Vigilance's Gauntlet: Bedlam's Heroes, #5

By Jeremy Michelson

A nightmare villain stalks the heroes of New Bedlam.

 

The vigilante heroes of New Bedlam face their more dire challenge yet. When a–Burke! What are you do–

 

Hey there, Burke Hale taking over again. Let me tell you, dropping a flaming dude through my roof was not subtle. I mean, yeah, it got my attention. Not to mention burning down the former motel-converted-to-crummy-apartments place where I lived.

 

Not cool.

 

Sure, lots of people think I should be dead. A few have made semi-serious attempts to make that happen.

 

But this guy…

 

He's got issues.

 

And the more the vigilante heroes and I figure out about this master villain, the more issues he has.

 

The biggest issue being, he seems more than capable of destroying not just me, but the entire city.

 

But first, he wants me to suffer.

 

He wants all of us to suffer.

 

He's making the city tear itself apart. Somehow he's made everyone lose their minds. People have gone crazy, turning on each other like animals.

 

The vigilante family are counting on me to solve the mystery of this villain's grudge against me.

 

The trouble is, I have no idea who this dude is. It's not like I keep a master list of people I've ticked off. I mean, that would be a big list. Like famous horror writer novel pages of thickness big.

 

The vigilante heroes and I (and my super awesome ninja ferret, Binky) have to figure out who this guy is. But if we can't, we might have to give him what he wants.

 

My head on a platter.

 

Sure would be nice to avoid that.

 

Can we save the city and my precious neck, too?

 

The next action-packed, twisting and turning adventure in the Bedlam's Heroes series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremy Michelson
• Release date: Feb 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224815456

Book preview

1

The flaming dude fell through the ceiling of my apartment and set my couch on fire.

Not cool.

I mean, really. Not cool. Like fiery hot not cool.

Especially since I was occupying the other end of the couch.

The couch, a thrift store reject of questionable origins and dubious odors, reacted to burning dude like gasoline reacts to a spark plug.

WHOOSH!

Binky, my super-ferret and best friend, had been sleeping on my shoulder. He uncoiled like a startled cobra. Then screeched and used my face to launch himself in the opposite direction of the conflagration.

The force of his jump pushed me toward the guy merrily burning away at the other end of the couch.

Thanks, little buddy.

2

People tend to do one of three things in reaction to a sudden disruption in their routine. You know, like people on fire showing up unannounced and turning your apartment into a burning hellscape.

People will:

1. Run away.

2. Call for help.

3. Run into the dangerous situation.

I really would have thought Binky was a number three kind of guy. Even though he was a stinky ferret.

Trivia break: Ferrets are members of the skunk family. So they smell a bit funky. Even when they’ve had their scent glands removed.

A person really has to love ferrets to live with one of those slinky, psychotic stinkers.

And, despite his deeply uncool abandonment of me, I still loved him. Even if I had originally got him to help cover the odor of the massive amounts of marijuana I used to smoke.

Used to.

Nora insisted I give up the wacky tobacky.

I had finally worn her down enough that she agreed to go out with me again. The least I could do was stop stinking up everything with my ganja habit.

Now that’s true love. I wouldn’t give up pot for Binky. Well, he’d never asked me to give it up. In fact, I think the secondhand buzz mellowed him out a bit.

But, for the incredible, wonderful, and perpetually angry Nora Barnes, I would do anything.

She’s also a superhero, so that’s a bonus. I never have to worry about getting mugged when I’m with her. The last guys who tried it were in body casts for six months.

She was feeling mellow, that night.

This particular moment–with the thick, black, flaming couch smoke clogging my nostrils–would have been a good time for her to be here.

Alas, my apartment was in the not so nice part of north New Bedlam. The Casa de Madera Muerta Apartments sat at the outer edges of the city’s unofficial meth theme park area. Nora only came down here for business.

I might have called her on my cell phone. But I didn’t have one. Because cell phones were expensive. Also, having a cell phone that connected to a cell phone network required a person to be in good standing with at least one cell phone service provider.

Because apparently, cell phone service providers required payment on a very regular basis. And didn't extend credit to people who consistently didn't pay their bills.

At least that’s what the angry lady on my old cell phone said. Right before she cut off service to my elderly, non-smart type of cell phone.

My name is Burk Hale.

I’m a detective.

But not the kind that gets paid very often.

And now my couch was on fire.

3

If I didn’t move, like, really soon, the I, too, would be on fire.

But, honestly, I was kind of curious about the dude who fell through my ceiling. There were mysteries to be solved here. Was I not a detective? Did detectives not solve mysteries?

I usually didn’t. Because I wasn’t that kind of detective. Mostly I did computer stuff. Like, right at that very moment, as I choked on rancid couch smoke that stank like burning tires stuffed with dead skunks and rotten cabbage, I had my laptop computer on my lap.

Granted, I was investigating why so many women on the internet didn’t have any clothes on. But I could have been working on an actual case. Most of what I did involved tracking down where someone was trying to hide various kinds of numbers. Bank account numbers. Identity numbers. Numbers of playmates who weren’t officially licensed as someone’s spouse.

That sort of sleazy thing.

I lived in Casa de Madera Muerta Apartments. I didn’t have a thick mustache or drive a Ferrari.

And New Bedlam wasn’t Hawaii by any stretch of the imagination.

Also, I didn’t even have a car.

Cars cost money. Plus there was the matter of gasoline. If the car was intended to be driven anywhere.

The surly people at the gasoline stores were very insistent that persons wishing to partake of the gasoline give them money for the gasoline.

People who wanted money from me really didn’t understand me.

I hoped burning guy didn’t want money from me. Because that would make for a very awkward conversation.

