.”

  Arnold stopped in the aisle. “Do you see any drool on my shirt?”

  “No.”

  He pointed at my shirt. “Look at yours.”

  I looked down.

  He flicked his finger against my nose and laughed, “Ha. Made you look.”

  I snickered, “You are a lunatic, Arnold.”

  “Maybe so, but what are you thinking about more right now? How annoying I am or how bad you want Lady Liberty?”

  I chuckled with embarrassment. He was right.

  “Remember,” he said, “if you get tired of waiting, there’s always Vangelina.”

  I chuckled, “Would you stop calling her that?”

  “Why? She won’t care what you call her when you’re all up inside her vangina!”

  I grimaced, “Her van-gina?”

  Arnold ignored me. “Uh! Uh! Uh! Oh, Dougie Wougie! Give it to me like that! Uh! Uh! Pound my vangina! Like that! Oh yeah! Hit it, Doug! Hit it, don’t quit it! Hit it, hit it, hit! That! Van-giiina!”

  All I could do was laugh as the people around us in the aisle gawked at his antics.

  Fricking Arnold.

  That said, you had to love the guy. He was trying far harder to get me laid while my powers lasted than I was. Like he had said two days ago, I might lose my powers at any time.

  —: Chapter 12 :—

  “I’ve never seen anything like it, kid!” Jeff Strickland laughed happily late Sunday afternoon at the Crash Comics booth. He was standing with Kristy Crawford at the back of the booth behind one of the tables covered in for-sale back issues. They were taking a quick break before Kristy signed more comics.

  After four long days, the show was almost over. Only two more hours to go.

  Jeff continued jovially, “None of my books ever sold this good on issue one! Not even S&M! You’re a star, kid! You really hit this one outta the park!”

  “We’re just getting started,” Kristy grinned. “Wait’ll issue two comes out.”

  “You ain’t kiddin,” Jeff chuckled. “If this keeps up, we’ll finally pull the Crash Comics name outta the guttah! You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, kid.”

  “Awww,” Kristy giggled and reached out for a hug.

  Jeff hugged her and clapped her back, saying, “I mean it, kid. Crash was goin downhill fast before you came along.” He released her from the hug and held her at arm’s length, beaming a smile, “You revitalized the whole damn brand, kid! You have any idea how many copies of S&M and Mistress Victory we sold only because you brought people to the booth all show long?”

  “Uh uh,” Kristy shook her head.

  “Quadruple,” Jeff smirked. “Sales on all my titles are quadruple what they were last year. Look at the table!” He motioned at the dwindling stacks of back issues. “Like hot cakes they’re sellin! And with sales on your book? Forget it! We’re makin a killin, kid!” His joy was catching.

  “I’m glad,” Kristy laughed. She’d liked Jeff since the first time he’d walked into Flashbacks last year. He’d offered to buy a lap dance from her until she’d told him she knew who he was and that she had her own comic she wanted to get published. They’d been fast friends ever since. Jeff was like a father to her.

  “And when Hollywood comes callin? Forget about it, kid. Then you’ll really be a star.”

  Kristy crinkled her nose, “Me or the comic?”

  “You, kid. You got star written all over ya. You got more talent in your little toe than half the artists here, and that’s not countin the rest of ya. If we can get Hollywood to make a Lady Liberty movie? Forget it. They’ll cast you in the lead!”

  “I can’t act,” Kristy laughed.

  “You’ll learn!” Jeff guffawed. “They got actin coaches for that! Now get out there and sign more books! Before the money machine runs out for the day! Hollywood ain’t payin our bills yet!”

  “Nope,” Kristy giggled and went back to her signing table.

  While she smiled at her fans and shook hands and took selfies, she kept thinking about Doug Moore.

  Kristy could swear he was better looking today than he’d been on Friday after first getting his stupid muscles and his stupid good looks.

  Why hadn’t he stopped to talk longer just now?

  His friend Arnold seemed really funny and nice.

  And Doug’s muscles wer
en’t quite as stupid as they’d been the other day.

  She would’ve enjoyed talking to both him and Arnold for at least a little bit longer.

  But Doug’d left.

  Maybe it was for the best.

  Because stupid muscles and stupid K-Cray’s horrendous taste in men.

  Kristy sighed to herself as she signed the next copy of Lady Liberty #1 for the next excited fan.

  —: Chapter 13 :—

  …I got—!

