Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  “No. But I have heard that—” he reached behind himself with a pained grunt and pulled out the other pillow, “—you should’ve taken their F-w-fucking money!” He threw the pillow at me.

  I caught it and tossed it back to him.

  While trying to put the pillow behind his back, he winced and gave up with a sigh. “Can you…?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled before gently propping him up and putting both pillows back in place. “How’s that?”

  “Thanks,” he said. He folded his arms across his chest and sighed, “Why didn’t you take the money, Doug? We could’ve used ninety grand. Think of all the food and gas that would buy.”

  “This isn’t a business, Arn. We’re helping people, many of whom can’t pay for it. More importantly, it’s drug money.”

  “You’re missing the point,” he groused.

  “That is the point,” I grumbled. “I guarantee, if Gray Eyes did not come looking for that money eventually, the drug gang using that warehouse would. We don’t need more problems than we already have. Or did you not notice the gunshot wound in your stomach? What happens if someone sneaks into the house while you’re asleep and shoots you in the head? Huh? I wouldn’t hear that distress call, now would I? You’d be dead. Unless you want me to sleep in your bed with you? To keep an eye on you at all times?” I waited for him to say gay, Doug, gay.

  He didn’t. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Okay, fine. But have you forgotten how much money we’re spending on gas? How much you’re spending on food?”

  I grumbled, “Every time I check my bank balance, I’m painfully aware of it.” It was like THE BANK BREAKER had my account numbers and passcodes and was draining me dry.

  “Or how much I’m lending you?” Arnold said.

  “I’ll pay you back!” I barked.

  “It’s not that,” he insisted. “My parents may be rich, but I’m not. The pay at SPAWAR isn’t exactly Silicon Valley. It’s government. I can’t go borrowing money from my parents. Can you imagine the questions they’d ask?”

  I nodded. The last thing I wanted to do was involve Gavin and Natalie in all this. They were retired. They didn’t deserve the stress of worrying about Arnold getting shot a second time. If I had to tell them the truth — that Arnold had been shot by a criminal while attempting to stop a murder (his) — they would never forgive me for putting their son in mortal danger twice (if you counted the rock quarry). I certainly wasn’t doing it a third time.

  Arnold said, “That’s why we have to run this like a business, Doug. We have to be self-sufficient. If we’re going to spend money, we have to make money too.”

  “No! I said no! Don’t you get it? This isn’t a business, Arn! I’m not in this for profit. You shouldn’t be either.” I wanted to add that he shouldn’t be in it at all, but that discussion could wait until after he healed. Arnold’s belief that he would go back to being my sidekick was keeping his spirits up. I wasn’t going to do anything to lower his morale now. I would have no choice later, but not now. I sighed, “Arn, we have a chance to make a difference in this world in a way that really matters. How many people get that chance? Isn’t that worth anything to you?”

  “Would you stop, Doug? The point is that everybody needs money. Even non-profits need to make enough money to pay rent, utilities, employee salaries, health insurance, all that stuff. I told you this before, Saint Stupid. You’re gonna go broke if you keep doing this for free. Heck, I’m gonna go broke.”

  “I know! Don’t you think I fricking know?!”

  “So why didn’t you take the drug money?”

  “Aren’t you listening?! I don’t want the fucking FwCK gang to come looking for you! I don’t want to come home one day and find you face down in the swimming pool with two bullets in the back of your head! They already shot you once, okay?!”

  Arnold stared at me quietly.

  I sighed, “I’m not taking any money from any criminals. It’s not worth the risk.”

  “Then we’ll just have to find another way,” he said calmly. “Like an endorsement deal or something.”

  “That’s what Lady Liberty said the other night.”

  “She did? When?”

  “When I walked her to her car at the hospital.”

  He nodded, “Smart girl. Maybe you oughta take a page from her playbook.”

  “And what, make public appearances?”

  “Do you have any idea what celebrities get paid to make public appearances?”

  “A lot.”

  “If you want to make money legally, you have to become a celebrity,” Arnold said, eyes gleaming.

  “Hell no! No way! Uh uh!”

  “Doug…”

  “No, Arnold!”

