A very good chapter, I could see this all very clearly as I read it. And I like
how you played with the names in here.

DC Marvel, indeed!   <grin>


da 'Cat!


--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Doc Quantum"
<the_time_trust_2000@...> wrote:
>
> (Catching up on Stan's back story):
>
>

This is a very interesting story so far. I'm just catching up so my
apologies for the late response. J



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
Sent: Friday, March 23, 2012 9:26 PM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part 2:
Top Secret Mission





Washington, D.C., July, 1988:

"Anyway, school ended a few days later, and a couple months after that
Geri's dad died -- killed by some creep who was taking revenge on Mister
Terrific by going after Terry Sloane and his family. (*) After the funeral,
Geri just left town. I think she went off to study at Oxford. I remember
thinking how tragic her dad's death was, and how I wish I could've been
there to comfort her. But after what happened I was too embarrassed to even
call her, even if I could have reached her, and besides, I couldn't walk
straight for months."

[(*) Editor's note: See "The Murderer Among Us: Crisis Above Earth-One,"
Justice League of America #171 (October, 1979), "I Accuse," Justice League
of America #172 (November, 1979), and Justice Society of America: Times
Past, 1979: Swift Retribution.]

Stanley Beamish, now in his mid-twenties, was laying on a couch in his
psychiatrist's office. The scrawny teenager he had once been had grown into
a somewhat underweight man with a freckled face and auburn hair.

Nearby, the chair behind him was empty. All this time, Stan had been telling
the story of how he met Geri Sloane to absolutely no one.

"It took me half the summer to pay off all those bets about my prom date,"
continued Stan, sighing deeply. "I never did see Geri again. That was nine
years ago."

Just then, the door quietly opened, and Stan's psychiatrist, Dr. Simon
LaGrieve, tiptoed back into the room and took his seat, not noticing that he
had a dab of mustard on his chin and still had a cloth napkin tucked into
his collar. Obviously, he'd been taking his lunch break while Stanley told
his story in excruciating detail as usual, even narrating all the voices
with different tones. "Uh-huh. That's very interesting," he said
absentmindedly. He then looked down and noticed the napkin; quickly wiping
the mustard off his chin, he tossed it aside.

"Anyway, it's not something you exactly forget about, but I guess I must've
blocked it out of my head," said Stan. "I honestly hadn't thought about her
for years, until... until last year, when I was... you know, when I was
recovering in the hospital. I was just lying there, feeling sorry for myself
and for all that had happened to me, when I got to thinking about Geri, and
suddenly I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was going to die. I quickly sat
up and just started shaking. It felt almost as bad as when I was dying in
that hotel bathroom in Las Vegas."

LaGrieve scratched his chin, as if in thought. "You know, I've heard that
hotel bathrooms are homosexual hangouts."

Stan frowned and said, "Huh?"

"Bathrooms," continued LaGrieve, as if he had just seized upon some new
direction to explore. "Especially in Las Vegas -- they're the eighties
version of bathhouses for some gay men."

Stan thought about this for a moment, then glanced back at the shrink,
extremely confused at this line of thinking. "What are you saying?"

LaGrieve checked his wristwatch and said, "Oops, time's up. We'll have to
delve into that little bunny-hole next week."

Stan sat up and stared off into the distance for a moment, still confused by
his psychiatrist's reasoning, before grabbing his jacket.

"Oh, and Stan?" said Simon LaGrieve. "Go visit the Chief. He has a mission
for you."

"A purple alert?" asked Stan, looking excited.

LaGrieve raised one eyebrow. "Yes, if that's what you people like to call
it."

***

Stanley Beamish stepped out of the medical building into a wet city street
at night as vehicles passed by, splashing water from a recent rainfall. He
nodded patriotically at the U.S. Capitol building in the distance and began
walking down the sidewalk. Before he went too far, he suddenly turned into a
building just two doors down and entered it.

Unknown to anyone but those who worked there, this was the Washington
headquarters of Operation: Liberty, a top-secret government agency that
employed metahuman agents on missions too risky for ordinary operatives to
handle. Most of those metahuman agents were super-villains who were given
reductions on their sentences, and in some cases pardons, in exchange for
participating in this risky program. Because of that risk and the deaths
that sometimes arose from its missions, the team that operated on the field
was called the Suicide Squad.

But Operation: Liberty did not consist solely of the Suicide Squad. It also
had a separate function called the Bureau of Special Projects, which had
been set up twenty years earlier to produce its own metahuman agents that
would loyally serve the United States government rather than merely trying
to turn existing metahuman heroes and criminals into government agents,
which had varying degrees of success so far.

The Bureau, headed by its Chief, the esteemed Barton J. Reed, had been
trying and failing for several years to produce metahuman agents for the CIA
and the FBI through various methods, and just as the head of Operation:
Liberty was about to advise the U.S. Senate Select Committee on Intelligence
to cut the Bureau's funding, they hit upon a success.

Unfortunately for them, that success was Stanley H. Beamish.

Stan knocked and cautiously opened the door to an inner office, which was
very dark inside. "You wanted to see me, Chief?" he asked, spotting Barton
J. Reed, a bald, somewhat obese, middle-aged man wearing a tweed business
suit and smoking a pipe. Stanley gulped as he recognized the man next to him
as the same man who had found him in the hospital last year.

Reed rose and greeted Stan at the door. "Yes, Stanley, yes," he said in an
upper-crust English accent; Stan always wondered if Barton J. Reed had
originally been MI-5 or something before coming to America. "Please do come
in. I'd like you to meet our the man who oversees our little Bureau. He'll
be explaining your upcoming mission."

"We've met," said the other man, who couldn't be more unlike Reed if he
tried. He was tall, muscular, and well-built, and he had short-cropped gray
hair and a stern-looking face. "Commander Steel," he said, extending his
hand. "Good to see you again, Beamish."

"Good to see you, too, sir," said Stan as he shook his hand, a grip of
steel, causing the young man to wince in slight pain.

They walked to the desk, and Stan sat down in the visitor's chair, while
Reed sat on the desk close to him. Commander Steel remained standing.

"I understand you've been availing yourself of the services of our
psychiatrist, Dr. LaGrieve," said Steel. "Is there anything we need to worry
about? You're not about to crack from the pressure, are you, son?"

"Oh, no, sir," said Stan. "I just like to be able to talk freely about
things, you know? It's so difficult, sometimes, to keep my double life a
secret from all my friends and family."

"That's the price of freedom, son," said Steel in a deadly serious tone,
"the price of freedom."

"Well, Chief... Commander... what's all the excitement about?" asked Stan.

"Stanley, this is a big one," said Reed. "The fate of our entire nation
might depend on it."

Commander Steel walked over to the wall beside the window and pressed a
button, causing the curtains to close. He returned to the desk and turned on
a bright desk lamp pointing in Stan's direction, then sat down behind the
desk. "As you know, it's our policy to assign cases based on several
factors, including personal involvement. Well, son, you're up at bat."

"Right!" said Stan excitedly, slamming his hand on the edge of an ashtray on
the desk, which flew up, somersaulted, and landed on Steel's hand, spilling
ash everywhere.

Stan looked mortified, and he jumped to his feet, brushing away the ash from
Steel's face and suit with his hand. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I'm really sorry.
It's just that I'm raring to go." He swept the rest of the ash off the desk
with one hand into the other, then placed the collected ash in his jacket
pocket.

Commander Steel and Barton J. Reed sighed in unison, then Steel harrumphed
uncomfortably and growled, "Beamish, let me give you a quick briefing. First
of all, do you know what this is?" He held up a snapshot of a
futuristic-looking weapon.

"It's a photograph, right?" said Stan.

Steel sat back incredulously, while Reed sighed and said calmly, "It's a
photograph of a machine called the Inthermo, and it's capable of converting
heat waves into immense destructive power."

Stan whistled as he took a closer look at the photograph.

"Now, Beamish, it's been stolen," said Steel, "and its inventor, Professor
Hugo Dante, has been kidnapped from his Long Island laboratory."

"Huh," said Stan. "Do you know who's behind it?"

"We believe it's the work of the Syndicate," said Barton J. Reed. "And the
reason we called you in is because of your own involvement with one of the
Syndicate's associates."

Stanley's eyes went wide, and he gulped yet again. "Is Ape-Face back in
action?"

"Not exactly," said Commander Steel. "Vincenzo 'Ape-Face' Dyke, son of
George 'Gorilla Boss' Dyke, is still behind bars ever since the incident at
that Las Vegas hotel. But we have reason to believe he's still been
operating his organization from behind bars. We think he made a deal with
the Syndicate's Mister X, whoever he is, to kidnap Professor Dante and the
Inthermo in exchange for the Syndicate's help in knocking off a couple of
witnesses."

"W-witnesses?" said Stan. "You don't mean--?"

"Yes, Stanley, you were on the list," said Reed. "You and a few others
identifiable only by a few clues that the Ape-Face mob was able to find."

"I thought you said my identity would be protected if I came to work for
you," said Stan, sounding alarmed.

"We did everything we could, Stanley," continued Reed. "But as you know, you
left behind a great deal of your own blood on the scene. Some of it was kept
as evidence by the local authorities, and we believe a corrupt police
officer may have procured it for the Syndicate."

Stanley Beamish looked like a nervous wreck now, wondering how soon he'd
have to worry about mobsters sneaking into his apartment in the middle of
the night or catching him unawares at a time when he was utterly powerless
to stop them. Looking up, he said, "Is there anything else?"

"Yes," said Commander Steel. "This Mister X has broadcast a demand for one
hundred million dollars ransom, or he'll use the Inthermo against several
East Coast cities." Leaning forward, Steel said, "Mister X must be stopped
before he goes any further. Now, Beamish, how much do you know about the
Syndicate?"

"Not much more than what I've read about in the papers," said Stan. "Isn't
it a massive criminal organization made up of all the most powerful mobs and
gangs in America and overseas?"

Steel nodded his head. "Those are the basics. Unfortunately, beyond that and
the fact that they've been around for decades, we know little of the
Syndicate's hierarchy and inner workings. We suspect, however, that they
have a new leader."

"Mister X," said Stan.

"Yes," said Steel. "Whoever he is. But the title of Mister X goes back
nearly five decades to one man who founded the Syndicate. Although the
Justice Society thought they'd stopped Mister X and crushed the Syndicate
back in 1941, it merely grew another head for itself and gained new Mister
X's again and again, up to the present day." (*)

[(*) Editor's note: See Justice Society of America, All-Star Comics #5
(June-July, 1945).]

"Sort of like the Hydra, huh?" said Stan.

"Hm?" said Reed. "Oh, yes. Quite. What Commander Steel's trying to explain,
Stanley, is that Mister X could be anyone, but whoever he is, he is most
assuredly dangerous."

"That's why, Beamish, we need you to be ready to go on your mission at a
moment's notice," said Steel. "Can you do that?"

"You can count on me, sir," said Stan, smiling even as memories began to
swirl around in his head of how he met Ape-Face and a group of strange
characters during that awful Las Vegas weekend, and how his life took a
strange and unexpected turn toward the heroic.





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Wow. These characters are crazy. I guess I need to see that movie "Something
About Mary" to get some of the jokes, eh? J



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
Sent: Saturday, March 24, 2012 5:04 AM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part 5:
Mason





OK, back to the present:

***

Stan Beamish shuddered as he remembered being beaten to within an inch of
his life by that thug working for Ape-Face and then the long recovery
afterward in the hospital. He ended up spending much of last year in
traction or on crutches while his bones reset themselves. It was like an
entire year of his life had been erased. But during that time his life had
been changed forever. And that was also when he started thinking about Geri
Sloane again.

His buddy Hal Walters, a tall, good-looking, muscular guy with dark,
slicked-back hair, said something to him, pulling him out of his thoughts
and back into the present. They were standing on the green-turfed rooftop of
Hal's service station. As usual, Hal had closed up the shop for Saturday,
and they were up on the roof whacking a basket of golf balls into a target
on a net, something they used to do when Stan was still involved in the
business. Even the tall sign on the corner still read Hal and Stanley's
Service, although Stanley was now blacked out. Stan had sunk all the money
he'd earned in Las Vegas into the business, since the Bureau had been paying
all his medical bills, but he would live to regret it. The service station
business wasn't what it used to be, and it became a money pit. Thankfully,
Hal bought out his part of the business, but it was for a small fraction of
the price Stan had sunk into it, and Stan was now broke again like he
usually was. But at least now he was finally doing the kind of work he
loved, in more ways than one.

"Huh? What's that?" Stan muttered.

"Gay? He said you were gay?"

Stan had to take a moment to remember that he had told Hal a few minutes ago
what his psychiatrist had said to him during their last meeting, leaving out
all the context of the Bureau of Special Projects and Commander Steel.
"Well, he implied it."

"Well you're a writer, and a lot of writers are gay. Look at Truman Capote."

"Yeah, but he was successful," said Stan. "And he didn't write and draw
funny-books, either."

"Well, funny is a relative term, Stan," said Hal. "Anyway, let me ask you
this: When you smoke a cigar, is it more than a cigar to you?"

Stan stopped and thought about that. "Come on, that wouldn't make me gay."

"I'm going to fix you up with my new mechanic," said Hal.

"What's he like?" Stan quipped.

Hal laughed, then watched as Stan hit a ball into the target. "You're
leaving it out. Finish your swing." He continued, "You're going to like this
one -- she's half-Asian, half-American."

"Good-looking?" asked Stan.

"I just told you, she's half-Asian, half-American," said Hal. "They're all
good-looking. You could mate Don Rickles and Yoko Ono, and they're going to
have a gorgeous kid. It's a foolproof combo."

Stan thought about it for a moment. "I dunno, Hal. I tried dating a
half-Asian girl last year, and it didn't work out."

"You mean Indigo?" laughed Hal. "I always thought you just made her up. I
never actually met her, unlike Juliet. I still remember when ol' Juliet
threw that drink in your face at the bar that one time."

Stan looked thoughtful for a moment. Even if it had worked out with Debbie
Blue Perkins, alias Indigo of the Suicide Squad, he'd never have been able
to introduce her to Hal for a very specific reason -- she had blue skin, and
she was a metahuman. That was part of the secret life of Stanley Beamish,
the one he agreed never to talk about. As Commander Steel put it, that was
the price of freedom.

"What's the point, anyway?" he said. "Let's face it, Hal, I'm in a slump."
Stan sighed deeply and added, "Lately I've been feeling like... well... like
a loser."

"Loser? You?" said Hal, trying to cheer him up. Stan merely shrugged. "Give
me a break. Remember five years ago, when your kidneys failed? If you were a
loser, would they have been able to find a donor with an exact tissue match?
What are the odds of that -- one in a million?"

"Oh, so I'm lucky because my brother got killed in an explosion?" said Stan
defensively.

"I never said that. I'm saying you're lucky those kids found his kidneys."
He took a swing into the net and said, "Besides, your big brother Jimmy
never gave a crap about you."

Stan shot him a look of warning.

"You know, you're a real glass-half-empty guy," continued Hal. "You got a
#@&*ing guardian angel, man."

Stan managed a small smile. Just then, Stan's pager buzzed. "I gotta check
this. It might be my boss." Checking the pager, Stan grabbed the telephone,
which Hal had threaded up to the roof in case of emergencies, and dialed a
number. "Hi, it's Stan. You called, sir?" Stan held the phone receiver away
from his ear as a tirade of angry words blasted out, and then there was
silence as the person on the other end hung up. Stan put the phone back on
the receiver. "Yep. That was my boss, all right."

***

Hal and Stan were having a couple of beers while sitting on Hal's front
steps. Kids' toys -- a tricycle, a six-foot basketball hoop, and several
dolls, among other things -- were strewn everywhere haphazardly.

An attractive young woman came out and handed them each a cigar. "I thought
you guys might like these with your beers," she said with a docile smile.

"Thanks, baby," said Hal, and she went back inside.

"See, that's what I want," said Stan. "I don't need these bimbettes you've
got me chasing. I want what you have -- a family... someone to... you
know... love." Stan began to blush with embarrassment, not used to opening
up about this with his buddy. "It must be great with a wife like that."

"Each day is better than the next," Hal said automatically. Turning to Stan,
he asked him, "Have you ever been, you know... in love with someone?"

"Nah."

"Never?"

"Well, once," said Stan. "Geri."

Hal sighed deeply. "Geri again."

"Look, I admit it was brief, but it was definitely love," said Stan
defensively. "Crushes don't last nine years."

"Whatever happened to Geri, anyway?" asked Hal.

"I told you," said Stan. "Her dad died, and she went to Oxford."

"I mean since then."

"I don't know. She might be back in Gateway by now, but she could be
anywhere."

"Well, why don't you look her up?" suggested Hal.

"Yeah, right," Stan said, laughing.

"Why not?"

"Because I guarantee she's married and has a couple kids," said Stan. "Girls
like Geri don't stay single."

Hal frowned and looked at Stan. "What if you're wrong? You just said she's
the only girl you ever loved. What have you got to lose by calling her?"

"I did try calling her," Stan said, sheepishly, "a few years ago. Her old
number was out of order, and she wasn't listed."

"So that was it?" said Hal, laughing at him. "One bump in the road, and you
gave up?"

"I also called Unsolved Mysteries," added Stan.

Hal laughed. "You're kidding! What did they say?"

Stan shrugged. "They told me they don't help out stalkers." Stan shook his
head and said, "Look, maybe they're right. It's been a long time."

"I've got it," said Hal, looking excited. "You hire a private eye, fly him
out to Gateway City, he follows her around a couple days, she'll never know
a thing."

Having conflicting feelings between his desire to see Geri and his desire to
do the right thing, Stan gave this a moment's thought, then shook his head
again. "No. No way. That's too creepy."

Hal thought for a moment, then snapped his finger and pointed at Stan. "Wait
a second. There's a guy I know named Mason who might be able to help you
out. He's a security consultant, and he goes to Gateway a few times a year
on business."

"No, Hal. No go. Uh-uh. Nada. Absolutely not."

***

On Monday morning, Stanley Beamish was meekly following Hal Walters down the
hallway of a large security consulting firm.

"I still don't know about this, Hal," said Stan.

"Relax," said Hal, "this guy owes me a big one. A couple years ago, he got
in a jam; some crap about his whereabouts during a crime they thought he
committed -- like we haven't all been there. Anyway, they were going to
press charges, but I covered for him and backed up his story, and he's owed
me ever since."

"Whoa, Hal," said Stan, stopping completely and speaking in a hushed voice.
"You were his alibi for a crime?"

Hal shook his hands and said, "It was nothing. Nothing. There was a drive-by
at some Smithsonian employee's home, and he claimed it was a hit, but the
guy was totally fine, and they didn't even have much of a case! There wasn't
a scratch on him. Anyway, Mason was with his mother the whole time. She even
wrote me a tear-jerker letter about it."

"His mother?" asked Stan. "And you believe her?"

"Of course I do," said Hal, looking at Stan like he was crazy. "It's his
mother, for cryin' out loud. I guess he still lives with her. Seemed like a
sweet old lady -- got diabetes or something -- so I went out on a limb and
padded the alibi, though I can guarantee it didn't need padding."

Stan was trying to process everything, but his head was spinning from Hal's
reasoning. He shook his head and decided to refocus on their purpose for
being there. "And you think he could find out her number for me?"

"He'll do better than that," said Hal. "I'll send him over to Gateway on
business, you throw him a couple bucks on the side, and he'll track her
down."

"I don't know..." said Stan, thinking about it.

"No pressure, buddy," Hal continued. "But if you do go through with it, just
let me warn you -- this guy runs a little hot, but he gets the job done."

***

A few minutes later, Stan was seated in a small office across the desk from
Mason, a shaggy-looking guy in a mismatched, three-piece suit, who looked
more like a used-car salesman than a security consultant.

"So, Hal tells me you're looking for some lady-friend you knew in high
school..." began Mason.

"Uh-huh."

"Any idea where I might start looking?"

"She's originally from Gateway City, like me. I checked directory assistance
over there, and if she does live there now, she's not listed. She might've
moved ten times since then."

Mason was looking at Stan without breaking eye contact. After an
uncomfortable few moments of this, he said with a skeptical tone, "And all
you want is a phone number?"

Stan moved as if to rise and walk away. "Well, I know you're busy..."

"Sit down," Mason growled, and Stan sat down immediately. The security
professional leaned forward and said in a voice that was barely more than a
whisper, "Don't play games with me, Stan."

Stan shrugged and said, "I don't know, maybe you could poke around for a
half-day and see if she has five kids and a Labrador."

"I don't buy it."

"You don't buy what?" asked Stan, unnerved by Mason's unending stare.

Suddenly, Mason stood up and came around to the other side of the desk,
sitting down on it just in front of Stan's chair, then he moved his face
only a few inches away from Stan's. He said, "Stan, I'm the kind of guy who
shoots from the hip. Now, I want you to level with me: Did you knock this
skirt up?"

Stan frowned, offended by the question. "No."

"She's blackmailing you, right?" Mason continued without a beat.

Stan was even more indignant. "No!"

Mason whispered, "You want her dead, don't you?"

Stan was utterly shocked. "You can't be serious."

Mason kept staring at him and pursed his lips. He stood up and began pacing
behind Stan as he spoke. "Do you really expect me to believe this is a
straight stalker case?"

"I'm not a stalker!" Stan insisted. "She's a friend of mine."

"Sure she is," laughed Mason skeptically. "That's why she got an unlisted
number, and you haven't heard squat from her in a dozen years. Oh, you're
good, Stan. You're a real piece o' work."

Stan finally stood up and said, "Look, let's forget it. Let's forget the
whole thing."

"I get one hundred a day, plus expenses."

Stan laughed at Mason's nerve and said, "You get fifty a day, period. It's a
business trip. They'll pay for your expenses."

Mason thought about it for a moment, then said, "OK, Stan, I'll do it. But
if this chick turns up with a toe tag, I'm rolling over on you."





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Perhaps, but for most of them, Doc has re-created them pretty closely.  The
humor in the original movie did not have a lot of depth to it.

Crazy characters, yes.  One movie in which Ben Stillers co-stars got to act just
as weird as he did.

da 'Cat!


--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Frank G. Murdock" <bytor84@...>
wrote:
>
> Wow. These characters are crazy. I guess I need to see that movie "Something
> About Mary" to get some of the jokes, eh? J
>
>

This was a great chapter. I liked how the investigator is thinking one way
and discovers he's been wrong on everything. It was expected as far as the
story goes, but it is written well enough that it maintains reader interest.
Good job.



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
Sent: Saturday, March 24, 2012 7:28 PM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part 6:
The Stakeout





(Now the focus begins to shift over to Geri Sloane):

***

A few days later, Mason stood waiting alone on a corner by the Gateway City
Airport carrying one bag and a case of beer. Suddenly, a 1985 Chrysler
LeBaron convertible with a Great Dane in the back screeched to a halt in
front of him. The driver was a muscular, well-groomed man in his thirties;
he was bald with a mustache and wore sunglasses.

He shouted from the car, "Mason, you dog!"

Mason walked around the car, checking it out. "Hey, Sully, look at you!"

Sully grinned, and in a few moments, they were driving down the highway in
the Chrysler LeBaron, the dog in the backseat catching wind. Sully handed
Mason a packet. "Here's the info you asked for."

"Thanks," said Mason.

"You should thank me," Sully said seriously. "That girl was not easy to
find. What'd she do -- scam you out of some dough?"

"Nah, some guy threw me a few bucks to track down his high school
girlfriend," said Mason.

"Stalker, huh?"

"Big time."

They soon arrived at Sully's apartment, which was modest and clean, with a
direct view of Gateway University.

Mason put his bags down and looked around. "Very nice."

"I'm doing OK," said Sully. Looking at his watch, he said, "I gotta get
ready for work." He ducked into his bedroom.

Mason looked around the apartment. "Just OK, huh? With this pad, the killer
wheels? Looks like you really cleaned up your act."

"What can I tell you?" called Sully from the bedroom. "It's a healthier
lifestyle over here, and it's easier to succeed when your head's clear.
Those guys I worked with back in D.C., they were a bad influence."

"Lousy animals," grumbled Mason. "Hey, what do you say we go grab a couple
drinks?"

"Not for me, buddy," called Sully. "I don't drink anymore."

"Yeah, and you don't drink any less, right?" laughed Mason. Suddenly, a huge
boa constrictor slithered up onto Mason's lap. "What the--?!"

Sully came back in the room wearing a police uniform. "Take it easy; that's
Bill."

"Tell Bill to get the hell off!" shouted Mason.

Sully grinned and said, "Relax, he just ate." Mason just stared at his
buddy. Pride in his voice, Sully added, "Nineteen months I been sober."

"What are you talking about?" said Mason, frowning. "You were never an alky,
you were a coke-head."

"Yeah, well, when you quit blow, you gotta quit the booze, too."

"Is that right, huh?" said Mason thoughtfully. "Well, good for you, Sull.
I'm proud o' ya." He popped open one of his beers and handed it to Sully.
"Here, just have one of these, then.

Sully just looked at it disdainfully and said, "Mason, what'd I just tell
you?"

"This is a light beer," he said, laughing. "You can't have a light beer?"

"No, I can't," Sully said weakly.

Mason stared at him, baffled. "Sully, it's one #&@%in' beer, for
Chrissakes." Holding up the beer, he said sarcastically, "Ooh, the big bad
beer's gonna get ya."

Sully stared at the beer, his resolve beginning to weaken.

"I'm worried about you, man," said Mason, lowering the beer. "You better
learn to have a pop once in awhile, or you're gonna fall off the wagon.
You're being a fanatic, and that ain't healthy."

"Am I?" said Sully.

"Bet your ass you are," said Mason, grinning. "Now, I don't want to hear
anymore of your happy crap. You gotta learn how to bend a little, or believe
me, you're gonna break."

Finally, Sully took the beer. Staring at it for a moment, he finally took a
sip. His face curled up in a grimace, and he said, "Geez, you know what?
This crap doesn't even taste good to me anymore."

"Ah, screw you, then, you big wuss. What are you, spotting?" Mason roughly
grabbed the beer from Sully and chugged it back.

***

That night, a few hours later, Mason was on a stakeout in Sully's LeBaron
and going over the information Sully had found out through his various
connections, both to law enforcement and organized crime. This Geri Sloane
was a real piece of work, with a private life she had taken great pains to
keep private. But even so, he began to realize that Stanley Beamish couldn't
have looked all that hard for her. If he ever really did try to find her, it
must have been during one of her absences, because until the last couple of
years, this girl had really been on the move.

According to Sully's sources, Geri Sloane did go to Oxford University in
England, where her grades were good but not exceptional. She didn't pursue
any one field of study, preferring to move quickly from one subject to
another. A professor Sully spoke with said she had tremendous potential, but
lacked the discipline necessary for any one career. He also said that her
grades were less of a representation of her intelligence as they were of her
boredom once she'd learned as much as she'd wanted to learn. She sounded
like a real Renaissance woman. After Oxford, she spent a couple of years
traveling through Europe, Asia, and Africa, sometimes on her own and
sometimes with the odd non-governmental organization, such as the Peace
Corps and Amnesty International.

She had finally returned to Gateway City in the summer of 1985, just before
all the chaos of the red skies and the shadow demons that plagued the world
during the Crisis. She had all the signs of settling down again, even taking
up her father's old directorship of the Fair Play Club and the Sloane
Foundation. And then, just after the Crisis in September, 1985, she just
disappeared. There weren't any serious inquiries made about her, even by her
now-elderly mother Lysette Sloane, because Geri was known to just pick up
and leave to go traveling at a moment's notice, and everyone knew she loved
to travel. But even so, she left no forwarding address and no information at
all about where she was going.

Then, nine months later in June of 1986, Geri Sloane returned. (*) Mason
snickered to himself as he wondered if her nine-month absence had meant
anything. If Stan hadn't knocked her up as he had earlier speculated, then
he was willing to bet that some other poor slob had. And she must've given
up the baby for adoption, or maybe even placed it in the care of one of the
Fair Play Clubs, for all he knew. So much for the image of the saintly Geri
Sloane.

[(*) Editor's note: For she was really up to, see Justice Society of
America: The Anarchy Society of the World.]

Ever since then, she'd settled down and more or less followed in her
father's footsteps, running the Sloane Foundation and paying special
attention to the Fair Play Club, even opening up a few branches in Europe.
But Sully had also discovered some evidence of fraud; it appeared that this
girl had at one point shortly after her return withdrawn all the funds
designated for the Fair Play Club for her own use, only for the funds to get
placed back soon after. But the Sloane Foundation's trustee, one Simon
Stendal, had made a formal complaint against Geri Sloane that was later
withdrawn. Apparently, the girl had been caught with her hand in the cookie
jar, only to have second thoughts. In any case, the would-be scandal was
covered up, and it wasn't public knowledge. (*)

[(*) Editor's note: For the real story behind this incident, see Justice
Society of America: Vanity Fair (Play).]

The one thing that Mason couldn't figure out was why Geri Sloane, who had
inherited a great deal of wealth from her father and was slated to inherit
the rest after her mother died, wasn't really living the life of a
millionaire. Instead of a fancy Italian sports car, she drove a modest, new
model Honda Civic. Instead of a mansion, she lived in a one-room duplex
apartment. She didn't particularly need to work, especially since Simon
Stendal had been maintaining the Sloane family fortune without her help for
several years, but she nevertheless went in every weekday at the Sloane
Foundation and the Fair Play Club's main branch. And when she wasn't
working, she was volunteering on the weekends. The only part of her day he
didn't know anything about, really, were her evenings. She could be up to
anything then. Perhaps, Mason thought, she turned into a real party girl
when the sun went down.

As Mason's picture of Miss Sloane began to take shape, he realized that he
was dealing with someone who appeared to be a good girl on the surface but
who was capable of some seriously messed-up stuff. He had grinned to himself
as he realized that beneath Geri's girl-next-door exterior there lurked a
bad girl. And he liked that; it kind of reminded him of himself. The only
thing was, Sully hadn't provided him with a recent photo of her. For all he
knew, Geri could have grown into one of those granola-chewing activist types
like the ones who joined Greenpeace or something.

The hours passed while he was on stakeout overnight, and at some point
before dawn he finally dozed off in Sully's car, surrounded by food wrappers
everywhere. The LeBaron convertible was parked across the street from the
address to an apartment that Sully had provided for him. As he slept with
his head uncomfortably against the side of the headrest, he had left on his
headphones, which were connected to a radio surveillance microphone attached
to a pair of binoculars.

