Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (10 page)

Wyatt stared at them for a beat and
then wrote that down on the file.  “The Beekeeper?  That’s what you’re really
going with?  Rather on the nose, don’t you think?  Wouldn’t simply
The
Keeper
or something bee themed like….”  Wyatt waved a hand.  “Umm….
Hive
Mind,
for example,
be more dramatic?  And why not just go with
Kilroy
? 
It’s actually a
really
good villain name?”

The person was silent for a long moment. 
“I am not Multifarious.  Today I am…”  They gave another theatrical pause.  “…
Hive
Mind!
”

Wyatt nodded in approval.  “
MUCH
better.”  He turned to address the others.  “See folks?  THIS guy… girl…”  He
eyed the empty line on the dossier reserved for recording the individual’s
sex.  “Which is it by the way?”

The figure picked up its coffee cup
and tried to take a sip of its beverage despite the fact that it was wearing
both a hood made of netting and a sheet of opaque plastic over its mouth.  The
liquid poured from the cup and then spilled down the faceplate and onto the front
of the costume.  The individual didn’t give any indication that it noticed.  “I
am…
Hive Mind!”

Why did everyone here need to be so
difficult?  Was it something in the water that made them pathological? 

Wyatt gave a long suffering sigh. 
“
Fine. 
Whatever. 
And what can you do?
”

The figure was silent for a moment. 
“Today I can…
communicate with bees!”

Wyatt nodded.  “Bees.  Wow. 
Useful.”  He rolled his eyes.  “In any event, this
PERSON…
who is
apparently your sniper and yet oddly does not seem to carry a rifle, and claims
to suddenly be able to talk to bees… understands what I was trying to say about
code names.  Okay?
 IT
understands that the name shou…” He stopped and stared
at a man who was suddenly seated next to Cynic in a folding chair, his dress
shoes propped up on the table.  Wyatt pointed at him.  “Who is
that?
  I
don’t remember some guy dressed like Colonel Sanders sitting there before.”  He
flipped through the files to double check.  “Nope.  He wasn’t there.”

Harlot stood up.  “That’s…” 

The man took his spats off of the
table, and jumped to his feet, his arms going wide in greeting.  “
WYATT!
 
Hey buddy, it’s good to see you again.  Name’s Prometheus.  We go way back you
and me.  Great to finally meet you.”

Wyatt stared at him a beat and took
on a wistful tone.  “Yeah, it’s always great hanging out with you, man.  Why I
don’t think I’ve seen you since…
ever
.  So, how about you tell me WHO
YOU ARE and how you got here?  You know, for old time’s sake?”

Prometheus laughed, and took off
his straw hat and rolled it down his shoulders on its brim, catching it in his other
hand.  “I’ll answer the second question first, okay?  I’m Prometheus.  And I’m
Prometheus.”  He grinned at his own joke.  “Just dropped in to see how y’all
were doing.  I’ve always liked it here.  This is a place where a man looking
for a purpose, and family, can find both, don’t you think?  Warms my heart
right up.  I would have written first, but I know you’ve got a backlog of
letters already, don’t you, Wyatt?”

Wyatt paled.  “
How do you know
that?”

“How do I know that?”  Prometheus
laughed.  “Because
History in all in volumes vast, hath but one page
. 
And sometimes even if you live forever, that gosh darn Groundhog is just never
going to see its shadow.”

Harlot could apparently feel the
tension suddenly building in the room and decided to try to cut it off.  “That’s
Prometheus.”

Wyatt didn’t stop glaring at the
man in the turn of the century pastel linen suit and vest.  The man absently
started spinning his straw boater hat on his finger.  Wyatt’s eyes narrowed.  “Yes,
I’ve gathered that.  What’s his
REAL
name.”

Cynic scoffed.  “Prometheus
IS
his
real name, asshole.  Pro doesn’t go in for none of that new ‘proper names’ shit. 
He’s
old school
.”

Pro laughed.  “Ha!  Old school!  I
like
that.”  Pro put his hat back on.  “Well, gotta fly, kids.  Got races to run and
all that. 
Hare
today, gone tomorrow, as they say.  Great catching up
with you though.”  He sauntered towards the door.  “By the way Wyatt, tell your
brother I said ‘hey.’  I like that boy.  We are travelers on the same road.  He
reminds me of a truly great man I once knew.”  He smirked over his shoulder at
them.  “
Me
.”

