Excerpt: The Crime fighters' Club

The Crime Fighters' Club

This book is dedicated to my family.

Chapter 1.
Maximillion Yankovic

As he stepped onto the boardwalk and inhaled the fresh morning smog, Max had a spring in his step and a smile on his face. This was it. This was finally it. True, he had gotten here in a rather more dramatic style than he would have liked, but that wasn't the point. He was here in the City and he wasn't about to waste the opportunity. He couldn't wait to meet them. Really, celebrity wasn't the point, but still it was quite a thrill. He's seen their television ads quite frequently over the tube, but the thought of meeting them in person... it was beyond words.

The spring in his step was not entirely because of his elated mood however. Before leaving home, he's had his foot gear fitted with the finest in electronic upgrades. His feet needed minimal pressure on the ground to bring him from point A to point B. The gravity of the place made him every so slightly heavier, and he appreciated the extra help his newest contraption gave him. Spring spring Crunch. Damn, he'd been here five minutes and he feared his first encounter with the local life was off to a disastrous start.

Max bent over and carefully looked at the sidewalk under his shoe. Oh no. His suspicions were correct. The smudge on the sidewalk left some doubt, but not much, as to what kind of life form he'd encountered. Definitely some kind of small ... uh, blob? All he could see was a distasteful brown stain on the ground. He hurriedly looked around for signs of others. A small line of creatures made their way from one side of the sidewalk to the other, disappearing into the grass on the other side. Good. They didn't seem to notice. Max quickly slid his hands back inside his pockets and tried to whistle nonchalantly while he walked away.

Still... he felt bad about the creature. Here he was, not 10 minutes on this rock, and he'd already come dangerously close to an intergalactic incident. He would have doubled back and checked again, but he was positive there was no saving him. A gelatinous mess. Poor guy. Or girl... Or... well, something.

He shoved the thought and, with greater difficulty, the guilt to the back of his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. He waved a stray strand of stringy red hair out of his eyes, stopped whistling, and decided that if he was going to make a good impression, he'd better learn a little more about the local wildlife. He peered around with his pale blue eyes and took in the surrounding scenery.

Some of the bipedal lifeforms were riding two wheeled contraptions down the side of the street. Larger vehicles that contained others were driving around them. On the other side of the busy road, he could see smaller versions of the bipeds (HUMANS, he reminded himself) handing something to another male at a metal contraption. The male took out something from the cart and handing it the the squealing youngsters. Hmmm...

Well, there was no point in getting too overwhelmed by all this. When he found their leaders, they would help sort everything out for him. He could do with a little explanation right about now. It was just culture shock. He looked around him for the distinctive shape of the Organization's Headquarters.

Amongst all the tall, towering edifices, one shape did stick out above the rest. Huge, hulking, and darkly impressive, the home of ECO's main offices didn't so much impress as bludgeon the eye. Max's eyes ached just looking at it.

ECO had made a name for itself in the City. Not only the City, but the World at large. Though extremely powerful, Max was sure they were not the official representatives of Planet Earth. What kind of name was “Earth” anyway? Phenomenally dull, in Max's opinion. It simply meant “dirt” in the local dialect. What a lack of imagination.

ECO prided itself on its diversity. It's corporate reach extended around the globe. Of course, their definition of diversity applied strictly to all the different types of enterprises they invested their time, energy, and considerable wealth in. Many communities were happy to have the funds when they were down and out, but in the course of time they all eventually lived to regret it. Sometimes, taking the money just wasn't worth it.

Max couldn't fault ECO for their PR though. That was top notch. ECO – or Evil Corporate Organization – prided itself on its approach to public opinion. Get it out in the open, they seemed to say, and then no one can fault you for dishonesty. Having the actual word, EVIL, in their name, Max had to admit, was simply a work of genius. After all, who would take a company's actual CLAIM to being EVIL seriously? Besides, with the new political climate, the acronym ECO sounded all very green and politically correct. Though the actual evil of political correctness was a further broach of human culture that Max had yet to experience.