Suddenly, very early that morning, loud music exploded through his
headphones, jolting him awake. Who threw the grenade? Mason thought, having
a momentary flashback to a particularly violent episode from his past.
Quickly recovering, Mason aimed the binoculars toward the second-floor
duplex apartment across the street.

Mason had a clear view into Geri Sloane's apartment, obstructed only by the
bedroom blinds left open just enough for the morning sun to peek through.
The music that was blaring through was coming from Geri's clock radio. As
Mason watched, she sat up in bed and shook herself awake, like someone had
just poured cold water over her. She cranked the music even louder,
prompting Mason to turn his own volume control lower. Mason turned back just
to see Geri, now out of bed and heading for her walk-in closet with his back
to him. Mason shifted his position and peered closely through the
binoculars, trying to get a better look at her figure, but by now Geri was
already out of view in her walk-in closet. He cursed as he realized he still
didn't see anything he really hoped to see, but what little he had seen was
surprisingly nice. Though she was a little older than her high school photo,
she still looked like she was in great shape.

He'd now become extremely interested in his work. But as much as Mason was
enjoying the show, he still had a job to do. Speaking into a micro-cassette
recorder, he said, "OK, Stan, I found your Geri. Her current address,
two-niner-eight Athena Avenue, Gateway City. Husband, negative. Children and
Labrador, negative. Extremely nice ass, affirmative."

***

Now fully dressed in a sporty golf shirt and pants combo, Geri Sloane walked
into the living room, where an old woman was sitting on the couch listening
to a stack of radio scanners. "Have you been up all night again?"

"You bet I have," the old woman said. "It's an important job, neighborhood
watch is."

"Neighborhood watch?" laughed Geri. "Is that what you call listening in on
strangers' phone conversations?"

"These ain't strangers, honey, they're neighbors. This only picks up signals
in a half-mile radius."

"Meaning?" Geri prompted.

"Meaning these are the people you live amongst," the old woman said. "You
got a right to know if they're creeps. For instance, did you know there's a
guy down the hall cheating on his wife?"

Geri feigned shock and said, "You picked that up on the scanner? Pack your
things; we gotta move."

"I confirmed it on the scanner," the old woman said, ignoring Geri's humor.
"I knew something was up, because Puffy used to bark like hell whenever he
saw him, and you know Puffy only barks at bad people." She patted her little
dog Puffy on the head as she spoke.

"Magda, Puffy barks at everybody," Geri pointed out.

"That's because there's a lot of bad people out there," said Magda. "Hey,
Puffy tried to warn you about that Steve guy you was seeing a couple months
ago. He was a no-good dirt-bag, but you had to find out for yourself, didn't
you?"

"OK, you win," Geri replied, giving up the argument. "Now try to get some
sleep, huh?" She gave Magda a kiss and headed to her bedroom.

***

For the next few hours, Mason began to follow Geri Sloane all around Gateway
City, using all his surveillance skills to keep from being seen.

First, Geri left her apartment that morning and bounced out into the world,
seemingly without a care in the world. She walked up to a homeless man
sitting on the sidewalk, flipped him an apple, then jumped into her Honda
Civic and drove off.

Next, Geri went to a nearby driving range and began practicing her aim. As
Mason watched with his binoculars from the parking lot, he could see that
she was hitting the mark every time, without fail. He spoke into the
micro-cassette recorder, "Looks like we got a little athlete on our hands,
Stanley-boy."

Then Mason followed Geri to a Big Belly Burger, where she was handed three
huge bags of food. Mason laughed as he said into the recorder, "Well, from
her figure and her appetite, I'm guessing she's either got a bowel disorder,
or we've got a hurler on our hands."

Geri then went to a mansion-sized house in a posh neighborhood. Mason
recognized the address -- it was her parents' old home. Apparently, even
though Geri herself no longer lived there, it had been turned into some kind
of home for disabled people. Mason frowned as he watched, thinking it was
kind of weird.

Pulling up to the large, parklike front lawn within the gated estate in her
Honda Civic, Geri Sloane got out and started handing out burgers and fries
to a group of waiting disabled people, young and old.

"Get in line," she called, smiling. "One at a time."

An overweight patient approached her and asked, "Can I have two, Geri?"

"Yeah, you can have two halves, just like everyone else," she laughed.

"Thanks," he said with a smile, and walked off.

A few more patients came up for their food, and then a bucktoothed patient
stepped up to her and said, "Will you marry me, Geri?"

"Oh, yeah, pretty boy?" said Geri, keeping it light. "And what about
Dolores?" She pointed to another patient staring bashfully at him.

"Would you marry us both, Geri?"

"Yeah, that'd be a good deal for you, wouldn't it?"

The man laughed at the joke, took his burgers, and walked away. The next one
in line was the obese man again, trying to be inconspicuous.

"Wow, this is weird," said Geri. "There was somebody who looked just like
you here a minute ago." She smiled and handed him another burger.

Nearby, a man in his thirties who was wearing a Walkman with headphones was
playing catch with an athletic African-American man while other nearby
patients entertained themselves. Mason realized that the man with the
headphones must be Terrence Junior, Geri's adopted brother, and he was the
reason that the Sloane mansion had been turned into a special home.

Mason wore a strange admiring smile on his face as he spoke into the
recorder, "Ixnay on the big appetite, Stan. She's just got a big heart."





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

I really enjoyed the parts with Gerry and Mason. That second section with
Stanley at work was pprobaably my othermost enjoyable part. This is sizing
up to be a fun read.



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
Sent: Saturday, March 24, 2012 10:16 PM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part 7:
Hospitalized





(Continuing Mason's surveillance of Geri Sloane and more of Stanley
Beamish's origin story)

***

Mason hadn't been able to follow Geri Sloane around Gateway City very
closely after she dropped by the mansion, since she was behind doors at the
Sloane Foundation for the rest of the morning, and then at the Fair Play
Club headquarters for the rest of the afternoon. He waited until she left
the Club at 4:30 P.M. and headed out to a neighborhood restaurant and bar,
where she joined a group of her friends at a table under an umbrella.
Without drawing any attention to himself, Mason took a seat with his back to
them at a nearby table obscured by a large column between. It was the
perfect place to eavesdrop, although he had to wait for awhile before the
noise of the after-work crowd began to die down.

After listening for several moments, he had been able to identify all of
Geri's friends by name. The feisty one was named Candy, and the others were
Lisa and Joanie. They were now amusing themselves by checking out the
personals column in a local magazine.

"Listen to this one," continued Lisa. "'Seeking sensitive WASP doctor to
share candlelit dinners, long walks on the beach, marriage.'

"What does this girl want, a corpse?" said Candy. "You gotta be more
specific. 'Seeking deaf mute with a nice butt and a trust fund.'" The others
giggled.

"No," said Joanie, "it should be 'a hockey player with great pecs.'"

"Ugh, don't use the word pecs," Geri said disdainfully. "That makes him
sound like one of those guys with a fishnet shirt and leather pants."

Candy turned to Geri and said, "I suppose you wouldn't like someone with a
washboard stomach like Rob Lowe?"

Geri shook her head. "I'm just saying I don't mind a guy with a bit of a
beer belly. It means he's a guy. You can have those pretty boys who hang out
in a gym all day staring at their own reflections."

Mason clandestinely brought the micro-cassette recorder up to his mouth and
quietly commented, "A girl after your own heart, Stan."

"I can live with those reflections," said Joanie.

"I'm sick of those calorie-counting pretty boys," Geri said. "Give me an
honest guy who likes kielbasa and beer and playing thirty-six holes and
still has enough energy to take me and Junior out to a ballgame."

Joanie rolled her eyes and said sarcastically, "Jeez, Geri, I don't know
where you're ever going to find a guy like that." They laughed at this.

"But here's the rub," continued Geri. "The guy I'm talking about has got to
be self-employed."

"You mean, like an architect or something?" asked Lisa.

"Architect? Sure," said Geri.

"You mean creative, but not poor, right?" said Candy.

"No, why would I care about his money?" said Geri. "Creative, yeah, that's
good, but it's the freedom I'm talking about. See, this guy has to have a
job he could do anywhere. That way we could just up and leave at the drop of
a hat."

"And where would you and your beer-bellied architect be leaving to?" asked
Lisa.

"I don't know," said Geri. "The Super Bowl, the New Orleans Jazz Festival...
maybe a couple months in Nepal."

"Yeah, and you'd probably dump the poor guy halfway to Katmandu," said
Joanie.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Geri, offended.

"It means you're too hard on guys," said Joanie. "You expect every one of
them to be as noble as your dad."

"Not this again," said Geri, immediately frustrated. "And I am not too hard
on them. I just don't have time for dating in my life."

"Oh come off it, Ger," said Joanie. "What about what's-his-name...
Steverino? You could've at least given that one a chance."

"Yeah, Steve," said Geri. "Steve was all right for awhile."

"All right for awhile?" said Joanie. "The guy's good-looking, rich, witty.
He was a god."

"At one point you were talking about marrying him," said Lisa. "Come on,
why'd you dump him?"

Geri thought about this before answering. "I don't know, it was complicated.
He's in San Francisco, I'm in Gateway..." She paused, not wanting to answer
the question. "Besides, Magda's dog hated him."

"Is that old lady still with you?" said Joanie. "Geri, you said you were
putting her up for a month -- it's been a year and a half."

"Ah, she's OK," said Geri, waving it off.

"Geri, cut the crap," said Lisa. "What really happened with Steve?"

"Nothing. I mean, you know my brother," she said, sighing, "Junior."

"What? Steve seemed to put up with Junior," said Joanie.

"I don't want someone who'll put up with him," said Geri. "I want someone
who will enjoy him the way I do. Besides, he always seemed to be really
jealous about Michael."

"Michael..." all the girls said in unison dreamily, then laughed.

"I've never understood why you don't just ask him out," said Lisa. "He'd be
perfect for you."

Geri laughed at the suggestion, which her friends had made many times since
they'd first met Michael Holt, an employee of the Fair Play Club who indeed
shared a great deal in common with her. (*) "No, no, no," she said, waving
her hands, "I keep telling you guys, just like I told Steve, that there's
absolutely nothing romantic between us. In a weird way, he's more like a
second dad to me and Junior than a romantic interest. I can't really explain
why, but that's the way it is.

[(*) Editor's note: See Miss Terrific: Something New Every Day.]

"Anyway, besides thinking there was something going on between me and
Michael beyond friendship, Steve told a friend of mine -- one of Fair Play's
goodwill ambassadors, in fact -- that he would've popped the question if
Junior wasn't in my life." Geri paused for a moment to collect herself, then
said, "Well he is in my life, and I'm lucky to have him. Steve can go suck a
lemon, as far as I'm concerned."

***

In Washington, D.C., Stan Beamish sat back in his chair, his eyes dry from
staring too closely at the pages spread out on his desk before him. His
boss, the editor, had sent back every single one of the layout pages covered
with blue editor's marks in the margins. Stan worked for an educational
children's book publisher notorious for treating its staff terribly. They
published a couple of magazines that were distributed directly through the
schools that contained all kinds of fun articles on pop culture, cartoons,
and current kids' trends.

Stan worked as the writer and artist of two comic-book backup stories
featured in each of the two magazines they published. For the first
magazine, titled Pineapple, Stan had taken over a comic-strip created by
someone else that featured a group of four kids -- a blonde girl, an Asian
boy, a black girl, and a Native American boy -- with an amazing device
called the Argometer that allowed them to do amazing things, from shrink to
the size of ants, to travel back in time, to exploring outer space. All of
the stories were meant to entertain as well as to educate, and they all
contained various facts and puzzles that the readership were meant to learn
or figure out based on their knowledge before the end of the story. Those
who did work out the puzzles were rewarded by seeing the correct answer
written upside-down below the last panel in the story.

It was a fun little series, and Stan enjoyed working on it, despite the
constant interference from his editor, who often made baffling editorial
decisions. Unfortunately, Stan's editor -- a former machinist -- had no
background in editing or writing and had neither the qualifications nor the
experience for the job he had, so Stan was often forced to make changes that
made the stories worse. And there was nothing he could do about it, since
the editor was the publisher's nephew. He suspected that was the reason the
creator of the Argometer series had quit in frustration last year.

The other magazine they published, called Skywriting, was aimed at the
somewhat older audience of teens and young adults. This was a newer magazine
begun shortly after Stanley was hired last year, and because of that, Stan
was able to create his own comic-book backup series for it rather than
continue someone else's creation. A longtime fan of superheroes such as
those in the Justice Society of America, Stan convinced the editor to allow
him to create a superhero backup series, even though superhero comics
traditionally hadn't done well since they peaked in the 1940s. Stan had
briefly considered calling his character Will Power after the hero he had
created as a child, but instead he went another direction. In honor of the
old Mister Terrific, who had retired way back in the late 1960s and had only
been seen a couple of times in the seventies since then, he called his new
hero Mister Terrific.

This fictional version was a kid who could transform himself into the
grown-up Mister Terrific once a day in order to have amazing adventures, and
each time he did so, he'd have a new set of powers and had to learn how to
use them. Like the Argometer series, this series was meant to be both
entertaining and educational, with the educational part of it being all the
places in the world that Mister Terrific had his adventures in, as well as
the science behind the various different kinds of super-powers that he had.
Unfortunately, because it was a new series that hadn't stood the test of
time like the Argometer series, Stan was often sent back to the drawing
board for a multitude of changes demanded by his boss, the editor.

Between the deadlines for the two magazines and the many changes that his
boss had demanded on a regular basis, Stan found himself with very little
time lately to do anything outside of work. Although he was perfectly
capable of working from his studio at home, Stan's boss wanted him close so
he could forward his changes at the last moment. The problem was, his boss
made so many changes, sometimes even reversing earlier changes that he had
made, that Stan often risked missing the deadlines. And because the one
responsible for this was his boss, Stan was the one who had to pay the
price.

That was why he found himself at work after the working day was officially
done -- and long after his boss had gone home early -- going over the latest
changes to his Mister Terrific story from his editor. With all the work
piled up on his desk, Stan was lucky if he'd be able to get home before dark
tonight.

But he was so tired from work that he couldn't keep his strained eyes open
any longer. And once he had leaned back in his chair to give them a rest,
his body began to shut down, and he fell asleep and started to dream.

***

In his dream, Stanley Beamish was back in the Kansas hospital, covered in a
body-cast and bandages from head to toe. He had awoke in the hospital some
days after the incidents in Las Vegas with a confused jumble of memories
about what had led him to be there.

Eventually, of course, as he got better he began to piece it together again.
And then there were the people who visited him when he was still falling in
and out of consciousness. There was the redheaded teenaged tomboy, Jemi
Olsen, who came to visit him every week and read to him. His little angel
was very sweet, and Stan soon learned that Jemi's sudden reappearance had
been somewhat of a mystery, since she had disappeared some fourteen months
earlier without a trace from a science and technology show in nearby
Midvale, accompanied by the strange group of teenagers dressed as
superheroes calling themselves the Legion of Justice.

Except Jemi soon forgot completely about the Legion, knowing only that she
couldn't remember anything about the time she was missing. From her
perspective, it was as if she had just made a jump from December, 1985, to
February, 1986. Alexander Lane knew better, and he told the truth to the
Kents and Jemi herself, but to the general public Jemi Olsen's missing
fourteen months became a local weird story that was picked up by a news
agency and republished by newspapers around the world. Some people even
guessed correctly that she had traveled through time, but this line of
thinking was confined to the fringe. Most people assumed something more
plausible must be the truth. Jemi and her parents had even been approached
by a Hollywood studio for the rights to her story, but they turned down all
such requests, just hoping interest in her story would eventually die. There
was too much at risk if Jemi's disappearance and reappearance was tied to
the crimes in Las Vegas.

Alexander Lane only visited Stan once in the hospital when he was doing a
bit better, and Stan thanked him for saving his life by placing him in his
healing machine. Thanks to that machine and the lifesaving techniques of
that girl from the future called Kid Terrific, Stan was able to survive his
wounds for treatment in a hospital. The Monitor merely accepted his thanks
and let him know that the Legion of Justice was now safe and sound back in
the future.

After awhile, Stanley began to wonder who was covering his hospital bill. He
had saved up a bit of money over the years and a bit more from his short
time working in Las Vegas, but that was hardly enough to cover his cost.
Finally, Stan opened his eyes one day to find a stranger standing in his
room, looking down at him from the end of the bed. He was no doctor nor
friend, nor anyone else he'd met before. This man was tall, well-built,
gray-haired, and very tough-looking. This was Commander Steel.





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

I really enjoyed this line, Dan: "Surely you don't think 4 of you could
search the whole city?" Hope asked. "Even costumed heroes can't catch the
bad guys all the time."





/.FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of ddswanson
Sent: Sunday, March 25, 2012 8:21 AM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] Hope Hazard - ...a mask and a hat?





The next morning in the Mayor's office, the phone rang. The room was
crowded, with the Mayor, the City Council, Sheriff Bumkiss, Detective Damon,
Mr. Wall, the City Treasurer and several deputies. The Mayor's secretary,
Miss Sheryl Farrell, was also there, serving coffee to the men. With some
trepidation, the Mayor picked up the phone.

"Uh... umm... Mr. Baffler, umm... hold on, let me put the City Treasurer on
the phone." He hurriedly pushed the phone into the hands of a tall thin man
who had a very worried expression on his face.

"Um.. Mr. Baffler, my name is Eugene Greenbanks, and I am the City Treasurer
of Radiance. It has been very difficult getting together the cash required
on such short notice, and I'm afraid that so far we only have $400,000. If
you could give us until Tuesday..." He scrunched up his face in pain and
yanked the phone away from his ear, held it out to the Mayor. "He wants to
speak to you, Mr. Mayor." He handed over the phone with a sigh of relief and
quickly moved as far away from the Mayor as he could.

"Maybe you think I'm playing games here, Mr. Mayor," the Baffler said,
sarcastically stressing 'Mayor', "but I'm not. So the deal has changed. You
deliver the cash, and once I've counted it, I'll tell you what's gonna blow
up, and you'll have about two hours to clear the structure. Then, next
Saturday, we'll do this again. I want the 100 grand you welched on today,
plus another 500 grand. And you better have the whole amount this time,
or... BOOM! No warning."

Some of the deputies in the room were muttering until Bumkiss told them to
shut up. Detective Damon refused. "As Sheriff Lambert said, if you pay a
blackmailer, you end up paying over and over again."

"Damnit, Damon, shut your mouth!" Bumkiss screamed. "If we had the full
amount this morning, he'd have been satisfied and this would be over now."

"Yeah, it's our fault he's going to blow something else up today." Damon
muttered sarcastically. "And if we can't come up with the rest of the
million by next week, it'll be our fault when people die?"

The mayor had his hand clamped over the mouthpiece of the phone and he was
waving frantically for silence.

When Damon started to say something else, Bumkiss snapped. 'You're fired!"
Damon turned on his heals and left.

As he stalked from the room, Damon spoke loudly. "I thought we learned a
lesson about appeasement from Hitler and Chamberlain."

"We'll have the money next week!" the Mayor promised the Baffler anxiously.
"Please don't kill any more people!"

"Bad for re-election, isn't it, Mayor?" the Baffler chuckled. "Now, here's
what you do. I want you to carry the money. You and Miss Farrell, and anyone
else who's brave enough, except any cops!, go out the front door of City
Hall. The skirt gets into the maroon Lincoln with the motor running. Don't
bother checking on the plates - it's stolen. Foxcroft, you open up the bag
carrying the dough, on the hood of the car, so I can see it. Yes, I'll be
watching..." he laughed like a vaudeville villain "BWAH ha HAH!"

"I understand," the Mayor's voice was quavering "You won't shoot m... er,
anyone, right?"

"I won't shoot anyone - not my style. But if I see the Sheriff or any
deputies... BOOM!" He laughed his vaudeville villain laugh again. "Make sure
you leave the cash uncovered for 2 minutes, then shut the case, throw it in
the back seat, and everyone goes back inside. The dame will find further
instructions on the seat. Nobody follows her. She'll drive around for about
20 minutes, carry out my instructions, and I'll start counting the money. It
better be 400 large, or else... BOOM! If it's all there, I'll call you
back." He hung up.

The delivery went off without a hitch. The secretary drove around town for
20 minutes, making a lot of turns. Finally she got out of the car and
carried the suitcase onto the porch of an abandoned house - and then ran
like hell for a pay phone! A few minutes later, the phone in the Mayor's
office rang again.

"Just counting now," the Baffler sneered at the Mayor. "Tell Sheriff Bumpkin
to clear the Watermill Bridge. You have 2 hours from... now!"

It took half an hour to get everyone off the bridge and roadblocks
established. It was a good thing they hurried; the first of two explosions
was 45 minutes early and the second, only 2 minutes later - and the
beautiful bridge was shattered, the roads on either side leading to jagged
ends. and the debris clogging up the Mill River. It would be weeks, and cost
millions to clear the channel and repair the damage caused by minor flooding
upriver.

The Blue Boys and Miss Redhead got together at Tubby's apartment that night,
to discuss their future nocturnal activities. Janie had invited Hope as
well. "She's smart, and she's a way better fighter than I am!" she told her
friends. They looked at her strangely - how did she know that? "Oops!" she
sighed. "That was supposed to be Top Secret." Tiffany was there as well; she
had been planning to cook for Tubby, but they decided to get a pizza
instead.

"He's not using radio!" Tubby insisted. "I was scanning every frequency with
my short wave for an hour before the explosion and scanned every band -
nothing unusual. Certainly not some Nikola Tesla/Skylark of Space exploding
radio rays."

"So he must have used bombs. But how did he plant them?" Janie asked. "We've
been out looking every night... nothing."

"Surely you don't think 4 of you could search the whole city?" Hope asked.
"Even costumed heroes can't catch the bad guys all the time."

"The structures are the clues!" Tiffany spoke up excitedly. All the others
looked at her. "The clues he left were meaningless, right?'

"Well, he did kind of threaten the Sentinel in the second note. But the
clues themselves DO seem meaningless," Hope was dubious. "What do you mean?"

"All three structures were completed in the last few months. And all 3 were
plagued by complaints of shoddy construction." Her friends looked skeptical.
"You know I'm really interested in buildings and real estate?" Her friends
nodded; she had mentioned it during the Monopoly game, during which she had
showed off the results of that interest. "I talked to the landlord of the
apartment building - his staff was always doing minor repairs. Hope told us
last night that Mr. Wall had just toured the print plant to see firsthand
the things that his employees were complaining about. And only last week, a
chunk of cement fell from the bridge. I read it in the Sentinel."

"Wow! I wonder if the companies that built them used substandard building
materials - and are blowing them up now to hide it?" Herb asked excitedly.
"Who were the builders?"

"Lake Erie Construction built the Sentinel print plant," Hope replied. "I
found the file folder with the contract just last week for Mr. Hall's
lawyer."

"That wasn't the name of the company that built the bridge," Tiffany added.
"That was Big City Builders. I thought it was odd that some company from Big
City would be building a bridge so far away." But none of them had even
noticed the construction effort at the apartment building.

"It seems unlikely that 3 different companies would be doing the same thing
- unless they were ALL involved," Tom cautioned his friends.

"I wonder how we can find out?" Hope asked her friends. "The Sentinel's
morgue had already been moved into the basement of the new building before
the explosion. The public library is closed."

"Anyone doing construction in Radiance needs a city building permit,"
Tiffany mused. So there must be records in City Hall..."

"Good luck getting into City Hall on a Saturday night. Especially tonight,
the place is locked up tight as a drum," Herb informed them. "The deputies
that walk the downtown beat used to have a key, so they could walk through
the ground floor once or twice a night, but when he got elected a couple
years ago, Hizzoner Foxcroft didn't like that. Nobody but the maintenance
team allowed in over the weekend."

"So the place is empty right now?" Tom asked thoughtfully.

"Don't even think about it, Tom!" Herb ordered his friend. "I'm a deputy -
and I'll lose my job if we get caught."

"I never said 'we'," Tom objected.

"Anyway, I have a better idea," Herb replied. "Detective Damon has been
studying this case intensively; I'll bet he already knows."

Damon was at home; he invited Herb and his friends over for a beer. Some of
them weren't interested - but Herb told them that Damon had sounded really
depressed and probably needed some friends right now. So off they went. A
little while later, Damon was organizing them into teams.

"OK, Herb and Janie check out Lake Erie Construction, Tom and Hope, the Big
City Builders, Tubby and Tiffany take Keystone Construction. I'll check out
the records in City Hall. Make sure you don't get caught!" He certainly
wasn't depressed any longer!

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Herb whispered to Janie as they parked his
car not far from the offices of Lake Erie Construction.

"Cmon, Herb, it's not like the Blue Boys and Little Miss Redhead never broke
in to the bad guys' headquarters before!" Janie reminder her friend.

"Yeah - but I wasn't a deputy then."

"Look," she whispered firmly. "I'm going to do this. You can sit here alone
and wait for me, or..." she got out of the car and stepped into an alley not
far away. Herb dithered for a few seconds, but then the thought of his girl,
alone in a dark alley in a not-so-good part of the city at this hour
convinced him to move. To his relief, there was only one figure in the alley
- she looked like a cartoon ghost, with a pointed head and a long robe that
covered her arms and legs like she was draped in a sheet - except the hood
and robe weren't white, they were so dark it was almost impossible to see
her in the shadows. He knew that robe was blue; a blue so dark it was almost
black, because he was carrying a similar robe.

In a few seconds, two dark-wrapped figures slipped through the shadows in
the alleys until they reached the back door of the building they were
seeking. The lock wasn't exactly top of the line. Janie had always been the
sneaky member of the Blue foursome; she pulled out some small tools from a
pocket on the inside of her cloak and worked on the lock while Herb
nervously stood guard and bit his tongue to keep from nagging her to go
faster. He didn't understand women, but he understood enough about this one
woman to know that nagging her never produced desirable results! It seemed
like 2 hours, but it was closer to two minutes when the latch clicked open.

It was darker inside than out; Janie pulled a small electric torch from
another interior pocket, and they furtively moved through the corridors of
the empty, run -down office building looking for the door to Lake Erie
Construction. "They sure don't waste any money on their offices, do they?"
Herb whispered. The corridor floor needed to be swept and washed, and the
paint on the walls was peeling. They found the LEC door; the sign on the
frosted glass was neatly painted and looked like it was new.

Herb looked the other way. "I do _not_ want to watch you," he said softly.

Janie chuckled. "Done!" She cautiously opened the door and they slipped
inside. Discretely using their torches, they determined that they were in a
reception room with a new rug and new furniture. There were no papers on the
secretary's desk; it wasn't locked, and the drawers were pretty bare as
well, with only office supplies.

The inner office was much the same - brand new accoutrements and a desk
devoid of anything interesting. Janie looked through the file cabinets that
lined one wall - most of them were empty, but one in the middle was filled
with folders - most of which were full of blank pages. They closed all the
drawers and snuck back outside, then to their car.

"Geez Louise, that was boring!" Herb swore under his breath. "I can't
believe we risked going to jail for _that_!" Janie was disappointed as well,
though they were both relieved that they hadn't been caught. Thought they
didn't know it, Tubby and Tiffany were having much the same experience at
the office of Keystone Construction - though Tubby had boosted Tiffany high
enough to climb through an open window and let him in, rather than one of
them picking the lock. Tom and Hope, though, were having a much more...
interesting experience at the office of Big City Builders.





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

I like the blend of humor and seriousness in this story. I think the story
is put together good enough in an enjoyable way that I'm willing to put
aside the issues put forth by Kat earlier. A story that can be considered
out of continuity or liberally fitting. J



Nice job.



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 6:05 AM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part 9:
The Hit





(Finally, a Mister/Miss Terrific-themed chapter!)

***

Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp was an old friend of Terry Sloane. In fact,
when Sharp was still a police detective, he had worked alongside fellow
officer Lysette Andrews and had in fact encouraged Terry to pursue her
despite their very different backgrounds. As a young man, Terry Sloane had
always seemed like something of a wealthy snob, a millionaire playboy in the
vein of Gotham's Bruce Wayne (many years before Wayne became a fellow
commissioner of police). But as the young man grew older, he slowly became
less and less of a cad and more of the philanthropist and educator that he
turned out to be in his later years.

Sharp had already seen glimpses of this side of Terry Sloane and was not
surprised when Sloane was revealed to be the prime benefactor of the Fair
Play Club that Mister Terrific had set up. It was revealed that years ago
Mister Terrific had approached several wealthy families in Gateway City to
fund the Fair Play Club, but Sloane was the only one to initially agree to
it on the grounds that his involvement be kept a secret. And that secret was
kept, to the detriment of Sloane's reputation, until Valerie "Lady Danger"
Vaughn -- a reporter who usually worked the crime beat -- exposed Sloane's
involvement in the Fair Play Club. Overnight, Gateway City's favorite son
had become a hero to rival even that of his friend, Mister Terrific. And
with the revelation of Vaughn's scoop, many citizens of Gateway came forward
to explain how they, too, had been helped in secret by Terry Sloane. The
image of the rich snob he had been vanished overnight, and Lysette Andrews
began to see him in a different light.

Earlier, Terry Sloane had been linked romantically to Wanda Wilson, a young
woman who had served as his assistant for several years, but there came a
day when Wanda realized that her affection for Sloane would not be returned
in the way she wanted it to. While Terry had seemed content to just leave
things the way they were, Wanda wanted a husband and a family of her own. In
1947, she left Terry's employ and Gateway City altogether and was married
within the year. With her departure, there was nothing stopping Terry and
Lysette from becoming the couple that Sharp had hoped they would be.

They were married in 1950, with Mister Terrific himself -- coming briefly
out of retirement for the occasion -- serving as the best man. And shortly
after, Terry Sloane announced that he would be changing careers, or more
accurately, taking on another one. No longer would he be merely a
businessman and philanthropist; he would also be an educator. He was
welcomed with open arms to the faculty of Gateway University as an
instructor, and within a few years he had been made head of the department
of English Literature, a position he retained until his death.

As for the Sloane family, they grew in 1957 by the addition of young
Terrence Junior, a special-needs child. Then little red-haired Geri Sloane,
who was her father's daughter in nearly every way, was born to the couple in
1962; Sharp was one of her godfathers, along with Professor Al Pratt of
Calvin College and former heavyweight boxing champ Ted Grant. With a start
like that, Geri was sure to succeed.

