Chapter 5 – Ahead of the Cycle

Digger drew stares in the lobby of the Marriott. It wasn’t often you saw someone wearing a poncho outside of Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western.

Val had told him the meeting was to be low-profile, which basically meant no costumes. But Digger never wore civvies anymore. The Driller Beam Generators were too bulky to be hidden under sleeves and didn’t look right paired with jeans and a T-shirt or some such. So he always went out in costume and just covered up with a poncho when he needed to lower his profile.

Val waited outside one of the meeting rooms, absolutely stunning in a grey business suit with a short skirt that showed off her long, shapely legs. Red hair cascaded over her shoulders and hung almost to her waist. Digger whistled at her as he drew near. “Wow, Val. You look almost like a person.”

“Don’t insult me,” Val said, smiling as she bent to give Digger a hug. “Come on, I want you to meet Curtis.”

Digger followed Val into the meeting room. The room was small, as meeting rooms went, with a long table in the center. Doctor Jolt, neatly attired in dress goggles and a tasteful pinstripe suit, sat at the table. At the far end of the table was another man with a shock of sandy blond hair and the beefy build of an ex-college football player gone to seed. There was a screen on the wall behind him; a laptop and projector sat on the table nearby. “God help us,” Digger muttered to Val, “he’s got Powerpoint, and he’s not afraid to use it.”

The man stood and walked toward Digger with his hand extended.

“Mister Digger,” he said. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Just Digger, please. Mister Digger is my father.”

“He’s kidding, Curtis,” Val said. “Digger, I’d like you to meet Curtis B. Rusk.”

“As opposed to Curtis A. Rusk?” Digger said as he shook hands with the man.

Rusk met Digger’s eyes and smiled. “In my line of work, we try to make things memorable. The initial gives it rhythm.”

“Rhythm. Like Flexo Thompson?”

Rusk smiled proudly. “Yes, that was one of mine. Have you seen the pilot?”

“Val said you had a pitch I needed to hear,” Digger said.

“Of course,” Rusk said, stepping back toward the table. “Have a seat. You want a bagel? Soda?”

“Dr. Pepper, if you have it,” Digger said. He pulled off the poncho and draped it over the back of the chair opposite Doctor Jolt. Damn thing was hot. He sat down as Val stepped to a table by the door to fetch the drink. “Hey Doc, I forgot to ask last night. How’s Vonetta?”

The doctor paused a moment before answering. “Last I heard, she was well.”

“Last you heard?”

“We’re separated.”

Digger shook his head. “Oh, Doc, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“She did not react well when I told her I wanted to get back into the game.”

Val set a can of Dr. Pepper and a glass with ice in front of Digger. “We talking about Yoko?”

“Val still holds a grudge,” Doctor Jolt said.

Digger was trying to think of an appropriate response when Rusk cleared his throat. “If we could get started?”

Digger shrugged. “Sure.”

“Now, I don’t know how much Valkyrie Princess has told you…”

“Only that you’re looking to re-form the GoDS,” Digger said as Val took the seat next to him.

“Not the GoDS,” Rusk said. “Not exactly.”

“Then what exactly?”

Rusk clasped his hands around a black remote and took a deep breath. “Think for a moment about the cities where supers such as yourself have taken up residence. Not the really big ones, like New York, L.A., Chicago. I’m talking about places like Tampa, Nashville, Denver. Places that used to be the fastest growing cities in the country. What are they like now?”

“I don’t know,” Digger said.

“I’ll tell you. They blow. Their economies are crashing, and people are moving out in droves. Worse, employers are moving out in droves. And in looking at these places, we’ve noticed that there’s a pattern.” Rusk clicked the remote, and the projector flared to life, showing a diagram of several thick black arrows curving around to form a rough circle.

“Okay, you start with a city with a large population of supers in it. Several heroes, lots more criminals. Think of it as a predator-to-prey ratio. What are the villains doing? They’re robbing places, blowing things up, causing general mayhem. What are the heroes doing? They’re fighting the bad guys, causing even more destruction and mayhem. Business is lousy, people are afraid to go out in the streets, cities are having to raise tax rates for money to rebuild, insurance rates are through the roof. So you’re the head of a corporation, what do you do?”

Digger shrugged. “Hire heroes as security guards?”

