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

  I’m still alive, and if the two of them wanted me dead they could have done so easily, but I’m still standing. I don’t have any tattoos and am at a disadvantage. “Where are my tattoos?”

  “They’re safe. I had my associates take them out of this luxurious apartment of yours,” he says. Now he sounds even more like that man I used to know from someplace. “I am going to use a form of speech called ‘sarcasm,’ so try to keep up with me. The Auxiliary Corps pays so well. So well, in fact, that you can live like this, but you weren’t always the brightest, were you?”

  “I know your poems,” I say. The Beat now seems familiar to me.

  “Of course you do, you probably sat in the back of your over-crowded classroom when you first heard them. Isn’t that when your generation first hears my poems? Isn’t that when your teachers of your dull misshapen minds reads them and you cannot appreciate them?”

  “I knew it was you, but those poems were good.”

  “Do you know what sarcasm means in ancient Greek? It means to rip flesh away from the bone. Sort of poetic, don’t you think?” he asks, and then he points at the Black Shirt. “Given the chance, I know he would like to literally rip your flesh off. He’s a brute. Luckily for you, I am not. My words are my weapons, and I have spared you so far tonight. “Don’t be sarcastic with me. How could you judge my poems?”

  “Welcome to a life of an artist,” I say. I don’t think I’m being sarcastic, but his feelings aren’t my concern. I did like the Beat’s poems when I was in high school, but I had forgotten his name and it had only been a few years since I’d studied his poems. What is his name? What is the true name of this evil poet?

  “I could’ve gone farther. I could’ve already taken your life, but I haven’t yet.” He smiles, and his smile brings his face out of the shadows. I know who this man is or who he was in my life. I almost wish he had killed me instead of taking my dog. I’m going to die. That’s what I think this very moment while I’m standing there in front of them. I feel even more naked without my tattoos. I know I’m at the end of my life. I might have been able to fight the two of them off if I had my tattoos, but without them it’s hopeless. They’ve come into my apartment, my home, and they took my tattoos and left me standing in front of them defenseless. I say in defeat, “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Oh, we will get this over with. This will be over very soon for you,” says the Beat to me.

  It occurs to me. I know this man. At this instant, I remember his name and say it out loud like a weapon, “You’re Herbert Philton-Car. Now I remember your nameyou. You’re the poet. You were famous once. I do remember reading you in high school. I thought you were dead. I liked your poems a lot.”

  He laughs, “Flattery! Of course you liked them, but that man died long ago. You won’t be the first fan of my work I have killed.”

  And now the Beat and the Black Shirt laugh together, and I know this will be my last night on Earth.

  -The Last Installment of Auxiliary Hero Corps Will Be Continued In Book 3

  Book Three Chapter One

  From the Sacramento Bee, The President Survives Two Attempts on His Life, September 14th, 1975.

  The president survived another attempt on his life in Sacramento, California. The assailant used high-pitched whistles to stun those in the president’s entourage. The assailant, a petite, red haired, freckle-faced young woman named ‘Squeaky,’ approached the president while he was walking near the California Capitol. Before she was able to fire a shot, Henry ‘Smokey’ Gogol and Secret Service agents tackled her and wrestled her to the ground. Seventeen days later, another woman, ‘The Mouse,’ a mentally unstable accountant, tried to assassinate the president while he was in San Francisco. The Mouse was able to get close to the president before brandishing a handgun. She fired one shot, but her attempt was thwarted by a bystander who grabbed her arm when she raised the gun. The heroic bystander, a Vietnam veteran and Hero Union Corps member named Cedric ‘The Hippie’ Herzen, was thanked by the president three days later for saving his life in the second attack. ‘Squeaky,’ was a member of the notorious Larson family. Robert Larson and other members of his ‘family’ were convicted and sentenced to prison for murdering actress Valerie Dash and others in 1969. Subsequently, ‘Squeaky’ and other female members of the cult started an order of ‘nuns’ within a new group called the International People’s Court of Retribution. This group terrorized corporate executives who headed destructive businesses. ‘Squeaky’ herself was so enamored with Larson that she devised a plot to kill the president to win Larson’s approval…

  I’m a dead man.

