Men of Steel

by Ryan Loveless

Jack regarded his friend for a moment before dashing through the party in pursuit of Kris. Jack knew Dip had decided this was a confrontation he had to see, and felt his friend trailing him through the dancing bodies in the house.

  “KRIS,” Jack called over the din of the revelers. “Kris, wait! Please.” Despite his protests, Jack watched as Kris burst out the front door. “Kris!”

  “Leave me alone,” the blond young man called over his shoulder.

  Jack put on a burst of speed and caught the other man’s arm. “Kris,” Jack’s voice and expression pleaded.

  “Get off me,” Kris growled. “You’re a horrible person.”

  “He’s not,” Dip interrupted.

  “I appreciate your loyalty to your friend, Fresno.” Kris spoke apologetically, surprisingly using Dip’s real name. “But his deceit is unforgivable.”

  “I tried to tell you,” Jack said in his defense, unwilling to release Kris’s arm.

  Kris shook out of Jack’s grip. “Bullshit.”

  “I did,” Jack argued with sincerity. “But you didn’t want to hear it.”

  Kris folded his arms, turning his back on Jack.

  “Jack has a huge crush on you,” Dip interjected.

  “Dip!” Jack admonished.

  “What?” Dip shrugged. “You said you wanted to tell him the truth.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched in the shadow of humiliation. “I did. I do.” He steeled himself for what came next. “I have a huge crush on you, Kris.”

  “So you trick me into having sex with you?”

  Jack bit his tongue. He took a deep breath to calm himself but before he could answer the accusation, Dip interrupted.

  “He didn’t trick you on purpose. Jack’s just too good at shit.”

  “How so?”

  “He can’t half-ass stuff. So he goes way overboard. That’s why you thought he was really the Raven.”

  “You initiated the whole thing and I tried to tell you—to be honest,” Jack explained. He could see Kris running over Jack’s words in his mind.

  “Did you set up that fight in the alley too?” Kris asked.

  “No.” Jack shook his head. “I’m sure you won’t believe it, but that was a total coincidence. I had no idea you were even there.”

  Kris seemed to consider Jack’s words.

  “Jack just wanted to have something to talk to you about,” Dip offered. “That’s why he made the Raven suit. I didn’t hear about the alley shit. What’s that all about?”

  “I kicked some guys’s asses,” Jack explained.

  “Really?” Dip looked incredulous.

  “It was pretty freakin’ awesome,” Kris acknowledged.

  “Damn,” Dip cursed. “I wish I could have seen that.”

  Jack blushed. “It was the suit, not me,” he said, humbly.

  “No,” Kris whispered. “That was totally you.”

  “I’m sorry, Kris,” Jack spoke with sincerity. “I never meant to deceive you. Things just got out of hand before I could get control again.”

  “He did it all for you, dude,” Dip confirmed.

  “Why?” Kris asked.

  “Seriously?” Jack answered Kris’s question with a question.

  “Seriously,” Kris confirmed.

  “You’re beautiful. You’re kind and funny.” Jack paused. “You’re totally out of my league, and everybody says you won’t date people you work with.”

  “Wow,” Kris breathed as he looked at Jack with wide eyes. “You’re kind of completely crazy.”

  “He totally is,” Dip agreed. Jack shot him another sour look that earned a bewildered shrug.

  “I’m crazy for you,” Jack admitted honestly. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you. We just got into it and—” He paused before he finished. “—I don’t know.” No one spoke. Dip and Kris looked at each other as Jack regarded his feet. “I’m really sorry, Kris.” Jack sighed and turned to leave. He closed his eyes, praying for Kris to say something, anything. The other man remained silent and Jack fought back tears. Damn it, he thought. How could I have screwed everything up this badly? He walked closer and closer to the alley where the original misunderstanding occurred.

  “Wait.” Kris’s voice stopped Jack’s progress.

  “What?” Jack asked, not turning to look at the young man from IT.

  “You really did all this for me?” Kris asked, and Jack nodded.

  “He’s all about you,” Dip added, and Jack winced at the truth of his friend’s statement.

  “It was pretty hot in the pantry,” Kris observed.