ECO Headquarters was not the object of Max's search, however much his curiosity was tempting him to go there. Their fame was as wide spread as that of The Club, though a tad on the shadier side. Max gazed around him at the burgeoning metropolis. What direction should he head to reach the Super hero Headquarters? That was truly the Organization of his dreams.

Max recalled fondly the first time he'd ever seen one of The Club's paid advertisements over the tube. Due to a glitch in the space time continuum, he'd actually viewed the commercial as a little boy on his home planet before the pertinent heroes had even been born. Space- Time- and the fabric of reality gave Max a headache. He just liked the ads.

In his memory, the rippling muscles of the Narcissist bulged against the spandex of his midnight blue costume. His cape blew dramatically behind him as he smiled for the camera, his teeth impossibly white. If Max remembered correctly, there had even been a sparkle – an actual SPARKLE- for Zark's sake, in the hero's eye. Large, red letters suddenly appeared in the front of the screen spelling out “The Narcissist.” In smaller letters underneath appeared the hero's slogan, “He loves fighting crime almost as much as he loves himself!” The camera cut to an action shot of the hero battling some killer robots. The blond hunk swept back his long hair with one hand and jumped into the fray. He shouted his battle cry, and the screen faded out to the resounding echo of the word, “Meeeeee!” Not the best slogan or battle cry, in all honesty, but Max had very little basis for comparison. Damned impressive, he had thought at the time. Hell, he still thought that.

Over the next few years, the media exposed him to other members of The Club. He'd grown to respect the men and women of The City, and longed for the chance to meet his heroes. The chance to write a report on Earth culture had simply been a convenient excuse to make the trip. If only he'd practiced landing on the simulator a little more, he might have been a little more prepared. Now, instead of simply meeting, not only his childhood heroes but the heroes of this entire planet, he was in the embarrassing position of needing their actual services. As if they didn't already have enough on their plate with just the ONE planet.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, alternately scanning the skyline for the distinctive pyramidal shape of The Club's Headquarters building and scanning the sidewalk for more of this planet's smaller representatives. He would love to make better contact with them, to be sure, but judging by this planet's media – they were clearly not the ones in charge.

It was a pity, to be sure, judging by how they were treated by their fellow Earthlings. Max stopped for a moment and gazed at the masses of humans crowding the streets. The only other animals in site besides themselves were the ones on leashes, plates, or being led by some sort of necklace attached to a line. All others were ignored.

Including the birds. Never exposed to other lifeforms like this, Max was mesmerized by the site of a flock of pigeons scared by a passing bicyclist. The birds, which had been feeding on some trash next to the sidewalk, flew into the air with, to Max's impression, unspeakable ease and abandon. He breathed in a fresh gulp of smog with unimaginable pleasure. Why did these humans seem to pay almost no attention to these creatures? A passing motorist threw an empty can at one of the birds that had stayed behind, reluctant to leave his unfinished meal. Well, perhaps being ignored was the lesser of two evils.

Still, he briefly toyed with the idea of holding simultaneous talks with representatives of both species. Nope. From what little he did know of their culture, judging by appearances, the standard, “Take me to your leader,” just wouldn't cut it. Pity, he thought once more.

Nope, that wasn't the frame of mind he wanted to be in when he met Earth's human representatives. Surely, there was some sort of explanation for the order of their society. He was, after all, the newcomer. He wasn't familiar with their culture. They would make everything clear. He wore his grin a little crooked.

Turning his head slightly, a glint off the top of a building in the far distance caught his eye. Craning his neck slightly, he could just make out the tip of a bright metal pyramid poking out from behind a skyscraper. His objective was in sight. He started walking again to get a better view, which, when achieved, provided him with renewed purpose. The Club was in sight. He quickened his pace.

Chapter 2.
The Crime fighter's Club Headquarters
or
Things are not always what they seem

As Max approached the large pyramidal Office Building, the throngs of humanity seemed to thicken around him. Max found himself rudely buffeted more than once as he tried to make his way past the crowd. He held his nose briefly as he walked past a hot dog cart next to the entrance. A rather prim looking woman in horned rimmed glasses sat behind a tall counter. Max walked straight up to her.

“Excuse me,” he said.

The woman looked up from her computer screen. “Yes?”