  “Duh-ouuuug. Doogie Pooh!”

  “No, Arnold! I’m not doing it! It’s too big a risk!”

  “Dougie-wugie-wug-wug.”

  “No!”

  “You know this is a good idea.”

  “Okay, fine! If you can figure out some way to market Wildfire, then—”

  “And The Machinist,” Arnold cut in.

  “And the Machinist, then—”

  “The Machinist. You forgot to emphasize the the.”

  I rolled my eyes, “Fine. The Machinist. Go make us some money, the Machinist.”

  “Gladly. Let’s see…” Arnold looked up thoughtfully, his wheels turning. “Let’s talk licensing.” He started ticking off ideas on his fingers, “Comics, action figures, video games, celebrity appearances, endorsements, books, movies… Movies! We totally need to make a Hero Force United movie! We can even play ourselves!”

  “I can,” I joked. “I don’t know about you.”

  “Ha ha,” he laughed dryly. “Hey, Wildfarts?”

  “Wildfarts?”

  “That’s your name when you’re being annoying. Anyway, will you come over here a second so I can hit you in the balls with my pillow? I don’t want to throw it and miss.”

  I smirked and flipped him off. “Instead of doing that, figure out how to make us some money because I need to go buy groceries with the money I don’t have. Unless you don’t want lunch today?”

  “Business man’s gotta eat. Go buy food. I’ll be on the phone talking to Hollywood while you’re gone. You think Spielberg’ll be interested?”

  “Tell me what he says when I get back,” I chuckled sarcastically as I headed out the door.

  —: Chapter 34 :—

  “Your total is $195.22,” the female cashier said.

  My mountain of groceries was bagged and ready to go. Since it was Saturday, Ralphs was bustling with weekend shoppers. The line behind me was four people deep.

  I slid my debit card through the card reader and entered my PIN. Hit approve.

  ERROR.

  ERROR.

  ERROR.

  “Wait,” I muttered, frowning at the blinking message. “Something didn’t work.”

  “Did you enter your PIN right?” the cashier asked with a smile.

  “I thought I did.”

  “Try again,” she said patiently. “I always get mine wrong the first time.”

  I nervously reentered my PIN number, already knowing where this was going.

  ERROR.

  INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.

  Total humiliation.

  Can you hear THE BANK BREAKER bwah-ha-ha-ing maniacally?

  “Still not working?” the cashier asked me, leaning over the card reader to inspect it. “Sometimes this thing is finicky.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” I muttered. I pulled out my Robot phone and opened my banking app. Checked my balance.

  $19.78

  THE BANK BREAKER had struck again. He hadn’t taken every penny, but he’d come damn close.

  The impatient customers behind me leaned around each other, staring and glaring at me, wondering what was taking the nearly penniless idiot so long to pay.

  I felt like there was a giant sign with a blinking arrow over my head that read:


  LOSER!!

  LOSER!!

  LOSER!!

  Maybe I should’ve listened to Arnold.

  Maybe I should’ve taken some of that drug money.

  Or all of it.

  My face burned with shame as I leaned over the counter and whispered to the cashier, “I don’t have enough money.”

  She frowned sympathetically, “Oh, that’s okay, hun. I understand. Happens to the best of us.”

  “I guess,” I mumbled. At that moment, I felt like the worst of us.

  “Do you need to put some of it back?”

  The idea of making her send back 90% of the groceries she had already bagged made me feel like a complete jerk. She would have to re-shelve all this food because I had been too stupid to check my bank balance before loading my grocery cart like a fool.

  “What’s taking so long?” the irritated guy behind me grumbled. The line of customers behind him was getting longer and longer.

  I looked at the cashier and stammered, “I…”

  “It’s okay, hun,” she smiled. “Just pick out what you need most and we’ll restock the rest.”

  “Okay, yeah.” With shaking hands, I searched for the bag with the ground beef. “How about nineteen bucks worth of meat?”

  “No problem.” Rather than clear 90% of the items from the transaction, she called a manager over to clear the whole thing and started over.

  Behind me, the other customers were moaning and groaning impatiently.

