Wanted: A Superhero to Save the World Page 2

  An alarm wailed. Gunfire rang out somewhere inside the bank. Damocles threw a swing line that whipped around a flagpole protruding from the bank’s overhang in front of the stairway.

  With the grace of a falcon, he swooped down, released the line, and landed at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t even have to run out his momentum to keep from falling.

  Dressed in army camo pants and a black form-fitting jersey emblazoned with a reddish D, all held in place by a loaded gadgets belt, he looked even more powerful than he did on TV, certainly more realistic and practical than the comic-book characters in their silly spandex outfits.

  I stepped forward to warn him about the energy field, but he cocked his head and stared at the money bag, then the wires. I should have guessed he would notice the buzzing noise. With his hypersensitive ears, he could pick up the flap of butterfly wings.

  He swiped his foot through the money bag. I turned off the hologram, making it disappear. When he looked my way, I crouched in the darkest part of the shadow. Could he see me with his super vision?

  Damocles leaned over and turned off the two coils. I straightened and slid the hologram gun into my belt. Damocles could handle this. No way was I going to play the role of the kid-hero wannabe who interferes with the real hero. Still, I could watch and make a video recording.

  I leaned closer to get a look at his belt. Yes, the famed Mastix hung in a translucent sheath, just like in the Internet videos. I shivered. Seeing it in person was a dream come true. But to witness the weapon in action? That would be as cool as having dinner with Albert Einstein and Batman at the same time.

  Damocles pulled Mastix from its sheath and whipped it forward. Seven shining ropes lashed out and popped like rifle shots. Sparks sprayed from the knotted ends and sizzled on the steps, adding to a sizzle that the seven thongs made as they dangled from the handle and pulsed with energy.

  I had to smile at the display, though I couldn’t shake the idea that this robbery was a distraction or maybe a trap.

  But who could trap Damocles? The legends told of an invisible shield device he wore. The shield hid the fact that he wasn’t bullet proof like the cartoon heroes. But no one, not even Mephisto, had been able to get past that shield.

  Another shot rang out. Damocles whipped Mastix up. A bullet slapped one of the thongs and stuck there. More bullets zinged in. With lightning-fast moves, Damocles caught them all in the thongs and slung them down. The bullets thudded on the concrete, now useless chunks of lead.

  “Throw out your weapons,” Damocles called with a thunderous voice as he climbed the stairs. “Surrender or feel the sting of Mastix.”

  A handgun flew through the doorway and clattered down the steps, then another. A man inside called, “We’re coming.”

  In my mind, I shouted, That was too easy, Damocles, watch out for a trap! But I should have known he would be suspicious. He began glancing all around, Mastix gripped tightly. He then stared at the thongs. They were dark, as if the bullets had somehow drained their power. Might they have been made of a material other than lead, a substance that could absorb energy?

  A thick metallic net dropped from above and fell over him. Sparks flew across his body. He rolled down the steps, making the net wrap tightly. As he writhed on the sidewalk, electricity arced across his face and shot from his ears and mouth.

  Two men bolted out of the bank and down the stairs. One stopped next to the net, aimed a gun at Damocles, and pulled the trigger, but only a hollow pop sounded. A shimmering white pellet shot from the barrel and thumped into Damocles’s neck. He grimaced but stayed quiet.

  The men jumped into a nearby sports car. Just as the engine revved, I detached my paintball pistol and fired at the car three times. One ball missed, but the other two splashed against a rear fender, painting it red and blue. Then the car squealed away.

  I slid the gun back to my belt, ran to Damocles, and touched the net. I snapped my hand back. What a jolt!

  “Get away, k … kid.” Damocles groaned and twitched. “You might get hurt.”

  “But you’ll die.” I whipped the laser pen from my belt, turned it on, and touched it to the edge of the net. Instantly, the pen began absorbing the electricity and shooting a beam out the other side. As soon as the network dimmed, Damocles exhaled and lay motionless, Mastix still in his grip.