Wyatt stalked towards him.  “My
brother’s
dead
, but I’m guessing you know that already.”

Prometheus nodded.  “Oh yeah. 
Always forget that.  Well, tell him I said ‘hi’ anyway.”  He walked out the
door, closing it behind him.  “Ciao!”

Wyatt barreled through the door a
second behind him… and saw only an empty hallway.  He swore and walked back
into the conference room.  “I don’t like him.”

Gurrier snorted.  “Join the fucking
club.”

Harlot sat back down.  “Oh, he’s
not so bad.  Prometheus isn’t part of our organization though.  He’s…  Well, I
don’t know exactly how to describe his relationship with us, actually.  It’s… complicated.”

Vaudeville looped the string around
his fingers, his cat’s cradle becoming more intricate.  “He’s our wacky TV
sitcom neighbor.  He’s not one of our main characters, but he still stops by
almost every episode.  He just pops onto our set, provides some comic relief or
meaningful dialogue to help us with this week’s troubles, and then goes
off-screen again.  We never see his house since it would cost too much to build
the set, and he never has an episode of his own.  He’s just a color character.”

Harlot smiled.  “Actually… yeah. 
That’s a pretty good description, Cory.  Thank you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment of her
praise, his eyes never leaving his work.

Wyatt continued glaring at the door
Pro exited through, and then started pulling out more files.  He started rapidly
tossing them across the table at the various criminals in attendance, no longer
feeling the need to give all the details.  It didn’t matter.  Who cared who
these people were?  They would serve his purpose and then he never needed to
see or think about them, again.  “Doctor Heterodox: creepy cloak wearing guy
who looks like he stumbled out of a
Harry Potter
movie.  Runs your weird
magical shit department.”

The doctor stood up with imperial
dignity.  “That is NOT the official title of my department,
SIR
!  I am
the Head of the…”

Wyatt cut him off and continued
haphazardly tossing out the file folders.  “Piltdown, caveman who runs the Science
Department.  Overdriver, controls machines and runs the Maintenance and Motor
Pool Departments.  Guilt Trip, ex-psychiatrist who can …”  He stopped.  “You
know what?  How about I just leave the files here, and you can all flip through
them later?  You guys have waaaaay too many members.  I’ve never even heard of
half of you, and I was a hero my entire life.  So, I’m just going to put the
stack here and promptly forget I ever saw the rest of you.  I’m sure I’ll only
need to actually remember the names of half of you,
AT MOST
, and that the
other entirely unnecessary members are simply here for the ambiance.”

Cynic’s hand went up.  “Hey, I’m
not JUST here for the ambiance.  I’m ALSO here for the doughnuts.”

Several other people around the
table who also apparently identified themselves as useless, nodded in
agreement.

Vaudeville laughed.  “Yeah, there
are a lot of us.”  He smiled and his voice took on an impression of someone
else who Wyatt didn’t recognize.  “
The sign says it will only hold two
people, but ….” 
Half of the people in the room started saying it with him.

“…I bet I can fit all twelve of
you in there if I try hard enough!”

The entire room burst out laughing
at what was obviously a private joke they all shared.  Wyatt didn’t get it.  He
placed the folders down on the table and returned to his seat.  The room
continued to laugh hysterically and repeat the odd words again and again like
they were the funniest thing they had ever heard.

They were all fucking crazy.  He
took a deep breath.  Just get through the meeting.  He really didn’t care about
anything else in the world right now.  Not his life, not the little orphan
children of the world or their poor crippled kittens.  Just this. 

His eyes slid to Harlot.  Well,
maybe there were possibly other things that he could care about….

But the point was that he would accomplish
his mission if he had to KILL EVERYONE HERE.  …But put Harlot on a plane
somewhere nice, first. 

He had come too far and planned too
hard for it to all fall apart because these people didn’t know how to cooperate. 
These people were lunatics.  He began to wonder again why Harlot didn’t just
get the hell out of here and leave these idiots to their fates?

Why did being a super-villain mean
you had to be so difficult to work with?

