DC2 Showcase Vol. II #3

[HoM]

DC2 Showcase Vol. II
Issue Three
Featuring stories from David Charlton, Kevin Feeney, Don Walsh & Charles HoM
Cover by DrDread
Edited by Charles HoM and Kevin Feeney

[HoM]

Superman
in
“The Reason Why”
By Kevin Feeney

[HoM]

Tapping my thumb idly against the steering wheel, I glance down at my watch. Six thirty already? Typical, freakin’ typical. Eight months now since Lindz and I moved to Metropolis- eight months- and not once- not once have I been home on time. Metropolis may be the City of Tomorrow, but I’ll tell ya what else it’s the city of- disasters. Can’t seem to go two days without a plane going down or a bridge collapsing or the latest schemes of Joe P. Maniac. Sometimes I wonder why the hell people live here in the Big Apricot at all- I’ve lived in Gotham, Keystone and Star and not one of them has it this bad. (Course, Gotham had problems of its own, but that’s a different story) The only saving grace is that not one of the disasters is ever fatal- we have him to thank for that of course.

But that ain’t much help as I honk my horn in the vain hope of getting across the bridge some time before, y’know, next year. Ferries are out this time, apparently- not, for once, the result of the latest evil scientist or giant monster, but just routine repairs- that explains why the bridge is so crowded. Whatever, all it means to me is that the damn bridge is more crowded than it’s ever been, and I ain’t goin’ nowhere fast. I give up honking the horn- not like it was gonna do me any good anyway- and sit back with a deep sigh After a few seconds, I snap my mobile out of my pocket and hit speed-dial.

“Hey, Lindz? It’s Dave…. Yeah… yeah, I figured you’d have heard… yeah, I’m sorry hon. Thanks, yeah… I know. Okay, just making sure you… yeah. Bye.” She sounds resigned, of course she does, but she’s okay. She knows it ain’t my fault, and besides, she’ll keep herself busy with another season of Grey’s Anatomy or whatever until I get home anyway. Be so much easier if I could find a job out near the suburbs, but the Bank wants me in midtown, so that’s where I gotta be… I’m just sitting back, wondering how long it’ll be anyway, when everything goes to Hell.

There’s a sudden rumbling, faint at first, like distant thunder, but then it grows louder, and louder still, until suddenly the entire car is shaking. I sit upright, thinking I’ve accidentally slammed my foot on the start pedal or something, but one look out the window tells me this ain’t my doing- the other guys look just as surprised, and their cars are all shaking themselves to pieces too. Suddenly, we’re ff *Insert word for shaking* more, and more, and then my eyes widen- the bridge itself is rumbling. Okay, this ain’t good. I fumble with my door and leap out, and I’m not the only one- around me, more and more people are getting up and running, and I’m minded to join ‘em- whatever the hell is going on here, it’s bad.

Leavin’ the car, I turn to run, but it’s too late- suddenly there’s this ear-splitting sound of groaning metal, and then a figure floats into view from one side. He’s dressed in a big, ridiculous purple and blue armour job, and if I weren’t so frightened I’d be laughing.

But it ain’t so ridiculous to see Doctor Polaris in person. I thought this nutjob only fought the Green Lantern on the other coast, but here he is in person. Oh $%£#.

“Fools!” He booms out, his voice loud and deep. “You think you’re safe here in your little tin cars? Safe from the Master of Magnetism!? Your very bridge is my plaything!” And to prove it, he starts bending at the cables, snapping em one by one and laughing as we all dive for cover, shouting and screaming. My heart’s pounding- Oh God… This has happened to me before, but someone’s always come to save the day… Lindz, I think. God, Lindz, I want to see you, to… But I’m jolted back to reality as Polaris gives a mad laugh, and I throw myself down to the ground as he passes nearby, heart hammering, breath caught in my throat, and I know we’re all dead and….

And that’s when he comes.

[HoM]

I’m on my back, looking up, eyes half closed, mouth open in shock, when he makes his appearance. One moment he’s not there, the next I see him hovering a few metres above a car right beside me. Always figured he looked kinda ridiculous in the pics, but I ain’t laughin’ now neither. His jaw is set and there’s just a hint of hardness in his eyes- but he’s not tensed up, not in a defensive pose- he just floats there, hands by his side, shoulders loose, relaxed, that red cape fluttering in the wind behind him. There ain’t a guy on the planet who don’t know who he is, who don’t recognise the big red “S” in the yellow shield on his chest.

And suddenly everything’s going to be okay.

I dunno how he did it exactly. I been saved by these weirdoes three different times in my life- won’t never forget any of em. The Batman saved me from some muggers when I was working out of Gotham, his buddy Nightwing rescued an entire train of us only a week or two later on a trip into Bludhaven, Flash beat up some nutcase in a green and yellow jumpsuit when my branch was hit in Keystone. An I’ll never forget how I felt each time- when the Bat swooped in, I felt afraid- like I really, really prayed it would all work out, but I had no idea whether or not he was gonna be any better than them. When his pal was trying to stop that train in Bludhaven, I even dared to hope everything was gonna be okay. When I saw Flash run into that bank, I thought everything would probably, hopefully, turn out fine.

