Super F*cking Hero 2: Starfish

by Jack Bristol

  "My source quit on me. Now I'm stranded with no way to know when trouble's coming."

  "Mrs Margarita quit?" Viola Crowe, the former Blonde Bane, asks, clearly surprised.

  "Yeah, a few hours ago. Said she was tired of me using her. That I should grow up."

  Hurts to say the words. The old Greek woman is the closet thing to family I've got. Unless you count my father. Newsflash: I don't count my father.

  Glances are exchanged. None of them involve me.

  "That is a problem," Viola says.

  "I know, right? That's why I was up on a rooftop when Messenger Twerp, uh, Boy interrupted me. I figured I'd keep an eye out for trouble the old-fashioned way. I can do this without her, but I need help."

  "You mean a sidekick?"

  I nod. I'll say that much for the SuperCouncil, they're quick on the uptake, except when they're being intentionally obtuse. Which has been known to happen.

  "I mean a sidekick."

  "Mr Forrester," Zhang Wei says, "As we have told you before, that is not possible."

  "I don't understand why not. Not really. What harm can it do?"

  "Balance. If we create a new sidekick for you, the other team also scores a new member."

  "So? Where's the problem? It's still balanced."

  Zhang lets out a big, fat rice-scented sigh. "If we bend the rules for you, then we have to approve all the other pending sidekick requests, and they are myriad. Back to the problem you are now facing. If you cannot perform your duties, I am afraid we will have to Neutralize you, effective immediately."

  "But in the movies—"

  "We are not in the movies."

  "Yeah, but those other guys get a shot at making things right. I want that same shot."

  "Those are special circumstances, Mr Forrester."

  "Yeah, they're special because the world is watching. There wouldn't be much of a story left if you guys stripped away their superpowers the first time they failed. You don't want the world to know there's a governing body for superheroes, but at the same time the big guns make you look good. The Super Fucking Heroes of the world, though … I'm not getting a movie franchise or a TV show anytime soon because of the giant Fucking in my name. Unless it's on Cinemax. So fuck me, right? No shot at righting the wrong. Next time Super Fucking Villain tries to kill you all, don't call me. I'll be busy delivering furniture and having a life."

  I'm not a melodramatic guy, but I put some flair into ripping off the mask, the suit, the tool belt, the boots, and dumping them all on the Senate House floor in a tidy heap.

  "It was fun, guys. Good luck choking on your own shitty rules."

  When I stomp out of the room, it's just me and my cell phone.

  And my swinging dick.

  Twenty-Four

  Spring's cold when you're naked. For the record, normally my cell phone would be doing a shitty job of covering my cock. But … fuck, it's cold!

  I don't bother testing myself, seeing if I can fly, if they've zapped away my powers yet. I'll look like a total dick if I try and fail. And see across the road there, at the park? There's a bunch of homeless people watching me stand around with my dick literally in my hands.

  Face the wall. Hit 1 on the speed dial. Jerry Picks up immediately. "Kern," he says.

  "It's me, Hunter."

  "What the hell is going on? I'm supposed to be at home watching the latest episode of American Fucking Whatever's Popular this week, but instead I'm stuck at the precinct house. Shelly's pissed."

  "Any chance you can give me a ride back to my place?"

  Giant sigh. "Yeah. Where are you?"

  Ten freezing-ass minutes later, he's pulling up to the curb. "I don't want to know why you're naked," he says as I slide in.

  "Actually, you kind of do. I've been Neutralized. No more Super Fucking Hero. It's Hunter Forrester, 24/7 from here on out."

  Not a happy guy, Jerry. "But what about my city? We've got attacks on women all over. Muggings, stalkers, rapes. It's like the little Dutch kid pulled his finger out of the dike."

  Not gonna make a joke. Dike with an I is a wall used to hold back the sea.

  "I can't guarantee the next Super Fucking Hero's gonna be local. The one before me wasn't from here."

  "Shit," he says, banging his open palm on the wheel. "This city needs you. I need you."

  "Aww, Jerry. You really know how to sweet talk a guy."