  “Okay,” the friendly cashier smiled sympathetically, “That’ll be $18.89.”

  I slid my debit card again, entered my PIN, and held my breath while wondering if I had somehow misread my balance on my phone, and instead of having $19.78, I only had $1.97 or $1.98.

  Nope.

  ACCEPTED.

  What a relief.

  THE BANK BREAKER could bite me.

  “Thank you so much,” I muttered to the nice cashier as I picked up my lone bag and left a dozen others on the counter. Feeling bad for leaving a mess for her, I said, “Do you want me to put all this food back for you? I know where everything goes.”

  She smiled, “Don’t you worry about it, hun. We’ll take care of it. Now you take care of yourself, all right?”

  “Yeah,” I smiled sheepishly as I ducked my head and walked to my car. Back at the house, I walked into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Doug,” Arnold said as he swung into the kitchen on his crutches. Since yesterday, he had been moving around carefully on his own with the help of the crutches. He frowned, “One bag? What happened to the rest? Are the other bags still in the car?”

  “No,” I grumbled. “This is it.”

  “You were gone for an hour and that’s all you bought?”

  “YES, ARN! IT’S ALL I BOUGHT!” I opened the freezer and threw the meat inside with a thud.

  “Careful, brother,” Arnold groused.

  “Sorry,” I huffed and gently closed the freezer before storming out the back door (which I closed gently).

  “Where are you going?” Arnold hollered, following me slowly across the pool deck on his crutches.

  “I DON’T KNOW!”

  “Doug! What’s wrong, man?”

  I spun on him. “I DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY FOR THE REST OF THE FRICKING GROCERIES! THAT’S WHAT’S FRICKING WRONG!”

  He frowned, “Why didn’t you ask to borrow what you need?”

  “BECAUSE I’M SICK OF BORROWING YOUR MONEY! IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE A FRICKING TOOL!”

  He snorted a friendly laugh, “Is that why you’re pissed?”

  I glared at him, feeling completely incompetent. What kind of man couldn’t afford to buy his own groceries? A total loser, that’s what kind.

  “Dude,” he said, “I told you before, borrow what you need now, and pay me back later. I know you’re good for it.”

  “No!”

  “Don’t be a dummy, Doug. Don’t let pride stand between you and your friends. How much do you need?”

  “I don’t need any!”

  “At least let me give you enough to tide you over until your next paycheck.” He leaned on his crutches and pulled his wallet out of his sweat pants.

  “I SAID I DON’T NEED ANYTHING!”

  He rolled his eyes, “Yeah you do.”

  I growled, “I’m not taking your money, Arn.”

  “It’s a loan.”

  “No more loans! I’ve already borrowed too much!”

  “I’m not keeping track,” he said casually.

  “You should be!”

  He sighed and gave me a shrewd look. “Okay, how about I start charging you interest?”

  “I don’t want your money, Arn!”

  “Compounded daily. And if you don’t pay me back in 90 days, I’ll have Vito and Guido break your legs. And your wife’s legs.”

  “I don’t have a wife,” I snorted.

  “And your kids, little Timmy and little Susie. Break their legs too. And their puppy Patches.”

  “Patches?” I smirked.

  “Yeah, cutest little dog you’ve ever seen. Looks like Snoopy.”

  “You’d break a puppy’s legs?”

  “Naaah,” he sneered. “He gets thrown in the river. Tied in a canvas sack.”

  “Who, Snoopy or Patches?”

  “Both. And Woodstock. Poor little bird. What did he ever do to deserve it? Nothing, I tell ya. Nothing.” Arnold shook his head with polite disgust. He switched to a hoarse Godfather voice and said, “Shoulda paid me back before your vig got outta hand, Dougie boy. Nobody ever tell ya it ain’t smart to cross the mob?”

  “Okay, okay!” I grumbled with a restrained snort. “I’ll borrow your money one more time. With interest. Just give me enough for today’s groceries.”

  “How much do you need?” he asked hoarsely.

  “$180.”

  “Here’s $200, kid. Use it in good health.”