Me: Hey, Burning Guy, do you want a glass of water or something? You know, to quench your thirst? Or something.

Burning Guy: No thanks, I’m good. Burke, did you know your rent was due last week?

Me: Uh…

Burning Guy: Come on, Burke. Are you going to let me sit here and burn to death? Or are you going to pay your rent? Also, if I burn to death on your couch, you’re definitely not getting your cleaning deposit back.

Ha. The joke was on him. I had traded the former building manager for the cleaning deposit. I tracked down the guys who scammed his aunt out of her life savings, and he gave me the apartment without a cleaning deposit up front. Or first and last month’s rent.

Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever paid rent here.

So, really, I had no idea why Burning Guy was on my couch, burning everything.

Actually, he was being downright rude.

I would have asked him to leave, but the flames were roaring so loud by now, I couldn’t hear myself screaming like a little girl.

To be honest, I’m pretty sure most little girls were a lot braver than I was. So, to be even more honest, I was screaming like a little Burk Hale.

Therefore, instead of interviewing my flaming guest, I (wailing like a pee-soaked kid on his first mega-rollercoaster ride) tumbled off the couch. I hit the threadbare carpet (that smelled like old, nasty feet and ferret pee), clutching my laptop against my chest.

The laptop was my livelihood. I might as well have jumped back into the fire if I lost it.

Because laptops cost money.

Also, I didn’t have enough money to buy Top Ramen more than three times a week, much less buy a new fricking laptop.

I’m kind of bad at my job. I would have quit and joined the regular workforce (You want fries with that?), but I had a condition that made me unsuitable for regular paycheck sort of work.

My last actual boss, Mr. McGunderson, of McGunderson's Pizza Emporium and Antiques Made While You Wait Shoppe, had taken me aside, arm around my shoulder as he had led me to the door.

Much like my couch, his pizza oven and antiques-made-while-you-wait workshop had been on fire.

Burke, he’d said, I really like you. You’re a funny kid. But you’re a danger to yourself and others. I’ve been in business a long time, and you’re the worst employee I’ve ever had. You’re Unemployable. If you ever come back here, I’ll grab the nearest sharp object and ram it through your heart. So we good here? Good. Get your stupid, useless ass out of my life.

Mr. McGunderson had a way with words. And he finally put a name to the terrible condition that made me unable to work for other people.

Unemployable.

Unfortunately, I had yet to convince any sort of government entity that Unemployable was an actual disability. So no one was yet–yet–willing to pay me to not work.

So I had to not work on my own dime.

Which really sucked.

Because I was a terrible boss and a terrible employee.

Self-employment sounds much better than it really is.

It took a burning guy falling through my ceiling and setting my couch on fire to get me to move my ass off the couch.

And even then it was reluctantly.

But now I was off the couch, precious laptop held tight against my chest. The next step should have been stand up and run for the door.

Except…

Burning man’s feet–which, remember, were also on fire, along with the rest of his body–were touching the floor. Which meant they were on the carpet.

The ultra-cheap, somewhat threadbare carpet. A carpet that hadn't been vacuumed since the former Easy-Nite Motel had been turned into low rent apartments.

Do I have to explain why?

Yes, it’s because vacuum cleaners cost money. Binky made it very clear to me that when it came to a choice between buying a vacuum cleaner and ferret treats, he’d chew my dangly bits off it I didn’t come up with a steady supply of treats.

Also, the one time I tried to borrow a vacuum cleaner, Binky attacked it.

So, yeah, the carpet under burning guy’s feet was saturated with years of flaked skin, dust, and various types of hair.

It had also been thoroughly rubbed over with ferret oil.

The carpet practically exploded into flame.

4

Within a couple seconds, I faced a wall of fire from floor to ceiling. It crackled and roared and smelled like a combination Boinkbo Burger and pet shop dumpster fire.

I really needed to improve my standard of living.

Nora told me that a lot.

She was almost always right.

Almost.

My path to the doorway was blocked by roaring flame.

It was really hot.

How did firefighters stand this stuff?

Oh, right. Special suits. And hoses.

Wait! They also had fire extinguishers!

I had a fire extinguisher!

Nora had given it to me for Christmas. Shoving it into my hands and saying loving things to me like–For god's sake, Burke, you moron, keep this handy and figure out how to use it. This rathole is a deathtrap. With all the crap people are smoking in this building, I'm surprised it hasn't gone off like a failed missile launch already.

See? She loved me.

I had stuck the fire extinguisher in the kitchen. Which was a stubby counter sticking out from the wall and some tired, brown cabinets that looked like someone had retrieved them from a not-burning-at-the-time dumpster.

Crouching low on the rapidly burning carpet, I raced into the kitchen. The fire extinguisher was right where I left it. Under the sink.

I grabbed it with one hand. Then, with all my strength, I tossed it into the wall of fire gobbling up the room.

It was very disappointing when the fire didn’t instantly disappear.

Maybe I should have read the instructions?

On the slim chance that I survived this, I would have to scold Nora for giving me a defective fire extinguisher.

No. No, I wasn't. I couldn't scold her. And it wasn't just because she'd break my arms and stuff my head up my ass if I did.

No, she was too wondrously perfect to be scolded by such a lowly, unemployable person as me.

Though, if she asked me to spank her…

Binky leapt out of the kitchen cabinet. Landing on my shoulder in a chattering, bouncing ball of ferrety energy. Stinky energy, but I was relieved to see him.

If anyone could salvage this situation, it was Binky.

Why didn’t that work? I yelled over the roaring flames.

Binky rolled his eyes. Could ferrets roll their eyes? It sure looked like he did.

The heat was becoming intense. I could feel my eyebrows starting to shrivel and smoke.

We needed to get out of here. I eyed the sink. Was it possible we could crawl down the drainpipe?