  His car slices through the quiet city streets. This is my time. I'm gonna miss it. Except in winter. Being a superhero in winter isn't awesome. Not in the rubber suit.

  Jerry keeps his mouth shut the rest of the way, until he lurches to a stop outside my apartment building.

  "Make it right," he says. "I'm serious—we need you."

  This is one of those rare times I let Reed get the door. Don't want to flash the man with my average-guy above-average dong.

  * * *

  Been a long time since I slept all night. Won't be breaking that lucky streak tonight. So I'm on the couch, remote in hand, wondering what the fuck I'm doing giving the cable company so much money when there's nothing to watch when I want to watch it.

  That, my friends, is why I've also got Netflix. Probably why you've got it, too.

  Half an hour later, I'm still no closer to watching anything. Too many choices. Nothing's sticking. So I appeal to my laptop, hoping the Internet's got something other than porn to entertain me. The endless parade of real life girls has made me numb to onscreen honeys and their fake orgasms.

  Guess that'll be changing soon, too. Won't be long before I'm like every other guy my age, whacking it while wondering when I'm gonna score.

  Just kidding. Never had a problem getting pussy before I became Super Fucking Hero, doubt that's gonna change now. Although my tastes now have evolved. No way could I be satisfied with a girl who doesn't like a good face or ass fucking on a regular basis. Pussy is glorious, but I'm an adventurous guy.

  Maybe that makes me an asshole. Definitely makes me a pig.

  Oink.

  Fuck. What to do? I've been Super Fucking Hero for years now. Now it's all gone and all because—

  Olivia Hamilton. It all started there.

  She's my Patient Zero. My first starfish, since starfish went epidemic. The first girl to recognize me off the superhero clock.

  My buzzer buzzes (hey, what else is it gonna do?) Must be Reed.

  "Yeah?"

  "Mr Forrester? Detective Kern to see you."

  "Send him up."

  Couple of minutes later, Jerry Kern shambles off the elevator. Poor bastard looks like shit.

  "Shelly threw me out."

  "Because you missed the show?"

  "She thinks I've just been pretending to like Reality TV. Said I was faking to make her happy."

  "Isn't that what relationships are, both of you faking stuff to keep the other one happy?"

  "Can't imagine why you're still single, Hunt."

  "Astounding, isn't it?"

  He snorts. "Can I crash with you? Until me and Shelly get this sorted out?"

  "Yeah, man. Of course. C'mon."

  Can't help noticing Jerry is apprehensive. His body language is all closed off. He's been here thousands of times, but not for years.

  "Sure it's okay?"

  "Reed would be bouncing you into the street right now if it wasn't. You want a beer?"

  "Sure. Wait. Better pass, just in case. I'm lucky I got away when I did. Don't know when they're gonna reel me back in. It's been a bad night out there, Hunt."

  No beer for Jerry, but I need one. I've got thinking to do—the kind of thinking that requires holding a bottle while I pace, even if I don't touch the contents.

  Jerry takes the couch. Me and my bottle, we take the marble-tiled floor.

  "I forgot how great this place is," he says.

  I stop for a sec, just to take in the view out the floor to ceiling windows. This city is really something. "I forget, too." Not wanting to reminisce, I get to moving again. "Tell me about
Olivia Hamilton. She okay?"

  Poor Jerry, he looks confused. "Yeah, she's gonna make it. Should be out tomorrow."

  "What do you know about her?"

  He shrugs. "Only what's in her file. Twenty-two. Recently moved from Florida. Single. Lives alone."

  "What does she do?"

  "Trust fund kid, I guess. Doesn't have a job."

  "But she's living alone, no roommate?"

  "That's what she said."

  Back and forth. "I delivered a furniture to her place the other day."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  He gives me a strange look. "What aren't you telling me, Hunt?"

  "She made me. When we delivered the furniture."

  "Wait—Super Fucking Hero met her?"

  Pacing again. Still haven't taken a swallow of beer. I bob my head. "Yeah."

  "Circumstances?"

  "Same old. She was about to be attacked by some guy in the park."

  "What happened to the guy?"

  "He ran off. She stopped me."

  "That unusual?"

