I stumbled across a short-short piece by Ron Carlson on Esquire’s Website. You can also check out “The Pirate Story” at Clackamas Literary Review. I like to think that Mr. Justice is a kindred spirit to “The Pirate’s” Regan Peterson.
If you’re interested in Ron Carlson’s longer works, I would recommend Five Skies. It’s not as whimsical as the stories above, but it is one my favorite books and currently stands as one of my major influences.
Meanwhile, Our Hero bids good evening to a group of police officers before he lifts a length of yellow tape strung in front of a redbrick townhouse and ducks under it. One of the officers, a young man with a crew cut and shoulders Our Hero considers especially broad slips under the tape and maneuvers around Our Hero. He holds one hand up and says, “You can’t be in here.”
Our Hero smiles, this must be a new officer. “I assure you that I can.”
“Sir, you need to be on the other side of the tape.” The officer says.
Our Hero fights back the urge to laugh. The other officers must be using this officer’s inexperience to play a joke on him. Normally Our Hero would play along, but there is a crime to be solved. “It appears that your superiors have not told you about me. I’m Mr. Justice, guardian of the city. I’m here to lend my assistance in solving this mystery and it will be very difficult for me to proceed with my investigation from out there. I really do need to be on this side of the tape.”
A second officer has crossed the tape and now also stands between Our Hero and the crime scene. This one is older, and heavier. “What mystery?” The older officer says, “This was a suicide.” The officer makes a fake with his thumb and forefingers and points it at his temple. He imitates the sound of a bullet firing and jerks his hand back from his head. Our Hero finds this distasteful.
“Have you considered the possibility that this was meant to look like a suicide and the victim was actually murdered?” Our Hero asks.
The two officers exchange glances. The older one laughs. The younger one speaks up again, “Sir, this is the last time I’m going to ask, please exit the area.”
“I really should investigate. If this was not a suicide then we could be giving the murder time to escape, or possibly kill again.” Our Hero steps around the officers and sprints towards the house. He hears the footsteps of the officers behind him. The younger one catches him at the top step. Before Our Hero realizes what is happening, the younger officer pins Our Hero to the wall just to the left of the front door and twists his arm up behind his back. A second later, both of Our Hero’s wrists are cuffed together. “Officer,” he says, “you’ve made a mistake, we’re both defenders of justice.” The young Officer says nothing as he leads Our Hero down the steps.
“I’ll take him,” the older officer says once they are all on the other side of the police tape. He grips Our Hero firmly around the bicep and leads him to a patrol car. “So you’re the guy whose been writing those letters to the chief. Mr. Justice, right?” He says to Our Hero, as they walk.
“Yes, I am Mr. Justice.” Our Hero says. His wrists begin to ache in the handcuffs.
The officer laughed. “You know, we occasionally hear from guys like you. Nothing ever seems to come of it. We figure it’s just some guy playing a joke, or just a nut, you know, but you, man, I’ve never come across a guy like you before. I mean, you’ve got the get up with the mask and everything.”
“The mask is necessary,” Our Hero says, “to protect my identity.”
This makes the officer nearly double over with laughter. The officer’s laugh is high and piercing. It reminds Our Hero of hiccups. “To protect your identity,” the officer says while wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “that’s a good one, really.” He is still chuckling when he opens the door of his patrol car. Our Hero climbs into the car and positions himself in the center. While he still believes the officers are mistaken, he knows that he must not be seen actively resisting arrest. The arrest will be sorted out once he reaches the station. There he will speak to the Chief, who will insist that Our Hero be freed. The chief will also chastise the officers for arresting Our Hero and for laughing at the offer of his assistance. Our Hero will watch this calmly. Perhaps he will fold his arms across his chest and look severe. He will let the chief lecture his men, but he will stop the lecture just before it reaches talk of disciplinary action. No, after the mention of disciplinary action. That would seem more heroic. He will stop the chief, forgive the officers and praise them for their caution.
The officer sits in the driver’s seat and starts the engine. He looks over his shoulder at Our Hero and says, “Just incase you’re wondering, I’m not taking you in. I figure, you didn’t do any harm and if I take you in, it means extra paperwork for me and to be honest, I was kind of hoping to get home before the wife gets a headache, if you know what I mean.”
As the car pulls forward, Our Hero begins to fear that he has fallen into some kind of trap. His wrists now hurt more than before, one arm has fallen asleep, and his nose itches. This officer could be a henchman for some villain who has learned of Our Hero and wishes to dispose of him before he can establish himself as the city’s protector. “Where are you taking me?” Our Hero asks.
“I figured I’d give you a ride home, that is, if it wouldn’t be a breach of security.”
“It would if I couldn’t trust you,” Our Hero now recognizes the officer as a potential ally, a source of information inside the police force. He had assumed that this would be some one higher in rank, but a patrol officer has his benefits. He is closer to the people of the city. He might learn of crimes faster than the chief, which mean he could summon Our Hero with greater speed. Also, they could more easily meet outside of the police station to exchange information, which would be more convenient for both parties. Our Hero will use this ride home as a test of sorts. He directs the officer to an address near his apartment. He will monitor this location over the next few weeks. If there is no suspicious activity, he will know he has friends on the force.