In 1963, the Justice Society of America returned after an absence of twelve
years. Several of the individual members had been seen here and there during
that time, but for the most part the 1950s had been a decade of very
different types of heroes, such as civic hero Terry Sloane. That was why
Chuck Sharp was very surprised when Terry revealed to him the secret that he
had kept for so many years -- he was Mister Terrific.

Although he was at first surprised by the revelation, a lot of things
suddenly made sense to Sharp. Despite Terry's efforts to make himself as
different as possible as Mister Terrific with the whole rich snob routine in
the 1940s and by having a buddy of his pose as Mister Terrific at his
wedding, the two were similar in so many ways. And now, as Terry explained,
he was resuming his career as Mister Terrific along with the rest of the
JSA.

Sharp wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Terry had always been the best at
what he did, but he was still just a man, and he had retired from heroics
since 1947. A lot of things had changed over those sixteen years; was Mister
Terrific ready?

With a wink, Terry told Sharp that he had been never been more ready in his
life. In fact, he had kept himself in optimal physical and mental shape, and
he had also taken on the odd case or two during his retirement. And even
though he was juggling several careers along with being a husband and new
father, Gateway needed Mister Terrific. Sharp was reassured, and he agreed
to help him keep his secret and to provide him with any police assistance
that he could.

Terry's second career as Mister Terrific lasted even longer than it had the
first time. He had originally been Mister Terrific from late 1941 to early
1947, a period of just over five years, before he retired. And he was again
Mister Terrific for nine years, from 1963 until 1972, when he retired for
good. But given his family duties and other careers, his case load was less
frenetic the second time around. Terry also began to feel his age catching
up with him, and he decided to retire while he was still on top. As he'd
told Sharp, many of his fellow JSA members had artificially retained their
youth thanks to being exposed to a unique type of energy back in 1941,
before Terry had become a mystery man and long before Terry had joined the
JSA himself. Despite being whom many considered to be the world's most
perfect man, Terry was ultimately a man with no super-powers and no
supernatural or extranormal abilities. That was what so many loved about
him.

Chuck Sharp was shocked and devastated by Terry's murder in 1979, but he
also had a responsibility to protect Lysette, Geri, and Junior from
retaliation by the unrepentant criminals that Mister Terrific had put away.
Although Terry had been killed as Mister Terrific by one of his old enemies,
the Spirit King, it was very important that Terry Sloane and Mister Terrific
still be considered as separate people by the public.

Mister Terrific had retired to great fanfare in 1972, and Gateway City even
honored the hero with a banquet dinner to mark the occasion. So, despite
Terrific's few appearances since then, he was considered to have been in
retirement for seven years by the time Terry was murdered. Sharp took it
upon himself to officially establish in the public record that the Spirit
King had murdered Terry Sloane, not Mister Terrific, and that this murder
happened in Gateway City rather than on a satellite on a parallel world. It
was not exactly ethical, and he was not sure that Terry would have approved
of his methods, but Chuck Sharp was satisfied in the practical steps he had
taken to protect Terry's surviving family.

But even that was not enough. He made sure to have Mister Terrific appear in
costume a couple of times after Terry's death by employing Ted Grant to play
the same role as he had when he served as Terry's best man. Finally, when
the Crisis on Infinite Earths hit the world in 1985, some six years after
Terry's death, Sharp realized that it was a good time to make it seem that
Mister Terrific had died along with many of the other heroes who had
perished. Now the Sloanes were safe.

Then little Geri Sloane, who was all grown up now, decided to become a hero
herself. When Miss Terrific had approached Chuck Sharp to pledge her help to
the Gateway City Police Department two years earlier, Sharp vowed to help
her out as much as he did her father. He didn't say anything about knowing
who she really was, however; that wasn't necessary. All that was necessary
was that they have a trusted system of communication, and that he could
summon her and vice versa.

Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp now waited in his office this evening for
Miss Terrific's requested arrival. But unlike most of their previous
meetings, he was not alone. A military man from Washington, D.C., was
waiting with him -- a blond man who, rumor had it, was much older than he
looked.

"She should be here any moment now," said Sharp from behind his desk. The
other man nodded and smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious that he wanted to
get this over with.

"You wanted to see me, Commissioner?" said a pleasant-sounding voice.

Sharp and his guest rose from their seats as the red-and-green-clad heroine
entered the office through the open window. "Miss Terrific! I'm glad you
could make it."

The girl of a thousand talents smiled and nodded at Sharp, then extended her
hand toward the military man. "General Steve Trevor, I presume?"

Trevor raised one eyebrow and smiled as he returned the handshake. "Correct!
I don't believe we've met before. How did you know my name?"

"Well, besides the fact that you have a very recognizable face, General,"
began Miss Terrific, "I had been listening in for the last five minutes.
Commissioner Sharp had warned me that he had a guest, but I wasn't sure if
he'd be friendly or not."

"Our Gateway City protector is a very talented young woman, as you can see,
General," said Sharp.

"Indeed!" said Trevor, knowing full well who Miss Terrific really was. His
wife Diana was, after all, a JSA member like Geri's father had been. That
was why Commander Steel had sent him rather than anyone else; she knew who
he was as well. "Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time, so
I'll cut to the chase. Miss Terrific, I represent a government intelligence
agency that routinely monitors domestic and international organized crime,
among other things. We've learned that the Syndicate has taken out a
contract on your life, or -- to put it literally -- on the life of the girl
who wears the fair play symbol on her costume."

"The Syndicate?" clarified the heroine.

"Yes. The very same one led by Mister X, whoever he is."

"Do you have any idea who ordered the hit?" asked Sharp, looking concerned.

"It appears to have been ordered by Vincenzo Dyke, also known as Ape-Face,"
explained Trevor. "And before you tell me you've never met him, we already
know that." He sighed and said, "It seems that you're the victim, Miss
Terrific, of a mistaken identity."

"But no one else wears the fair play emblem," said Sharp.

"Well, that's not exactly true," said Trevor. "We've got footage of a group
of apparent teenage superheroes who crashed a science fair in Midvale back
at the end of 1985. One of them had a costume based on Mister Terrific's. It
seems that Ape-Face has mistaken that young individual, whom we're calling
Kid Terrific, for Miss Terrific."

"But surely even a gangster could tell the difference between a teenage girl
and a grown woman, even if we were wearing similar uniforms," said Miss
Terrific.

"You would think so," said Trevor. "But the contract is still out there. So
my purpose for coming here is twofold: first, I needed to warn you that
you've been targeted by the Syndicate, and second, that we have a plan to
bring down Mister X, and we'd like to enlist your help in doing so."

"I'm listening..." said Miss Terrific.

***

Mason was parked outside Geri Sloane's apartment, waiting for her to get
home. He had lost her trail completely earlier that evening when he slipped
out for a moment at the restaurant where she'd met her friends. When he
returned, they were all gone. He realized that they had probably gone out on
the town and could be at any of Gateway's many nightclubs, but he couldn't
be sure which one. He also knew Geri could have returned to the office, or
gone home or to anywhere else. After checking each of the places she'd
earlier visited that day and coming up with nothing, he realized she was
nowhere to be found. And since he hadn't thought of bugging her car, he
couldn't follow her. All he could do was return to the vicinity of her
apartment and wait for her to get home. Now it was past midnight, and he was
bored.

He picked up the car phone and dialed a number, and although he heard the
receiver pick up on the other end, no one spoke. "Hello...? Sully...?" He
looked into the phone and then placed it back to his ear. "Sully, that you?"

"Who the hell izzit to ya?"

"Sully, it's Mace," he said, frowning as he listened over the phone; the
cellular reception here was weak. "What's going on over there?"

Back in his apartment, Gordon Sully was sitting on the kitchen floor in his
police uniform, a ring of white around his nostrils. The room was littered
with beer cans, along with another one in his hand, and there was a pile of
cocaine and a rolled-up bill on the breakfast table. His pets, the dog and
the snake, were looking at him with concern.

"%@&*in' Mas'n! You think your $#!^ don't stink? Well I got news for ya --
you're damn right it don't! How the hell are ya, pal?!"

Mason looked at the phone, concerned. Since he'd left that morning, Sully
had fallen off the wagon, hard. "Uh, I'm fine. Just wanted to let you know
I'll have your car back in a couple hours. I'm still staking out this girl's
apartment."

"You found my car?!"

Just then, Mason noticed Geri pull up and park her car. He slid down in his
seat to keep from being seen.

Geri got out of the Honda Civic carrying a bag. Approaching the homeless
man, still sitting on the sidewalk, she handed him the bag.

"Thanks, Geri," said the man gratefully.

"You watch out for yourself, Herb," she replied. As she bounded up the steps
of her building, Herb happily took a sandwich and soda out of the bag and
began to eat.

Inside the apartment, Magda was glued to her radio scanner, listening
intently. "Geri, you gotta hear this -- some cop's staking out some broad's
apartment."

"No time, Magda," said Geri. "My show's starting."

Mason still had his directional microphone pointed at Geri's apartment and
could hear everything.

"This is a good one, Ger," continued Magda. "Sounds like his partner's all
plastered up."

Mason's eyes went wide as he realized the old woman had overheard his
conversation, and he said into the phone very quietly, "Call you back."

Sully said, "Hell, I miss ya, ya lousy--"

Mason hung up abruptly.

Inside the apartment, Magda said, "Ah, shoot. I lost 'em."

Geri ran into her bedroom, shut the door, and flipped on the TV just as a
show's theme song was playing. She laid back on her bed and started
watching, then pulled a book from her bedside table and read it during
commercials, writing in the margins from time to time.

An hour and a half passed as she watched her shows and continued reading.
Finally, Geri stood and went into her walk-in closet to undress for bed.

On the street, Mason sat up, very interested now. "Here we go, Stan-man." He
quickly reached in the back seat and pulled out a bigger, more powerful pair
of binoculars.

Looking through the window, Mason again missed seeing anything salacious,
but he was able to see as she finished slipping on a T-shirt.

Watching her trim, athletic figure as she walked up to the window to close
the blinds, Mason began to drool, muttering, "Oh, baby..."





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Hmmm. Sounds interesting. Only seen Stiller in Starskey and Hutch, no fan,
but I don't have anything against him either.



It's a movie that always catches my attention, but never my creditcard
number.



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of immortalwildcat
Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 7:59 AM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: Re: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri,
Part 5: Mason





Perhaps, but for most of them, Doc has re-created them pretty closely. The
humor in the original movie did not have a lot of depth to it.

Crazy characters, yes. One movie in which Ben Stillers co-stars got to act
just as weird as he did.

da 'Cat!

--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
<mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite%40yahoogroups.com> , "Frank G. Murdock"
<bytor84@...> wrote:
>
> Wow. These characters are crazy. I guess I need to see that movie
"Something
> About Mary" to get some of the jokes, eh? J
>
>





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

The hospital scene between Steel and Stanley were rich. I put my screen
reader on auto drive so I could laugh with the constant stream of humor. A
very fun read indeed.



The "DC Marvel" was a nice play on words as noted by Chuck. And I am
guessing Mr. Marvel is an actual DC character or property? Or is this a
writer creation?



Thanks.



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 2:57 AM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part 8:
The Power Pill





(Catching up on Stan's back story):

***

A hospital somewhere in Kansas, July, 1987:

Stanley Beamish's heart had skipped a beat when he first saw the tall,
gray-haired man in the dark suit standing at the foot of his hospital bed,
and he tried to say something, but his mouth was too dry. All that came out
was a short yelp.

"Hello, Mr. Beamish," the man said. "Please, don't try to get up. I'm
Commander Steel, and I'm a friend. You may have wondered who is handling
your hospital bill. Well, worry no longer. I've got you covered, and I'll
continue to cover you for as long as you need it. But there is one request
I'd like to make of you in return."

"Y-yes?" said Stan, trying to gulp but finding his throat too dry.

Steel walked over to the side of his bed and picked up an empty plastic cup,
then poured water into it up to the brim. As Stan licked his lips in
anticipation of the soothing water for his dry, parched mouth, Steel
suddenly swung his head back and gulped it all down.

"Beamish, you may not realize this, but you are very special," continued
Steel, holding the empty plastic cup in his hand. He turned and began to
slowly pace the room, holding the cup briefly out of Stan's view. "Several
months ago, government scientists were working on a secret formula based on
the works of Abednego Danner and Tyler Chemical to cure the common cold.
While their original endeavor failed, it did produce an interesting chemical
formula that had a strange effect on a monkey they'd been using for
experimentation." Steel turned to Stan and said, "Do you know what happened
then, Beamish?"

"What?" asked Stan, still eyeing the plastic cup.

"The monkey was not cured of the common cold by the formula, if that's what
you were thinking," continued Steel. "No, but it did change the monkey in a
very unusual way. This monkey became very powerful, very strong and fast,
and there were various other strange side-effects as well."

"A super-monkey?" Stan said, his eyes still on the plastic cup.

"It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?" agreed Steel. "I thought so as well,
until I saw the footage for myself. But even that was not enough for me, so
I demanded to see the monkey perform its amazing feats with my own two eyes.
And it was true. Our scientists had somehow happened upon a chemical formula
that was able to grant this monkey super-powers. And we asked the inevitable
question: could this chemical be used to make a man super-powerful? Could we
create our own super-agents and super-soldiers, all working for the security
of the United States?" He turned to Stanley expectantly.

Stan merely began, "Uhhh..."

"Yes!" Steel said, cutting him off. "Yes, we did ask that question, and we
went to the next step. We transformed this chemical formula into pill form,
one candy-coated pill that would grant super-powers for one hour, along with
two booster pills that would grant super-powers for ten minutes each. The
maximum dosage would be if all three pills were consumed in a single span of
twenty-four hours."

Stan frowned. "How did you find that out?"

"The monkey died," said Steel bluntly. "Just as all the other test monkeys
had died earlier. But that's beside the point. That death merely told us
what we needed to know -- that the power pill could not grant super-powers
indefinitely, but only for short bursts of time. And if the maximum dosage
was exceeded, the subject would die. The next step was to find the right
human subjects to test with these low dosages. We sent in our best and
brightest for testing -- Air Force pilots, soldiers, athletes, fire
fighters, and policemen. And do you know what happened with each and every
one of those men?"

"They died?" Stan asked.

"No, Beamish. They became sick. They all became so violently ill, each and
every one of them, that they were all hospitalized and, in some cases, they
needed to have their stomachs pumped. And these were from the smallest of
doses, a mere fraction of the size of the full, hour-long power pill. Their
perfect, genetically superior bodies rejected the power pill. So we went
back to the drawing board. What was it about the one monkey that survived
long enough to gain super-powers? Perhaps there was a genetic similarity to
a percentage of humanity that would allow the same effect to reoccur in
men."

"So thirsty..." choked Stan.

"And so we widened the net, enlarged the pool," continued Commander Steel
without a beat. "We used the entire population of the United States of
America as our testing pool, so to speak. The full resources of the U.S.
government were brought to bear to find the specific set of genetic
variables needed for the power pill to work. We pulled out medical records
from across the country. We checked everyone who had ever had a flu vaccine
within the last three years. We even went to schools and hospitals, just
hoping against hope to find a percentage of people with the right genetic
makeup to work with the power pill. And do you know what we found, Beamish?"
Steel met Stan's eyes.

"Don't know, but could you...?"

"Hmm?" said Steel, leaning forward. "What was that, Beamish?"

"W-water," Stan choked out. "Could you get me some water?"

"Oh, sure. Of course." Steel reached over and poured water into the plastic
cup. "Here you go, son," he said, delicately holding the cup up to Stan's
parched lips.

Stanley Beamish drank the whole cup down voraciously. When he looked up, he
was startled to see the stern-looking Commander Steel smiling at him.

"You," said Steel.

Stan frowned and waited, but Steel didn't continue. "You, what?" he
prompted.

Steel was still smiling as he asked him, "Just how long have you been in
this hospital bed, Beamish?"

"Uh... four... or is it five months?" said Stan, trying to remember.

"Well, isn't it time you went home?" asked Steel.

"If it's about the hospital bills, I'm sure I can pay you back. Just give me
some time, and--"

"Get up from your hospital bed, Beamish," Steel commanded him.

"Are you crazy?" said Stan. "I can't walk. My back was broken. Every bone in
my body, too. And my muscles are all atrophied. There's no way I'm walking
out of here today."

"Is that so?" asked Steel.

"Yes. Now, thanks for the water, but I'd like to be alone now. I won't be
walking anywhere soon." Stan turned his away; whoever this crazy person was,
he hoped they'd just leave him alone. His life was lousy enough as it was
without another weirdo making it worse.

Commander Steel stopped smiling and sighed. "Well, don't let it be said that
I didn't try to do this the easy way, Beamish."

"What do you--?" began Stanley, when he suddenly felt the bed move. Faster
than he could have thought possible, the bed was raised to a standing
position, and Stan was thrown completely off of it toward the wall opposite
the bed, where he collapsed into a pile on the floor. "Aaahhhggg!" he
screamed, while his skin became briefly purplish in color, and strange
sounds emanated from his stomach. "What the hell, man? What the hell do you
think you're doing?"

"Just... just give it a moment, Mr. Beamish," said Steel, who was impossibly
holding up the bed with one arm. But even his voice didn't sound too certain
about Stanley's prospects just now.

"Give what a moment?!" exclaimed Stan, angrier than he'd been for a long
time as he flopped around helplessly on the floor in agonizing pain. "Are
you trying to kill me, man?"

Commander Steel sighed and said, "Beamish, I've just given you a small dose
in liquid form of the same chemical formula that created our super-monkey.
In effect, you've swallowed the power pill."

"What?!" cried Stan, fearing that he'd been poisoned.

"You see, you are the only man in America who has the right genetic makeup
for the power pill to work," continued Steel. "It's unfortunate that you had
to be hospitalized before we found you. I suppose it's a terrible bit of bad
luck for you that we've been searching for you since the very day that you
left for your ill-fated Las Vegas trip with that mysterious plane ticket. I
can only surmise that someone wanted you out of the way. I have my
suspicions about that, of course, but I can't prove them as yet."

Stanley slowly began to move his body, shifting his left leg out from
beneath him to a more comfortable position.

"Now, if we're right, and the power pill formula works on your unique
genetic structure, then we will very soon begin to see some positive
results. You will not only walk again, but you will be able to do many
amazing feats."

"And what if you're wrong?" Stan asked, now shifting his right leg.

Commander Steel shrugged and said, "Well, if we're wrong, then let's just
say a hospital is the best place for you to be right now."

"Oh, great," said Stan, moving his arms to his side. "I think I'm gonna be
sick."

Steel turned and looked at Stanley once more, and a sly smile broke over his
face once again. "No, Mr. Beamish, I don't think you will be." He raised his
eyebrows and looked down at Stan's arms and legs, which were in a completely
different position than they'd been when he collapsed onto the floor. "I'd
offer you some help getting up, but I suspect you won't need any help ever
again."

"What do you--?" began Stan, when he clued in and realized he'd been just
able to move his arms and legs almost effortlessly compared to the past five
months.

A wide, goofy grin broke over Stanley Beamish's face as he realized that the
pain he'd been living with for so long now was slowly fading away. He placed
his right hand on the floor in front of him, then bent his knee and slowly
raised himself shakily from the ground. As soon as one leg was erect, he
brought the other one up and was soon standing on his own two feet.

But he was still dizzy, and he lost his balance, falling backward. As he
sought to correct his balance, he took a few clumsy steps backward until he
tripped and fell back against the window, shattering it as he fell through.

"AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA!" Stanley Beamish screamed as he fell hurtling from
the fifth floor of the hospital toward the concrete below. Without thinking
anything but that he was certainly going to die, he began desperately
clawing at the air and -- amazingly enough -- he began to fall a bit more
slowly.

He was still moving toward the ground, but all the glass from the window had
quickly passed him and shattered upon the concrete below, even as he slowly
descended to earth. His bare feet touched down a moment later. As he
realized he was standing in many shards of glass, he jumped off them and
found himself soaring into the air once again. Then, with nothing but a
thought, he was able to stop himself in midair.

"I've gotta be dreaming," he muttered to himself, then checked his feet.
There were no cuts upon them as you'd expect from walking on broken glass.
"Yep. Gotta be a dream."

"This is no dream, Mr. Beamish!" shouted Commander Steel from Stan's
fifth-floor hospital room. "Come back up here!"

Stanley did as he was told.

***
The effects of the small dose of the power pill formula wore off shortly
afterward, and Commander Steel was able to have Stanley Beamish transferred
to a hospital closer to home in Washington, D.C.

The formula did not cure Stan entirely, but it did accelerate the healing
process and enabled his body to heal itself in ways that, under normal
circumstances, were impossible. Stan had resigned himself to never being
able to walk again, but now not only could he walk, but whenever he took the
power pill formula, he could fly. His other powers were still developing,
but they were much like that of Superman and Superboy -- flight,
super-strength, super-speed, and super-vision. He was also somewhat
invulnerable, but not as much as Superman; he retained just enough
invulnerability to keep his body from being damaged whenever he used his
tremendous strength. But he wasn't so sure about being able to survive a
bullet unprotected.

Stan spent another two months in the Washington hospital as his injuries
fully healed. It was then that he began thinking about Geri Sloane again,
regretting what had happened in high school and wondering what might have
been.

During his time in the hospital, his buddy Hal Walters approached him about
investing in a service station with him. Stan had always been mechanically
inclined and had worked on cars with Hal several times before, and Stan had
been initially eager to have a job that was a bit more stable. Although he
later lost money in Hal and Stanley's Service Station, as the business was
called, he did not regret the time he spent working alongside his buddy.

Stan had also spent quite a bit of his time -- something that he had plenty
of while hospitalized -- writing stories and sketching once more. After a
few months, he had an impressive portfolio of fully drawn comic-book stories
to show off to any potential employer. So when the gas station business
seemed to be tanking sometime later, he was able to procure a job with an
educational magazine publisher. And if not for his unreasonable boss, it
would have been his dream job.

But all of this was nothing compared to the new career that he'd
inadvertently gained when Commander Steel found him. Since he was the only
man in America capable of being given super-powers by the power pill, he was
enlisted as a secret weapon, an agent to be used in emergencies. After his
initial involvement, Steel passed Stanley on to the Bureau of Secret
Projects that had developed the power pill, and Stan answered to his chief,
Barton J. Reed, and he also worked with Reed's assistant, Harley Trent.

After a brief training period with Operation: Liberty's Suicide Squad team,
Stan Beamish was put into the field. The only thing he lacked was a name.

"I've always known what I wanted to be called if I ever became a superhero,"
said Stan one day while visiting Reed and Trent at Secret Projects. "I'd
like to be called after a hero I created when I was just a kid drawing my
own comic-books. I'd like to be called Will Power!"

"Already taken," said Reed without a beat.

"What?!" said Stan, utterly shocked. "Are you sure? I haven't heard of
anyone with that name."

"Trust me, it's taken," said Reed. "And we can't have two Will Powers,
especially when both are so obscure. It would mess up paperwork for the
DEO," Reed explained, referring to the Department of Extranormal Operations.
"Have you any other ideas, Stanley?"

"I just can't believe it," Stan said, the wind out of his sails. "I thought
I'd been so clever with that pun... that no one else would have thought of
it..."

"Get over it, Stanley," said Harley Trent, rolling his eyes.

"I've got it!" said Reed excitedly. "Stanley, you're the marvel of D.C. Why
don't we call you the D.C. Marvel?"

"Sorry, Mr. Reed, but that's just awful," said Stan. "But you know, growing
up in Gateway City, my favorite hero was always Mister Terrific..."

"Excellent suggestion, my boy!" said Reed. "You shall be Mister Terrific!"

"...but I'd feel bad about using that name," Stan continued. "I have a
feeling no one would like it if I was using it."

"What difference does it make?" said Trent impatiently. "You're a secret
weapon, not a public superhero, remember?"

"Sure, but if I worked with any of Mister Terrific's old teammates in the
JSA, I'd hate for there to be any bad blood between us." Stan's eyes
suddenly sparkled, and he looked up. "But you know, Mr. Reed, you may be on
to something. I could call myself something that basically means the same
thing -- Mister Marvel!"

And with that, the career of Mister Marvel began.





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

If we, as readers, didn't already know the kind of person Geri turned out to be,
we would be expecting something much like Mason is.  A good example of writing
for all of the potential readers, and not just the regulars here.

da 'Cat!


--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Frank G. Murdock" <bytor84@...>
wrote:
>
> This was a great chapter. I liked how the investigator is thinking one way
> and discovers he's been wrong on everything. It was expected as far as the
> story goes, but it is written well enough that it maintains reader interest.
> Good job.
>

I was vocal in my issues with the story, but I really don't see much aside from
that initial flashback chapter that's objectionable in terms of continuity.  And
all it would take to correct that is minor alterations/toning down of the
bathroom scene.  The re-write was a good start.

da 'Cat!


