Society of Heroes with Indeterminate Talent (5 page)

Max looked hopelessly around then dropped the handgun and baseball bat onto the ground before interlocking his hands on his head.

"The best way." said Agent One, nodding his head in approval.

One by one the robbers dropped their weapons and with shoulders slumped slowly walked to the entrance to the shop.

"They're coming out," yelled Agent One.  "Don’t shoot."

With one final glance over his head Max left the store and Agent One watched as him and his men were tackled to pavement floor and handcuffed.

"I thought that went pretty well, didn’t you guys?"

"Do we have to go back to jail?" grumbled GPS.

"It's for the best." replied Agent One.  "But S.H.I.T commends your valor and conduct today, and we'll downgrade a couple of your major offenses to minor.  How's that?"

"That sounds good to me." admitted the Vanisher looking happy.

Suddenly the door to the shop opened and the owner of the jewelers walked briskly in wringing his hands nervously.

"Gentlemen, I must thank you for what you have done today.  It was truly a remarkable act of heroism and one that I am eternally grateful for.”

"We're just doing our duty sir, and doing what's right for the city of London." said Agent One tipping his head.  "Right, okay, so I've got some paperwork to catch up on so we'll be off then."

The jewelry shop owner coughed lightly into his hand clearing his throat.

"There's just the small matter of returning all my jewelry now." he said.

"Of course," answered Agent One looking up at the Vanisher.  "Please, return all this stores valuables and we'll be on our way."

The Vanisher glanced at GPS then back to Agent One and shifted nervously from foot-to-foot.

"Erm…I don’t really know where it is."

"What do you mean exactly?" asked Agent One narrowing his eyes.

"Well…there's a reason why they call me the Vanisher and not the Recoverer."

"So how do we get all this man's goods back?" hissed the agent icily.

"For that we need the Recoverer."

"Then give the Recoverer a call."

"Yeah…he died a while ago." mumbled the Vanisher.  "It kind of ruined our whole operation.  We could find the goods and vanish the goods, but never bring them back."

"What is this man saying?" demanded the shop owner.

"Did you sign that voluntary waiver relinquishing all rights and privileges to the contents of your store?" asked Agent One with a hopeful look in his eyes.

"I did."

"Then have a good day, sir." he said striding from the shop quickly.

6.

S.H.I.T headquarters (reprimand 2)

“Get your sorry pale asses in this room right now!” shouted the angry voice from beyond the thick mahogany door.

Agent One glanced across to Agent Two nervously, but didn’t move.

“You go first.” said Agent One nodding towards the door handle.

“No, you go first.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But Agent Two always follows Agent One.  You can’t argue with the numerical sequence, plus I was the first through the door last time the General wanted to see us.”

“Shall we do rock, paper scissors, best of three?” asked Agent One hopefully.

“In here now!” roared the General sounding nearly apocalyptic.

Cursing under his breath Agent One reached for the door handle and opened it before stepping into the office onto the plush blue carpet as the General paced up and down the room with his arms clasped behind his back.

He shot them a glance as they entered and growled low in his throat with his pencil thin moustache twitching in anger.

“Get in here you worthless, stupid, no good, goddamned pains in my ass.” snarled the General pausing midstride and glaring across to them.

With a grunt he strode across to the two agents who were stood stiff to attention with their shoulders pulled back and their eyes forward.

“Are you eyeballing me, son?” whispered the General menacingly, as he peered up at Agent One.  “Did I say you could look me in the eye, agent?”

“No, sir.”

“Look me in the eye when I’m dressing you down, agent.” barked the General.

“Sir.”

“Look straight, not down at the ground.”

“But sir, if I look straight ahead I can only see the top of your head.” said Agent One licking his lips nervously.

A frosty silence descended on the room and after a few long seconds the General narrowed his eyes and leant up on his tiptoes staring closely at the agent.

“Is that a sizeism joke aimed at my personal size?” he asked, with his voice dripping with venom.

“No, sir.  Merely highlighting that I would have difficulty looking straight and at your eye-level without crouching down to your level of importance.”