  I drew my shirt sleeves over my hands, grabbed the net, and walked backwards. Damocles rolled as the net pulled away. Although the weight of his muscular body made the task difficult, pushing with my legs gave me enough power to keep going.

  Seconds later, the net jerked free. After tossing it aside, I knelt next to Damocles and grasped his wrist. A pulse thumped, fast and erratic.

  He sucked in a breath and blinked at me. “Thanks, kid.” His words came out low and slurred. “What’s your name?”

  “Archimedes.”

  “I’ve seen you around.” He cocked his head. “Kind of an unusual name.”

  “Well, it’s my street identity — Greek, like yours. I have to keep my real name a secret to protect my family.” I touched my cowl mask. “That’s why I wear this disguise.”

  “Trust me. I understand.” Damocles grimaced again. “That shock shouldn’t be affecting me so severely. I’ve had worse.”

  “One of those men shot you with something, like a shining white pellet.”

  “And it penetrated?”

  I nodded. “In your neck.”

  He struggled to a sitting position and looked at his chest. “Can you see the color of the letter D on my uniform?”

  I squinted. The streetlamp provided only a little light. “Kind of dark. Black or maybe dark blue.”

  “Not red?”

  “Definitely not red.”

  He stared forward with a dazed expression. “And now I have nausea, a splitting headache, mild hallucinations, and the scent of strawberries in my nostrils.”

  “Sorry. The strawberries are from a Poptart I ate a little while ago.” I glanced around. Still no one in sight. “What kind of hallucinations?”

  He massaged the pellet’s entry point at his neck. “Mephisto. I see his face, like a hologram.” He waved Mastix around as if trying to swat a fly. The thongs stayed dull and lifeless. “A mirage. Probably hypnotically induced.”

  “What does it all mean?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He struggled to his feet. “Something sinister, I’m sure.”

  The rumble of an engine approached. A block away, a sports car turned onto the street and drove slowly by. Paint splotched a rear fender. “That’s them,” I whispered. “The bank robbers.”

  Damocles raised Mastix and glared at them. Tires squealed. The car skidded in reverse, spun a 180, and sped away. The odor of burning rubber drifted past.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Why would they come back to the scene of the crime?”

  “To make sure they did the job.” Damocles’s eyelids twitched. “They’re checking to see if they succeeded in killing me. Mephisto won’t be pleased.”

  I breathed a whispered, “They’re really part of Mephisto’s gang?”

  “No doubt. They probably —” He arched his back. “Argh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Spasms.” A new grimace twisted his face. “Something is affecting my nervous system.”

  “That pellet?”

  “Probably a poisoned capsule.” He struggled to speak. “That net must have sent a … counter-energy wave that removed my … invulnerability shield.”

  I nodded. “That must be why the capsule could penetrate your skin.”

  “I have to get … out of sight … in case they come back.” He staggered toward my alley.

  I hurried alongside, a hand extended to steady him if needed. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Just watch for that car.” Damocles ducked into the alley and stumbl
ed into a garbage can, making it clatter against another. The noise scared a rat and sent it skittering into the shadows.

  Damocles sat against a brick wall, took a deep breath, and let his body relax. “The hypnotic vision means that Mephisto invented a new weapon. Leave it to him to stamp his evil deed with his own image.”

  I crouched in front of him. “Should I do anything? Maybe call for help?”

  Damocles stared at me with tortured eyes. “Too dangerous. With those villains lurking, you’d better stay hidden. Besides, there’s likely no antidote. The poison will either kill me or I’ll have to wait here till it runs its course.”

  “I can stand guard.” I nodded briskly. “That’s what I’ll do. I’ll make sure no one comes here till the poison wears off.”

  “Thanks.” He patted my shoulder with a weak hand. “What’s your real name? You can trust me.”

  “Hertz.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He drew back his hand. “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

  “No. I mean my name is Hertz. Eddie Hertz.”