--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Frank G. Murdock" <bytor84@...>
wrote:
>
> I like the blend of humor and seriousness in this story. I think the story
> is put together good enough in an enjoyable way that I'm willing to put
> aside the issues put forth by Kat earlier. A story that can be considered
> out of continuity or liberally fitting. J
>
>
>
> Nice job.
>
>
>
> /FM
>
>
>
> From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> [mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
> Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 6:05 AM
> To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part 9:
> The Hit
>
>
>
>
>
> (Finally, a Mister/Miss Terrific-themed chapter!)
>
> ***
>
> Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp was an old friend of Terry Sloane. In fact,
> when Sharp was still a police detective, he had worked alongside fellow
> officer Lysette Andrews and had in fact encouraged Terry to pursue her
> despite their very different backgrounds. As a young man, Terry Sloane had
> always seemed like something of a wealthy snob, a millionaire playboy in the
> vein of Gotham's Bruce Wayne (many years before Wayne became a fellow
> commissioner of police). But as the young man grew older, he slowly became
> less and less of a cad and more of the philanthropist and educator that he
> turned out to be in his later years.
>
> Sharp had already seen glimpses of this side of Terry Sloane and was not
> surprised when Sloane was revealed to be the prime benefactor of the Fair
> Play Club that Mister Terrific had set up. It was revealed that years ago
> Mister Terrific had approached several wealthy families in Gateway City to
> fund the Fair Play Club, but Sloane was the only one to initially agree to
> it on the grounds that his involvement be kept a secret. And that secret was
> kept, to the detriment of Sloane's reputation, until Valerie "Lady Danger"
> Vaughn -- a reporter who usually worked the crime beat -- exposed Sloane's
> involvement in the Fair Play Club. Overnight, Gateway City's favorite son
> had become a hero to rival even that of his friend, Mister Terrific. And
> with the revelation of Vaughn's scoop, many citizens of Gateway came forward
> to explain how they, too, had been helped in secret by Terry Sloane. The
> image of the rich snob he had been vanished overnight, and Lysette Andrews
> began to see him in a different light.
>
> Earlier, Terry Sloane had been linked romantically to Wanda Wilson, a young
> woman who had served as his assistant for several years, but there came a
> day when Wanda realized that her affection for Sloane would not be returned
> in the way she wanted it to. While Terry had seemed content to just leave
> things the way they were, Wanda wanted a husband and a family of her own. In
> 1947, she left Terry's employ and Gateway City altogether and was married
> within the year. With her departure, there was nothing stopping Terry and
> Lysette from becoming the couple that Sharp had hoped they would be.
>
> They were married in 1950, with Mister Terrific himself -- coming briefly
> out of retirement for the occasion -- serving as the best man. And shortly
> after, Terry Sloane announced that he would be changing careers, or more
> accurately, taking on another one. No longer would he be merely a
> businessman and philanthropist; he would also be an educator. He was
> welcomed with open arms to the faculty of Gateway University as an
> instructor, and within a few years he had been made head of the department
> of English Literature, a position he retained until his death.
>
> As for the Sloane family, they grew in 1957 by the addition of young
> Terrence Junior, a special-needs child. Then little red-haired Geri Sloane,
> who was her father's daughter in nearly every way, was born to the couple in
> 1962; Sharp was one of her godfathers, along with Professor Al Pratt of
> Calvin College and former heavyweight boxing champ Ted Grant. With a start
> like that, Geri was sure to succeed.
>
> In 1963, the Justice Society of America returned after an absence of twelve
> years. Several of the individual members had been seen here and there during
> that time, but for the most part the 1950s had been a decade of very
> different types of heroes, such as civic hero Terry Sloane. That was why
> Chuck Sharp was very surprised when Terry revealed to him the secret that he
> had kept for so many years -- he was Mister Terrific.
>
> Although he was at first surprised by the revelation, a lot of things
> suddenly made sense to Sharp. Despite Terry's efforts to make himself as
> different as possible as Mister Terrific with the whole rich snob routine in
> the 1940s and by having a buddy of his pose as Mister Terrific at his
> wedding, the two were similar in so many ways. And now, as Terry explained,
> he was resuming his career as Mister Terrific along with the rest of the
> JSA.
>
> Sharp wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Terry had always been the best at
> what he did, but he was still just a man, and he had retired from heroics
> since 1947. A lot of things had changed over those sixteen years; was Mister
> Terrific ready?
>
> With a wink, Terry told Sharp that he had been never been more ready in his
> life. In fact, he had kept himself in optimal physical and mental shape, and
> he had also taken on the odd case or two during his retirement. And even
> though he was juggling several careers along with being a husband and new
> father, Gateway needed Mister Terrific. Sharp was reassured, and he agreed
> to help him keep his secret and to provide him with any police assistance
> that he could.
>
> Terry's second career as Mister Terrific lasted even longer than it had the
> first time. He had originally been Mister Terrific from late 1941 to early
> 1947, a period of just over five years, before he retired. And he was again
> Mister Terrific for nine years, from 1963 until 1972, when he retired for
> good. But given his family duties and other careers, his case load was less
> frenetic the second time around. Terry also began to feel his age catching
> up with him, and he decided to retire while he was still on top. As he'd
> told Sharp, many of his fellow JSA members had artificially retained their
> youth thanks to being exposed to a unique type of energy back in 1941,
> before Terry had become a mystery man and long before Terry had joined the
> JSA himself. Despite being whom many considered to be the world's most
> perfect man, Terry was ultimately a man with no super-powers and no
> supernatural or extranormal abilities. That was what so many loved about
> him.
>
> Chuck Sharp was shocked and devastated by Terry's murder in 1979, but he
> also had a responsibility to protect Lysette, Geri, and Junior from
> retaliation by the unrepentant criminals that Mister Terrific had put away.
> Although Terry had been killed as Mister Terrific by one of his old enemies,
> the Spirit King, it was very important that Terry Sloane and Mister Terrific
> still be considered as separate people by the public.
>
> Mister Terrific had retired to great fanfare in 1972, and Gateway City even
> honored the hero with a banquet dinner to mark the occasion. So, despite
> Terrific's few appearances since then, he was considered to have been in
> retirement for seven years by the time Terry was murdered. Sharp took it
> upon himself to officially establish in the public record that the Spirit
> King had murdered Terry Sloane, not Mister Terrific, and that this murder
> happened in Gateway City rather than on a satellite on a parallel world. It
> was not exactly ethical, and he was not sure that Terry would have approved
> of his methods, but Chuck Sharp was satisfied in the practical steps he had
> taken to protect Terry's surviving family.
>
> But even that was not enough. He made sure to have Mister Terrific appear in
> costume a couple of times after Terry's death by employing Ted Grant to play
> the same role as he had when he served as Terry's best man. Finally, when
> the Crisis on Infinite Earths hit the world in 1985, some six years after
> Terry's death, Sharp realized that it was a good time to make it seem that
> Mister Terrific had died along with many of the other heroes who had
> perished. Now the Sloanes were safe.
>
> Then little Geri Sloane, who was all grown up now, decided to become a hero
> herself. When Miss Terrific had approached Chuck Sharp to pledge her help to
> the Gateway City Police Department two years earlier, Sharp vowed to help
> her out as much as he did her father. He didn't say anything about knowing
> who she really was, however; that wasn't necessary. All that was necessary
> was that they have a trusted system of communication, and that he could
> summon her and vice versa.
>
> Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp now waited in his office this evening for
> Miss Terrific's requested arrival. But unlike most of their previous
> meetings, he was not alone. A military man from Washington, D.C., was
> waiting with him -- a blond man who, rumor had it, was much older than he
> looked.
>
> "She should be here any moment now," said Sharp from behind his desk. The
> other man nodded and smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious that he wanted to
> get this over with.
>
> "You wanted to see me, Commissioner?" said a pleasant-sounding voice.
>
> Sharp and his guest rose from their seats as the red-and-green-clad heroine
> entered the office through the open window. "Miss Terrific! I'm glad you
> could make it."
>
> The girl of a thousand talents smiled and nodded at Sharp, then extended her
> hand toward the military man. "General Steve Trevor, I presume?"
>
> Trevor raised one eyebrow and smiled as he returned the handshake. "Correct!
> I don't believe we've met before. How did you know my name?"
>
> "Well, besides the fact that you have a very recognizable face, General,"
> began Miss Terrific, "I had been listening in for the last five minutes.
> Commissioner Sharp had warned me that he had a guest, but I wasn't sure if
> he'd be friendly or not."
>
> "Our Gateway City protector is a very talented young woman, as you can see,
> General," said Sharp.
>
> "Indeed!" said Trevor, knowing full well who Miss Terrific really was. His
> wife Diana was, after all, a JSA member like Geri's father had been. That
> was why Commander Steel had sent him rather than anyone else; she knew who
> he was as well. "Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time, so
> I'll cut to the chase. Miss Terrific, I represent a government intelligence
> agency that routinely monitors domestic and international organized crime,
> among other things. We've learned that the Syndicate has taken out a
> contract on your life, or -- to put it literally -- on the life of the girl
> who wears the fair play symbol on her costume."
>
> "The Syndicate?" clarified the heroine.
>
> "Yes. The very same one led by Mister X, whoever he is."
>
> "Do you have any idea who ordered the hit?" asked Sharp, looking concerned.
>
> "It appears to have been ordered by Vincenzo Dyke, also known as Ape-Face,"
> explained Trevor. "And before you tell me you've never met him, we already
> know that." He sighed and said, "It seems that you're the victim, Miss
> Terrific, of a mistaken identity."
>
> "But no one else wears the fair play emblem," said Sharp.
>
> "Well, that's not exactly true," said Trevor. "We've got footage of a group
> of apparent teenage superheroes who crashed a science fair in Midvale back
> at the end of 1985. One of them had a costume based on Mister Terrific's. It
> seems that Ape-Face has mistaken that young individual, whom we're calling
> Kid Terrific, for Miss Terrific."
>
> "But surely even a gangster could tell the difference between a teenage girl
> and a grown woman, even if we were wearing similar uniforms," said Miss
> Terrific.
>
> "You would think so," said Trevor. "But the contract is still out there. So
> my purpose for coming here is twofold: first, I needed to warn you that
> you've been targeted by the Syndicate, and second, that we have a plan to
> bring down Mister X, and we'd like to enlist your help in doing so."
>
> "I'm listening..." said Miss Terrific.
>
> ***
>
> Mason was parked outside Geri Sloane's apartment, waiting for her to get
> home. He had lost her trail completely earlier that evening when he slipped
> out for a moment at the restaurant where she'd met her friends. When he
> returned, they were all gone. He realized that they had probably gone out on
> the town and could be at any of Gateway's many nightclubs, but he couldn't
> be sure which one. He also knew Geri could have returned to the office, or
> gone home or to anywhere else. After checking each of the places she'd
> earlier visited that day and coming up with nothing, he realized she was
> nowhere to be found. And since he hadn't thought of bugging her car, he
> couldn't follow her. All he could do was return to the vicinity of her
> apartment and wait for her to get home. Now it was past midnight, and he was
> bored.
>
> He picked up the car phone and dialed a number, and although he heard the
> receiver pick up on the other end, no one spoke. "Hello...? Sully...?" He
> looked into the phone and then placed it back to his ear. "Sully, that you?"
>
> "Who the hell izzit to ya?"
>
> "Sully, it's Mace," he said, frowning as he listened over the phone; the
> cellular reception here was weak. "What's going on over there?"
>
> Back in his apartment, Gordon Sully was sitting on the kitchen floor in his
> police uniform, a ring of white around his nostrils. The room was littered
> with beer cans, along with another one in his hand, and there was a pile of
> cocaine and a rolled-up bill on the breakfast table. His pets, the dog and
> the snake, were looking at him with concern.
>
> "%@&*in' Mas'n! You think your $#!^ don't stink? Well I got news for ya --
> you're damn right it don't! How the hell are ya, pal?!"
>
> Mason looked at the phone, concerned. Since he'd left that morning, Sully
> had fallen off the wagon, hard. "Uh, I'm fine. Just wanted to let you know
> I'll have your car back in a couple hours. I'm still staking out this girl's
> apartment."
>
> "You found my car?!"
>
> Just then, Mason noticed Geri pull up and park her car. He slid down in his
> seat to keep from being seen.
>
> Geri got out of the Honda Civic carrying a bag. Approaching the homeless
> man, still sitting on the sidewalk, she handed him the bag.
>
> "Thanks, Geri," said the man gratefully.
>
> "You watch out for yourself, Herb," she replied. As she bounded up the steps
> of her building, Herb happily took a sandwich and soda out of the bag and
> began to eat.
>
> Inside the apartment, Magda was glued to her radio scanner, listening
> intently. "Geri, you gotta hear this -- some cop's staking out some broad's
> apartment."
>
> "No time, Magda," said Geri. "My show's starting."
>
> Mason still had his directional microphone pointed at Geri's apartment and
> could hear everything.
>
> "This is a good one, Ger," continued Magda. "Sounds like his partner's all
> plastered up."
>
> Mason's eyes went wide as he realized the old woman had overheard his
> conversation, and he said into the phone very quietly, "Call you back."
>
> Sully said, "Hell, I miss ya, ya lousy--"
>
> Mason hung up abruptly.
>
> Inside the apartment, Magda said, "Ah, shoot. I lost 'em."
>
> Geri ran into her bedroom, shut the door, and flipped on the TV just as a
> show's theme song was playing. She laid back on her bed and started
> watching, then pulled a book from her bedside table and read it during
> commercials, writing in the margins from time to time.
>
> An hour and a half passed as she watched her shows and continued reading.
> Finally, Geri stood and went into her walk-in closet to undress for bed.
>
> On the street, Mason sat up, very interested now. "Here we go, Stan-man." He
> quickly reached in the back seat and pulled out a bigger, more powerful pair
> of binoculars.
>
> Looking through the window, Mason again missed seeing anything salacious,
> but he was able to see as she finished slipping on a T-shirt.
>
> Watching her trim, athletic figure as she walked up to the window to close
> the blinds, Mason began to drool, muttering, "Oh, baby..."
>
>
>
>
>
> [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
>

I was hoping for 'Terrific Man'. Too bad about Will Power.

--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Frank G. Murdock" <bytor84@...>
wrote:
>
> The hospital scene between Steel and Stanley were rich. I put my screen
> reader on auto drive so I could laugh with the constant stream of humor. A
> very fun read indeed.
>
>
>
> The "DC Marvel" was a nice play on words as noted by Chuck. And I am
> guessing Mr. Marvel is an actual DC character or property? Or is this a
> writer creation?
>
>
>
> Thanks.
>
>
>
> /FM
>
>
>
> From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> [mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
> Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 2:57 AM
> To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part 8:
> The Power Pill
>
>
>
>
>
> (Catching up on Stan's back story):
>
> ***
>
> A hospital somewhere in Kansas, July, 1987:
>
> Stanley Beamish's heart had skipped a beat when he first saw the tall,
> gray-haired man in the dark suit standing at the foot of his hospital bed,
> and he tried to say something, but his mouth was too dry. All that came out
> was a short yelp.
>
> "Hello, Mr. Beamish," the man said. "Please, don't try to get up. I'm
> Commander Steel, and I'm a friend. You may have wondered who is handling
> your hospital bill. Well, worry no longer. I've got you covered, and I'll
> continue to cover you for as long as you need it. But there is one request
> I'd like to make of you in return."
>
> "Y-yes?" said Stan, trying to gulp but finding his throat too dry.
>
> Steel walked over to the side of his bed and picked up an empty plastic cup,
> then poured water into it up to the brim. As Stan licked his lips in
> anticipation of the soothing water for his dry, parched mouth, Steel
> suddenly swung his head back and gulped it all down.
>
> "Beamish, you may not realize this, but you are very special," continued
> Steel, holding the empty plastic cup in his hand. He turned and began to
> slowly pace the room, holding the cup briefly out of Stan's view. "Several
> months ago, government scientists were working on a secret formula based on
> the works of Abednego Danner and Tyler Chemical to cure the common cold.
> While their original endeavor failed, it did produce an interesting chemical
> formula that had a strange effect on a monkey they'd been using for
> experimentation." Steel turned to Stan and said, "Do you know what happened
> then, Beamish?"
>
> "What?" asked Stan, still eyeing the plastic cup.
>
> "The monkey was not cured of the common cold by the formula, if that's what
> you were thinking," continued Steel. "No, but it did change the monkey in a
> very unusual way. This monkey became very powerful, very strong and fast,
> and there were various other strange side-effects as well."
>
> "A super-monkey?" Stan said, his eyes still on the plastic cup.
>
> "It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?" agreed Steel. "I thought so as well,
> until I saw the footage for myself. But even that was not enough for me, so
> I demanded to see the monkey perform its amazing feats with my own two eyes.
> And it was true. Our scientists had somehow happened upon a chemical formula
> that was able to grant this monkey super-powers. And we asked the inevitable
> question: could this chemical be used to make a man super-powerful? Could we
> create our own super-agents and super-soldiers, all working for the security
> of the United States?" He turned to Stanley expectantly.
>
> Stan merely began, "Uhhh..."
>
> "Yes!" Steel said, cutting him off. "Yes, we did ask that question, and we
> went to the next step. We transformed this chemical formula into pill form,
> one candy-coated pill that would grant super-powers for one hour, along with
> two booster pills that would grant super-powers for ten minutes each. The
> maximum dosage would be if all three pills were consumed in a single span of
> twenty-four hours."
>
> Stan frowned. "How did you find that out?"
>
> "The monkey died," said Steel bluntly. "Just as all the other test monkeys
> had died earlier. But that's beside the point. That death merely told us
> what we needed to know -- that the power pill could not grant super-powers
> indefinitely, but only for short bursts of time. And if the maximum dosage
> was exceeded, the subject would die. The next step was to find the right
> human subjects to test with these low dosages. We sent in our best and
> brightest for testing -- Air Force pilots, soldiers, athletes, fire
> fighters, and policemen. And do you know what happened with each and every
> one of those men?"
>
> "They died?" Stan asked.
>
> "No, Beamish. They became sick. They all became so violently ill, each and
> every one of them, that they were all hospitalized and, in some cases, they
> needed to have their stomachs pumped. And these were from the smallest of
> doses, a mere fraction of the size of the full, hour-long power pill. Their
> perfect, genetically superior bodies rejected the power pill. So we went
> back to the drawing board. What was it about the one monkey that survived
> long enough to gain super-powers? Perhaps there was a genetic similarity to
> a percentage of humanity that would allow the same effect to reoccur in
> men."
>
> "So thirsty..." choked Stan.
>
> "And so we widened the net, enlarged the pool," continued Commander Steel
> without a beat. "We used the entire population of the United States of
> America as our testing pool, so to speak. The full resources of the U.S.
> government were brought to bear to find the specific set of genetic
> variables needed for the power pill to work. We pulled out medical records
> from across the country. We checked everyone who had ever had a flu vaccine
> within the last three years. We even went to schools and hospitals, just
> hoping against hope to find a percentage of people with the right genetic
> makeup to work with the power pill. And do you know what we found, Beamish?"
> Steel met Stan's eyes.
>
> "Don't know, but could you...?"
>
> "Hmm?" said Steel, leaning forward. "What was that, Beamish?"
>
> "W-water," Stan choked out. "Could you get me some water?"
>
> "Oh, sure. Of course." Steel reached over and poured water into the plastic
> cup. "Here you go, son," he said, delicately holding the cup up to Stan's
> parched lips.
>
> Stanley Beamish drank the whole cup down voraciously. When he looked up, he
> was startled to see the stern-looking Commander Steel smiling at him.
>
> "You," said Steel.
>
> Stan frowned and waited, but Steel didn't continue. "You, what?" he
> prompted.
>
> Steel was still smiling as he asked him, "Just how long have you been in
> this hospital bed, Beamish?"
>
> "Uh... four... or is it five months?" said Stan, trying to remember.
>
> "Well, isn't it time you went home?" asked Steel.
>
> "If it's about the hospital bills, I'm sure I can pay you back. Just give me
> some time, and--"
>
> "Get up from your hospital bed, Beamish," Steel commanded him.
>
> "Are you crazy?" said Stan. "I can't walk. My back was broken. Every bone in
> my body, too. And my muscles are all atrophied. There's no way I'm walking
> out of here today."
>
> "Is that so?" asked Steel.
>
> "Yes. Now, thanks for the water, but I'd like to be alone now. I won't be
> walking anywhere soon." Stan turned his away; whoever this crazy person was,
> he hoped they'd just leave him alone. His life was lousy enough as it was
> without another weirdo making it worse.
>
> Commander Steel stopped smiling and sighed. "Well, don't let it be said that
> I didn't try to do this the easy way, Beamish."
>
> "What do you--?" began Stanley, when he suddenly felt the bed move. Faster
> than he could have thought possible, the bed was raised to a standing
> position, and Stan was thrown completely off of it toward the wall opposite
> the bed, where he collapsed into a pile on the floor. "Aaahhhggg!" he
> screamed, while his skin became briefly purplish in color, and strange
> sounds emanated from his stomach. "What the hell, man? What the hell do you
> think you're doing?"
>
> "Just... just give it a moment, Mr. Beamish," said Steel, who was impossibly
> holding up the bed with one arm. But even his voice didn't sound too certain
> about Stanley's prospects just now.
>
> "Give what a moment?!" exclaimed Stan, angrier than he'd been for a long
> time as he flopped around helplessly on the floor in agonizing pain. "Are
> you trying to kill me, man?"
>
> Commander Steel sighed and said, "Beamish, I've just given you a small dose
> in liquid form of the same chemical formula that created our super-monkey.
> In effect, you've swallowed the power pill."
>
> "What?!" cried Stan, fearing that he'd been poisoned.
>
> "You see, you are the only man in America who has the right genetic makeup
> for the power pill to work," continued Steel. "It's unfortunate that you had
> to be hospitalized before we found you. I suppose it's a terrible bit of bad
> luck for you that we've been searching for you since the very day that you
> left for your ill-fated Las Vegas trip with that mysterious plane ticket. I
> can only surmise that someone wanted you out of the way. I have my
> suspicions about that, of course, but I can't prove them as yet."
>
> Stanley slowly began to move his body, shifting his left leg out from
> beneath him to a more comfortable position.
>
> "Now, if we're right, and the power pill formula works on your unique
> genetic structure, then we will very soon begin to see some positive
> results. You will not only walk again, but you will be able to do many
> amazing feats."
>
> "And what if you're wrong?" Stan asked, now shifting his right leg.
>
> Commander Steel shrugged and said, "Well, if we're wrong, then let's just
> say a hospital is the best place for you to be right now."
>
> "Oh, great," said Stan, moving his arms to his side. "I think I'm gonna be
> sick."
>
> Steel turned and looked at Stanley once more, and a sly smile broke over his
> face once again. "No, Mr. Beamish, I don't think you will be." He raised his
> eyebrows and looked down at Stan's arms and legs, which were in a completely
> different position than they'd been when he collapsed onto the floor. "I'd
> offer you some help getting up, but I suspect you won't need any help ever
> again."
>
> "What do you--?" began Stan, when he clued in and realized he'd been just
> able to move his arms and legs almost effortlessly compared to the past five
> months.
>
> A wide, goofy grin broke over Stanley Beamish's face as he realized that the
> pain he'd been living with for so long now was slowly fading away. He placed
> his right hand on the floor in front of him, then bent his knee and slowly
> raised himself shakily from the ground. As soon as one leg was erect, he
> brought the other one up and was soon standing on his own two feet.
>
> But he was still dizzy, and he lost his balance, falling backward. As he
> sought to correct his balance, he took a few clumsy steps backward until he
> tripped and fell back against the window, shattering it as he fell through.
>
> "AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA-AAA!" Stanley Beamish screamed as he fell hurtling from
> the fifth floor of the hospital toward the concrete below. Without thinking
> anything but that he was certainly going to die, he began desperately
> clawing at the air and -- amazingly enough -- he began to fall a bit more
> slowly.
>
> He was still moving toward the ground, but all the glass from the window had
> quickly passed him and shattered upon the concrete below, even as he slowly
> descended to earth. His bare feet touched down a moment later. As he
> realized he was standing in many shards of glass, he jumped off them and
> found himself soaring into the air once again. Then, with nothing but a
> thought, he was able to stop himself in midair.
>
> "I've gotta be dreaming," he muttered to himself, then checked his feet.
> There were no cuts upon them as you'd expect from walking on broken glass.
> "Yep. Gotta be a dream."
>
> "This is no dream, Mr. Beamish!" shouted Commander Steel from Stan's
> fifth-floor hospital room. "Come back up here!"
>
> Stanley did as he was told.
>
> ***
> The effects of the small dose of the power pill formula wore off shortly
> afterward, and Commander Steel was able to have Stanley Beamish transferred
> to a hospital closer to home in Washington, D.C.
>
> The formula did not cure Stan entirely, but it did accelerate the healing
> process and enabled his body to heal itself in ways that, under normal
> circumstances, were impossible. Stan had resigned himself to never being
> able to walk again, but now not only could he walk, but whenever he took the
> power pill formula, he could fly. His other powers were still developing,
> but they were much like that of Superman and Superboy -- flight,
> super-strength, super-speed, and super-vision. He was also somewhat
> invulnerable, but not as much as Superman; he retained just enough
> invulnerability to keep his body from being damaged whenever he used his
> tremendous strength. But he wasn't so sure about being able to survive a
> bullet unprotected.
>
> Stan spent another two months in the Washington hospital as his injuries
> fully healed. It was then that he began thinking about Geri Sloane again,
> regretting what had happened in high school and wondering what might have
> been.
>
> During his time in the hospital, his buddy Hal Walters approached him about
> investing in a service station with him. Stan had always been mechanically
> inclined and had worked on cars with Hal several times before, and Stan had
> been initially eager to have a job that was a bit more stable. Although he
> later lost money in Hal and Stanley's Service Station, as the business was
> called, he did not regret the time he spent working alongside his buddy.
>
> Stan had also spent quite a bit of his time -- something that he had plenty
> of while hospitalized -- writing stories and sketching once more. After a
> few months, he had an impressive portfolio of fully drawn comic-book stories
> to show off to any potential employer. So when the gas station business
> seemed to be tanking sometime later, he was able to procure a job with an
> educational magazine publisher. And if not for his unreasonable boss, it
> would have been his dream job.
>
> But all of this was nothing compared to the new career that he'd
> inadvertently gained when Commander Steel found him. Since he was the only
> man in America capable of being given super-powers by the power pill, he was
> enlisted as a secret weapon, an agent to be used in emergencies. After his
> initial involvement, Steel passed Stanley on to the Bureau of Secret
> Projects that had developed the power pill, and Stan answered to his chief,
> Barton J. Reed, and he also worked with Reed's assistant, Harley Trent.
>
> After a brief training period with Operation: Liberty's Suicide Squad team,
> Stan Beamish was put into the field. The only thing he lacked was a name.
>
> "I've always known what I wanted to be called if I ever became a superhero,"
> said Stan one day while visiting Reed and Trent at Secret Projects. "I'd
> like to be called after a hero I created when I was just a kid drawing my
> own comic-books. I'd like to be called Will Power!"
>
> "Already taken," said Reed without a beat.
>
> "What?!" said Stan, utterly shocked. "Are you sure? I haven't heard of
> anyone with that name."
>
> "Trust me, it's taken," said Reed. "And we can't have two Will Powers,
> especially when both are so obscure. It would mess up paperwork for the
> DEO," Reed explained, referring to the Department of Extranormal Operations.
> "Have you any other ideas, Stanley?"
>
> "I just can't believe it," Stan said, the wind out of his sails. "I thought
> I'd been so clever with that pun... that no one else would have thought of
> it..."
>
> "Get over it, Stanley," said Harley Trent, rolling his eyes.
>
> "I've got it!" said Reed excitedly. "Stanley, you're the marvel of D.C. Why
> don't we call you the D.C. Marvel?"
>
> "Sorry, Mr. Reed, but that's just awful," said Stan. "But you know, growing
> up in Gateway City, my favorite hero was always Mister Terrific..."
>
> "Excellent suggestion, my boy!" said Reed. "You shall be Mister Terrific!"
>
> "...but I'd feel bad about using that name," Stan continued. "I have a
> feeling no one would like it if I was using it."
>
> "What difference does it make?" said Trent impatiently. "You're a secret
> weapon, not a public superhero, remember?"
>
> "Sure, but if I worked with any of Mister Terrific's old teammates in the
> JSA, I'd hate for there to be any bad blood between us." Stan's eyes
> suddenly sparkled, and he looked up. "But you know, Mr. Reed, you may be on
> to something. I could call myself something that basically means the same
> thing -- Mister Marvel!"
>
> And with that, the career of Mister Marvel began.
>
>
>
>
>
> [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
>

I hope Mason gets the crap beat out of him for almost forcing his friend to have
a beer. He has just destroyed the man's life - and somebody ought to make him
pay for it.

Good story, Doc...