“Was that humor directed at my expense?”

“No sir.”

“Well if it was I like it,” said the General chuckling.  “We all need a bit of humor; it offers a way to embrace our little quirks and imperfections.  Am I right or am I right, agents?”

“Sir.” they said in perfect unison.

Agent One smiled and looked across to Agent Two and some of the tension eased in the office.

“Well, what are you waiting for, agent?” spat the General raising his eyebrows and smoothing down his moustache in one motion.

“Sir?”

“Get down to my level this second, agent.”

Agent One blinked then squatted down with knees bent on his haunches so he was eye-level with the General who nodded his head in approval.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Slight calf burning sensation, sir.” replied Agent One.

“Good, continue to hold that crouch agent while we address some serious issues which has come to my attention.”

The General walked over to one of the wing-backed chairs and dragged it across the floor and placed it directly in front of Agent Two.  He then raised his right leg onto the cushion of the chair and rolled up his trouser leg exposing his incredibly smooth leg.

“Now look here, Agent Two," he said.  "See this shaven pin?  Run you hand down my leg.”

“Sorry sir, I think I misheard you.”

“Come run your hand down my leg and feel how smooth and silky it is.  That’s an order, agent.”

"Are you being serious, sir?"

"I'm a very serious man, agent.  Now caress my leg and tell me what it feels like."

Agent Two raised his hand hesitantly and approached the chair before glancing back at Agent One who was still hunched down with a look of amusement on his face.  With a grimace on his face he gently stroked the General's leg, then swiftly pulled it away.

"So?" asked the General.

"It has the velvety smoothness of a peach, sir."

"And what emotions does it stir in you?"

"I feel slightly nauseous, sir."

"My legs are far too hairy for my liking," muttered the General, rolling down his trouser leg.  "That’s why I get rid of my hair.  I used an epilator just this morning.  You know what else is not to my liking?  Both of your decision making.  From the outside looking in you can't understand it, and from the inside looking out, you still can't understand it.  It's practically bringing tears to my eyes right now.  I've got the Commissioner of Police and the president of the Association of Chief Police Officers chewing my balls.  The Department of Homeland Security wants urgent talks with me.  The National Security Secretariat has been ringing me on the hour; MI6 and MI5 are watching us like hawks, the National Domestic Extremism and Disorder Intelligence Unit are tracking our every movement and the Prime Minister has called an urgent cabinet meeting.  Do you two understand why this is?"

"No sir." the agents said.

"It's because they all think we're troublemakers and troublemakers in our ranks waste no time in turning the place upside down.  I will not have this agency being made into a mockery.  Our briefing is quite clear and we need to be seen getting results out there or they'll close this operation down faster than I can shave my bikini line.  It’s a battle out on those streets and you need to be seen to winning it.  Am I clear, agents?"

"But I thought we were getting results, sir?" queried Agent One with a frown on his face.

The General sneered and moved over to his desk and scooped up a wad of paper and stabbed at it with his hand before rounding on them,

"Results?" he snapped.  "Where do I start?  Okay, here is a letter of intent from the lawyer of a certain Mr. Titus Monrel with his intention to sue.  You handled this one didn’t you Agent One?  The client states he was falsely accused of armed robbery and that he was the victim and had his human rights violated amongst other things that was violated.  Further he claims defamation of character that was racially motivated and that he was unlawfully incapacitated to unconsciousness, where he also believes he may have been sexually assaulted…and not in a nice way.  When he woke he had his possessions removed and let me just read them out to you.  Here we go, let me just list these off.  One gold bracelet, one phone, two gold crowns, a knife, his shoes, trousers and underpants."

"Sir, out of curiosity how does Mr. Monrel believe he was sexually assaulted?" asked Agent One.

"He had a butt plug hanging out of his ass."

"A butt plug?"

"Yes Agent One, a toy designed to be inserted into the rectum for sexual pleasure."

"Ahhhh…" replied Agent One.  "That probably happened after we left."

"Police are urging the public to come forward.  So Agent One, how do I make this one go away?"