“Um, I need to visit The Club.”

“Which Club?” She looked a little put out.

Max stood there for a moment, inwardly debating with himself whether or not this woman was joking or not. He opted to err on the side of caution, but before he could clarify he heard himself saying, “What do you mean 'Which Club?'”

The woman, mildly irritated, said, “Well, sir, there are tons of clubs! There's Kiwanis, Young Entrepreneurs, Boy Scouts of America, Girl Scouts of America... actually,now I think about it I'm not sure if they use 'of America' in their official names, but anyway...”

Max was at a loss. He stood still a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then opened his mouth to speak.

And nothing came out.

Okay, the woman was looking at him like he was an idiot, and still prattling on about all the possible clubs he could mean. “There's clubs for everything! Four H is a great one, I was in that when I was a little girl, and then there's...”

He'd better find his tongue quickly or he'd hear this woman's entire life story without so much as a clue where to find the heroes.

Finally, the woman paused to breathe, and Max jumped in. “No, no, no, no, No!” He was actually a little overexcited by the time he got the opportunity to speak again. “Are all of these clubs in this building?”

“Oh, no! No, dear, I was just giving an example of...”

With horror, Max realized his mistake. He hadn't clarified which Club he meant before pausing himself, and now this woman was going to go on and on and on.

“...why your question wasn't specific enough. There are so many clubs you see that...”

“EXCUSE ME!” Max said, again, a little too loudly. Really, he wasn't trying to be rude. He was just a bit excited.

The woman suddenly stopped, looking offended.

Max recovered himself. “Look, I'm sorry, but I'm not looking for just any club but The Club.”

She looked at him blankly.

“You know, 'The Crime fighter's Club?'” he prodded gently.

She just gazed at him, eyes squinting in an unflattering fashion.

Max took a step back and looked at the large letters on the front of the counter again. “This is the Information Counter, isn't it?” He tried the lopsided grin again, in an effort to appear more friendly.

“Just because I work here, there's no need to be rude,” the woman replied.

“I'm sorry,” said Max, eyes lowered and one foot scraping the floor nervously.

The woman seemed to mellow with the apology. “Alright then. So... you want to meet the heroes. You a fan?” she asked.

“Oh, yes! Everyone on my planet is.” Max beamed at her.

The woman's eyes did the squinty thing again. “Your planet?”

“Yes! It's called Shakespeare in our native tongue. Odd that you have a Shakespeare here too though, isn't it?” He beamed again.

“Yes,” said the woman coldly.

Max, relieved to be able to get the woman into an actual conversation instead of simply a running monologue about clubs, failed to notice her sudden change in demeanor.

“Guess that makes us 'Shakespeareans' in your language. Well... you know, the one in this area. I tell you, all those languages were just a pain to learn. Hours and hours of listening to tapes. It's enough to drive a less stable Shakespearean mad!”

“Reeeally?” The woman leaned over and pressed a button under her side of the counter. She adjusted her horn rims and pushed her stool ever so slightly back. In the far corner, she could make out the security door opening and two uniformed guards approaching at a trot. She allowed herself a prim little smile. “Really?” she said, more brightly, and then turned her attention back to the screen of her laptop.

“Oh, yes! That's why I knew that if anyone could help me, the Club could. I've watched them on the tube, and I just had to meet them.” Rough hands grabbed Max's upper arms. “Oh, hey, fellas! You going to take me to meet them?” Max felt himself lifted off the ground and the next thing he knew, he was back outside on his hands and knees in the bustling crowd. The last thing he heard before the glass doors shut on him were the guards shouting, “And don't come back!”

“I won't!” shouted Max.

Right back at you, he thought.

What am I going to do now?, he also thought.

Here he was, stranded, and the only ones that he knew could help him were inside this building with armed guards who didn't like him. He didn't know why. He thought he was a hell of a nice guy, but there he was. Maybe they'd hear about the creature he'd stepped on? There had to be another way.