--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "immortalwildcat" <cjburke@...>
wrote:
>
> I was vocal in my issues with the story, but I really don't see much aside
from that initial flashback chapter that's objectionable in terms of continuity.
And all it would take to correct that is minor alterations/toning down of the
bathroom scene.  The re-write was a good start.
>
> da 'Cat!
>
>
> --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Frank G. Murdock" <bytor84@>
wrote:
> >
> > I like the blend of humor and seriousness in this story. I think the story
> > is put together good enough in an enjoyable way that I'm willing to put
> > aside the issues put forth by Kat earlier. A story that can be considered
> > out of continuity or liberally fitting. J
> >
> >
> >
> > Nice job.
> >
> >
> >
> > /FM
> >
> >
> >
> > From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> > [mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
> > Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 6:05 AM
> > To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> > Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part 9:
> > The Hit
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > (Finally, a Mister/Miss Terrific-themed chapter!)
> >
> > ***
> >
> > Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp was an old friend of Terry Sloane. In fact,
> > when Sharp was still a police detective, he had worked alongside fellow
> > officer Lysette Andrews and had in fact encouraged Terry to pursue her
> > despite their very different backgrounds. As a young man, Terry Sloane had
> > always seemed like something of a wealthy snob, a millionaire playboy in the
> > vein of Gotham's Bruce Wayne (many years before Wayne became a fellow
> > commissioner of police). But as the young man grew older, he slowly became
> > less and less of a cad and more of the philanthropist and educator that he
> > turned out to be in his later years.
> >
> > Sharp had already seen glimpses of this side of Terry Sloane and was not
> > surprised when Sloane was revealed to be the prime benefactor of the Fair
> > Play Club that Mister Terrific had set up. It was revealed that years ago
> > Mister Terrific had approached several wealthy families in Gateway City to
> > fund the Fair Play Club, but Sloane was the only one to initially agree to
> > it on the grounds that his involvement be kept a secret. And that secret was
> > kept, to the detriment of Sloane's reputation, until Valerie "Lady Danger"
> > Vaughn -- a reporter who usually worked the crime beat -- exposed Sloane's
> > involvement in the Fair Play Club. Overnight, Gateway City's favorite son
> > had become a hero to rival even that of his friend, Mister Terrific. And
> > with the revelation of Vaughn's scoop, many citizens of Gateway came forward
> > to explain how they, too, had been helped in secret by Terry Sloane. The
> > image of the rich snob he had been vanished overnight, and Lysette Andrews
> > began to see him in a different light.
> >
> > Earlier, Terry Sloane had been linked romantically to Wanda Wilson, a young
> > woman who had served as his assistant for several years, but there came a
> > day when Wanda realized that her affection for Sloane would not be returned
> > in the way she wanted it to. While Terry had seemed content to just leave
> > things the way they were, Wanda wanted a husband and a family of her own. In
> > 1947, she left Terry's employ and Gateway City altogether and was married
> > within the year. With her departure, there was nothing stopping Terry and
> > Lysette from becoming the couple that Sharp had hoped they would be.
> >
> > They were married in 1950, with Mister Terrific himself -- coming briefly
> > out of retirement for the occasion -- serving as the best man. And shortly
> > after, Terry Sloane announced that he would be changing careers, or more
> > accurately, taking on another one. No longer would he be merely a
> > businessman and philanthropist; he would also be an educator. He was
> > welcomed with open arms to the faculty of Gateway University as an
> > instructor, and within a few years he had been made head of the department
> > of English Literature, a position he retained until his death.
> >
> > As for the Sloane family, they grew in 1957 by the addition of young
> > Terrence Junior, a special-needs child. Then little red-haired Geri Sloane,
> > who was her father's daughter in nearly every way, was born to the couple in
> > 1962; Sharp was one of her godfathers, along with Professor Al Pratt of
> > Calvin College and former heavyweight boxing champ Ted Grant. With a start
> > like that, Geri was sure to succeed.
> >
> > In 1963, the Justice Society of America returned after an absence of twelve
> > years. Several of the individual members had been seen here and there during
> > that time, but for the most part the 1950s had been a decade of very
> > different types of heroes, such as civic hero Terry Sloane. That was why
> > Chuck Sharp was very surprised when Terry revealed to him the secret that he
> > had kept for so many years -- he was Mister Terrific.
> >
> > Although he was at first surprised by the revelation, a lot of things
> > suddenly made sense to Sharp. Despite Terry's efforts to make himself as
> > different as possible as Mister Terrific with the whole rich snob routine in
> > the 1940s and by having a buddy of his pose as Mister Terrific at his
> > wedding, the two were similar in so many ways. And now, as Terry explained,
> > he was resuming his career as Mister Terrific along with the rest of the
> > JSA.
> >
> > Sharp wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Terry had always been the best at
> > what he did, but he was still just a man, and he had retired from heroics
> > since 1947. A lot of things had changed over those sixteen years; was Mister
> > Terrific ready?
> >
> > With a wink, Terry told Sharp that he had been never been more ready in his
> > life. In fact, he had kept himself in optimal physical and mental shape, and
> > he had also taken on the odd case or two during his retirement. And even
> > though he was juggling several careers along with being a husband and new
> > father, Gateway needed Mister Terrific. Sharp was reassured, and he agreed
> > to help him keep his secret and to provide him with any police assistance
> > that he could.
> >
> > Terry's second career as Mister Terrific lasted even longer than it had the
> > first time. He had originally been Mister Terrific from late 1941 to early
> > 1947, a period of just over five years, before he retired. And he was again
> > Mister Terrific for nine years, from 1963 until 1972, when he retired for
> > good. But given his family duties and other careers, his case load was less
> > frenetic the second time around. Terry also began to feel his age catching
> > up with him, and he decided to retire while he was still on top. As he'd
> > told Sharp, many of his fellow JSA members had artificially retained their
> > youth thanks to being exposed to a unique type of energy back in 1941,
> > before Terry had become a mystery man and long before Terry had joined the
> > JSA himself. Despite being whom many considered to be the world's most
> > perfect man, Terry was ultimately a man with no super-powers and no
> > supernatural or extranormal abilities. That was what so many loved about
> > him.
> >
> > Chuck Sharp was shocked and devastated by Terry's murder in 1979, but he
> > also had a responsibility to protect Lysette, Geri, and Junior from
> > retaliation by the unrepentant criminals that Mister Terrific had put away.
> > Although Terry had been killed as Mister Terrific by one of his old enemies,
> > the Spirit King, it was very important that Terry Sloane and Mister Terrific
> > still be considered as separate people by the public.
> >
> > Mister Terrific had retired to great fanfare in 1972, and Gateway City even
> > honored the hero with a banquet dinner to mark the occasion. So, despite
> > Terrific's few appearances since then, he was considered to have been in
> > retirement for seven years by the time Terry was murdered. Sharp took it
> > upon himself to officially establish in the public record that the Spirit
> > King had murdered Terry Sloane, not Mister Terrific, and that this murder
> > happened in Gateway City rather than on a satellite on a parallel world. It
> > was not exactly ethical, and he was not sure that Terry would have approved
> > of his methods, but Chuck Sharp was satisfied in the practical steps he had
> > taken to protect Terry's surviving family.
> >
> > But even that was not enough. He made sure to have Mister Terrific appear in
> > costume a couple of times after Terry's death by employing Ted Grant to play
> > the same role as he had when he served as Terry's best man. Finally, when
> > the Crisis on Infinite Earths hit the world in 1985, some six years after
> > Terry's death, Sharp realized that it was a good time to make it seem that
> > Mister Terrific had died along with many of the other heroes who had
> > perished. Now the Sloanes were safe.
> >
> > Then little Geri Sloane, who was all grown up now, decided to become a hero
> > herself. When Miss Terrific had approached Chuck Sharp to pledge her help to
> > the Gateway City Police Department two years earlier, Sharp vowed to help
> > her out as much as he did her father. He didn't say anything about knowing
> > who she really was, however; that wasn't necessary. All that was necessary
> > was that they have a trusted system of communication, and that he could
> > summon her and vice versa.
> >
> > Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp now waited in his office this evening for
> > Miss Terrific's requested arrival. But unlike most of their previous
> > meetings, he was not alone. A military man from Washington, D.C., was
> > waiting with him -- a blond man who, rumor had it, was much older than he
> > looked.
> >
> > "She should be here any moment now," said Sharp from behind his desk. The
> > other man nodded and smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious that he wanted to
> > get this over with.
> >
> > "You wanted to see me, Commissioner?" said a pleasant-sounding voice.
> >
> > Sharp and his guest rose from their seats as the red-and-green-clad heroine
> > entered the office through the open window. "Miss Terrific! I'm glad you
> > could make it."
> >
> > The girl of a thousand talents smiled and nodded at Sharp, then extended her
> > hand toward the military man. "General Steve Trevor, I presume?"
> >
> > Trevor raised one eyebrow and smiled as he returned the handshake. "Correct!
> > I don't believe we've met before. How did you know my name?"
> >
> > "Well, besides the fact that you have a very recognizable face, General,"
> > began Miss Terrific, "I had been listening in for the last five minutes.
> > Commissioner Sharp had warned me that he had a guest, but I wasn't sure if
> > he'd be friendly or not."
> >
> > "Our Gateway City protector is a very talented young woman, as you can see,
> > General," said Sharp.
> >
> > "Indeed!" said Trevor, knowing full well who Miss Terrific really was. His
> > wife Diana was, after all, a JSA member like Geri's father had been. That
> > was why Commander Steel had sent him rather than anyone else; she knew who
> > he was as well. "Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time, so
> > I'll cut to the chase. Miss Terrific, I represent a government intelligence
> > agency that routinely monitors domestic and international organized crime,
> > among other things. We've learned that the Syndicate has taken out a
> > contract on your life, or -- to put it literally -- on the life of the girl
> > who wears the fair play symbol on her costume."
> >
> > "The Syndicate?" clarified the heroine.
> >
> > "Yes. The very same one led by Mister X, whoever he is."
> >
> > "Do you have any idea who ordered the hit?" asked Sharp, looking concerned.
> >
> > "It appears to have been ordered by Vincenzo Dyke, also known as Ape-Face,"
> > explained Trevor. "And before you tell me you've never met him, we already
> > know that." He sighed and said, "It seems that you're the victim, Miss
> > Terrific, of a mistaken identity."
> >
> > "But no one else wears the fair play emblem," said Sharp.
> >
> > "Well, that's not exactly true," said Trevor. "We've got footage of a group
> > of apparent teenage superheroes who crashed a science fair in Midvale back
> > at the end of 1985. One of them had a costume based on Mister Terrific's. It
> > seems that Ape-Face has mistaken that young individual, whom we're calling
> > Kid Terrific, for Miss Terrific."
> >
> > "But surely even a gangster could tell the difference between a teenage girl
> > and a grown woman, even if we were wearing similar uniforms," said Miss
> > Terrific.
> >
> > "You would think so," said Trevor. "But the contract is still out there. So
> > my purpose for coming here is twofold: first, I needed to warn you that
> > you've been targeted by the Syndicate, and second, that we have a plan to
> > bring down Mister X, and we'd like to enlist your help in doing so."
> >
> > "I'm listening..." said Miss Terrific.
> >
> > ***
> >
> > Mason was parked outside Geri Sloane's apartment, waiting for her to get
> > home. He had lost her trail completely earlier that evening when he slipped
> > out for a moment at the restaurant where she'd met her friends. When he
> > returned, they were all gone. He realized that they had probably gone out on
> > the town and could be at any of Gateway's many nightclubs, but he couldn't
> > be sure which one. He also knew Geri could have returned to the office, or
> > gone home or to anywhere else. After checking each of the places she'd
> > earlier visited that day and coming up with nothing, he realized she was
> > nowhere to be found. And since he hadn't thought of bugging her car, he
> > couldn't follow her. All he could do was return to the vicinity of her
> > apartment and wait for her to get home. Now it was past midnight, and he was
> > bored.
> >
> > He picked up the car phone and dialed a number, and although he heard the
> > receiver pick up on the other end, no one spoke. "Hello...? Sully...?" He
> > looked into the phone and then placed it back to his ear. "Sully, that you?"
> >
> > "Who the hell izzit to ya?"
> >
> > "Sully, it's Mace," he said, frowning as he listened over the phone; the
> > cellular reception here was weak. "What's going on over there?"
> >
> > Back in his apartment, Gordon Sully was sitting on the kitchen floor in his
> > police uniform, a ring of white around his nostrils. The room was littered
> > with beer cans, along with another one in his hand, and there was a pile of
> > cocaine and a rolled-up bill on the breakfast table. His pets, the dog and
> > the snake, were looking at him with concern.
> >
> > "%@&*in' Mas'n! You think your $#!^ don't stink? Well I got news for ya --
> > you're damn right it don't! How the hell are ya, pal?!"
> >
> > Mason looked at the phone, concerned. Since he'd left that morning, Sully
> > had fallen off the wagon, hard. "Uh, I'm fine. Just wanted to let you know
> > I'll have your car back in a couple hours. I'm still staking out this girl's
> > apartment."
> >
> > "You found my car?!"
> >
> > Just then, Mason noticed Geri pull up and park her car. He slid down in his
> > seat to keep from being seen.
> >
> > Geri got out of the Honda Civic carrying a bag. Approaching the homeless
> > man, still sitting on the sidewalk, she handed him the bag.
> >
> > "Thanks, Geri," said the man gratefully.
> >
> > "You watch out for yourself, Herb," she replied. As she bounded up the steps
> > of her building, Herb happily took a sandwich and soda out of the bag and
> > began to eat.
> >
> > Inside the apartment, Magda was glued to her radio scanner, listening
> > intently. "Geri, you gotta hear this -- some cop's staking out some broad's
> > apartment."
> >
> > "No time, Magda," said Geri. "My show's starting."
> >
> > Mason still had his directional microphone pointed at Geri's apartment and
> > could hear everything.
> >
> > "This is a good one, Ger," continued Magda. "Sounds like his partner's all
> > plastered up."
> >
> > Mason's eyes went wide as he realized the old woman had overheard his
> > conversation, and he said into the phone very quietly, "Call you back."
> >
> > Sully said, "Hell, I miss ya, ya lousy--"
> >
> > Mason hung up abruptly.
> >
> > Inside the apartment, Magda said, "Ah, shoot. I lost 'em."
> >
> > Geri ran into her bedroom, shut the door, and flipped on the TV just as a
> > show's theme song was playing. She laid back on her bed and started
> > watching, then pulled a book from her bedside table and read it during
> > commercials, writing in the margins from time to time.
> >
> > An hour and a half passed as she watched her shows and continued reading.
> > Finally, Geri stood and went into her walk-in closet to undress for bed.
> >
> > On the street, Mason sat up, very interested now. "Here we go, Stan-man." He
> > quickly reached in the back seat and pulled out a bigger, more powerful pair
> > of binoculars.
> >
> > Looking through the window, Mason again missed seeing anything salacious,
> > but he was able to see as she finished slipping on a T-shirt.
> >
> > Watching her trim, athletic figure as she walked up to the window to close
> > the blinds, Mason began to drool, muttering, "Oh, baby..."
> >
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
> >
>

I feel much the same, as someone who has seen addictions like this in my own
family and my wife's family.  I think this scene was lifted almost verbatim from
the movie, but I don't recall if the point of Mason pushing his friend off the
wagon was addressed later on.  Perhaps a chance to right a wrong here?

da 'Cat!
(who already has several ideas in his head on how that could be done)


--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "ddswanson" <ddswanson@...>
wrote:
>
> I hope Mason gets the crap beat out of him for almost forcing his friend to
have a beer. He has just destroyed the man's life - and somebody ought to make
him pay for it.
>
> Good story, Doc...
>
> --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "immortalwildcat" <cjburke@>
wrote:
> >
> > I was vocal in my issues with the story, but I really don't see much aside
from that initial flashback chapter that's objectionable in terms of continuity.
And all it would take to correct that is minor alterations/toning down of the
bathroom scene.  The re-write was a good start.
> >
> > da 'Cat!
> >
> >
> > --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Frank G. Murdock" <bytor84@>
wrote:
> > >
> > > I like the blend of humor and seriousness in this story. I think the story
> > > is put together good enough in an enjoyable way that I'm willing to put
> > > aside the issues put forth by Kat earlier. A story that can be considered
> > > out of continuity or liberally fitting. J
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > Nice job.
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > /FM
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> > > [mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
> > > Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 6:05 AM
> > > To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> > > Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part
9:
> > > The Hit
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > (Finally, a Mister/Miss Terrific-themed chapter!)
> > >
> > > ***
> > >
> > > Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp was an old friend of Terry Sloane. In
fact,
> > > when Sharp was still a police detective, he had worked alongside fellow
> > > officer Lysette Andrews and had in fact encouraged Terry to pursue her
> > > despite their very different backgrounds. As a young man, Terry Sloane had
> > > always seemed like something of a wealthy snob, a millionaire playboy in
the
> > > vein of Gotham's Bruce Wayne (many years before Wayne became a fellow
> > > commissioner of police). But as the young man grew older, he slowly became
> > > less and less of a cad and more of the philanthropist and educator that he
> > > turned out to be in his later years.
> > >
> > > Sharp had already seen glimpses of this side of Terry Sloane and was not
> > > surprised when Sloane was revealed to be the prime benefactor of the Fair
> > > Play Club that Mister Terrific had set up. It was revealed that years ago
> > > Mister Terrific had approached several wealthy families in Gateway City to
> > > fund the Fair Play Club, but Sloane was the only one to initially agree to
> > > it on the grounds that his involvement be kept a secret. And that secret
was
> > > kept, to the detriment of Sloane's reputation, until Valerie "Lady Danger"
> > > Vaughn -- a reporter who usually worked the crime beat -- exposed Sloane's
> > > involvement in the Fair Play Club. Overnight, Gateway City's favorite son
> > > had become a hero to rival even that of his friend, Mister Terrific. And
> > > with the revelation of Vaughn's scoop, many citizens of Gateway came
forward
> > > to explain how they, too, had been helped in secret by Terry Sloane. The
> > > image of the rich snob he had been vanished overnight, and Lysette Andrews
> > > began to see him in a different light.
> > >
> > > Earlier, Terry Sloane had been linked romantically to Wanda Wilson, a
young
> > > woman who had served as his assistant for several years, but there came a
> > > day when Wanda realized that her affection for Sloane would not be
returned
> > > in the way she wanted it to. While Terry had seemed content to just leave
> > > things the way they were, Wanda wanted a husband and a family of her own.
In
> > > 1947, she left Terry's employ and Gateway City altogether and was married
> > > within the year. With her departure, there was nothing stopping Terry and
> > > Lysette from becoming the couple that Sharp had hoped they would be.
> > >
> > > They were married in 1950, with Mister Terrific himself -- coming briefly
> > > out of retirement for the occasion -- serving as the best man. And shortly
> > > after, Terry Sloane announced that he would be changing careers, or more
> > > accurately, taking on another one. No longer would he be merely a
> > > businessman and philanthropist; he would also be an educator. He was
> > > welcomed with open arms to the faculty of Gateway University as an
> > > instructor, and within a few years he had been made head of the department
> > > of English Literature, a position he retained until his death.
> > >
> > > As for the Sloane family, they grew in 1957 by the addition of young
> > > Terrence Junior, a special-needs child. Then little red-haired Geri
Sloane,
> > > who was her father's daughter in nearly every way, was born to the couple
in
> > > 1962; Sharp was one of her godfathers, along with Professor Al Pratt of
> > > Calvin College and former heavyweight boxing champ Ted Grant. With a start
> > > like that, Geri was sure to succeed.
> > >
> > > In 1963, the Justice Society of America returned after an absence of
twelve
> > > years. Several of the individual members had been seen here and there
during
> > > that time, but for the most part the 1950s had been a decade of very
> > > different types of heroes, such as civic hero Terry Sloane. That was why
> > > Chuck Sharp was very surprised when Terry revealed to him the secret that
he
> > > had kept for so many years -- he was Mister Terrific.
> > >
> > > Although he was at first surprised by the revelation, a lot of things
> > > suddenly made sense to Sharp. Despite Terry's efforts to make himself as
> > > different as possible as Mister Terrific with the whole rich snob routine
in
> > > the 1940s and by having a buddy of his pose as Mister Terrific at his
> > > wedding, the two were similar in so many ways. And now, as Terry
explained,
> > > he was resuming his career as Mister Terrific along with the rest of the
> > > JSA.
> > >
> > > Sharp wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Terry had always been the best
at
> > > what he did, but he was still just a man, and he had retired from heroics
> > > since 1947. A lot of things had changed over those sixteen years; was
Mister
> > > Terrific ready?
> > >
> > > With a wink, Terry told Sharp that he had been never been more ready in
his
> > > life. In fact, he had kept himself in optimal physical and mental shape,
and
> > > he had also taken on the odd case or two during his retirement. And even
> > > though he was juggling several careers along with being a husband and new
> > > father, Gateway needed Mister Terrific. Sharp was reassured, and he agreed
> > > to help him keep his secret and to provide him with any police assistance
> > > that he could.
> > >
> > > Terry's second career as Mister Terrific lasted even longer than it had
the
> > > first time. He had originally been Mister Terrific from late 1941 to early
> > > 1947, a period of just over five years, before he retired. And he was
again
> > > Mister Terrific for nine years, from 1963 until 1972, when he retired for
> > > good. But given his family duties and other careers, his case load was
less
> > > frenetic the second time around. Terry also began to feel his age catching
> > > up with him, and he decided to retire while he was still on top. As he'd
> > > told Sharp, many of his fellow JSA members had artificially retained their
> > > youth thanks to being exposed to a unique type of energy back in 1941,
> > > before Terry had become a mystery man and long before Terry had joined the
> > > JSA himself. Despite being whom many considered to be the world's most
> > > perfect man, Terry was ultimately a man with no super-powers and no
> > > supernatural or extranormal abilities. That was what so many loved about
> > > him.
> > >
> > > Chuck Sharp was shocked and devastated by Terry's murder in 1979, but he
> > > also had a responsibility to protect Lysette, Geri, and Junior from
> > > retaliation by the unrepentant criminals that Mister Terrific had put
away.
> > > Although Terry had been killed as Mister Terrific by one of his old
enemies,
> > > the Spirit King, it was very important that Terry Sloane and Mister
Terrific
> > > still be considered as separate people by the public.
> > >
> > > Mister Terrific had retired to great fanfare in 1972, and Gateway City
even
> > > honored the hero with a banquet dinner to mark the occasion. So, despite
> > > Terrific's few appearances since then, he was considered to have been in
> > > retirement for seven years by the time Terry was murdered. Sharp took it
> > > upon himself to officially establish in the public record that the Spirit
> > > King had murdered Terry Sloane, not Mister Terrific, and that this murder
> > > happened in Gateway City rather than on a satellite on a parallel world.
It
> > > was not exactly ethical, and he was not sure that Terry would have
approved
> > > of his methods, but Chuck Sharp was satisfied in the practical steps he
had
> > > taken to protect Terry's surviving family.
> > >
> > > But even that was not enough. He made sure to have Mister Terrific appear
in
> > > costume a couple of times after Terry's death by employing Ted Grant to
play
> > > the same role as he had when he served as Terry's best man. Finally, when
> > > the Crisis on Infinite Earths hit the world in 1985, some six years after
> > > Terry's death, Sharp realized that it was a good time to make it seem that
> > > Mister Terrific had died along with many of the other heroes who had
> > > perished. Now the Sloanes were safe.
> > >
> > > Then little Geri Sloane, who was all grown up now, decided to become a
hero
> > > herself. When Miss Terrific had approached Chuck Sharp to pledge her help
to
> > > the Gateway City Police Department two years earlier, Sharp vowed to help
> > > her out as much as he did her father. He didn't say anything about knowing
> > > who she really was, however; that wasn't necessary. All that was necessary
> > > was that they have a trusted system of communication, and that he could
> > > summon her and vice versa.
> > >
> > > Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp now waited in his office this evening for
> > > Miss Terrific's requested arrival. But unlike most of their previous
> > > meetings, he was not alone. A military man from Washington, D.C., was
> > > waiting with him -- a blond man who, rumor had it, was much older than he
> > > looked.
> > >
> > > "She should be here any moment now," said Sharp from behind his desk. The
> > > other man nodded and smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious that he wanted
to
> > > get this over with.
> > >
> > > "You wanted to see me, Commissioner?" said a pleasant-sounding voice.
> > >
> > > Sharp and his guest rose from their seats as the red-and-green-clad
heroine
> > > entered the office through the open window. "Miss Terrific! I'm glad you
> > > could make it."
> > >
> > > The girl of a thousand talents smiled and nodded at Sharp, then extended
her
> > > hand toward the military man. "General Steve Trevor, I presume?"
> > >
> > > Trevor raised one eyebrow and smiled as he returned the handshake.
"Correct!
> > > I don't believe we've met before. How did you know my name?"
> > >
> > > "Well, besides the fact that you have a very recognizable face, General,"
> > > began Miss Terrific, "I had been listening in for the last five minutes.
> > > Commissioner Sharp had warned me that he had a guest, but I wasn't sure if
> > > he'd be friendly or not."
> > >
> > > "Our Gateway City protector is a very talented young woman, as you can
see,
> > > General," said Sharp.
> > >
> > > "Indeed!" said Trevor, knowing full well who Miss Terrific really was. His
> > > wife Diana was, after all, a JSA member like Geri's father had been. That
> > > was why Commander Steel had sent him rather than anyone else; she knew who
> > > he was as well. "Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time, so
> > > I'll cut to the chase. Miss Terrific, I represent a government
intelligence
> > > agency that routinely monitors domestic and international organized crime,
> > > among other things. We've learned that the Syndicate has taken out a
> > > contract on your life, or -- to put it literally -- on the life of the
girl
> > > who wears the fair play symbol on her costume."
> > >
> > > "The Syndicate?" clarified the heroine.
> > >
> > > "Yes. The very same one led by Mister X, whoever he is."
> > >
> > > "Do you have any idea who ordered the hit?" asked Sharp, looking
concerned.
> > >
> > > "It appears to have been ordered by Vincenzo Dyke, also known as
Ape-Face,"
> > > explained Trevor. "And before you tell me you've never met him, we already
> > > know that." He sighed and said, "It seems that you're the victim, Miss
> > > Terrific, of a mistaken identity."
> > >
> > > "But no one else wears the fair play emblem," said Sharp.
> > >
> > > "Well, that's not exactly true," said Trevor. "We've got footage of a
group
> > > of apparent teenage superheroes who crashed a science fair in Midvale back
> > > at the end of 1985. One of them had a costume based on Mister Terrific's.
It
> > > seems that Ape-Face has mistaken that young individual, whom we're calling
> > > Kid Terrific, for Miss Terrific."
> > >
> > > "But surely even a gangster could tell the difference between a teenage
girl
> > > and a grown woman, even if we were wearing similar uniforms," said Miss
> > > Terrific.
> > >
> > > "You would think so," said Trevor. "But the contract is still out there.
So
> > > my purpose for coming here is twofold: first, I needed to warn you that
> > > you've been targeted by the Syndicate, and second, that we have a plan to
> > > bring down Mister X, and we'd like to enlist your help in doing so."
> > >
> > > "I'm listening..." said Miss Terrific.
> > >
> > > ***
> > >
> > > Mason was parked outside Geri Sloane's apartment, waiting for her to get
> > > home. He had lost her trail completely earlier that evening when he
slipped
> > > out for a moment at the restaurant where she'd met her friends. When he
> > > returned, they were all gone. He realized that they had probably gone out
on
> > > the town and could be at any of Gateway's many nightclubs, but he couldn't
> > > be sure which one. He also knew Geri could have returned to the office, or
> > > gone home or to anywhere else. After checking each of the places she'd
> > > earlier visited that day and coming up with nothing, he realized she was
> > > nowhere to be found. And since he hadn't thought of bugging her car, he
> > > couldn't follow her. All he could do was return to the vicinity of her
> > > apartment and wait for her to get home. Now it was past midnight, and he
was
> > > bored.
> > >
> > > He picked up the car phone and dialed a number, and although he heard the
> > > receiver pick up on the other end, no one spoke. "Hello...? Sully...?" He
> > > looked into the phone and then placed it back to his ear. "Sully, that
you?"
> > >
> > > "Who the hell izzit to ya?"
> > >
> > > "Sully, it's Mace," he said, frowning as he listened over the phone; the
> > > cellular reception here was weak. "What's going on over there?"
> > >
> > > Back in his apartment, Gordon Sully was sitting on the kitchen floor in
his
> > > police uniform, a ring of white around his nostrils. The room was littered
> > > with beer cans, along with another one in his hand, and there was a pile
of
> > > cocaine and a rolled-up bill on the breakfast table. His pets, the dog and
> > > the snake, were looking at him with concern.
> > >
> > > "%@&*in' Mas'n! You think your $#!^ don't stink? Well I got news for ya --
> > > you're damn right it don't! How the hell are ya, pal?!"
> > >
> > > Mason looked at the phone, concerned. Since he'd left that morning, Sully
> > > had fallen off the wagon, hard. "Uh, I'm fine. Just wanted to let you know
> > > I'll have your car back in a couple hours. I'm still staking out this
girl's
> > > apartment."
> > >
> > > "You found my car?!"
> > >
> > > Just then, Mason noticed Geri pull up and park her car. He slid down in
his
> > > seat to keep from being seen.
> > >
> > > Geri got out of the Honda Civic carrying a bag. Approaching the homeless
> > > man, still sitting on the sidewalk, she handed him the bag.
> > >
> > > "Thanks, Geri," said the man gratefully.
> > >
> > > "You watch out for yourself, Herb," she replied. As she bounded up the
steps
> > > of her building, Herb happily took a sandwich and soda out of the bag and
> > > began to eat.
> > >
> > > Inside the apartment, Magda was glued to her radio scanner, listening
> > > intently. "Geri, you gotta hear this -- some cop's staking out some
broad's
> > > apartment."
> > >
> > > "No time, Magda," said Geri. "My show's starting."
> > >
> > > Mason still had his directional microphone pointed at Geri's apartment and
> > > could hear everything.
> > >
> > > "This is a good one, Ger," continued Magda. "Sounds like his partner's all
> > > plastered up."
> > >
> > > Mason's eyes went wide as he realized the old woman had overheard his
> > > conversation, and he said into the phone very quietly, "Call you back."
> > >
> > > Sully said, "Hell, I miss ya, ya lousy--"
> > >
> > > Mason hung up abruptly.
> > >
> > > Inside the apartment, Magda said, "Ah, shoot. I lost 'em."
> > >
> > > Geri ran into her bedroom, shut the door, and flipped on the TV just as a
> > > show's theme song was playing. She laid back on her bed and started
> > > watching, then pulled a book from her bedside table and read it during
> > > commercials, writing in the margins from time to time.
> > >
> > > An hour and a half passed as she watched her shows and continued reading.
> > > Finally, Geri stood and went into her walk-in closet to undress for bed.
> > >
> > > On the street, Mason sat up, very interested now. "Here we go, Stan-man."
He
> > > quickly reached in the back seat and pulled out a bigger, more powerful
pair
> > > of binoculars.
> > >
> > > Looking through the window, Mason again missed seeing anything salacious,
> > > but he was able to see as she finished slipping on a T-shirt.
> > >
> > > Watching her trim, athletic figure as she walked up to the window to close
> > > the blinds, Mason began to drool, muttering, "Oh, baby..."
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > >
> > > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
> > >
> >
>

Yeah - if that scene is supposed to be funny, it's pretty much the same thing as
laughing at someone who has pneumonia. That's one reason I don't go to 'comedic'
movies - they are not funny.

