Auxiliary Hero Corps: Collection of books one, two, and three in the Auxiliary Hero Corps series. (Superheroes Of The Hero Union Corps)

by Charles Eugene Anderson

  Smokey nudges me and the two of us start to make our way toward him, just as a precaution. “Hippie told me the Viet Cong used to have tunnels, safe bases where they could stay underground and out of sight of the Americans. In there, they could eat, sleep, train—and there was nothing the Americans could do about it. From those bases they could also pop up and strike anywhere. They would wait to wallop the American soldiers where they were the weakest.”

  “So you think the Beat has gone underground? Someplace safe?” I’m still watching Hippie. He looks as if he’s joking with the group, and he amuses them by starting a dance that spins him around, and he’s waving his arms too. In his mind I think he must be still in the 1960’s, reliving the good times. If he could, he might even imagine flowers in his hair.

  “That was the Hippie’s job in the war: to go underground. They gave him a pistol and a flashlight, called him a ‘tunnel rat.’ He would fight by himself, and he’d have to go down inside to face them head-on. Can you imagine him down in those tunnels? But that was before he joined the Hero Union Corps, and I don’t know if he knew the full extent of his powers at that time.”

  “That’s what I want to do,” I say. “I want to go inside the Beat’s lair, or wherever it is he’s hiding. I know I could get him into the open so we can all have a chance at him. The three of us could finish him off. We owe it to Daphnia.” I add.

  Smokey’s voice is even sterner when he says, “What we owe to Daphnia is to carry on the way the Auxiliary Corps expects us to, and let Hippie fight the Beat on his own. The Beat is his villain. The fight is between the two of them. It’s not our place.”

  I want to argue with Smokey, but I know I won’t change his mind. We’re members of the Corps.

  But Smokey can’t predict what will happen if we meet up with the villain again. I have the Tomcat, Spike, and my other tattoos I can use as weapons, and I still want to be the one who finishes off the Beat.

  It’s another night patrol, and I’m sure my hope of finding the Beat will fade quickly again. The mad poet had disappeared back into the blackness of the city. The Beat is good at covering his tracks, and we won’t find him again until he wants to be found. Now the only thing left for us to do is wait. And to carry on.

  I know Smokey is disappointed with my suggestion. I know he wants to get back at the Beat as much as I do, but Smokey is a rules-follower. He always limits himself to the Corps’ rules.

  But I don’t want to limit myself; I want to find the Beat and punish him. If the Beat comes in front of the muzzle of my Tomcat again, I will squeeze the trigger, and I won’t miss this time. I won’t even let Smokey get in the way.

  I know Smokey thinks I might get into trouble, and he wants to tell me not to go rogue. He might say, “Isn’t your first duty to the Auxiliary Corps?” But for now he’s wise enough to keep his mouth shut, mostly.

  Rogue heroes become an instant enemy to the Corps. The only path we can follow is the one paved with the rules of the Auxiliary Corps. And the rules for the Hero Corps are basically the same. But there’s no Rogue Hero Corps. Rogues end up becoming villains most of the time, and it’s a line we don’t want to cross.

  The Old Hippie is paid a dollar for his dance. I look at the old hero as he takes a bow, and I wonder if I’m going to become a rogue and an instant enemy to the Corps. Together, we finish our patrol, and I go home with too many thoughts in my head.

  * * *

  For the next few weeks, Smokey and I continue to have our nightly meeting at the Templeton. He usually orders the largest breakfast on the menu: eggs, potatoes, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and toast. I’m always eager to get started on our nighttime search, but I make sure I eat. Without Daphnia, the two of us aren’t a match for the Beat. The Auxiliary Corps’ bureaucrats keep promising a replacement for Daphnia, and I can tell Smokey is getting tired of no one showing up to take her place.

  The two of us go out as soon as we’re finished eating. We head to our usual meeting place, where we’ll wait for Hippie. Tonight’s meeting place is Hester Park, on the northwest corner next to the Japanese teahouse. The Hippie doesn’t have a cell phone, so we’ll wait for him as long as it takes. With his help, the three of us will be a match for the Beat.

  Or at least I hope we will be.

