I know they always say that Jesus loves each and every one of us, but I don't really see it.
I think Jesus hates people. Not all people, but some people. I think he looks at some people and just says, "Nope. He fucking sucks." I know someone will say, "But suffering makes you a better person." I say "BULLSHIT" to that. People who get shit on are not better for it. They just feel like they've been shit on. People who have a good life are many many times happier and probably more loving because they don't have anything good they try to do shoved back down their throats time and time again.
Just my opinion drawn from my observations.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Saving the World for $12.50 an hour Chapters 7 and 8
Chapter 7
Union Station has seen better days, but then so has Dr. Justice and probably Lady Truth.
The sprawling transit center joins the city’s rail and bus service into one massive hub of traffic congestion. People with no money from all over the US of A converge here with dreams of joining the ever-growing western expansion that started in the 19th Century. Problem is it peaked in the 1950s and has been on the decline ever since.
Once Union Station was a place for families and fresh faces from the East, now it only services the downtrodden and the luckless who don’t have cars or the ability to buy a plane ticket.
Really, who takes the train cross country anymore, much less a bus.
People who don’t want to be noticed and people who don’t have the money to disappear in style, that’s who.
And Vicki Vixen was one of those people. As was her erstwhile boyfriend and obvious Slash clone, Robert Shan. Everything about this case speaks to the lowest rungs of human nature.
“Why is this girl worth killing over?” Dr. Justice says as the two leave the bus behind and walk through the Art Deco front doors of the station. “Why would a Slash clone bother with someone so worthless? What’s the point?”
Lady Truth looks over at Dr. Justice with an annoyed look in her eyes.
“Who knows. All I know is he killed Vicki and stole a small child. That’s enough for me,” she replies, her dark eyes showing her anger and resolve.
“Slash doesn’t do anything without a reason,” the doctor says. “And there must be a reason behind this.”
“How bout we find this clone and beat the reason out of him,” Lady T says with an edge to her voice. “We don’t need to beat ourselves up about reasons why. We just need to find Valerie.”
“Fair enough,” Dr. J responds. “But we need to understand his plans if we ever hope to defeat him.”
“I don’t see him here,” she says.
Lady Truth scans the room with a concerned look on her face. Peering at the upper gallery with it’s pueblo styling and gawking at the grand central room that used to be an impressive welcome center and now just looks dated, sad and empty.
“Great,” the doctor says. “Maybe he just went in a different door. Let’s go find the locker that fits this key. Maybe we’ll pick up the trail there.”
“Agreed,” Lady T says with a sigh and a wary look over her shoulder at the huge WPA mural against a far wall next to an ancient newsstand. “Where are all the people? It’s so dead in here.”
They pass through the faux Spanish doorway into one of the arrival wings. Following signs they soon reach a large chamber filled with rows of lockers.
Quickly finding No. 432, Dr. Justice slides the key into the lock and turns. It’s the right one, all right. Just as the door swings open a voice from the chamber’s entrance says, “I’ve found you.”
Chapter 8
Lady Truth whirls around her laser arm shooting out a lance of light and blasts a hole into the wall next to a pale man who just as quickly dives for his life.
As he hits the floor the man shouts, “Hold on, I’m with the police.”
LT aims her arm at the man’s head but holds her fire.
“Not the time to sneak up on us little man,” she says in a tense, tight voice.
Dt. Justice continues to rifle through the contents of the locker, never once looking over at the lean pale, balding man in a rumpled suit lying on the floor.
“Hey, guys. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. I know you didn’t kill that woman back at that hotel. It’s not Capt. Justice’s style,” the man says.
Finally, Dr. Justice glances over at the man. “Let him up Lady Truth,” he says with dismissive tone.
“Who is this guy? How did he track us?” Lady Truth asks.
As he adjusts his tie, the balding middle-aged man extends his hand and in it is a badge.
“Detective Lieutenant Brian Brainman at your service, ma’am,” he says with a smile that reveals incredibly yellow teeth.
“Also known as the Master Zombie,” Dr. Justice says as he continues to read through the documents from the locker.
“That’s Zombie Master if you please,” the Zombie Master says.
“What’s the difference?” Lady Truth asks.
“Well, it’s just that I am able to create and control zombies. If I were just a master zombie I would only be able to control my own zombie nature. Which I can. So, I’m the Zombie Master who is master of his own zombie,” he says with a laugh.
“What?” LT replies.
“It means he doesn’t eat people’s brains unless he wants to and he can create other zombies,” Dr. Justice says with a sigh.
“Yeah, what he said,” ZM says.
“Anyway, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me, so we can clear up this dead hooker problem you have,” Zombie Master says.
Putting the papers away in his pocket, Dr. Justice looks over at the smiling zombie who’s dead eyes show no emotion and says, “Let’s get going then.”
Union Station has seen better days, but then so has Dr. Justice and probably Lady Truth.
The sprawling transit center joins the city’s rail and bus service into one massive hub of traffic congestion. People with no money from all over the US of A converge here with dreams of joining the ever-growing western expansion that started in the 19th Century. Problem is it peaked in the 1950s and has been on the decline ever since.
Once Union Station was a place for families and fresh faces from the East, now it only services the downtrodden and the luckless who don’t have cars or the ability to buy a plane ticket.
Really, who takes the train cross country anymore, much less a bus.
People who don’t want to be noticed and people who don’t have the money to disappear in style, that’s who.
And Vicki Vixen was one of those people. As was her erstwhile boyfriend and obvious Slash clone, Robert Shan. Everything about this case speaks to the lowest rungs of human nature.
“Why is this girl worth killing over?” Dr. Justice says as the two leave the bus behind and walk through the Art Deco front doors of the station. “Why would a Slash clone bother with someone so worthless? What’s the point?”
Lady Truth looks over at Dr. Justice with an annoyed look in her eyes.
“Who knows. All I know is he killed Vicki and stole a small child. That’s enough for me,” she replies, her dark eyes showing her anger and resolve.
“Slash doesn’t do anything without a reason,” the doctor says. “And there must be a reason behind this.”
“How bout we find this clone and beat the reason out of him,” Lady T says with an edge to her voice. “We don’t need to beat ourselves up about reasons why. We just need to find Valerie.”
“Fair enough,” Dr. J responds. “But we need to understand his plans if we ever hope to defeat him.”
“I don’t see him here,” she says.
Lady Truth scans the room with a concerned look on her face. Peering at the upper gallery with it’s pueblo styling and gawking at the grand central room that used to be an impressive welcome center and now just looks dated, sad and empty.
“Great,” the doctor says. “Maybe he just went in a different door. Let’s go find the locker that fits this key. Maybe we’ll pick up the trail there.”
“Agreed,” Lady T says with a sigh and a wary look over her shoulder at the huge WPA mural against a far wall next to an ancient newsstand. “Where are all the people? It’s so dead in here.”
They pass through the faux Spanish doorway into one of the arrival wings. Following signs they soon reach a large chamber filled with rows of lockers.
Quickly finding No. 432, Dr. Justice slides the key into the lock and turns. It’s the right one, all right. Just as the door swings open a voice from the chamber’s entrance says, “I’ve found you.”
Chapter 8
Lady Truth whirls around her laser arm shooting out a lance of light and blasts a hole into the wall next to a pale man who just as quickly dives for his life.
As he hits the floor the man shouts, “Hold on, I’m with the police.”
LT aims her arm at the man’s head but holds her fire.
“Not the time to sneak up on us little man,” she says in a tense, tight voice.
Dt. Justice continues to rifle through the contents of the locker, never once looking over at the lean pale, balding man in a rumpled suit lying on the floor.
“Hey, guys. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. I know you didn’t kill that woman back at that hotel. It’s not Capt. Justice’s style,” the man says.
Finally, Dr. Justice glances over at the man. “Let him up Lady Truth,” he says with dismissive tone.
“Who is this guy? How did he track us?” Lady Truth asks.
As he adjusts his tie, the balding middle-aged man extends his hand and in it is a badge.
“Detective Lieutenant Brian Brainman at your service, ma’am,” he says with a smile that reveals incredibly yellow teeth.
“Also known as the Master Zombie,” Dr. Justice says as he continues to read through the documents from the locker.