A
man was about to sit down to a dinner when he found that his bird-trap was
empty.  Since he had caught nothing, he decided to cook his fine tamed
rooster.  But the rooster cried in piteous tones:  "If you kill me, who
will announce the appearance of the dawn?  It would be a crime to eat one as
skilled as myself!” "What you say is true,” replied the man.  “You are an
excellent bird at telling the time of day.  But I must have my dinner.”  Moral
of the story?  Necessity knows no law.

Harlot sat in her chair and tried
not to think about the man on her left.  Wyatt sat in his chair and stared
straight ahead like he was a zombie or something.  It was creepy.  Every now
and then, he’d write something down on his pad of paper, and then go back to
staring.

She still wasn’t quite sure what to
make of his presence here.  He seemed to be adjusting to his switch intro the
world of crime quite well though.  The room wasn’t used to getting
constructive
feedback on anything.  Usually, it was just gruesome threats or loud,
profanity-laced complaints about how long the meeting was taking.

In any event, she was really
beginning to feel like this meeting was going to go down as one of their best
ever.  And Wyatt had yet to make HIS presentation, and she wasn’t ashamed to
say that she was actually interested in what he had to say.  Plus, it was pizza
day, and everyone was ALWAYS happy to have their lunch while they discussed
their felonious plans. 

Troubadore’s song ‘Five Fingers of
Freedom’ ended, and the assembly cheered.   It really was a good show.  One of
his best.  A very catchy tune, which she’d probably be humming for hours.  Not
as good as that opera he did the day the Morticians’ department unveiled their
new killer flu virus, or the samba on the day the Consortium got its ISO 9000
certification, but still a HELL of a show.

The Commodore nodded.  “Commendable
concert!  Certainly a captivating composition, with a creative and clever
consonance.”

Wyatt coughed, his mouth hanging
open in shock.  “Even the meeting is in song now.”  He quickly wrote something
down on his notepad.  “One question though: how long did it take the lost
Blues
Brother
over there to write that?  And weren’t there possibly
better
uses of his time?  Maybe?”  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “No wonder you
people never get anything done.  You’re too busy scouring the dictionary for
words that start with ‘C’ and turning reports on all your failures into fucking
rock songs!”

The Commodore frowned and looked
confused.  “Consistently chooses ‘C’ words?  That’s a curious consonant to
collect.  Which of these characters commits that chicanery?”

Wyatt stared at him a moment is
disbelief.  He opened his mouth to say something… Then closed it… Then opened
it again.  Finally he simply made an astonished helpless sound and put his hands
out as if trying to draw attention to the insanity of the situation. 

Wyatt was apparently a very strange
person at times, and Harlot was having trouble deciphering what he was talking
about.  Gabe didn’t have too many C words in the song.  What the hell?

Holly pointed an angry finger at
him.  “Hey!  Leave C.C. and Gabe alone!  Besides, I’d like to see YOU try to
put the agenda to music!  I once heard Gabe rhyme ‘secret orange monster’ with
something PERFECTLY, and he managed to also somehow make it funny.  His songs
are the only reason I come to these damn things anymore.”

Wyatt opened his mouth to reply,
but stopped short, and started staring at the pile of pizza boxes arranged
around the table.  “Where did you get those?”

Cynic grabbed an entire box of pizza
and took it back to his chair, apparently paranoid about eating something that
someone else had access to, just in case they were trying to poison him.  “Place
in town delivers.”

Wyatt thought about that for a
minute and slowly put his head down on the table and banged it against the
tabletop a view times.  “You have pizza
delivered
to you
secret
base. 
Unbelievable
.”

Vaudeville heaved a dramatic sigh. 
“You see?  This is why I
hate
when new characters are added to a show’s happy
family dynamic.”  He carefully blotted the grease from his pizza with a paper
towel.  “They only take time away from the series’ regulars, and should be
dealt
with
before they drag the whole franchise down.”

Wyatt’s eye narrowed.  “Was that a
threat?”

Cory looked surprised that Wyatt
could
possibly
interpret his words that way.  “Merely an observation
about TV in general, Cousin Oliver.  …Oh, I mean, Mr. Ferral.”  He laughed. “I
don’t know
why
I just called you by the name of that kid on
The Brady
Bunch.  …
I took care of
him
long
ago.” 

The Commodore pointed at Cory.  “Vaudeville,
how carries your caravan?”