"An all-white jury?" offered Agent One weakly.

Agent Two chuckled and the General snapped his head in his direction and raised his eyebrows.

"Is something amusing you, agent?"

"No, sir."

"Well, let's see.  Next we have a commuter on the Piccadilly underground who is claiming he was physically assaulted by an old woman who has left him with a grazed face, bruises on his eyes and a missing tooth.  On top of that he feels he has been humiliated in public and wants compensation as one commuter videoed it from his mobile and uploaded the video to YouTube.  That video has gone viral and generated three millions views in a single day.  I've seen it, it's dramatic and terrifying and I'm talking about Ethel the senior sociopath and her fists of retribution."

"But sir, he stole a lady's bag!"

"Stealing, of course, is a crime and inexcusable, however, you apprehend the offender, he gets arrested and everyone goes home happy.  Finally we have a robbery at Hart's Jewelers in broad daylight."

"I thought that went very well." commented Agent One.  "No-one was hurt and the bad guys were taken away by the police.  We stopped the robbery."

"No, see it says here right in front of me that the robbery still took place.  There was forty million pounds worth of assets in that shop before the attempted robbery and there was nothing after the robbery was foiled.  Care to answer that, agent?"

"There was a slight reclaiming hitch on the part of the heroes we used for that operation, sir."

"A slight reclaiming hitch," mused the General nodding his head thoughtfully before casting his eyes back over the paper.  "When you hired these heroes for assistance in this mission didn’t the fact that they were both ex-cons grab your attention in anyway?"

"No, sir.  I believe they have served time for their crimes and thought they were especially suited for this operation."

"That's forty million pounds worth of jewelry that has gone missing agent, and you were in the company of ex-criminals previously known for stealing goods, then vanishing them away and living off the spoils."

"A lot of the stuff was marked down, sir."

"Can you both see why this reflects badly on the agency?"

"Sir." they both said miserably.

"From this moment forward I'm not going to get anymore complaints about you two, am I?"

"No, sir."

"Good, remember you two are our weapons against criminal organizations, so go out there and get the neighborhoods safe, but do it in a less sueable way.  Now get the hell out of my office."

The two agents nodded once then spun on their heels striding towards the door with a look of relief over their faces.

"Just one more thing, agents.  The whole leg caressing thing, that stays within these four walls, okay?  People may get the wrong idea, understand?"

"Sir."

7.

A walk in the park

The dog circled, sniffing every inch of grass with its nose to the ground before selecting an area and squatting to do its business.  The owner of the animal, a middle-aged man wearing a grey tweed flat-cap, tweed jacket and trousers watched on, whistling through his teeth while glancing around the park holding the lead loosely in his hand.  After a few cursory looks towards the dog he tugged on the lead urging it on hurriedly.

“Come on, Baxter!” he said impatiently.

The animal looked up with a rather unsympathetic look on its face as its backside hovered a few inches from the grass.  A few minutes later it turned and sniffed the poop, circled it, inspected it some more before wagging its tail and prancing back to its owner.

With a quick look over his shoulder the man left the scene of the crime and began walking back up the path that flanked the grassy area of the parkland.

“Excuse me, sir your animal appears to have left a very generous sized gift hidden in grass of which you clearly have no intention of picking up.” called out a voice.

The man turned around with a startled expression on his face with his cheeks flushing at the two strangers standing on the path behind him.  One was dressed in an all-black suit carrying a clipboard with a disappointed look on his face and the other was a man dressed head-to-toe in an outfit shaped like a sausage, complete with brown tights and a hole where his face peeked out of.

“Pardon?” asked the man as his dog strained at the leash, growling low in its throat.

The man in the black suit pointed a finger over towards the fresh steaming pile of foul and looked at the dog-walker questioningly.

“That warm nugget of poop over there that we’ve just seen your dog deposit.”

“I don’t know what poop you’re talking about!” exclaimed the flat-cap man with a baffled look on his face.  “It wasn't my dog that did that.”