“That’s Zombie Master if you please,” the Zombie Master says.
“What’s the difference?” Lady Truth asks.
“Well, it’s just that I am able to create and control zombies. If I were just a master zombie I would only be able to control my own zombie nature. Which I can. So, I’m the Zombie Master who is master of his own zombie,” he says with a laugh.
“What?” LT replies.
“It means he doesn’t eat people’s brains unless he wants to and he can create other zombies,” Dr. Justice says with a sigh.
“Yeah, what he said,” ZM says.
“Anyway, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me, so we can clear up this dead hooker problem you have,” Zombie Master says.
Putting the papers away in his pocket, Dr. Justice looks over at the smiling zombie who’s dead eyes show no emotion and says, “Let’s get going then.”
Monday, November 14, 2011
The layaway of giving
Here's the deal. You can give to charity. It's not that difficult.
I'm not going to enumerate the reasons, because we all know the reasons why giving matters. All you have to do is look around you and think of all of the friends, former co-worker and family who have been hit hard by the Great Recession to know the reasons why. Everyone needs a hand now and then, and this is now and then.
Especially as the holidays approach.
Here's my special plan for the next month and half. Charity layaway.
Step 1: Put aside $20 immediately (or whatever you can spare, but $20 really seems doable). Then save $20 a paycheck from now until Dec. 17. That's probably three paychecks worth.
Step 2: Take that $80 and spend it wisely on what you want to donate. Or just give it as cash to a good local charity. Cash is always appreciated. Why do I say local? Well, I'm all for giving it to major charities and international charities too. But, I figure if charity starts at home, so does giving. If you give to a local charity, then you know it goes to the people in your community.
That's it. That's Charity layaway. Save it up in small bits and when you have a good amount, hand it over.
Here's what I do with mine during the holidays.
I save up my $80 and then I look out for a good sale on sports equiptment. I buy as much sports equiptment as I can and then I give it to The Spark of Love campaign. The way I figure it, you buy a bag of baseballs or several basketballs and everyone of those starts a game. That involves several children playing with the same toy over and over again. That's bang for your buck and you helped a kid get off the couch and get some exercise.
Here's some nice local charities:
Spark of Love and many others
https://www.calfund.org/page.aspx?pid=622
Los Angeles Missions
https://semdonate.losangelesmission.org/losangelesmission/main.php/micro_sites/showpage?id=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_term=california%20%2Bcharity&utm_campaign=landingpagetest
Foodbank of Southern California
http://www.foodbankofsocal.org/index.php
There are many more. But all of these help in our areas. Go search for one of your own.
I'm not going to enumerate the reasons, because we all know the reasons why giving matters. All you have to do is look around you and think of all of the friends, former co-worker and family who have been hit hard by the Great Recession to know the reasons why. Everyone needs a hand now and then, and this is now and then.
Especially as the holidays approach.
Here's my special plan for the next month and half. Charity layaway.
Step 1: Put aside $20 immediately (or whatever you can spare, but $20 really seems doable). Then save $20 a paycheck from now until Dec. 17. That's probably three paychecks worth.
Step 2: Take that $80 and spend it wisely on what you want to donate. Or just give it as cash to a good local charity. Cash is always appreciated. Why do I say local? Well, I'm all for giving it to major charities and international charities too. But, I figure if charity starts at home, so does giving. If you give to a local charity, then you know it goes to the people in your community.
That's it. That's Charity layaway. Save it up in small bits and when you have a good amount, hand it over.
Here's what I do with mine during the holidays.
I save up my $80 and then I look out for a good sale on sports equiptment. I buy as much sports equiptment as I can and then I give it to The Spark of Love campaign. The way I figure it, you buy a bag of baseballs or several basketballs and everyone of those starts a game. That involves several children playing with the same toy over and over again. That's bang for your buck and you helped a kid get off the couch and get some exercise.
Here's some nice local charities:
Spark of Love and many others
https://www.calfund.org/page.aspx?pid=622
Los Angeles Missions
https://semdonate.losangelesmission.org/losangelesmission/main.php/micro_sites/showpage?id=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_term=california%20%2Bcharity&utm_campaign=landingpagetest
Foodbank of Southern California
http://www.foodbankofsocal.org/index.php
There are many more. But all of these help in our areas. Go search for one of your own.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Saving the World for $12.50 an hour Chapters 5 and 6
Chapter 5
Dr. Justice and Lady T meet up at the Heaven Scent coffee shop and she explains the case over chicken fried steak and eggs.
“And then mmmmffff, crunch slurp, crunch, crunch,” she says through forkfuls of the luscious breaded steak and country gravy. After she finishes her meal she looks up at Dr. Justice and says, “Well. …”
“I haven’t understood a damn thing you just said. Try it again, without the food in your mouth,” he says with a laugh.
Once explained they rush out to meet with Vicki. They park the Justice Cycle (a 50-year-old white Vespa with a red RX crudely painted on the side) and the Truth Machine (the Honda scooter) in the lobby of the Greenhouse and make their way up to Room 432.
Outside the night has begun and the trash heaps in alleys all across the city are pushed aside as the homeless emerge to roam the emptying streets. Gang members drug business gets into full swing as the working stiffs look for a snort, toke or tar to make the day’s iniquities float away.
As they approach the door, they both notice that the light fixture is broken. Not necessarily a strange thing in this dilapidated building. To think a child was being raised here.
Lady Truth reaches out and knocks on the door and it falls inward with a thud. This is bad. LT’s hand cannon begins to whine as it powers up. Dr. Justice hits the light switch and wishes he hadn’t.
Vicki is sitting on the couch. Well, most of her is. Her body has been dressed in a tight red dress, which goes well with the blood splattered like paint on the room’s off-white walls. Her hands are placed primly in her lap and her legs are crossed as though she is a proper lady waiting for her suitor.
Her head is staring at them from the coffee table in front of the couch, deliberately placed so it would greet whoever opened the door. Her glazed, dead eyes stare intensely at nothing. She will never stare at anything ever again.
The corners of her mouth are sliced to the edges of her ears and her lips are sliced away to expose her teeth in a demon’s smile.
The signs of her struggle and murder are everywhere. Chairs flipped, a TV lies broken on the floor and the little kitchenette is in ruins.
On the wall behind her painted in her blood is a nice little note: “A whore is a whore even if she don’t fuck no more.”
The doctor and Lady Truth stand for a moment in the doorway. Then Dr. Justice inhales sharply.
“Oh my God,” he says in a whisper. “This is a clusterfuck.”
Lady Truth leans over and pukes up her chicken fried steak and the couple meals she had before that for good measure.
“We need to search the room,” Dr. Justice says in a matter of fact tone. “Find out who did this.”
“I know who did this,” Lady Truth says in a breathy voice, heavy with emotion. “I can see him everywhere here. It’s Rob Slash.”
“Sheeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiittttttt,” Dr. Justice says.
Together, they turn the room over, searching every drawer, closet, nook and cranny. The only thing they can find is her wallet hidden in a hole in the mattress. In the wallet is a California Identification Card with the address to the Greenhouse on it in the name of Vicki Valerie. And in a side pocket is a key.
The number on one side of the key handle is 420 and imprinted in the center of the other side are the words Union Station.
Outside, the two can hear sirens. Their time is up and they need to leave before the cops get there and lock them away for questioning.
“C’mon, we’re going out the window,” Dr. Justice says.
“Wait, what about the scooters?” Lady Truth says.
“Too late, they’re probably already in the lobby. This room faces the alley, so if we go out the window we still have a chance to get away.”
Dr. Justice pushes up the window with his robotic hand, breaking through generations of paint that has sealed it shut. He hooks two fingers of his right hand around the sill and pushes them into the wall and slides through the window.
He calls for Lady T and she crawls through the window and down the doctor, and puts her arms around his neck to hold on. Dr. Justice activates the cellular metal mesh of his fingers and they elongate out lowering the two heroes to the alley below.
Unfortunately, the cellular metal can only stretch for about three floors, leaving the two about 15 feet short of the ground. But luckily, the wall into which Dr. Justice had pushed his fingers was old and weak.
It rips away in a large chunk with the doctor’s fingers still inside. The two fall the last 15 feet onto the hard concrete. They were down and free. Above them they could here the police shouting.