  I say, trying to make a joke, “Of course, I get stuck with you and the Hippie, and neither one of you has a cell phone. This would be so much simpler if the two of you would embrace the twenty-first century. It isn’t 1963, you know. There aren’t any telephone booths around anymore.”

  Smokey doesn’t respond right away. Then he says, “To tell you the truth, it never seemed important to me to get a cell phone. Who would I call? You? I talk to you every night. I guess I could have one so I could ring the Corps when I needed to.” He pauses. “Nope, even that’s a bad idea, because they’ll be calling me every two minutes, always wanting something stupid. Or even worse, the Corps would want constant updates on our location.”

  “Maybe it isn’t so bad for you, Smokey. But you know, these days, every normal, well-adjusted person knows they need one.” I sigh. “I don’t know why I’m wasting my time with this old argument. I know I’m not going to change your mind, and I shouldn’t say anything.”

  Maybe the Beat knows we’re out there looking for him, because when the three of us are together there’s no sign of him. Every night, no luck. I don’t understand the mind of a villain of his caliber, I just know that he’s either remaining in hiding or has gone totally off our radar. Everywhere we look, the trail has grown cold. There’s nothing for us to follow.

  “I don’t know,” says Smokey. “You know, I’m getting hungry and I think I actually may have told Hippie to meet us at Tim Hortons.”

  The doughnut shop is across the street from the main library on Robson Street. It’s a few blocks from the park, and I don’t say anything because this isn’t the first time this has happened.

  “You just ate, and I’m going to buy you a smartphone for Christmas,” I say. “You could text, call people, and organize your life, dude, and we wouldn’t have messes like this, and you could remember things.” I should just keep quiet. He’s determined to go buy himself a mass of deep-fried sugar and flour.

  When we get there the Hippie is waiting for us, and after a few minutes he excuses himself to go use the facilities in the back.

  “How old is Hippie?” I ask.

  “Old,” says Smokey. The waitress brings him his plate of food, and gives him a refill on his coffee.

  “But I mean, how old is he? What’s his age?” I try to get Smokey to focus on my question instead of on the bear claw in front of him.

  “He must be at least in his late sixties,” I suggest. “Think about it. Do you remember how he tells us stories about Haight-Ashbury, and how he was really in San Francisco in its heyday before he came north?”

  “Yes, he tells us that same story over and over again. Peace, love, and all of that other nonsense.” Smokey looks up from his pastry, and I think he’s wondering whether he continue playing my game of twenty questions. “So what?”

  “So, if the Old Hippie first started in the 1960’s, how old does that make the Beat? He’s got to be older,” I say.

  I hoped I could get his grey matter flowing. “The Beat has been around longer. He must be in his seventies, or eighties, at least.” I paused. “But was that an old man we fought? No, it wasn’t. The Beat . . . he moves like a villain in his prime. He’s young. Decades away from using a walker, or getting pushed through the nursing home in a wheelchair.”

  I wait, take a sip from my coffee cup, and put it back down before I speak again.

  “Did the Beat move like a villain in his seventies? He killed Daphnia, and he could have killed me, too—easily—if you hadn’t showed up. If you ask me, he’s still a villain in his prime. Have you ever heard of a villain being so old?”

  “No, I suppose I haven’t,” says Smokey. “Those old ones are either dead, faded away, or in jail.�
� He thinks about it for a moment and asks, “Tickle my chin whiskers, what the heck is going on?”

  I’ve gotten through to him. “I don’t know, but I know we weren’t fighting a seventy-year-old man. Daphnia may have only been in the Auxiliary Corps like me, but she should’ve been able to handle him on her own.”

  Smokey takes another bite of his bear claw. “Maybe Hippie knows something we don’t.”

  When Hippie returns from the facilities, Smokey says, “Could I get you a bear claw tonight, Hippie? It’ll be my treat.”

  “Man, you know I don’t eat that stuff. It’s bad for you,” says Hippie. I’ve never seen him eat a doughnut. He might drink a cup of black coffee, but he’ll never have a doughnut.

  “Yes, that’s probably why you’re in such tip-top shape,” says Smokey. “I should take after you, and quit eating these deep-fried bites of heaven.”