  “I’ve heard that name.” He narrowed his eyes. “The art contest winner. You drew the comic strip about me rescuing a woman.”

  My heart thumped. I swallowed hard and smiled. “Yeah, that was mine.”

  “Who was the woman? Your mom?”

  I nodded. “She’s a fan of yours, too.”

  “It was really good artwork, especially the burning building. Lifelike. I could almost feel the texture of the craggy bricks and the warmth from the spiking orange flames.”

  “I just used our building as a model.” I gestured with my head toward my apartment window. “I live up there with my mom and sister.”

  His eyes drifted that direction. “No dad?”

  I shook my head. “Car accident. A little over three years ago.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Eddie.” His face suddenly tightened again.

  I cringed with him. “It’s not getting better?”

  “It’s worse. Much worse.” His respiration quickened. “I saw your hologram. Can you project anything that’s digitized for three dimensional display?”

  I squared my shoulders. “Definitely. I invented it myself.”

  “So you’re the genius type?”

  “Well, I guess you could say —”

  “This is no time to be humble.” His face twisted tighter than ever. “Still want to help me?”

  “Sure. Anything. Name it.”

  “Take my belt off.”

  “No problem.” I unbuckled his belt and slid it and the attached gadgets to the side. I also took Mastix from his hand and laid it with the belt. “Can you breathe better now?”

  “That’s not the point. I need you to hide everything from Mephisto.” His voice lowered to a gasping whisper. “We can’t let him know that he … he finally won.”

  “Won?” My heart thumped harder. “What do you mean?”

  “He will go on a crime rampage if he finds out that I died.”

  “Died?” I shook my head hard. “Damocles, you can’t die because … because … you’re Damocles!”

  “I’m sinking fast.” He licked his lips. “Find a syringe in a plastic container in my belt.”

  I spun to the belt and reeled it through my hands until my fingers touched a plastic pouch. I popped the lid off and withdrew a syringe filled with glowing purple liquid. “What is it?” I asked as I laid it in his hand.

  “I call it … my last-chance solution.” He injected the stuff into his thigh right through his camo pants. When he pulled the needle out, he exhaled. “It’ll either save me or kill me.” He offered a tortured smile and a wink. “We can’t let Mephisto’s poison do me in, can we?”

  “No. Definitely not.” A tear crept to my eye. “How long does it take to work?”

  “Less than a minute. Then we’ll know my fate.”

  Chapter 3

  In Storybooks, Villains Don’t Win, Do They?

  My heart thumped crazily again. Waiting for this last-chance solution to work was pure torture. As the seconds ticked away, Damocles kept his eyes closed. He groaned at times, but quickly bit his lip to quiet himself. Finally, he lifted a trembling arm and pointed at his belt. “Find a red wallet in a pouch and give it to me.”

  I searched the belt again. After a few seconds, I found a leathery red wallet with a black button on one side and pulled it out. “What is it?” I asked as I handed it to him.

  “My death switch.” His hands shaking, he pushed the button and spoke into the wallet. “Damocles. Request activation. Password nine, alpha, skunk tongue, fever blisters, I love cabbage-flavored ice cream.”

  A computer-like voice responded. “Voice pattern recognized. Password confirmed. Contents unlocked and activated. Termination will begin in sixty seconds … fifty-nine … fifty-eight …”

  “I don’t really like cabbage ice cream,” Damocles said as he kept his stare on the wallet. “It’s just something I thought no one would guess.” As the countdown continued, he opened the wallet’s money pocket and poured out a silver computer flash drive. “The computer activated this, so it should work. Just run the program on the drive and you’ll learn what to do.”

  “Forty … thirty-nine … thirty-eight …”

  I stared at the drive as it lay on the ground. “Why are you trusting me with this?”

  “It’s too late to find someone else.” Damocles grasped my wrist. “The main thing is to keep Mephisto thinking that I’m still alive. The stuff on the drive will help you. Ignore the AI unit’s attitude. It will improve if you succeed.”