And then he thought of a plan. In the commercial he's seen of The Narcissist, the action clip had been taken in front of a tall, looming building. He'd passed such a building on his way to the Club's Headquarters. Since, according to the calculations of mathematicians and other science type dudes that were better equipped (not to mention more interested) in these things than himself, he should be here within a day or two of the incident. All he had to do was hang out by that building until he saw the battle with the killer robots, The Narcissist would show up, save the day, and then Max could introduce himself properly and meet the rest of the Club. Brilliant. He didn't know why he didn't think of it sooner.

Elated, Max found himself once more on the sidewalk, returning back the way he came. He headed straight for the largest, ugliest building in town – Evil Corporate Organization Headquarters, also known as the ECO building.

Chapter 3.
Learning about the local ECOlogy
or
Lessons in Corporate Politics
or
Attack of the Killer Robots

“What the hell do you think you're doing, buster?” shouted a dirty, disheveled executive standing outside the Corporate Headquarters of the largest company in the world. He took another swig of something from a bottle inside a dirty and crumpled paper bag. The man's business suit hung loosely on his body, crumpled in all the wrong places, and bore the sad and telling stains of caffeine and sugar addiction.

“I'm...uh, I'm sorry,” said Max, flustered at the man's appearance. In fact, the man had bumped into Max, not the other way around, but from his manner Max thought it best to simply apologize and move along.

The man grabbed Max's arm and peered at him more closely. “Say... you aren't from around here, are you?”

Here we go again, Max thought. Better to keep it simple this time. “No,” he said. “No, I'm not. I'm from quite far away actually.” With some restraint, he left it at that.

“I didn't think so,” said the man, obviously happy that he had spotted new a quarry. “Psssst!,” he said, leaning in close. He practically spit in Max's ear when he said it again. “Psssst! You wanna cup o' Joe?” He looked around huntedly, as if afraid of being caught dealing drugs to a small toddler. “I got some good stuff, right here.” He nodded pointedly at his paper bag.

“I didn't think coffee came in bottles,” said Max, peering towards the bag.

The man grinned, obviously pleased. “Ah HAH!” he said. “That's what I want people to think! But actually, beside the bottle is the coffee. I tell you that's the good stuff!”

“So, what's in the bottle?” asked Max.

“Oh nothing, just beer,” said the man, shrugging his shoulders.

Max pursed his lips and said nothing. He might be here awhile, waiting for the killer robots, so he might as well make conversation and learn a bit more about the local wildlife.

The crowd outside the Evil Corporate Organization Headquarters was distinctly different from the one outside the Club's HQ. While the busy bustling crowd outside the glass and chrome pyramid had seemed lively and vibrant, the milling throngs outside ECO's edifice lacked all of those qualities. They milled instead of thronged. They seemed lost and without purpose, instead of stridently marching towards whatever goal they aimed for. In short, they seemed... well, reluctant.

The crowd outside The Rius Building, seemed reluctant to be there. It was marvelous. Not marvelous in a good way, but marvelous in the way that someone marvels at something because he just doesn't seem to get it. Why were these people here if they didn't want to be here? Max posed the question to his new, rather rumpled, acquaintance.

“Oh, that's easy,” he said. “They're here because they have to be.”

Max looked at him.

After a moment, it became apparent that a look wasn't quite sufficient. Max prodded him. “And...?”

“And what?” The man looked confused.

“And they have to be here why?”

“Because of the coffee,” he whispered, looking around guiltily again.

Max debated inwardly again. What the hell, he thought. “You mean, the coffee you just offered me?”

The man, realizing his blunder, quickly backtracked. “Ummmm, no!” he said. “I told you, this is the good stuff! Not that crap they feed to the masses.”

Max decided to change the subject. “Soooo...” he said.

“Um,” he queried.

After a moment, he added, “You don't say...”

Exhausted with the mental fatigue of coming up with such wittiness on the spur of the moment, he asked, “Why are you here?”

The man looked at his shoes, clearly ashamed. “I work here.”

“What?” Max was taken aback.

“I work here,” stated the man again.

Max took in the man's appearance one more time. Suit, that was clearly expensive at one time but had seen better days. Shoes scuffed. Multiple caffeine and chocolate stains on his jacket and lapels. Worn out knees on his pants.

“You were an executive, weren't you?” asked Max, already knowing the answer.