  Dip groaned. Jack assumed it was at the thought of the tryst amongst his foodstuffs.

  “Damn it, Dip. Can you give us a minute here?” Jack requested with exasperation.

  “No prob, dude,” Dip acquiesced, and wandered back toward his house and the party.

  “What were you saying?” Jack asked returning his attention to Kris.

  “I was just saying there was a lot of passion unleashed in that pantry.”

  “That passion was true,” Jack confirmed. “I really didn’t want to deceive you. I just wanted to impress you. So you’d notice me.”

  “It is impressive,” Kris agreed, and held out his hand for the mask. Jack placed it in the other man’s hand. “It must have taken you forever.”

  “Better part of a year,” Jack confirmed. “I did mad research for it.”

  Kris’s face lit up as his eyes fell on the grapple gun. “You built the Grappler?” he gasped. He touched the barrel of the gun. “Does it fire?”

  “Hell yeah.” Jack nodded. “It almost killed me before I got it right.”

  “Damn.” Kris grinned. “That’s hardcore.”

  “Come on, you guys,” Dip whined, having inched back toward the couple to eavesdrop. “You’re totally stupid for each other. Just admit it.”

  Jack and Kris looked into each other’s eyes. The spark there was undeniable to Jack. He hoped Kris felt the same.

  “This is going to be one of those stories that you’re going to tell your grandkids,” Dip observed.

  “They would never believe it,” Kris added.

  Jack regarded the amusement in Kris’s eyes positively. “Kris, I know my deceit is unforgivable but, um, would you like to have dinner with me? Just me, I mean only me. And with me, I mean with Jack, not Jack as the Raven.”

  “I don’t know,” Kris answered.

  “Dude, seriously?” Dip demanded. “After everything he did just to get your attention?” Dip asked. “And the hot sex?” Jack watched Kris’s eyes, sure he was remembering their time in the pantry. Jack still shot Dip a warning glance. The young man raised his hands in mock innocence.

  “I know you don’t date co-workers.” Jack shrugged. “But we are in totally different departments. And on completely different floors even.”

  “Dinner?” Kris asked.

  Jack nodded. “Just dinner,” he confirmed.

  “Dinner sounds great,” Kris answered. Jack beamed, and Dip hooted into the night.

  “That’s,” Jack stuttered, “That’s great. It’ll be fun, I promise. We can go anywhere you like. What’s your favorite place?”

  “Dude,” Dip said as he laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Calm down. You’re babbling.”

  Jack took a deep breath, and Kris chuckled. “Why don’t we focus on tonight? Let’s head back inside.”

  “Good idea,” Kris agreed, smiling. He and Dip turned to go inside but Jack caught Kris’s wrist. “What?”

  “Kris, I really never intended to deceive you. I’m so sorry. Truly,” Jack stated as he leveled a serious gaze at Kris. Kris’s eyes locked with Jack’s and the pair stood for a moment before smile lines appeared on Kris’s face.

  “I know, Jack. I think you’ve suffered enough. And I might even forgive you.” Kris paused. “If dinner goes well.”

  Dip put a hand on each of the young men and said, “Well, that’s settled. Come on.” He guided them to
ward the front porch. The trio, finally reconciled, returned to the party.

  Jack couldn’t believe his luck as he watched Kris happily join the other dancers in the living room. The whirlwind evening had almost turned disastrous, and it occurred to Jack that this would make a great story when he and Kris were a couple. The thought stole his breath for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure when Kris motioned him over. Jack danced across the floor with Dip looking on approvingly. Kris took Jack’s hand, smiled, and squeezed. Jack tried but couldn’t remember a more satisfying Halloween.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  EON DE BEAUMONT is a versatile author, craftsman, and raconteur. He has written a number of short stories, novellas, and novels, both solo and with his longtime writing partner and best friend, Augusta Li. Eon is an accomplished playwright and actor under an alternate identity. Above all Eon loves storytelling in all its myriad forms and sometimes has trouble sleeping for the abundance of ideas in his brain. Eon is alternately a mask maker, seamstress, doll maker, and amateur cook, as well. His passions include makeup, shoes, comics, movies, and the pursuit of an ever-higher gamer score. He’s currently working on a number of projects in various states of completion. Eon welcomes and encourages feedback and questions from his readers at mascaraboy13@hotmail.com, through his Facebook, or at Gus and Eon’s website: www.yaoimagic.com, and above all he hopes that his readers find enjoyment in his work.