But when Big Blue shows up, right now, here on the bridge?

I know we’re all safe. I know it.

“You!” shouts Polaris, and with one twitch of his hands, there’s a half dozen cars floating into the air, revolving around the new guy- and as I let out a shout, mine goes up with them! But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t bat an eyelid, he doesn’t even tense up. And somehow, I dunno, I feel the same- and I look at some of the others lyin’ on the bridge with me, and I can tell they do too. I can’t explain it, we just know we’re safe. It’s okay. He’s here, and he won’t let anything happen to us. Somehow, you know that just by looking at him, and I swear to God, as I look, the guy twitches his head faster than I can blink, and winks at me. I ain’t never been starstruck in my life, but I am now, just lookin’…. Here’s this madman, ranting about how he’s gonna disembowel him, moving cars with his mind for crissakes, and our guy ain’t even squaring up, looks as relaxed as can be. And – as mad and as weird as it seems- we know that if he ain’t afraid, if he ain’t worried, we got no reason to be either.

“Doctor,” He says, speaking for the first time, and he sounds totally at ease, even friendly, but strong at the same time, like a parent with a kid. “There’s no reason this needs to get unpleasant. Please, let’s talk- or at the very least, leave these people out of it.” Coming from some people, it might sound desperate- like a plea, a way for an escape. Not here. Here he sounds like he wants nothing more than to talk with the crazy, but he won’t back down neither.

“DIE!” screams the nutcase, and suddenly all six of the cars are rushing inwards towards the hero, from all sides- most folk would be lookin’ pretty scared, but he don’t bat an eyelid. I figure he could take em all easily on the chest, but he don’t- instead, he starts blowing, not sos you could really notice or takin any effort, just pursin his lips a bit- and first one, then another car goes gently onto the bridge. The other four are all flyin’ at him at top speed, but he doesn’t take a pause- just turns around, quick as you like, and grabs two of them easily by the bonnets while using that breath again to slow the other two and then guide them down as well. Then he sets the two cars down, gentle as he can, and Polaris is screaming and trying to rip things from the bridge, but there’s a blur of red and blue…

One punch is all it takes.

A few seconds later, still completely calm, without looking tired or even a little thrown off, Big Blue slings the Doc over his shoulder and gently lands on the bridge, looking around.

“Are you all okay?” He asks, and that’s the first time Superman ever speaks to me. It’s… God… how do you describe it? You feel like he’s looking right at you, and he knows you, and he’s known you your whole life. He spoke to a whole crowd of us but it feels like he spoke straight to you, like you were the only one there, and he’s really, genuinely, honestly concerned. And you trust him, instinctively- you know he trusts you right back, and he has no reason, no reason at all, except that he knows you’re a good person and he knows what you done wrong but he doesn’t care. Like he knows you for who you are, and he likes you anyway. And we all stammer out our yeses and thanks, and he nods, and he smiles, and you feel like he’s really, honestly glad, like there’s any reason in hell he should give a damn about you. Then he walks right up to me- to me, and he looks at me with those clear, piercing eyes- and suddenly, there ain’t no-one else in the bridge, ain’t no-one else in the world. “Mister….?” It’s a question, and I gotta stammer.

“Ummm… Kennedy…. Dave Kennedy.” He nods, taking it onboard, and it’s like he’s storing it for future use- like there’s any chance he’ll ever see me again, or know who I are if he does!

“Well, Dave,” He says lightly, and that whole thing sets in again. It don’t matter that I ain’t met the guy before, don’t matter that he don’t know who I am, he calls me by my first name, like we was the best of friends, and it feels…. Right. Like he’s more than earned that. “I’m afraid the fender of your car got a little crushed. Nothing that can’t be fixed, and it’ll still run fine, but there it is- I’m sorry, it was completely my fault.” And the apology is real, it’s heartfelt, and he looks at me and he actually wants forgiveness, and I feel light-headed. As if anyone like him needs to be forgiven by a guy like me!

“Umm…. Yeah, no problem….” I kind of murmur, and he breaks into a smile again, and gives me a nod, and then he floats up and I kind of blink. “Err… aw god, the wife would kill me if I didn’t- thanks, big guy!” I shout after him, and he gives me that half-smile he has, like there’s a private joke and only he and you know about it, and he nods once.

Jeez, what am I thinking, I tell myself. Guys like him don’t care about us on the street. He might be pretend to, but these guys, they’re all the same, so high and mighty…Heck, he flies around in a cape. Hell, the fact that he even pretends to care just makes it worse- yeah… they’re all the same.

[HoM]

It’s the next morning after all that craziness on the bridge and I’m yawning as I trudge out to the driveway where the old car’s parked. The fender was damaged alright, but it ain’t nothin’ too bad- thing’s a bit slower than she used to be, maybe, looks a bit worse, but that’s it. It’s only when I’m about to get in that I notice what’s taped to her front, and I open it, curiously- it’s an envelope, and in it are words in perfectly neat handwriting.

Dave,

I hope you don’t mind, I kept track of your licence plate so I could give you this. It should cover the cost of repairs for your fender- and give my regards to your wife.