Rusk smiled. “Good guess, but no. You relocate. You go to another city, one that’s big enough that it can provide the resources to grow your business, but without the superhero problems you find in the bigger urban areas. Low taxes, low insurance rates, no supers. This is where it starts.”

Rusk’s finger traced along the arrows as he spoke. “Business comes into the city: corporate headquarters, manufacturing plants, R&D facilities. The economy starts to grow. Pretty soon, supercriminals arrive, following the money. It’s usually the low-level ones first, bottom-feeders who are no match for the big city heroes. They’re looking for the easy score: a payroll here, a high-tech prototype there.

“Once the low-lifes have proven the market, the organized groups come in, and that’s when things really take a hit. And once the big-league criminals come in, it’s only a matter of time before the heroes follow. Then here comes the violence, the destruction, skyrocketing taxes and insurance costs. And before you know it, you’re right back where you started, looking for a new place to move to.”

“So if heroes are the problem, what am I doing here?” Digger asked.

Rusk held up a finger. “I didn’t say heroes are the problem. I said that the cycle is the problem. What we’re trying to do is get ahead of the cycle. I give you the Phoenix Phront!” With a flourish, he waved at the screen as he clicked the remote. The diagram disappeared to reveal a colorful illustration of a group of heroic figures silhouetted by the setting sun, the group’s name arching overhead in golden letters.

“The Whonix What?”

“Us,” Val said.

“Phoenix is listed as one of the ten fastest growing cities in the country, and we’re getting a lot of interest from companies about relocating there,” Rusk said. “What we want to do is establish an official group of heroes before the villains arrive in force, to act as a deterrent to criminals and a confidence-booster to companies wishing to relocate. And of course, to attract tourism.”

“So we would be what, like mascots?”

“You would be the human faces of the city’s rejuvenation, symbols to inspire a city marching into the future.”

“Mascots,” Digger said.

“That can blow stuff up,” Val said.

“So that why you only want big guns,” Digger said to Val. “To scare the bad guys away.”

“Exactly.”

Digger shook his head. “No, but see, that’s just it. Why me? I dig tunnels and stick to walls.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Val said. “You kick ass. You stopped that space monkey invasion in L.A. You’ve beaten Deathdealer solo. I hear you single-handedly took down a giant monster that was tearing apart downtown Bayside.”

“That was an exaggeration.”

“Still, you’re famous, and we could use a famous name,” Rusk said.

“I’m famous to kids,” Digger said. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Why me? Cause like Jill said yesterday…”

“The waitress?” Val asked.

“She owns the place, and she’s not stupid,” Digger said. “And like she said yesterday, I’m no big gun.”

“I don’t know,” Val said with a flirty smile. “I always thought your gun was plenty big.”

“Val…”

“All right,” Val said, frowning. She leaned back and crossed her arms. “The truth? You’re the Player to Be Named Later.”

Rusk leaned forward anxiously. “What she means is…”

“I know what she means,” Digger said.

“Glad one of us does,” Doctor Jolt said.

“So who’s the rook?” Digger asked.

“Local boy, name of Rev,” Val said.

“Gotta have a local boy,” Digger said. “And you want me to show him the ropes.”

“He’s got some rough edges,” Val said. “He needs polishing.”

‘What does he do?” Digger asked.

Rusk cleared his throat. “Well, he can fly, and…”

“Vanilla strongman,” Val interrupted, studying Digger’s face.

“Seriously?” Digger asked. “Wait, there’s how many people on the team?”

“Seven,” Doctor Jolt said, as if he’d made this argument already.

“So there’s you and Rev, ” Digger said. “And I figure the midget’s one.”

“Angar’s on the team, yes,” Rusk said. Val said nothing, still staring at Digger.

“So that’s almost half the team with just basic super-strength,” Digger said. “Don’t you think that’s a little, I don’t know, lopsided?”

“What do you want, Digger?” Val asked, her frustration coming out. “I told you this team was just big guns. You want another AcroCop, or Futurian? ‘Oh, I sense danger ahead. Not sure when or where or how, but it’s verrrrry dangerous.’ Is that what you want?”

“No,” Digger said. “I was just asking. Anyway, if strength is the kid’s schtick, why can’t Angar train him? He’s the expert on strong.”

“He doesn’t like Rev,” Val said. “Kid won’t stop staring at my boobs.”

“Well, jeez, can you blame him?”

Val smiled a little. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about my husband. And yes, he does blame Rev.”