  The Black Shirt laughs to himself. He pulls out one of his daggers, and my mind can’t decide what to do next because there isn’t a right choice. I can try to take one of his knives from him, but I dismiss the idea. I know he’s too quick for me. I need to do something, but I don’t know exactly what, but I’m not going to give up.

  But not giving up and knowing what to do are two different things, and I’m stuck standing in front of them, without a clue.

  “Let’s get this over with,” says the Beat. He takes off his jacket and lays it on my bed. He’s smaller than me. I can see that his body has more scars than mine. Pound for pound I’m bigger, but he has seen many more battles.

  I try something desperate. I ask, “Maybe you want to fight me without your abilities? Man to man? Isn’t that what you want?”

  The Beat laughs first and then the Black Shirt joins him. “Is that why you think we’re here? To kill you? That’s a good joke. Maybe I will include your stupidity in one of my poems. Not a deadly one, but one I might tell friends when we need a good laugh. No, Valentine, we are not here to kill you. Your death sentence is on reprieve for one more night.”

  “But isn’t that the reason you took my tattoos? To make it easier to kill me?”

  “To kill you?” He laughs again. “We took your tattoos, you’re right. But we took them because we have orders. We’re here to talk to you.” The Beat looks away from me and he **starts to glance around my apartment. I can tell by his face he isn’t impressed by my home. He says, “You should see where I live. My place is much better than this. Maybe you should try being a villain. The pay’s much better.”

  “Why don’t you give me back my tattoos now? And you can leave me, in my dump, all by myself,” I say. I don’t believe him. They’re here to kill me. I know I only have a few minutes before they act. “You know my tattoos are worthless without me?”

  The Beat looks at my nearby family photo. In it, there’s me, my two sisters, my grandmother, and my brother, Rudy. “That’s a good looking family in this picture. You’re a wholesome bunch. Do you know what is missing in this photo?” He says, “You’re missing glory, fame, or even a little notoriety.” He puts the frame back in its place.

  I don’t understand him; then I say out loud, “If I survive this, I will get some new tattoos. Like maybe a shotgun so I can blow your head off.” It isn’t true, but it feels good to say things like that sometimes. Every now and then, I want to be tough, but I’m not. I’m still standing in front of them, I’m almost naked. I’m cold and wet. “Before I’m done tonight, you’ll find out how useless I am. I promise you that,” continuing to act tough, and not succeeding under these conditions. I shut my mouth. I have to be quiet now so I can think. I don’t think I can fight my way through them to my front door. I decide to try for the window, but I soon rule that out when I remember I live on the second floor. It’s too high even for me, and I don’t have tattooed wings on my back. I still need a moment to think, and I decide what I have to do. I am going to retreat. There’s only one place in my apartment I can go, and it’s my bathroom. But it’s a dead end in there.

  I’m fast. I catch the two of them off guard. I make my retreat. The Black Shirt throws a knife, and I know I’m lucky because it misses me and strikes the door frame of my bathroom. I am still alive. I lock the door, and don’t know how I’ve made it in there withou
t a knife in my back. Was that the right choice? I don’t know, but I’ve made it. Now, I have to think of some way to get away from the two invaders I know I’m only safe in here for a moment.

  A shoulder hits the door hard on the other side. I assume it is the Black Shirt because he is bigger. My apartment is in an older building, and the wood the original carpenters used was much stronger than the stuff they use today. I also know while the door is thick, the wood won’t hold forever, and I have to hurry up and do something to save myself.

  There is no place to go. The only place I might hope to find something to defend myself is in the medicine cabinet. I open its door. In it, I find a permanent marker, from a girl I used to know. She had been practicing drawing tattoos on my skin to see if they would come to life. They hadn’t, and she must’ve abandoned this marker in my medicine cabinet. Maybe it’ll still work.

  There is another crash against the door, and I hear the timbers give their first groan.