Maybe Binky could. I was naturally skinny from lack of having money to buy food, but I wasn’t that skinny.

The window and the door were blocked by the wall of crackling fire.

We were dead.

Well, actually, soon we’d be roasted alive. Charred down to our bones. Then we’d be dead.

I had told Nora that when I died, I wanted to be cremated and my ashes spread over Korbahn Bay.

But I really hoped to be dead before going to the crematorium.

Also, I hadn’t expected the crematorium to come to me.

Wasn’t that life, though? Expect the unexpected, and a person would never be disappointed.

I only wished I could tell Nora how much I loved her.

Not that I didn’t tell her every time I saw her. It was always cute the way she would kick me when I was kneeling to kiss her feet, telling her how much I worshiped her.

What is wrong with you, Burke? She’d say.

And I would look up at her with stars in my eyes. I wrote you a list, I’d say, Because I was hoping you’d ask.

We had a complicated relationship.

I saluted Binky.

Little dude, I said, It’s been an honor to know you. Except for the parts where you pooped on my pillow. That was seriously not cool.

Binky jumped up and down on my shoulder, chattering away. One of his tiny, adorable arms seemed to be pointing at the door. Which was still behind the wall of fire.

A wall that was bearing down on us like hungry bear jumping into a freshly filled campground dumpster.

That’s right, little dude, I said, That’s the fire that is going to kill us very soon now. And thanks, but I’d really rather not think any more about it. I’m just going to sit here and meditate my last few moments away. I wish I’d learned how to meditate. But I thought I still had my whole life ahead of me. You know what I mean? I know, it’s unfair. But if we wanted fair, we should have been born fabulously wealthy. Fabulously wealthy people don’t die in converted Easy-Nite motel fires, do they?

And if they did, it was their own stupid fault.

Why would anyone who had money live in this dump?

Binky stopped jumping up and down.

His little, weaselly head darted out. His cute little jaws clamped over my nose. His adorable, needle-sharp teeth sank into my flesh.

I leapt to my feet. Screaming and hollering and spinning like a demented top as I tried to yank that stinky little vermin off my nose.

I warbled and whooped and wailed while beating at my face. Binky's slithery body kept bouncing out of the way of my fists. So I ended up beating myself in the face while that slinky rodent kept his evil teeth clenched deep into my schnoz.

Tears ran down my face and I completely forgot about the fact that all of this pain would soon be overtaken by the searing agony of being burnt alive.

If he expected me to thank him for the distraction, he was wrong.

Instead, he bit down even harder.

My wails of pain went up a few octaves. I was like a human police siren. WEEEEE-WOOOO-WEEEEE-WOOOO-WEEEEE-WOOOO!

Fire sirens would have been more appropriate. Or maybe ambulance sirens.

The police tended not to like me very much.

There were reasons…

My siren wail turned into a cough. Thick, black smoke descended from the ceiling. Depriving me of much needed oxygen.

Not that the fire was leaving much, either.

I fell to my knees. Still with a demented ferret hanging from my nose like the world’s most extravagant booger.

Just as I was about to succumb to the fire and smoke, a freight train exploded through the door.

One that smelled like a candy factory in the midst of a nuclear meltdown.

5

My front door exploded in a spray of flaming splinters.

Through the flames and thick, black smoke, an enormous figure charged into the room.

The huge man burst through the flames. Bringing with him a powerful odor like burning caramel and cotton candy dipped in melted chocolate.

6B!

My blood sugar levels jumped up fifty points just being in the same room with him.

But I wasn’t going to complain.

6B scooped me up like I weighed no more than a small stack of porn magazines. He tossed me over his shoulder.

Reaching one hand to my tiny sink, he turned the faucet on. Then he stuck a finger under the spout.

Water sprayed all over us.

Which felt quite nice, actually.

Not enough, 6B said.

I had no idea what that meant. But the flames were closing in on us.

He took his finger off the faucet and spun around. Which made me dizzy.

Binky was still clamped to my nose, by the way.

The spinning also increased the pain in my nose.

I know, weird, right?

An unholy, blood curdling scream stopped 6B. It almost stopped my heart, it was so chilling.

6B half turned his head back toward the room. I raised my head.

On the flaming couch, burning guy’s limbs flailed.

Then he stood up.

He raised his arms up. Fiery bits of flesh dripped from them.

A single word ripped from his throat in a raw, ravaged scream.

"SCOOCHIE!"

His arms dropped. His body tumbled, face first, onto the burning carpet.

It thumped hard on the floor, sending up embers like angry fireflies around the body.

Bad, 6B said.

He charged off to the bathroom. Which, since this was a former motel room was only a couple steps from the kitchen. He slammed the door shut and threw me into the bathtub.

Still with Binky attached to my nose.

Before I could say a word, 6B started the shower. Drenching me and Binky.

He stepped in with us, drenching himself, too.

This was rather cozy. Also, though 6B and I were sort of friends and occasional business partners, I really didn’t feel like we were close enough to be shower buddies. Not that I had anything against male shower buddies. But if I had to choose a shower buddy, it would definitely be Nora. Not 6B.

Strangely, the running water did nothing to abate the candy factory meltdown odor of him.

As far as I could tell, the only thing 6B ever ate was candy.

If we survived this–and if I ever won the lottery or found some other steady source of income (haha) then I was going to buy him a truckload of every kind of candy there was.

So it would probably better if we died, so I wouldn’t embarrass myself or feel guilty about not being able to fulfill a promise to him that I hadn’t actually said out loud.

It’s okay, Burke, 6B said, I understand.

Whups. Maybe I did say it out loud.

