"Sorry, I just refuse to touch it."
Agent Two sighed and looked across to Mr Defecator then clicked his pen and wrote something down on his clipboard.
"Okay, I think we've done as much as we can do here Mr Defecator, please get rid of the problem and we'll let this man be on his way."
Mr Defecator nodded his head and reached into his suit once again and pulled out a handgun. In one smooth motion he cocked it and shot the dog which crumpled into a heap on the floor and lay still.
"What the-?" yelled Agent Two, looking up and staring in disbelief at the dead animal then at the smoking gun. "What did you do?"
"I got rid of the problem like you said." said Mr Defecator putting the gun away.
The man in the flat-cap sunk to his knees sobbing hysterically and wrapped his arms around his dog, burying his face into the animal's fur.
"I-I meant get rid of the poo not shoot the dog," gasped Agent Two incredulously. "Who said you can have a gun?"
"You did."
"No I never."
"It may have been someone else come to think of it."
Agent Two slapped his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes in despair.
"You killed my Baxter!" screamed the man looking up with tears streaming down his face.
"A slight misunderstanding and one for which the agency is deeply regretful." said Agent Two with a nervous laugh.
"I want to speak to your supervisor!" yelled the man hugging the dog once again.
"I knew he'd say that." muttered the agent swearing under his breath. "Sir, would you like Mr Defecator to escort you home where we can make you feel more comfortable?"
"With him? With the murderer?" spat the flat-cap man looking up.
Agent Two cleared his throat and leaned in close to Mr Defecator to whisper into his ear.
"Take him home and make sure he doesn’t talk. Block his mobile phone, emails and make sure he has no contact with the outside world. Sedate him if necessary."
"Seems a tad harsh," said Mr Defecator looking uncertain. "The man's just lost his dog."
"You killed his dog and after all he is a known criminal. Plus who's going to miss a wealthy banker?"
8.
The suicide bomber
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, this is not your captain speaking.” barked the intercom on the plane. “My name is Agent One and I'd like to welcome everyone on BA Flight seven-six-five. With me today is a local superhero by the name of Captain Aeroacrophobia and he will be assisting me today. We are currently cruising at an altitude of thirty five thousand feet and at an airspeed of five hundred and sixty five miles per hour. The time is currently a little after three pm, and with a little tailwind we should arrive earlier than expected in London at approximately three forty five pm. The weather in London is clear but a little brisk so wrap up nicely on arrival.”
The voice on the planes intercom faded away and the sound of the airplane’s engines returned. The passengers resumed looking bored, some reading their books, magazines or watching the in-flight movie, while others were staring out of the cabin window or scolding their fidgeting children then escorting them down the aisle towards the toilet.
Suddenly the voice on the intercom sounded again startling some of the passengers who looked up in alarm, while many others just carried on ignoring it.
“What does that button do, captain?” asked Agent One. “It looks important.”
“Please don’t press that, sir.” replied the faint voice of the captain. “I think the intercom is still on.”
“Is this still on? Hello? Hello?”
“It’s definitely on.” said the voice of the captain.
Silence followed and after a few minutes, the voice of Agent One came back on over the intercom.
“Apologies ladies and gentlemen, I was looking at the instrument panel on the cockpit, slight oversight on my behalf but not as slight as running out of fuel mid-flight. The captain would like to express his sincere apologies and would like to point out that it was his flight crew that did the fuel calculation themselves and he had no part in this monumental cock-up. I know some of you will be understandably alarmed and on behalf of the pilot and crew I would like to ask that you remain calm and I hope you didn’t ignore the flight safety briefing at the start of the flight. For those of you not paying attention, please take a moment to review the safety data card in the seat pocket in front of you. Oxygen masks will soon drop down from above your seat so please place the masks over your mouth and nose as previously instructed. If you are travelling with children today please ignore their screams of terror and do reassure them that we have a real-life superhero onboard this plane who is capable of flight and will be targeting a select few children that he can carry safely from the plane when we are at an altitude that is safe to do so.”
“Except for the fat ones.” whispered a voice over the intercom.
Agent One cleared his throat over the speaker and paused for a second.
“As numbers are limited, fat children are exempt from rescue. The agency would further like to add that we do not discriminate against fat children but we don’t approve of them either and gluttony should be punishable by death. This is especially directed to the child taking up seats twenty six and twenty seven. The cabin crew will be coming around in the next few minutes to offer you light snacks and beverages.”
The intercom clicked off and there was gasps and shocked faces of disbelief from the passengers. Soon there was a clamor of voices, and the air hostesses making their way slowly down the aisles were trying their best to answer a barrage of questions from the frightened passengers.
“May I ask the flight attendants to take their seats,” spat the intercom barking back into life. “Once again ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to express the captain's regret at this catastrophic and unsurvivable inconvenience, and ask that you please fasten your seat belts and assume crash positions. If the tailwind cooperates we should get a great view of the city as we descend to our deaths. Until then, sit back, relax and enjoy the rest of the flight and apologies if you had plans for tomorrow, but you will all be dead. I hope that you have all had a pleasant flight, and on behalf of BA Flight seven-six-five, I thank you for flying with us today.
