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

  “They got me mad. I’m not usually like that, but they got me really angry,” shrugs the Old Hippie. He isn’t mad any longer, though. He has a really relaxed smile on his face.

  Smokey says, “Hippie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you about the Beat.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” says Hippie. “I shouldn’t have been a total downer, but sometimes I get so mad. Sometimes I get tired of all the rules we heroes have to follow. There’s just too many of them.”

  My legs aren’t yet entirely steady, and I’m still having problems hearing clearly. My ears feel like I’ve been standing behind a jet engine. As I try again to shake off the aftereffects of whatever Hippie did, I notice something.

  I had thought this battle was finished, but it looks like another has already begun.

  “Smokey, look over there. Who’s that?” The three henchmen still haven’t moved, but another figure is running toward us.

  It’s the Beat.

  He’s dressed in his usual black. It seems to me he’s even blacker and bigger than I remembered from the night he killed Daphnia. He immediately starts to speak, a verse by Allen Ginsberg, and I know this has all been planned. It’s an ambush, and the henchmen were merely a distraction. I don’t know whether the Beat counted on Smokey and I showing up, but he laid a trap, and we were the ones who stepped into it.

  The Beat isn’t by himself. I’ve never seen the other villain before, but I’ve heard of him. He’s a villain only mentioned in hushed voices, because he’s the kind of demon only spoke of after a nightmare. The Black Shirt. He’s been around forever, a true original foe of the old Hero Union Corps. He even fought Captain Might and the Scarlet Hound. Some thought he had fled to Argentina, but most thought he had just gotten old and died.

  Apparently not.

  The Black Shirt is considered a Super Villain. He’s far too powerful for someone in the Auxiliary Hero Corps to deal with. In 1960, the Israelis sent their own heroes, MHC, to find him in South American and bring him back, but they weren’t successful. He ended up killing those sent to kill him. He’s the type of villain who fills the nightmares of guys like me.

  They’re about two hundred yards away. The Black Shirt is running beside the Beat, who’s still spouting one of his poems, but lucky for us, he isn’t spouting it loud enough for us to hear. Or maybe we can’t hear it because the effects of the Old Hippie’s Whammy Blast still have our ears ringing. But I’m pretty sure my hearing is okay and almost normal.

  “This isn’t good,” says Smokey, stating the obvious, but I know it’s something he wants to say out loud.

  “Are they coming after us?” I ask.

  “No, don’t be stupid; they want Hippie. The Beat wants him dead,” says Smokey.

  They’re within a hundred yards now.

  “We’re outclassed.” It’s my turn to state the obvious. Maybe it’s time to quit letting words come out of our mouths that don’t really have a purpose. Not like the Beat’s words, which very much do have a purpose. His words are used to harm, to maim, to kill.

  After the last encounter, the Beat must have realized that he isn’t powerful enough to defeat Hippie on his own. Hence the friend. I wonder how he recruited the Black Shirt to help his cause.

  “Is it really the Black Shirt?” I ask.

  “I don’t know for sure, but it must be him. And he’s got to be really old,” says Smokey. He hesitates before speaking again. “This isn’t right. Something isn’t adding up.”

  There’s no time to discuss it. It’s time to fight, to shut up and get ready for action.

  They’re fifty yards away.

  Spike is already at my side. I don’t have to tell him where the action is: he’s facing the two villains and growling. I know he’s itching to fight. My shirt is already off, and I get the Tomcat ready.

  Smokey stands next to me, still removing his own clothes. I can see the black fur already overtaking him, and I know the transformation will rip his clothes to shreds if he doesn’t take them off quick. Just as I have to free the tattoos from my skin before I can attack, Smokey has to transform change into his bear form.

  Once transformed, Smokey is big, about the size of his cousin, the wild grizzly. Spike stands next to him, and the two of them take off. They close the distance between themselves and the two villains, who quickly split up. The Beat continues to race toward Hippie, while the Black Shirt turns to meat Smokey and Spike.

  The dog and the bear are quick, but the Black Shirt is ready for them. He pulls out his swastika dagger, and the reflections in the blade hold my gaze.