“Okay,” Digger said, “But even if I say yes, it won’t do any good. Playco’s got me trademarked. I can’t appear anywhere as Digger without their express permission, and I’m not doing that Ant-Lion thing again.”

Rusk smiled even wider, if that was possible. “We’re way ahead of you. We’ve already been in talks with Playco, and convinced them that if they let you go ahead with this, then we’ll give them exclusive merchandising rights for this.”

He clicked the remote again to reveal a garish cartoon drawing of seven heroes in heroic poses. Digger recognized Val, Angar, Doctor Jolt and himself, along with a whippet-thin hero in blue and gold, a glowing hero in black with a big red ‘R’ across his chest, and a giant robot. Above their heads were the words, “Playco presents The Phoenix Phront!” Across the bottom was added, “Starring Digger and the Mighty Dig-Dog!”

“Damn it, they’re going to have me playing second fiddle to that damn dog again.”

Val stood up and leaned over Digger to look him in the eye. Her hair cascaded down over him, smelling of fresh apples. “Come on, Mace, it’ll be fun, like old times. Better, cause we’ll be getting paid for it. No more having to choose between being a hero and making a living. It’s just what we’ve always wanted.”

Digger tore his eyes from her gaze, that gaze which had always been able to talk him into anything, and noticed that her blouse was now hanging low enough to reveal a generous curve of breast, partially covered by violet lace. His head swam with the scent of apples and the sight of low-hanging fruit.

Digger tried not to look into that provocative darkness in her blouse, and failed, tried not to think about reaching out to pluck a ripe apple, and failed. He looked up and found himself lost in her blue eyes.

From years away, he heard Rusk asking, “So do we have a deal?”

* * *

“Look out, Digger.”

Digger jumped at the raspy voice, looked toward its source: a man in a dirty trenchcoat, fedora pulled low to cover his face in shadow. He stood at the entrance to a corridor leading off the hotel’s lobby. “Ex-squeeze me?”

“We need to talk. Come with me.” The man turned and shuffled down the corridor.

Digger took a reflexive step toward him, then stopped and looked back at the mezzanine. Val stood there, looking over the railing at him with a satisfied smile on her face. Digger looked back at the stranger in the long coat, who had stopped his pained shuffle to look back expectantly at Digger. He shouldn’t wear that hat inside, Digger thought. It was rude.

Well, he didn’t have to stand for it. Digger shook his head, slipped on his sunglasses and walked out the door, determined to say ‘no’ to someone today.

He walked quickly to his car, got in and drove to his apartment. He unlocked the security gate to let himself into the courtyard, then headed for the staircase to walk up to the second level.

“What part of ‘we need to talk’ did you not understand?” said a raspy voice, almost a stage whisper.

Digger turned and saw the stranger standing by the pool. “Huh. Well, you know, I wouldn’t have blown you off so quickly if I’d known you were one of us.”

“I’m not. Not exactly.”

“Then who are you, exactly?”

The stranger pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. “People know me by many names.”

The sun came out from behind a cloud and Digger squinted. Even with sunglasses on, full sunlight hurt his sensitive eyes. He could just see the man’s silhouette, and that was when he realized whom he was talking to. “Holy shit, you’re Peeping Tom, aren’t you?”

“That’s one of the names,” the man admitted.

Peeping Tom had been one of the GoDS’ biggest fans. At least, that was what they figured. At virtually every public battle the GoDS had been involved in, the stranger in the trenchcoat and hat could be seen on a nearby rooftop, silently watching the action. He’d never approached them nor spoken to them. He’d just watched them fight, then disappeared after the fight was over.

“Wow, I never thought I’d actually meet you in person,” Digger said. “I just figured you were shy.”

“I’m not shy, I just…”

“Well, I figure you’re not looking for an autograph.”

“No, what I wanted to…”

“Oh God, has the word already gotten out about the reunion?” Digger asked. “Because it’s not a reunion, not really. We don’t have AcroCop or Pyrogena…”

“Would you shut up?”The last words were a growl that made the entire complex shudder and sent waves scudding across the surface of the swimming pool. Digger jumped back into a defensive crouch; his Drillers popped on and powered up with a rising whine.

“I’m not here to listen to your chatter. I’m here to find out about Lopez,” Peeping Tom said.

“Who?”

“David Lopez.”

Digger looked at Peeping Tom warily. “How do you know that name?”