--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "immortalwildcat" <cjburke@...>
wrote:
>
> I feel much the same, as someone who has seen addictions like this in my own
family and my wife's family.  I think this scene was lifted almost verbatim from
the movie, but I don't recall if the point of Mason pushing his friend off the
wagon was addressed later on.  Perhaps a chance to right a wrong here?
>
> da 'Cat!
> (who already has several ideas in his head on how that could be done)
>
>
> --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "ddswanson" <ddswanson@> wrote:
> >
> > I hope Mason gets the crap beat out of him for almost forcing his friend to
have a beer. He has just destroyed the man's life - and somebody ought to make
him pay for it.
> >
> > Good story, Doc...
> >
> > --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "immortalwildcat" <cjburke@>
wrote:
> > >
> > > I was vocal in my issues with the story, but I really don't see much aside
from that initial flashback chapter that's objectionable in terms of continuity.
And all it would take to correct that is minor alterations/toning down of the
bathroom scene.  The re-write was a good start.
> > >
> > > da 'Cat!
> > >
> > >
> > > --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Frank G. Murdock"
<bytor84@> wrote:
> > > >
> > > > I like the blend of humor and seriousness in this story. I think the
story
> > > > is put together good enough in an enjoyable way that I'm willing to put
> > > > aside the issues put forth by Kat earlier. A story that can be
considered
> > > > out of continuity or liberally fitting. J
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > Nice job.
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > /FM
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> > > > [mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
> > > > Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 6:05 AM
> > > > To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> > > > Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri,
Part 9:
> > > > The Hit
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > (Finally, a Mister/Miss Terrific-themed chapter!)
> > > >
> > > > ***
> > > >
> > > > Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp was an old friend of Terry Sloane. In
fact,
> > > > when Sharp was still a police detective, he had worked alongside fellow
> > > > officer Lysette Andrews and had in fact encouraged Terry to pursue her
> > > > despite their very different backgrounds. As a young man, Terry Sloane
had
> > > > always seemed like something of a wealthy snob, a millionaire playboy in
the
> > > > vein of Gotham's Bruce Wayne (many years before Wayne became a fellow
> > > > commissioner of police). But as the young man grew older, he slowly
became
> > > > less and less of a cad and more of the philanthropist and educator that
he
> > > > turned out to be in his later years.
> > > >
> > > > Sharp had already seen glimpses of this side of Terry Sloane and was not
> > > > surprised when Sloane was revealed to be the prime benefactor of the
Fair
> > > > Play Club that Mister Terrific had set up. It was revealed that years
ago
> > > > Mister Terrific had approached several wealthy families in Gateway City
to
> > > > fund the Fair Play Club, but Sloane was the only one to initially agree
to
> > > > it on the grounds that his involvement be kept a secret. And that secret
was
> > > > kept, to the detriment of Sloane's reputation, until Valerie "Lady
Danger"
> > > > Vaughn -- a reporter who usually worked the crime beat -- exposed
Sloane's
> > > > involvement in the Fair Play Club. Overnight, Gateway City's favorite
son
> > > > had become a hero to rival even that of his friend, Mister Terrific. And
> > > > with the revelation of Vaughn's scoop, many citizens of Gateway came
forward
> > > > to explain how they, too, had been helped in secret by Terry Sloane. The
> > > > image of the rich snob he had been vanished overnight, and Lysette
Andrews
> > > > began to see him in a different light.
> > > >
> > > > Earlier, Terry Sloane had been linked romantically to Wanda Wilson, a
young
> > > > woman who had served as his assistant for several years, but there came
a
> > > > day when Wanda realized that her affection for Sloane would not be
returned
> > > > in the way she wanted it to. While Terry had seemed content to just
leave
> > > > things the way they were, Wanda wanted a husband and a family of her
own. In
> > > > 1947, she left Terry's employ and Gateway City altogether and was
married
> > > > within the year. With her departure, there was nothing stopping Terry
and
> > > > Lysette from becoming the couple that Sharp had hoped they would be.
> > > >
> > > > They were married in 1950, with Mister Terrific himself -- coming
briefly
> > > > out of retirement for the occasion -- serving as the best man. And
shortly
> > > > after, Terry Sloane announced that he would be changing careers, or more
> > > > accurately, taking on another one. No longer would he be merely a
> > > > businessman and philanthropist; he would also be an educator. He was
> > > > welcomed with open arms to the faculty of Gateway University as an
> > > > instructor, and within a few years he had been made head of the
department
> > > > of English Literature, a position he retained until his death.
> > > >
> > > > As for the Sloane family, they grew in 1957 by the addition of young
> > > > Terrence Junior, a special-needs child. Then little red-haired Geri
Sloane,
> > > > who was her father's daughter in nearly every way, was born to the
couple in
> > > > 1962; Sharp was one of her godfathers, along with Professor Al Pratt of
> > > > Calvin College and former heavyweight boxing champ Ted Grant. With a
start
> > > > like that, Geri was sure to succeed.
> > > >
> > > > In 1963, the Justice Society of America returned after an absence of
twelve
> > > > years. Several of the individual members had been seen here and there
during
> > > > that time, but for the most part the 1950s had been a decade of very
> > > > different types of heroes, such as civic hero Terry Sloane. That was why
> > > > Chuck Sharp was very surprised when Terry revealed to him the secret
that he
> > > > had kept for so many years -- he was Mister Terrific.
> > > >
> > > > Although he was at first surprised by the revelation, a lot of things
> > > > suddenly made sense to Sharp. Despite Terry's efforts to make himself as
> > > > different as possible as Mister Terrific with the whole rich snob
routine in
> > > > the 1940s and by having a buddy of his pose as Mister Terrific at his
> > > > wedding, the two were similar in so many ways. And now, as Terry
explained,
> > > > he was resuming his career as Mister Terrific along with the rest of the
> > > > JSA.
> > > >
> > > > Sharp wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Terry had always been the
best at
> > > > what he did, but he was still just a man, and he had retired from
heroics
> > > > since 1947. A lot of things had changed over those sixteen years; was
Mister
> > > > Terrific ready?
> > > >
> > > > With a wink, Terry told Sharp that he had been never been more ready in
his
> > > > life. In fact, he had kept himself in optimal physical and mental shape,
and
> > > > he had also taken on the odd case or two during his retirement. And even
> > > > though he was juggling several careers along with being a husband and
new
> > > > father, Gateway needed Mister Terrific. Sharp was reassured, and he
agreed
> > > > to help him keep his secret and to provide him with any police
assistance
> > > > that he could.
> > > >
> > > > Terry's second career as Mister Terrific lasted even longer than it had
the
> > > > first time. He had originally been Mister Terrific from late 1941 to
early
> > > > 1947, a period of just over five years, before he retired. And he was
again
> > > > Mister Terrific for nine years, from 1963 until 1972, when he retired
for
> > > > good. But given his family duties and other careers, his case load was
less
> > > > frenetic the second time around. Terry also began to feel his age
catching
> > > > up with him, and he decided to retire while he was still on top. As he'd
> > > > told Sharp, many of his fellow JSA members had artificially retained
their
> > > > youth thanks to being exposed to a unique type of energy back in 1941,
> > > > before Terry had become a mystery man and long before Terry had joined
the
> > > > JSA himself. Despite being whom many considered to be the world's most
> > > > perfect man, Terry was ultimately a man with no super-powers and no
> > > > supernatural or extranormal abilities. That was what so many loved about
> > > > him.
> > > >
> > > > Chuck Sharp was shocked and devastated by Terry's murder in 1979, but he
> > > > also had a responsibility to protect Lysette, Geri, and Junior from
> > > > retaliation by the unrepentant criminals that Mister Terrific had put
away.
> > > > Although Terry had been killed as Mister Terrific by one of his old
enemies,
> > > > the Spirit King, it was very important that Terry Sloane and Mister
Terrific
> > > > still be considered as separate people by the public.
> > > >
> > > > Mister Terrific had retired to great fanfare in 1972, and Gateway City
even
> > > > honored the hero with a banquet dinner to mark the occasion. So, despite
> > > > Terrific's few appearances since then, he was considered to have been in
> > > > retirement for seven years by the time Terry was murdered. Sharp took it
> > > > upon himself to officially establish in the public record that the
Spirit
> > > > King had murdered Terry Sloane, not Mister Terrific, and that this
murder
> > > > happened in Gateway City rather than on a satellite on a parallel world.
It
> > > > was not exactly ethical, and he was not sure that Terry would have
approved
> > > > of his methods, but Chuck Sharp was satisfied in the practical steps he
had
> > > > taken to protect Terry's surviving family.
> > > >
> > > > But even that was not enough. He made sure to have Mister Terrific
appear in
> > > > costume a couple of times after Terry's death by employing Ted Grant to
play
> > > > the same role as he had when he served as Terry's best man. Finally,
when
> > > > the Crisis on Infinite Earths hit the world in 1985, some six years
after
> > > > Terry's death, Sharp realized that it was a good time to make it seem
that
> > > > Mister Terrific had died along with many of the other heroes who had
> > > > perished. Now the Sloanes were safe.
> > > >
> > > > Then little Geri Sloane, who was all grown up now, decided to become a
hero
> > > > herself. When Miss Terrific had approached Chuck Sharp to pledge her
help to
> > > > the Gateway City Police Department two years earlier, Sharp vowed to
help
> > > > her out as much as he did her father. He didn't say anything about
knowing
> > > > who she really was, however; that wasn't necessary. All that was
necessary
> > > > was that they have a trusted system of communication, and that he could
> > > > summon her and vice versa.
> > > >
> > > > Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp now waited in his office this evening
for
> > > > Miss Terrific's requested arrival. But unlike most of their previous
> > > > meetings, he was not alone. A military man from Washington, D.C., was
> > > > waiting with him -- a blond man who, rumor had it, was much older than
he
> > > > looked.
> > > >
> > > > "She should be here any moment now," said Sharp from behind his desk.
The
> > > > other man nodded and smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious that he
wanted to
> > > > get this over with.
> > > >
> > > > "You wanted to see me, Commissioner?" said a pleasant-sounding voice.
> > > >
> > > > Sharp and his guest rose from their seats as the red-and-green-clad
heroine
> > > > entered the office through the open window. "Miss Terrific! I'm glad you
> > > > could make it."
> > > >
> > > > The girl of a thousand talents smiled and nodded at Sharp, then extended
her
> > > > hand toward the military man. "General Steve Trevor, I presume?"
> > > >
> > > > Trevor raised one eyebrow and smiled as he returned the handshake.
"Correct!
> > > > I don't believe we've met before. How did you know my name?"
> > > >
> > > > "Well, besides the fact that you have a very recognizable face,
General,"
> > > > began Miss Terrific, "I had been listening in for the last five minutes.
> > > > Commissioner Sharp had warned me that he had a guest, but I wasn't sure
if
> > > > he'd be friendly or not."
> > > >
> > > > "Our Gateway City protector is a very talented young woman, as you can
see,
> > > > General," said Sharp.
> > > >
> > > > "Indeed!" said Trevor, knowing full well who Miss Terrific really was.
His
> > > > wife Diana was, after all, a JSA member like Geri's father had been.
That
> > > > was why Commander Steel had sent him rather than anyone else; she knew
who
> > > > he was as well. "Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time, so
> > > > I'll cut to the chase. Miss Terrific, I represent a government
intelligence
> > > > agency that routinely monitors domestic and international organized
crime,
> > > > among other things. We've learned that the Syndicate has taken out a
> > > > contract on your life, or -- to put it literally -- on the life of the
girl
> > > > who wears the fair play symbol on her costume."
> > > >
> > > > "The Syndicate?" clarified the heroine.
> > > >
> > > > "Yes. The very same one led by Mister X, whoever he is."
> > > >
> > > > "Do you have any idea who ordered the hit?" asked Sharp, looking
concerned.
> > > >
> > > > "It appears to have been ordered by Vincenzo Dyke, also known as
Ape-Face,"
> > > > explained Trevor. "And before you tell me you've never met him, we
already
> > > > know that." He sighed and said, "It seems that you're the victim, Miss
> > > > Terrific, of a mistaken identity."
> > > >
> > > > "But no one else wears the fair play emblem," said Sharp.
> > > >
> > > > "Well, that's not exactly true," said Trevor. "We've got footage of a
group
> > > > of apparent teenage superheroes who crashed a science fair in Midvale
back
> > > > at the end of 1985. One of them had a costume based on Mister
Terrific's. It
> > > > seems that Ape-Face has mistaken that young individual, whom we're
calling
> > > > Kid Terrific, for Miss Terrific."
> > > >
> > > > "But surely even a gangster could tell the difference between a teenage
girl
> > > > and a grown woman, even if we were wearing similar uniforms," said Miss
> > > > Terrific.
> > > >
> > > > "You would think so," said Trevor. "But the contract is still out there.
So
> > > > my purpose for coming here is twofold: first, I needed to warn you that
> > > > you've been targeted by the Syndicate, and second, that we have a plan
to
> > > > bring down Mister X, and we'd like to enlist your help in doing so."
> > > >
> > > > "I'm listening..." said Miss Terrific.
> > > >
> > > > ***
> > > >
> > > > Mason was parked outside Geri Sloane's apartment, waiting for her to get
> > > > home. He had lost her trail completely earlier that evening when he
slipped
> > > > out for a moment at the restaurant where she'd met her friends. When he
> > > > returned, they were all gone. He realized that they had probably gone
out on
> > > > the town and could be at any of Gateway's many nightclubs, but he
couldn't
> > > > be sure which one. He also knew Geri could have returned to the office,
or
> > > > gone home or to anywhere else. After checking each of the places she'd
> > > > earlier visited that day and coming up with nothing, he realized she was
> > > > nowhere to be found. And since he hadn't thought of bugging her car, he
> > > > couldn't follow her. All he could do was return to the vicinity of her
> > > > apartment and wait for her to get home. Now it was past midnight, and he
was
> > > > bored.
> > > >
> > > > He picked up the car phone and dialed a number, and although he heard
the
> > > > receiver pick up on the other end, no one spoke. "Hello...? Sully...?"
He
> > > > looked into the phone and then placed it back to his ear. "Sully, that
you?"
> > > >
> > > > "Who the hell izzit to ya?"
> > > >
> > > > "Sully, it's Mace," he said, frowning as he listened over the phone; the
> > > > cellular reception here was weak. "What's going on over there?"
> > > >
> > > > Back in his apartment, Gordon Sully was sitting on the kitchen floor in
his
> > > > police uniform, a ring of white around his nostrils. The room was
littered
> > > > with beer cans, along with another one in his hand, and there was a pile
of
> > > > cocaine and a rolled-up bill on the breakfast table. His pets, the dog
and
> > > > the snake, were looking at him with concern.
> > > >
> > > > "%@&*in' Mas'n! You think your $#!^ don't stink? Well I got news for ya
--
> > > > you're damn right it don't! How the hell are ya, pal?!"
> > > >
> > > > Mason looked at the phone, concerned. Since he'd left that morning,
Sully
> > > > had fallen off the wagon, hard. "Uh, I'm fine. Just wanted to let you
know
> > > > I'll have your car back in a couple hours. I'm still staking out this
girl's
> > > > apartment."
> > > >
> > > > "You found my car?!"
> > > >
> > > > Just then, Mason noticed Geri pull up and park her car. He slid down in
his
> > > > seat to keep from being seen.
> > > >
> > > > Geri got out of the Honda Civic carrying a bag. Approaching the homeless
> > > > man, still sitting on the sidewalk, she handed him the bag.
> > > >
> > > > "Thanks, Geri," said the man gratefully.
> > > >
> > > > "You watch out for yourself, Herb," she replied. As she bounded up the
steps
> > > > of her building, Herb happily took a sandwich and soda out of the bag
and
> > > > began to eat.
> > > >
> > > > Inside the apartment, Magda was glued to her radio scanner, listening
> > > > intently. "Geri, you gotta hear this -- some cop's staking out some
broad's
> > > > apartment."
> > > >
> > > > "No time, Magda," said Geri. "My show's starting."
> > > >
> > > > Mason still had his directional microphone pointed at Geri's apartment
and
> > > > could hear everything.
> > > >
> > > > "This is a good one, Ger," continued Magda. "Sounds like his partner's
all
> > > > plastered up."
> > > >
> > > > Mason's eyes went wide as he realized the old woman had overheard his
> > > > conversation, and he said into the phone very quietly, "Call you back."
> > > >
> > > > Sully said, "Hell, I miss ya, ya lousy--"
> > > >
> > > > Mason hung up abruptly.
> > > >
> > > > Inside the apartment, Magda said, "Ah, shoot. I lost 'em."
> > > >
> > > > Geri ran into her bedroom, shut the door, and flipped on the TV just as
a
> > > > show's theme song was playing. She laid back on her bed and started
> > > > watching, then pulled a book from her bedside table and read it during
> > > > commercials, writing in the margins from time to time.
> > > >
> > > > An hour and a half passed as she watched her shows and continued
reading.
> > > > Finally, Geri stood and went into her walk-in closet to undress for bed.
> > > >
> > > > On the street, Mason sat up, very interested now. "Here we go,
Stan-man." He
> > > > quickly reached in the back seat and pulled out a bigger, more powerful
pair
> > > > of binoculars.
> > > >
> > > > Looking through the window, Mason again missed seeing anything
salacious,
> > > > but he was able to see as she finished slipping on a T-shirt.
> > > >
> > > > Watching her trim, athletic figure as she walked up to the window to
close
> > > > the blinds, Mason began to drool, muttering, "Oh, baby..."
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
> > > >
> > >
> >
>

The following short story is part of The Nebula Man crossover and shows what
happened to the Star-Spangled Kid when he was sent back in time from the year
1948. Other written chapters have featured The Crimson Avenger, Green Arrow,
Stripesy, and Speedy. You can find them on the Earth-2 Times Past listing:

http://www.5earths.info/earth-2/timespast/

***

The first thing that hit me was the smell of sulphur, so strong that I felt
immediately nauseous from it. As I opened my eyes, I found myself in a strange
place. All around me was a rocky landscape and a yellowish sky above me.

"I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," I said, although there was
no one else around to hear me. I was so used to making comments like that, since
I was usually not alone when in my costume.

I looked down, and sure enough my costume was still fully intact -- bright blue
and red, with stylized white stars emblazoned all over them. It was a fitting
costume for someone calling himself the Star-Spangled Kid, but I had a feeling
it would be rather out of place here.

My first thoughts were of where I had been and where I was now. A few moments
ago I had been with Stripesy and the rest of the Law's Legionnaires in the
Himalayas. We'd traveled there to confront the fearsome Nebula Man, and when our
battle ended, the Nebula Man exploded. After that, I found myself here.

But where was here? I began to walk along this rocky, sulphurous landscape in an
effort to make some sense of it all. Was I thrown by an explosion to some remote
part of the Himalayas? And if so, did the other Seven Soldiers of Victory
survive as well?

Then I heard voices -- harsh, guttural voices in a language unlike any I'd ever
heard before. I decided that caution was the order of the day and snuck behind a
rock to observe them, for I was standing above a ridge from which, I discerned,
their voices had come. Three men ran into view a moment later, and my hopes were
dashed. They had pale, grayish-brown skin, were dressed in animal skins, and
carried primitive weapons. But as I began to wonder whether they were really as
large and beast-like as they seemed -- almost like giant beast-men -- I realized
that they were running very fast.
A moment later, I found out why, when a saber-tooth tiger chased after them. My
heart sank as I realized that I'd been sent back in time again, but to the days
of the cavemen.

Suddenly, my parched throat became rough, and I coughed before I could stop
myself. Glancing back down into the valley, I realized that the saber-tooth
tiger had heard my cough and stopped in its tracks. Then the three men, carrying
spears tipped with flintrock, took that momentary distraction to turn back to
the tiger and attack it. I did not wait to see whether they succeeded in
subduing the tiger, instead bolting and running in the opposite direction.

It was not entirely fear for my own safety that caused me to run, though I admit
that the thought of other beast-men or saber-tooth tigers out there did not fill
me with much confidence for my survival. My fears were for the future, for I
could tell by my cough, my parched throat, and my runny nose that I had brought
back with me a very terrible, very contagious disease -- the common flu.

I know what most people's reaction would be to having the flu: That's a shame,
but I'll be fine. Except I wasn't worried about my own survival of the flu -- I
was worried about the survival of the human race itself. For all I knew, these
primitive-looking beast-men were the direct ancestors of modern man, and even if
they were not, they most certainly could be in contact with them. So to
introduce a modern influenza virus into a human population that had no natural,
hard-won immunities to any modern diseases would be utterly devastating.

People still forget, even though it was thirty years ago, that the Spanish Flu
killed more people than the First World War. If I recall my statistics
correctly, in fact, somewhere between twenty and forty million people died from
the Spanish Flu of 1918. That's more than the Black Death. And I was a carrier
with an active flu. I knew right then and there that my first and possibly only
goal was to prevent myself from becoming another Typhoid Mary.

To that end, I searched for a dwelling in this rocky terrain where I could hole
myself up indefinitely, or at least until I was sure that the flu had passed. I
still held out hope of a rescue from my fellow Legionnaires, but I knew from
past experience that time travel was tricky, and there were no guarantees of
anything.

I won't bore you with the details, but I was able to find a cave after a brief
search. The terrain seemed to be littered with them, which explained where the
beast-men -- I surmised them to be some kind of large Cro-Magnon offshoot --
were likely to make their home.

Tentatively, I made my way into the cave, already feeling winded and tired from
the run, only confirming in my mind that I had the flu. I must have picked it up
shortly before our fight with the Nebula Man, and it wasn't until now that I
began to really feel its effects. With hundreds, perhaps thousands of flu
strains around in the twentieth century, its side effects could vary widely. I
was just grateful that it didn't seem to be a stomach flu, because that would
have made things much worse.

Within the cave were several corridors accessible by three main side-tunnels. I
decided to explore the others later and chose the third tunnel. The cave
corridor became very dark very quickly the farther I went in, but I gradually
began to adjust my eyesight to the low light levels, allowing me to keep moving
in. I wanted to get as far away from the entrance as possible.

But as I stepped forward tentatively, I felt my right foot break something
beneath it, and a shattering sound alerted me to what I was stepping on. It was
a thin crystalline formation of some kind, most likely quartz. I had stepped
into a crystal cave of the kind that is rare in 1948 but must have been more
plentiful back in this era.

Determined to explore the beautiful crystals in the cave a bit more, I knew I
needed to see better than I could at present. Then an idea hit me. Why not rig
up a series of crystals to act as mirrors and focused lenses, delivering more
light to the back of the cave?

It was a simple task to perform, and it certainly got my mind off of my flu, but
as I began inspecting the beautiful crystals that became larger and more
extravagant the deeper the cave went, I heard voices again. The Cro-Magnon
beast-men were outside near the mouth of the cave.

All I could do was freeze in place and listen. With a great sense of relief, I
soon realized that they were moving on. But it had been a close call, and I knew
I needed a strategy to scare off anyone. In effect, I needed a scarecrow. A plan
formed in my mind, and I set to work.

I spent the rest of the afternoon gathering the largest and flattest of the
quartz formations and delicately placing them aside for later use. Then I waited
until nightfall.

Under the cover of night, with only the light of a crescent moon to aid my
vision, I went out in search of supplies I would need. In my search for a cave
earlier, I had noticed a patch of bushes that ran down into a cavern. Walking
cautiously toward those bushes, I began to search them for berries of any kind,
and I found and gathered several red berries and blueberries, placing them in my
cowl, which I used as a pocket.

I froze in place as a distant growl alerted me to the very real danger of being
mauled alive, and I frantically searched for my final supply, but I came up
empty and was forced to return to my cave. There, I ate only a few of the easily
recognizable blueberries and avoided the unfamiliar red ones altogether. I
thought quickly about what I could possibly do about the last supply I needed
until I realized that the solution was all around me. I then ground up some of
the quartz crystal into a fine white powder.

As the night wore on, a refreshing smell wafted into the cave. It was rain, and
I had never been so happy to hear it and smell it before. I went back to the
mouth of the cave and extended my cupped hands out to catch the drops, then
thirstily satisfied myself with several handfuls of water. Then I took one last
handful into the cave with me and dropped it into a small indent on the cave
floor.

In the last remaining hours of night, I tried to catch up on sleep, but I could
only sleep lightly, my dire circumstances being what they were. My worsening flu
didn't make it any easier for me, either. So when the early rays of dawn began
streaming into the cave, I was grateful that I would be able to finish building
my scarecrow.

For the next couple of hours, I used the red, blue, and white pastes made out of
the two types of berries and the quartz powder to paint a fearsome sight upon
one of the flat quartz crystals. I then gathered the other large pieces of
quartz and arranged them in a sort of lens. When I was satisfied that they were
in the right place, I adjusted the smaller pieces of quartz I was using as
mirrors to reflect light within and then back out of the cave from behind my
makeshift lens.

Satisfied with my work, I took a chance and left the cave for a moment to see if
it worked. Amazingly enough, my harebrained scheme had somehow worked. I had
painted a distorted picture of myself in my red, white, and blue Star-Spangled
Kid costume that was visible only from the mouth of the cave. The quartz lenses
helped to make the effect work by giving the painting a ghostly look, providing
the illusion of movement as you move your eye past it.

But I had taken one chance too many. The same guttural yells from the Cro-Magnon
beast-men reached my ears, and I realized that I had been spotted. Cursing to
myself, I ran into the first side-tunnel in the cave and kept on running, this
time far deeper into the cave than I had originally. I was soon lost, but at
least I had managed to keep my flu virus to myself.

Still, as I sat there in the utter darkness of the cave, I knew that it was only
a matter of time before my own time was up. I wasn't even sure whether my
scarecrow would work; for all I knew, the beast-men could be on their way to me
right now, defeating my plan entirely. Dark thoughts came to my mind. If
necessary, would I be able to kill any of the beast-men I came into contact with
to keep them from infecting anyone else? Would I be able to end my own life,
thus ending any chance of infecting another?

Those dark thoughts soon passed, for I had never been one to dwell on despair.
Nor had I ever killed or had thoughts of suicide. I hoped and prayed that those
options would never become necessary. I hoped and prayed for a miracle.

And although I did not know it then, that miracle was on its way in the form of
three costumed men from the future.

***

Continued in Justice League of America #102, which depicts the Kid's rescue by
Aquaman and Green Lantern of Earth-One and Wildcat of Earth-Two.

Can you remove the 'former human being now transformed into hopeless, helpless,
lower than the animals around him, drinking and drugging degenerate' scene, Doc?
It doesn't seem to have any relevance to your plot, and it was apparently
included in the movie to appeal to people who think that other people's misery
is funny.



--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "ddswanson" <ddswanson@...>
wrote:
>
> Yeah - if that scene is supposed to be funny, it's pretty much the same thing
as laughing at someone who has pneumonia. That's one reason I don't go to
'comedic' movies - they are not funny.
>
> --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "immortalwildcat" <cjburke@>
wrote:
> >
> > I feel much the same, as someone who has seen addictions like this in my own
family and my wife's family.  I think this scene was lifted almost verbatim from
the movie, but I don't recall if the point of Mason pushing his friend off the
wagon was addressed later on.  Perhaps a chance to right a wrong here?
> >
> > da 'Cat!
> > (who already has several ideas in his head on how that could be done)
> >
> >
> > --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "ddswanson" <ddswanson@>
wrote:
> > >
> > > I hope Mason gets the crap beat out of him for almost forcing his friend
to have a beer. He has just destroyed the man's life - and somebody ought to
make him pay for it.
> > >
> > > Good story, Doc...
> > >
> > > --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "immortalwildcat"
<cjburke@> wrote:
> > > >
> > > > I was vocal in my issues with the story, but I really don't see much
aside from that initial flashback chapter that's objectionable in terms of
continuity.  And all it would take to correct that is minor alterations/toning
down of the bathroom scene.  The re-write was a good start.
> > > >
> > > > da 'Cat!
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > --- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Frank G. Murdock"
<bytor84@> wrote:
> > > > >
> > > > > I like the blend of humor and seriousness in this story. I think the
story
> > > > > is put together good enough in an enjoyable way that I'm willing to
put
> > > > > aside the issues put forth by Kat earlier. A story that can be
considered
> > > > > out of continuity or liberally fitting. J
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > > Nice job.
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > > /FM
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > > From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> > > > > [mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc
Quantum
> > > > > Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 6:05 AM
> > > > > To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> > > > > Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri,
Part 9:
> > > > > The Hit
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > > (Finally, a Mister/Miss Terrific-themed chapter!)
> > > > >
> > > > > ***
> > > > >
> > > > > Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp was an old friend of Terry Sloane. In
fact,
> > > > > when Sharp was still a police detective, he had worked alongside
fellow
> > > > > officer Lysette Andrews and had in fact encouraged Terry to pursue her
> > > > > despite their very different backgrounds. As a young man, Terry Sloane
had
> > > > > always seemed like something of a wealthy snob, a millionaire playboy
in the
> > > > > vein of Gotham's Bruce Wayne (many years before Wayne became a fellow
> > > > > commissioner of police). But as the young man grew older, he slowly
became
> > > > > less and less of a cad and more of the philanthropist and educator
that he
> > > > > turned out to be in his later years.
> > > > >
> > > > > Sharp had already seen glimpses of this side of Terry Sloane and was
not
> > > > > surprised when Sloane was revealed to be the prime benefactor of the
Fair
> > > > > Play Club that Mister Terrific had set up. It was revealed that years
ago
> > > > > Mister Terrific had approached several wealthy families in Gateway
City to
> > > > > fund the Fair Play Club, but Sloane was the only one to initially
agree to
> > > > > it on the grounds that his involvement be kept a secret. And that
secret was
> > > > > kept, to the detriment of Sloane's reputation, until Valerie "Lady
Danger"
> > > > > Vaughn -- a reporter who usually worked the crime beat -- exposed
Sloane's
> > > > > involvement in the Fair Play Club. Overnight, Gateway City's favorite
son
> > > > > had become a hero to rival even that of his friend, Mister Terrific.
And
> > > > > with the revelation of Vaughn's scoop, many citizens of Gateway came
forward
> > > > > to explain how they, too, had been helped in secret by Terry Sloane.
The
> > > > > image of the rich snob he had been vanished overnight, and Lysette
Andrews
> > > > > began to see him in a different light.
> > > > >
> > > > > Earlier, Terry Sloane had been linked romantically to Wanda Wilson, a
young
> > > > > woman who had served as his assistant for several years, but there
came a
> > > > > day when Wanda realized that her affection for Sloane would not be
returned
> > > > > in the way she wanted it to. While Terry had seemed content to just
leave
> > > > > things the way they were, Wanda wanted a husband and a family of her
own. In
> > > > > 1947, she left Terry's employ and Gateway City altogether and was
married
> > > > > within the year. With her departure, there was nothing stopping Terry
and
> > > > > Lysette from becoming the couple that Sharp had hoped they would be.
> > > > >
> > > > > They were married in 1950, with Mister Terrific himself -- coming
briefly
> > > > > out of retirement for the occasion -- serving as the best man. And
shortly
> > > > > after, Terry Sloane announced that he would be changing careers, or
more
> > > > > accurately, taking on another one. No longer would he be merely a
> > > > > businessman and philanthropist; he would also be an educator. He was
> > > > > welcomed with open arms to the faculty of Gateway University as an
> > > > > instructor, and within a few years he had been made head of the
department
> > > > > of English Literature, a position he retained until his death.
> > > > >
> > > > > As for the Sloane family, they grew in 1957 by the addition of young
> > > > > Terrence Junior, a special-needs child. Then little red-haired Geri
Sloane,
> > > > > who was her father's daughter in nearly every way, was born to the
couple in
> > > > > 1962; Sharp was one of her godfathers, along with Professor Al Pratt
of
> > > > > Calvin College and former heavyweight boxing champ Ted Grant. With a
start
> > > > > like that, Geri was sure to succeed.
> > > > >
> > > > > In 1963, the Justice Society of America returned after an absence of
twelve
> > > > > years. Several of the individual members had been seen here and there
during
> > > > > that time, but for the most part the 1950s had been a decade of very
> > > > > different types of heroes, such as civic hero Terry Sloane. That was
why
> > > > > Chuck Sharp was very surprised when Terry revealed to him the secret
that he
> > > > > had kept for so many years -- he was Mister Terrific.
> > > > >
> > > > > Although he was at first surprised by the revelation, a lot of things
> > > > > suddenly made sense to Sharp. Despite Terry's efforts to make himself
as
> > > > > different as possible as Mister Terrific with the whole rich snob
routine in
> > > > > the 1940s and by having a buddy of his pose as Mister Terrific at his
> > > > > wedding, the two were similar in so many ways. And now, as Terry
explained,
> > > > > he was resuming his career as Mister Terrific along with the rest of
the
> > > > > JSA.
> > > > >
> > > > > Sharp wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Terry had always been the
best at
> > > > > what he did, but he was still just a man, and he had retired from
heroics
> > > > > since 1947. A lot of things had changed over those sixteen years; was
Mister
> > > > > Terrific ready?
> > > > >
> > > > > With a wink, Terry told Sharp that he had been never been more ready
in his
> > > > > life. In fact, he had kept himself in optimal physical and mental
shape, and
> > > > > he had also taken on the odd case or two during his retirement. And
even
> > > > > though he was juggling several careers along with being a husband and
new
> > > > > father, Gateway needed Mister Terrific. Sharp was reassured, and he
agreed
> > > > > to help him keep his secret and to provide him with any police
assistance
> > > > > that he could.
> > > > >
> > > > > Terry's second career as Mister Terrific lasted even longer than it
had the
> > > > > first time. He had originally been Mister Terrific from late 1941 to
early
> > > > > 1947, a period of just over five years, before he retired. And he was
again
> > > > > Mister Terrific for nine years, from 1963 until 1972, when he retired
for
> > > > > good. But given his family duties and other careers, his case load was
less
> > > > > frenetic the second time around. Terry also began to feel his age
catching
> > > > > up with him, and he decided to retire while he was still on top. As
he'd
> > > > > told Sharp, many of his fellow JSA members had artificially retained
their
> > > > > youth thanks to being exposed to a unique type of energy back in 1941,
> > > > > before Terry had become a mystery man and long before Terry had joined
the
> > > > > JSA himself. Despite being whom many considered to be the world's most
> > > > > perfect man, Terry was ultimately a man with no super-powers and no
> > > > > supernatural or extranormal abilities. That was what so many loved
about
> > > > > him.
> > > > >
> > > > > Chuck Sharp was shocked and devastated by Terry's murder in 1979, but
he
> > > > > also had a responsibility to protect Lysette, Geri, and Junior from
> > > > > retaliation by the unrepentant criminals that Mister Terrific had put
away.
> > > > > Although Terry had been killed as Mister Terrific by one of his old
enemies,
> > > > > the Spirit King, it was very important that Terry Sloane and Mister
Terrific
> > > > > still be considered as separate people by the public.
> > > > >
> > > > > Mister Terrific had retired to great fanfare in 1972, and Gateway City
even
> > > > > honored the hero with a banquet dinner to mark the occasion. So,
despite
> > > > > Terrific's few appearances since then, he was considered to have been
in
> > > > > retirement for seven years by the time Terry was murdered. Sharp took
it
> > > > > upon himself to officially establish in the public record that the
Spirit
> > > > > King had murdered Terry Sloane, not Mister Terrific, and that this
murder
> > > > > happened in Gateway City rather than on a satellite on a parallel
world. It
> > > > > was not exactly ethical, and he was not sure that Terry would have
approved
> > > > > of his methods, but Chuck Sharp was satisfied in the practical steps
he had
> > > > > taken to protect Terry's surviving family.
> > > > >
> > > > > But even that was not enough. He made sure to have Mister Terrific
appear in
> > > > > costume a couple of times after Terry's death by employing Ted Grant
to play
> > > > > the same role as he had when he served as Terry's best man. Finally,
when
> > > > > the Crisis on Infinite Earths hit the world in 1985, some six years
after
> > > > > Terry's death, Sharp realized that it was a good time to make it seem
that
> > > > > Mister Terrific had died along with many of the other heroes who had
> > > > > perished. Now the Sloanes were safe.
> > > > >
> > > > > Then little Geri Sloane, who was all grown up now, decided to become a
hero
> > > > > herself. When Miss Terrific had approached Chuck Sharp to pledge her
help to
> > > > > the Gateway City Police Department two years earlier, Sharp vowed to
help
> > > > > her out as much as he did her father. He didn't say anything about
knowing
> > > > > who she really was, however; that wasn't necessary. All that was
necessary
> > > > > was that they have a trusted system of communication, and that he
could
> > > > > summon her and vice versa.
> > > > >
> > > > > Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp now waited in his office this evening
for
> > > > > Miss Terrific's requested arrival. But unlike most of their previous
> > > > > meetings, he was not alone. A military man from Washington, D.C., was
> > > > > waiting with him -- a blond man who, rumor had it, was much older than
he
> > > > > looked.
> > > > >
> > > > > "She should be here any moment now," said Sharp from behind his desk.
The
> > > > > other man nodded and smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious that he
wanted to
> > > > > get this over with.
> > > > >
> > > > > "You wanted to see me, Commissioner?" said a pleasant-sounding voice.
> > > > >
> > > > > Sharp and his guest rose from their seats as the red-and-green-clad
heroine
> > > > > entered the office through the open window. "Miss Terrific! I'm glad
you
> > > > > could make it."
> > > > >
> > > > > The girl of a thousand talents smiled and nodded at Sharp, then
extended her
> > > > > hand toward the military man. "General Steve Trevor, I presume?"
> > > > >
> > > > > Trevor raised one eyebrow and smiled as he returned the handshake.
"Correct!
> > > > > I don't believe we've met before. How did you know my name?"
> > > > >
> > > > > "Well, besides the fact that you have a very recognizable face,
General,"
> > > > > began Miss Terrific, "I had been listening in for the last five
minutes.
> > > > > Commissioner Sharp had warned me that he had a guest, but I wasn't
sure if
> > > > > he'd be friendly or not."
> > > > >
> > > > > "Our Gateway City protector is a very talented young woman, as you can
see,
> > > > > General," said Sharp.
> > > > >
> > > > > "Indeed!" said Trevor, knowing full well who Miss Terrific really was.
His
> > > > > wife Diana was, after all, a JSA member like Geri's father had been.
That
> > > > > was why Commander Steel had sent him rather than anyone else; she knew
who
> > > > > he was as well. "Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time,
so
> > > > > I'll cut to the chase. Miss Terrific, I represent a government
intelligence
> > > > > agency that routinely monitors domestic and international organized
crime,
> > > > > among other things. We've learned that the Syndicate has taken out a
> > > > > contract on your life, or -- to put it literally -- on the life of the
girl
> > > > > who wears the fair play symbol on her costume."
> > > > >
> > > > > "The Syndicate?" clarified the heroine.
> > > > >
> > > > > "Yes. The very same one led by Mister X, whoever he is."
> > > > >
> > > > > "Do you have any idea who ordered the hit?" asked Sharp, looking
concerned.
> > > > >
> > > > > "It appears to have been ordered by Vincenzo Dyke, also known as
Ape-Face,"
> > > > > explained Trevor. "And before you tell me you've never met him, we
already
> > > > > know that." He sighed and said, "It seems that you're the victim, Miss
> > > > > Terrific, of a mistaken identity."
> > > > >
> > > > > "But no one else wears the fair play emblem," said Sharp.
> > > > >
> > > > > "Well, that's not exactly true," said Trevor. "We've got footage of a
group
> > > > > of apparent teenage superheroes who crashed a science fair in Midvale
back
> > > > > at the end of 1985. One of them had a costume based on Mister
Terrific's. It
> > > > > seems that Ape-Face has mistaken that young individual, whom we're
calling
> > > > > Kid Terrific, for Miss Terrific."
> > > > >
> > > > > "But surely even a gangster could tell the difference between a
teenage girl
> > > > > and a grown woman, even if we were wearing similar uniforms," said
Miss
> > > > > Terrific.
> > > > >
> > > > > "You would think so," said Trevor. "But the contract is still out
there. So
> > > > > my purpose for coming here is twofold: first, I needed to warn you
that
> > > > > you've been targeted by the Syndicate, and second, that we have a plan
to
> > > > > bring down Mister X, and we'd like to enlist your help in doing so."
> > > > >
> > > > > "I'm listening..." said Miss Terrific.
> > > > >
> > > > > ***
> > > > >
> > > > > Mason was parked outside Geri Sloane's apartment, waiting for her to
get
> > > > > home. He had lost her trail completely earlier that evening when he
slipped
> > > > > out for a moment at the restaurant where she'd met her friends. When
he
> > > > > returned, they were all gone. He realized that they had probably gone
out on
> > > > > the town and could be at any of Gateway's many nightclubs, but he
couldn't
> > > > > be sure which one. He also knew Geri could have returned to the
office, or
> > > > > gone home or to anywhere else. After checking each of the places she'd
> > > > > earlier visited that day and coming up with nothing, he realized she
was
> > > > > nowhere to be found. And since he hadn't thought of bugging her car,
he
> > > > > couldn't follow her. All he could do was return to the vicinity of her
> > > > > apartment and wait for her to get home. Now it was past midnight, and
he was
> > > > > bored.
> > > > >
> > > > > He picked up the car phone and dialed a number, and although he heard
the
> > > > > receiver pick up on the other end, no one spoke. "Hello...? Sully...?"
He
> > > > > looked into the phone and then placed it back to his ear. "Sully, that
you?"
> > > > >
> > > > > "Who the hell izzit to ya?"
> > > > >
> > > > > "Sully, it's Mace," he said, frowning as he listened over the phone;
the
> > > > > cellular reception here was weak. "What's going on over there?"
> > > > >
> > > > > Back in his apartment, Gordon Sully was sitting on the kitchen floor
in his
> > > > > police uniform, a ring of white around his nostrils. The room was
littered
> > > > > with beer cans, along with another one in his hand, and there was a
pile of
> > > > > cocaine and a rolled-up bill on the breakfast table. His pets, the dog
and
> > > > > the snake, were looking at him with concern.
> > > > >
> > > > > "%@&*in' Mas'n! You think your $#!^ don't stink? Well I got news for
ya --
> > > > > you're damn right it don't! How the hell are ya, pal?!"
> > > > >
> > > > > Mason looked at the phone, concerned. Since he'd left that morning,
Sully
> > > > > had fallen off the wagon, hard. "Uh, I'm fine. Just wanted to let you
know
> > > > > I'll have your car back in a couple hours. I'm still staking out this
girl's
> > > > > apartment."
> > > > >
> > > > > "You found my car?!"
> > > > >
> > > > > Just then, Mason noticed Geri pull up and park her car. He slid down
in his
> > > > > seat to keep from being seen.
> > > > >
> > > > > Geri got out of the Honda Civic carrying a bag. Approaching the
homeless
> > > > > man, still sitting on the sidewalk, she handed him the bag.
> > > > >
> > > > > "Thanks, Geri," said the man gratefully.
> > > > >
> > > > > "You watch out for yourself, Herb," she replied. As she bounded up the
steps
> > > > > of her building, Herb happily took a sandwich and soda out of the bag
and
> > > > > began to eat.
> > > > >
> > > > > Inside the apartment, Magda was glued to her radio scanner, listening
> > > > > intently. "Geri, you gotta hear this -- some cop's staking out some
broad's
> > > > > apartment."
> > > > >
> > > > > "No time, Magda," said Geri. "My show's starting."
> > > > >
> > > > > Mason still had his directional microphone pointed at Geri's apartment
and
> > > > > could hear everything.
> > > > >
> > > > > "This is a good one, Ger," continued Magda. "Sounds like his partner's
all
> > > > > plastered up."
> > > > >
> > > > > Mason's eyes went wide as he realized the old woman had overheard his
> > > > > conversation, and he said into the phone very quietly, "Call you
back."
> > > > >
> > > > > Sully said, "Hell, I miss ya, ya lousy--"
> > > > >
> > > > > Mason hung up abruptly.
> > > > >
> > > > > Inside the apartment, Magda said, "Ah, shoot. I lost 'em."
> > > > >
> > > > > Geri ran into her bedroom, shut the door, and flipped on the TV just
as a
> > > > > show's theme song was playing. She laid back on her bed and started
> > > > > watching, then pulled a book from her bedside table and read it during
> > > > > commercials, writing in the margins from time to time.
> > > > >
> > > > > An hour and a half passed as she watched her shows and continued
reading.
> > > > > Finally, Geri stood and went into her walk-in closet to undress for
bed.
> > > > >
> > > > > On the street, Mason sat up, very interested now. "Here we go,
Stan-man." He
> > > > > quickly reached in the back seat and pulled out a bigger, more
powerful pair
> > > > > of binoculars.
> > > > >
> > > > > Looking through the window, Mason again missed seeing anything
salacious,
> > > > > but he was able to see as she finished slipping on a T-shirt.
> > > > >
> > > > > Watching her trim, athletic figure as she walked up to the window to
close
> > > > > the blinds, Mason began to drool, muttering, "Oh, baby..."
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > > [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
> > > > >
> > > >
> > >
> >
>

