by C. S. De Mel
“No. I don’t want this fool’s blood on my hands.” Oswalt held the gun by the silenced barrel and handed it back to the grunt. The Solly brothers exchanged glances.
Ian laughed and shook his head. “Despite hanging with this trash, I knew you were a good cop. But even still, I’m going to make your life a living hell. Once I’m in jail, I’ll make sure you join me in there.”
Oswalt could not believe the gall of this man. His temper ignited. Oswalt advanced on Ian and stomped on his thigh, causing Ian to scream out in agony. “Is your leg healing up well?!” Oswalt snarled. Ian cursed at him repeatedly. “What’s that?!” Oswalt bellowed. “I can’t hear you!” He dug his heel in.
“Stop, STOP!” Ian begged.
Oswalt took his foot off and spat on him. “You scumbag, you deserve to die.” Oswalt made his way to the storeroom door.
“So, what’s going to happen to this Ian Domner?” Solly’s grunt asked.
“Do with him as you will,” Oswalt muttered. The Solly brothers grinned at each other, then led the way out of the storeroom. Solly’s grunt cocked back the silenced gun.
Ian’s eyes bulged. “Hey! HEY! You can’t leave me here! You’re a cop, for god’s sake—they’re going to kill me!”
Oswalt glanced over his shoulder. “You brought this on yourself when you decided to become a tool for Scorcher. My drink’s getting warm—excuse me.” He left the storeroom and closed the door behind him.
***
On the other end of New York City, Hachiuma led his entourage to the top floor office of the Chital Co. Tower. It was becoming the popular destination for fiends and scoundrels. Hachiuma took his place behind the cherry wood desk, choosing to stand instead of sit. His three Thai mercenaries were ever vigilant by his side. One by one, Scorcher’s men filed in. Most did not look happy with their new commander. Tony Calzone was accompanied by Ramon Salazar and several mob soldiers and grunts. Tony looked particularly infuriated.
“I’ve called you all here to give an update on our situation,” Hachiuma informed.
“What’s there to update?” Tony muttered under his breath to Ramon. “We’re up shit creek without a paddle.”
Hachiuma’s eyes scoured the room. “Where’s Scorcher? Turly?”
Samuel Turly was in the front of the pack with his arms folded. “No idea. I don’t keep tabs on him.”
“It doesn’t matter. He can be filled in later. So far, things are moving smoothly—” Tony was unable to hold back a derisive laugh. Hachiuma’s eyes flickered to Tony. “You have something to say, Italian?”
Tony glanced back at his soldiers behind him, and his confidence grew. “You’re kidding, right? Nothing has gone smoothly since you started calling the shots. You told us to sit on our asses so that all our enemies can just converge around us and pick us apart!”
Gregory Pike stared at Tony. When did this worm get a spine?
“Do you have any idea—how much territory we’ve lost in the last two weeks?!” Tony shouted.
Hachiuma smiled. “Minor setbacks.”
“Really? Solly basically wiped out every expansion we had in Queens. That’s a major freakin’ setback, in my opinion.”
“Well, luckily for us, your opinion is worth the same as what’s dropped into a toilet.”
Tony scowled and stifled his rant.
Hachiuma continued: “We’ve reached out to the drug trade in Staten Island, and we’ve cut a deal. They’re working for us now.”
“Hah!” Pike laughed. “You turned that bloated sack of crap Elmo Burns?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Ulysses Frost growled. “It was either kick up a portion to us, or we cut the fat bastard open.”
“An offer he couldn’t refuse... The best way to do business.” Pike paused to smile at the thought. “How much?”
“Half his gross every month,” Turly replied.
Pike grinned. “Very nice.”
“Elmo Burns will be of some use to us,” Hachiuma stated. “On Monday, Elmo Burns will stop all transactions with Solly and his partners. Solly’s trade lines with the South American drug cartels will dissolve and eventually cease to exist.”
“Monday?” Tony scoffed. “Why not right now?”
“Because he won’t follow through until I give the order.”
“So give the order!” Tony demanded.