  Hippie knocks me in the shoulder, and I snap awake. “Go help Smokey,” he says.

  “But—” I say.

  “It’s cool. Smokey needs your help more than me,” says the Hippie with a smile, and it’s enough for me to trust him and go to Smokey.

  As I race to join the action, Smokey rushes at the Black Shirt. The Nazi charges to meet him, and the bear’s giant claw takes the first swipe. The Nazi pulls a large shield, imprinted with an ugly swastika, from his back, and he’s fast enough to block Smokey’s blow. But the bear-man is strong, and the Black Shirt stumbles backwards, almost falling down. The shield may be protecting him, but the force of the bear’s powerful attack still pushes him backward.

  Smokey continues to press his attack, and roars in frustration each time the shield keeps him from reaching his prey. Sparks fly from the Black Shirt’s nasty shield every time Smokey’s claws strike it.

  In the face of this assault, the Black Shirt can only defend, and he’s gradually getting pushed farther and farther back. I think that Smokey might be trying to get him far enough from the action that one of us might have a chance to attack the Beat.

  I know I should keep moving while the Black Shirt’s attention is concentrated on Smokey. I have the Tomcat in my hand, but I won’t use it while Smokey blocks my line of sight. Spike stands next to the action, ready to attack, and I can tell he can’t wait to sink his teeth into the villain. But it’s dangerous for him to be so close. He waits for my command, and I’ll give him a quick whistle when I’m ready.

  Smokey swings wildly, throwing himself off balance, and for just a moment his attack lapses. The Black Shirt seizes the opportunity to counterattack. He sees Spike, and as quick as my dog is, the Black Shirt’s dagger is faster. I can only watch as the blade strikes him, and then I hear Spike yelp, and I fear he might be dead. Impulsively, I take aim with my Tomcat and fire at the Nazi, but the bullet glances off his protective shield.

  Smokey pauses to look back at me, and the Black Shirt takes advantage. He throws another dagger, but this time it’s aimed at Smokey. Fortunately the blade isn’t long enough to penetrate Smokey’s fur, and it falls harmlessly to the ground.

  I run to Spike to see if there’s anything I can do. I’m relieved when I see that he’s still alive. The blade has struck his leg. I touch him, and luckily he has enough life left in him so that he can return to my skin. Making my dog a tattoo again won’t heal his injury, but at least it will keep him out of harm’s way for the time being.

  I want to attack The Black Shirt for what he’s done to my dog, but with what I’ve just seen, I realize that I’m not equipped to fight the Super Villain. If anything, I’ve only served to distract Smokey, who was otherwise holding his own. I decide to change tactics: I’m going to save the Old Hippie from the Beat. I know I’m going to violate the Corp’s precious code, but there’s no one that’s going to stop me.

  The Black Shirt strikes back at Smokey with his shield. I have the Tomcat out again, and I’m going to try to go around and reposition myself behind the Beat. I’m not as fast as Smokey, but I’m younger, and my legs have recovered. Smokey sees me moving away, and instantly resumes his attack on the Black Shirt.

  I sprint, and as I approach, I see what the Beat is doing to the Hippie. The Beat’s words have taken hold, and the Old Hippie is no longer standing on his feet—he’s down on his knees. The Beat’s poetry is crushing h
im.

  He’s composed a new poem. And somehow I know that he wrote this poem to kill the Hippie. I know that when the poem is complete, the Old Hippie will be dead.

  I take aim and fire. My first shot is wild, and I know I’ll have to slow down and take aim if I have any hope that one of my bullets will find its target. I stop, steady my hand, and prepare to squeeze the trigger. I’m going to kill the Beat, and then I’ll go back and see if there’s any way I can help Smokey fight the Black Shirt.

  I feel the knife enter my back by my shoulder. I don’t have a layer of fur to protect me like Smokey, and I drop the Tomcat. I don’t know if the Black Shirt waited for me to stop running before he threw his dagger, or if he just got off a lucky throw while he fought off Smokey.

  What I do know is that there’s silence, because the Beat’s deadly epic poem is finished.