Yours,
Superman

For a moment, all I can do is look at it and reread it five times, then look at the money that’s fallen out of the envelope beside it. First though that comes to my mind is, typically, a pretty stupid one- where the heck does this guy get money anyway? Ain’t like he can have a regular dayjob. Then I realise that’s a load of hogwash and just shake my head, looking down at it. Sometimes I reckon I forget that we live in a world with people like this, who’ll stick their necks on the line, who see being generous as something good, not something stupid. And now I know, I realise, as I get into the car, shaking my head, and start her up…. Now I know the reason why people live in Metropolis. Cos Metropolis, really, despite appearances, is the safest place in the world. Cos he’ll NEVER let anything happen to us.

Might be my imagination, but I swear I see a red and blue blur across the sky as I start the engine. Just one quick streak moving up…. up… and away…

[HoM]

Dial “H” For Hero
Chapter Two: “Up, Up and Away!”
Written by David Charlton

[HoM]

“Who are you, and what have you done to my son?” demanded a stunned Jessica King, in the doorway of her son Chris’ upstairs bedroom. Standing in the middle of the room, the fantastically garbed, full-grown man who had just declared himself Captain Zapp, stared back at her, looking equally stunned.

It’s me, Mom! I’m right here! I’m Captain Zapp! The words were almost out of the hero’s mouth, but he grew suddenly distracted: he had become aware of an odd sensation, as if his consciousness was expanding, reaching out, connecting… He heard in his head a curious garble of white noise and digitized resonance, his fingertips itched, and the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Before he realized what he was doing, he gave himself up to it--- and with a whoosh was sucked away as if by a giant vacuum, passing between the atoms of first the wall of his bedroom then through a low hanging tree, out across the aether, and into the phone-lines, where he merged like an accelerated particle onto a hyper-intense day-glo superhighway of color and motion!

Great Scott! he thought wildly, his mind racing back to that secret page he’d viewed only moments ago on his computer: emits and conducts static electricity, access to the electro-magnetic spectrum… He was zipping along, disembodied, on radio waves over the rooftops of Fairfax!

It was something like a dream come true: he’d dialed “H”, and now he was a superhero, with powers far beyond those of mortal men…! How it had happened--- and more importantly: why[/i]--- was the farthest thing from his mind as he exulted in the feeling of immersion into the electro-magnetic field. He bounced around all across town at the speed of thought, contained by the phone lines, though he knew instinctively he could eject himself any time he wanted to--- he just had to concentrate a certain way--- or he could travel on microwaves, or across the magnetic field of the Earth--- he only needed to shift his perceptions just so[/i]---

That was when he realized he could pick up transmissions, as well. At first, it was impossible to discern one voice or transmission over another (that was the white noise he was hearing), but his super-attuned senses were now allowing him to pick out coherent sentences… Mrs. Fleischer, his English teacher was calling her husband to remind him to pick up dinner, Mr. Flinchum, the owner of the comic shop where Chris worked on the weekends, was talking to a friend in Fawcett City named Brian, and--- most intriguingly--- he heard familiar voices arguing about him[/i]!

“… I don’t understand, Vix, he’s just an annoying little dweeb. Whaddya you care if I put him in his place?”

“He’s not a dweeb, he’s just a normal kid, Daffy. So what he likes superheroes? Not everyone can be as hardcore as you.”

“Whatever[/i], babe. I am[/i] a superhero. I’m Atomic Wedgie Man when I see that dweeb next time.”

Steaming mad, Chris--- no, Captain Zapp!--- homed-in on Daffy’s signal and in a burst of sparks and crackles, emerged from Daffy’s cell phone, fully embodied, in Daffy’s bedroom!

“Arghhhh!” Daffy yelled and dropped his phone, lobster-crawling backward atop his unmade bed.

Captain Zapp put one hand on his hip, and pointed with the other at the quavering teenager.

“Donald Dagan, you have been a bully and a jerkwad.” His voice was deep and portentous. He furrowed his brow for effect, the antennae on his skullcap sparking impressively. “Repent your villainous ways, and pray you never again cross paths with Captain Zapp!” To underscore his words, he sent a tiny bolt of electricity from his finger to the tip of Daffy’s big toe. The sock sizzled and Daffy grabbed his foot with a yelp.

“I repent! I repent!” Daffy whined, rubbing his toe.

Satisfied, Captain Zapp vanished, leaping back into the electrosphere.

If he had a body, he would have laughed. Daffy wasn’t such a tough guy after all, and just maybe he’d learned his lesson now. And Chris had to admit--- it had felt good to put the bully in his place. Was this how Superman felt?

After thinking about it for a moment, racing at the speed of thought through the phone lines over Fairfax, he started to feel bad. Superman never would have stooped to terrorizing a bully. Here he, Chris King, the biggest superhero fan in the world, had been given such a gift--- and the first thing he did with it was give Daffy Dagan a hotfoot? Was that what a superhero did?

No, he told himself, feeling ashamed now. A superhero is selfless, noble and righteous--- he puts the considerations of others before his or her own…[/b] As Chris was reflecting upon this valuable lesson, a call over the police band jumped out at him: “Silent alarm tripped at Fairfax Savings and Loan, robbery in progress…”

Without a second thought, Chris redirected himself, and in the blink of an eye, he was bounding from a receiver on the teller line of the only bank in town. The lights were off, as it was after closing time, but the robbers could be made out by their laser torches making quick work of the vault door.