  "Not unheard of. Sometimes girls get that way, especially if they know the guy." Or if they're already so hot they're desperate to get into my suit. Well, my former suit.

  "What did she say when she made you?"

  I tell him.

  "Bit ambiguous," he says.

  "Just for the record, are you good cop or bad cop right now?"

  He shows me all his teeth. "Both. And neither."

  "It's working."

  "Did you, you know, sleep with her?"

  My turn to show teeth. "I never sleep with them."

  "You know what I mean."

  "Fuck. The word is fuck. You want to know if I fucked her? Sort of." Next thing I know, I'm unraveling the whole story for him, complete with hand gestures and smart-ass remarks. My old friend looks entertained.

  Okay, and mildly horrified.

  "So what do you think, Hunt?"

  I don't know.

  Okay, yeah I do. "I think I want to talk to Olivia Hamilton."

  "Forget it," he says. "If you're wrong, she'll wonder why she's being questioned by her furniture delivery guy. I'll talk to her."

  "Fine. But I'm listening in."

  "How?"

  Like my teeth? Pretty, aren't they? My WhiteStrips addiction is paying off. "I'm gonna be a fly on the wall."

  Twenty-Five

  "Dude, sweet!"

  Want to turn a man into a boy? Show him your gadget collection. Jerry's getting a load of mine right now. If he had a pussy it would be dripping on the floor. The SuperCouncil took one of my superhero suits, but they'll never take my freedom—uh, toy collection.

  "You like?"

  Shaking his head in disbelief: "Where did you get all this stuff?"

  "I know a guy."

  "Just one guy?"

  "He's a good guy to know. Can't be a superhero without cool toys. They've saved my ass a bunch of times. See this?" I hold up a bottle of super-slick spray lube. "I saved the SuperCouncil with this when Super Fucking Villain tried to kill them."

  "There's a Super Fucking Villain? What's she like?"

  A fucking goddess. A goddess of fucking. Also, a demon bitch from hell.

  "Hot."

  "Shit," he says.

  The room's stuffed with superhero suits, almost identical except for a tweak here and there. Lots of guns, some of this earth, some not. Grenades containing more than boring old shrapnel. See the box that looks like an egg carton? Sound grenades. They'll blast the eardrums right out of your head. The box next to it? Light. Throw that into a room and its like staring into the sun from three feet away.

  Or so I've heard. Haven't tried those yet.

  And then there's the surveillance equipment. Never had a reason to do too much surveillance, but that doesn't mean I don't collect the toys.

  I pick a small black dot off the shelf, drop it in my old friend's palm. "Here."

  "It's a fly."

  "I told you I was gonna be a fly on the wall. Put that in her room, I'll hear everything."

  "Hospital's on the other side of town, Hunt. You know that—right?"

  "Relax," I say. "My guy is good. The best."

  * * *

  Olivia Hamilton's gonna be discharged tomorrow, so Jerry decides it's now or never. Motivated, that's Jerry Kern. I figure getting out there and being proactive beats sitting around my devastatingly amazing apartment, wallowing with his former best friend about his fractured marriage.

  I know Jerry. We're not best friend these days, but I still know Jerry.

  While he's zooming toward the hospital, I jog downstairs to Mrs Margarita's apartment. She dumped me, but that doesn't mean I'm dumping her.

  "Go home, Hunter," she says, before I even get shot at knocking.

  At least her third eye is still operational.

  "I need to borrow a cup of sugar."

  "What for do you need a cup of sugar?"

  "Baking."

  "What are you baking?"

  "Something with sugar in it."

  There's a big pause. The kind of pause that leaves you wondering if the other person died mid-conversation.

  "There is sugar in your pantry. Three kinds. Pick one and leave me alone. It is almost time for my show."

  She goes silent after that. I beg, I plead, I cajole.

  As Mario would say: Nada.

  "I'm not Super Fucking Hero anymore."

  There in the hallway outside her apartment, the words sound harsh and real. There's a definite peal of truth in them. I am not Super Fucking Hero anymore. I'm Hunter Forrester, furniture delivery guy.

