A House Divided

  # # #

  Deadguy barely stepped into the Office before he was shoved back out with an armful of cases to handle. “Can I at least get a cup of coffee,” he questioned.

  The glass door creaked shut as an answer.

  Our Hero turned to come face-to-face with the perturbing smile of Ian. “Hello Dead...guy, is it?”

  “Congratulations! You win a prize,” DG announced.

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  “I don't punch you in your stupid little face.”

  Ian didn't react. He just stood there, smiling. There was something in that smile that made him want to beat the hell out of him. It was a smile that didn't take no for an answer. Deadguy shouldered past him. “Move it or lose it, Smuckenstien,” he remarked.

  Deadguy looked over the top file again. One Mrs. Edna Tamara was standing in a ratty old shawl beneath a tree that was losing the last of its leaves. Up in the tree was a tiny calico cat. “Come down here,” the lady scowled. “It's getting chilly and you'll catch a cold.”

  Our Hero sighed. “Hello, ma'am,” he introduced.

  Edna turned to him, confused. “Hello?”

  “I'm Deadguy, Professional Hero Extraordinaire,” he explained. “I'm here to help with the problem you called about.”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “My baby Mittens is up in the tree again and won't come down. It's the fifth time this week and the fire department won't answer my calls anymore.”

  Our Hero began to try climbing up the tree. “Maybe you shouldn't let Mittens out all the time. Don't let him talk you into letting him go buy his own tuna. He'll just buy catnip and end up...” He stopped at the kitten. “Alright, Fuzzy Butt. Let's go.”

  The kitten began to hiss.

  Deadguy reached out. “It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you.”

  Within moments, the kitten lunged at Our Hero and latched onto his face with his claws. The attack caught him off-guard. He fell back, falling out of the tree and landing on the ground with a THUNK. Mittens was still clinging to his face.

  “Come here, baby,” Edna cooed. The kitten released himself from Deadguy's face and began to purr as Edna picked him up. She pulled a check out of her purse and placed it in Deadguy's hand. “Here's your payment.” She then pulls out a quarter and puts it in his other hand. “And a nice tip for you.”

  “Great. Thanks,” DG mumbled. “Tell all your friends about us.”

  Deadguy looked up at the sign 'Get Baked', a small bakery that sat on the corner of a tiny strip mall. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” he remarked. He entered shop to find two stoners behind the counter. They were to busy laughing with each other about something before they finally noticed him.

  “Um...can I help you,” one of the guys asked.

  “Deadguy. Professional Hero Extraordinaire. One of you called us.”

  They looked at him with vacant eyes, then the first, thin stoner, finally looked like he remembered calling. “Oh yeah,” he wheezed. “We need your help.”

  “Right,” his short, stock cohort agreed. “We've got a big job for you.”

  The tall stoner waved Our Hero into the back of the store, where the area was packed with various baking machines and refrigerators. “Okay, here's what we need,” he explained. “We need 15 dozen cupcakes in an hour. Can you do that?”

  Deadguy crossed his arms and glared at the man. “Do I get a cool baker's hat,” he asked.

  The tall stoner looked over his shoulder as the sound of someone stuffing something into a locker. Deadguy followed his gaze to see the shorter one shoving baker hats into said locker. The tall one turned back to him. “I think we're out,” he answered. He held out an apron to Our Hero.

  “You're a jerk,” DG snipped, snatching the apron from his hand. “Get out of here. I've got work to do.”

  Two hours passed, and the stoners were engaged in something on the ceiling when the tall one suddenly remembered something. “Hey,” he said. “Whatever happened to that Dead dude?”

  “What dead dude,” the short one asked. “I don't remember any zombies.”

  There came a rumbling from the back. The two looked just in time to see a tidal wave of cupcakes erupting from the double doors. The two stoners screamed as they were buried in cupcakes. The tall stoner saw boots walking up to him. “You're out of milk,” Deadguy announced. “And eggs. And floor. Now where's my pay?”

  The stoner pulled a business check from somewhere within the pile of cupcakes. Our Hero plucked it from his hand and looked it over. “This is not the price you agreed to.”

  “Business has been a little slow,” he explained. “She said it was negotiable.”

  Deadguy snatched one of the cupcakes from the top of the pile. “This will cover the rest.” He left the two under the pile. “Don't hesitate to call us again,” he called out as he left.

  “...and then Tom down at the corner store married his high school sweetheart Merle back in 1953,” Greg Morgan explained to Deadguy. He was trying his best to stay awake while sitting with the old man in his retirement apartment. The place was decorated with paraphernalia from bygone eras.