It was right about then I broke down in tears. Bawling and gibbering incoherently about how I wanted to live, but I didn't want to go through life with a ferret stuck to my nose. Because Nora wouldn't love me anymore if Binky was stuck to my nose. Even though she liked Binky more than me. But she wouldn't be able to kiss me, because Binky would be in the way, dangling off my nose like a stinky, furry booger. She'd end up kissing his butt, instead of me. Which just wasn't fair, because lips like hers deserved better than furry ferret butts. She probably deserved better than my lips, too. But if she was willing to settle, then who was I to tell her otherwise?

6B reached down and gently wrapped one of his monstrously big hands around Binky. The man’s hands made Binky look like a field mouse. But Binky instantly released my nose.

I cried out in relief, cradling my sniffer with both hands.

Binky bounced up to 6B’s shoulder. Then chattered in his ear. 6B nodded, a solemn look on his wide face. His forehead furrowed under his perfectly smooth, bald head.

I know, 6B said, That’s bad.

Glad they were working it out. I was happy someone was taking charge of this situation.

6B grabbed the musty, mildewed shower curtain and ripped it off the curtain rod. I almost protested. Did he know how long it took me to find a shower curtain? People didn’t just throw those away every day. It took a lot of dumpster diving to get that shower curtain.

Then again, everything else I had was on fire.

Which made me remember my laptop computer!

I started crying again. I really missed that laptop already. It had all the bookmarks for my favorite porn sites. I mean, research sites.

Research. Totally.

It’s okay, Burke, 6B said.

He pointed to the bathroom floor.

There was my laptop!

Safe and dry.

Unlike me.

But things were looking up.

Except for the thick, black smoke creeping under the door

Bad, 6B said.

He soaked the shower curtain–which wasn't plastic, but cloth. I wasn't one of those fancy-dancy people who could afford a shower curtain and a vinyl shower curtain liner.

People never seemed to throw those away either.

Maybe I needed to expand my dumpster diving out of the Methlandia part of New Bedlam. Go for some upscale neighborhoods.

Someplace like the trailer park a couple miles from here. The had double wide mobile homes there.

Those decadent snobs.

6B threw the soaked shower curtain at the bottom of the bathroom door.

The flow of acrid black smoke slowed. But didn’t stop.

6B frowned and rubbed his forehead.

Sometimes thinking was hard for him. Usually, it was better if he didn't think. Occasionally he got stuck in a loop and I had to hit him on the head with a hammer to get him moving again.

It didn’t hurt him. He didn’t seem to feel pain.

Also, he seemed impervious to bullets and knives.

But, apparently not fire.

Too hot, 6B said.

It was getting too hot. Also, I was noticed a distinct lack of air.

If we wanted to live–and I desperately did–then we needed to do something.

I made a snap decision.

I shut off the shower. Reached out and grabbed my laptop and a towel. Quickly, I wrapped the towel around the computer.

Then I thumped 6B on his noggin.

He turned a vacant look my way.

Uh oh. He was fading. The heat was getting to him.

6B! I said. I pointed at the tiny window between the shower and toilet. It was (deliberately) too small for any human older than a minute to get through.

But it was attached to an outside wall.

Albeit it was on the second story of that wall.

Smash through the wall! I shouted.

He blinked and rotated his head like it was on rusty ball bearings. I could practically hear the creak.

Smash? He said.

Yes! Wall! Smash! I shouted at a level that was just a notch below hysterical screaming.

His brow furrowed.

Wall? He said.

Damnit!

Fortunately, Binky was still on his shoulder.

I pointed at 6B’s earlobe.

6B had an extremely high threshold. Probably to the point where one might say he felt no pain at all.

Except in certain places.

Like his earlobes.

Please, please, please don’t ask me how I knew that.

Ferret treat! I shouted.

Binky got the idea. Because he was a lot smarter than either me or 6B. Which still wasn’t saying a lot.

The slinky little dude dove for 6B’s earlobe. And chomped down like it truly was a ferret treat.

6B’s eyes popped wide open. He bellowed like a bull staring down a branding iron.

Then he grabbed me and charged the wall.

Suddenly the wall was almost right in my face.

There was a possibility I hadn’t thought this through enough. Using me as a battering ram against a wall was probably going to void the warranty on my face. Among other things.

But at the very last moment, 6B spun his body. His back slammed into the wall like a runaway semi-truck.

Wood and drywall cracked and splintered.

The next thing I knew, cool, damp air rushed over my body.

We hung there for a Wiley E Coyote sort of moment.

Then we plunged toward the dark ground below.

6

The back wall of the Casa de Madera Muerta apartments rushed past me.

6B’s massive, tree-trunk like arm was wrapped around my middle.

By the way he was bellowing, I had to assume Binky was still clamped to his earlobe.

I would have told Binky to let go, but I was too busy shrieking with terror.

We dropped toward the fog dampened asphalt in the alley behind the apartments. I couldn’t see anything but a flicker of orange above us. The darkness in the alley was unbroken by any sort of helpful things like lamps or streetlights.

Those things cost money. The owners of the building were too busy making and selling meth to do things like spend money on lights for things they didn’t want any light shone upon.

Our fall was a short one.

6B spun his body in some sort of superhuman gymnastic feat.

He landed on his boots. Bringing our ride to a bone-jarring, but not fatal stop.

Gently, he set me down. Binky unclamped from his ear and bounced over to my shoulder. The little hero chattered in my ear. Probably telling me what a badass he was.

You are, little ferret hero. You are the badass.

Ouchie, 6B said, rubbing his ear.

It was him, not me, I said, throwing my superhero ferret under the virtual bus.

6B seemed to not notice. He took a deep breath and sighed.

Cooler, he said.