They must have reached the room.
Chapter 6
Dr. Justice and Lady Truth start booking it.
They reach the end of the alley at the back of the building and Lady T turns left as Dr. J turns right.
“This way,” she yells. “I’m tracking Slashes. They went this way.”
The doctor puts on the brakes and about faces and runs after the mane of black and purple hair as it dashes down the street.
She stops after about 100 yards and lets the heavily breathing Doctor Justice catch up.
“He got into a car here,” she says with a slight pant. “He’s got the girl with him.”
“How can you tell?” Dr Justice wheezes.
“I didn’t say this before, but I can sort of see her too. She comes through faintly, but I can see her.” Lady Truth says.
“Is she a clone?” the doctor questions.
“I don’t think so, it’s different. I shouldn’t see her, but I do,” she says. “I don’t know.”
At that she takes off running again and the doctor rushes along behind her. It’s probably not a bad idea to keep moving, he thinks. The police are going to start searching the neighborhood soon enough and we need to get gone, fast.
About a half mile later, they reach a freeway on-ramp and it’s clear where the car headed.
“If only we had our bikes,” Lady T says.
“Which way are they going?” Dr. Justice says.
“East,” she says.
The doctor takes a deep breath to calm himself and wipes at the sweat on his forehead. He can feel the sweat weighing down his bouncy bouncy hair. The run has awoken his body and his mind. Now that he’s clear of the carnage, he can finally think.
He pulls out the key and he knows where they went.
“They are on their way to Union Station,” he says. “We need a yellow cab.”
Lady Truth wipes a little light perspiration from her brow and look at him with a skeptical glance.
“Babe, we are in the GETTT TOE. There ain’t no yellow cabs here. These people rely on the big blue cabs from the MTA,” she laughs and points towards a bus dropping off passengers across the street.
They hurry across the street and find with a couple transfers they’ll be at Union Station in about 20 minutes. Not bad. They swipe their bus passes and are on their way.
“Being poor finally pays off,” Lady Truth says with a sigh as they walk towards the back of the bus, past the usual circus of freaks, old people and the working class. “I’m never without my bus pass.”
They take seats towards the back and spread out a little. It’s past rush hour and the night is beginning to really settle in, so the bus is starting to empty out.
Dr. Justice chuckles in agreement. “Mine’s free from the state, along with my lavish mental ward accommodations.”
“Lucky,” LT says with a slight smile. She begins to clean her eclectic clothing as best she can. She managed to keep most of the blood and her own vomit off of her clothes, but there are still small spots.
The doctor wasn’t quite so lucky, on the green scrubs top there is a sizeable dot of blood. Well at least he’s wearing the appropriate outfit for blood, Lady Truth thinks.
Dr. Justice and Lady T meet up at the Heaven Scent coffee shop and she explains the case over chicken fried steak and eggs.
“And then mmmmffff, crunch slurp, crunch, crunch,” she says through forkfuls of the luscious breaded steak and country gravy. After she finishes her meal she looks up at Dr. Justice and says, “Well. …”
“I haven’t understood a damn thing you just said. Try it again, without the food in your mouth,” he says with a laugh.
Once explained they rush out to meet with Vicki. They park the Justice Cycle (a 50-year-old white Vespa with a red RX crudely painted on the side) and the Truth Machine (the Honda scooter) in the lobby of the Greenhouse and make their way up to Room 432.
Outside the night has begun and the trash heaps in alleys all across the city are pushed aside as the homeless emerge to roam the emptying streets. Gang members drug business gets into full swing as the working stiffs look for a snort, toke or tar to make the day’s iniquities float away.
As they approach the door, they both notice that the light fixture is broken. Not necessarily a strange thing in this dilapidated building. To think a child was being raised here.
Lady Truth reaches out and knocks on the door and it falls inward with a thud. This is bad. LT’s hand cannon begins to whine as it powers up. Dr. Justice hits the light switch and wishes he hadn’t.
Vicki is sitting on the couch. Well, most of her is. Her body has been dressed in a tight red dress, which goes well with the blood splattered like paint on the room’s off-white walls. Her hands are placed primly in her lap and her legs are crossed as though she is a proper lady waiting for her suitor.
Her head is staring at them from the coffee table in front of the couch, deliberately placed so it would greet whoever opened the door. Her glazed, dead eyes stare intensely at nothing. She will never stare at anything ever again.
The corners of her mouth are sliced to the edges of her ears and her lips are sliced away to expose her teeth in a demon’s smile.
The signs of her struggle and murder are everywhere. Chairs flipped, a TV lies broken on the floor and the little kitchenette is in ruins.
On the wall behind her painted in her blood is a nice little note: “A whore is a whore even if she don’t fuck no more.”
The doctor and Lady Truth stand for a moment in the doorway. Then Dr. Justice inhales sharply.
“Oh my God,” he says in a whisper. “This is a clusterfuck.”
Lady Truth leans over and pukes up her chicken fried steak and the couple meals she had before that for good measure.
“We need to search the room,” Dr. Justice says in a matter of fact tone. “Find out who did this.”
“I know who did this,” Lady Truth says in a breathy voice, heavy with emotion. “I can see him everywhere here. It’s Rob Slash.”
“Sheeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiittttttt,” Dr. Justice says.
Together, they turn the room over, searching every drawer, closet, nook and cranny. The only thing they can find is her wallet hidden in a hole in the mattress. In the wallet is a California Identification Card with the address to the Greenhouse on it in the name of Vicki Valerie. And in a side pocket is a key.
The number on one side of the key handle is 420 and imprinted in the center of the other side are the words Union Station.
Outside, the two can hear sirens. Their time is up and they need to leave before the cops get there and lock them away for questioning.
“C’mon, we’re going out the window,” Dr. Justice says.
“Wait, what about the scooters?” Lady Truth says.
“Too late, they’re probably already in the lobby. This room faces the alley, so if we go out the window we still have a chance to get away.”
Dr. Justice pushes up the window with his robotic hand, breaking through generations of paint that has sealed it shut. He hooks two fingers of his right hand around the sill and pushes them into the wall and slides through the window.
He calls for Lady T and she crawls through the window and down the doctor, and puts her arms around his neck to hold on. Dr. Justice activates the cellular metal mesh of his fingers and they elongate out lowering the two heroes to the alley below.
Unfortunately, the cellular metal can only stretch for about three floors, leaving the two about 15 feet short of the ground. But luckily, the wall into which Dr. Justice had pushed his fingers was old and weak.
It rips away in a large chunk with the doctor’s fingers still inside. The two fall the last 15 feet onto the hard concrete. They were down and free. Above them they could here the police shouting.
They must have reached the room.
Chapter 6
Dr. Justice and Lady Truth start booking it.
They reach the end of the alley at the back of the building and Lady T turns left as Dr. J turns right.
“This way,” she yells. “I’m tracking Slashes. They went this way.”
The doctor puts on the brakes and about faces and runs after the mane of black and purple hair as it dashes down the street.
She stops after about 100 yards and lets the heavily breathing Doctor Justice catch up.
“He got into a car here,” she says with a slight pant. “He’s got the girl with him.”
“How can you tell?” Dr Justice wheezes.
“I didn’t say this before, but I can sort of see her too. She comes through faintly, but I can see her.” Lady Truth says.
“Is she a clone?” the doctor questions.
“I don’t think so, it’s different. I shouldn’t see her, but I do,” she says. “I don’t know.”
At that she takes off running again and the doctor rushes along behind her. It’s probably not a bad idea to keep moving, he thinks. The police are going to start searching the neighborhood soon enough and we need to get gone, fast.
About a half mile later, they reach a freeway on-ramp and it’s clear where the car headed.
“If only we had our bikes,” Lady T says.
“Which way are they going?” Dr. Justice says.
“East,” she says.
The doctor takes a deep breath to calm himself and wipes at the sweat on his forehead. He can feel the sweat weighing down his bouncy bouncy hair. The run has awoken his body and his mind. Now that he’s clear of the carnage, he can finally think.
He pulls out the key and he knows where they went.
“They are on their way to Union Station,” he says. “We need a yellow cab.”