  That was the violent distress call that hit me around 4:30pm. Those two words were followed by the panicked sensation of falling fast and then… nothing.

  “Move it, Arn!” I grunted as we rushed past the flood of people leaving the convention center and crossed over the trolley tracks into the Gaslamp district.

  “I’m speed-walking as fast as I can!” Arnold was already sweating profusely, taking long strides and pumping his arms while doing a swishy hip roll along the sidewalk. It was unintentionally hilarious. Swishy-swish, swishy-swish. “Where are we going anyway?!”

  “Del Mar! We have to get back to the house and get your car!”

  “That’s twenty miles from here!” Swishy-swish, swishy-swish.

  “The house is two miles!”

  “I’ll never make it at this speed!”

  “You need to run, Arn!”

  “I can’t!” Swishy-swish! Swishy-swish!

  “Can you at least jog?!”

  “No! You know I can’t!”

  “I have to carry you, Arn!”

  “No! I hate that! It makes me feel like an idiot!”

  “I don’t care! Someone is going to—!” I lowered my voice to a hiss, “Someone is going to fall and die!”

  Arnold smeared sweat from his face and whined, “Okay, okay! Carry me already! But piggyback! No baby cradling!”

  I stopped and he hopped on my back.

  Then I started running.

  Within seconds, I hit 20mph carrying more than 250 pounds of Arnold bouncing on my back. It was a sight to see.

  Various people gawked and commented.

  “Look at those guys!”

  “That guy is a powerhouse!”

  “Other guy is a blimp! Look at him jiggling like a water balloon!”

  “Filled with jello,” someone else laughed.

  Arnold grumbled, “Assholes.”

  It took us maybe 6 minutes to run 2 miles back to the house. Once there, we jumped in Arnold’s Prius, not bothering with our black outfits. There wasn’t time.

  Traffic on the 5 North moved faster than expected.

  When we got to Del Mar, Arnold parked alongside the small North Beach preserve (aka Dog Beach) and I ran across the sand, keeping my speed down to 20 or 25mph. A dozen dogs paused to watch me kicking up the sand with every step. A few scampered after me, wanting to give chase, but their owners called them back before they did.

  I headed north along the shoreline, splashing through the low waves brought in by the incoming tide. The water was nearing the base of the cliffs where they met the water. Some of the waves were already licking the rocks. Soon, access back to Dog Beach would be completely cut off by water. If the faller didn’t die on impact, they might drown shortly after.

  …I got—!

  Presumably, someone was going to fall from these cliffs any second and land in the dry sand. When I got to what I believed was the specific location, I clawed my way up a crumbling 100-foot and nearly vertical sandy crevice in seconds. Yes, seconds. I basically ran up the crevice, kicking from one foothold to the next and clawing handholds with my steely fingernails. It was like having steel crampons for fingers. Ice climbers everywhere were jealous. I didn’t even need an ice axe.

  At the top of the crevice, I scrambled onto the lowest level of a terraced backyard garden, jumped up another 15 feet of sandstone, landed on a second garden terrace level, then vaulted another 10 feet up to a large lawn where I hopped over a thigh-high concrete wall.

  The wall was sinking, cracked, and crumbling in several places. The sandstone beneath it was eroding. It was an obvious safety hazard. Somebody needed to fix it. You’d think whoever owned this cliffside beach estate would keep it in good repair. Then again, maybe they didn’t care.

  I didn’t know.

  …I got—!

  I had more pressing matters.

  Or did I?

  Was someone going to unwittingly stand here where the sandstone was ready to give out and fall when it did? Was that why I was here?

  …I got—!

  I needed more of a clue than that.

  I scanned the expansive backyard. The roof of a massive multi-story mansion was visible above a stand of palm trees and tropical bushes. At the moment, I didn’t see anyone in mortal danger or otherwise, but I could still feel the emotional distress call coming.

  …I GOT—!…

  Now it was louder than ever.

  It was going to happen any second.

  “I got it! I got it!” The voice came from the far end of the yard behind the palm trees and bushes.

  Overhead, a red frisbee caught an updraft and wafted through the air, heading for the cliff’s edge — right toward the crumbling concrete wall.

  Seconds later, a youngish teenage boy in swim trunks came burning down the sloping lawn, chasing the frisbee for all he was worth. Nothing on his face said distress. He was having fun, his eyes locked on the frisbee.

  He didn’t see me or the cliff.