“Stop right there!” He yelled, assuming the same pose he did with Daffy. Only this time, it wasn’t a freaked out teenager he was facing. Three hardened-looking criminals turned upon him, and one of them had a machine gun. They took one look at him and--- busted out laughing!

“Who’re you supposed ta be, fella? Electro-Man?” One bruiser with a missing front tooth chortled.

“I’m Captain Zapp, and you three are---.”

Another round of laughter ensued, much to Chris’ consternation.

But the one with the gun wasn’t laughing. “Ya know, we left Gotham to avoid you costumed-types. I faced down the Bat, twice, and I’m not lettin’ no spandex-wearin’ super-twit take me back to Blackgate!” The gun in his hands roared to life, spraying bullets directly at Chris!

Instinctively, Chris threw up his hands, reaching for the Earth’s magnetic field. Waves of force radiated from his open palms, catching and warping the bullets. He spun them into a miniature cyclone, then let them drop harmlessly to the marble floor.

A giddy smile twisted his mouth in spite of himself. “Wow.” He whispered.

The jaded Gotham criminals were not equally impressed. All three of them opened fire on him now, two with handguns, and the other emptying the clip of his Uzi straight at Chris. Captain Zapp stopped all of the bullets in mid-air, until the space between him and the bank robbers was filled with hot lead. When they were clicking empty cartridges, he made a twirling motion with his finger, causing the suspended bullets to spin around, and then sent all of them hurtling back at the criminals! He made sure he didn’t use enough force to pierce skin, only enough to bombard the thugs into unconsciousness!

“Freeze, Mister Zappy!”

He turned to see a pair of policemen standing in the smashed-open door, guns drawn, looking resolute.

“That’s Captain Zapp!” Chris declared with a disarming smile, and a friendly tip of his sparking head. “And as the bank’s surveillance cameras will show, I’ve just foiled this robbery!”

“Foiled?” snorted one of the cops, who lowered his gun nonetheless. “Who talks like that?”

“I already told you, officers: Captain Zapp!”

And with that, Chris was away, surging back into the aether.

This time he surfed the infrared spectrum, which gave him the added benefit of being able to see the world around him, even if it was through bands of varying degrees of heat. That was awesome![/i] He felt more alive than ever, supercharged with adrenalin and ready to do more crime-fighting! He patrolled the airwaves, existing for the moment only as a consciousness in the electromagnetic spectrum, but there seemed to be a dearth of wrongs needing righting in sleepy old Fairfax. Back on Main Street, he watched as the grumbling robbers were led into police cars, and reporters flashed pictures in front of the bank. He imagined the radio-waves must be abuzz with news of the town’s bra nd new costumed crimefighter, and he considered slipping back into the phone-lines for a listen when a funny feeling came over him: he began to feel his connection to the electromagnetic spectrum slipping…!

In a panic, he rematerialized back in his room, just as the transformation came upon him. Gone was the electricity flickering around the adult body, gone was the link to an expanded universe of perception… Once again his mirror showed gangly, awkward Chris King, staring at a cell-phone in his hand…

Exactly one hour had passed.

Reality came crashing in on him. What in the blue blazes had just happened? He was certain he had not imagined it all, because he could hear his mother downstairs crying hysterically and talking to a police officer, who was trying to calm her. He knew he had to go down there and make some sort of explanation--- but first he had to check something. Moving quietly, as not to alert those downstairs, he went to his computer, and logged onto HEROES. There was a Private Message waiting for him from the anonymous site admin, the Monitor.

With trembling fingers, he opened the PM:

Chris,

You have taken the first step down a heroic and fateful path. As you have no doubt realized by now, the powers and personae you adopt through the H-Link will only last one hour, and you may not activate the same one again within one 24 hour period. Be careful, as the life of a hero is fraught with peril. But you have been called. And when danger is near, or injustice rears its insidious head, don’t hesitate: Dial H!

The Monitor

[/i][/right]

To Be Continued

[HoM]

"Wannabe, Finale"

By House Of Mystery

[HoM]

"--I'm surrounded by my friends every day. I fight side by side with them, I save the world, beat up Gods and kick despots to the moon in my spare time." John Jones smiled as he sipped his beer. "Days tick by, you know?"

"I guess." Jason Bard threw a nut into the air and leant back, catching it in his mouth. "So what are your thoughts on this case?"

"Victim was the target of rejection, wandered the country, crisscrossed from one side to the other, so that meant he had no discernable ties."

"Interesting profile," nodded Bard. "Interesting." He sipped his own drink and then scratched his nose. "I want to apologize about how I was….” He searched for the word, the idea lingering on the tip of his tongue for a moment, “forcing you into conversation earlier. Pressing. I've never really met a real superhero before."

"You've met Batman."

"Batman? Oh, he's human. You're a Martian. You’re beyond cooler."

"Yeah," John loosened his tie and a thin smile grew across his lips. His form shivered and shifted, until Marvin the Martian was leaning back in the booth, sipping beer. "'Oh, poo.'"