Well, yeah. We were out of the burning building. And this being New Bedlam, the city whose arms reached around Korbahn Bay, which itself kissed the chilly northern part of the Pacific Ocean, was generally cold and foggy.

Also, we were alive.

Once again, I had cheated death.

Even though death had tried really hard to get me.

One of these days I was going to take that personally, death.

I imagined death extending a bony middle finger my way. I pretended not to see it, though.

It really pissed death off when people didn’t pay attention to her.

Yes, death was female.

At least that’s how I imagined her.

Other than ignoring death, there were other things needing to be done.

Like warning all the other residents of Casa de Madera Muerta apartments that death was coming for them if they didn't get their skanky, drug-ridden asses out of the building.

Some people might say I was a bad person for skank shaming or druggie shamming people. I’d respond with: Isn’t shame supposed to part of their lifestyle?

Not that any of these people were going to engage in philosophical debates with me. They were more likely to knife me in the back and steal my wallet and my sandals.

The joke would be on them. My wallet held mostly lint and a 2 for 1 coupon for a double bacon cheeseburger at any participating Boinkbo Burger.

Someday I hoped to have enough cash on hand to actually use that coupon.

Burke? 6B asked, What were we doing?

That was 6B. Sometimes his memory had holes in it. Sometimes he was super smart. Most of the time he was a sweet, if somewhat slow, guy.

And, if someone whispered the secret word into his ear, he turned into a foaming at the mouth berserker who would leave a path of destruction in his wake.

Thanks to a series of events, I was in possession of that word. I had yet to find an occasion to use it. But I was confident it would come in handy at some point.

Through entirely no fault of my own, people seemed to want to kill me on a semi-regular basis. These homicidal rages I allegedly induced in certain people were merely coincidental to my presence when things went terribly wrong for these people.

I was as innocent and pure as freshly driven snow.

If Binky could talk people talk, he would totally back me up.

Just don’t ask my parents.

I slapped 6B on the shoulder.

We have to get everyone out of here, I said.

His eyes lit up. Hero stuff?

Totally, I said.

He straightened up, a big grin on his face. Then he sped out of the alley like he had a turbocharger in his butt.

He disappeared around the corner of the building. His bellow of alarm echoed off the similarly shoddy buildings nearby.

Still dripping from my involuntary showering and now shivering in the chill, foggy air behind the Casa de Madera Muerta apartments, I pondered my next move.

Nora's mom and dad would probably let me crash at their place. Though I hated to impose on them. They were such nice people.

They were also fabulously wealthy. Though they managed to kept it quiet.

Another thing they kept quiet was their superhero careers.

The torch that my beautiful, wonderful Nora had taken up. And taken up such zeal and maniacal focus that I occasionally feared for her sanity.

And my life.

Technically we were partners in this superhero thing. Part of a deal her parents had, um, convinced her to go along with.

I wasn't holding my end of the bargain up very well. According to her.

Why are you so useless, Burke?

But she’d say it in a loving way.

And she hardly ever hit me anymore.

Unless I really deserved it.

Binky suddenly went into a chattering fit, digging his claws into my shoulder.

Ow. What the heck, you little stinker? I said.

His adorable, little face pointed off at something behind me. His chatter became a high pitched squeaking.

Chills ran over me. Chills that weren’t just the onset of hypothermia because I was standing outside on a cold night with my clothes drenched all the way through.

Burke Hale.

It was a male voice. A little high pitched, but smooth.

Slowly I turned to face the face that had voiced the voice.

Except all I could see was a shadow standing near a dumpster. There was barely enough light in the alley to see the hand in front of my face. Much less anyone else.

Binky chattered in my ear like a set of castanets on fast forward.

I took in a breath, suddenly becoming aware of the rancid garbage and piss stink of the alley itself.

Most of this part of the city smelled this way. So my brain tuned it out, for the most part.

But for some reason, it came back into sharp, nauseating focus. For a couple seconds, I thought I was going to throw up.

Somehow, I managed to keep the half a granola bar I’d had for breakfast/lunch/dinner down.

The shadowy figure stepped away from the dumpster. He seemed to be wearing a long, dark coat and a policeman or military officer type of peaked cap.

Binky hissed as the figure approached.

Who are you? I said.

You will find out soon enough, the man said.

There was a slight accent to his voice. Something I couldn’t quite place.

Did you enjoy my little present? The man asked.

Binky hissed again.

You did that? I said, You sent that guy through my ceiling. Why?

I got a hint of a shrug from the man. He wasn't all that tall. Nor were his shoulders very broad. I got the idea that the shoulders of his overcoat were padded to make him seem bigger than he really was.

Let’s say it was my calling card, the man said, And an announcement.

What the hell? I said, What’s that supposed to mean? Who was that guy?

The man laughed. It was a high pitched warble that seemed to be trying a little too hard to be villainous.

I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut.

Not another one of these guys.

I sighed and rubbed my face.

Dude, I said, "Listen, you're probably thinking I have some thing going with Vigilante Jane, and that by threatening me, she's going to come running to do battle with you. Trust me, you're wrong on that. She isn't that into me, and even if she was, you really don’t want to get on her bad side. She has anger management issues. So, maybe just give yourself up when the cops come and plead insanity. Because anyone who wants to fight Vigilante Jane has got to be nuts. Seriously."

Every now and then some idiot shows up who thinks he’s going to be THE supervillain to take down Vigilante Jane.

The sort of guy who crawled up out of his mom’s basement after putting in years of video gaming and porn surfing. Guys who had never kissed a girl in their entire lives.

Something in them would snap. They’d put on football pads and one of their mom’s colanders on their heads and go out to do battle with the feminist juggernaut.

Nora had little sense of humor about these guys.

She had little enough sense of humor about anything, actually.