  Smokey and I have failed our friend.

  I turn to face the Hippie. He lies still on the ground, crushed to death under the weight of the Beat’s foul verse. Another friend, taken away from me by this villain.

  I turn again to look for Smokey. He’s there, but the Black Shirt and the Beat have disappeared. They could have killed us too, but I guess they only wanted Hippie.

  I reach back and pull the blade from my back. My nerves scream, but I don’t even feel it. My thoughts are too consumed by my defeat. By the loss of my friends. Daphnia. Hippie.

  On my arm, Spike howls.

  I join him, baying like a fool at the dark sky above.

  Book Two Prolog

  The ambulance carried a passenger who was supposed to be dead. The large red truck didn’t need the sirens or the flashing lights any longer after it left the crime scene with the victim. After a few blocks the driver, turned them off because they had already got to its destination. The logical trip would have been to the city’s morgue, but this wasn’t the usual crew that manned this ambulance. In fact the ambulance had been stolen a few nights before. Its GPS had been removed along with any electronics showing where it might be found by the police. After it made it to its only stop of the night. The two men would drive the vehicle to Chinatown and abandoned it in an alley, but first they needed to go to the old Vogue theatre.

  As the ambulance backed in, one of the crew got out and opened a new padlock to the old movie house’s back door. After the crewman opened the padlock, he moved back towards the ambulance’s rear door and lifted the heavy latch keeping it closed. He managed both doors and instead of dead body in the back, the woman they had transported was more than alive. She hopped down from the ambulance’s back end and landed on the ground, but she instead of a solid place for her feet, she landed in a mud puddle instead. The woman let out a mild curse as she found a better place to stand, and she looked down at the fresh mud on her boots. “I just got those clean.”

  Book Two Chapter One

  Channel 57 – KXVV

  Paid television commercial for the 1:05 pm time slot.

  Narrator: How much are you due for your pain and suffering? If it were my loved ones involved in a car crash, I would only want the very best on my side. Lawyer J.R. Smith, he’s on your side. Auto accidents, bankruptcies, tax problems, and unconstitutional detainment and harassment by the Hero Corps, or even worse, those pesky amateurs at the Auxiliary Corps. Remember J.R. Smith. He’s on your side when you are injured by a hero.

  Man: J.R. Smith, he got me $100,000!

  J.R. Smith: While I may not get everybody $100,000, these settlements are not typical.

  Woman: J.R. Smith told me everything was going to be all right.

  J.R. Smith: Everything will be all right if you let me work hard for you. I know superheroes aren’t super to everyone.

  * * *

  There are holes in everyone’s life, even mine. . Holes that can penetrate a man’s flesh. How many can be collected into must be endured in a lifetime before you die? I know the first hole in my life opened up the day my father left our house for good and abandoned my mother, and, of course, me. More recently, I feel holes left by the death of Daphnia and the Old Hippie are other holes.

  * * *

  News came down from the Corps’ headquarters. Smokey and I would take a paid week off while they did an investigation on their own. The death of the Old Hippie was a big defeat for all of us in the Corps. After answering all the questions of Corps investigators, I knew I wanted to get away. There was only one place to go, and the next morning I went back to my grandmother’s house. I wanted to see her, to sit in her kitchen, to eat her food. I wanted to see my brother and my two sisters, and I hoped they wanted to see me also as well. It was time for me to go home, and I felt there was nothing left for me in the whole world but to go back and to stay with them.

  My grandmother will make me my favorite, enchiladas, and I will sit at her kitchen table and watch her cook them. When I ask if she needs help, she won’t let me, but she will tell me there will be plenty of dishes to wash later on, and I know she’ll keep me busy late into the night until her kitchen is clean.

  Anna says to me, “Rudy thinks he’s a man and that he can do whatever he wants. He stays out late, sometimes all night long, and he does as he pleases. I’m hoping you would can talk to him or something. I don’t think Grandmother sees what he does anymore. She has selective blindness when it comes to him.”

  I think Anna is wrong because Grandmother used to notice everything I did wrong when I lived there. My grandmother used to get angry at me every day.