“No. We’re going to make him feel the sting all at once. Severe financial crippling from many avenues so that there is no room for recovery. When it happens simultaneously, there will be no mistake in Solly’s mind what’s happening. Which brings us to the second order of business. Four days from now, Solly will be depositing valuable securities into the New York City First Bank. We’re going to take them. It is likely that his two sons will be the ones to make the deposit.”
“And you know all this how?” Tony questioned.
“We have recently acquired a spy within his ranks, who has been gathering intel for us.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Hachiuma placed his fingertips on the desk and stared intensely at the group. “Monday morning, we’ll be ready. The exact time when they go will be given to us on the day—and then we’re going to empty Solly’s vault. Tony, you and your men will be going to First Bank to collect the goods.”
“Fine by me. What’s the exit strategy?”
“I’ll be outside the bank,” Turly replied. “You bring everything to me—and then you go back inside the bank.”
“Say what?”
“This is one part robbery, one part hostage taking,” Hachiuma informed.
“The hell do we need hostages for?” Tony asked.
“Bait,” Hachiuma stated simply. “And what better bait is there for a fool like Kasparov? A man who thrives on the need to save people... I’ll personally be in the bank this Monday when he comes to play the hero...and it will be his last time.”
Hachiuma walked around the desk, towards his men. “Any other questions?” Hachiuma was now standing directly in front of Tony, who began to sweat a little. Tony stared back determinedly as Hachiuma looked down upon him. Suddenly, Hachiuma grabbed Tony by the throat and lifted him off the ground with one hand. Tony gagged and spluttered. Hachiuma squeezed his fingers around Tony’s neck. Tony’s soldiers exchanged glances, uncertain what to do. Some wanted to intervene, but Ramon raised his hand to stay them. Hachiuma threw Tony into his entourage with such force that several of them fell down with Tony like bowling pins.
“You okay, Tony?” Two of his men helped him up to his feet. Tony was breathing heavy. He stared at Hachiuma with a mixture of anger and fear but said nothing.
Hachiuma’s eyes glowed. “Surely you didn’t think your insolence here today would go unpunished?” Tony accepted his castration without fight. This was acceptable for Hachiuma; he felt Tony had learned his lesson. “Handpick capable men for Monday, Tony. I don’t want to suffer incompetence.”
***
These days, when Alex was out of the house, he found himself looking over his shoulder for any suspicious characters or the supposed tails that Bruce had instructed to follow him. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. Alex was beginning to wonder whether he even had a tail following him because he was confident that he would be able to spot them.
Alex had been training alongside his father for a few weeks now. His routine had more or less consisted of school, training, homework, more training, then settling into bed for a well-earned sleep. Of course, he also managed to squeeze in the daily necessities such as three square meals, whenever he could. As he predicted, every day he would go to sleep mentally and physically exhausted, but he didn’t mind. Alex never once complained to Bruce or anyone else that the training was too much for him. He wanted to do this. He was proud of himself for showing such grit and tenacity, and he could tell that his father was proud of him as well.
“Faster! FASTER! C’mon, do it!” Bruce, Alex, and Varick were downstairs in the manor’s gym. Most of th
e training took place here. Alex sent a flurry of punches in Bruce’s direction. With each punch, he increased the intensity. Bruce blocked and deflected as quickly as Alex could throw his punches. He had yet to land a single hit on Bruce. But with each passing day, Alex was growing stronger, quicker, and was striking with more precision. “Kicks!” Bruce yelled. Alex immediately switched to leg strikes, aiming for the knees and upper thighs. Bruce blocked with his legs, raising them so that Alex’s strikes made contact with Bruce’s rock-hard shins. Alex’s legs were beginning to go numb—but he kept going.