  I reach for the marker. I open it.

  There’s another crash against the door.

  I look closer at the tip, and as far as I can tell it looks okay. I need to draw something quick, and I know it needs to be a weapon I can use to defend myself against the Black Shirt. I touch the tip of the marker against my skin. It’s dry. I need to be careful with it. Maybe I can wet the tip and get it working again.

  The crashing against the door stops. Then I hear the Beat speak to me from the other side. “We will come in, and if when we do we are going to kill you. It would be easier if you just came out, and talked to us.”

  I say, “Shut up.” I turn on the water. It takes a moment for the hot water to flow.

  “That’s not the way to deal with the situation. Val Vega, you will either work with me, or I will have you killed. Is that what you want?”

  “I’d rather die fighting you.” I have my finger under the water and it seems warm enough for me to place the marker under it. I think it has been flowing long enough, and I want the hot water to coax the ink to the tip.

  “Have it your way. I’m done being reasonable,” he says and the door frame cracks again, and it will only take them a few more tries before it breaks.

  I decide to write on my skin; I’ll mark my left forearm. The warm water has done the trick, and it starts to flow. My arm is the easiest place for me to work. This isn’t my best art, but I think it’s good enough to turn into something real. I use the whole length of my arm. It’s a short sword I have drawn. It’s crooked and misshapen, but maybe it will be good enough to fight with.

  It comes to life on my skin. I grab at it. New tattoos burn when I first touch them and this one is no different. But it feels flimsy, and I know it won’t last because it isn’t deep enough under my skin. I hope it will last long enough to fight off the two villains outside my bathroom door.

  There’s a final blow. It’s hard enough to make the wood crack and explode. I know I need to move forward and strike the Black Shirt if I want to get at him.

  I take my new sword, and thrust it forward. With my hand on its crude hilt, I can feel it enter the man’s flesh, and I hear a cry from the other side. My hand wants to withdraw the sword, but I keep it moving forward into the man’s arm. He cries even louder, and I know my new blade has done what I need it to do. The Black Shirt realizes he’s in a bad spot, and he retreats backwards. With a jerk of his body he frees his arm from my blade. Then he goes back where I can no longer reach him.

  I go forward as much as I can. I’m still able to hold onto my short sword. The door grows even heavier. The Beat has put his body weight against the door though he isn’t as big as the Black Shirt. He stops.

  The Beat starts to recite a poem, and I know I am in trouble because it will leave me defenseless against him. I have to do something now.

  He says in a malefic tone he likes to use when reciting one of his deadly poems, “I never dream of a mountain so high. The air is too thin; and it makes it hard to breathe…”

  I push back on the door. I know he wants to suffocate me. I’m surprised by my strength, and I know I’m in shock him because he stops his poem. He’s quiet before he recomposes himself with the weight of the door. I’m still clutching the handle of my weapon. I haven’t dropped it. Better yet it hasn’t disappeared. I know it’s only temporary, and I have to make the most of my time.

  I still have to get around the broken door. It makes it hard for me to get out of my bathroom. It takes me a moment.

  When I finally get out, I can see the Black Shirt is still in my apartment and he’s holding his arm where I stabbed him. He has taken the sheet off my bed. There’s blood flowing. He’s trying to make a tourniquet.

  The Beat is still in front of me. He says, “It isn’t polite to interrupt a poet after he starts.”

  I can tell he’s mad at me, and I’m lucky he hasn’t started another poem to try to kill me. I step towards him with my new blade. If he wants to kill me he better do it soon.

  “Oh, be quiet, maybe Valentine can’t stand your poems any more than I can.”

  There’s a new voice, and it’s a woman. A woman who I thought died because of me. I turn my head and see her, and my first reaction is to smile because I’ve missed her and she’s in my apartment.

  “I’ve always told you your poems should be more about life. Maybe about dancing or something fun…but you’re so gloomy it almost makes a glamorous girl like me want to cry. What would that do to my makeup?”