Yeah, well I was talking in terms of continuity of character, noting how you
were suggesting that Mr. Terrific would not have been so unfeeling towards
the young man's dilemma by having everyone come in the restroom to see his
penis caught in the zipper.



I had no problems with any of it other than thinking the bathroom scene was
a bit drawn out, but that was before I understood the context of the larger
story. Personally I'm enjoying the whole thing. It's a little more
modernized with with todays sensibilities on topics regarding sex, and yet
its not overly violent and has no real combat scenes, making the story more
character driven instead of action paced, which is something I find myself
enjoying more of these days.



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of immortalwildcat
Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 10:25 AM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: Re: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri,
Part 9: The Hit





I was vocal in my issues with the story, but I really don't see much aside
from that initial flashback chapter that's objectionable in terms of
continuity. And all it would take to correct that is minor
alterations/toning down of the bathroom scene. The re-write was a good
start.

da 'Cat!

--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
<mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite%40yahoogroups.com> , "Frank G. Murdock"
<bytor84@...> wrote:
>
> I like the blend of humor and seriousness in this story. I think the story
> is put together good enough in an enjoyable way that I'm willing to put
> aside the issues put forth by Kat earlier. A story that can be considered
> out of continuity or liberally fitting. J
>
>
>
> Nice job.
>
>
>
> /FM
>
>
>
> From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
<mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite%40yahoogroups.com>
> [mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
<mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite%40yahoogroups.com> ] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
> Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 6:05 AM
> To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
<mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite%40yahoogroups.com>
> Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part
9:
> The Hit
>
>
>
>
>
> (Finally, a Mister/Miss Terrific-themed chapter!)
>
> ***
>
> Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp was an old friend of Terry Sloane. In
fact,
> when Sharp was still a police detective, he had worked alongside fellow
> officer Lysette Andrews and had in fact encouraged Terry to pursue her
> despite their very different backgrounds. As a young man, Terry Sloane had
> always seemed like something of a wealthy snob, a millionaire playboy in
the
> vein of Gotham's Bruce Wayne (many years before Wayne became a fellow
> commissioner of police). But as the young man grew older, he slowly became
> less and less of a cad and more of the philanthropist and educator that he
> turned out to be in his later years.
>
> Sharp had already seen glimpses of this side of Terry Sloane and was not
> surprised when Sloane was revealed to be the prime benefactor of the Fair
> Play Club that Mister Terrific had set up. It was revealed that years ago
> Mister Terrific had approached several wealthy families in Gateway City to
> fund the Fair Play Club, but Sloane was the only one to initially agree to
> it on the grounds that his involvement be kept a secret. And that secret
was
> kept, to the detriment of Sloane's reputation, until Valerie "Lady Danger"
> Vaughn -- a reporter who usually worked the crime beat -- exposed Sloane's
> involvement in the Fair Play Club. Overnight, Gateway City's favorite son
> had become a hero to rival even that of his friend, Mister Terrific. And
> with the revelation of Vaughn's scoop, many citizens of Gateway came
forward
> to explain how they, too, had been helped in secret by Terry Sloane. The
> image of the rich snob he had been vanished overnight, and Lysette Andrews
> began to see him in a different light.
>
> Earlier, Terry Sloane had been linked romantically to Wanda Wilson, a
young
> woman who had served as his assistant for several years, but there came a
> day when Wanda realized that her affection for Sloane would not be
returned
> in the way she wanted it to. While Terry had seemed content to just leave
> things the way they were, Wanda wanted a husband and a family of her own.
In
> 1947, she left Terry's employ and Gateway City altogether and was married
> within the year. With her departure, there was nothing stopping Terry and
> Lysette from becoming the couple that Sharp had hoped they would be.
>
> They were married in 1950, with Mister Terrific himself -- coming briefly
> out of retirement for the occasion -- serving as the best man. And shortly
> after, Terry Sloane announced that he would be changing careers, or more
> accurately, taking on another one. No longer would he be merely a
> businessman and philanthropist; he would also be an educator. He was
> welcomed with open arms to the faculty of Gateway University as an
> instructor, and within a few years he had been made head of the department
> of English Literature, a position he retained until his death.
>
> As for the Sloane family, they grew in 1957 by the addition of young
> Terrence Junior, a special-needs child. Then little red-haired Geri
Sloane,
> who was her father's daughter in nearly every way, was born to the couple
in
> 1962; Sharp was one of her godfathers, along with Professor Al Pratt of
> Calvin College and former heavyweight boxing champ Ted Grant. With a start
> like that, Geri was sure to succeed.
>
> In 1963, the Justice Society of America returned after an absence of
twelve
> years. Several of the individual members had been seen here and there
during
> that time, but for the most part the 1950s had been a decade of very
> different types of heroes, such as civic hero Terry Sloane. That was why
> Chuck Sharp was very surprised when Terry revealed to him the secret that
he
> had kept for so many years -- he was Mister Terrific.
>
> Although he was at first surprised by the revelation, a lot of things
> suddenly made sense to Sharp. Despite Terry's efforts to make himself as
> different as possible as Mister Terrific with the whole rich snob routine
in
> the 1940s and by having a buddy of his pose as Mister Terrific at his
> wedding, the two were similar in so many ways. And now, as Terry
explained,
> he was resuming his career as Mister Terrific along with the rest of the
> JSA.
>
> Sharp wasn't so sure that was a good idea. Terry had always been the best
at
> what he did, but he was still just a man, and he had retired from heroics
> since 1947. A lot of things had changed over those sixteen years; was
Mister
> Terrific ready?
>
> With a wink, Terry told Sharp that he had been never been more ready in
his
> life. In fact, he had kept himself in optimal physical and mental shape,
and
> he had also taken on the odd case or two during his retirement. And even
> though he was juggling several careers along with being a husband and new
> father, Gateway needed Mister Terrific. Sharp was reassured, and he agreed
> to help him keep his secret and to provide him with any police assistance
> that he could.
>
> Terry's second career as Mister Terrific lasted even longer than it had
the
> first time. He had originally been Mister Terrific from late 1941 to early
> 1947, a period of just over five years, before he retired. And he was
again
> Mister Terrific for nine years, from 1963 until 1972, when he retired for
> good. But given his family duties and other careers, his case load was
less
> frenetic the second time around. Terry also began to feel his age catching
> up with him, and he decided to retire while he was still on top. As he'd
> told Sharp, many of his fellow JSA members had artificially retained their
> youth thanks to being exposed to a unique type of energy back in 1941,
> before Terry had become a mystery man and long before Terry had joined the
> JSA himself. Despite being whom many considered to be the world's most
> perfect man, Terry was ultimately a man with no super-powers and no
> supernatural or extranormal abilities. That was what so many loved about
> him.
>
> Chuck Sharp was shocked and devastated by Terry's murder in 1979, but he
> also had a responsibility to protect Lysette, Geri, and Junior from
> retaliation by the unrepentant criminals that Mister Terrific had put
away.
> Although Terry had been killed as Mister Terrific by one of his old
enemies,
> the Spirit King, it was very important that Terry Sloane and Mister
Terrific
> still be considered as separate people by the public.
>
> Mister Terrific had retired to great fanfare in 1972, and Gateway City
even
> honored the hero with a banquet dinner to mark the occasion. So, despite
> Terrific's few appearances since then, he was considered to have been in
> retirement for seven years by the time Terry was murdered. Sharp took it
> upon himself to officially establish in the public record that the Spirit
> King had murdered Terry Sloane, not Mister Terrific, and that this murder
> happened in Gateway City rather than on a satellite on a parallel world.
It
> was not exactly ethical, and he was not sure that Terry would have
approved
> of his methods, but Chuck Sharp was satisfied in the practical steps he
had
> taken to protect Terry's surviving family.
>
> But even that was not enough. He made sure to have Mister Terrific appear
in
> costume a couple of times after Terry's death by employing Ted Grant to
play
> the same role as he had when he served as Terry's best man. Finally, when
> the Crisis on Infinite Earths hit the world in 1985, some six years after
> Terry's death, Sharp realized that it was a good time to make it seem that
> Mister Terrific had died along with many of the other heroes who had
> perished. Now the Sloanes were safe.
>
> Then little Geri Sloane, who was all grown up now, decided to become a
hero
> herself. When Miss Terrific had approached Chuck Sharp to pledge her help
to
> the Gateway City Police Department two years earlier, Sharp vowed to help
> her out as much as he did her father. He didn't say anything about knowing
> who she really was, however; that wasn't necessary. All that was necessary
> was that they have a trusted system of communication, and that he could
> summon her and vice versa.
>
> Police Commissioner Chuck Sharp now waited in his office this evening for
> Miss Terrific's requested arrival. But unlike most of their previous
> meetings, he was not alone. A military man from Washington, D.C., was
> waiting with him -- a blond man who, rumor had it, was much older than he
> looked.
>
> "She should be here any moment now," said Sharp from behind his desk. The
> other man nodded and smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious that he wanted
to
> get this over with.
>
> "You wanted to see me, Commissioner?" said a pleasant-sounding voice.
>
> Sharp and his guest rose from their seats as the red-and-green-clad
heroine
> entered the office through the open window. "Miss Terrific! I'm glad you
> could make it."
>
> The girl of a thousand talents smiled and nodded at Sharp, then extended
her
> hand toward the military man. "General Steve Trevor, I presume?"
>
> Trevor raised one eyebrow and smiled as he returned the handshake.
"Correct!
> I don't believe we've met before. How did you know my name?"
>
> "Well, besides the fact that you have a very recognizable face, General,"
> began Miss Terrific, "I had been listening in for the last five minutes.
> Commissioner Sharp had warned me that he had a guest, but I wasn't sure if
> he'd be friendly or not."
>
> "Our Gateway City protector is a very talented young woman, as you can
see,
> General," said Sharp.
>
> "Indeed!" said Trevor, knowing full well who Miss Terrific really was. His
> wife Diana was, after all, a JSA member like Geri's father had been. That
> was why Commander Steel had sent him rather than anyone else; she knew who
> he was as well. "Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time, so
> I'll cut to the chase. Miss Terrific, I represent a government
intelligence
> agency that routinely monitors domestic and international organized crime,
> among other things. We've learned that the Syndicate has taken out a
> contract on your life, or -- to put it literally -- on the life of the
girl
> who wears the fair play symbol on her costume."
>
> "The Syndicate?" clarified the heroine.
>
> "Yes. The very same one led by Mister X, whoever he is."
>
> "Do you have any idea who ordered the hit?" asked Sharp, looking
concerned.
>
> "It appears to have been ordered by Vincenzo Dyke, also known as
Ape-Face,"
> explained Trevor. "And before you tell me you've never met him, we already
> know that." He sighed and said, "It seems that you're the victim, Miss
> Terrific, of a mistaken identity."
>
> "But no one else wears the fair play emblem," said Sharp.
>
> "Well, that's not exactly true," said Trevor. "We've got footage of a
group
> of apparent teenage superheroes who crashed a science fair in Midvale back
> at the end of 1985. One of them had a costume based on Mister Terrific's.
It
> seems that Ape-Face has mistaken that young individual, whom we're calling
> Kid Terrific, for Miss Terrific."
>
> "But surely even a gangster could tell the difference between a teenage
girl
> and a grown woman, even if we were wearing similar uniforms," said Miss
> Terrific.
>
> "You would think so," said Trevor. "But the contract is still out there.
So
> my purpose for coming here is twofold: first, I needed to warn you that
> you've been targeted by the Syndicate, and second, that we have a plan to
> bring down Mister X, and we'd like to enlist your help in doing so."
>
> "I'm listening..." said Miss Terrific.
>
> ***
>
> Mason was parked outside Geri Sloane's apartment, waiting for her to get
> home. He had lost her trail completely earlier that evening when he
slipped
> out for a moment at the restaurant where she'd met her friends. When he
> returned, they were all gone. He realized that they had probably gone out
on
> the town and could be at any of Gateway's many nightclubs, but he couldn't
> be sure which one. He also knew Geri could have returned to the office, or
> gone home or to anywhere else. After checking each of the places she'd
> earlier visited that day and coming up with nothing, he realized she was
> nowhere to be found. And since he hadn't thought of bugging her car, he
> couldn't follow her. All he could do was return to the vicinity of her
> apartment and wait for her to get home. Now it was past midnight, and he
was
> bored.
>
> He picked up the car phone and dialed a number, and although he heard the
> receiver pick up on the other end, no one spoke. "Hello...? Sully...?" He
> looked into the phone and then placed it back to his ear. "Sully, that
you?"
>
> "Who the hell izzit to ya?"
>
> "Sully, it's Mace," he said, frowning as he listened over the phone; the
> cellular reception here was weak. "What's going on over there?"
>
> Back in his apartment, Gordon Sully was sitting on the kitchen floor in
his
> police uniform, a ring of white around his nostrils. The room was littered
> with beer cans, along with another one in his hand, and there was a pile
of
> cocaine and a rolled-up bill on the breakfast table. His pets, the dog and
> the snake, were looking at him with concern.
>
> "%@&*in' Mas'n! You think your $#!^ don't stink? Well I got news for ya --
> you're damn right it don't! How the hell are ya, pal?!"
>
> Mason looked at the phone, concerned. Since he'd left that morning, Sully
> had fallen off the wagon, hard. "Uh, I'm fine. Just wanted to let you know
> I'll have your car back in a couple hours. I'm still staking out this
girl's
> apartment."
>
> "You found my car?!"
>
> Just then, Mason noticed Geri pull up and park her car. He slid down in
his
> seat to keep from being seen.
>
> Geri got out of the Honda Civic carrying a bag. Approaching the homeless
> man, still sitting on the sidewalk, she handed him the bag.
>
> "Thanks, Geri," said the man gratefully.
>
> "You watch out for yourself, Herb," she replied. As she bounded up the
steps
> of her building, Herb happily took a sandwich and soda out of the bag and
> began to eat.
>
> Inside the apartment, Magda was glued to her radio scanner, listening
> intently. "Geri, you gotta hear this -- some cop's staking out some
broad's
> apartment."
>
> "No time, Magda," said Geri. "My show's starting."
>
> Mason still had his directional microphone pointed at Geri's apartment and
> could hear everything.
>
> "This is a good one, Ger," continued Magda. "Sounds like his partner's all
> plastered up."
>
> Mason's eyes went wide as he realized the old woman had overheard his
> conversation, and he said into the phone very quietly, "Call you back."
>
> Sully said, "Hell, I miss ya, ya lousy--"
>
> Mason hung up abruptly.
>
> Inside the apartment, Magda said, "Ah, shoot. I lost 'em."
>
> Geri ran into her bedroom, shut the door, and flipped on the TV just as a
> show's theme song was playing. She laid back on her bed and started
> watching, then pulled a book from her bedside table and read it during
> commercials, writing in the margins from time to time.
>
> An hour and a half passed as she watched her shows and continued reading.
> Finally, Geri stood and went into her walk-in closet to undress for bed.
>
> On the street, Mason sat up, very interested now. "Here we go, Stan-man."
He
> quickly reached in the back seat and pulled out a bigger, more powerful
pair
> of binoculars.
>
> Looking through the window, Mason again missed seeing anything salacious,
> but he was able to see as she finished slipping on a T-shirt.
>
> Watching her trim, athletic figure as she walked up to the window to close
> the blinds, Mason began to drool, muttering, "Oh, baby..."
>
>
>
>
>
> [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
>





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Again, nothing meant by my statement other than I could see the jokes coming
a mile away out of experience. As for knowing how Jerry turns out, you and
others might know this sort of information, but I personally do not since E2
has always been a bit of a foreign place to me.



But I do agree with you that I think Doc has written a masterpiece here
despite some of the objectional material by others. Putting my own issues
aside, I think it has been remarkably well done.



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of immortalwildcat
Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 10:20 AM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: Re: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri,
Part 6: The Stakeout





If we, as readers, didn't already know the kind of person Geri turned out to
be, we would be expecting something much like Mason is. A good example of
writing for all of the potential readers, and not just the regulars here.

da 'Cat!

--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
<mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite%40yahoogroups.com> , "Frank G. Murdock"
<bytor84@...> wrote:
>
> This was a great chapter. I liked how the investigator is thinking one way
> and discovers he's been wrong on everything. It was expected as far as the
> story goes, but it is written well enough that it maintains reader
interest.
> Good job.
>





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Thanks, Frank! I appreciate it.

 
--
Cheers,
Doc Quantum of The Time Trust


Read stories of your favorite DC Comics characters at the Five Earths Project!
www.5earths.info


>________________________________
> From: Frank G. Murdock <bytor84@...>
>To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
>Sent: Saturday, March 31, 2012 7:56:02 PM
>Subject: RE: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part
6: The Stakeout
>
>
> 
>Again, nothing meant by my statement other than I could see the jokes coming
>a mile away out of experience. As for knowing how Jerry turns out, you and
>others might know this sort of information, but I personally do not since E2
>has always been a bit of a foreign place to me.
>
>But I do agree with you that I think Doc has written a masterpiece here
>despite some of the objectional material by others. Putting my own issues
>aside, I think it has been remarkably well done.
>
>/FM
>
>From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
>[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of immortalwildcat
>Sent: Thursday, March 29, 2012 10:20 AM
>To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
>Subject: Re: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri,
>Part 6: The Stakeout
>
>If we, as readers, didn't already know the kind of person Geri turned out to
>be, we would be expecting something much like Mason is. A good example of
>writing for all of the potential readers, and not just the regulars here.
>
>da 'Cat!
>
>--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
><mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite%40yahoogroups.com> , "Frank G. Murdock"
><bytor84@...> wrote:
>>
>> This was a great chapter. I liked how the investigator is thinking one way
>> and discovers he's been wrong on everything. It was expected as far as the
>> story goes, but it is written well enough that it maintains reader
>interest.
>> Good job.
>>
>
>[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
>
>
>
>
>