  Now that I’m home, and I don’t want to get caught up in my family’s drama. Rudy is at the age where he won’t listen to anyone, including me.

  The enchiladas smell good, and I like their intense spiciness in my nose. I could smell them as soon as I came home. When they’re ready, we all eat them together, and I wash down the enchiladas with my grandmother’s tea.

  After everyone has gone to bed, I go downstairs with Spike. My grandmother is still awake, and I know it’s because she had has something she wanted wants to tell me. I wait for her to say something while I eat the leftovers.

  She’s given me some of the leftover chicken scraps that hadn’t made it into her enchilada sauce, and I feed them to Spike. The dog eats until he’s full. He’ll sleep in the corner of the kitchen, and I wonder if Spike dreams of chasing chickens like normal dogs do. After a few days at the vet, he is recovering from the knife wound, but I’m still in pain. The ER doctors are always the same, and they told me I’d almost died from the knife the Black Shirt had thrown at me.

  “So what is up with Rudy?” I ask my grandmother as I finish eating. I get up and start to wash my dirty dish and fork in the sink. She starts to put away the rest of the leftover enchiladas, casually noting that there are plenty of leftovers for tomorrow. When she’s finished with that chore, she grabs a dish towel and starts to dry the dishes I have finished washing. My grandmother is much shorter than me. She is one of the smallest women I know.

  “Nothing is up with him. He’s at an age when boys don’t think they’re boys any longer. He thinks he’s a man, but he doesn’t know how to be one yet. He stays out too late with his friends. But his friends, they’re young too, and they are trying to find their own way in the world.”

  I’m about to reply when she cuts me off. “Don’t you say anything to him? I didn’t tell you anything,” she says, handing me a one of her yellow dish towels that isn’t as colorful as it used to be.

  “Make sure you wipe out the sink, too,” she says firmly. She remains standing next to me, and while she’s much shorter, she seems as powerful as any hero I have been around. I think to myself that there aren’t many villains who would mess with her. She continues, “Did you listen to me when you were his age? Do you listen to anyone now?”

  “No,” I say, resigning myself to the truth.

  “There you go. I do my best, but some things have to be learned with age and experience. If I were to ask you anything, my question to you is why didn’t you go to university? That’s my ques
tion, Mister Superhero.”

  “I’m not a hero yet, and college…no, Grandmother,” I say, stammering. Speaking with her makes me feel sadder than I want to feel sometimes.

  “You should be the one to telling Rudy he needs to come home at a decent hour. You should be the one to telling him to attend to his studies at night instead being out with his friends. Even so, I don’t know if he’ll listen.”

  “Yes, Grandmother,” I say, leaning over to kiss her before she goes to bed. I know Spike will want a walk. The dog will enjoy the many new smells in my grandmother’s neighborhood.

  After I walk Spike, I sit at the kitchen table. The dog lies next to my feet. I thought I’d wait for my brother, and when it seems I can’t wait any longer and I have to go to bed; , Rudy comes through the back door.

  “Is this my brother, the hero, sitting at our kitchen table?” asks Rudy. He’s happy to see me, and I’m also happy to see him. He’s bigger than the last time I saw him, and that was only a few months ago when I was at home for Christmas.

  I feel guilty for not seeing him more, and I almost wish Rudy was upset with me instead. I wouldn’t blame him if he was, but I know by the tone of his voice he’s not.

  I try to stand and hug him, but Rudy is having none of it. He avoids me and goes to the other side of the small table and sits at the opposite end. He says nothing, and he waits for me to sit down with him.

  Grandmother kisses Rudy and then me, and tells us she’s too tired to stay awake any longer. She must go to bed now, but tells the two of us not to stay up too late because she has jobs for the both of us in the morning.

  After she leaves, Rudy says, “I’m not a child, and you don’t need to wait up for me.” His legs extend out from underneath the kitchen table. He’s trying to sit as far away from it as he can.

  I say, “You almost look taller than me. No wonder Grandmother complains she has to buy new clothes for you all the time.”