Passengers began screaming uncontrollably and praying for their lives with some vomiting in the in-flight sick bags or comforting their loved ones. After a while the sobbing died down and people began pulling out their mobile phones to text loved ones and leave their final messages to family and friends.
“May I just remind all passengers onboard BA Flight seven-six-five that there is a ban on mobile phone usage while the plane is in flight.” piped up the voice from the intercom.
“Screw you!” yelled a man yelled a man with his phone pressed firmly to his ear.
There was a momentary pause and then laughter could be heard coming over the speaker and some of the passengers paused and looked up with a puzzled look on their faces.
“I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen; I can’t keep this up any longer. The truth is the plane really isn’t running out of fuel. There is a time and a place for humor and this clearly isn’t it and I do apologize, it didn’t get the reception I thought it would.”
Gasps of shock and howls of anger erupted from the passengers at the news and the mood quickly changed in the cabin from one of fear to one of pure hostility.
“Get your ass out here.” roared one man with his fists clenched in anger.
The flight attendants sat opposite the captain’s cabin looked at one another a little nervously, and then stood up and vanished into the cockpit area as the clamor began to intensify.
A few seconds later the door re-opened and Agent One was forcibly shoved out of the cockpit area and into the aircraft cabin with his clipboard in hand. Behind him was a rather nervous looking man dressed in red spandex with red tights and red knee-length booths with an ‘A’ emblazoned on his chest. He wore what looked like a red swimming cap with small
metal wings on each side of his temple and a rich red satin cape trailing out behind him.
A chorus of boos greeted their arrival and passengers began hurling abuse at them and Agent One raised his hands to quieten them down.
“Take your seats, please,” he said. “It was only a joke.”
“So we’re not all going to die?” shouted a voice.
“That’s a point of discussion I’m now going to address.”
“Who the hell are you?” stormed one man stabbing a finger at them.
“As I said earlier, I am Agent One and this is my colleague Captain Aeroacrophobia and we’re here for your safety.”
“Are you some kind of sky marshal?”
“I’m not a sky marshal.”
“That was a sick joke you just pulled. Just look at all the women and children crying!” slammed another passenger.
“It was in bad taste,” admitted Agent One. “The idea was to give you some terrible news to prepare you all to feel horrible – really horrible, before I tell you the equally as bad news. It has been brought to my attention that we have a passenger on board who is a carrying an explosive belt and plans to blow this plane up in a terrorist attack.”
There was silence from the passengers and then a few of them shook their heads and returned to their books and magazines or in-flight movie.
“I’m being serious.” protested Agent One. “All people on board this plane will surely die unless I find out who this terrorist is.”
“Don’t believe you.” muttered one passenger in a bored voice.
“Talking crap.” said another.
Agent One turned to look at Captain Aeroacrophobia with a frown on his face, then looked back at the passengers.
“To elaborate, there is a passenger amongst you that is carrying a weapon of mass destruction that he will attempt to detonate. This plane will explode and become a pile of twisted burning metal and every limb and body part you have will separate, so time is of the essence here people.”
“A-Are you being serious now?” asked a woman sounding unsure and nervous at the same time.
“Do we look like people you can’t take seriously?” replied Agent One pointing to himself and Captain Aeroacrophobia. “In fact, don’t answer that. Quiet at the back please, keep it down. Okay ladies and gentlemen, so what we’re going to do now is to play a little game of show-and-tell. What I want you to do now, is to all raise your hands in the air.”
Hesitantly some of the passengers raised their arms towards the roof of the cabin and looked around.
“Come on, all of you.” urged Agent One.
The rest followed suit and he scanned the cabin slowly until he was satisfied.
“Good, go on all the way up, now wave those fingers for me, come on waggle those digits. Now I’ll be asking some random questions to you all and if the question doesn’t apply to you then lower your arms. Does everyone understand?”
The passengers nodded their head.
“Excellent,” said Agent One glancing at his clipboard quickly. “Okay, question number one. Do any of you know how to operate a reserve parachute? Because there's one back there for me and I haven’t a clue."
He looked around the cabin at the blank faces then broke into a wide grin.
"That was just a warm up question to see if you were all paying attention. Right then, first question. Has anyone on board this plane recently converted to Islam, is a member of al-Qaeda and enjoys voicing extremist views?"
With the exception of one person, every passenger on the plane dropped their arms quickly and turned to face the solitary man. He was a heavily bearded man with thick brows, a thin pock-marked face with shallow cheeks and disheveled brown hair and a scar running down the left side of his face.
Agent One and Captain Aeroacrophobia strode down the aisle and stood before him questioningly.
"You can lower your arms now."
The man licked his lips and shifted uneasily in his seat.
"Hello sir, what's your name?" asked Agent One casually.
"Abdul-Hamed al-Nusra." said the man wiping his forehead and swallowing hard.