Lady Truth wipes a little light perspiration from her brow and look at him with a skeptical glance.
“Babe, we are in the GETTT TOE. There ain’t no yellow cabs here. These people rely on the big blue cabs from the MTA,” she laughs and points towards a bus dropping off passengers across the street.
They hurry across the street and find with a couple transfers they’ll be at Union Station in about 20 minutes. Not bad. They swipe their bus passes and are on their way.
“Being poor finally pays off,” Lady Truth says with a sigh as they walk towards the back of the bus, past the usual circus of freaks, old people and the working class. “I’m never without my bus pass.”
They take seats towards the back and spread out a little. It’s past rush hour and the night is beginning to really settle in, so the bus is starting to empty out.
Dr. Justice chuckles in agreement. “Mine’s free from the state, along with my lavish mental ward accommodations.”
“Lucky,” LT says with a slight smile. She begins to clean her eclectic clothing as best she can. She managed to keep most of the blood and her own vomit off of her clothes, but there are still small spots.
The doctor wasn’t quite so lucky, on the green scrubs top there is a sizeable dot of blood. Well at least he’s wearing the appropriate outfit for blood, Lady Truth thinks.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Saving the World for $12.50 an hour Chapters 3 and 4
Chapter 3
It works perfectly.
E-mails flood in. Some are legitimate, some are jokes and some are offers for penile enhancement and herbal viagra. Dr. Justice saves those for later review.
Meeting at the Angel City Main Library, Dr. Justice and Lady Truth sift through the best of the offers and put them into three categories. 1. Immediate need. 2. Long-term projects and 3. Is this is a joke.
Most of the immediate ones can be taken care of in a matter of hours. Like getting little Billy to quit farting on his brother's head, or getting Minnie the Mooch to get off of his brother's couch and get a job. It's quick money and involves little more than some talking and the occasional threat of violence. Though, that little Billy was a tough asshole.
Flush with cash, (well, flush with a little cash) the doctor and Lady T are starting to feel good about their new business venture.
Vicki's e-mail falls under Immediate Need.
Vicki Vixen's child Valerie is missing and no one will help her. You see, as far as the authorities are concerned, Valerie Vixen doesn't exist.
The police tell her in a no nonsense way, that they have no record of her child and that her medical records say she is childless and they refer her to a psychologist for help. But Vicki says it's not true. She has a child. A sweet blond-haired 8 year old named Valerie with eyes of blue and a button nose too. She likes puppies, rainbows and all of the other things little girls are supposed to like. And she has a mommy who misses her very much.
Vicki needs help and she needs it now.
Lady Truth looks over at Dr. Justice and says, "This is our job. Whatever the cost. This is our job."
"No one elses," Dr. Justice agrees.
After a quick call to get an address, Lady Truth leaves the public library they are using as their headquarters to meet with Vicki Vixen.
Into the dark places of the bad side of Angel City, Lady Truth travels on her Honda scooter, festooned with black and purple flames. She leaves behind the malls and clean yards of the Angelic suburbs for the dank hole that sits at the city’s heart. The buildings change from dwellings to ominous abodes of vileness.
At its center Angel City has fallen into Hades. The once stylish outer facades show the wear and tear of decades of misuse. The corners crumbling and the windows of the brown buildings are permanently darkened with grit and grease. Welcome to the inner circle and all who live here have abandoned all hope.
Lady Truth keeps her laser cannon arm warmed up because she knows this is the neighborhood where bad things happen. Dark dreams are real here.
This is the neighborhood where she comes from and hopes she never returns. Ten years is a long time, but its fresh for her. She remembers waking up in these oily, garbage strewn streets and finding herself alone and unable to remember who she is.
Lady Truth can see the sun starting to set through the towers of stone that man has built. Soon it will be night, soon the darkness will swallow up these poor streets and the real horrors can start.
But that was then, she thinks. I’m not the scared little woman who woke up here with nothing. Now I’m Lady Truth and I have a life and powers and a job. And that job is to help Vicki Vixen.
The grimy five-story Greenhouse Arms Hotel and Apartments has seen better days. It's once-bright cement porch is almost black with grit and the brown stone that makes up its facing is streaked from decades of dirty rain. Lady Truth rolls right past her rendezvous point and only realizes it when she sees the hotel’s neon sign flashing in her side mirror.
Lady Truth lets out a sigh and mutters an obscenity as she hits the brakes hard and fishtales the scooter around towards the Greenhouse.
She drives up the porch steps and into the lobby before stopping with a "Woah, Nelly," She jumps off and cuts the motor, taking the key with her.
A shabby, unkempt fat man behind a cage yells at her. "You can't park that here," the building manager thunders in his weedy voice.
"Apparently, you're wrong, because I just did," Lady Truth responds, as she wonders where guys like him find pre-stained wife beater T-shirts. "And it better be exactly where I left it when I come back."
Chapter 4
Lady Truth takes the aging elevator to the fourth floor. It shakes as though an old man with trembling hands is pulling the car upward and smells like the public urinal it probably is. When she reaches the fourth floor, the doors open with the grinding sound that means they haven’t been oiled in years.
She walks down a dingy, poorly lit hallway. The walls are covered in some kind of flower print wallpaper that probably used to be colorful and cheery but now is just brown with dirt and grease. Lady Truth isn’t sure if the floor actually has a carpet or if the dust has just matted into a uniform covering.
The light from the fixtures is intentionally low, so no one notices just how bad the place really looks.
Room 432. She gives one knock and waits.
A solid, lyrical voice responds from the other side. “What do you want?”
“I’m Lady Truth, you asked for help.”
The door opens cautiously. Lady Truth can see the chain is still bolted and that the eye peering out from behind the door’s crack is wary.
“You look kind of strange,” a voice says.
“Honey, I’m a superhero, I’m supposed to look strange,” Lady T says with a slight laugh and a big smile.
Lady T can hear a sigh of relief as the woman behind the door lets go of some of her tension. The door opens wide and Vicki Vixen stands before her.
Vicki’s beautiful blond hair is slightly disheveled and her face has the look of tension etched into every soft edge. But even though she is not at her best, most women would be satisfied to look like her at her worst.
Her eyes can light fires with their intensity, and her light, yet curvy body takes all the right turns from toe to the top of her head.
“Come on in then,” she says to Lady T.
Vicki sways out of the way to make room for Lady Truth. As she passes, Lady T can smell the sent of Gardenias on her. Vicki offers her a seat on her worn couch that obviously started out white, but now looks more like a dirt rainbow with all the stains.
Lady T is startled by the room. She can see trails. Normally, her cat-eye glasses and their special lenses mask all of the trails of normal humans. If they didn’t she would be blind. She could see the slight emanations that people’s souls leave behind as they travel beside the body. They would fade after a few days, but in a city people were everywhere and so were their soul trails. It was annoying when you were in a crowded room, but useful when tracking someone. Her specialized glasses filtered most of that out, except for Rob Slash's soul. For some reason, she could see his and his clones.
Well, Slash has been here. She could see trails. Old trails. Trails overlapping. Trails of someone short. Like a little girl. Like maybe, Valerie.
She sits down, a slightly quizzical look on her face, and Vicki starts talking. Lady Truth is jolted out of her trance.
“He’s got her. I know it. He’s fucking crazy and he took her,” Vicki says with an almost hysterical edge to her voice. “That bastard tracked us somehow and he took her.”
“Who is he?” Lady Truth interrupts before Vicki can really get going.
“My ex-boyfriend, Valerie’s baby daddy,” she replies. “Robert Shan. He used to be the maintenance man and cum-mopper at the place I last worked.”
Her story unfolded like most love stories. The guy treated her nice at first. Listened to her and told her what she wanted to hear. Then came the lovin. From that sprang Valerie.
“Everything was awesome,” Vicki says. “He was the best daddy ever. I thought we might even make it permanent. Then it’s like a switch went off.”
Five years after Valerie’s birth, Robert started talking strange. He also started doing strange things. He started disappearing for days, weeks, even a month here or there without any explanation.
“He just said he was doing the great boss’s work,” Vicki says. “But I know Moneybags didn’t send him on no outings. He was pissed when Robert started disappearing. If he wasn’t my man, Moneybags would have fired him.”