Vaudeville put down his pizza, and
readied a stack of folders.  “Marvelous, Commodore.  The Public Relations
department is positively
BURSTING
with ideas on how to undermine the
confidence of the populous.  Our media contacts have been broadcasting all of the
inaccurate information we’ve been funneling to them.  I’ve been cultivating
this plan where we try to convince people that sporting events actually MATTER
in some way, and are slowing turning one area of the country against the other. 
We have hopes that if we engineer one or two more contested referee calls in
important games, we can produce a full scale
war
.  In other news, we’ve
managed to work a laundry list of hidden messages and perverted images into
children’s cartoon shows, in an effort to create a generation of
hypno-assassins and sexual deviants.  Oh, and if anyone wants anything specific
to win an Oscar this year, just let me know.  Otherwise, I’m just going to pick
some more random films that no one has ever seen before.  People hate that.” 
He smiled with pride.  “Just a little ‘fuck you’ from the C of C to the public.”

He sat down and The Cynic stood
up.  “Sorry to speak out of turn here…  well, no… I’m not really sorry about it
at all, because I don’t give a shit… but I’ve just got to say something.  What
the hell is Fabricator REALLY doing here?  I mean, I know he’s
supposedly
joining
us and all, but am I the only one that thinks that’s a giant steaming pile of monkey
shit?  I can’t POSSIBLY be the only one who sees that this is all some kind of
conspiracy
. 
Any minute now, that underwear clad fuck-job Captain Dauntless is going to
crash through our ceiling with his jackbooted thugs and drag us all off to the
gulag.”  He pointed at Wyatt.  “And even if this little fuck-bag DOES seriously
want to join,
WHO CARES!?!” 
His voice went up an octave in an effort to
communicate the insanity of the situation and his arms went wide.  “Are all of
you out of your
GODDAMN MINDS!?!
 I don’t know anyone here who ever
really liked him… Aside from Harlot, who doesn’t count, because she’s crazy and
hormonal and apparently ready to jump on anything in a cape, even The Fucking
New Guy here.  Shit, he kicked most of your asses more than once over the
years.  And that was BEFORE he lost it and…”

The Commodore’s voice boomed out.  “Calm
yourself, Cynic.  Continue you criticisms when we complete the checklist and I call
on you for complaints.”

The Cynic sat back down, still
glaring at Wyatt. 

Wyatt ignored him. 

The Commodore stood up again,
turning to Harlot.  “Now my charming creature, commence with the other
compelling concerns.”

She was still having difficulty
dealing with the fact that Wyatt was sitting here with them.  This was weird. 
It was like Smokey the Bear helping you pour the gasoline and torch the forest.

She pushed another button, and a screen
appeared.  “Next on the agenda, a quick recap of the job at the docks last
night.  According to the reports we just received from HR, and thank you for
the song by the way Gabe, the job didn’t go so well.”

Tyrant made a distasteful face.  “What
kind of idiotic fools would attempt to steal something so utterly inconsequential
anyway?
”  He shuttered at the thought of stealing computer equipment. 
“The stupidity of the people of this dimension never
ceases
to amaze
me.”  He looked around the table at his companions.  “Is your precious ‘
technology
’
really that exciting to you savages?”

  Harlot ignored him.  “…Although
we obtained the computer chips we were after, Honey Badger showed up and
stopped Taxidermist from escaping and broke both of his legs.  He’s with our
doctors right now.”

The Commodore slammed his fist down
on the table again.  “Confound it!  That craven coward has committed his last
crime against our coalition!  Counteraction must be contiguously commenced!”

Wyatt casually raised a finger to
call attention to himself.  “Anyone see Taxidermist masterminding the crime?”

She looked down at her report and
then shook her head.  “Doesn’t look like it.  Honey Badger got there too fast.”

He nodded.  “Anyone see the beating
Badger gave him?”

She shuffled through the report.  “Yeah,
a few bystanders.”

He smiled.  “Excellent.  I know
what to do then.”

Her eyebrows compressed.  “What?” 

His smile grew and he leaned
forward as if this was the moment he was waiting for.  “You’re going to
sue
him
.” 