  Administrative Leave

  IT ALL went balls up at the bank robbery. Keen had anticipated a quick in and out. Disarm and restrain the perps, free the hostages, let the police handle the cleanup. He had charged through the back wall, the easiest way in based on the aerial shots CNN kept showing. How was he supposed to know it was rigged to blow? A second later, the hole Keen had made became the size of Rhode Island, and three criminals were on the run with seventy million dollars of citizens’ hard-earned money to ease their way to a far-off island. The door burst open from the front, and police and paramedics poured in. That was Keen’s signal to go.

  In hindsight, it was less a “plan” than a “fly by the seat of his pants” situation.

  Jasper wasn’t happy about it. He yanked Keen up to the Lair, lickety-split, and laid down the law.

  “The superintendent of police has already been on my phone baying for the blood of ‘the brainless imbecile superhero who fucked up his operation’. You’re damned lucky no one saw you,” Jasper said. “I, of course, knew it was you immediately. You are on administrative leave until this thing blows over.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Keen said. He wiped brick dust off his green trunks and adjusted his matching cape.

  “It means no superheroing.”

  “I don’t think that’s a word.”

  “Keen.”

  Keen threw his hands up. “So, what? I sit at home?”

  “And feed your People’s Court addiction? This is punishment. Plus, today’s events prove you shouldn’t be anywhere near a television. We’ve set you up with an interim job requiring no special powers.”

  Keen wasn’t qualified for anything except being a superhero. Sure, some superheroes went to college, like Jasper had, but most of them were of Keen’s mindset: Super powers, yay! And proceeded to slack off until they got the opportunity to put those powers to use.

  “You’ll be Paul Cook’s temporary assistant.”

  “Who?”

  “The city councilman.”

  “And I’m supposed to assist him? In what?”

  “Everything,” Jasper said. At Keen’s bugged eyes, he corrected himself. “Everything office-related.”

  “What happened to his regular assistant?”

  Jasper stared Keen down. Keen refused to flinch, though he flexed his toes inside his black boots. “He was injured in the bank robbery. The job request came through on the non-hero temporary employment branch of the Lair. Given the circumstances, I thought it appropriate for you.”

  “Oh,” Keen said, shrinking inside.

  Jasper shoved a manila folder at him, stuffed with papers. “Read up and report to the Councilman’s office at seven forty-five tomorrow morning. And Keen?”

  “What?” Keen let his exasperation show as he turned back around.

  “Don’t wear your uniform.”

  “What am I supposed to wear?”

  “A suit.”

  “A suit?” Keen yelped. “Where am I going to get a suit?”

  “Do you own any clothes aside from your uniform?”

  “Of course not.”

  Jasper sighed. “I’ll have Pearl bring something over. She’ll be your contact while you’re on administrative leave.”

  “I didn’t know being on administrative leave meant I had to do administrative work.”

  “You’d better leave now if you’re going to miss rush hour.”

  “Why would I be in rush hour? I run home….” He looked down as something snapped around his wrist. Jasper pulled his hand away to reveal a smart-looking watch. “No.” Keen tugged it, trying to get it off.

  “It won’t prevent you from using your power, but it will alert me every time you do.”

  “I was trying to help.” Maybe he should have stayed home and watched the robbery play out on television. “What is it, some kind of radar?”

  “It’s a miniature speedometer with an internal computer that will send your speed back to me. If you break twenty miles an hour, I’ll be upset.”

  “What if I’m in a car?” Keen couldn’t resist being cheeky, even though he could see how tired the situation made Jasper.