But these guys…

She’d break their arms and legs, then drop them in front of the city’s public mental health care facility, Butterfield Institution for the Betterment of Cognitive Health.

Which some insensitive people shortened to the Buttered Brains Bucket. Or just ButterBrains.

It totally wasn’t me who did that. I think mental health a very serious business that should be taken seriously.

Though, ButterBrains was kind of funny. In an insensitive kind of way.

So shame on those people who called the poor people in that place ButterBrains. Saying mentally ill people are ButterBrains is just wrong. No one should ever say ButterBrains. So just stop it.

ButterBrains. That’s just offensive.

Really, dude, I told the latest dude to thought he could supervillain my sweetie, Go back to your mom's basement. She'll bake you some cookies and you can go back to drooling over Japanese Hentai porn, or whatever your current kink is. I know you want a woman to touch your special place, but you really don't want it to be Vigilante Jane.

The wannabe reached into his long, black, overcoat. (Most of these guys dressed like that. All in black. Usually with some stupid mask or a funny hat. Bald was a popular option also.)

I tensed and prepared to run. Unlike Vigilante Jane and 6B, I was in no way bulletproof. Bullets would tear all kinds of holes in me and let my vital fluids leak out.

Something I tried to avoid.

But the wannabe pulled out not a gun, but a small, white card. He flipped it at me.

It bounced off my chest and lodged between my damp shirt and the towel wrapped laptop I clutched in my arms.

Soon you all shall know my name, dark and dorky said, Before I am done, this city shall consume itself.

I thought he was going to roll into a villain speech right then. These guys all had speeches they’ve been working on, seemingly since they were in diapers. Which, with these sorts of dipwads, could have been since yesterday.

It was all…blah, blah, blah, I shall this and I shall that, and all shall succumb to my evil plan…blah, blah, blah.

And then Nora would turbo kick them in the crotch and send their reproductive apparatus flying up through the top of their skulls.

Effectively ending their super villain threat.

These guys never seemed to learn.

But this guy was a little different. He didn’t go into the long version of his villain speech. Instead, he rose into the fog shrouded night.

There didn’t seem to be any rocket pack or anything like that. The only sound was a small, throbbing hum that faded as he disappeared from view.

That was new.

I wasn’t sure I liked super villains who could fly without a helicopter or some such apparatus.

I made a snap decision that I totally did not like flying super villains. Flying supervillains was a not-cool sort of thing.

I turned my head toward Binky. He looked up at the sky and chattering in a low way that sounded like he was cursing under his breath.

What the hell was that? I said.

He stood up on his hind legs and waved his adorable little arms at the sky, then let out a string of high pitched chatter.

I’m sure whatever he was saying was both poignant and vitally important. But I didn’t speak ferret, despite being in the company of the most awesome, badass ferret in the universe.

I blame myself, not him. If I was a better student, then he might not be such a terrible teacher.

You don’t suppose V.J. has a giant flyswatter somewhere, do you? I said.

Binky put his tiny little hands on his head. Like his brain was suddenly hurting.

People did that a lot around me.

I became aware of a flickering, orange glow above me.

Flames were shooting out of the 6B-sized hole where my bathroom used to be. Hopefully, someone in the building had called the fire department. If the fire got to the building manager's meth lab…

Maybe I should move farther away from that end of the building.

I hurried out of the alley, ferret on my shoulder and towel wrapped laptop in my arms. Which reminded me of the card the villain dude had flicked at me. I grabbed it and held it up to the dim light of the nearby streetlight.

We were lucky here at the Casa de Madera Muerta apartments. There was a single working streetlight in front of the building. It was that touch of class that set the apartments apart from the rest of the crappy neighborhood.

While people ran screaming from the apartments behind me, I examined the card. (Which Nora would immediately take from me when she arrived. Because it was an Important Clue.)

It took me a few seconds to figure out what I was looking at. And even then, I wasn't sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.

What kind of calling card was this?

It wasn't the fact of the calling card that was weird. These idiot supervillain wannabes did this crap all the time. Usually it was some stupid logo they had made themselves. Something simple or intricate that supposedly held all kinds of hidden meaning if only the superhero (Vigilante Jane) could figure it out.

Often, incorporated into the design, would be snakes or wolves or octopuses…some mean sort of creature that the villain wannabe identified as his spirit animal.

And, yes, it was always a guy doing this crap.

Women were smarter than that.

Nora, being smarter than all of these twits put together would usually figure it out in a couple seconds. Then she’d sigh and roll her eyes. (I’m guessing at the eye-rolling part, because she usually had her Armor on by that point.) Shortly after that, the villain wannabe would be experiencing a nuclear wedgie unlike any he had ever experienced in his short, miserable life.

But the card I held in my hand–like the dude who had flipped it at me and flew away–was different.

As best I could tell in the poor light, the image on the card…

It was a well formed piece of excrement.

One that was on fire.

The guy’s calling card was….

A flaming turd.

Yowza.

That couldn’t mean anything good.

7

I expected Nora to show up. In her Vigilante Jane persona, of course.

It was quite rare for her to show up at the Casa de Madera Muerta apartments as Nora Barnes. Nora Barnes was an upstanding, respectable citizen of New Bedlam. Her official job was running Barnes Enterprises. Which was a collection of companies that managed properties around New Bedlam.

And other things.

At one time, I–and my trusty computer–had spent a great deal of time tracking down all the various Barnes companies.

There were a lot of them.

I was shocked to find out how much of New Bedlam the Barnes’ owned.

And what those properties did.

Homeless shelters.

Domestic violence shelters.

No-kill pet shelters.

Food banks and kitchens.

Homes for low-income families.

All sorts of programs for educating and helping people so they could stand on their own.

The Barnes family was disgustingly helpful.

