Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  Trying to focus, I switched to the one topic I knew would turn everybody off, me and her. My job. “So, uh, yeah. Software. I do tax software. It’s really boring. If you ever have trouble sleeping, feel free to call me at three in the morning and I can tell you what I did that day. It’ll put you right to sleep.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” she said lustily. I have a feeling nothing about you will ever put me to sleep, my dear Chance. And if you keep staring at me like this… I’ll have to change my thong! I didn’t bring an extra one, but I know where I can find one! Back at my condo! Oh my God, it was such a mistake to shave my legs before this date! Now I don’t have a single reason not to sleep with you tonight! Silly me!

  I was speechless.

  All I could do was stare at her and pray I didn’t get a distress call in the next several hours. Thankfully, at the moment, I was only getting hazy signals that I couldn’t do much with, but if I kept eating, that would likely change.

  I put my fork down.

  No more food for me!

  I was on a hunger strike until tomorrow!

  Check please!

  No, really — where was our waiter?

  When I saw him, I waved. Already had my credit card out when he brought the bill over. He came back a few minutes later and leaned down to mutter in my ear:

  “I’m so sorry, sir, but your card has been declined.”

  “What?” I swallowed hard.

  “I tried running it several times. I’m very sorry.”

  I felt like an idiot.

  “We do accept cash,” the waiter offered.

  I pried my wallet open. I had three dollars. I couldn’t pay the bill. I’d spent all my money on the food I’d been inhaling daily for the past week. I whispered to him, “Maybe I should call my credit card company?”

  “Certainly, sir,” the waiter smiled. “I’ll come back when you’re ready.”

  “Yeah.” I excused myself from the table and stood near the men’s room while I used my cracked Robot phone to call the customer service number for my card company. No surprise, I had hit my credit limit. I punched through to a customer service rep and asked her for a credit limit increase. Listened to her hem and haw and apologize profusely before saying no.

  Translation: Ha ha ha ha! No way! You’re broke, buddy!

  I thanked the rep and ended the call with a grimace.

  What a freaking hassle.

  Instead of offering to buy Justine dinner, I should’ve asked her if she liked canned vegetables. We could’ve eaten the ones in the back of the Prius, the ones I’d gotten from that warehouse in El Centro. All we needed was a can opener and two spoons. Justine and I could’ve sat on the back bumper and eaten lima beans for dinner instead of fish & chips in a fancy restaurant.

  What an embarrassment.

  I went back to the table and sat down with a sigh.

  “Is something wrong, Chance?” Justine gave me a sympathetic look.

  “Yeah,” I sighed and thought, My name isn’t Chance and I’m not good looking and my real body is pretty pathetic. Instead, I said, “I can’t pay the bill. My credit card is maxed out and my checking account is empty until my next paycheck.”

  Smiling warmly, she reached over the table and put her hand over mine, “Don’t worry, Chance. I can cover the bill.”

  “You can’t do that.” I felt guilty enough as it was for going out with her in the first place — because of all my lying.

  “Yes I can, Chance.” She opened her purse and pulled out a credit card. “It’s the least I can do after how you saved my dad.”

  “What? No. You can’t pay me for that.”

  “Why not? You can buy me dinner next time.”

  Once she knew the full truth, I doubted there would be a next time. If I ever lost my super powers and super looks, and she learned the truth, I was 100% certain there would be no next time.

  —: o o o :—

  “Oh, Chance…” Justine moaned throatily. “I want more…”

  This woman was insatiable.

  “How much more?” I gasped.

  “It’s up to you,” she purred. “But I could do this all night.”

  “Okay,” I sighed. “We can try two more flavors of gelato, but then I really have to go home.” The sugar was clarifying the hazy distress signals in my head. It wouldn’t be long until I would clearly hear a full-fledged distress call, at which point I would have to cut and run.

  We sat at a small table inside Gelato Vero Cafe. It was only a few doors down from the Shakespeare Pub. I had tried to end our date after dinner, but Justine had insisted we at least stroll to the end of India Street. Then she had insisted on gelato. Then she had insisted on having seconds. There were now four empty gelato cups on the table between us.

  Truthfully, I wasn’t in any hurry to leave. I had never had a beautiful woman fight for my attention like this. Correction, a beautiful, generous, single woman — the opposite of Vanessa.

  At any rate, I found it impossible to say no to Justine.

  She said, “What flavors should we get next?”

  “How about Mocha Rum Crunch? We haven’t tried that.”

  “Perfect. What else?”

  “Uhhh… do you like fruit? We haven’t tried the sorbettos.”

  “I love fruit,” she grinned. If I’m not careful, I might start loving you.

  “Uhh…” I chuckled nervously. “How about the mango?”

  “Perfect,” Justine purred.

  I bought two more cups and brought them back to the table.

  Justine’s eyes flashed as I set them down. “Looks delicious.” So do you. “My mouth is literally watering…” And dying to lick you all over.

  I tried not to blush as we dug into the creamy gelato.

