Society of Heroes with Indeterminate Talent (7 page)

10.

S.H.I.T headquarters (The praise)

“Agents, could you please step into my office?" said the cheerful voice from beyond the thick mahogany door.

Agent One glanced across to Agent Two nervously with a puzzled look on his face.

"He sounds almost pleasant today." he whispered.

"Something's wrong, something's very wrong." muttered Agent Two.

"This could be some kind of reverse psychology.  You go first."

“No, you go first.”

"But I'm confused by his happiness.  It's irrational."

"There's a sub-plot developing, I can feel it." mused Agent Two tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"It's like the happiness a Boa-constrictor feels before detaching its lower jaw and devouring the two young rabbits." murmured Agent One looking towards the door handle.

"Come on!" growled the General.  "I can't keep this smile up for much longer."

Agent Two swallowed hard and reached for the door handle and opened it before hesitantly moving into the office where the General was sat perched on the edge of his desk with a broad smile on his usually angry and contorted face.

"How are my two favorite agents today?"

"Is everything okay, sir?" asked Agent One standing to attention.

"At ease agents, of course it is.  I'm a firm believer in some well deserved praise when its due, and judging by my latest reports you two agents have turned in some above average work for a change.  You did some good work out there boys, so keep it up."

The General ran a finger over his moustache smoothing it down before holding out his arms.

"Would you help me down?  I've been stuck up here for ages on this desk."

Agent Two darted forward and gently lowered the General to the carpet who stood there with his hands planted on his hips eyeing them and still smiling.

"There you go, sir."

"Never be afraid to ask for help," remarked the General.  "I think my desk is about six inches too tall."

"Why don’t you get a smaller desk, sir?" asked Agent One instantly regretting the words as they left his mouth.

The smile faltered on the General's face, briefly returned for a fleeting second trying to reassert itself, and then it vanished completely.

"Do you not think I'm ready for a full-sized desk like normal people?"

"Erm…no, sir I just meant…"

"Should I get a midget desk for pocket sized people?  Would that make you happy?" barked the General.

"No, sir."

"How about a little midget push-along scooter so I can get around my office quicker?"

"I think the wheels would get caught in the carpet sir such is the depth of the piles and plushness of the finish."

The General grunted and cast a look to the carpet and nodded his head.

"It is delightfully luxurious, isn’t it?"

"I may never see another carpet looking as good, sir."

With his anger fading the General gave a half-smile then looked up at Agent One.

"You helped stop an Islamist suicide bomber on a plane full of innocent passengers and in doing so saved the lives of four hundred and thirty four passengers.  It was an amazing feat of heroic bravery and the agency is proud of your actions.  Remind me, what did you do again, Agent Two?"

"I caught a dog walker letting his animal foul the park."

"Right…" said the General lapsing into silence.

"We traced the DNA of the foul to the DNA of the dog in question sir and received a positive match and the offender was cautioned."

"I'm struggling to draw a comparison, agent.  Was the animal wearing a bomb by any chance?"

"No sir but it was a rather large turd and a young child could have left their indent in it."

"Commendable for sure, but not quite the same magnitude is it, Agent Two?"

"No, sir but the grass is a cleaner place and a walk in the park is a more pleasant experience for it."

"Then well done, agent.  Just one other thing, I've received some complaints from parents about some kind of tandem free-falling flight with one of our superheroes and the children from BA Flight seven-six-five.  Plus, I got a strongly-worded fax from the British Obesity Society not happy about refusing fat children.  Is there any truth in that?"

"Yes sir," said Agent One.  "We promised the smaller children as a treat that Captain Aeroacrophobia would fly them around for being so brave on the plane.  It was safe and no previous flying experience was necessary."

"Your compassion almost brings me to tears Agent One, but still, one hundred feet?  Someone could have gotten hurt."

"It was more like one thousand feet, sir."

"Well that's all right then.  Did they enjoy it?"

"No sir, they all but one shit themselves."

"Oh," said the General looking disappointed.  "Did the one that didn’t shit them self enjoy it?"

"No sir, he fainted."

"Excellent, now back in the field agents and get cleaning up the streets of London."

"Sir." they said in unison.

11.

The no-fly zone at Trafalgar square

“Hello son.”

The youth in the baseball cap kneeling at the base of Nelson's column with the spray canister in his hand turned with a startled look on his face and stared back at the man in the black suit.

“Who the f**k are you?” he asked with a sneer on his face before shifting his eyes to the oddly dressed man wearing the bird outfit with feathers stuck randomly all over his body and a tailfin that looked like it was fastened with a safety pin.  “And who the f**k is that?”