  It’s Daphnia. She’s alive, and she’s even more beautiful than ever. I want to run and hug her, but I know this isn’t right. She had been dead, or at least I thought she was dead. It didn’t matter what I thought because she is standing in front of me, and I don’t know how to act.

  “Honey, you could at least put on some clothes instead of standing there almost naked,” says Daphnia smiling at me.

  “We should kill him. We should kill the miserable clod,” says the Beat to her. “We don’t need his kind. Heroes like him don’t change. They would rather die than join us.”

  Daphnia goes to my closet and looks at the clothes hanging in there. She takes out a pair of pants, hands them to me, and I put them on. She then goes back to my closet, and she takes a collared shirt off of its hanger. She holds it up, and takes a look. When she’s satisfied that they will go well together she waits for me to put on the shirt.

  I look down and the sword I had drawn a few minutes ago, is starting to fade. I continue to watch it disappear. When it’s gone, I’m left with nothing to defend myself.

  I turn my head a little, and I can see that the Black Shirt is still sitting on my bed holding his wound. The Beat is standing next to him. I can tell he isn’t happy that I’m still alive, but it seems to me he won’t do anything until Daphnia orders him to.

  Daphnia gives me a nod of encouragement to finish putting on my shirt, and after I get done buttoning it, she comes to me and puts down my collar. It’s sticking up. She has a gentle touch, and when I feel her hand against my neck, I know she doesn’t want to hurt me.

  She says, “I have seen you many times without a shirt, but you’re more handsome when you’re dressed up. Someday I will have to get you in a suit or maybe even a tuxedo.”

  The Beat has had enough, and he says to her, “If you won’t kill him then I will.”

  Daphnia immediately turns and stares at him. It’s a look that I’ve only seen her give a few times, and it’s a stare you don’t want to be on the receiving end of. She says to him, “I wouldn’t if I were you. I really wouldn’t.”

  The Beat backs down for now but he’s going to kill me. He’s an evil man. He doesn’t like backing down from a fight.

  Daphnia speaks to him. “Did you think this was going to be just like the Blinkers? They were so easy to turn over to our side. I have always found the Blinkers to be simple men. It only took a few minutes of work to convince them, but it’s not going to be that way with Valentine.”

  I know I am not safe amongst these peo
ple. I say, “Did you try to convince Smokey or Hippie to become evil? They’re more powerful than me. Hippie would’ve made a great prize.”

  Daphnia says, “He’s dead. We didn’t even try to convince him. I knew better. Those old heroes like Smokey, and Hippie can’t change. Maybe they should’ve come down our path a long time ago, but they are not like you or me.”

  “Like me?”

  “Yes, the Auxiliary Hero Corps is useless any longer with those relics working for them. I saw it early enough. Do you think you are ever going to make it up to the Hero Corps? Not likely. If you stay with the Auxiliary Hero Corps, you are going to end up like Smokey. A forgotten nobody.”

  “Are you happy?” I ask.

  “Yes, because I’ve gained power. I’ve new wealth now, and pretty soon I’ll have fame. Val, you’re wasting your time in the Corps. Come with me, and the two of us can rule this city.” Daphnia reaches down and picks up a handbag I didn’t notice earlier. She places the strap over her shoulder

  “I don’t want to rule anyone.”

  “Don’t you?” she asks, as if I have hit her with a lightning bolt from out of the blue. She almost gives me the look she gave the Beat. “We all have secret desires. Maybe yours isn’t power. Whatever you’re looking for I know you won’t find it in the Auxiliary Hero Corps. You’ll only find it with us.”

  I see the Beat reach down into his pocket and he pulls pull out a gun. It’s my Beretta Tomcat. He points it at me. Daphnia sees me look over at him, and she turns towards him also, and she says. “Put that away.”

  “Forget about my gun,” I say to him. “What did you do with Spike?”

  Daphnia says, “I said put the gun away. We are all friends here.” He isn’t listening to her. And he isn’t looking at her, and he doesn’t see her reach into her large purse.

  “Friends…yeah right, after I kill him, and then I’ll kill that dog too.”