"That's pretty impressive," laughed Bard, "but people will look, and I'm sure you could get sued for copyright infringement."

John Jones snapped back into view. "Point. So why the interrogation? You're talking to a 'superhero', but I've never claimed to be anything more than just one man doing what he can do to better the world. You were a police detective, shot trying to prevent a bank job. For your one defining act of heroism, you now experience excruciating pain whenever you put weight on your leg. Or not."

Jason cleared his throat, subconsciously squeezing his thigh. "I didn't tell you about the bank job. You read my mind?"

"Oh, no. I spoke to Batman before I took the case," laughed John. "I'm not an idiot. I research cases before I take them. Anyways, you're a hero too, and don't give me any of that shtick about 'scale', how you're just 'the little guy'. You do what's right, and you do what's good."

"Your attitude has changed."

"What do you mean?"

"You were keeping quiet on the outside. Stoic. Aloof. Now you're face has slipped, you're doing this human thing, the bug up your ass has apparently vanished too."

"Would you prefer me going green again?" John finished his bottle, and stretched. "I can do that."

Jason chuckled. "Eh, do it."

"Really? You wouldn't mind sitting with a Martian?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't mind at all. Nor would I mind sitting with a hero. So I'm pretty fine with both, either way."

J'onn J'onzz sat in front of Jason Bard, and they looked at each other. "So you reclaimed your Martian heritage because your life was used against you. Blow after blow breaking you down to pieces- to the lowest you’ve ever been. Your wife and daughter and your home world were used against you. Blow after blow, taking you down notch for notch. And now you're wearing that armor. Why? What does that say about you?"

"It shows who I am."

Jason grinned, and pointed his finger at J'onn. "No! No it doesn't!"

"Excuse me?"

"It doesn't show the world who you are. You’re hiding. It doesn't matter what you look like, it matters what you do, you said that yourself. So you're hiding."

"Interesting profile."

"Your human identity, you could be anyone, and you're a cop. Your Martian identity- you're a cop. In your combined identity... You're a cop. All three faces, you're a hero. I just don't know why you would hide that by going all out with the military chic."

"Do you have a point? Are you going somewhere with this?"

"Hmm. So… any thoughts on this case?"

"A few, but--" He stood, his cape flapping behind him. "I just received a telepathic call. I'm bringing you into it." J'onn placed his fingers on Jason Bard's forehead and closed his eyes. "Active."

Batman's voice filled Bard's head, and images flickered in his mind's eye of footage from security cameras across the city. <I've been analyzing the data you had forwarded to the Hall computers. How's our detective treating you, Bard?>

"Good, thanks, Batman."

"And?"

<Security camera footage tracks him from his motel to a bar to the alley behind. There we lose him. In more ways than one.>

"So next stop is the motel," nodded Bard. "Let's move."

[HoM]

"We need the key to this man's room." Bard showed the photo of the Spook's face to the man standing behind the counter of the motel.

The older man pushed his glasses up his nose, and squinted, before leaning back and smiling cheerily. "You got a warrant for it?"

"We don't have time for this." J'onn have a subtle wave of his hand in front of the man's face, and the manager’s expression went blank. "Room 313." J’onn’s arm stretched out and he grabbed the key. "Let's go

"You just Jedi mind tricked him?" Bard limped after J'onzz. "I am impressed."

"He was being unhelpful." They reached the room, 'Do Not Disturb' hanging on around the door knob. "Private man," he noted, before the two of them opened the door.

"And you're being illegal, but I'll let it slide--" They looked around the room and Jason prodded things with his cane. "This is depressing."

The bed was perfectly made. His suitcase was lying on the dresser, and there wasn't much else to notice. J'onn floated above the floor, and surveyed the scene. "He travelled from city to city, looking for his big break."

"... That's got to be a miserable life."

"Not if you have hope." J'onn looked around and sighed. "...Hope."

"Las Vegas to New York to Central City to Keystone to Washington. One disappointment leading to another, until he died. That's a hell of a lot of hope to be carrying around with you."

"True. Look--” J’onn pointed to the bathroom, and the two of them approached the en-suite. As the pieces reflected the light from the bedroom, J’onn pointed out the shards of glass that littered the sink.

Bard’s lip curled. “Someone got angry. Maybe it all just got to him?”

“I'm bringing in a specialist," J'onn touched his temple and then turned to Jason Bard. "She'll be at the crime scene in a few moments. We need to wrap this up."

"She?"

[HoM]

The rain had stopped for an hour or so now. Puddles littered the alley, and Jason Bard limped down toward the white chalk outline of a headless man. J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, followed behind him. Bard tapped his cane against the cold concrete floor, squatted down, and then looked up at the beautiful woman who was starting fires all down the alleyway. “Huh.”

"And you are?" Manitou Dawn was preparing the damp alley way. Lights burnt all around, and Bard could smell something surround him, the curious scent triggering memories of hunting trips with his father, and their hiking through the woods. She smiled, and put out her hand. "Sorry, the pyres are distracting but necessary.”

“Jason Bard, police consultant, and you are beautiful, if I do say so myself.”

“No, I’m Manitou Dawn, and charm will get you everywhere, Jason Bard, police consultant.” She laughed, and continued what she was doing.