And incredibly quiet about it.

It had taken a lot of work to trace it all back to them.

Nora had not been amused. Her parents, Judson and Suni, also had not been amused. They sort of had a family superheroing thing.

Well, not sort of.

They were actual superheroes. They didn’t have special powers or anything. Other than being scary smart and stupidly wealthy.

And possessed of a razor-sharp sense of justice.

Actually, it was Suni Barnes who had done the superhero bit. Then when she retired, Nora took over.

Judson Barnes was the brilliant inventor behind the armor and techno toys that Suni and Nora used.

He wasn't into the costume and fighting thing. His wife and daughter, however, were very into it.

My poking around into their lives had nearly gotten me killed.

But now I was a part of the New Bedlam Vigilantes. I kept pushing for us to all get t-shirts with the official logo on it.

Also, I kept coming up with designs for a New Bedlam Vigilantes logo. So we could put it on the t-shirts. Mr. Barnes had already shot down several very cool designs I had made.

I had a lot of time on my hands. And since I stopped smoking weed, I found my powers of concentration and energy levels had gone up dramatically.

Well, when I had enough money for food, that is.

I looked down at the card in my hand. With its detailed drawing of a turd on fire.

Nora would probably say that something like that should be my logo. Which wasn’t fair. My personal business logo was a ferret with a mask and a magnifying glass in one adorable paw. That was for my official business. Ferret It Out Investigations.

One of these days I was going to get some business cards made up.

As soon as I had some money.

The people at the print shop had told me that money was a necessary component of the printing process. Without my insertion of money into their cash register, their printing apparatus was unable to work.

The logic seemed sound, though I was unclear on why it had to be my money they used. Couldn’t they just put some of their own money into the cash register to turn on the printing doodad? Then, after I got some clients, and settled up with an extensive list of creditors, I could come back and do the cash register thing again.

They threatened to call the police if I didn’t leave.

I took one of their comment cards from their counter. I was going to write down Poor customer service on it and slip it under their door later. But I couldn’t find a working pen. Or crayon. And I was too dehydrated to drawn enough blood to from my finger to write on it, either.

Living on the edge of starvation and destitution took a lot out of a guy.

Binky started jumping up and down and chattering in my ear. Reminding that I was standing out in the chill, foggy air while my clothes were soaked down to my skin. Then my body reminded me it was flirting with hypothermia by racking me with shivers. My teeth chattered like castanets. My knees knocked together like bongo drums.

I was a regular one-man percussion section.

The smell of an apartment building burning brought me even further back to my present reality.

Which, as I turned to face the sorrow that was the Casa de Madera Muerta apartments aflame, was actual homelessness.

Something I had (mostly) avoided. Until now.

The fire had spread to the other second story apartments by now. The entire top of the building looked like a giant Yule log. Though a lot less cheerful since an entire building’s worth of people who barely had two nickels to rub together were now going to be homeless.

But, on the bright side, we could all be homeless together. After the fire died down, we could all huddle together for warmth in the parking lot. We could be like a pack of meerkats. Or prairie dogs.

Whatever type of animal it was that huddled together to keep from freezing to death.

I moved closer to the oversized dumpster fire that was the Casa de Madera Muerta apartments. Because it was warm, and I was cold.

I was going to miss living here. Mostly because they let me live here, and I because preferred to live in places that had a minimum of four walls and a roof.

Sure, I wouldn’t miss the domestic disputes. The screaming and crying at all hours of the night. Or the smell of bad cooking that would make my stomach rumble and feel nauseous at the same time.

And I definitely wouldn't miss the meth-heads breaking into my apartment and stealing my meager belongings.

I’d had one burst of prosperity a while back and bought myself a non-stick frying pan.

I didn’t even get to use it.

While I was saving up money for some hamburger to cook up tacos (I know, extravagant, right?), one of the resident meth-heads broke in and stole it.

Probably just as well. The idea that I would ever have enough money for taco fixings was a pipe dream anyway.

I think Binky was a little disappointed. I’d promised him itty bitty ferret tacos.

We were going to have them by candlelight.

Because I hadn’t paid the electric bill that month.

Binky jumped up and down on my shoulder and gave a mournful chatter. Yes, it sounded mournful.

Casa de Madera Muerta apartments had been his home his entire life. Except for when he was living in the forest becoming king of the jungle and training eagles to attack.

Long story.

A huge figure appeared in front of the building. People ran before him.

6B.

He was a Big Guy. Over six feet. Huge, broad shoulders. He was five hundred pounds of mostly muscle. Except for the gut overhanging his belt.

He had a candy habit the way most of the residents of Casa de Madera Muerta apartments had a meth habit. Standing near him was like standing next to a candy delivery truck that had overturned on the freeway and caught fire. On a hundred degree day.

One time the Barnes had invited him to Thanksgiving Dinner. Or, I had invited him and the Barnes’ didn’t strenuously object.

The only thing 6B ate was desert.

All of the desert.

Mrs. Barnes had made rice crispy treats.

I didn’t get a single one.

I had reached for the plate and 6B growled at me.

It was seriously uncool. But I wasn’t going to argue with a guy who had arms like tree trunks and could lift cars like they were made out of paper mâché.

Normally, though, 6B was cool. Well, not cool. Not cool in any way. But he was good to have around when people were threatening to break my arms and legs or other such unpleasantries.

There were a lot of odd things about him though.

Like his history.

He was certified insane. He'd shown me the documentation from a mental facility back east.

Except when I tried to dig into his past–through my computer–I'd found the mental facility and records of his residence there. But everything before that was blank.

Like he hadn’t existed.

Then there was his name.

That was pretty easy. 6B was the number of his apartment. When he had come to live in New Bedlam (another mystery was how he got here), he had taken the apartment number as his name.