  “Enough with the Godfather. I don’t need extra.” I handed him back a twenty.

  He refused it with a smirk, “It’s not extra.”

  “Huh?”

  He put his wallet away with a satisfied smile and said in his normal voice, “Now that you’re gonna be my little errand boy, I need you to get me a little something extra.”

  “Like what?”

  “I needs me a pint of that sweet, sweet Häagen Dazs.”

  “What happened to no more junk food?”

  “That’s for after I’m better. Get me some Häagen Dazs. Please.”

  “Fine. Which kind?”

  “I really like that Trio they make. The salted caramel chocolate is the bomb.”

  “Is that a flavor?”

  “Yes. And I need fixings too.”

  “What kind?”

  “Maybe some M&Ms?”

  “Peanut or regular?”

  “Both.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, you might want to write this down.”

  I went into the house and grabbed a note pad and pen from the kitchen.

  Arnold followed me inside on his crutches.

  “What else?” I asked.

  “Some Reddi Wip? And some hot fudge sauce? Hershey’s, maybe?” Arnold wasn’t particular about much, but when it came to junk food, he was a connoisseur. And, after all he’d been through, he deserved a little dessert. He hadn’t eaten any since having hospital Jello.

  I wrote everything down.

  He said, “No, make that Smucker’s fudge sauce. It has a richer chocolate flavor.”

  I crossed out Hershey’s and wrote down Smucker’s. “What else?”

  “Mmmm, no. Make that Hershey’s. I had Smucker’s last time.” He drummed a finger against his chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe Smucker’s?”

  I snorted, “Will you make up your mind?”

  He frowned, “You some kind of wise guy, kid?” He spat out the words in his best angry Arnold Soprano impression, which was more gravely than his Godfather. “You questioning my orders? You questioning me? I take a bull
et for you, and this is the thanks I get? Mouthy disrespect?”

  I chuckled, “I told you to stay home that night, Tony. If you had followed my orders, you wouldn’t have gotten shot. I think that makes you the wise guy.”

  “Are you finished, kid?” He smiled pleasantly. “Or do I need to make you an offer you can’t refuse?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Chopped nuts.”

  “What?!” I was picturing something gruesome involving my junk and a meat grinder and me screaming while a bunch of mafia goons pinned me down to a butcher board.

  “Peanuts,” Arnold grinned. “But they have to be chopped fresh. They get stale if they sit too long in those bags. Get the fresh ones.”

  “Okay, peanuts. Freshly chopped. Anything else?”

  “Some respect would be nice.”

  I flipped him off.

  He laughed.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I said, striding toward my car.

  “Wait! Cherries! I need cherries! The maraschino kind!”

  I threw up my hands, “Jesus Christ, Arnold! How about I just go to Hammond’s and get you a sundae?”

  He snickered, “Are you hangry, Doug?”

  “Yes, I’m fricking hangry! I haven’t eaten in three hours! You know how hangry I get when I’m superhero hungry!”

  He grinned, “Hammond’s isn’t too far out of the way, is it?”

  “Five miles. It’s fine, I’ll go,” I grumbled.

  He beamed a smile, “Oh, Jeeves, would you? It would be ever so kind of you to pop by.” He had switched to his British accent. “Have them prepare us a sundae with—”

  “Us?”

  “The royal us,” he grinned. “Ahem, as I was saying, have them prepare us a sundae with Tahitian Vanilla, Kona Coffee, and a spot of Pineapple Coconut Cream, don’t you know. Did you get all that, Jeeves?”

  “Yes,” I laughed indignantly as I jotted it down.

  “Splendid. And don’t forget the—”

  I roared, “YOU’RE GETTING WHAT I GIVE YOU, SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I practically ran to my car so he couldn’t ask for anything else.

  “Toodles, Dougey-Pooh! Love you too! Don’t forget the cherries! We would be ever so grateful if you wouldn’t forget the cherries!”

  —: Chapter 35 :—

  I drove to Ralphs in Arnold’s Prius because I had returned my rented Ford Fusion a week ago to save money. After re-buying the same exact groceries, I drove to North Park where I parked on a side street near Hammond’s.