Somewhere someone chuckled and Agent One looked up towards the location of the sound.
"Don’t mock the suicide bomber." he chastised. "So Abdul, you appear to be sweating quite heavily. Are you nervous about something?"
Suddenly Abdul reached under his white tunic trying to grasp something.
"For Allah." he screamed.
Then without warning a man reared up from behind Abdul's chair and plunged a syringe into the man's neck, injecting a liquid into his vein. Startled Abdul tried to turn but then his eyes glazed over and his head slumped forward onto his chest where he began snoring loudly.
"For the record, that man is a sky marshal." said Agent One pointing to the counter terrorist agent with the syringe in his hand.
The passengers erupted in spontaneous applause accompanied by cries of happiness and relief.
"Thank you, thank you." said Agent One turning and bowing. "Please, this is too much but do continue."
A small child ran towards Captain Aeroacrophobia and hugged his legs weeping uncontrollably.
"Hush child, you are saved." said the superhero lifting the boy up and ruffling his hair before wiping away his tears with a flick of his finger.
"Y-you saved u-us."
"What the hell did he do? I did all the work." grumbled Agent One.
"But-but I didn’t get to see you fly!" cried the boy looking disappointed.
"How about when we land we get Captain Aeroacrophobia to fly you and some of the other children around at around a thousand feet. Can we do that, Captain Aeroacrophobia, for the children?"
"Sure, except for the fat ones." replied Captain Aeroacrophobia. "I despise those tubby little bastards!"
9.
The alleyway drug-bust
"Have you got the goods?" asked the shifty looking slightly built man clutching onto the battered briefcase in the dimly lit alleyway.
The dealer in the leather jacket took a long, slow drag on his cigarette and blew a plume of smoke into the night air, then flicked the butt onto the ground in front on him.
"I got the goods if you got the cash. Have you got the cash?"
"That would depend wholly on whether you have the goods for which I would like to purchase with my cash. So where's the merchandise?"
The dealer looked over his shoulder at his two burly body-guards stood with their arms crossed over their barrel-like chests.
"Do you think I've got the goods, Barry?"
"It's a good question to ask, boss." said one of his men in a deep baritone voice. "Surely for such an exchange to take place one would be required to have the goods, but in the absence of cash then such a trade cannot surely take place."
The dealer nodded his head in approval at the answer and turned slowly back to the buyer with one eyebrow raised.
"I want to see the money first." he said popping another cigarette into his mouth and lighting it in one smooth motion.
The buyer looked over his shoulder at his two hulking accomplices who were staring hard-eyed ahead at the two burly body-guards.
"He wants to see the cash first, Lawrence?" he said sniffing and rubbing his nose.
"My first concern would be whether he has the package as it is a sizeable sum of money to be carrying on ones person."
"Are you questioning my integrity as a drug dealer?" hissed the dealer.
Suddenly he thrust his hand inside his leather jacket and rested it on something menacingly.
"What are you doing?" asked the buyer wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
"My hand is cold." said the dealer.
"Then put it in your trouser pocket."
"I don’t have a gun in my trouser pocket."
The buyer nodded his head in understanding.
"This may be a circumstance whereby I let you think I have the cash but I don't, but that would be foolish now. The good news is
that I may have the cash providing you have the drugs."
"We could be here a while," said the dealer relaxing his grip on his gun inside his jacket.
He turned and nodded his head at one of his bodyguards who stepped forward and pulled a rectangular object from out behind his back.
"Now let's see the money!"
The buyer licked his lips at the package and cradled the battered briefcase in the crook of his arm and opened it, exposing the bundles of money inside.
Stepping forward the dealer eyed the cash, quickly scanning it with his eyes before smiling and taking another long drag on his cigarette.
"Everything seems to be in order." he said.
"Then if everyone is happy the exchange can now take place." remarked the buyer holding out the briefcase.
The dealer sucked deep on his cigarette and held the smoke at the back of his throat before coughing and spluttering violently.
"Are you okay?" asked the buyer.
Bending double the dealer nodded his head as he wheezed for breath. After a few moments he stood back up with tears streaming from his eyes then straightened his shoulders to regain his composure.
"Sorry about that, I was trying to blow a smoke ring. I'm pretty skilful at it."
"Is it hard to do?" asked the buyer curiously. "I've never smoked."
"You need to keep the tongue flat to get the best shape. I swallowed right at the moment I was going to push the smoke out."
"Oh right. Lawrence can do smoke rings, cant you Lawrence?" he said looking back at his burly accomplice.
"I'm on the electronic cigs now." he replied gruffly.
"Are you, since when?"
"About two weeks now."
"I never knew that," said the buyer. "Well done you. Now, if we can go back to the exchange we can be on our way. I need to get this Heroin cut with cement, brick dust and ground glass before I get it on the street."
The dealer took the package from his bodyguard and beckoned with his other hand to the buyer who held out the briefcase.
Society of Heroes with Indeterminate Talent Page 6
