Yesterday's Heroes (Consortium of Chaos Book 1) (13 page)

“Anyway, the friendly looking one
dressed as the pilgrim lady and carrying the turkey?  That’s Amity.  Amy’s
super nice;
everyone
likes her.  She does all the cooking here…except for
the meatloaf…and she keeps the public areas of the Volcano Crater Lair
spotlessly
clean, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”  Next she pointed to a woman in knee-high
boots and a miniscule two-piece red silk “uniform” which looked to the entire
world like underwear, who was standing behind the cafeteria register and
ignoring Alistair Wentworth III AKA “The Yachtsman” as he tried to pay for his
meal.  The woman was looking DIRECTLY at him, but pretending that she didn’t
see him.  Alistair opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as the
woman extended her hand, raised her manicured middle finger inches from his
face and then spat into his plate of scrambled eggs. 

Harlot sighed.  “The one in the
witch’s hat?  That’s her identical twin sister, Enmity.  Human Resources makes Emily
work in the kitchen as punishment for her…well…
everything
, actually. 
Everything she does seems to break at least one of the
very
few rules we
have here. 
No one
likes her.  At all.  Sometimes taking it to
irrational
levels.  She mans the cash register, does the dishes…and makes the meatloaf. 
Em’s…Ummm…”

Emily tossed a handful of sugar
packets into Alistair’s face.

Wyatt nodded.  “Yes, I get the
idea.  Thank you.”

She pointed to a man wearing grey
pajamas and slouching low in an overstuffed chair in the corner; a bored look
on his face.  “That’s their brother, Apathy.  People don’t really have feelings
about Adam at…”

Wyatt nodded.  “Yup.  Still understanding
the concept.”  He pointed at each person in turn.  “Virgin.  Whore.  Loafer.” 
He nodded again.  “Got it.”

The Yachtsman finally decided to simply
leave the money on the counter and cut his losses, since it was perfectly
obvious that Emily was getting cruel delight out of making him stand there,
tray in hand, and had no intention of EVER ringing him up.  He dumped out his
ruined eggs and was helpfully served another plateful by a very apologetic Amy,
long used to her sister’s malicious and confrontational behavior.  The cheerful
blonde woman even walked around the counter to give him a comforting hug, just
in case he was suffering emotional distress over Emily’s wickedness.  He looked
exceedingly uncomfortable at the sudden contact, until Amy finally released him
and hurried back to get her pies out of the oven.  

Wyatt had apparently seen enough of
the cafeteria and started to walk away.  She hurried to catch up with him.  “Want
to go see the armory or something?”

He made a non-committal sound.  “You’re
the tour guide.  You tell me.”

They were met at the door of the
cafeteria by Brett Brady AKA “Usurper”. 

The blond haired man smiled widely
and shifted the large frog piñata he was carrying to his other hand.  “Wow, The
New Guy’s getting the tour!”  He smiled.  “Nice. 
Everyone’s
got to get
the tour.  I remember when
I
was the one getting the patented Harlot
tour;
SOOOOO
many new crazy faces and weird names to learn.”  He
laughed.  “Good times.”  He waved at Wyatt.  “S’up.  I’m Brett.  Welcome to the
darkside, hero dude.  Where the women are hotter, the drinks are colder, and
the party never stops!  Totally already know all about you, man, because I
subscribe to Harlot’s ‘you’ newsletter.”  He stared at Wyatt for a moment. 
“She’s right; your eyes are very ‘soulful’, aren’t they?  Huh.”  He lowered his
voice to a conspiritual whisper.  “But word of advice, man…”  He looked left
and right as if checking for hidden eavesdroppers.  “Whatever you do…
don’t
touch the Puffin
.”  He shook his head earnestly at his own grim warning. 
“Don’t make my mistake, man.  I know they’re really cute little birds, so
you’re going to want to pick it up, but just leave it alone.  It’s
baaad
news
.”

Wyatt blinked at him for a moment
in confusion and then looked over at Harlot. 

She nodded seriously.  “No, Brett’s
right.  It’s best to just stay away from it.”

Wyatt opened his mouth to say something
and then apparently decided against it and simply walked from the room towards
the elevators.  They both climbed in, and just as the doors were closing, Hector
Hopper AKA “The Roach” and his daughter joined them.  Roach was a legend in the
industry.  He was one of the first to embrace costumed crime way back when; a
true founding father of super-villainy. 