“What are you doing?”

“Whispering,” she replied softly. “I’ve never done this before. Never had the real need to. But J’onn asked nicely and I’ve been aching to try it, so here I am.”

“Whispering?”

“Jennifer Love Hewitt-ing it. Ghost whispering. It’s a well established practice in some well established circles, but you’ll have to bear with me, it’s my first.”

Bard turned to J’onzz, who’s expression was blank. “You’re going to-- she’s going to-- ghost whisper?”

“All the security camera footage leads the Spook here. We’re in a satellite blind spot,” J’onzz pointed upwards, looming balconies obscuring the sky above. “If we can’t see up, they can’t see down. I don’t normally ask my colleagues to resurrect the dead, or raise their spirits, but this seems like the right time to push the line a bit.”

“Be aware, this could go very wrong,” grinned Dawn, “because I’ve never done it before. And the trauma inherent to opening up a healing wound in the world of humanity’s collective body is just traumatic.”

“And you’re filling me full of confidence, right there. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“We’re superheroes, hotshot,” replied Dawn, nudging Bard with her fist, “We’ll handle it.”

“Great. Absolutely great.”

Manitou Dawn smiled and brought her Spirit Ax up above her head. She began to chant, and J’onn motioned for Jason to take a step back. The crackling pyres that had been set all around the alley (cordoned off to prevent anything going wrong and a Kord Industries patented ‘blind spot’, a device tentatively designed to seal crime scenes until investigation activated and used by the Justice League when they need privacy in public) began to crackle and then without warning they shot upwards into the air, and washed toward the chalk white outline of where the Spook had been found. The fire turned blue, and shot down into the silhouette, and suddenly, the Spook, out of costume, appeared before the three of them.

“Wwwwwwwhat is this?” The Spook’s voice was just as a ghost’s should be, in Bard’s mind. Ethereal, faint. “Mmmmanitou Dawn? Martian Manhunter?” He smiled, thin whisps of light flittering off his body. “Iiiiiit’s an honour.”

“We do not have long, Spook, tell us, who killed you?”

“Kkkkkkilled me?” The Spook’s face drained of what little colour was left on it. “Iiiiisn’t it obvious?”

Jason stepped forward, leaning hard on his cane. “You killed yourself.”

“What?” J’onn looked at Jason, shock in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“He was rejected by every team he dared ask for membership. It was becoming too much. You’re a nice guy, Spook, you kept your hotel room tidy, but the frustration of it all was apparent. You punched a mirror because you couldn’t look at yourself. You came to this bar, you got drunk, and you stumbled outside and killed yourself.”

The Spook was silent, floating before Dawn, J’onzz and Bard- wisps of light leaving his body.

“You shot yourself in the head with your own hand.” J’onn shook his head, “H'ronmeer, you were your own murder weapon.”

“Iiiiii was tired,” shrugged the Spook, “Iiiiii would never fight side-by-side with my heroes, never do what I dreamt of doing. I…” He paused, the silence of the alley punctuating the quiet sorrow the ghost was feeling. “Iiiii’m sorry.” He vanished from sight, leaving the shaman and the two detectives looking at each other.

Dawn waved her ax and the fires spluttered out. “God, that poor man…”

“Case closed,” whispered Jason Bard, as the pain in his leg tightened to the forefront of his mind. “I’ll talk to the detectives. Don’t know how they’ll report it, but the facts are all there.” He limped away from the two Justice Leaguers, toward the entrance to the alley and turned back. “Catch you later.”

“Bard, wait,” J’onn flew over to the former police officer, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you for talking. I enjoyed your company and you helped me… Think. I confess, I didn’t need to think, but what you said, and the reaction you caused in my mind… It made sense.” His uniform shifted and contorted, ripples of metal dissolving into his green flesh until a new costume appeared: where there was once a suit of thick metal armor, a thick, red harness rose up out of his chest, just like it had years before; Jason couldn’t help but smile. This was the Martian Manhunter he remembered from his first day on the force, when he was nearly scorched to death by the Human Flame when he and his partner were trapped in their squad car. This was the Martian Manhunter who saved his life. J’onn J’onnz’ uniform now resembled that of a superhero, and Bard turned away, content. “Thank you.”

“Pleasure. We’ll have to do this again some time. Beer and crime solving.”

“Yes,” smiled J’onn, “I think I would like that.”

End

[HoM]

The Crimson Avenger
in
“The Sting of the Scorpion!”
Act II: Penny for Your Thoughts
Written by Don Walsh

[HoM]

The masked man carefully picked his way through the hotel room, running the beam of his flashlight across the various elements that made up the scene of the crime. On the floor in front of the vanity dresser was the chalk outline of Doreen Naylor, and for a long time, Lee Travis could only stand and stare at it. He fought back the grief inside, and forced himself to the dresser to look over the collection of items that signified this young woman's life.

This is the reason for the mask, Lee chided himself as he looked through the set of brushes and combs, over the little vials of make-up and other assorted clutter. You're not Lee Travis, and this poor girl was not briefly a girlfriend. The mask separates you.

He rummaged through the dresser draws, making note of very little out of the ordinary and admitting to himself that the police seemed rather thorough in their job. Rohmer and Smith did seem pretty professional. Good. Dor-- this poor woman deserved that much.”