  “It only measures your movements.” Jasper touched Keen’s shoulder, almost fatherly. Keen’s actual father looked stoically upon them from a photograph above Jasper’s flat-screen television. A candid photo of him, Jasper, and Keen’s mother sat on Jasper’s desk in a frame. His father wore ridiculous orange swim trunks; his mother, a sunhat. Keen sat on her knee wearing trunks over his diaper and a little orange cape. “The police are pissed about the bank, Keen. They want us to hand over the superhero who made it go cock-up. You know how they get when we cross the line. We’d react the same if the situation were reversed.”

  “How was I supposed to know the wall was rigged to blow?” He puffed himself up, defensive on the outside, and hoped Jasper couldn’t see through it to his guilt.

  “I know. But you have to keep a low profile for now. So no uniform, no speed, and for God’s sake, think before you act.”

  Keen deflated, hating the stress in Jasper's eyes. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  Jasper gestured to the door. “Get out of here.”

  KEEN got plenty of stares on the subway. He glared at the teenagers who asked him why he wasn’t flying home. They pulled their straws from their fast food cups and chucked them at him. At home, he took his uniform off and put it into the trash. He had fifty more like it and didn’t want to wear this one—which had seen him through both the bank incident and Jasper’s disappointment—anymore.

  A quick hop in the shower to wash off the bank dust and he was as good as new, at least on the surface.

  He put on one of his casual house uniforms, all cotton instead of polyester and Lycra, and sat down in the living room with the file Jasper had given him. It contained a stack of news clippings as thick as Keen’s fist and, beneath that, the same amount of council literature, and then schedules, speeches, and, at the very bottom, handwritten notes with the heading “Essentials for the Assistant to Mr. Cook.” Keen pulled these out first.

  1. No meetings before 9:00 a.m. His brain needs time to wake up, and if he says something stupid in public, you’ll regret it come campaign season.

  2. See number 1.

  3. Birth dates of everyone he knows are in the Rolodex. Send the gift indicated three days in advance so it will arrive on time.

  A knock interrupted him. He set the folder down on the coffee table and went to open the window.

  Pearl started talking as soon as Keen unhooked the latch. “I’ve g
ot two suits, which you need to try on, and I’ll get you more later if they fit; two shirts, same deal; brown and black socks; patent leather shoes; and I couldn’t decide on a tie, so I brought you seven.” She loaded Keen’s outstretched arms down as she passed each item through the window.

  “Are you coming in?” Keen asked. “You’re attracting attention from the people in the next building.”

  “Like they’ve never seen a woman hovering seven stories up before.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  Pearl gave him a cheeky grin and floated into his apartment to land on the carpet. “There it is!” She bent over to tug something from her pink boots, giving Keen a full view of her milk-white bosom straining against the plunge-cut brassiere she wore, which matched her pink panties. She claimed that the inch of white lace trim around the legs qualified them as shorts, but they sure looked like panties. She’d sailed through the Lair’s uniform review board, something Keen had taken three times to do until he’d figured out he needed to wear trunks over his tights to “protect his modesty,” as one of the elders had delicately put it. Pearl didn’t even wear tights. Her blinding white legs were one of her most useful crime-fighting features. From what Keen had seen of Pearl in action, the criminal went through three motions: 1. Blinded by the legs; 2. Stunned by the scantily clad beautiful woman flying toward him with her fist outstretched; 3. Knocked cold.

  Pearl stood up with the lanyard she’d retrieved from her boot. A plastic card hung on the end. Keen caught a glimpse of his photo as it swung. “This is your ID. Take it with you tomorrow. Hey, do you have any ice cream?”

  “Freezer.” Leaving Pearl to help herself, Keen went to try on the suit. He dumped everything on the bed.

  Keen hadn’t worn civilian clothes in his life. His parents were superheroes and Keen was born into tights. He’d come into his powers the moment he started to walk. One foot on the ground and he was off. At age two, he could circle the house in one point five seconds. Six months later, he’d shaved a quarter second off. Now he could get from one end of central Los Angeles to the other in point six seconds. He tugged on the wristband. Stupid thing. He raced to his closet, just to be obstinate for three steps. When the indicator on it blinked, his phone beeped. The text from Jasper read, “Don’t test me.” Keen tossed the phone back down. He turned his attention to the clothes and figuring out how to wear them.