Unfortunately, that was a long time
ago and the years had not been kind.  Now he was old and angry and a pain in
the ass.  According to the report ballad from HR, he had killed a man at his nursing
home with a walker, because the man had turned off
Matlock
.  Apparently,
there had been a near riot over the TV between a couple of the elderly heroes
and elderly villains who were residents there, and not everyone on the home’s nursing
staff made it out alive.  That had been a few months ago, and since then he had
taken up residence in the Volcano Crater Lair full time.  HR seemed to spend
the majority of its time dealing with complaints against him, and was frantically
trying to find someplace else to send him. 
Anywhere else.
  His wheelchair
was pushed by his youngest daughter May Hopper AKA “Mayfly”. 

The old man looked up at Wyatt in
disgust and then spat on the floor of the elevator.  Ick.  “Jesus fucking
Christ.  Never thought I’d live to see the day that we would let a little fucking
pussy like THIS join up.”  He pointed a boney finger at Wyatt like the grim hand
of death.  “You don’t BELONG HERE!”

Harlot reached over and tried to
subtly jab the button for the lower level again, in hopes that it would somehow
make the elevator go faster.

Wyatt stared down at the man in the
latex cockroach costume.  “So you’re here too, huh?  Wait…this is hell.  Of
COURSE
you’d be here.”

Roach readjusted his oxygen line so
that it didn’t get tangled in the plastic antenna sticking from his costume and
made a confused face.  He readjusted the hearing aid in his ear.  “What are you
babbling about, boy?  Speak up.  Come on,
spit it out!”

Wyatt raised his voice to a yell so
that the old man could hear him.  “I said; I DON’T LIKE YOU.  YOU’RE A BAD
PERSON.”

The man gave a raspy laugh which
turned into a cough.  “You’re not supposed to LIKE anybody!  That’s the point
of being a villain.”  His eyes narrowed.  “But YOU aren’t a villain; you’re a
fucking
Cape
and deserve to die screaming.  Back in the old days, we
used people like you as fucking
currency!” 
He nodded
.  “
Oh,
yeah.  Currency.  Called it:
Villain Poker
.  Hero skulls were worth $20
and the bodies of heroines were worth $50
…$100
if they were still alive
and not fat.  …That’s how I met May’s mother; won her at the tables in
Bakersfield.”  He itched at the IV port in his left forearm with a shaky hand. 
“Loved that game.  Once played it for six days straight back in the fall of ’56,
with Kill-Spree and the rest of the old crowd.  Ended up with so many skulls
and captive heroines that I had to steal a fucking
station wagon
to get
them all home!
 
Lined them up in the fucking den next to the
GODDAMN
TV! 
Christ, you never HEARD complaining like those bitches could complain!
 Always talked RIGHT over Sullivan when I was trying to watch! 
Rude little
whores had no manners!” 
He hacked several times.
  “Livin’ with them was
hell, but they refused to leave!  I’m sitting there trying to watch that
goddamn little commie shit Elvis, and Solar Girl just won’t keep her goddamn
mouth SHUT!  Yak, yak, yak!  Haughty bitch just never shut up about herself!   ...
But
Jesus fucking Christ could she give a good blow j…”
He started wheezing
and glanced down at the gage on his oxygen tank.

Mayfly absently turned the page in
the magazine she was flipping through.  “Now Papa, remember your blood
pressure.”

The older man rolled his bloodshot,
cloudy eyes.  “How could I forget it when you’re always pestering me about it! 
Jesus, May, you’re like a broken record; blood pressure, blood pressure, blood
pressure…  Your mother was like that too.  Always had a fire in her.  Always
wanted to tell everyone what to do and see that it got done.  Then, we did this
job in Moscow in ‘63 and got nabbed by the KGB and sent to a Siberian
gulag
…”

Harlot reached over and pressed the
button several more times.  Come on…Come on…For the love of god HURRY!

“…We stayed there for SIX YEARS! 
SIX
. 
Guards abandoned the place five years in, because it just got too bad there. 
Way
too bad.
  And they took all the supplies with them…but they left us behind…To
die
…”

Harlot turned to Wyatt, trying to
drown out the story.  “So, I was thinking that we’ll look at the dorms and
then…”

Wyatt obviously wasn’t listening to
her, he was still focused on Roach.  The old man took in a raspy breath.

