"Okay, if these superheroes are field ready and approved, then I guess we're just going to have to use them. So what do we have here? We have the group of four on the left who call themselves the Fanspastic Four, and finally the man on the right sat upon two goats who calls himself Goatsrider. Which do you want?"
"Hmmm…I don’t know," said Agent Two tapping his chin. "Can we actually call them the Fanspastic Four? Isn't that, you know, kind of derogatory and offensive?"
"I didn’t make the name up, they did," remarked Agent One looking at the four individuals. "Tell me, why did you call yourselves the Fanspastic Four?"
"We chose that name because we're all mentally retarded." said one of the superheroes with his head tilted the side and his arm held in a crooked position, feet turned inward.
"You all have a form of mental retardation?" asked Agent One before looking at his colleague with a frown on his face. "Am I allowed to ask that?"
"I guess so."
"We all have Down Syndrome." replied the man slowly with a sliver of drool snaking down his chin.
"Really?" gasped Agent One in mock surprise. "I would never have guessed, even with the large forehead, bulging eyes, stunted growth and shortened hands."
"Can we go out in the field now?" asked the man looking up and focusing on the fluorescent light on the ceiling.
"Are you asking me the question or the light fitting?"
The man didn’t respond and Agent One looked to the man stood next to him who was gaping with a vacant look at the agent with his mouth wide open.
"Let me ask you a question," continued the agent. "Do you think this condition would hinder you out in the field?"
"We're special because we have an extra chromosome." the man replied with a goofy grin.
"Yes, you're all very special indeed. But I'm just running through your notes and looking for something that I may find beneficial to help us out on the dangerous streets of London and I really don’t see anything. Can you just give me a brief overview of your superpowers? Let's start with you sir, on the far left?"
"I have the mental ability of an eight year old." said the man licking the palm of his hand.
"That's fantastic. What about you next to him?"
"I have weak muscle tone."
"That's great to hear and you next to him?"
"I have poor memory." said the man looking around him in bewilderment. "Say, where are we?"
"Finally, you sir."
"I have slow reflexes." said the final man.
"All really good abilities to possess so thank you for sharing them with us today. This must truly be a development milestone for you all," commented Agent One smiling before looking at his colleague. "See I'm really uncomfortable asking these sorts of questions."
"You can take them and I'll take the man riding the goats."
"RSPCA will love this one." muttered Agent One.
"I am Goatsrider." boomed the man crossing his arms across his chest.
"Maaaaaaa." bleated the goats in tandem.
"I see you're wearing a black leather biker jacket with spiked shoulder pads, but I don’t see any hellfire and you have a pair of goats in place of a motorcycle." said Agent Two.
"I am Goatsrider."
"I think we have already established that, haven’t we Agent One?"
"He rides goats." acknowledged his colleague.
"Tell me Mr. Goatsrider, do they like you sitting on top of them. They look pretty uncomfortable to me. We may get challenged a little about animal cruelty, so may have to lose the goats."
"I am Goatsrider."
"I understand, but there's strange legislation about animal abuse called the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act 1979 that we have to adhere to, so the goats might have to go."
"I love my goats." cried Goatsrider. "They sleep with me."
"It's kind of cute when you think about it," said Agent Two. "Two goats curled up like a pair of dogs on some fresh straw at the feet of their master."
"No, they sleep with me." yelled Goatsrider. "We make love."
"Ahhhhh…," replied Agent Two trailing off into silence.
"We really do need a word with the applications department." said Agent One.
"I think the sooner the better."
18.
The busking Buddhist beggar
"You got any spare change, man?" asked the beggar looking up and shaking his tin can.
Agent One stared at the unkempt homeless man sat cross-legged on the paving slabs with his back resting against the wall a few feet away from the ATM machine. He had a long dusty beard full of knots and wore ragged threadbare clothing with no shoes on his dirt ingrained feet.
"Uhmmm…let me just look." said the agent rummaging around in his pocket for any loose change.
The beggar smiled showing crooked and uneven yellow teeth as Agent One fished around for some coins with the four members of the Fanspastic Four loitering behind him, slack-jawed and looking around aimlessly.
He pulled out his hand and rested some coins on his palm and counted them with his eyes.
"It appears that I do." said the agent cheerfully, as he pushed the money back into his pocket.
The smile instantly vanished from the beggar's face to be replaced by one of scorn and irritation.
"That's very condescending and insensitive of you," snapped the beggar. "I'm just a struggling homeless man who is cold, hungry and in need of a drink."
"Like that bottle of cheap cider by your feet?"
The beggar sniffed and nudged the alcohol behind his back.
"It gets thirsty work surviving on the streets."
"Its 9am in the morning." countered the agent with an unsympathetic look on his face.
"If you're not going to give me any money, can I politely ask you to piss off because I'm missing some of my repeat customers?"
"If I give you money I'm encouraging you to stay on the streets. A little advice though, you need to limpen that wrist of yours a little, and try and look a bit more pathetic. Have you made much this morning?"
The beggar hawked and spat on the ground and peered into his tin can with a forlorn look on his face.