  “Or maybe there’s something he isn’t telling us.” I say. I know I’m being disrespectful, but I don’t care. “Maybe there’s something he does to keep so healthy. It might be nice if you told us what you do to keep so healthy and young,” I say.

  “Vitamins, wheat grass, and all that other groovy stuff. The usual things, like everyone else,” says Hippie.

  “Not me. You won’t catch me going near that stuff,” says Smokey. “But what about the Beat? Do you think he eats only his wheat grass, and all that other groovy stuff they have at the health food store, to keep himself feeling young like you.”

  Hippie doesn’t answer.

  “Maybe you don’t understand what I’m asking,” says Smokey. He seems to have lost his appetite, and puts the bear claw down on a napkin in front of him. “The Beat has been a villain longer than I’ve been alive, and he can still kick our bunny tails any time he wants. Doesn’t that seem strange? The Beat should be collecting a pension check, and yet he seems young. Don’t you think?”

  “Hey dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says the Hippie. He starts to get up. “Maybe we should get back to work.”

  “Why don’t you sit down and answer my question?” asks Smokey. “I want to go out on patrol. Sure I do, and so does Val, but I don’t think I know what’s going on. I want all the facts before we meet up with the Beat again.”

  “You don’t have the clearance,” says the Hippie in a commanding voice that surprises the two of us. “Members of the Auxiliary Corps aren’t high enough in the command structure. It’s all A-1. Top-secret stuff. That’s what the man says to me. It might even go higher.” The Old Hippie doesn’t seem like a frail old man anymore. Now he seems vibrant, forceful. “You’re going to have to trust me. That’s all I can tell you. I’m not allowed to say anything else. But you can trust me.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” says Smokey. “I might have trusted you before Daphnia got killed, but now I’m not certain I should trust anyone without knowing what’s going on.”

  “Sorry, old friend,” says Hippie. He gets up and leaves the doughnut shop without us.

  I try to get up to follow him out. Smokey reaches across the table and grabs my shirt. He lets go of it quickly and says, “Sit back down. He doesn’t want us with him right now. He’s mad at me. I pushed him too far. I knew beforehand he would’ve said something if he could. But he can’t tell us. So that means there’s something going on they don’t want us to know.”

  After waiting a bit, we get up and leave the Tim Hortons. I know Smokey doesn’t stay mad too long, and after a few minutes, I know he’s no longer upset with me. I don’t know if he’s quick to forgive or if he forgets quickly, but it’s in the past now. In fact, there’s only one thing he never forgets: his nemesis, The Fire Starter.

  We walk a little while by ourselves before I speak up again.

  “Do you own a house?” We’re continuing our patrol, our usual route despite it only being the two of us. We’re walking down Richards Street, and I can see our city’s municipal building. Its marble columns will be lit by electric lights for a couple more hours before they shut them off at midnight. “I’ve never been to your place, you know. In fact, I’ve never been to anyone’s home from the Corps.”

  “I haven’t either,” says Smokey. “It’s just not something we do. Our lives at home are our own. That’s why we meet in the diner. It’s our office. But our homes are private.” He stops walking and looks at the municipal building standing in front of us. “Maybe we’re like this building. We’re so lit up at night because the public feels they need to shine a bright light on us every chance they get; but when we go home we need that light turned off, because it gets too bright. It’s sort of sad when you think about it. We go home to lonely places during the day because we can’t be with our own kind. It would suffocate us, and there wouldn’t be any air left for us to breathe, not even a mouthful.”

  “It is sad,” I say, and I realize I don’t like living by myself anymore, but I know I can’t return to Grandmother’s house to live. I need a place of my own, and I want someone to share my life with.

  “We’re lucky though, you know,” Smokey says. “We have the Auxiliary Hero Corps. We have our training. Those old guys like the Old Hippie—they didn’t have anything when they started. You don’t know the burdens they had to face. They’re all gone now, and Hippie is the last one standing.”

  Smokey pauses and looks down the street. “I remember when I was a kid: the world was full of veteran crime fighters from the Hero Union Corps. Those people were heroes from as far back as World War Two. But they’re all dead now. The H-Bomb radiation played most of them out, or maybe it was all those packs of cigarettes.”