  While we ate, she stared at me, her hazel eyes glimmering as her thoughts wandered:

  Who knew something as geeky as LARPing was the best thing ever? Chance has potential. Marriage potential. I bet he’s great with kids. A perfect family man. I just hope I don’t do anything stupid before the night is over and scare him off.

  I cleared my throat and said, “You know, you never told me much about what you do as a lawyer.”

  “Ah,” she waved her plastic gelato spoon in the air, “it’s not that interesting. Nowhere near as exciting as the Realm of Andor.”

  I grinned, “I know, right? But tell me about what you do. I think the legal system is very interesting.”

  “Oh,” she smirked, “well in that case, you’re in for a disappointment. It’s a lot of paperwork. A lot of paperwork,” she groaned. “And reading.”

  “I like reading.”

  “Comic books,” she giggled. Back at the Shakespeare Pub, we had talked more about my interest in comics. She had encouraged me to keep trying to get a penciling job for one of the majors. She was a very positive person.

  She continued, “The worst part about my job is the politics. It can be difficult to get things done.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Well, I work for the San Diego Country District Attorney.”

  “Oh? What do you do for them? Are you one of those public defenders for people who can’t afford a lawyer?”

  “No, I prosecute criminal cases.”

  “Cough! Cough! Cough!”

  “Are you okay?”

  I hissed, “Went down the wrong pipe.” I dropped my gelato spoon and grabbed my water glass and took a swallow.

  She smirked, “See? You’re allergic to the topic.”

  I chuckled nervously. “No, it’s just…”

  “I know what it is,” she smiled. “People either love or hate the district attorney. They love us if we’re getting justice done for them or their families, or they hate us because we’re putting them in jail.”

  “I can imagine,” I cringed, trying not to think about Rhino, Ice Statue, Jimmy the Pimp, or Hollis Fricking Yates.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Justine smiled. “I love my job. We help keep the city safe from cr
iminals. I would do my job for free,” she giggled, “but, hey, they pay me. I can’t complain.” She spooned up more gelato.

  “Do you work for Max Garrison?”

  “Yeah. He’s my boss. I talk to him every day. Why?”

  “Just curious. Cough!” I grimaced. “I saw him on the news the other day.”

  “Oh, right. He did that press conference about the Hollis Yates case.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You saw that?”

  “I sure did,” I grunted. “Cough!”

  “Some people, right?”

  “Right,” I swallowed hard. “Cough!”

  She said, “Some people have no self control. It’s bad enough we have people like Hollis Yates running around and causing problems. This city doesn’t need a bunch of vigilantes taking the law into their own hands and making things worse.”

  “Which vigilantes?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “The guy who hit Hollis,” she groaned. “Was that really necessary? I mean, really? Really? He could’ve called 911 instead of hitting Mr. Yates.”

  “Mister?” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice but failing.

  Justine rolled her eyes, “Yates is no peach, but the guy who hit him is… I don’t know, probably a martial artist or something. Or he had a weapon we couldn’t see on the video. A deadly weapon. How else could he have paralyzed someone with one punch?”

  That was easy.

  Super powers.

  I didn’t say it.

  “Anyway, that’s a felony.” Justine sighed. “That’s why we have law enforcement and the justice system. If we didn’t, we’d have lynch mobs left, right, and center. Civilization would fall apart in no time. You need a system. A process everyone agrees on. You know what I mean?”

  I knew what she meant, all right.

  Without even realizing it, Justine had turned our date into a duel.

  Despite the late hour, some might call it a high noon showdown.

  I told you the villain would be wearing black.

  —: o o o :—

  “That was quick,” Arnold said as he walked out of the house and met me in the driveway when I drove up in his Prius. He said, “It’s not even midnight. What’re you doing home so early?”

  Grimacing, I stepped out of the car and slammed the door.

  “Easy,” Arnold frowned. “It’s not a Hummer.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Forget about it. Please tell me you banged that blonde bombshell I saw. What was her name? Juicy Justine?”

  I scowled, “She works for the District Attorney. Remember that guy Max Garrison we saw in the news story about me punching Hollis Yates in the back? Remember that?”

  “Yeah?” Arnold prompted.

  I growled, “Garrison is her boss.”

  “Juicy Justine’s boss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh,” he said flatly. “So you didn’t get laid?”

  “Not even close.” I chuckled sourly. “I had to fake a coughing fit over dessert and tell her I needed to get some rest.”

  “There’s always Lady Liberty.”

  “Yeah, right,” I snorted.

  “Vangelina?”

  “No.”

  “So… nobody?” Arnold said with a wince.

  I scowled, “I see you finally learned how to count to zero.”

  “Hey,” he frowned. “Don’t take it out on me. At least you had a date. I played Call of Duty all night. By myself. As usual.”

  “Sorry,” I sighed.

  “Oh, I know! What about that chick Pinstripe? The other lawyer. She’s hot, right? Maybe she’s a defense lawyer. Maybe she likes criminals. You said she seemed like an opportunist.”

  I scowled, “Yeah, maybe Pinstripe likes crooks more than she dislikes cartoon kid things.”

  “Oh yeah. That’s right. She’s a total B. Eh, forget about her. She’s probably a gold digger anyway.”