"Not yet, still early mind."
"What does your sign say?"
Scooping his cardboard sign up the beggar held it up so the agent could read it.
"Will work for food?" remarked Agent One nodding his head. "So will you?"
"Will I what?"
"Will you work for food like your sign reads?"
"No," snorted the homeless man looking like he'd been insulted.
"Oh right."
Turning the sign over the beggar let the agent read the other side.
"Homeless veteran?" queried Agent One. "Are you a veteran?"
"No, what are you the vagrancy police or something?"
"My name is Agent One and I represent S.H.I.T which is an organization tasked with cleaning up the streets of London of crime. My four colleagues behind me work with the agency."
"Why is he licking the brick wall?" asked the beggar pointing at one of the members of the Fanspastic Four.
"He does that quite often." muttered the agent looking embarrassed.
"How often?"
"Every time he sees a brick."
"Is he okay? He's starting to foam at the lips."
Sighing, Agent One stepped forward, guiding the superhero away from the damp brickwork.
"Just let it go Davey, you'll hurt your tongue."
Davey nodded his head licking his lips before edging a step closer back to the wall.
"I've got my eye on you, Davey." warned the agent wagging his finger.
"I thought I had issues." muttered the beggar in disbelief as the superhero looked over innocently then flicked his tongue out like a snake testing the brick.
"I think it's similar to what you see with Macaws in rainforests when they find a clay lick, irresistible. He must be lacking vitamins or mineral or something."
"Can you leave me al
one now?"
"Well sir, the answer is no, see we're here as part of a London-wide crackdown on crime and you're committing a crime."
"I'm not committing no crime." snapped the beggar.
"Actually you are. In the United Kingdom begging is illegal under the Vagrancy Act of 1824. Plus looking at your sign you're clearly also soliciting money by deception so you need to move on or you will be arrested."
"I ain't losing this spot," spat the beggar. "It's a prime location right next to the cash machine."
"But you're breaking the law and people are feeling intimidated by your presence."
"Look, I need to buy baby milk for the boy." cried the beggar reaching behind him and pulling out a small baby swaddled in cloth sucking on a dummy.
"You have a child out on the streets with you?" gasped Agent One looking appalled. "What's your son's name?"
"I don’t know his name," said the beggar shrugging his shoulders. "He's just a begging tool I rent on a day-to-day basis to appeal to the public's sympathy."
"You can't do that!"
"Why not?" argued the beggar bending down and sniffing the child's nappy with a grimace on his face.
"Because it's child neglect and inhumane," cried the agent leaning forward to check on the boy. "Is that child sedated?"
"Sleeping, sedated same thing." replied the beggar tucking the child away behind his back. "Now if there's nothing else, can you and your brick licking friends take your hobophobia and leave me alone."
"I cannot allow this crime to go unnoticed."
"But I've told you, this isn’t a crime. I'm a Buddhist begging for alms and Buddhists have been doing it for centuries."
"You don’t look like a Buddhist! Don’t they traditionally shave their heads and beards to show their commitment to the Holy Life and wear yellow robes?"
"I don’t have to justify the teachings of Buddha to you. Now this is my temple, you're stood in my shrine and messing with my zen-like contemplation, so in the words of the great and mighty Buddha himself, piss off you twat!"
"I'm sorry sir, either you cease this activity or I will be forced to remove you from this are with the help of my superhero colleagues."
"They're superheroes?" asked the beggar pointing behind the agent.
Agent One turned to see Davey vigorously licking the brickwork with renewed determination, while another had his pants around his ankles slapping his buttocks. The third was running around startled pedestrians with his arms stretched out like a plane while the fourth was headfirst in a bin with his legs waggling furiously.
"Come on guys!" yelled Agent One in exasperation.
The four members of the Fanspastic Four dutifully sauntered over to him with their heads hunched, looking like scolded puppies.
"Pull your pants up, Richard."
Richard hastily yanked his pants up.
"Now look like superheroes."
The four men growled low in their throat at the beggar who raised his arms in surrender.
"Okay, okay I'm not a Buddhist. That was a lie. I'm a busker and that's not illegal now is it? Just wanting to share my talent with the world and if passerby's want to show their appreciation of my musical ability with a monetary contribution then that's fine by me."
"I don’t see a musical instrument."
Muttering to himself the beggar delved into his inside pocket and pulled out a black plastic recorder which he waved in front of the agent.
"Can I hear you play?"
"Sure." said the beggar lifting the recorder up to his lips in a clumsy and awkward fashion.
"It looks so natural in your fingers." commented the agent.
The beggar placed the mouthpiece between his lips and his fingers hovered over the holes.
"This is street theatre at its best, you just listen."
Suddenly he blew and a distorted high-pitched wailing screech echoed eerily around the area making the agent plug his ears with his fingers and winch. After a few agonizing moments the beggar stopped playing and popped the recorder back into his pocket with a satisfied smirk on his face.
"Beautiful and melodic, wasn’t it?"