“Sir, you look like a normal, responsible dog owner,” said the man in the suit wearily.  “As you can see by the poop bins and bags stationed along the parkway path, it has been made easy and convenient for you to dispose of your animals waste when such an occasion permits.  You either remove the offending pile, and yes handling dog feces is not the most pleasant of tasks, otherwise I will be forced to issue you an on-the-spot fixed penalty of eighty pounds for dog fouling in accordance with the Clean Neighborhoods and Environment Act 2005.  Refusal to pay the fine can lead to prosecution and a fine of up to one thousand pounds and a rather unpleasant court appearance.”

“Definitely wasn’t my Baxter that did that,” cried the man looking outraged.  “He’s well trained is my Baxter!”

“Sir, we have already established that we witnessed your animal in the act of perpetrating the crime in question, so I suggest you go pluck a bag from the dispenser at the side of the path, walk over to the feces with the bag over your hand, make a claw-like circle with your fingers; get as far under the pile as possible, scoop it up and throw it away.”

“Who the hell are you, a park ranger?” snapped the man, giving Baxter a little extra lead so he could dart forward baring his teeth.  “And who is this man meant to be, Hotdog man?”

The man in the sausage suit and brown tights sighed heavily and glared at the man in black suit with an ‘I told you’ look on his face.

“I knew this would happen, this is your fault.  I told you on the way up, didn’t I?  I look like a giant sausage.  Your costume department was responsible for the design and fitting and all you’ve done is make me look like a walking piece of ground meat with skin around it.  How is this meant to convey to the crime-world that I’m a crime-fighting superhero?”

“Relax, relax, relax, I’ll handle this,” said the other man with the clipboard.  “Sir, my name is Agent Two and my costumed colleague’s name is the Defecator.  We are associates of S.H.I.T and our aim is to clear up the streets of London and rid it of crime.”

“The Defecator?” quizzed the dog-walker looking the suit up and down for a moment.  “He looks like a sausage.”

“I rest my case.” said the Defecator flapping his arms in exasperation.

“The suit is intended to represent a large turd.” replied Agent Two limply.

“Really?” questioned the flat-cap man, squinting hard at the costume.

“Really, but I can see now when you look at it from certain angles it can appear very sausage-like in appearance.”

Bending down the man in the flat-cap whispered soothing words to Baxter before guiding him up to the costumed superhero.  The dog sniffed the Defecator’s feet then they walked around him in a circle looking him up and down curiously.

“Can you see it yet?” asked Agent Two hopefully.

“Still looks like a sausage to me.” mumbled the man.

The Defecator crossed his arms grumpily and muttered something under his breath.

"It's a bit too round in shape," muttered the dog-walker tapping his chin thoughtfully.  "It needs something more.  I reckon if it was a little jagged around the edges and a deeper shade of brown then we might be getting somewhere.  It could be mistaken for a salami stick almost."

"Can we get back to the crime at hand, please?" yelled the Defecator.

"I told you, my dog didn’t do that.  Excuse me Agent Two, did you say this strange looking man was a superhero?"

"He is." said Agent Two.

"He doesn’t look much like a superhero.  What powers has he got?"

"Mr Defecator specializes in tracing waste that has been expelled from the digestive tract and out through the anus from any living creature on the planet."

"That's a superpower?" asked flat-cap man grinning.  "He looks at poo?"

"Taking it down to its absolute basic form, then yes." answered Agent Two.

"Don’t you have any real crimes to be looking at?  Like finding murderers and rapists and not bothering normal people walking their dogs in the park?"

"We're trying not to be noticed; you know targeting low-key smaller offences to boost our statistics and not get into any trouble." answered Agent Two, shrugging his shoulders.  "You sir, have committed a crime and the law in Britain is pretty clear.  It is the responsibility of the dog owner to clear up any mess left by their dog."

"But it wasn’t my Baxter, was it boy?"

The dog wagged its tail with his tongue lolling out over its gums as it looked up at his owner.

"I can see we're not getting anywhere, so Mr Defecator would you care to demonstrate your powers and perform a traceability exercise?"

