Fink

Fifteen cargo containers of starving humanity crowded the abandoned bus station. The translator explained to them that they would work for their freedom. Trade in forced human labor was nothing new. Fink had an unusual twist to add. They would become his vast, violent criminal organization. Most of them were shaking with hunger. Men, women and children. All would work, the translator said.

Fink watched from the safety of his enclosed office. He saw the boxes dragged in by strong Italian men. Loyal men. Men who’d come to him after the set up that sent him to prison. All of these men had chosen him and certain death if caught by the Mafia. Their tongues would be torn out.

The Italians opened the boxes. The Southeast Asian Slaves looked on in wonder. Guns. Well, the slave trade was despicable. Why not reroute some of these unfortunates from Molvalo’s trade and make them soldiers in the crime war? At least they had a real shot with guns.

The instructions were clear. They would be given one meal a day until they brought back $300.00 of stolen merchandise apiece. No one told them the meal was stuffed with crank. Utter chaos. Loved it.

Fink had sent The Horde out before. This was a much larger group. More men, too. The money was unimportant. He wanted fire. Fire and brimstone. He didn’t know what brimstone was, but he liked the sound of it. The unsuspecting public was already keyed up from the building jumpers running iron footed through the garden of crime. This was the cherry, the icing. Let’s see old Bone Daddy face off with a bunch of cooked meth-heads from the Pacific Rim. Let them at each other. Guns and knives and teeth. Rotten teeth and sores.

He heard one guy tell it that these Chinamen ate some of the victims. Disgraceful. Tacky. Would have to be tolerated for now. Ha ha. Oh. The cannibal Horde must be allowed to work on the city’s gut for a while. The Horde was a slow spreading morphine sickness, exhilarating even while paralyzing. It made a great commercial.

He watched their sickening feast from on high and held his breath as the doors were swung open to daylight. They ran like a herd of diseased animals, snorting and screaming for safety as jets of latex paint colored their faces. Shelter. Food. Love. Privacy. Sanity. All the things that were taken away from them and would never be given back. They howled his pain. The pain of unbearable loss and the knowledge that one choice had taken everything from them.

One. Greedy. Choice.

Sayonara, suckers.

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Dialogue

“What in God’s name did you think you were doing?” Guise yelled.

“Strafing fire,” Buzz Baldwin said. “Not that you’d know what that is.”

“You nearly strafed Dodger’s freaking head off,” Mercy joined in.

“I’m fine,” Dodger said, rewinding the tape.

“We need to work out our timing a bit,” Boss said. “It’s not about wanting to play by team rules, it’s about actually playing by them. No one cares if the two of you want to expand roles a bit. Play by the rules.”

“Aren’t we getting a bit stale?” Dodger asked.

“It’s simple,” Boss explained. “We don’t go off the map until we need to. Consistency. Trust me. It will pay off when things start to muck up.”

“And you,” Boss said, “Ease up.”

Harmless smiled. Boss had seen enough of that look. Harmless was an empty skull it seemed. No life to him. No reasoning with him. It was bad enough. No need for him to smile and make it worse.

“If we have to keep editing for violence,” Boss said, looking to Dodger, “We’ll have no footage. Or worse. If news networks happen to catch up to us. What will people think?”

Harmless lit a cigarette.

“Another thing,” Boss said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and crushing it, “No more smoking. Causes infections.”

Harmless stopped smiling. He retrieved a notebook from his backpack and wrote.

“Okay,” Boss said, “We have a busy night tonight. Let’s get the van prepped. Doc, make sure everyone is patched up. Guise, fix this. Dodger, get the tape out to Channel Six and everyone be ready for 2 a.m. We’re going big game hunting tonight.” He looked at Dodger and Buzz. “You two may get your wish after all.”

Mercy grimaced.

Dodger and Buzz smiled.

Harmless kept writing.

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Editorial

Daily Chronicle:

Super Heroes For Kids
Sly Peterson

The recent idiotic behavior of the younger generation astounds me. I’m referring to roof jumping, a.k.a. costumed crime fighting. Sure, we all loved it as kids. Halloween and comic books are a boy’s best friend growing up. But the social hazards of imitating the lifestyles of our Golden Age friends are crippling.

One, there has been a recent backlash from organized crime. The one thing we could always count on from organized crime was, well, organization. Now, they’ve become chaotic. Mob Bosses on roids. It’s insane. I liked my mobsters better when they wore Armani. Now, every day is a criminal’s Mardi Gras.

Speaking of which, the Bone Man himself strikes me as being a bit inconsistent. Here’s a guy who fights crime by ignoring the justice system, taunting the press with manifestos and dressing up for his own self aggrandizing home videos. This is Super Ego, not Super Hero.

And who is this band of gothic misfits with him? The property damage alone is criminal. Not to mention masquerading as an Emergency Vehicle. This has to stop. Police Chief Harold Dimes had better get his head out of his… childhood and take this threat seriously. Who are the bad guys anyways? When everyone is in costume, it’s tough to tell.

Plus, our younger generation looks up to these creeps. It’s bad enough that I can’t name a single athlete who’s not in a scandal, now my five year old wants to fling on a cape and fire a machine gun indiscriminately into a crowd.

Bad parenting? Maybe. Maybe I’m just a boring old man who writes for a dying media outlet known as the Chronicle, but I do it the right way. Above board, without a mask and with very little fanfare.

Well, I’m left with little choice but to expose these punks for who they are and bring them to justice. You can join me by sending any information you have to:

Cape Buster
c/o Sly Peterson
Daily Chronicle
12345 West Street
Downtown, 10110

I’ll be looking out… for you!

Chapter Three | Chapter Five