She tossed a picture onto the linoleum surface of the small table around which the three Equalizers sat. They were in a crowded bar called the Kublai Khan.
“This is a group caricature of the Felon Fighters — done by another Cape, Kid Drawalot.”
The Brick swivelled a drawing that looked like it’d been composed by Thomas Nast, all puny bodies, overlarge heads and insanely big grins, to get a better look. “Neat-o,” he muttered.
It went without saying that three Capes in full regalia drew stares from the other patrons — but Jack wasn’t sure whether this was because (a) Capes were increasingly rare, (b) the customers fretted about the place coming under attack from other, rival Capes, or (c) they didn’t like these superpowered cretins they labelled Bops.
Jack was certainly feeling cretinous. He had a dull pain in the back of his head and felt like half the grey-matter in his skull had been vacuumed out — the useful bits at any rate. Having a hangover in a virtual-reality world simply wasn’t fair.
He peered about the room over the top of people’s heads.
There was a wall, next to the bar proper, upon which was pasted a huge, reproduction sixteenth-century map titled ‘The Kingdome of China’. The bored, dark-haired barman beside it sported a pencil-thin moustache, a bowtie and a tuxedo — making him a dead-ringer for Mandrake the Magician.
“Could we get a drink?” Jack asked a nervy waitress hovering nearby in a tight silk qípáo dress, and then he turned to the other Equalizers. “Beer?”
“Yep — gimme three. Brick Lager.”
Jack sat back. “You have your own brewery?”
“Nah, it’s a Canadian drop. I like the name.”
“Figures.” Pretty Amazonia raised a hand. “I’m in too. Don’t worry — I won’t play recondite like Mister B and order gallons of Amazon Beer. Just the one Mountain Goat will do.”
“Three Bricks for him and a Mountain Goat for her,” Jack told the waitress, “and I’ll have a sarsaparilla with a generous scoop of vanilla ice-cream. Cheers.”
The Brick choked on the dregs in his glass. “A spider? Junior, sometimes you worry me.”
“Hey, I need time to recuperate from that last dabble with alcoholic excess. The trick is how I’m going to tuck into a spider while wearing this bloody mask.”
“Bah! Costumes…tights…That’s kid stuff. Who needs ’em?”
PA had perked up. “You’re still suffering?”
“God, yeah.”
“Brick, how about you?”
“Never better.”
“I’m thinking the Reset’s given up the ghost.” Jack rubbed his eyes. “My back is still black and blue from the other day, and twenty-four hours has not in any way helped my hangover.”
“But Mister B is okay.”
“He’s the Brick. He doesn’t feel anything.”
The craggy Equalizer feigned a broken heart —“Mebbe I should go get sensitivity lessons,” he whined — and then gratefully accepted his replacement beers.
Jack returned attention to the picture on the table.
“You people never bothered to invest in a camera?”
Brick put chunky hands in the air. “Not us — them. Me’n PA came later.”
“I like it,” Pretty Amazonia decided. “Old-school vibe and all. The artist captured them pretty well. This is one of Heropa’s edicts — photos are out. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Not exactly true. I’ve seen cameras.”
“But have you spotted any happy snaps?”
“No,” Jack admitted.
“Precisely. The rule gets scuttled when it comes to TV and cinema — you can’t exactly make animation without a camera, and we don’t have computers with which to create CG. But no still-photography.” PA moved on, unfazed, “Here we have, from left to right, Escape Goat, Doc Fury, Air Gal, Capitol Hill, Vic Torrious, Crimson Skull — he’s the one kneeling there — and Mer-Maiden.”
“They look chirpy.”
“Chirpier times. Here’s another sketch, this one of the Crime Crusaders, done round the same timeframe.” The picture was laid down with more care but still had the ridiculous proportions.
“Some of these guys look familiar,” Jack observed.
“So they should. The original Crime Crusaders were Sir Omphalos, Bullet Gal, Big Game Hunter, Milkcrate Man and the Great White Hope, along with Major Patriot here, in the centre, acting as big boss. When the Felon Fighters moved on to better pastures and the Crime Crusaders disbanded, the Big O, Milkcrate Man, Bullet Gal and the GWH set up the Equalizers — at which time Bullet Gal also changed her costume and name to the Aerialist.”