Then the unthinkable happened. Robert started beating her. Telling her that she needed to have more kids and when she didn’t get pregnant right away the fists started landing home.
“That’s when I cut him off and threw him out,” she says. “But the fucker would keep showing up and then he raped me. That was it. I took Valerie and ran. We’ve been running for two years.”
She thought she had successfully disappeared, or that he stopped looking. Then she met a former co-worker on the street last week.
“Misty looked a little different, but it was Misty. You don’t forget tits like that,” she says.
“Huh?” Lady T says with a little surprise.
“She’s a working girl. I am too. Awesome tits means awesome cash in our business,” Vicki says. “Anyway, she looked different, somehow. Kind of like she was wearing a mask. I just thought she had some plastic surgery and everything was still a little tight. You know.”
“She starts talking about the old times and asking about Valerie. I don’t think nothing of it, so I tell her about our life here. But I didn’t say where I live or nothing.”
“Two days later, Valerie’s gone.”
Lady Truth sees the agony in Vicki’s eyes. She knows she has to help her.
“Do you have any pictures of Valerie or of this Misty?” Lady Truth asks.
“Not here. When you’re on the run, you don’t keep stuff about your past hanging around. But I can get it.”
“Good, we’ll need all you have. I’m going to go get my partner and we’ll be back within the hour to get things going. I promise we’ll help you,” Lady Truth says and puts her hand on Vicki’s arm.
“Thank you,” Vicki says with relief in her eyes.
It works perfectly.
E-mails flood in. Some are legitimate, some are jokes and some are offers for penile enhancement and herbal viagra. Dr. Justice saves those for later review.
Meeting at the Angel City Main Library, Dr. Justice and Lady Truth sift through the best of the offers and put them into three categories. 1. Immediate need. 2. Long-term projects and 3. Is this is a joke.
Most of the immediate ones can be taken care of in a matter of hours. Like getting little Billy to quit farting on his brother's head, or getting Minnie the Mooch to get off of his brother's couch and get a job. It's quick money and involves little more than some talking and the occasional threat of violence. Though, that little Billy was a tough asshole.
Flush with cash, (well, flush with a little cash) the doctor and Lady T are starting to feel good about their new business venture.
Vicki's e-mail falls under Immediate Need.
Vicki Vixen's child Valerie is missing and no one will help her. You see, as far as the authorities are concerned, Valerie Vixen doesn't exist.
The police tell her in a no nonsense way, that they have no record of her child and that her medical records say she is childless and they refer her to a psychologist for help. But Vicki says it's not true. She has a child. A sweet blond-haired 8 year old named Valerie with eyes of blue and a button nose too. She likes puppies, rainbows and all of the other things little girls are supposed to like. And she has a mommy who misses her very much.
Vicki needs help and she needs it now.
Lady Truth looks over at Dr. Justice and says, "This is our job. Whatever the cost. This is our job."
"No one elses," Dr. Justice agrees.
After a quick call to get an address, Lady Truth leaves the public library they are using as their headquarters to meet with Vicki Vixen.
Into the dark places of the bad side of Angel City, Lady Truth travels on her Honda scooter, festooned with black and purple flames. She leaves behind the malls and clean yards of the Angelic suburbs for the dank hole that sits at the city’s heart. The buildings change from dwellings to ominous abodes of vileness.
At its center Angel City has fallen into Hades. The once stylish outer facades show the wear and tear of decades of misuse. The corners crumbling and the windows of the brown buildings are permanently darkened with grit and grease. Welcome to the inner circle and all who live here have abandoned all hope.
Lady Truth keeps her laser cannon arm warmed up because she knows this is the neighborhood where bad things happen. Dark dreams are real here.
This is the neighborhood where she comes from and hopes she never returns. Ten years is a long time, but its fresh for her. She remembers waking up in these oily, garbage strewn streets and finding herself alone and unable to remember who she is.
Lady Truth can see the sun starting to set through the towers of stone that man has built. Soon it will be night, soon the darkness will swallow up these poor streets and the real horrors can start.
But that was then, she thinks. I’m not the scared little woman who woke up here with nothing. Now I’m Lady Truth and I have a life and powers and a job. And that job is to help Vicki Vixen.
The grimy five-story Greenhouse Arms Hotel and Apartments has seen better days. It's once-bright cement porch is almost black with grit and the brown stone that makes up its facing is streaked from decades of dirty rain. Lady Truth rolls right past her rendezvous point and only realizes it when she sees the hotel’s neon sign flashing in her side mirror.
Lady Truth lets out a sigh and mutters an obscenity as she hits the brakes hard and fishtales the scooter around towards the Greenhouse.
She drives up the porch steps and into the lobby before stopping with a "Woah, Nelly," She jumps off and cuts the motor, taking the key with her.
A shabby, unkempt fat man behind a cage yells at her. "You can't park that here," the building manager thunders in his weedy voice.
"Apparently, you're wrong, because I just did," Lady Truth responds, as she wonders where guys like him find pre-stained wife beater T-shirts. "And it better be exactly where I left it when I come back."
Chapter 4
Lady Truth takes the aging elevator to the fourth floor. It shakes as though an old man with trembling hands is pulling the car upward and smells like the public urinal it probably is. When she reaches the fourth floor, the doors open with the grinding sound that means they haven’t been oiled in years.
She walks down a dingy, poorly lit hallway. The walls are covered in some kind of flower print wallpaper that probably used to be colorful and cheery but now is just brown with dirt and grease. Lady Truth isn’t sure if the floor actually has a carpet or if the dust has just matted into a uniform covering.
The light from the fixtures is intentionally low, so no one notices just how bad the place really looks.
Room 432. She gives one knock and waits.
A solid, lyrical voice responds from the other side. “What do you want?”
“I’m Lady Truth, you asked for help.”
The door opens cautiously. Lady Truth can see the chain is still bolted and that the eye peering out from behind the door’s crack is wary.
“You look kind of strange,” a voice says.
“Honey, I’m a superhero, I’m supposed to look strange,” Lady T says with a slight laugh and a big smile.
Lady T can hear a sigh of relief as the woman behind the door lets go of some of her tension. The door opens wide and Vicki Vixen stands before her.
Vicki’s beautiful blond hair is slightly disheveled and her face has the look of tension etched into every soft edge. But even though she is not at her best, most women would be satisfied to look like her at her worst.
Her eyes can light fires with their intensity, and her light, yet curvy body takes all the right turns from toe to the top of her head.
“Come on in then,” she says to Lady T.
Vicki sways out of the way to make room for Lady Truth. As she passes, Lady T can smell the sent of Gardenias on her. Vicki offers her a seat on her worn couch that obviously started out white, but now looks more like a dirt rainbow with all the stains.
Lady T is startled by the room. She can see trails. Normally, her cat-eye glasses and their special lenses mask all of the trails of normal humans. If they didn’t she would be blind. She could see the slight emanations that people’s souls leave behind as they travel beside the body. They would fade after a few days, but in a city people were everywhere and so were their soul trails. It was annoying when you were in a crowded room, but useful when tracking someone. Her specialized glasses filtered most of that out, except for Rob Slash's soul. For some reason, she could see his and his clones.
Well, Slash has been here. She could see trails. Old trails. Trails overlapping. Trails of someone short. Like a little girl. Like maybe, Valerie.
She sits down, a slightly quizzical look on her face, and Vicki starts talking. Lady Truth is jolted out of her trance.
“He’s got her. I know it. He’s fucking crazy and he took her,” Vicki says with an almost hysterical edge to her voice. “That bastard tracked us somehow and he took her.”
“Who is he?” Lady Truth interrupts before Vicki can really get going.
“My ex-boyfriend, Valerie’s baby daddy,” she replies. “Robert Shan. He used to be the maintenance man and cum-mopper at the place I last worked.”
Her story unfolded like most love stories. The guy treated her nice at first. Listened to her and told her what she wanted to hear. Then came the lovin. From that sprang Valerie.
“Everything was awesome,” Vicki says. “He was the best daddy ever. I thought we might even make it permanent. Then it’s like a switch went off.”
Five years after Valerie’s birth, Robert started talking strange. He also started doing strange things. He started disappearing for days, weeks, even a month here or there without any explanation.