Bruce switched to blocking with his arms as Alex aimed higher, at Bruce’s upper torso. His energy was waning; his limbs were heavy. And with exhaustion came frustration. Keep going! Alex told himself. He was determined to land a hit today. Faster and faster Alex went. Without warning, Alex added punches alongside his kicks. He was going all out. Bruce grinned while he blocked all the attacks with his swift arm movements. He then dropped one arm and placed it behind his back. Bruce was now blocking all of Alex’s attacks with one hand. Alex gritted his teeth. As if failing to land a single hit since he started training wasn’t bad enough, he’s going to get taunted now, too? Bruce stepped back as Alex’s frustration turned to anger. Alex put all his weight and power behind a punch he sent directly at Bruce’s chest. Bruce caught Alex’s arm by the wrist and twisted it. Then, with a sidestep and a sweep kick, sent Alex sailing through the air. He landed on his back on the training mat. Alex panted hard, struggling to catch his breath.
“Good work today, Alex,” Bruce commended.
“Thank—thank you, Sensei,” Alex rasped.
Varick shook his head. “I really can’t get used to hearing that ‘sensei’ title.” Varick had assisted with some of the boxing drills today, despite his rib injuries still healing. He still had the punching mitts on his hands.
Bruce rotated his shoulder to work out the kinks. “But, Alex, I think towards the end you might’ve lost your cool a little bit.”
“Yeah, well, what do you expect—one-handed blocking? Add insult to injury, why don’t ya.”
Bruce laughed. “Well, I suppose that’s another lesson. To keep your head on straight, despite your opponent’s attempts to make you lose focus and unbalance you. March to the beat of your own drum.”
Alex was still lying on his back, breathing heavy and sweating profusely. “Sensei—put a sock in it.” Bruce extended a hand. Alex grabbed hold and struggled to his feet. He could barely walk. Alex stared down at the palms of his hands: they were rough and calloused from conditioning. Part of his training included palm strikes to hard surfaces. He opened and closed his hands.
Bruce looked curiously at Alex. “How’re you feeling?”
“Fine,” Alex replied. Looking down at his hands, a sudden thought crossed his mind. “Hey, Varick, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, kid. What is it?”
“The energy fields. The way they can be controlled... Didn’t you want to do it too? Like my dad and Mr. Santos?”
Varick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I suppose... Why?”
“Well, I mean, if you wanted to, you could have learned it too, right? I’m sure my dad would teach you—right, Dad?”
Varick and Bruce exchanged glances. “I never got around to it, that’s all,” Varick replied. “I tried for a bit and other stuff came up. Need to devote a lot of time to it.”
“But isn’t it worth it? I mean, this stuff is unbelievable. It’s probably the greatest power a person can attain in their lifetime. And you’re more than physically fit to handle it, right? Surely it’s worth it?”
Varick forced a grin. “Well, in the years to come, I’m sure you’ll learn and master it. Now enough questions.” Varick batted Alex over the head with a punching mitt. “Get outta here; hit the showers.”
“Right.” Alex hobbled over to the stairs on his jelly-like legs and made his way up. Despite Varick’s joking attitude, Alex felt he might have struck a nerve.
Alex took a quick shower, ate, brushed his teeth, and finally collapsed onto his bed. He was completely tuckered out. He rubbed his face—he had some school projects due next week. He had told his dad he was on top of it, but in truth, he had barely started. Alex wasn’t too worried, though. He would wing it over the weekend and play catch up. These things always worked themselves out somehow. As long as he had the added pressure of the deadline to keep him motivated, he could do it. Frankly, he was too engrossed in his training to pay much attention to school.
On his first day of training, Bruce had shared some incredible stories about how he had become a part of the Legion. Alex knew that Bruce grew up in a foster home, but he didn’t know much more than that. How the Legion recruited him straight out of his house... How he had lived in Tibet for almost seven years... He couldn’t believe that he didn’t know about all of his amazing adventures—about his amazing powers...his own father. He had never told him about any of it until a few weeks ago. Better late than never, Alex supposed.
What Alex was most excited about was learning the art of energy field manipulation. Would he really be able to develop such skills? Fire projectiles at will... Attain superhuman strength... Perhaps even fly? It all seemed like a wonderful fantasy. But during his first day of training, when Bruce demonstrated a sample of what it meant to harness this power…the realm of possibilities—his prospective on life itself—had changed forever. But he knew it would be years before he could do anything like what his father was capable of. It was best to keep it from his mind for now and focus on what was at hand. But from time to time, it was always nice to dream. Alex decided to finally succumb to his weariness and drift off into a deep, much needed, sleep.