"It's amazing that just that small amount of airflow could make me want to hold a rusty nail to the curb, pointy side up and head-butt it, repeatedly."
"I do need to work on it a little." admitted the homeless man.
"And another thing, where's your busking license? It should be displayed at all times when performing."
"Hold on," said the beggar raising a finger. "It's here somewhere I'm sure of it."
He swiveled on his spot and looked behind him, rummaging around for something with his back turned to the agent.
"Ah, here it is."
Agent One blinked once as the beggar turned back around, holding his middle finger up with a grin plastered over his face.
"I feel like I'm wasting my time here."
"Hey, I have an idea," offered the beggar. "I'm clearly wasting your time and I don’t want you here, but you won't go if I'm begging, right?"
"Right."
"Well, just a suggestion but why not leave your four friends with me and they can watch over me and make sure I don’t beg for any more money."
"I don’t know if that's such a good idea if I'm honest." said the agent scratching his agent. "But I am kinda busy you know."
"I wouldn’t dare beg if these four superheroes were stood guard over me."
"Really?" asked Agent One with a frown on his face.
"They are truly terrifying and there is absolutely no intention on my behalf to get any monetary gain from their presence around me."
Agent One thought for a moment and turned to look at the Fanspastic Four who were looking back at him, each with a sliver of drool forking down their chins.
"They're a bit of a handful but I suppose that might work."
"No more begging for me, no sir."
"Round up in a huddle," said the agent gathering the four superheroes together in a circle. "Right, I want you four to stay here and keep an eye on this man, he's a criminal and he's not allowed to beg for money. Do you all understand?"
"Beg for money." said Davey.
"Excellent!" said the agent turning back to the beggar. "My boys will tell me the moment you start begging again. Do you understand?"
"Completely," replied the beggar beckoning the four superheroes across. "Come and sit down boys two on either side of me."
Agent One pulled out a long piece of leather with four harnesses with adjustable straps which he passed over to the beggar.
"You have a leash for them?" he asked questioningly.
"Reins, leash, same thing." replied the agent. "It's just to direct them."
19.
The takedown
“Can I make love to my goats now?” asked Goatsrider pulling out the lubricant from his black leather jacket.
“No, absolutely not, Simon,” replied Agent Two. “While a crime is in progress there is to be no forms of bestiality or zoophilia whatsoever. Do you understand?”
“But I am Goatsrider.” boomed the superhero.
“Will you stop saying that?”
“But they enjoy the love.”
“Then do it in the privacy of your own home. In fact, forget I said that. Did you know that Section 63 of the Criminal Justice and Immigration act, also known as the Extreme Pornography act prohibits a person performing an act of intercourse with an animal whether dead or alive?”
“I did not know that,” admitted Goatsrider, nuzzling the heads of the goats with affection. “Such unreasonable areas of the law.”
“Ignorance of the law is no excuse, Simon.”
“It will not change my love for them. We are very much in love and talk about the future often. We want to make little goat children, but I sometimes find it hard to satisfy their needs equally.”
“Simon, can we drop the whole illegal bigamist cross-species relationship thing, especially while we’re out on the streets representing S.H.I.T and t
rying to stop crime. It’s unhealthy and a little too weird for my liking and cruel to the animals. Let’s treat it like a forbidden boundary we don’t like to talk about.”
“But its consensual.” claimed Goatsrider looking hurt. “Ask them?”
“Do you speak goat?”
“Of course!” he exclaimed.
“Can I hear an example?” asked the agent raising his eyebrows questioningly.
“Maa-maa-maa,” bleated the superhero.
Agent Two sighed and shook his head.
“Aren’t you worried about infections or things like that?” asked the drug pusher holding the crack-pipe and staring with his mouth wide open.
“The very definition of irony. Common sense from the peddler selling illicit drugs to the parents of young children. Now where was we?” said Agent Two turning back to face the man leaning against the wall outside the school gates wearing the baggy jacket and baseball cap.
“You were accusing me of selling drugs to parents dropping off their children on the morning school run,” said the man sniffing loudly.
“Yes, we’ve been watching and filming you from that car parked over there.” said the agent turning and pointing at a vehicle parked across the road.
“Nah, I don’t sell drugs.”
“But we saw you shake that man’s hand and palm him the drugs just a few minutes ago.” countered Agent Two.
“That was the headmaster. He gives me his silent consent to deal outside the premises.”
“Really?”
“He gets a special discount. Excuse me one moment.”
The drug pusher turned to greet another man who walked up. They grasped hands, switched money and drugs, before giving a fist pump and walking on with a nod at the agent as he passed.
“You did it again!” gasped the agent incredulously.
“Did what?” asked the dealer stuffing his hands into his baggy jacket innocently.
“Sold drugs! Do you realize that the camera is still rolling in the car and gathering evidence against you?”
Suddenly an old woman pushing a trolley and wearing a woolen hat over her iron grey curled hair rolled up next to them.
She held out her wrinkled hand and the drug pusher slipped her a small rectangular packet before she gave him a quick fist-pump and moved on.
Society of Heroes with Indeterminate Talent Page 11