On the drive over, the police officer introduces himself as Albert, Al to friends and family. He tells Our Hero about his apartment, wife, plans for retirement, and general disdain for the current generation of youth. Our Hero listens politely. He too is concerned about the city’s youth, although he does not share the officer’s bleak view of their future prospects. When he shares this opinion, the officer snorts and shakes his head.
At their destination, the officer helps the Our Hero out of the car and removes the handcuffs. Our Hero shakes out his shoulders, rubs his wrists and finally scratches his nose.
“You seem like a good egg,” the officer says, “that’s why I’m doing this, but you can’t go running into crime scenes. You want to help us out, keep an eye out for trouble. Give us a call if you see anything. You can keep the costume if you like, but leave the police work to us.”
“You will find that I can be of much more use to you,” Our Hero grasps for evidence to support this claim, “I am not bound by the need for warrants. I can gather evidence that you cannot.”
“We’re not interested in that kind of law enforcement. I’ll admit that there have been times I figured it would have been easier just to drag a perp behind a dumpster and beat him senseless, and I know a few detectives who couldn’t get a warrant even though they knew they’d find something, but we got these rules, you know. We gotta follow them, and we can’t just let you break them.”
“I understand,” Our Hero says, thinking he and the officer have reached some kind of agreement. Of course the chief would not contact the hero openly. How could he? Even though fights for justice, he works outside the law. The police must not be seen condoning this kind of behavior.
You have a goodnight then,” the officer says before he drives away.
Our Hero returns to the crime scene several hours later to conduct his investigation. The police have gone, but the front door and first floor windows are all locked and he has no means of ascending to the second floor.
Meanwhile, Our Hero adjusts his tie as he waits to meet with a recruiter in the city’s third largest temp placement firm. He has discovered that crime fighting is a truly thankless job, monetarily speaking. Being on patrol means he must work shorter shifts at the restaurant where he is a waiter and the expenses add up. In the past month alone he has needed to purchase a new car, two dozen cans of matte black spray paint, rope, a tazer, handcuffs (Our Hero still wonders why he could only find handcuffs covered in pink and white fur), boots, and spandex. He saved some money by sewing the costume himself. At the time, he chose to take on the tailoring as a security precaution. After all, what tailor could he trust with his secret identity? Now, he congratulates himself for having keen, costume related financial foresight, but he cannot hide from his ever mounting debt.
Our Hero knows this all to well. A new villain, Jeff the Collector has surfaced to confound Our Hero. During dinner, early in the morning, in the middle of training, no time seems off-limits to the Collector. He hounds are hero day and night, and worse, he can connect the Justice Car to Our Hero’s secret identity. He threatens the retirement of Our Hero’s mother during nearly every call. Our Hero of course warns the collector to leave his family alone, but the collector is unmoved. Just last week the collector’s intransigence forced Our Hero to scream into the phone, “How do I defeat you?” Even this failed to disturb the collector. He replied calmly, “Just pay what you owe.” Our Hero slammed down the phone before booting up the laptop of justice and prepared his resume.
The recruiter calls Our Hero into her office. She wears a bright red blouse and glasses that remind Our Hero of his grandmother. She is younger than Our Hero expected, much younger. Our Hero estimates that she is his age, if not a little younger. Instantly, Our Hero’s pulse quickens and his skin begins to itch under his suit and costume. Sweat begins to emerge at the top of his brow and under his arms, he tries to keep composure. Hero’s should not sweat and when they do, it must be ignored.
“So,” says the recruiter, “what kind of work are you looking for.”
“I’d like to do good work,” Our Hero replies, “something that helps my fellow man.”
“Non-profit work then,” She says while gazing at Our Hero over the rims of her glasses. The look makes Our Hero nervous; he makes a mental note to learn the technique for interrogations.
“Oh, no,” he says, “I’d like to be paid for my work. I was thinking of something at a newspaper, maybe for the crime section.”
“I’m afraid that we don’t handle positions in journalism.”
“I see. Well how about at a laboratory? Preferably one that specializes in non-lethal weapons development.”
The recruiter picks up Our Hero’s resume and scans it, shaking her head as she reads. “You don’t have a background in science.”
“I took chemistry and biology in college.”
“Yes, I can see that, but you majored in interdisciplinary studies.”
Our Hero nods, he is proud of his degree. The recruiter apparently has failed to see the value of a well-rounded education. “Why don’t we talk about your skills. What would make you a valuable addition to a company you might work for?”
Our Hero straightens his back and leans forward a little. He has prepared a response to this question. He practiced it in the mirror before leaving the house. “I have an acute sense of perception.” The recruiter lifts one eyebrow, but says nothing. “You see, I never miss the finest detail. Nothing gets past me. This could be especially helpful in a business where the smallest mistake could cost millions, if not billions of dollars.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, I am a very fast learner. I completed Master Al’s DVD Six Week Kung-Fu Boot Camp in four weeks. A full two weeks ahead of the program’s advertised schedule.”
The recruiter turns Our Hero’s resume over and places it on the desk. She interlaces her fingers and sets her hands on top of the resume, “I’m sorry Mr. Kemp, but I do not believe we will be able to find you suitable employment.”