  “Twenty-five … twenty-four … twenty-three …”

  “Succeed?” Kneeling, I picked up the drive and slid it into my pocket. “How do you know I can do it? I’m just a kid.”

  “I know. I wasn’t planning to turn this over to someone so young, but time’s running out. You’re my only choice.” His back arched, and he let out a low groan. “Besides … I’ve been … watching the kid with the cowl mask … who foiled several criminals.” He exhaled as he finished with, “I know you can do whatever … you set your mind to.”

  “Twelve … eleven … ten …”

  “But … but …”

  “Don’t worry, Eddie. Mephisto didn’t kill me.” Damocles peeled off his cowl. Dreadlocks spilled out over his dark skin. He pushed the mask into my hand, closed his eyes, and held the wallet against his chest. Then his head drooped to the side.

  My whole body shook. I felt his wrist. No pulse.

  “Five … four … three …”

  I set my hand over his mouth. No breathing.

  “Two … one … zero. Termination commencing.” Sparks sprayed from the wallet and spewed between Damocles’s fingers.

  I rose and shuffled back. My throat closed. I couldn’t even whisper.

  The sparks crawled across his body and spread out in a widening circle, like a prairie fire consuming dry grass. As they inched along, they left nothing behind — no clothes, no skin, no bones. Thin smoke rose and drifted into the dark sky.

  In less than a minute, Damocles was gone. Only the red wallet remained.

  I stuffed the cowl mask under my shirt, picked up the wallet, and wobbled in place. Damocles dead? Disintegrated? How could this be?

  Staring blankly, I pushed the wallet into its pouch, then picked up Damocles’s belt with one hand and Mastix with the other. They seemed heavy, useless. The hero who wore this belt and wielded this whip had died. What could I do but go home and figure out the secret behind the flash drive?

  The sound of the sports car’s engine returned. I flattened my body against the wall. After the robbers passed, I sneaked to the alley opening and looked around. If any villains witnessed the tragedy, Mephisto would hear about it soon. He was the ringleader of filthy rats, and they all flocked to him like flies to
dead fish.

  “Psst. Hey, kid.”

  I spun toward the voice. Deep in the alley, a human-shaped shadow waved a hand. “C’mere. I wanna talk to you.”

  I backpedaled into the lighted area and searched for escape routes. Normally I could outrun just about anyone, but not while carrying all this stuff.

  A fire escape loomed about ten feet inside the alley. If all else failed, I could throw a line to the ladder, reel myself up to it, and then swing to my apartment’s platform on the other side, but then this potential villain would see where I live.

  “You heard me, kid. I said c’mere.”

  I slid Mastix behind my waistband. “Talking to strangers in a dark alley? That’s like a nine-point-two on the mother-earthquake scale.”

  “I’m no stranger.” A man stepped out of the alley. Tall, thin, and wearing a fedora and a loose three-piece suit, he looked like he had just walked out of an old gangster movie. He spread his arms and hands. No obvious weapon. “Don’t you remember me, kid?”

  “Maybe from a nightmare.”

  “I’m Milligan, the neighborhood, shall we say, cash-service provider. People bring me cool stuff. I turn it into cash.”

  I glanced at the street. Still clear. “So you’re a stolen-property fencer.”

  “A common misconception. I cash in goods at the finest legal establishments in town.”

  I touched the razor-disk pistol attached to my belt. After lots of practice with plastic disks, I could hit a fly in mid-flight, but now that it was loaded with sharp razors, I couldn’t use it unless a life was in danger. “If your business is legal, why are you slithering around here in the middle of the night?”

  “I’m always on call. I was just doing a deal for one of the locals and came down the fire escape to, you know, keep the transaction private for my client. Then lo and behold, I see a kid holding some excellent looking merchandise. Then I figured out who he is.” He took a step closer and nodded at the belt in my hand. “Eddie, I can turn your gadgets into money. I know your mom’s strapped for cash. Can’t even pay the rent. I can help you out. ”