“He just said he was doing the great boss’s work,” Vicki says. “But I know Moneybags didn’t send him on no outings. He was pissed when Robert started disappearing. If he wasn’t my man, Moneybags would have fired him.”
Then the unthinkable happened. Robert started beating her. Telling her that she needed to have more kids and when she didn’t get pregnant right away the fists started landing home.
“That’s when I cut him off and threw him out,” she says. “But the fucker would keep showing up and then he raped me. That was it. I took Valerie and ran. We’ve been running for two years.”
She thought she had successfully disappeared, or that he stopped looking. Then she met a former co-worker on the street last week.
“Misty looked a little different, but it was Misty. You don’t forget tits like that,” she says.
“Huh?” Lady T says with a little surprise.
“She’s a working girl. I am too. Awesome tits means awesome cash in our business,” Vicki says. “Anyway, she looked different, somehow. Kind of like she was wearing a mask. I just thought she had some plastic surgery and everything was still a little tight. You know.”
“She starts talking about the old times and asking about Valerie. I don’t think nothing of it, so I tell her about our life here. But I didn’t say where I live or nothing.”
“Two days later, Valerie’s gone.”
Lady Truth sees the agony in Vicki’s eyes. She knows she has to help her.
“Do you have any pictures of Valerie or of this Misty?” Lady Truth asks.
“Not here. When you’re on the run, you don’t keep stuff about your past hanging around. But I can get it.”
“Good, we’ll need all you have. I’m going to go get my partner and we’ll be back within the hour to get things going. I promise we’ll help you,” Lady Truth says and puts her hand on Vicki’s arm.
“Thank you,” Vicki says with relief in her eyes.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saving the World for $12.50 an hour. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Patient Review
Name: Frank Justice
Date: 7.21.10
Summary: Mr. Justice continues to display acute delusional symptoms, but is not considered a threat to himself or others at this time. He still believes that someone named Rob Slash is out to “bring the world into chaos.” This Slash is supposed to be some kind of doctor who uses a blend of magic and science to place copies of his soul into other people. (note: this delusion has been consistent since he was brought in after blowing up his own headquarters. He maintains that this was actually an attack by the clones.)
In the three years since his arrival there has been little improvement in his base delusion, though he has become less violent. Since his release from parole he has voluntarily remained at the institute for treatment. As a voluntary patient he can come and go as he pleases, but continues with therapy. Though progress is slow, the staff does believe that they see a clinical benefit to his continued therapy.
Dr. Gerald Conway
The Kane Mental Institute is a functional place. It’s bright white concrete walls and off-white linoleum floor speak of 1950s institutions everywhere. Bright fluorescent lights fight with the light streaming in from the large windows, as if it could never be bright enough to chase away the shadows afflicting the souls who live there.
In the solarium a small group session meets, and in the group sits Dr. Justice with a slightly sleepy look on his face. Mrs. Cable is drooling in the corner. Her medications had obviously just kicked in because five minutes ago she was crying softly and telling everyone to shut up.
“Well Frank,” the too-perky, fresh out of college therapist chirps at Dr. Justice. “Why don’t you tell us about what you do when you go out into the big world everyday.”
Dr. Justice looks at her with a directness that makes therapy leader Linda Wood flinch.
“I work, what do you do,” he replies with a deadpan voice.
“Well, Frank …”
“Well, Linda, it’s Dr. Justice,” Frank interrupts.
Linda drops the false smile that is the hallmark of every new-age therapist and snaps, “We don’t butt in when we are in the circle. Everyone has their say and then you may reply. Rudeness is not a Kane Institute value.”
At that, Dr. Justice adjusts his goggles, gets up and leaves, quietly closing the solarium door behind him. He loves doing that to her. It disrupts her sense of control, and if there’s one thing a therapist likes, it is control.
In the institute’s uncomfortable lobby, Lady Truth waits for the good doctor. The lobby is a huge room lined with uncomfortable benches, made even more uncomfortable by the green vinyl upholstery put over them. Lady Truth waves her laser cannon arm at the wall on the far side of the lobby. On the wall a dot of light moves in unison with her arm movements as two cat-like creatures jump and pounce at it.
Dr. Justice jumps back as he enters the lobby to avoid getting flattened by the large lanky creatures. Lady T looks over with a dazzling happy smile and points her arm at his head. The two cats leap with a lithe motion and the doctor finds himself on the ground looking up at two pairs of big dark cat eyes.
“Hello,” says Meaux. Mousie just stares at his head, waiting for the light dot to move.
“Hi, Meaux, Mousie,” the doctor says by way of greeting.
Lady Truth walks over, closing her right fist, making laser dot disappear.
“Well, I’m ready to make us some profit,” Lady Truth chirps in a happy voice. “Oh, and Mousie and Meaux are going to help.”
Mousie and Meaux push off of Dr. J's chest and bound over to Lady Truth. The two orange tiger-striped creatures, wearing little more than tight shorts with a hole for their tails, nuzzle LT's black and purple hair affectionately. The pair are part of a failed super soldier program by the government. Well, that's what they tell people.
They say that the goal is to create a super soldier by combining human and cat DNA. The goal is to create a strong, agile soldier with super hearing and excellent night vision. Mousie and Meax have all of that and more.
Unfortunately, it's the more that's the problem. They have the 10 second attention span of a cat. As well as the inability to take orders and a deep abiding love of shiny objects. They also really like Lady Truth and Doctor Justice. Mousie and Meaux seem to think she's their mom and Dr. Justice is a toy.
"So where have you been for the past three days?" Dr. Justice groans as he gets to his feet.
"I've been working out our money problems," she grins back, showing perfect white teeth. "We're going to be rolling in money as soon as these babies go up."
Lady Truth hands Dr. Justice a sheet of paper printed with a big "Need Help?" on it.
It was a job flyer with little tabs on it with an e-mail address. After much research and thought, Lady Truth came to the conclusion that people just didn't know the duo was out there and that $12.50 an hour was the perfect entry-point pricing for superhero work.
"$12.50 an hour? Doesn't that seem a little cheap?" Dr. Justice says after reading through the flier.
"Nope, not at all, considering most of us just give it away," she says. "I mean we're fighting against a system that expects help for free. Who pays the police, the fire fighters, the army, the superheroes? No one. It's effectively a free service. We have to convince people that we need to be paid. Plus that's just the rate for the first three hours. It's a sliding scale."
Dr. Justice looks at her with a quizzical half-smile.
"Uh, you realize people pay for all of those services through their taxes," Dr. Justice says dubiously. "And some superheroes are independently wealthy. The rest are on the government payroll in some form. I used to be. Man I miss having my Justice Jet and the Justice Center."
Lady Truth waves her hand in a dismissive manner. "Yeah, but that's them. We're independent contractors. We will work for anyone on the side of right. Anyone who's downtrodden and pushed aside, we will avenge. If you are wronged we shall make it right. The regular people need heroes, too, and we're priced just right. Just e-mail us your problem and BANG, we fix it -- for a price."
With that she opens up her backpack shaped like a beetle to reveal a huge stack of fliers and several roles of duct tape. She breaks down the stack into four piles and four rolls of tape, handing one of each to Mousie and Meaux and keeping two stacks.
"We'll split up and take the four side of the city and meet up in Central Plaza for lunch," she says. "You in?"
"This is never going to work," the doctor says. "Give me a stack to put up."
Patient Review
Name: Frank Justice
Date: 7.21.10
Summary: Mr. Justice continues to display acute delusional symptoms, but is not considered a threat to himself or others at this time. He still believes that someone named Rob Slash is out to “bring the world into chaos.” This Slash is supposed to be some kind of doctor who uses a blend of magic and science to place copies of his soul into other people. (note: this delusion has been consistent since he was brought in after blowing up his own headquarters. He maintains that this was actually an attack by the clones.)
In the three years since his arrival there has been little improvement in his base delusion, though he has become less violent. Since his release from parole he has voluntarily remained at the institute for treatment. As a voluntary patient he can come and go as he pleases, but continues with therapy. Though progress is slow, the staff does believe that they see a clinical benefit to his continued therapy.