Mr Defecator reached inside his suit and produced a sealed, sterilized dry swab then knelt onto the ground alongside the dog who began thumping its tail against the ground rapidly.

"What are you doing?" asked the dog-owner in alarm.

"I need a DNA sample from your dog for genetic analysis so I can compare it to the DNA in the pile of poo then I'll use it for analysis.  Is that okay?"

"Go for it." said the man in a disbelieving tone.

"Does your dog bite?"

"Only in the past."

Mr Defecator paused with the sterile swab in his hand, then shrugged and tore open the wrapper.  With slow movements he ran the swab along the animal's gums then patted the dog on the head before moving onto the pile of poo.

Crouching down on the grass he pulled out a small silver spoon and scooped up a heaped spoonful of the feces, then popped it into his mouth and rolled it around his tongue methodically.

"That's disgusting." said flat-cap man grimacing.

"Technically it's called Coprophagia, and eating feces is quite common in the animal kingdom.  Hmmm…slightly bitter at first and almost nutty in texture," he said running it around his mouth a couple of times.  "I'm curious; did you feed Baxter any roast chicken today?"

"Yes, some leftovers from last night's dinner." said flat-cap man looking astonished.  "Say, won't that make you sick?"

"Possibly," admitted Mr Defecator.  "Dog waste often contains roundworm larvae which can cause disease to every organ in my body."

"Oh."

Swallowing the contents Mr Defecator popped the swab into his mouth and sucked on it like a lollipop for a few moments.

"The results are coming in now," he said nodding his head.  "Yes, yes, I can categorically confirm that the origin of that pile of fecal matter does indeed originate from the anus of that dog."

The man in the flat-cap opened and shut his mouth a couple of times and looked across to Agent Two who shrugged apologetically.

"It's a unique talent he possesses,"

"Okay, okay, okay I'll admit it.  It was Baxter that made that mess."

"Then you'll pick it up?"

"No, are you kidding?  I'll take the fine.  I'm a London banker and loaded."

"But sir, you're kind of missing the whole point.  Just pick up the poo and we'll be on our way and you'll never have to see us again, unless of course we catch you out again."

"Sorry, I just refuse to touch it."

Agent Two sighed and looked across to Mr Defecator then clicked his pen and wrote something down on his clipboard.

"Okay, I think we've done as much as we can do here Mr Defecator, please get rid of the problem and we'll let this man be on his way."

Mr Defecator nodded his head and reached into his suit once again and pulled out a handgun.  In one smooth motion he cocked it and shot the dog which crumpled into a heap on the floor and lay still.

"What the-?" yelled Agent Two, looking up and staring in disbelief at the dead animal then at the smoking gun.  "What did you do?"

"I got rid of the problem like you said." said Mr Defecator putting the gun away.

The man in the flat-cap sunk to his knees sobbing hysterically and wrapped his arms around his dog, burying his face into the animal's fur.

"I-I meant get rid of the poo not shoot the dog," gasped Agent Two incredulously.  "Who said you can have a gun?"

"You did."

"No I never."

"It may have been someone else come to think of it."

Agent Two slapped his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes in despair.

"You killed my Baxter!" screamed the man looking up with tears streaming down his face.

"A slight misunderstanding and one for which the agency is deeply regretful." said Agent Two with a nervous laugh.

"I want to speak to your supervisor!" yelled the man hugging the dog once again.

"I knew he'd say that." muttered the agent swearing under his breath.  "Sir, would you like Mr Defecator to escort you home where we can make you feel more comfortable?"

"With him?  With the murderer?" spat the flat-cap man looking up.

Agent Two cleared his throat and leaned in close to Mr Defecator to whisper into his ear.

"Take him home and make sure he doesn’t talk.  Block his mobile phone, emails and make sure he has no contact with the outside world.  Sedate him if necessary."

"Seems a tad harsh," said Mr Defecator looking uncertain.  "The man's just lost his dog."

"You killed his dog and after all he is a known criminal.  Plus who's going to miss a wealthy banker?"