“…Had nothing to eat for three
months!  Three months of starving in that frozen hell.”  He spat on the floor
again.  “After two weeks, we had run out of rats to eat…Had to move on to the
dead.  And by that point we were
glad
to do it…glad as hogs in shit…nothing
ever tasted as sweet as that first bite of
meat
…”  He wiped his mouth
with the back of one arthritic hand.  “…But eventually we ran out of bodies…Even
ate the frozen dusty bones we dug up from the old abandoned graveyard behind
the bunkhouse…Then we had no other options…”  His eyes took on a haunted
quality and his unfocused gaze was staring at the doors.  “My cellmate was the
first to go…cornered him in the yard…”  He put his frail arms over his head as
if holding something.  “…raised the shovel and then…”  He brought his hands
down and then nodded as if witnessing it all play out again in his mind.  “…We
ate
good
that night…
So good
…But then we ran out of prisoners to
…harvest
…”

Harlot put on a fake smile, trying
to distract Wyatt from the story and change his increasingly horrified face.  “Oh
hey!  Did I tell you my plan for stealing the diamond yet?  See, what I want to
do is…”

The man’s raspy voice continued his
story to his daughter.  “…She and I drew straws those last weeks….your mother…
lost
…she
woke up without an arm the next morning…”

Wyatt’s face drew back in distaste.

Harlot continued her news in the
happiest voice she could muster.  “….I figure if I go in through the roof, I
can bypass most of the….”

“…Three days later…three days
later, the other one was gone too…By the time we finally got out of there…”  He
stopped blinking and stared at a point on the wall like he could see through it. 
“…She didn’t have that
fire
no more…Or her legs……
Gone
…
All gone
…” 
He looked down at his hands and then brightened, his voice returned to its
former bombastic level.  “Now THAT was a fucking villainess!  Not like these
fucking weak-kneed
Sally Homemaker
little bitches you see today!  She
was COMMITTED!  You think any of these soft little debutantes today could help
you cut off her own arm and then
EAT it!?!
 
HUH!?!
  Think that
spoiled little brat over here could pry off a limb, and then compliment you on
how nicely you
cooked
the fucking thing?”  He turned to look at Wyatt.  “How
about it, Precious?  Could you suck the meat off your own dead amputated
fingers and then ask for more?  Just so someone you loved could eat?  HUH!?!” 

Wyattt looked away from the old man
and then over at her for a second, apparently seriously considering the matter,
and then nodded.  “…Probably.  What would I be using to cut it off?  A…” 

“
No, sir!” 
The man gave no
indication that the heard him.  “I didn’t think so!  ‘Villainesses’ like this
asshole here, they don’t have THOSE kind of balls, not like they did back in MY
day!  That was when men were men, and women were fucking WOMEN!  Hard and
strong and proud and didn’t take no shit off nobody, whether they wore a cape
or not.  Nowadays, they just want to find some rich hero or villain and get
taken care of so they can stay at home and get fat.  Someone all wholesome and
useless…”  He pointed at Wyatt.  “…like this little bastard here.”  He turned
to look at her, and pointed with a bony finger.  “I been tellin’ that silly
girl every day of her life that ‘hero’ is just another word for ‘dickless’, and
that
this
little shit is the worst of them all,”  Her gestured to
Wyatt.  “, but she
never listens to reason
...”

Harlot’s temper finally snapped.  “ENOUGH! 
Come on,
Uncle Hector!  It’s his first DAY!  Wyatt doesn’t need to hear
any old war stories about you eating Aunt Pamela’s
arms!
  Okay!?! 
PLEASE!  You’re making us sound
crazy!
”

The old man focused on her.  “Your ‘hero
phase’ has gone on long enough, girl.”  He removed the oxygen line for a minute
to take a belt from his flask of bourbon.  “Teamwork is
NOT
what this
business is about, young lady.  We are
piranha
, not wolves; we travel in
a pack, but we’ll all out for ourselves.  We
don’t
work together; we
work
concurrently
.  When’s the last time you did something TRULY evil on
your own?  HUH!?!”

The doors opened and Wyatt strolled
through them.  “Well, she’s allowing you to live and that’s a pretty evil thing
to do to the world AND to you for that matter, since you’re not exactly going
the death with dignity route, are you old man?  That count?”