“My name is Agent One and I work for S.H.I.T and this is my colleague Birdman.”

“He looks like a f*****g queer.”

Agent One looked over his shoulder at the small portly frame of Birdman who stood there scratching his backside while his delightful comb-over ruffled gently in the slight breeze.

“When you say queer, do you mean as in strange or peculiar?”

“No, he’s a fat f*****g queer faggot muncher,” spat the youth.  “And he has a f*****g faggoty comb-over.”

“I…I actually love my comb-over,” sniffed Birdman gently patting his hair with affection.  “I think it looks rather good.”

“You f**kwit.” snorted the youth.

“What?  Comb-over’s are making a comeback.” mumbled Birdman defensively.

“Admitting you love the comb-over is a little embarrassing, Geoffrey.” whispered Agent One behind the back of his hand.

“Say, are you two anal-grinders here to arrest me?”

“We’re not with the police.” said Agent One.  “May I just add your choice of language is quite extraordinary, young man.”

“So you’re not with the f*****g rozzers then? he asked suspiciously.

“No.”

“Then f**k off.” said the youth shaking the spray can and turning back to the monument.

Agent One cleared his throat impatiently as the youth paused with the nozzle of his spray paint hovering over the square granite pedestal.

“You f*****s still here?” he asked without looking around.

“Well we couldn’t help but notice from afar that you intend to graffiti that commemorative statue.”

“You two f*****g butt-pirates have been staring at my ass, haven’t you bunch of fudge packers?”

“Can I just say that thing you’ve got going on with your jeans hanging around your ankles was originally a prison thing to signify that you were another man’s bitch and sagged that way to ensure easier access for their master to pull their pants down.”

“You calling me a queer?” screeched the youth spinning around.

“I’m calling you nothing of the sort young man, all I’m saying is that we were watching you about to deface and vandalize that statue of Admiral Horatio Nelson.”

“Who?” asked the youth squinting up at the statue.

“Admiral Horatio Nelson, the Viscount and Baron of the Nile, and Duke of Bronte.”

“Who the f**k?” asked the youth again, still squinting up at the statue.

“He was a great man, a charismatic leader who died at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805.  Those four bronze panels which you’re intending to vandalize symbolize Nelson's victories at the Battles of Cape St Vincent, Nile, Copenhagen and Trafalgar.”

“So f*****g what?” spat the youth.  “I’m just gonna’ tag him.”

“And what is your tag name?” asked

“Death Blood Bastard.” answered the youth proudly.

“Slightly offensive, a touch anti-social and a little disturbing don’t you think?”

“It’s my artist's name.”

“A very nice name it is too.  Now I know a graffiti writer feels the need to get his or her personalized signature out there but what you’re planning to do on this landmark is a criminal offence.  You could face a fine or imprisonment if convicted in court.”

“Do I look f*****g bothered?”

“Rather surprisingly, no.  Did you know that tagging is considered by many to be a "gateway crime," and can lead to more serious or dangerous crimes such as drug and alcohol use?”

“I already do drugs and alcohol.”

“I am truly surprised by that revelation.” remarked Agent One, planting his hands on his hips and glaring at the youth with mock surprise.  “But still, we can’t allow you to graffiti this monument.”

“Are you going to stop me like?”

“No, but he is.” said Agent One pointing at Birdman who was busy straightening his hair with a hand-mirror.

“Your boyfriend?”

“Geoffrey, stop adjusting your hair.” hissed Agent One through gritted teeth.

Birdman gave it one final pat then wrinkled his thin handlebar moustache and strode forward.

“You’re not going to bum me are you, because I’ve got a knife.” snarled the youth.

“Have you heard of Genesis 19:24 from the Bible?” asked Birdman crossing his arms.

“Just what the f**k are you wearing?  Are you a f*****g chicken or something?”

“Pigeon actually,” replied Birdman smartly.  “So, have you heard of Genesis 19:24 from the Bible?”

“F**k no.”

“It reads something like this.  The Lord rained down fire and burning Sulphur from the sky upon the wicked.  So hand over the spray canister otherwise I will smote you from the heavens with a cloud of feathered vengeance.”

“What the f**k are you talking about?  In fact, forget this s**t.” spat the youth turning back around and aiming the spray can at the base of the monument.

“Don’t do it.  Don’t you dare press that nozzle!” cried Birdman.

Grinning the youth pressed it and sent a jet of red paint across the bronze plate and scrawled his tag.

“You have left me no choice,” boomed the voice of Birdman raising his arms to the sky.  “Come to me my feathered brethren, here my call.”

“Excuse me,” said Agent One interrupting.  “Can I have a word?”

“Of course.” boomed Birdman with his arms still aloft.