Dr. Gerald Conway
The Kane Mental Institute is a functional place. It’s bright white concrete walls and off-white linoleum floor speak of 1950s institutions everywhere. Bright fluorescent lights fight with the light streaming in from the large windows, as if it could never be bright enough to chase away the shadows afflicting the souls who live there.
In the solarium a small group session meets, and in the group sits Dr. Justice with a slightly sleepy look on his face. Mrs. Cable is drooling in the corner. Her medications had obviously just kicked in because five minutes ago she was crying softly and telling everyone to shut up.
“Well Frank,” the too-perky, fresh out of college therapist chirps at Dr. Justice. “Why don’t you tell us about what you do when you go out into the big world everyday.”
Dr. Justice looks at her with a directness that makes therapy leader Linda Wood flinch.
“I work, what do you do,” he replies with a deadpan voice.
“Well, Frank …”
“Well, Linda, it’s Dr. Justice,” Frank interrupts.
Linda drops the false smile that is the hallmark of every new-age therapist and snaps, “We don’t butt in when we are in the circle. Everyone has their say and then you may reply. Rudeness is not a Kane Institute value.”
At that, Dr. Justice adjusts his goggles, gets up and leaves, quietly closing the solarium door behind him. He loves doing that to her. It disrupts her sense of control, and if there’s one thing a therapist likes, it is control.
In the institute’s uncomfortable lobby, Lady Truth waits for the good doctor. The lobby is a huge room lined with uncomfortable benches, made even more uncomfortable by the green vinyl upholstery put over them. Lady Truth waves her laser cannon arm at the wall on the far side of the lobby. On the wall a dot of light moves in unison with her arm movements as two cat-like creatures jump and pounce at it.
Dr. Justice jumps back as he enters the lobby to avoid getting flattened by the large lanky creatures. Lady T looks over with a dazzling happy smile and points her arm at his head. The two cats leap with a lithe motion and the doctor finds himself on the ground looking up at two pairs of big dark cat eyes.
“Hello,” says Meaux. Mousie just stares at his head, waiting for the light dot to move.
“Hi, Meaux, Mousie,” the doctor says by way of greeting.
Lady Truth walks over, closing her right fist, making laser dot disappear.
“Well, I’m ready to make us some profit,” Lady Truth chirps in a happy voice. “Oh, and Mousie and Meaux are going to help.”
Mousie and Meaux push off of Dr. J's chest and bound over to Lady Truth. The two orange tiger-striped creatures, wearing little more than tight shorts with a hole for their tails, nuzzle LT's black and purple hair affectionately. The pair are part of a failed super soldier program by the government. Well, that's what they tell people.
They say that the goal is to create a super soldier by combining human and cat DNA. The goal is to create a strong, agile soldier with super hearing and excellent night vision. Mousie and Meax have all of that and more.
Unfortunately, it's the more that's the problem. They have the 10 second attention span of a cat. As well as the inability to take orders and a deep abiding love of shiny objects. They also really like Lady Truth and Doctor Justice. Mousie and Meaux seem to think she's their mom and Dr. Justice is a toy.
"So where have you been for the past three days?" Dr. Justice groans as he gets to his feet.
"I've been working out our money problems," she grins back, showing perfect white teeth. "We're going to be rolling in money as soon as these babies go up."
Lady Truth hands Dr. Justice a sheet of paper printed with a big "Need Help?" on it.
It was a job flyer with little tabs on it with an e-mail address. After much research and thought, Lady Truth came to the conclusion that people just didn't know the duo was out there and that $12.50 an hour was the perfect entry-point pricing for superhero work.
"$12.50 an hour? Doesn't that seem a little cheap?" Dr. Justice says after reading through the flier.
"Nope, not at all, considering most of us just give it away," she says. "I mean we're fighting against a system that expects help for free. Who pays the police, the fire fighters, the army, the superheroes? No one. It's effectively a free service. We have to convince people that we need to be paid. Plus that's just the rate for the first three hours. It's a sliding scale."
Dr. Justice looks at her with a quizzical half-smile.
"Uh, you realize people pay for all of those services through their taxes," Dr. Justice says dubiously. "And some superheroes are independently wealthy. The rest are on the government payroll in some form. I used to be. Man I miss having my Justice Jet and the Justice Center."
Lady Truth waves her hand in a dismissive manner. "Yeah, but that's them. We're independent contractors. We will work for anyone on the side of right. Anyone who's downtrodden and pushed aside, we will avenge. If you are wronged we shall make it right. The regular people need heroes, too, and we're priced just right. Just e-mail us your problem and BANG, we fix it -- for a price."
With that she opens up her backpack shaped like a beetle to reveal a huge stack of fliers and several roles of duct tape. She breaks down the stack into four piles and four rolls of tape, handing one of each to Mousie and Meaux and keeping two stacks.
"We'll split up and take the four side of the city and meet up in Central Plaza for lunch," she says. "You in?"
"This is never going to work," the doctor says. "Give me a stack to put up."
Monday, October 24, 2011
Saving the world for $12.50 an hour
Editorial nore: OK, here's the deal. I wrote this and Liz helped as a sounding board,co-conspirator and made suggestions, so I gave her a co-writer credit. This is a novella I'm publishing one chapter at a time for the next 16 weeks. It's all done, so there will be no delays. Enjoy.
Saving the world for $12.50 an hour
By Kevin Lindsey and Elizabeth Nguyen
Prologue
The beast is at the door, and we’ve left it unlocked.
The world slouches towards its end and everyone sits on their couches and watches it happen. Daily the good die. The politician who cares about his constituents is made to look like a thief. The cop who won’t take a bribe winds up dead. Or maybe it’s just the honest worker who wants to do a good job getting fired by that new prick of a boss. No one asks why this keeps happening. No one sees that the righteous are replaced with the wicked.
And, just who are these pricks that are taking over our world? Aliens sent to take over the world? Hardly. Demons ushering in the Apocalypse? Seems a little religious, doesn’t it? Maybe, there’s just more assholes out there. Possibly.
All of those answers are wrong. There is only one prick taking over the world: Rob Slash. That damn ninja clone wizard is seeding himself throughout the world and soon we won’t be able to stop him. Even now his soul clones are taking up residence in the righteous. Every one of them was once a good person. Their souls are gone, but their bodies are still there in key positions. Their original souls have been burnt away and replaced by Slash.
We need to ask ourselves one question: Will truth and justice prevail?
-- From the asylum wall of the doctor.
Chapter 1
Frank comes to with the smell of old beer and stale peanuts full in his nose. Nothing new. He turns his head and glances up and finds himself looking up a woman’s skirt. There’s a word printed on her underwear. “Thursday” he mumbles. “Isn’t it Monday?”
The woman with the long purple and black ponytails looks down at him with a skeptical look. It’s Lady Truth. “Yeah, it’s Monday. How hard did Deus hit you?”
“Never mind,” Frank mumbles.
It all floods back to Frank. He’s called Dr. Justice, now. It used to be Capt. Justice, but that was a long time ago. A fatter, better time. Now, he calls himself the doctor. And he’s lying on the floor of the Legion of Heroes.
It’s one of those skanky superhero bars. You know. Some retired superhero or wannabe spends his retirement money opening up a little dive so he can stay close to the action. No one goes in there except superheroes or one of their dirty toadies looking to suck up to the big damn heroes. That’s the Legion of Heroes. Yeah, the name’s corny. Superheroes like it that way.
It was that dick Deus who put Dr. Justice on the floor. What, you’ve never heard Deus called a dick before? Well, despite being big, muscular, always right (he thinks he is), invulnerable (mostly) and able to fly, he’s a dick. At least, that’s what Dr. Justice thought.
“You going get up, or are you just going to stare at my snatch all day?” Lady Truth says with a sigh. “And, hey you big jerk, why’d you hit him? You’re only 10,000 times stronger,” she says to the glowing muscle man in the corner being held back by the Minotaur, a squat heavily muscled superhero with a bull’s head.
Justice dry heaves once, adjusts his cheap goggles and staggers up. “What the hell, Deus.”
“Get that worthless has-been out of here before I paste the walls with him,” Deus says glowing brighter. “He doesn’t belong here. He never did.”