  I smirked, “Lucky her, because I’m fresh out of gold.” I told him about my credit card fiasco at the Shakespeare Pub.

  “Sorry about that,” Arnold sighed. “If you need cash, let me know.”

  “Thanks,” I grunted.

  After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Arnold said, “Chicks, right? Who needs chicks when you got internet porn?”

  I glared at him.

  “Just trying to help,” he muttered.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have time to dwell on it because Arnold and I were busy all night Saturday and again on Sunday saving lives around the clock. The red devil bats of distress never slept. Neither did we.

  Oh, and remember that dumb bullfrog sitting in the hot water as someone slowly turned up the heat? Said bullfrog being me? I forgot to mention, Justine and Max Garrison were the ones turning up the heat. They hadn’t boiled me alive yet, but they had come damn close.

  I would have to be more careful moving forward.

  I was now officially a wanted man.

  That meant, from here on out, every place this bullfrog (me) showed his dumb bullfrog face, it would be boiling water as far as the eye could see, a veritable hellscape of flaming danger.

  —: Chapter 31 :—

  For Kristy Crawford, Sunday night had been a hellish ordeal.

  Not every episode of Disaster Vision had a happy ending.

  She’d of course skipped going to Flashbacks to work for tips again because people needed help, and Kristy was determined to help everyone she could.

  Sometimes, she couldn’t.

  Not even her Ninja was fast enough every time.

  That man in Fullerton had shot his wife tonight.

  In the face.

  Kristy’d gotten there right as he pulled the trigger.

  BLAM!

  The wife slumped to the floor of her living room, a red hole in her forehead.

  Her blood leaked onto the dirty white carpet in a sad red pool.

  Kristy’d just busted in through the front doors of the house a second before and stood in the entry hall that overlooked the living room, her helmet still on and wearing her Lady Liberty costume.

  The husband turned to her, his face a maze of confusion.

  “She made me!” he shouted. “She wouldn’t do what I told her!”

  Kristy’d been horrified.

  It’d taken everything she had not to murder that man in his own home.

  Turned out she didn’t have to.

  “I didn’t mean to! I love her!” The husband’d shaken his vacant face, lifted the gun to his temple and—

  “NO!” Kristy shouted through her helmet, lunging forward and reaching for the gun.

  Too late.

  BLAM!

  The husband dropped dead beside his wife.

  “Asshole!” Kristy shouted and shook her fists. “Ugh! Death is too easy for you! Too effing easy!”

  She stormed out of the house to her Ninja.

  What was the point in staying?

  The Ninja was idling on the empty driveway where she’d left it, lit up all nice and pretty by the driveway lights. She jumped on and turned a tight circle in the wide driveway of the big house.

  They had a huge effing house!

  What was so bad he had to effing kill his wife?!

  Ugh!

  When the Ninja came around to face the street, Kristy slammed on the brakes because an older man and woman walking a dog were crossing in front of her on the sidewalk.

  The old man said to Kristy, “Did you hear a loud noise from that house just now? Sounded like gunshots.”

  “NO!” Kristy barked behind her helmet as she sped past them.

  The dog lashed out on its leash and snarled barks.

  Kristy ignored it and headed home, scowling the entire ride back to Oceanside. What would’ve been 70 minutes of driving at the speed limit without traffic was 20 minutes of insane lane splitting and riding far above the speed limit once she was out of LA traffic. Kristy didn’t care. She dared the Highway Patrol to try and stop her.
<
br />   She was done for the night.

  She should’ve gone to Flashbacks.

  When she turned up the remote road that went to the storage garage where she hid her Ninja, she heard echoes off the desert canyon walls.

  Farting echoes.

  Kristy twisted in her seat.

  Saw the Harley.

  Brock.

  Had he been following her all night?

  Again?

  Ugh.

  Did he know where the storage garage was?

  Kristy’d never shown him.

  She didn’t want him knowing now.

  He already knew too much.

  That was an easy fix.

  Kristy toed down to second gear and twisted the throttle. The nose of the Ninja lifted as she rocketed up the hill into the canyon where the roads got twisty and tight.

  Brock’s Harley didn’t stand a chance.

  She leaned in and out of every dangerous curve like a pro MotoGP rider with decades of experience. Her enhanced reflexes likely made her the best rider in the history of MotoGP, but Kristy never kept score.

  With every turn, Brock fell farther and farther behind.

  In less than four minutes, she’d completely lost him.

  She kept going.

  The riding pushed away the pain.

  That effing husband in Fullerton!

  How could he’ve murdered his wife?!

  What an effing asshole!

  Kristy pushed it away and focused on the lonely road.

  Nobody drove out here this late.

  A half hour later, when her temper had calmed, she decided to turn around. Out here, the fastest way back was the way she’d come. Hopefully Brock’d given up and gone home.

  Kristy took her sweet time going back, keeping her speed to the speed limit, which was less than half how fast she’d gone out.

  An hour later, she saw a lone headlight coming toward her on a long straight.

  Farting echoes.

  Ugh.

  The light suddenly winked out.

  No, Brock had stopped and turned his Harley across the narrow road.