6B.

I suppose it simplified things.

Though, now that he and I were homeless, I had to wonder if he was going to change his name again.

Maybe he was going to be Dude In Soup Kitchen Line Number Four.

That really didn't have quite the same ring to it as 6B.

Maybe he’d let me help him figure out a new name. Something like SuperBrick of Awesomeness.

Eh. I’d have to work on it.

6B jumped into his pickup truck–inconveniently parked in front of the burning building. The starter whined for an excessive amount of time. Then the engine rattled and rumbled to life.

For a resident of the Casa de Madera Muerta apartments, he had a really nice vehicle. Most of the vehicles here didn’t even crank anymore. A few of them were up on blocks. The ones that did run didn’t run very far.

People who subsisted on meth tended to say in a close radius of their home base.

6B's pickup backed up, its gears whining. The thing was a jacked-up four by four pickup. One with an extended cab, short bed, and flared fenders. It was painted a haphazard shade of flat black. Possibly by 6B himself.

The truck squeaked and rattled to a stop beside me. 6B threw the passenger door open. A wave of sickly sweetness poured out of the cab. Almost enough to give me a sugar high.

Burke! 6B said, I heroed! Can we go get ice cream now?

Because what better reward than ice cream for heroing?

We should wait for N—I mean, Vigilante Jane, I said, She’ll want to know about the new villain.

6B’s thick brows furrowed.

Villain? Where?

Right. He’d run out of the alley before the Flaming Turd showed up.

He showed up after you left, I said, He left a calling card.

I held the card up so he could see it. His brow furrowed even harder. The smell of burning candy got worse. I swore little wisps of smoke curled from his ears.

Poopy fire? He said.

Close enough.

Yeah. I don’t know what it means, either, I said, VJ probably will. Or she’ll stick it in her analyze-o-matic and it’ll know.

She didn’t have an analyze-o-matic. I’m sure her dad was working on one. He was good at that sort of thing.

6B’s head went up. He turned toward the street.

A couple seconds later I heard it. The sound of sirens.

Hopefully fire trucks.

Most likely police cars.

This part of town wasn’t well served by the New Bedlam Fire Department. I got the feeling the city government felt that every building that burned down in Methlandia was another step toward erasing urban blight in the city.

Honestly, if Methlandia were closer to the bay, I think the Mayor would have just bulldozed us right in.

Gotta go, Burke, 6B said, Police mad at us.

That was a true statement. The police were usually mad at us. More mad at me than 6B, if we were being totally honest here.

When the police arrived they would probably arrest me. Even though I had been innocently sitting on my couch when burning guy had dropped through the ceiling and set everything on fire.

Somehow they would find a reason to blame me.

I could hear them now:

If it wasn’t your fault then why did the guy fall through YOUR ceiling, Burke?

Given my encounter with The Flaming Turd in the alley, it was going to be hard to argue I wasn’t the target.

Even if I had no idea why.

But that wasn’t true, either.

The Flaming Turd was obviously after Nora–her Vigilante Jane persona. The dude was just using me to draw her out. Every stupid villain up and down the west coast seemed to know I had something going on with Vigilante Jane.

Maybe I shouldn’t have posted those pictures of her and me on social media.

Who knew super villains used Instagram?

It was Nora's fault. She shouldn't have let me use her smartphone. Although, technically, she didn’t know I had used it since I borrowed it without asking her first.

I had to, since if I had asked her, she would have glared at me, then threatened to slap into the next state if I dared to touch it.

We have a great relationship.

Some day I’m going to propose to her. Once I get up the nerve to ask her if I can borrow enough money to buy her a ring.

I haven’t quite figured out the right way to ask, since I’d like the ring thing to be a surprise. Also, since I want to get her a really nice ring, it’s going to cost quite a bit of money. She might be wealthy, but she gets suspicious when I ask her for anything more than bus fare.

It’s one of those things I’m still working out the details on.

Burke. Gotta go, 6B said.

VJ will show up, I said, She’ll keep the cops from arresting us.

6B shook his head.

Not now. We gotta go.

"What? Why not now?"

6B shook his head again. The dancing flames reflected off his shiny bald skull.

VJ got other problems, he said, She’s not coming.

Which only left me more confused.

But… I said, giving voice to my confused state of mind,

6B smiled. Look, he said.

He reached down and lifted a sack off the truck’s floor. One might expect his vehicle to be littered with candy wrappers, given the horrifying amount of candy he consumed.

One would be wrong. 6B was quite fastidious. The inside of his truck was disgustingly neat.

I hadn’t noticed what was on the floorboards of his truck. Despite the lack of clutter.

I blame the shock of the evening’s events. Plus it was dark. Come on, give me a break.

My backpack! I shouted.

Binky jumped up and down, chattering with ferrety excitement.

I snatched the pack out of 6B's hand. It was covered with soot. Also, it was warm. Some of the straps were melted at the ends. It smelled like smoke and scorched plastic.

But I could have kissed 6B for saving it.

6B, I said, Did you run back into my apartment for this?

He gave me a broad smile and a nod.

Saved it for you, Burke, he said, That good?

I held out my hand for a high five.

Dude. You are awesome.

He returned the high five. Gently. He could slap with enough force to shatter every single bone in my hand, and halfway down my arm, too.

I zipped open the main compartment and slipped my laptop into it. Then I opened up the secondary compartment. Binky jumped in. He squeaked and chirped as he settled down into it.

As long as the backpack still existed, at least he wasn’t going to be homeless.

Burke, 6B said, Come on. Gotta go now.

The wailing sirens were getting closer. They definitely had the sound of cop sirens. The firetrucks probably wouldn’t roll until the police