“I see,” Our Hero rises to leave, “Thank you for your time.” He walks to the door and is about to open it when a thought occurs to Our Hero. He turns back to the recruiter and says, “Since we are no longer engaged in a business relationship, would you like to join me for coffee some time?”
The recruiter smiles at out hero and holds up her left hand. Our Hero notices the diamond ring decorating her rind finger.
“Oh,” Our Hero says, “my apologies.”
“Acute perceptions?” The recruiter smirks, which makes Our Hero feel as if he has been suddenly deflated.
He forces himself to straighten his posture and hold up his chin. “Yes, even the smallest detail. Congratulations.”
After leaving the temporary placement firm, Our Hero walks down the street in search of a coffee shop. He has two more interviews in the afternoon.
Meanwhile Our Hero composes another letter to the Chief of Police. “Dear Chief Rexler,” he writes, “I am writing once again to ask that you inform your officers of the proper use of the Pager of Justice number. Twice last month I was summoned late at night only to find that I was paged by an inebriated rookie officer at the request of an equally inebriated superior. In both instances, the officers requested I drive them to their homes. On the second occasion, one officer soiled himself, and consequently the backseat of the Justice Car.”
Our Hero stretches and rereads the paragraph. It is satisfactory. Our Hero decides to reward himself for producing and excellent paragraph with a snack. He rises to seek nourishment. In his kitchen he finds a few spoonfuls of peanut butter at the bottom of the jar and the heals of a loaf of white bread. Our Hero chastises himself for not having more heroically nutritious foods on hand. He makes a note on the shopping list he has stuck to the fridge with a limited edition, Mr. Justice Official, Magnet of Justice to buy carrots and apples. He crosses off snack cakes and fish sticks before returning his attention to preparing his sandwich only to discover that he has no clean knives. He finds a dirty knife, still partially encrusted with the leftover peanut butter of a previously consumed sandwich. Our Hero coats the blade with lemon scented anti-bacterial soap and scrapes away the dried food with the scruffy side of his sponge. When the blade is cleaned to Our Hero’s standards, he wipes it dry on his pants leg and makes the sandwich.
The sandwich pleases Our Hero, but soon he realizes that the mass of bread and peanut butter in his mouth is resisting his efforts to swallow. It threatens to choke him. “Not this time, peanut butter,” Our Hero mumbles through the remains of the sandwich. He leaps to the refrigerator and rips open the door. He reaches for the almost empty two litter cola bottle on the bottom shelf and drinks it. The cola has gone flat, but it manages to wash the peanut butter away with it. Our Hero tosses the now empty bottle in the trash, closes the refrigerator door and ads milk to the shopping list.
With his hunger now defeated, Our Hero returns to his computer and continues the letter. “While this behavior is not becoming of an officer in any circumstance, its turpitude is exacerbated by the fact that the officers tied up a valuable resource of the city. Please inform the officers that while I am happy to assist them occasionally in non-emergency situations, the justice car is not a taxi service. I think it is best that all officers have access to the pager of justice’s number as this would allow them to inform me of potentially life threatening situations faster, but if the abuse continues, then I will have no choice but to get a new number for the Pager of Justice which I would only share with you and your second in command. This measure would be unfortunate since it would invariably cost extra time and possibly lives. Sincerely, Mr. Justice.”
Our Hero reads over his the letter. It pleases him, but he realizes that it might be too harshly worded. He adds a post script, “It occurs to me that you might interpret this letter as a desire to be less involved with the maintenance of peace and order in this fair city. I assure you that this is not the case. In fact I wish to be more involved. This letter is meant only to ensure that my services will be put to the best use.” He reads over the letter one more time and prints it and places it in the envelope he has already addressed to the Chief of Police. He sticks it to the refrigerator under the shopping list so he will remember to send it in the morning. On the shopping list below milk, he writes, “Stamps.”
Meanwhile, Our Hero passes his keys to the bartender and assures her, that he can handle one more rusty nail. He sweats under his costume and the lumpy over sized business suit he wears to conceal it. The pager of justice buzzes in his pocket. A call to action? Maybe an all points bulletin? Our Hero pulls the pager from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and nearly drops it when the pager buzzes a second time. He squints at the pager, moving it closer to his face and then farther away until he finds the spot where the dual images he sees of his right hand holding the black pager come together and snap into one. The screen flashes seven letters, “LOWBATT” and shuts off.
Our Hero recognizes the crisis, but keeps a level, heroic head. He reaches into his inside jacket pocket once more and removes the spare double A battery of justice. With a well practiced flick of his thumb, he opens the battery cover and pops out the old double A battery of justice. It bounces off his thigh and rolls across the bar floor. Our Hero ignores it and focuses on inserting the new battery. Lives may be at stake. He closes the battery cover of justice and presses the power button. The screen blinks on, 0 new messages.
The bartender returns with Our Hero’s rusty nail. As she’s extending her arm to set the drink on the bar, he looks up at her and says, “Did you know that I used to be a super hero?”
“Okay,” she says as she retracts the drink, “I think you’ve had enough.