  The night is getting cold, and I want to get back to my apartment and get some sleep. Spike is walking alongside us tonight. ; I’ve been trying to stay better prepared after what happened to Daphnia, . and And even Spike looks like he wants the night to be over with.

  “How old are you, Smokey?” I’m thinking about the old heroes. “Those Union Corps guys you’re talking about . . . Weren’t they like, really ancient?” I gave him a funny look.

  “I’m not that old, but I do remember watching them on TV,” says Smokey.” There was Captain Might, he was my favorite, and the Scarlet Hound. She was sexy—great legs. Both of them were overly self-righteous, though; do-gooders. Have you ever noticed that the heroes who wear tights are always the most self-righteous ones of all? If you ever become a Super, please don’t wear tights.”

  “I don’t know if I’m even going to make it out of the Auxiliary Corps, let alone have a Hero’s name,” I say. “Sometimes I just want to move back home with my family. I miss living in my grandmother’s house, and I miss my brother and my sisters.”

  “You aren’t the first hero who’s ever wanted to live with his family. But I’m afraid it never works out. They can’t, and won’t, understand you. Heroes are always in danger, and you don’t want to bring that danger home to the ones you love.”

  We catch up with the Hippie before our patrol is done. I really didn’t think we’d see him again tonight, and I’m surprised to see that he’s getting hassled for a second time. At first I think it’s more drunks from a bar giving him a hard time, but then I realize it’s something else. He sees us, and he seems relieved. He tries to walk back toward us, but there are three men blocking his way.

  “We want something from you,” I can hear one of the men say. The men are all dressed in black leather jackets, black pants, and black shoes. I nudge Smokey with my elbow when I realize who they are. These aren’t any normal hoodlums.

  “These are hired thugs,” I say to Smokey, but I’m mostly just thinking out loud. “They must be henchmen. Henchmen . . . That can’t be. In our city? Does that mean there’s a Super Villain around? Henchmen always work for Super Villains.”

  Smokey doesn’t say anything, because he hasn’t the time. The larger henchman has grabbed Hippie by the collar of his old sailor’s jacket.

  Something else is going on, and my first thought is: tThis is another ambush. T
he Old Hippie is vulnerable, and the trap has already been laid. Hippie wouldn’t have been there by himself if we hadn’t’ve made him mad earlier. Had whoever laid this trap thought we’d be there too? I’m not sure, but I know we have to act right now.

  Hippie isn’t as slow as he looks. I hope he knows we’re coming, that the two of us can help him. Both of us are at full speed, and I can see that two of the thugs have knives, while the third still has Hippie in his grip.

  Hippie produces a burst of energy; it’s a different energy from his LSD, and it’s sudden and quick. The force of the blast is so fast and powerful, it not only knocks down the three henchmen, but Smokey and me as well. I shake my head, get up, and my ears are ringing. I can’t focus. My vision clears, and I see that the only one standing beside me is Hippie. Even Spike is lying on his side. I try to say something, but it doesn’t sound right in my head. The blast really shook me up. It takes me a minute to regain my bearings.

  My first thought is that the three henchmen are dead. They look like fish that’ve been blown out of a lake by dynamite. They aren’t going to get up anytime soon, anyway. Hippie has defeated them.

  I wobble on my feet, and I think my knees are going to give out. Hippie comes over to help me, and he says something, but I can’t make it out. My hearing still hasn’t returned. I look at my hands, then yell at Spike. I guess he can hear well enough, because it brings him around, and he stands up also. Finally, slowly, my hearing returns, and I hear Hippie say, “Wasn’t that cool? I haven’t used the Whammy Blast in a long time. I didn’t think I still had it in me.”

  “Are they dead?” I ask Hippie, pointing at the three henchmen.

  “Nah, but they’re going to have a big headache when they wake up.” he says. “One of us should call police dispatch and have these guys hauled away to the station.”

  Smokey is finally back on his feet as well, and makes his way over to us. “Is everyone okay? Hippie, I think you must have used the double whammy that time.”