He stepped over to her bed next and continued his search for anything that could provide a clue. There was no blood stains to be found, and indications of only the briefest struggle. Whoever had struck had struck very quickly. He paused from the other side of the room and looked back at the dresser. If she was killed in front of the vanity, the killer had to be very quiet to not draw Doreen's notice in the mirror. Or it was someone she knew, but she doesn't know anyone in New York. Did she?

He turned back to the bed, and looked over the nightstand, his fingers gently playing over a collection of coins and clutch-bag knick knacks on the top. His ring finger touched one particular coin that had drawn his attention and gently slid it apart from the pile. He carefully lifted it up and looked at the odd little penny now in the palm of his hand. Emblazoned on each side was what looked like Maltese Cross: at the center, each arm ended narrow, while the arms extended wide, and a V notched at the outer edge of each arm. He flipped it over in his hand a few times and then slipped it into a pocket before resuming his search. Maybe it was nothing, but he'd have an expert tell him about it.

He continued his search, pausing at the closet and looking at the pretty dresses inside. She always did have a flair for fashion, Lee thought sadly as he fingered the sleeve of one green dress, and thought back to the night of dancing, back in Chicago, back before...

“Mask,” he said to himself in his deepened grumbling voice and pulled himself from the closet. He took a last glance around and then stepped out onto the terrace and carefully climbed back down to ground level.

He quickly slipped into the back of his limousine and looked up at Wing, who had already slipped the vehicle into gear and was pulling away from the street corner without hesitation.

“How did it go, sir?” Wing asked as he glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw his employer undo the mask.

“Not sure. I didn't get much, either the police took away anything really incriminating, or there's not much to go on,” Lee answered as he undid the red cloak and pushed it to one side of the seat. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the penny. “Which doesn't seem to hold a lot of promise for them catching Doreen's killer. I did find this, though I have no clue what it means.” He passed it up to his chauffeur and leaned back into the seat.

“I don't recognize it. Doesn't mean anything to me, sir,” Wing replied quickly, starting to hand it back, but Lee held a hand up to signal him to keep it.

“Back to the house, so I can get ready for my date tonight, Wing, old buddy,” Lee said with a forced smile. “I'll take the Bentley myself, you go and pick up Claudia and have her see Victor Maxwell. He's the leading numismatist in the city. If he can't identify that penny, no one can.”

“Yes, sir.” Wing pulled the limo up to a stop at the front door of Lee's house. “Have yourself a good evening. Try not to kill anyone if you can help it, sir.” Lee's eyes popped open at Wing's deadpan.

“I'll do my best, Wing,” he said as he slammed the door shut behind him and headed into the house, hearing the limo pull away and off down the road.

* * * * *

Claudia Barker walked out of her apartment, still primping and arranging various parts of her: hem of her blue dress, tucking stray strands of hair into place, the usual morning activities as she prepared for work. She reached the sidewalk and saw that her boss was again going to be late, and again because of a late night of dinner, dancing and...well, there was Wing with the limousine parked near her doorstep, so clearly, Lee was going to be late again, and she knew why. She gave a low sigh and walked up to the chauffeur, who leaned against the car, reading a newspaper as he waited in his sleek black uniform.

“Good morning, Wing,” Claudia said with a big smile and wave. “I get your company for my trip to the office? Two days in a row? I feel like a millionaire myself.” She giggled as she gave him a polite hug.

Wing returned the courtesy and folded the paper up and dropped it into the car. “And a good morning to you, Miss Claudia. Yes, you get driven to work this morning. Lucky for both of us, I would say.” He opened the door for her as she entered. “You love sending your neighbors into fits, don't you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked as she settled into the backseat, feeling guilty and decadent when she heard the door secured behind her.

“Hugging a Chinaman. Very daring, Miss Claudia. I appreciate it, of course, but I daresay your neighbors feel different,” Wing answered as he pointed to a couple of different windows in the apartment houses around them. Claudia noticed curtains quickly dropping back into place to hide the voyeurs peering down on the pair.

“Well bully for them,” Claudia replied. “You know you're not just some driver for me. You're my friend. And you know that's true for Lee, too. Right?”

“Of course, Miss Claudia,” Wing answered as he slid into the driver's seat and pulled the car out into traffic, headed toward the newspaper offices. “A trusted confidante. It's to my honor and credit, too.” He clicked the radio on as scratchy music started to fill the vehicle.

After a couple of blocks, a news bulletin broke in however, announcing events of the morning, and one event in particular that chilled the blood of the two people listening.

“The NYPD has had no comment on the reported murder of Christine Vail in her home in Central Park West,” the voice went on to explain as Wing and Claudia felt a shared shiver. “Details are being kept hushed up by the police as they investigate the scene, though sketchy reports indicate she was killed in the early morning hours.”

“Wing, you have to get to Lee,” Claudia said quickly. “You have to get Lee and get him away from his house, and keep him from the office.”

“Are you sure, Miss Claudia?”

“Of course. The police may be headed that way already, I don't know. But we both know that Vail was one of Lee's first...date nights when we first moved out here to the city, and the police will find out soon, you can bet on that. Just drop me off here, and call me when you have him, got it?”