“You can stop shouting, Geoffrey.”

“Sorry.”

“Is summoning your flock safe?”

“It’s incredibly accurate.”

“I asked if it was safe.” remarked Agent One uneasily.

“Once I unleash the terrifying birds of prey there will be no stopping their assault.  Who knows the damage they could do!”

“They’re pigeons, Geoffrey.  They’re about as feral as a ham sandwich.”

“Do not underestimate the power of Columba livia, agent.”

Suddenly there was a tremendous flapping of wings from above and they looked up to see a black cloud swarming towards them.

"They’re coming," whispered Birdman.

"Have you ever seen that Alfred Hitchcock movie about a flock of birds that terrorize a small town in California?"

"It's my favorite movie."

"Well, it reminds me of that, but with flying rats."

"We may want to step away from the statue.  This is about to get messy." said Birdman quickly moving away from Nelson's column.

"What the f**k is that?" gasped the youth, pausing and looking towards the heaving mass of feathers hurtling ever nearer.

"That looks like a lot of birds, Geoffrey." said Agent One skipping after him hurriedly.

"It is and they're just about ready to unload their cargo."

Then from up above there came a blanket of black and white bird excrement aiming towards the youth who was staring up at the sky in awe from the base of the statue.

"Here it comes." screeched Birdman gleefully.

"It's like a ballistic missile shit strike." gasped Agent One watching as the droppings soared with unnerving accuracy through the air.  "How much poop is there exactly?"

"It's difficult to tell really," replied Birdman shrugging his shoulders.  "A ton, maybe more but it's only pigeon droppings and weighs next to nothing."

Agent One watched almost mesmerized as the rain of guano flew closer and closer to the target.  Then he paused and looked across to Birdman with a frown on his face.

"But still…it's a ton in weight.  A ton is a ton, right?"

"I guess so."

"So it might actually hurt the frightened boy?"

"With gravitational acceleration and sheer mass I would say you're right, agent."

Agent One closed his eyes just at impact and winched when he heard the thunderous wet plop of the droppings as they connected with the ground.  There was a yelp of pain from the youth and he heard the sound of the spray can hitting the concrete.

"Glorious." whispered Birdman clapping his hands together in delight as a couple of fat pigeons perched themselves on either shoulder.

Squeezing his eyes open slowly Agent One groaned and gazed at the devastation.  Pigeon excrement covered the majority of Trafalgar Square in a thick slimy carpet of runny white and black crap.  Pigeons had now landed on the ground and were cooing and chirping happily as they waddled amongst all the droppings barging into each other in a flurry of wings and dirty fluff.  Looking up he saw that Nelson's column was covered head to toe in the stuff which dripped lazily from the statue to the ground below.

"It's just such a mess." moaned Agent One putting his hands on his head.

The youth with his baseball cap missing from his head lay prone on the ground with his body encrusted in excrement.

"He hasn’t been mummified has he?" asked Agent One stepping towards him then slipping on the slimed ground.

"Watch yourself agent, nasty stuff that."

Muttering under his breath the agent gingerly made his way over to the youth, shoving pigeons away with the tip of his boot as he did so.

He knelt down and wiped away some of the crap from the boy's face and leant in close.

"He's okay, he's breathing." said Agent One with a sigh of relief.  "The impact must have just knocked him out cold."

Turning around he surveyed the carnage then looked over to Birdman who was grinning from ear-to-ear.

"This is just great.  We've now caused significant damage to the very statue we were trying to protect, assaulted a minor and what the hell do we do about all this mess?"

"It really needs cleaning up," said Birdman knowingly.  "Pigeon poo is incredibly corrosive."

"Excuse me?"

"Plus there are three major diseases associated with pigeon droppings, Histoplasmosis, Cryptococcosis and Psittacosis."

"Excellent, so now we're also dealing with a toxic spill and possible disease outbreak."

"Oh, how they've missed this place." said Birdman bending down to stroke the birds.

"What do you mean?"

"You don’t know?"

"Know what?" asked Agent One growing impatient.

"Trafalgar Square is a designated no-fly zone for pigeons and gulls and has been pigeon-free since 2008.  The government introduced a bye-law criminalizing pigeon feeding in the area and gradually starved them out.  It's good to see them back."

"So we've actually also broken the law and become criminals ourselves?"

"You could see it like that."

"Geoffrey, it's time to leave."

"Can't we stay a little while?" pleaded Birdman.  "The sound of their cooing is so relaxing on the mind."

"I can't help thinking if their existence is really relevant." muttered Agent One in disgust.

"Careful agent, be very careful indeed.  Pigeons are vengeful creatures."