Who is Killing the Great Capes of Heropa(7)
“Prob’ly gettin’ his jollies watching us wait.” The Brick flicked a thumb at the camera suspended in a corner of the ceiling high above. “Whatever floats his boat? He has a boat, by the by.”
Jack didn’t quite catch that last comment. “He’s a boat…?”
“No, no, he has a boat.”
“I didn’t see any harbour close by.”
“There is one, but that’s not what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Hitler’s pinup boy—”
“Who?”
“Our rookie head honcho — the Great White Hope. Likes to lord’it up from above. Got a dirigible, half the size o’ a bloody zeppelin, wrapped up in white silk o’ course. Rocket Scientist designed the contraption fer him. Can’t fly by himself, so gets round in that.”
“Where does he keep it?”
The Brick pointed at the ceiling, again using his thumb. “Upstairs.”
“And who’s this Rocket Scientist character?”
Pretty Amazonia leaned onto the table so she was fractionally closer to be heard. “A disreputable bastard of a Cape who makes flying doohickeys for anybody that asks — hero or villain — in return for a favour. With the girls he has a saying, ‘a jiggle for a jet-pack’ — meaning they have to flash their titties, give them a wobble and entertain the prick. One of the reasons I’ve never flown.”
“And with the boys?”
“Never did suss that out. Brick?”
“Don’t ask me. I’m a land-lubber like you.”
“Wasn’t one of your rules — number two, right? — all about honour?”
“Yeah, but with the caveat t’treat others as you expect t’be treated in return. Rocket Scientist is downright dodgy.”
Jack looked around at all the empty chairs. “So where is everyone?”
“We’re it,” the Brick muttered.
“What?”
“We’re it.”
“Three people?”
“Four,” Pretty Amazonia said, “once our fearless new leader arrives.”
“An’ he’s only been fearless since the Big O headbutted that billboard.”
“True.” Pretty Amazonia gazed at Jack. “The Great White Hope took the role of second-in-charge from day one, but Sir Omphalos was always numero uno and had the respect thing happening. He’s the man we really followed.”
“All two of you?”
The Brick chortled — the sound was like shale churning inside a cement mixer. “These days, yeah. In the ol’ days this table was completely populated. Thirty o’ us.”
“More. Remember some people had to stand? Back when things were fun.” Looking distracted, Pretty Amazonia had drawn off one glove and examined her fingers. Each individual nail was a different shade of neon. “For starters, there was Milkcrate Man.”
“Hah, yeah. Points fer banal dress-sense — the guy got round in a long black derro coat an’ busted up Docs, toppin’ this off with a brown plastic milkcrate that never left his head. Ranted a lot ’bout Beelzebub. I liked ‘im. Walked like John Wayne, banged into things, had an empty wine bottle permanently stuck in his mitt — you know how we’re not allowed t’drink here.”
“Hard to track down real wine out there anyway.” Pretty Amazonia sighed. “Back in Melbourne, I mean.”
“There is that,” agreed the Brick.
“What was Milkcrate Man’s special power? Did we ever find out?”
“Don’t think it mattered a hoot.”
“So, why the decrease in numbers?” Jack interjected, since he was feeling lonely.
“Decision made by the Big O,” the Brick said.
“Sir Omphalos,” tacked on Pretty Amazonia. “He thought thirty-odd members for a super-group was unwieldy. And he was right — in action we tended to trip up each other or get in the way. Some villains escaped because we accidentally bulldozed one another.”
“Like the time I laid-out the Great White Hope,” reminisced her friend.
“That was no accident. Anyway, Sir Omphalos said the best superhero groups had four members. The Fantastic Four, the Avengers at their more functional — God, even the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”
“I’m not sure the Avengers were at their best as a quartet,” Jack spoke up.
“Really, now?”
“Depends. Are you talking up the time from issue 16 in 1965, when Hawkeye, Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch joined Captain America — and forgettable types like Power Man whipped them? Then again, I guess Roy Thomas, John Buscema and Vince Colletta’s combo three years later — Hawkeye, Goliath, the Wasp and the Black Panther from issue 52 — was classic stuff.”