  Hunter Forrester. Furniture delivery guy.

  Most pathetic five words in the dictionary, when you combine them like that.

  A perfect storm of events I still don't understand, and fifty stalwart assholes in high places, combined to boot me out of the suit.

  But I blame myself.

  Why?

  Because something happened and I missed it, when I should have zeroed right in on the anomaly.

  Younger me would have punched a hole in the wall out of sheer frustration. But adult me? He's going back upstairs. Got no time to wallow; I'll get a shot at that later. For now, I need to be a fly on that hospital wall.

  "I miss you." That's what I tell the door, but hopefully Mrs Margarita will know it's for her.

  Twenty-Six

  Back on the couch, where I'm armed with my laptop and a newer, colder beer. Not drinking this one either; it's here for dramatic effect. It makes me feel more manly, now that I'm missing my super strength and the ability to fly.

  Speaking of flying, here comes Jerry.

  Oh, that bug I gave him? Not just audio. It's giving me a video feed, too.

  Where did he stick it?

  Oh, clever guy. It's on him. Well done, Jerry. Cops aren't total buffoons and oxygen thieves.

  (Still bitter about the Mom thing, remember?)

  "Ohmigod, tell me you're not here for more blood," Olivia Hamilton says. Girl must be a night owl. She's wide awake, hair scraped on top of her head in one of those bun things. They're everywhere lately, buns. They go with the North Face jacket, Uggs, tights, and the eagerness to suck cock.

  Gotta love the proliferation of porn, thanks to the Internet. It popped the lid on hundreds of thousands of horny girls, gave them permission to suck a cock like they mean it, without being labeled a whore.

  "Captain Jerry Kern with the local PD."

  "Oh. I already told the police everything."

  "I'm sure you did. Mind if I sit?"

  "Sure," she says, waving her hand toward what I assume is a chair.

  She's banged up. Lots of purple bruises and a garish scrape across her cheek, like she spent some time smooching pavement.

  "How are you feeling?"

  She shrugs. The ugly-as-sin hospital gown rises and falls with the movement. "Okay."

  "Can you tell me what happened? I know you told the other offi
cers, but I've been busy. We've had a spike in crime and I haven't had a chance to read the file."

  Smooth, Jerry. Smooth.

  No sarcasm intended. The guy is good.

  "I was running. I go every day—sometimes twice. I make myself do it, otherwise I get pudgy fast. It was easy in Florida, where I used to live. But it's warmer there."

  "It gets warmer here, too. In summer."

  The Hamilton girl giggles.

  "What happened next?"

  "Everything was fine until I got to the park. Then I felt somebody running behind me. I couldn't hear them—my own feet were too loud—"

  "You don't run with music on?"

  "I'm not an idiot. It was dark and I go out alone."

  Smart girl.

  "Then what happened?"

  "I moved to the right, to let whoever was behind me pass. Like, it's common courtesy, you know? But they didn't pass. Then they tackled me."

  "They? Was there more than one?"

  "No. Just one. I meant 'they' as in at the time I didn't know if they were male or female."

  "Makes sense. Go on. If it's not too difficult."

  She nods. Glances away. When she flicks those baby blues back to Jerry, they're doggy paddling in tears.

  Buying it? Fuck no. Got a feeling that she's one of those girls who can juice up her eyeballs on command.

  The rest of her story is …

  Let's go with interesting.

  If any other girl was doing the telling, I'd be all kinds of furious, dying to BIFF, BAM, KAPOW the nearest bad guy. But this girl? Something about her just ain't right. Her story is a rerun of an episode I've already heard. On the evening I rescued her, in fact. Exact same story, different time of day.

  "Have you ever met our resident superhero?" Jerry is asking.

  "Super Fucking Hero? No. But I wish I had. Then I wouldn't be here right now. What happened to him? Why did he abandon us?"

  The amount of tears leaking down her face, I'm concerned Jerry's gonna drown. Honestly, if she was one of Geppetto's creations, that cute button nose of hers would be two-feet long.

  After that little damp outburst, it's just platitudes and promises. He'll find the bad guy, she'll stay out of trouble, blah blah blah.