  “The eras aren't the only thing bygone,” DG muttered. “I think my interests went with 'em.”

  “Of course, I'm the only one left that knows about the treasure,” Greg continued.

  Deadguy's interest suddenly returned. “Go on,” he encouraged.

  “I remember it like it was yesterday...” he started, then stared off into space.

  Deadguy started to panic. “Uh, sir? Sir?! Please don't be dead...” He started to gently shake the old man.

  Greg came back to reality. “Oh, hello,” he said, looking up at Our Hero.

  “You were saying something about treasure?”

  “Treasure? Oh yes! 'Treasure Island' was my favorite book as a child,” Greg stated. “Have you read it?”

  Deadguy slumped back in his chair, a bit relieved that he was still alive. “I saw the Muppet version of it.”

  “Oh well. Movies are fine, but they are nothing compared to a good book,” Mr. Morgan sighed. He patted Deadguy on the knee. “Thanks for listening to an old fogie drone on and on. It's time for my afternoon nap now.”

  “I think I need a nap too,” DG commented as he got up to leave.

  “If you see my son,” Greg called out as he left. “Tell him I miss him.”

  Deadguy stopped and looked back at Greg. He saw the sadness in the man's eyes. He bit his lip and nodded. “I will,” he replied. He left the apartment, only to be ambushed by a slick, younger, used car salesman version of the old man.

  “Hey, thanks for doing this for me,” the man said. “Worth every penny. Think you can come back next week?”

  Our Hero took the check from the man, then kneed him in the manhood. “You need to go in there and spend some time with him. He misses you, and it's breaking his heart.” He left as the man rocked on the floor. “He's not going to be around much longer. Trust me, when someone dies, a part of you dies with them.”

  Deadguy wore a bright orange vest over his black long coat. He walked out into the middle of the crosswalk and help up a stop sign. The car screeched to a stop and honked. He looked unfazed as he started to wave the children at one end of the crosswalk across. The kids ran as fast as they could, some taunting the slower ones. One little girl casually walked across with her nose stuck in a book. She almost collided with Deadguy, but he moved out of the way at the last moment.

  The car honked again. DG still held the sign up, but snuck a quick middle finger before he walked back to the sidewalk. The car drove off, yelling obscenities as he drove past. “Hey, there's kids here,” DG shouted back.

  Another obscenity, and Deadguy responded be throwing the stop sign at the car. There was screeching tires, then a loud crash. What followed was someone screaming, several more crashing cars, then an explosion. Deadguy flinched at every noise while watching. He ripped the orange vest off and threw it onto a little kid.

  “Hey,” the
kid protested.

  “It's all on you now,” he said as he ran off. “Survival of the fittest. Good luck!”

  Deadguy stood in the middle of the wrestling ring. “Run this one by me again,” he asked.

  “We need someone to help train with Harry Mulligan,” the gruff, mean-looking trainer replied. “He tends to play a little rough.”

  “Fine. Shouldn't be too bad,” Our Hero huffed. “Wrestling's mostly theatrics.”

  There was the sound of a low rumbling. The ring started to shake as Deadguy turned to see a tower of muscle stomp into the ring. The wrestler looked down at Our Hero over his bushy mustache. His eyes peered down like angry pieces of coal. “Are you ready to face Mad Mulligan,” the man boomed.

  Deadguy shrugged. “Sure. The bigger they are, the harder they-” He didn't get a chance to finish as Mulligan hit him with a right. The punch sent him flying into the rope around the ring. He bounced off and went sailing into the wrestler's Clothesline, getting knocked down by the massive arm. Mulligan jumped up and finished with an elbow to the chest. “Hit,” Our Hero wheezed.

  “You alright, buddy,” the trainer called out.

  Deadguy looked up at the ceiling, seeing the vastness of the universe just beyond the building. Or, at least he was seeing stars. “I'm...good?”

  Mad Mulligan climbed to the top of the turnbuckle and leapt up in the air. He landed on Our Hero like a meteor. He grabbed a leg to pin him, and the trainer did a mock 3 Count. The wrestler got up and left the ring, Deadguy still stunned at just what happened.

  The trainer stepped into the ring and handed him the check. “You may be a Professional Hero, but you're a damn lousy wrestler,” he remarked.

  “No, it's fine,” DG wheezed. “I'll just lay here and wait for my ribs to heal.”