“No!” said the man. “I AM an executive. I'm the regional supervising manager in charge of advertising for all the caffeinated and decaffeinated beverages in the Northern hemisphere.” He leaned in closer to whisper again in Max's ear, “but we don't really fund advertising for the decaf stuff. It doesn't pay. Clientèle not as strong if they aren't addicted.”
He actually winked at Max.

Max started to reply, but his attention was caught by the glint of sun on metal and several deadly robots flew through the air above him.

The contrast of their gleaming metal bodies to the dull gray monstrosity of ECO's Headquarters was beautiful, if intimidating, to behold. They seemed to hover in the air about 10 stories above the crowd, scanning the horizon in the direction of the Pyramid. “Come on out, Narcissist! We know you're in there!” boomed a mechanical voice from one of the robots.

Max looked expectantly at the tip of the Pyramid for the approach of the Narcissist. He turned his gaze downward when he saw the robot's attention shift to the crowd outside the Club's HQ.

Strutting, apparently without concern, was the blond godlike figure of a thirty-something man in purple tights. He glanced at the robots for a moment, before stopping to sign a few autographs for the crowd. They had been straining to touch him, but by raising one of his hands he indicated his wish to move unhindered and they parted, suddenly silent, and let him through. He cleared his throat, gave a prim little cough, and shouted in his manliest voice, “What do you want, Minions of Evil?”

The lead robot answered, “You!” and swooped down towards the waiting hero.

The hulking hero looked at his watch, yawned, and then addressed the robots once more. “Then come again, menacing mechanicals!” He looked up expectantly.

Silently, Max wondered how The Narcissist could come up with such witticisms at the spur of the moment. This stuff was pure platinum! He'd start towards the costumed (but duly appointed by the City) official of justice. He felt the hand on his arm again.

“Hey, buster! Where you goin'?” asked his overly caffeinated acquaintance.

“I'm sorry, but I've got to go,” he started to pull his arm away. “By the way,” he added, after a moment's thought, “My name is Maxamillion Yankovic.” He extricated himself from the executive's clutches and headed towards the imminent battle.

Gazing after him through a haze of coffee induced mania, the man replied, “Maxamillion Yankovic? You should've stuck with 'Buster,' buster... I mean, Maxawhatchitz.”

Max sighed and continued towards his goal.

The robots zoomed towards the hero with incredible speed and agility. Their rigid metal bodies were deceptive. From the looks of it, they could turn on a dime and then make change for it in pennies in less time than it takes to think that they could turn on a dime and then make change for it in pennies. But Max wasn't worried. He'd seen this battle, or at least the highlights, before. He knew who won.

It was actually quite disappointing. Instead of an epic struggle between good and evil (he wasn't quite sure why the robots were evil, but let that go), he was decidedly not treated to an epic struggle between good and evil. The robots, despite having the intelligence to fly, turn on a dime (as well as, Max was sure, other currencies), and speak coherently, simply flew at The Narcissist in a single file. He punched them, sending them into a nearby building where they smashed to tiny bits. They didn't even use their flight to an advantage. They didn't try to drop anything on the hero. They didn't show any battle strategy at all. Punch, whoosh, SMASH! went one robot against the concrete. The hero yawned, covering his mouth with his free hand.

“You'd better get back, folks!” he bellowed to the crowd. It was unnecessary. They had retreated to a safer distance, leaving a large neat circle of empty space around him. Punch, whoosh, SMASH!” went the next robot.

Wow, thought Max, this is quite... what's the word? Unexpected?

The Narcissist smiled at the crowd once more. Max tried to jump a little higher to catch the Crime fighter's eyes. It worked.

“I'll be signing autographs again after the show...er, BATTLE,” the hero boomed. He puffed up his chest as the final (Finally! thought Max) robot rocketed towards him.

“Meeeeeeee!” shouted The Narcissist as he ran towards the metal menace. His battle cry echoed dramatically as he splatted the very last of the killer robots.

He approached Max, pausing to pull a small comb out of an unseen pocket in his tights. His hair once more perfect, he walked towards Max. “So, what would you like me to autograph?”

His teeth were even brighter in person than they were over the tube.