Dr. Justice lunges forward his cellular iron fist at the end of his right robotic arm flying towards Deus’ head. The connection barely makes a sound, but Deus’ head snaps back and a small cut is opened on his right cheek.
Before Deus’ head can snap back, Lightning, Krank and Speed have zipped between the two, creating a wall of jittery flesh between the two heroes. The three spandex-wearing kinetically enhanced heroes wave blurry fingers at the doctor.
“Now, not Kosher, now, bad form old bean,” the three say simultaneously.
Behind the blurry, skinny figures Deus bellows, “Get him out. Get him out. And his skank of a partner, too.”
Lady Truth whips her right arm around levels it at Deus’ head and fires off a blast from her laser arm cannon. But he is ready and pumped, dodging the laser with ease.The light beam blasts a perfect, circular hole in the bar.
Everything turns into a blur for the doctor and Lady T as the kinetic heroes grab them and carry them out the back door. When the whirlwind of movement subsides the two are flat on their backs. Above them they can see the starry sky and surrounding them is the smell of rotting chicken wings wafting out of the garbage cans and the acid smell of old puke. Yup, it’s the alley.
Lightning pulses from side-to-side next to them holding a piece of paper. Dr. Justice grabs it after a couple of tries. It’s a bill for the bar Lady Truth just blew up. $5,200.78.
“You’re not welcome back until you pay that off,” Lightning says. “Such a shame. You used to be such a good hero. Ever since you went crazy it’s been one problem after another.”
Then he shimmers away in a wave of speed, leaving behind a faint breeze.
Sitting up, Dr. Justice looks at the bill in his and sighs, “Ah, shit. How am I going to pay for this? I’ve got $200 in the checking account, and I live in a mental institution. Hell, I’m stealing the orderlies’ scrubs for my action suit.”
Lady Truth bounces to her feet and looks down at the doctor. It’s nice to be short, young and in shape, the doctor thinks.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to pay for it,” she says with a grim smile.
She always smiles. Good or bad, she smiles, thinks Dr. Justice.
Dr. Justice drags his aging bulk off the ground, crumpling the bill and stuffing it in his pocket as he struggles up. His long, curly dark blond hair whips back as he steadies himself.
“Yeah, sure. Look at us,” he says, looking mostly at his middle-aged gut. “I’ve got $200 and by the looks of that outfit you shop at Goodwill. Seriously, what do you do for money? I’m not even sure where you live. You look like you’re Asian, but I’m not even sure about that. Shouldn’t I know more about my partner?”
She just smiles at him, tossing her purple and black hair back, dark eyes laughing.
“Don’t worry Doc. I think I have an idea.”
Eh, why did I have to pick a perky partner, the doctor thinks.
Saving the world for $12.50 an hour
By Kevin Lindsey and Elizabeth Nguyen
Prologue
The beast is at the door, and we’ve left it unlocked.
The world slouches towards its end and everyone sits on their couches and watches it happen. Daily the good die. The politician who cares about his constituents is made to look like a thief. The cop who won’t take a bribe winds up dead. Or maybe it’s just the honest worker who wants to do a good job getting fired by that new prick of a boss. No one asks why this keeps happening. No one sees that the righteous are replaced with the wicked.
And, just who are these pricks that are taking over our world? Aliens sent to take over the world? Hardly. Demons ushering in the Apocalypse? Seems a little religious, doesn’t it? Maybe, there’s just more assholes out there. Possibly.
All of those answers are wrong. There is only one prick taking over the world: Rob Slash. That damn ninja clone wizard is seeding himself throughout the world and soon we won’t be able to stop him. Even now his soul clones are taking up residence in the righteous. Every one of them was once a good person. Their souls are gone, but their bodies are still there in key positions. Their original souls have been burnt away and replaced by Slash.
We need to ask ourselves one question: Will truth and justice prevail?
-- From the asylum wall of the doctor.
Chapter 1
Frank comes to with the smell of old beer and stale peanuts full in his nose. Nothing new. He turns his head and glances up and finds himself looking up a woman’s skirt. There’s a word printed on her underwear. “Thursday” he mumbles. “Isn’t it Monday?”
The woman with the long purple and black ponytails looks down at him with a skeptical look. It’s Lady Truth. “Yeah, it’s Monday. How hard did Deus hit you?”
“Never mind,” Frank mumbles.
It all floods back to Frank. He’s called Dr. Justice, now. It used to be Capt. Justice, but that was a long time ago. A fatter, better time. Now, he calls himself the doctor. And he’s lying on the floor of the Legion of Heroes.
It’s one of those skanky superhero bars. You know. Some retired superhero or wannabe spends his retirement money opening up a little dive so he can stay close to the action. No one goes in there except superheroes or one of their dirty toadies looking to suck up to the big damn heroes. That’s the Legion of Heroes. Yeah, the name’s corny. Superheroes like it that way.
It was that dick Deus who put Dr. Justice on the floor. What, you’ve never heard Deus called a dick before? Well, despite being big, muscular, always right (he thinks he is), invulnerable (mostly) and able to fly, he’s a dick. At least, that’s what Dr. Justice thought.
“You going get up, or are you just going to stare at my snatch all day?” Lady Truth says with a sigh. “And, hey you big jerk, why’d you hit him? You’re only 10,000 times stronger,” she says to the glowing muscle man in the corner being held back by the Minotaur, a squat heavily muscled superhero with a bull’s head.
Justice dry heaves once, adjusts his cheap goggles and staggers up. “What the hell, Deus.”
“Get that worthless has-been out of here before I paste the walls with him,” Deus says glowing brighter. “He doesn’t belong here. He never did.”
Dr. Justice lunges forward his cellular iron fist at the end of his right robotic arm flying towards Deus’ head. The connection barely makes a sound, but Deus’ head snaps back and a small cut is opened on his right cheek.
Before Deus’ head can snap back, Lightning, Krank and Speed have zipped between the two, creating a wall of jittery flesh between the two heroes. The three spandex-wearing kinetically enhanced heroes wave blurry fingers at the doctor.
“Now, not Kosher, now, bad form old bean,” the three say simultaneously.
Behind the blurry, skinny figures Deus bellows, “Get him out. Get him out. And his skank of a partner, too.”
Lady Truth whips her right arm around levels it at Deus’ head and fires off a blast from her laser arm cannon. But he is ready and pumped, dodging the laser with ease.The light beam blasts a perfect, circular hole in the bar.
Everything turns into a blur for the doctor and Lady T as the kinetic heroes grab them and carry them out the back door. When the whirlwind of movement subsides the two are flat on their backs. Above them they can see the starry sky and surrounding them is the smell of rotting chicken wings wafting out of the garbage cans and the acid smell of old puke. Yup, it’s the alley.
Lightning pulses from side-to-side next to them holding a piece of paper. Dr. Justice grabs it after a couple of tries. It’s a bill for the bar Lady Truth just blew up. $5,200.78.
“You’re not welcome back until you pay that off,” Lightning says. “Such a shame. You used to be such a good hero. Ever since you went crazy it’s been one problem after another.”
Then he shimmers away in a wave of speed, leaving behind a faint breeze.
Sitting up, Dr. Justice looks at the bill in his and sighs, “Ah, shit. How am I going to pay for this? I’ve got $200 in the checking account, and I live in a mental institution. Hell, I’m stealing the orderlies’ scrubs for my action suit.”
Lady Truth bounces to her feet and looks down at the doctor. It’s nice to be short, young and in shape, the doctor thinks.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to pay for it,” she says with a grim smile.
She always smiles. Good or bad, she smiles, thinks Dr. Justice.
Dr. Justice drags his aging bulk off the ground, crumpling the bill and stuffing it in his pocket as he struggles up. His long, curly dark blond hair whips back as he steadies himself.
“Yeah, sure. Look at us,” he says, looking mostly at his middle-aged gut. “I’ve got $200 and by the looks of that outfit you shop at Goodwill. Seriously, what do you do for money? I’m not even sure where you live. You look like you’re Asian, but I’m not even sure about that. Shouldn’t I know more about my partner?”
She just smiles at him, tossing her purple and black hair back, dark eyes laughing.
“Don’t worry Doc. I think I have an idea.”
Eh, why did I have to pick a perky partner, the doctor thinks.
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