The limousine pulled to a stop along the sidewalk and Claudia leaped free of the vehicle. “Go, go!” she urged him on and he nodded grimly, pulling back out into traffic and racing toward Lee's home. “Oh, Lee. I hope you behaved yourself last night.”

Wing was hoping the same thing as he wove the car through morning traffic and out to his employer's home. He pulled the car up to a quick stop and dashed into the house, relieved to see that there were no police cars around yet. Maybe Claudia's wrong? Maybe they won't suspect Lee, Wing thought to himself as he walked quickly to the owner's bedroom. He rapped sharply on the door several times.

“Sir, wake up!” Wing demanded, not his usual demur, reserved self. “I'm coming in, and apologies to your partner if she's still in there.” He opened the door and stepped in to see Lee pulling himself up out of the bed, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Wing? What's going on? This isn't like you? Is everything okay?” Lee looked around, trying to orient himself, remember what had happened last night. He glanced over to the other side of the bed, which was empty, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Carol wasn't one to take strange foreign men walking in on her very well. He then snapped his head back to Wing, concern on his face. “Claudia...?”

“Miss Barker is fine, sir, but you aren't. Christine Vail was found murdered in her home this morning,” Wing explained as he pulled out a suit for his boss and tossed it to him. “Miss Barker feels you will become a primary suspect, and sent me to get you out of here, and presumably to someplace to hide.”

Lee slid out of bed and grabbed the clothes from his friend and driver. “Christine...she's dead? Are you sure?”

“We heard it on the radio this morning, sir,” Wing replied as he threw some other clothes into a suitcase. He looked over and grabbed the shoulder holster and pistols hanging on the wall inside Lee's closet.

“I'm not going to have a shoot out with the cops, Wing,” Lee insisted as he dressed rapidly.

“No, sir. But your masked self will need them against the criminal element,” Wing replied as he finished readying the case and turned back to Lee. “You look like hell, sir. You are suitably entertained? Where is Miss Blakely?”

“Carol left earlier in the morning,” Lee said as he snatched the suitcase from Wing. “Probably to sneak back into her house before her father woke up this morning. Thank you for asking, and yes, it was a good night. A great play.”

“Good, sir. It could be the last one for a while.” Wing led the way back to the limousine, as Lee slipped into the back of the car, and didn't even have the car closed before it started to roll away. “I have a cousin who owns a place that might serve to keep you away from the police.”

“And Claudia's okay with all this? Does this sound right to you? Why am I hiding? So I knew these girls. Doesn't hiding make me look guilty? And aren't I the guy in charge, of both of you? Don't I get a say in all this?”

“No, sir,” Wing replied to all of his questions in one curt response. “No you don't get a say in this. Besides, if you want to use your alter ego to investigate, you can't have the police tailing you everywhere, waiting for a mistake. Putting on a disguise to creep around the city at night will hardly help convince them you aren't a killer. Sir.”

Lee sank into the back seat and mused over the comments. His head was still too cloudy from the drink and late night, and all the questions he'd asked did seem foolish as it slowly cleared up. “Right. Okay, you're right, of course.” Lee pulled out the satchel containing his disguise and prepared himself again. “Before we go to this cousin of yours though, we'll make a stop at Maxwell's, see what he's willing to tell me about that coin. Claudia never told him who sent her, right?”

“Correct, sir. It's there in her name.”

“Excellent,” Lee growled as he slid the fedora on. “This is starting to feel good,” he added as he slid the guns into place and then put the dark blue suit coat over them, followed by the thick crimson cloak. “Crimson,” he murmured to himself. “Scarlet.” He looked to Wing. “What do you think?”

“You weren't written by Margaret Mitchell, sir,” Wing replied. “I don't believe those you're going to face will be quite so scared of a female's name.”

“The Crimson, then.” He closed his eyes and said again, “THE Crimson. The CRIMSON.” He shrugged. “Works for now.”

“Maxwell's, sir,” Wing announced as the car pulled up down the street.

Lee slipped out of the car and stalked quickly and quietly as he could to the rear of Victor Maxwell's apartment, letting himself in through a back window. He quietly moved through the rooms, finding the elder man in his office. But not alone. Lee froze and pressed himself against a wall, and carefully checked out the scene.

The cluttered room of filing cabinets, desk and cardboard displays of rare coins seemed to close in on the three mean-looking, rough-hewn men standing in a semi-circle around the gaunt, gangly older Maxwell. “Give us the penny, Maxwell, and let us get out of here,” said one of the three strangers, burly and unkempt. That's all Lee needed to hear.

“I don't think so!” he growled as he stalked out from his hiding place, the deep red cloak fluttering around him, pistols drawn and aimed at the three others. “I think you'll all be leaving now, or else!”

The three men looked back at the masked man standing brazenly before them, Maxwell gasping in shock and creeping back from Lee.

“Three of us, one o' you,” the burly man said in response. “Mebbe you can hurt one o' us before we git our mitts on ya. But then whut?”

Lee frowned at the bravado on the man, and said nothing for a long, heavy moment, before finally speaking.

“Guess we'll just have to find out.”

[HoM]

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