***
Chapter 11 – Celebrations and Cocktails with a Super-Villain
Saturday, October 30th, 1999
Los Angeles, California
The night of Lomez’s Halloween party had finally arrived. Scorcher and Lomez touched down at the L.A. airport late in the evening. A limousine was waiting to pick them up and drive them to Lomez’s Beverly Hills mansion. Despite the initial plan to head to Los Angeles Thursday night, the prior two days were spent out in rural Pennsylvania. With a character like Lomez, a plan was about as useful as dry rot. Scorcher didn’t mind, however—Lomez had treated him to a Friday in the woods, hunting anything they could find worth making a meal of. Scorcher figured he could just as easily incinerate the entire forest and have his pick of the barbecue, but he decided to be sporting and use a rifle like Lomez. One would think that using a gun while intoxicated would be a bad idea, but Lomez had a surprisingly accurate shot. The prize of the day was a 500-pound black bear taken down by Lomez. Fun times were had by all except the wildlife.
Their limousine passed through the golden gates of Lomez’s property and was now driving up the winding driveway. Lush trees were on either side of them and gradually opened up into a football-field-sized front yard. On a slight elevation stood Lomez’s mansion. The Party House. The mansion was an immense construction of pearly white stone. There were people on the lawn, dressed up in Halloween costumes. Scorcher gazed out the limo window and was once again amazed by Lomez’s place of dwelling. In a word, it was spectacular. The limo stopped near the entrance.
“Alright, Lomez, so you’re sure about this, right? No one’s gonna freak out?”
“Oh, everyone’s going to freak out, but in the best possible way. Don’t worry. Like I said, it’s Halloween—you’re a shoo-in.” Lomez thought for a moment. “But I suppose, we can do something about your name for tonight.”
Scorcher was puzzled. “What’s wrong with my name? No good?”
“No-no, it’s good, but it might be a tad too angry and confrontational.” Lomez’s face lit up. “What you need is a nickname. I’ll introduce you with something else. Let’s see now...” With his elbow resting on his thigh, he drummed two fingers on his thumb and pondered the notion. “How about ‘Sizzler’? Yeah. Your party name.”
; Scorcher scratched his head. “Sizzler, eh? Sounds pretty gay to me.”
Lomez scoffed. “Oh, and ‘Scorcher’ isn’t completely flaming? No-no, trust me, this will have a better ring to it. It’s still semi-menacing but can work on another level—sounds more festive to my ears.”
Scorcher shrugged. “Alrighty then, Sizzler it is. Tonight, I shall make things sizzle as opposed to scorch.”
“Yeah, buddy!” Lomez slapped ‘Sizzler’ across the shoulder. “Oh yeah, one more thing. I got something for ya.” Lomez slid over to the empty bench seat and popped it open.
“Storage space under the seat? Nifty.”
“Ain’t it? That’s custom, by the way. And so is this...” From under the seat, Lomez withdrew a large bundle of purple fabric.
Scorcher stared. “Is that a dress?”
Lomez gave the fabric a shake and let it unfurl under its own weight. “This, my friend, is a cape. The highest quality fabric. Doesn’t wrinkle.”
“Why the hell do you have a cape?”
“I knew it would come in handy for just such an occasion; meaning, I’m gonna let you borrow it for tonight. If you want your current getup to pass for a Halloween costume, this is what’s going to complete your look.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. I mean, you could walk out there as is. But if you wear this, people are going to believe you’re a real-life super-villain.”
“But, I am...”
“Exactly. And this cape is what’s going to sell it!”
“Sell what?”
“That you’re a super-villain! You gotta dress the part. You wear this cape and that’s what’ll elevate you to the grand heights of super-villainy!”
“But wasn’t the point of this costume idea to hide that fact?”
“I’m talking about your costume, man! Now remember, you want to fool these people into thinking you’re pretending to be a real super-villain, but if they find out your face ain’t a costume, you’re on your own!”