Her mouth dropped open.  “We can’t
sue him.  Taxi was trying to steal the…”

He cut her off.  “Was he now?  Can
anyone prove that?  Did he TELL anyone of his intentions?  Did anyone SEE him
with the stolen goods?  Because as far as I can see, he was simply an innocent
man walking along the docks like any law-biding citizen, when he was viciously
attacked by a crazed man dressed like a
badger
.  Do you really think the
court will let Badger testify
anyway
?  He’s wearing a badger suit, for god’s
sake.  You can’t take his deposition if there’s no way to contact him!  He
doesn’t even have a NAME!  You can’t swear him in!  Nope, the court will try to
make him take the costume off and reveal his identity, and he’ll refuse.” 
Wyatt casually poured himself a glass of ice water and took a sip.  “Thus, you’re
going to sue him for battery and everything else I can think of, and when he
doesn’t show up in court to defend himself, you’re going to win by default.  No
fuss, no muss.”

She frowned.  Okay, he was
seriously freaking her out now.  In her mind, Smokey the Bear was now holding a
match and chortling, “
Let’s burn this fucker down!”
 as the fire cast shadows
across his furry face, and the smell of gasoline and burning forest creatures
filled the air.  It was… eerie.  And yet, strangely captivating.

The Cynic raised his hand.  “And
what do
YOU
get out of this, wonderboy?  Last time I checked, you were
on the side of the angels.”

Wyatt smiled.  “A chance to launch
my plan.  And I
ALWAYS
have a plan, Cynic.”

The other man snorted in laughter and
rested his chin in his palm.  “Okay… this should be good for a laugh or two.  If
you’re so smart and anxious to help, what’s this genius plan then?”

Wyatt stood up.  “An excellent
question.”  He pulled out a large portfolio and took it to the front of the
room and placed it on an easel.  He revealed the first placard.  “Now, I call
my presentation: ‘Heroism: Futility in Tights’”  He pulled out a telescoping
pointer and began pacing.  “I look around this room and you know what I see? 
Wasted
opportunity
.  You have…”

Cynic cut him off.   “Oh, Jesus. 
Now I’ve done it.”  He looked over at the Commodore.  “Do I really have to sit
here and listen to this little fucktard?”

Wyatt ignored him.  “…You have
legions of soldiers that never do anything but die; most of them have never
even been in the field.  You have an undersea base which you barely use. 
Harlot is obviously more capable and intelligent than all of you put together,
but you have her basically making your coffee.  Cynic has super powers he
refuses to even use.  Librarian is pretty much the smartest person on the
planet and you have her filling out trivial paperwork for you, because you
don’t want to do it yourselves.   Tyrant…”  He paused for a moment.  “…we’ll,
he’s insane.  You’re probably right keeping him on the bench most of the time. 
Honestly?  You should just fire him and distance yourselves from him as much as
possible.  He’s one of the few of you who is
genuinely
evil.”

Tyrant nodded and looked vaguely
impressed.  “A rare moment of lucidity from an otherwise unworthy mammal.”  He
adjusted his crown and looked around the table at them.  “The worm is correct; I
AM
planning on killing you all, come my
Day of Days
.”

Wyatt stared at him for a moment.  “Am
I the only one even MILDLY concerned that a homicidal megalomaniac just warned
us that he intends to kill us all? 
Soon.
”

Everyone shrugged. 

Wyatt was totally overreacting. 

He tapped the pointer on the easel
to get everyone’s attention back on his presentation. “Forgetting about our
looming deaths for a minute though, what I’m telling you is that there are more
of you than there are of the Freedom Squad.  You’re more powerful than they are. 
You’ve just gotten so caught up in childish vendettas and striking at the
occasional bank that you’ve lost sight of the
big picture
.  As such, I
am taking over operational command of this group.  You have proven time and time
again that you are
pathologically
incapable of success, and need someone
with vision to show you the way to the Promised Land.”  He leaned forward on
the table.  “I propose, that the reason you’re all sitting here is because of
heroes
. 
You’re not after power.  If you wanted that, you’d take over Washington DC, or seize
a small town somewhere which you could rule like Gods on Earth.  And you’re not
after money alone, because the heroes located within this city prevent you from
stealing
anything
the majority of the time.  You may go elsewhere for
the occasional crime spree, but you always come right back here, because this
is where the heroes live.”  He smacked the pointer into his palm to accentuate
each sentence.  “You want action.  You want excitement.  Crime is simply a
convenient way to show the heroes that you are
better
than they are. 
That no matter how powerful or strong they are, they can’t tell you what to do
or how to live.  Prove to them that you can
WIN
.”