  If he didn’t slow down, he was going to fly right over it.

  If he did slow down, the ground might give way.

  I didn’t know either way.

  “I got it!” he shouted again.

  I moved to intercept him. As I ran toward him, I noticed I was getting closer and closer to another corner of the irregularly shaped lawn. This corner was also surrounded by the low concrete wall. Was it going to crumble? Presumably it too dropped sharply down to the beach below. Whatever the case, I was going to shoot over it if I kept running.

  I slowed to a jog and shouted at the kid, “STOP! LOOK WHERE YOU’RE GOING!”

  He nearly had a heart attack, his eyes wide as he skidded to a halt on the grass, throwing his arms in front of him and totally forgetting about the red frisbee. He came to a complete stop about 10 yards away from the concrete wall, no longer in danger.

  The disc skimmed past me and sailed casually out over the long drop down to the waves of the Pacific. I had been running so fast, and this had all unfolded so quickly, I hadn’t quite come to a complete stop and was still jogging at 8 or 9 mph with my eyes on the kid.

  “Where did you come from?” the kid gasped.

  “I—!”

  I suddenly went tumbling sideways over the concrete wall. On my way down, I bounced around the sandstone crevice, ricocheting off the rocks. Sandstone wasn’t exactly soft when you were falling on it, so we’ll call it rocks.

  Falling too fast to react effectively, I tried to grab anything I could with my super-strong crampon claws, scraping away chunks of sandstone before slamming against the wet beach a hundred feet below.

  There was no way I hadn’t broken my neck.

  Golden streamers of fire filled my eyes.

  Was I in heaven?

  No, that was just the golden clouds out to sea, catching rays as the sinking sun headed to bed.

  A small wave foamed over me, soaking whichever parts of me weren’t already wet. After the exertion of running and climbing the cliff, the cool water felt refreshing. Barely noticed the gritty sand going up my pants.

  Sat up in the surf and smiled at the sun and ocean.

  I laughed.

  I couldn’t believe I wasn’t dead.

  Looked up at the cliff. Couldn’t see the kid because the sandstone crevices blocked my view. That meant he hadn’t fallen. Mission accomplished.

  “Doug! Are you okay?!” Arnold came splashing through the low waves, gasping for breath, his pants soaked up to his crotch. His face was tight with fear and concern.
/>
  I gave him a stupid grin.

  “Dude, are you alright? I saw you fall!”

  “Couldn’t be better,” I smiled.

  Perhaps I had been too hasty in my initial judgements, and super powers were in fact the fricking bomb.

  —: Chapter 14 :—

  Matt Harper was drunk as fuck.

  He didn’t care.

  Laura had left him.

  Taken the fucking kids.

  And the house.

  Heartless bitch.

  These days, Matt lived in a shit-hole apartment by himself, wondering every Goddamn day what the point of living was.

  The glowing midnight moon didn’t give a shit about Matt either.

  “Fuck you!” he flipped it off.

  Took another belt from his bottle of Jack as he stumbled along the railroad tracks. Somewhere between Encinitas and Carlsbad. He didn’t care where. Fuck the fucking train.

  He smeared dripping whiskey off his chin with his arm.

  Didn’t give a shit if the cops arrested him for public drinking.

  “Fuck them,” he grumbled.

  Matt fumbled up the angle of gravel ballast to the tracks.

  Walked straight down the fucking middle of the rails.

  “God damn right,” he scowled. Took another swig of whiskey.

  “Jack Fucking Daniels,” Matt grinned, smiling at the bottle.

  Jack was the only one who did give a shit about Matt. Jack was always there for Matt.

  Far behind, the horn of a train blew a strident cry.

  Waaaah! Waaaah!

  The midnight COASTER. Ran up and down San Diego every damn day. Last train for the night.

  “Fuck that,” Matt laughed. Turned his back to the train, threw up an arm, and flipped off the COASTER. “And fuck you!”

  Waaaah! Waaaaaaah!

  He barely glanced over his shoulder at the distant light cutting the darkness.

  Upended the last of his Jack.

  WAAAAH! WAH! WAH! WAAAAAAH!

  Turned to face the fast-approaching train. Threw his empty bottle at it. It shattered on the tracks in a tinkling spray of glass. For a brief moment, Matt’s addled brain thought the train had shattered like glass. No, the fucking bottle had.

  The train was still coming.

  Matt glared at it, “Fucking hit me! I dare you!”