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Very enjoyable story. I like stories like this that fill in the gaps. Lee    
------------------------------ On Sat, Mar 31, 2012 7:23 AM EDT Doc Quantum
wrote:  >The following short story is part of The Nebula Man crossover and shows
what happened to the Star-Spangled Kid when he was sent back in time from the
year 1948. Other written chapters have featured The Crimson Avenger, Green
Arrow, Stripesy, and Speedy. You can find them on the Earth-2 Times Past
listing: > >http://www.5earths.info/earth-2/timespast/ > >*** > >The first thing
that hit me was the smell of sulphur, so strong that I felt immediately nauseous
from it. As I opened my eyes, I found myself in a strange place. All around me
was a rocky landscape and a yellowish sky above me. > >"I have a feeling we're
not in Kansas anymore, Toto," I said, although there was no one else around to
hear me. I was so used to making comments like that, since I was usually not
alone when in my costume. > >I
  looked down, and sure enough my costume was still fully intact -- bright blue
and red, with stylized white stars emblazoned all over them. It was a fitting
costume for someone calling himself the Star-Spangled Kid, but I had a feeling
it would be rather out of place here. > >My first thoughts were of where I had
been and where I was now. A few moments ago I had been with Stripesy and the
rest of the Law's Legionnaires in the Himalayas. We'd traveled there to confront
the fearsome Nebula Man, and when our battle ended, the Nebula Man exploded.
After that, I found myself here. > >But where was here? I began to walk along
this rocky, sulphurous landscape in an effort to make some sense of it all. Was
I thrown by an explosion to some remote part of the Himalayas? And if so, did
the other Seven Soldiers of Victory survive as well? > >Then I heard voices --
harsh, guttural voices in a language unlike any I'd ever heard before. I decided
that caution was the
  order of the day and snuck behind a rock to observe them, for I was standing
above a ridge from which, I discerned, their voices had come. Three men ran into
view a moment later, and my hopes were dashed. They had pale, grayish-brown
skin, were dressed in animal skins, and carried primitive weapons. But as I
began to wonder whether they were really as large and beast-like as they seemed
-- almost like giant beast-men -- I realized that they were running very fast.
>A moment later, I found out why, when a saber-tooth tiger chased after them. My
heart sank as I realized that I'd been sent back in time again, but to the days
of the cavemen. > >Suddenly, my parched throat became rough, and I coughed
before I could stop myself. Glancing back down into the valley, I realized that
the saber-tooth tiger had heard my cough and stopped in its tracks. Then the
three men, carrying spears tipped with flintrock, took that momentary
distraction to turn back to the
  tiger and attack it. I did not wait to see whether they succeeded in subduing
the tiger, instead bolting and running in the opposite direction. > >It was not
entirely fear for my own safety that caused me to run, though I admit that the
thought of other beast-men or saber-tooth tigers out there did not fill me with
much confidence for my survival. My fears were for the future, for I could tell
by my cough, my parched throat, and my runny nose that I had brought back with
me a very terrible, very contagious disease -- the common flu. > >I know what
most people's reaction would be to having the flu: That's a shame, but I'll be
fine. Except I wasn't worried about my own survival of the flu -- I was worried
about the survival of the human race itself. For all I knew, these
primitive-looking beast-men were the direct ancestors of modern man, and even if
they were not, they most certainly could be in contact with them. So to
introduce a modern influenza virus
  into a human population that had no natural, hard-won immunities to any modern
diseases would be utterly devastating. > >People still forget, even though it
was thirty years ago, that the Spanish Flu killed more people than the First
World War. If I recall my statistics correctly, in fact, somewhere between
twenty and forty million people died from the Spanish Flu of 1918. That's more
than the Black Death. And I was a carrier with an active flu. I knew right then
and there that my first and possibly only goal was to prevent myself from
becoming another Typhoid Mary. > >To that end, I searched for a dwelling in this
rocky terrain where I could hole myself up indefinitely, or at least until I was
sure that the flu had passed. I still held out hope of a rescue from my fellow
Legionnaires, but I knew from past experience that time travel was tricky, and
there were no guarantees of anything. > >I won't bore you with the details, but
I was able to find a cave
  after a brief search. The terrain seemed to be littered with them, which
explained where the beast-men -- I surmised them to be some kind of large
Cro-Magnon offshoot -- were likely to make their home. > >Tentatively, I made my
way into the cave, already feeling winded and tired from the run, only
confirming in my mind that I had the flu. I must have picked it up shortly
before our fight with the Nebula Man, and it wasn't until now that I began to
really feel its effects. With hundreds, perhaps thousands of flu strains around
in the twentieth century, its side effects could vary widely. I was just
grateful that it didn't seem to be a stomach flu, because that would have made
things much worse. > >Within the cave were several corridors accessible by three
main side-tunnels. I decided to explore the others later and chose the third
tunnel. The cave corridor became very dark very quickly the farther I went in,
but I gradually began to adjust my eyesight to
  the low light levels, allowing me to keep moving in. I wanted to get as far
away from the entrance as possible. > >But as I stepped forward tentatively, I
felt my right foot break something beneath it, and a shattering sound alerted me
to what I was stepping on. It was a thin crystalline formation of some kind,
most likely quartz. I had stepped into a crystal cave of the kind that is rare
in 1948 but must have been more plentiful back in this era. > >Determined to
explore the beautiful crystals in the cave a bit more, I knew I needed to see
better than I could at present. Then an idea hit me. Why not rig up a series of
crystals to act as mirrors and focused lenses, delivering more light to the back
of the cave? > >It was a simple task to perform, and it certainly got my mind
off of my flu, but as I began inspecting the beautiful crystals that became
larger and more extravagant the deeper the cave went, I heard voices again. The
Cro-Magnon beast-men were
  outside near the mouth of the cave. > >All I could do was freeze in place and
listen. With a great sense of relief, I soon realized that they were moving on.
But it had been a close call, and I knew I needed a strategy to scare off
anyone. In effect, I needed a scarecrow. A plan formed in my mind, and I set to
work. > >I spent the rest of the afternoon gathering the largest and flattest of
the quartz formations and delicately placing them aside for later use. Then I
waited until nightfall. > >Under the cover of night, with only the light of a
crescent moon to aid my vision, I went out in search of supplies I would need.
In my search for a cave earlier, I had noticed a patch of bushes that ran down
into a cavern. Walking cautiously toward those bushes, I began to search them
for berries of any kind, and I found and gathered several red berries and
blueberries, placing them in my cowl, which I used as a pocket. > >I froze in
place as a distant growl
  alerted me to the very real danger of being mauled alive, and I frantically
searched for my final supply, but I came up empty and was forced to return to my
cave. There, I ate only a few of the easily recognizable blueberries and avoided
the unfamiliar red ones altogether. I thought quickly about what I could
possibly do about the last supply I needed until I realized that the solution
was all around me. I then ground up some of the quartz crystal into a fine white
powder. > >As the night wore on, a refreshing smell wafted into the cave. It was
rain, and I had never been so happy to hear it and smell it before. I went back
to the mouth of the cave and extended my cupped hands out to catch the drops,
then thirstily satisfied myself with several handfuls of water. Then I took one
last handful into the cave with me and dropped it into a small indent on the
cave floor. > >In the last remaining hours of night, I tried to catch up on
sleep, but I could only
  sleep lightly, my dire circumstances being what they were. My worsening flu
didn't make it any easier for me, either. So when the early rays of dawn began
streaming into the cave, I was grateful that I would be able to finish building
my scarecrow. > >For the next couple of hours, I used the red, blue, and white
pastes made out of the two types of berries and the quartz powder to paint a
fearsome sight upon one of the flat quartz crystals. I then gathered the other
large pieces of quartz and arranged them in a sort of lens. When I was satisfied
that they were in the right place, I adjusted the smaller pieces of quartz I was
using as mirrors to reflect light within and then back out of the cave from
behind my makeshift lens. > >Satisfied with my work, I took a chance and left
the cave for a moment to see if it worked. Amazingly enough, my harebrained
scheme had somehow worked. I had painted a distorted picture of myself in my
red, white, and blue
  Star-Spangled Kid costume that was visible only from the mouth of the cave. The
quartz lenses helped to make the effect work by giving the painting a ghostly
look, providing the illusion of movement as you move your eye past it. > >But I
had taken one chance too many. The same guttural yells from the Cro-Magnon
beast-men reached my ears, and I realized that I had been spotted. Cursing to
myself, I ran into the first side-tunnel in the cave and kept on running, this
time far deeper into the cave than I had originally. I was soon lost, but at
least I had managed to keep my flu virus to myself. > >Still, as I sat there in
the utter darkness of the cave, I knew that it was only a matter of time before
my own time was up. I wasn't even sure whether my scarecrow would work; for all
I knew, the beast-men could be on their way to me right now, defeating my plan
entirely. Dark thoughts came to my mind. If necessary, would I be able to kill
any of the beast-men I
  came into contact with to keep them from infecting anyone else? Would I be able
to end my own life, thus ending any chance of infecting another? > >Those dark
thoughts soon passed, for I had never been one to dwell on despair. Nor had I
ever killed or had thoughts of suicide. I hoped and prayed that those options
would never become necessary. I hoped and prayed for a miracle. > >And although
I did not know it then, that miracle was on its way in the form of three
costumed men from the future. > >*** > >Continued in Justice League of America
#102, which depicts the Kid's rescue by Aquaman and Green Lantern of Earth-One
and Wildcat of Earth-Two. >

Sorry, Frank, this one got lost. Thanks. Her friends just told Hope that she
can't save everybody all the time - now they're hearing the same thing.

--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Frank G. Murdock" <bytor84@...>
wrote:
>
> I really enjoyed this line, Dan: "Surely you don't think 4 of you could
> search the whole city?" Hope asked. "Even costumed heroes can't catch the
> bad guys all the time."
>
>
>
>
>
> /.FM
>
>
>
> From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> [mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of ddswanson
> Sent: Sunday, March 25, 2012 8:21 AM
> To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
> Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] Hope Hazard - ...a mask and a hat?
>
>
>
>
>
> The next morning in the Mayor's office, the phone rang. The room was
> crowded, with the Mayor, the City Council, Sheriff Bumkiss, Detective Damon,
> Mr. Wall, the City Treasurer and several deputies. The Mayor's secretary,
> Miss Sheryl Farrell, was also there, serving coffee to the men. With some
> trepidation, the Mayor picked up the phone.
>
> "Uh... umm... Mr. Baffler, umm... hold on, let me put the City Treasurer on
> the phone." He hurriedly pushed the phone into the hands of a tall thin man
> who had a very worried expression on his face.
>
> "Um.. Mr. Baffler, my name is Eugene Greenbanks, and I am the City Treasurer
> of Radiance. It has been very difficult getting together the cash required
> on such short notice, and I'm afraid that so far we only have $400,000. If
> you could give us until Tuesday..." He scrunched up his face in pain and
> yanked the phone away from his ear, held it out to the Mayor. "He wants to
> speak to you, Mr. Mayor." He handed over the phone with a sigh of relief and
> quickly moved as far away from the Mayor as he could.
>
> "Maybe you think I'm playing games here, Mr. Mayor," the Baffler said,
> sarcastically stressing 'Mayor', "but I'm not. So the deal has changed. You
> deliver the cash, and once I've counted it, I'll tell you what's gonna blow
> up, and you'll have about two hours to clear the structure. Then, next
> Saturday, we'll do this again. I want the 100 grand you welched on today,
> plus another 500 grand. And you better have the whole amount this time,
> or... BOOM! No warning."
>
> Some of the deputies in the room were muttering until Bumkiss told them to
> shut up. Detective Damon refused. "As Sheriff Lambert said, if you pay a
> blackmailer, you end up paying over and over again."
>
> "Damnit, Damon, shut your mouth!" Bumkiss screamed. "If we had the full
> amount this morning, he'd have been satisfied and this would be over now."
>
> "Yeah, it's our fault he's going to blow something else up today." Damon
> muttered sarcastically. "And if we can't come up with the rest of the
> million by next week, it'll be our fault when people die?"
>
> The mayor had his hand clamped over the mouthpiece of the phone and he was
> waving frantically for silence.
>
> When Damon started to say something else, Bumkiss snapped. 'You're fired!"
> Damon turned on his heals and left.
>
> As he stalked from the room, Damon spoke loudly. "I thought we learned a
> lesson about appeasement from Hitler and Chamberlain."
>
> "We'll have the money next week!" the Mayor promised the Baffler anxiously.
> "Please don't kill any more people!"
>
> "Bad for re-election, isn't it, Mayor?" the Baffler chuckled. "Now, here's
> what you do. I want you to carry the money. You and Miss Farrell, and anyone
> else who's brave enough, except any cops!, go out the front door of City
> Hall. The skirt gets into the maroon Lincoln with the motor running. Don't
> bother checking on the plates - it's stolen. Foxcroft, you open up the bag
> carrying the dough, on the hood of the car, so I can see it. Yes, I'll be
> watching..." he laughed like a vaudeville villain "BWAH ha HAH!"
>
> "I understand," the Mayor's voice was quavering "You won't shoot m... er,
> anyone, right?"
>
> "I won't shoot anyone - not my style. But if I see the Sheriff or any
> deputies... BOOM!" He laughed his vaudeville villain laugh again. "Make sure
> you leave the cash uncovered for 2 minutes, then shut the case, throw it in
> the back seat, and everyone goes back inside. The dame will find further
> instructions on the seat. Nobody follows her. She'll drive around for about
> 20 minutes, carry out my instructions, and I'll start counting the money. It
> better be 400 large, or else... BOOM! If it's all there, I'll call you
> back." He hung up.
>
> The delivery went off without a hitch. The secretary drove around town for
> 20 minutes, making a lot of turns. Finally she got out of the car and
> carried the suitcase onto the porch of an abandoned house - and then ran
> like hell for a pay phone! A few minutes later, the phone in the Mayor's
> office rang again.
>
> "Just counting now," the Baffler sneered at the Mayor. "Tell Sheriff Bumpkin
> to clear the Watermill Bridge. You have 2 hours from... now!"
>
> It took half an hour to get everyone off the bridge and roadblocks
> established. It was a good thing they hurried; the first of two explosions
> was 45 minutes early and the second, only 2 minutes later - and the
> beautiful bridge was shattered, the roads on either side leading to jagged
> ends. and the debris clogging up the Mill River. It would be weeks, and cost
> millions to clear the channel and repair the damage caused by minor flooding
> upriver.
>
> The Blue Boys and Miss Redhead got together at Tubby's apartment that night,
> to discuss their future nocturnal activities. Janie had invited Hope as
> well. "She's smart, and she's a way better fighter than I am!" she told her
> friends. They looked at her strangely - how did she know that? "Oops!" she
> sighed. "That was supposed to be Top Secret." Tiffany was there as well; she
> had been planning to cook for Tubby, but they decided to get a pizza
> instead.
>
> "He's not using radio!" Tubby insisted. "I was scanning every frequency with
> my short wave for an hour before the explosion and scanned every band -
> nothing unusual. Certainly not some Nikola Tesla/Skylark of Space exploding
> radio rays."
>
> "So he must have used bombs. But how did he plant them?" Janie asked. "We've
> been out looking every night... nothing."
>
> "Surely you don't think 4 of you could search the whole city?" Hope asked.
> "Even costumed heroes can't catch the bad guys all the time."
>
> "The structures are the clues!" Tiffany spoke up excitedly. All the others
> looked at her. "The clues he left were meaningless, right?'
>
> "Well, he did kind of threaten the Sentinel in the second note. But the
> clues themselves DO seem meaningless," Hope was dubious. "What do you mean?"
>
> "All three structures were completed in the last few months. And all 3 were
> plagued by complaints of shoddy construction." Her friends looked skeptical.
> "You know I'm really interested in buildings and real estate?" Her friends
> nodded; she had mentioned it during the Monopoly game, during which she had
> showed off the results of that interest. "I talked to the landlord of the
> apartment building - his staff was always doing minor repairs. Hope told us
> last night that Mr. Wall had just toured the print plant to see firsthand
> the things that his employees were complaining about. And only last week, a
> chunk of cement fell from the bridge. I read it in the Sentinel."
>
> "Wow! I wonder if the companies that built them used substandard building
> materials - and are blowing them up now to hide it?" Herb asked excitedly.
> "Who were the builders?"
>
> "Lake Erie Construction built the Sentinel print plant," Hope replied. "I
> found the file folder with the contract just last week for Mr. Hall's
> lawyer."
>
> "That wasn't the name of the company that built the bridge," Tiffany added.
> "That was Big City Builders. I thought it was odd that some company from Big
> City would be building a bridge so far away." But none of them had even
> noticed the construction effort at the apartment building.
>
> "It seems unlikely that 3 different companies would be doing the same thing
> - unless they were ALL involved," Tom cautioned his friends.
>
> "I wonder how we can find out?" Hope asked her friends. "The Sentinel's
> morgue had already been moved into the basement of the new building before
> the explosion. The public library is closed."
>
> "Anyone doing construction in Radiance needs a city building permit,"
> Tiffany mused. So there must be records in City Hall..."
>
> "Good luck getting into City Hall on a Saturday night. Especially tonight,
> the place is locked up tight as a drum," Herb informed them. "The deputies
> that walk the downtown beat used to have a key, so they could walk through
> the ground floor once or twice a night, but when he got elected a couple
> years ago, Hizzoner Foxcroft didn't like that. Nobody but the maintenance
> team allowed in over the weekend."
>
> "So the place is empty right now?" Tom asked thoughtfully.
>
> "Don't even think about it, Tom!" Herb ordered his friend. "I'm a deputy -
> and I'll lose my job if we get caught."
>
> "I never said 'we'," Tom objected.
>
> "Anyway, I have a better idea," Herb replied. "Detective Damon has been
> studying this case intensively; I'll bet he already knows."
>
> Damon was at home; he invited Herb and his friends over for a beer. Some of
> them weren't interested - but Herb told them that Damon had sounded really
> depressed and probably needed some friends right now. So off they went. A
> little while later, Damon was organizing them into teams.
>
> "OK, Herb and Janie check out Lake Erie Construction, Tom and Hope, the Big
> City Builders, Tubby and Tiffany take Keystone Construction. I'll check out
> the records in City Hall. Make sure you don't get caught!" He certainly
> wasn't depressed any longer!
>
> "I can't believe I'm doing this," Herb whispered to Janie as they parked his
> car not far from the offices of Lake Erie Construction.
>
> "Cmon, Herb, it's not like the Blue Boys and Little Miss Redhead never broke
> in to the bad guys' headquarters before!" Janie reminder her friend.
>
> "Yeah - but I wasn't a deputy then."
>
> "Look," she whispered firmly. "I'm going to do this. You can sit here alone
> and wait for me, or..." she got out of the car and stepped into an alley not
> far away. Herb dithered for a few seconds, but then the thought of his girl,
> alone in a dark alley in a not-so-good part of the city at this hour
> convinced him to move. To his relief, there was only one figure in the alley
> - she looked like a cartoon ghost, with a pointed head and a long robe that
> covered her arms and legs like she was draped in a sheet - except the hood
> and robe weren't white, they were so dark it was almost impossible to see
> her in the shadows. He knew that robe was blue; a blue so dark it was almost
> black, because he was carrying a similar robe.
>
> In a few seconds, two dark-wrapped figures slipped through the shadows in
> the alleys until they reached the back door of the building they were
> seeking. The lock wasn't exactly top of the line. Janie had always been the
> sneaky member of the Blue foursome; she pulled out some small tools from a
> pocket on the inside of her cloak and worked on the lock while Herb
> nervously stood guard and bit his tongue to keep from nagging her to go
> faster. He didn't understand women, but he understood enough about this one
> woman to know that nagging her never produced desirable results! It seemed
> like 2 hours, but it was closer to two minutes when the latch clicked open.
>
> It was darker inside than out; Janie pulled a small electric torch from
> another interior pocket, and they furtively moved through the corridors of
> the empty, run -down office building looking for the door to Lake Erie
> Construction. "They sure don't waste any money on their offices, do they?"
> Herb whispered. The corridor floor needed to be swept and washed, and the
> paint on the walls was peeling. They found the LEC door; the sign on the
> frosted glass was neatly painted and looked like it was new.
>
> Herb looked the other way. "I do _not_ want to watch you," he said softly.
>
> Janie chuckled. "Done!" She cautiously opened the door and they slipped
> inside. Discretely using their torches, they determined that they were in a
> reception room with a new rug and new furniture. There were no papers on the
> secretary's desk; it wasn't locked, and the drawers were pretty bare as
> well, with only office supplies.
>
> The inner office was much the same - brand new accoutrements and a desk
> devoid of anything interesting. Janie looked through the file cabinets that
> lined one wall - most of them were empty, but one in the middle was filled
> with folders - most of which were full of blank pages. They closed all the
> drawers and snuck back outside, then to their car.
>
> "Geez Louise, that was boring!" Herb swore under his breath. "I can't
> believe we risked going to jail for _that_!" Janie was disappointed as well,
> though they were both relieved that they hadn't been caught. Thought they
> didn't know it, Tubby and Tiffany were having much the same experience at
> the office of Keystone Construction - though Tubby had boosted Tiffany high
> enough to climb through an open window and let him in, rather than one of
> them picking the lock. Tom and Hope, though, were having a much more...
> interesting experience at the office of Big City Builders.
>
>
>
>
>
> [Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
>

Big City Construction's office was in downtown's tallest building, not far from
City Hall and the Sentinel, and there was some traffic on the street despite the
late hour. Tom and Hope split up to walk around the building looking for a
discreet way in. When he didn't run into Hope behind the building, Tom continued
on and soon found Hope waiting in an open door on the other side.

"It was unlocked," she told him, thinking 'after I slipped my arm under the
door, stretched it up to the knob, and then turned it.' She pulled their cloaks
out of her large purse and they put them on. Big City Construction was the only
company on the second floor, so they snuck up a stairwell. At the top, Tom eased
open the door and peeked out. Hope had tried to go first, but Tom figured that
he was the experienced costumed hero, as well as being the man of the group, so
it was his responsibility. The corridor was empty. It was dimly lit; their dark
capes were not going to conceal them very well in the hall.

"We'll have to be extra careful," Tom whispered. To Hope, it sounded almost as
if he were yelling.  Concealed under her hood and cloak, she'd adopted the body
of a humanoid cat to improve her senses and ability to move he quietly.

"Thissss way," she hissed quietly, and moved off to the right. They soon found
the door to BCC; through the frosted glass they could see that the room beyond
was dark. The door was locked, and Tom knew little about picking locks. "I can
open it - you keep watchhhhh," Hope whispered. She hoped her whisper would
conceal her hiss, She put her hand on the doorknob, concealing it from Tom with
the big sleeves of her robe. Inside the sleeve, two of her fingers shrank in
diameter and stretched. She slipped them into the keyhole. Once inside one of
the fingers glowed with luminescent light and a very small eye appeared on the
'fingertip'. Working deftly with the other finger, Hope was able to figure out
the lock mechanism. She shaped her exploratory finger to fit the lock properly,
withdrew the one with the eye, converted the 'key finger' into very hard chitin,
unlocked the door, and quickly made both fingers normal again.

"How'd you do that?" Tom whispered.

"I used some of the tools from one of the inside pockets," she whispered back,
showing him a small roll of tools which she then tucked back into the pocket.
"You guys are sure well-equipped for your midnight spook acts!" She was wearing
Janie's spare cloak, and Tom had explained about the pockets on their way here.

"Yeah, but where did you learn?" Tom asked.

"Not now, Tom!" she insisted. She didn't know what she was going to tell him
later, but maybe he would forget to ask. They slipped into the office and
started searching. They found a lot of stuff - unfortunately, neither had any
real idea exactly what they needed to find.

"I guess we'll have to take a lot of it with us," Tom suggested. "They'll know
somebody was in their office, but they won't know until Monday."

"Umm, Tom, I think they know NOW!" With her cat-keen ears she heard sounds of
people climbing the stairs. "Somebody's coming!" She started towards the door,
but at that instant, the corridor lights came on. They rushed into the inner
office.

"Out the window and down the fire escape!" Tom ordered.

"No use - somebody's down there waiting for us."

The outer door was opened cautiously, then they heard the steps of several men
entering the outer room.

"What should we do, Tom?" Hope asked.

"I don't know, never been in a pickle like this before!" he replied. "We could
go UP the fire escape to the roof.

"Come outta der wit' yer hands up, see!" a deep voice boomed from the other
room. "Building Security!"

"Once we reach the roof, what would we do then?" Hope asked with a sardonic
smile.

"OK, take off your robe and stash it!" Tom replied. He suited action to words
and their robes were quickly hidden in an empty file drawer. He pulled the tails
of Hope's shirt out of the waist of her skirt, and did the same with his own.
"Mess up your hair and pretend to be pulling your clothes on when they open the
door." It probably wouldn't help, but what the heck?

"OK, youse had your chance. Youse ain't comin' out, so we'se comin' in, and
youse won't like it," the same voice said.  The door opened, and 3 big, burly
men, in ill fitting suits, one of them totally bald, came in, all pointing guns.
Tom and Hope quickly put their hands up. The 'Building Security team' saw two
young adults, casually dressed, their clothes in mild disarray and their faces
flushed.

"Who're youse?" the last one in said. "What youse doin' here?" His voice was
higher and a little squeeky.

"We were looking for someplace private..." Tom began.

"Shaddup!' the bald thug said emphatically. He was the one who had given the
order for them to come out. He turned to the talker. "It's not our job ta ask da
questions, Johnny - we'se just supposed to 'detain' 'em until da boss gets
here."

Their captors detained them by forcing them into chairs, tying their hands
behind them and gagging them, then placing them back to back and wrapping more
ropes around them. And then they waited, but they didn't have to wait too long.
A few minutes later, another man joined them. He was short, wearing a black
tuxedo,  green opera cape, a thin domino mask and a top hat, and carrying a
cane.

'That's the Baffler, all right!' Tom thought to himself. 'I guess we hit the
jackpot.'

"We'se caught dem sneakin' around, Boss," Johnny offered.

"I can see that, you cretin!" the Baffler snapped. "Did they find anything?"

"Gee, I dunno, boss - we dint have time ta look around yet. But somebody set off
d'alarms at d'other offices, too. Jonesy and Donny's checkin' dem out now."

Before either man could say anything else the phone rang. Johnny picked it up.
"Yeah?" He listened for a few seconds. "It's Tommy, boss. Somebody's snooping
around City Hall."

The Baffler took the phone. "Tommy, you and Jack keep an eye on the snooper at
City Hall. If  he tries to leave before I get there, slug him." He handed the
phone back to his flunky. "You three get these two ready for the short trip."

"Mind if we'se work 'em over first, boss? This job's been sorta, well, boring so
far." This was the bald guy again.

"Once you get them back to the warehouse, Jilly, I don't care what you do with
them, as long as nobody hears and they end up on the bottom of the lake in
cement galoshes when you're done. And keep it quiet here, we don't want any more
snoopers." The Baffler turned and swept from the room.

One of the thugs removed the ropes holding the two vigilantes to their chairs,
and insured that their hands remained properly bound. Jilly ordered one of the
others, "Lenny, bring da car around to da loading dock." The thug who hadn't
spoken so far hurried out of the office. Jilly turned to his captives, "We'se
goin to da elevator. No funny bizness er ya gets it right here."

On the way to the elevator, Hope stumbled and fell. Jilly roughly pushed Tom
onward. "Johnny, slug da skirt in da head and carry 'er. Hurry it up."

Johnny reversed the gun in his hand and bent down to clobber Hope. Before he
could, she rolled over. Instead of a cute girl, he was facing a fearsome monster
with a mouth wider than his head, filled with more teeth than a shark. He
started to scream but it was cut off quickly with a pained gasp as she kicked
upwards, once, shifting mass and muscle into her right leg. Willy fell to the
floor, moaning, curled up into the fetal position.

Tom took advantage of the distraction - as Jilly turned to see what Johnny was
screaming about, Tom lowered his head and drove his shoulder into the small of
Jilly's back with all the power in his legs. Jilly's head and shoulders jerked
backwards and then he was driven forward. His gun went off and then flew from
his hand as his body snapped into an unnatural position, then he fell to the
floor with Tom on top of him. He was struggling weakly when Hope stepped up to
the two of them and pointed Johnny's gun at his face from only a few inches
away.

He stopped struggling. "See how YOU like it, jackass!" she hissed and slugged
him with the gun, knocking him out. She turned to Tom and started deftly untying
his hands. "Somebody outside must have heard that shot. We should get out of
here before the deputies arrive!"

"How'd you get loose?" Tom wanted to know.

"They did a really bad job of tying my hands," she replied evasively. "Maybe
they thought I wasn't dangerous because I'm a girl?" They sure hadn't done a
good enough job to hold someone who could absorb her hands and wrists into her
arms and then instantly re-form them again as soon as the rope dropped away.

"You keep an eye on these guys," Tom whispered. "I'll be back in a few..." He
ran lightly back to the office, lay one of the cloaks on the floor, and dumped a
lot of papers on it. He then wrapped it up into a bundle and raced back to his
friend.

"Y'know, Hope, I'm worried. What if the others get caught? They know about them
checking out the other companies, and they know about Damon at City Hall. You
heard what the Baffler told his flunkies to do with us. What if the others get
caught too? Those guys are my best friends, and these bad guys play rough."
There was fear for his friends in Tom's rough whisper - fear she hadn't heard
when it was just the two of them in danger.

"We should go to the police, Tom!" she whispered back.

"If Lambert was still the Sherriff, I'd agree with you. But Herb says Bumkiss
told them not to do anything without his specific orders, and by the time he
even decided to check out our story, it would be too late. We have to get to
that warehouse and help them somehow!" he insisted.

"But we don't even know where it is," Hope objected.

"So, we'll have to get Lenny to take us." Tom paused in thought. "Tell you what.
I'll sneak into the loading dock from outside, and get as close to the car as I
can. Then you stumble through the inside door like somebody pushed you. When
Lenny's distracted, I'll jump him and put a gun to his head."

"That's pretty brave, Tom, but don't think it will work. Lenny's probably pretty
jumpy after hearing that shot and if he sees you, he'll shoot, and we don't even
know what kind of cover there is in the loading dock. Even if it works, he'll
probably just refuse to take us to the warehouse. After all, what are _you_
going to do, shoot him? Or, maybe he'll just lead us into a trap. I've got a
better idea, but I'm going to have to trust you with a big secret - and then you
are going to have to trust me." She was very serious. "You and your friends
trusted me with the Blue Boy secret; I think I can trust you with mine."

Tom was mystified and despite the circumstances, more than a little intrigued.
He nodded. "Of course you can trust me!"

"Good," Hope replied with a small smile - he didn't know what he was getting
into. She hoped this wasn't a mistake. "You're familiar with Plastic Man,
right?"

***~~~***

Detective Damon was quietly ransacking the City Engineer's office. He'd found
the building permits for the three structures which had already been blown up.
They seemed legit, so he kept looking. All three of the suspect companies had
first started applying for permits a couple of years ago. He dumped all the
permits from the last 2 years into a briefcase.

He'd noticed that Big City Construction only did jobs for the city, while the
other 2 only did private jobs. Contractors for city jobs were always selected by
the 'submit your proposal and bid in a sealed envelope, low bidder gets the job'
process. In another file cabinet, Damon found folders containing the proposals
and bids for most of the city building projects over the past year. However, the
detective was unable to find folders that corresponded to four of BCC's permits,
and one of those was for the Mill River Bridge. He started stuffing folders for
the few other projects that BCC had bid on into his briefcase; he figured it was
time to go.

He was too late. Just as he shut the case, Tommy and Jack burst into the room
with guns drawn. "Don't move, pally, or I'll blast ya!" Tommy said. Like their
pals at the other office, these two were big and well-muscled. Damon figured
they had both been construction workers at some time - and even though he
thought of himself as a good fighter, he knew he couldn't take both of them,
even if he could find a way past their guns.

"Who are you guys?" he snapped at them angrily. "You're going to be in big
trouble, busting in here like that and waving guns!"

"Shaddup. We got da gats and we ast da questions!' Jack replied. "Whatta _you_
doin' here?"

"I work here; I was just finishing up some paperwork,"  Damon answered. Good an
answer as any...

"Smart ass, huh?" Tommy barked. "Ain't nobody workin' dis late on a Sat'day.
We'se Building Scurity and you'se is under arrest for burgary!" He waved his gun
at the detective. "Put down da case and den put yur hands up!"

"Nothing doing!" Damon replied cooly. "Show me some ID!"

While Tommy kept him covered, Jack stepped closer. "Ya want ID, pally? Here!"
and and slammed his pistol into the back of Damon's head. The detective
collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

***~~~***

Thanks! There's more to come.

 
--
Cheers,
Doc Quantum of The Time Trust


Read stories of your favorite DC Comics characters at the Five Earths Project!
www.5earths.info


>________________________________
> From: Drivtaan <drivtaan@...>
>To: thejsaallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
>Sent: Sunday, April 1, 2012 10:37:44 AM
>Subject: Re: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] The Star-Spangled Kid: Times Past,
1948: The Caveman Kid
>
>
> 
>
>Very enjoyable story. I like stories like this that fill in the gaps. Lee
>

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Another fine chapter. Enjoyed it. Lee     ------------------------------ On Sun,
Apr 1, 2012 6:38 PM EDT ddswanson wrote:  >Big City Construction's office was in
downtown's tallest building, not far from City Hall and the Sentinel, and there
was some traffic on the street despite the late hour. Tom and Hope split up to
walk around the building looking for a discreet way in. When he didn't run into
Hope behind the building, Tom continued on and soon found Hope waiting in an
open door on the other side. > >"It was unlocked," she told him, thinking 'after
I slipped my arm under the door, stretched it up to the knob, and then turned
it.' She pulled their cloaks out of her large purse and they put them on. Big
City Construction was the only company on the second floor, so they snuck up a
stairwell. At the top, Tom eased open the door and peeked out. Hope had tried to
go first, but Tom figured that he was the experienced costumed hero, as well as
being the man
  of the group, so it was his responsibility. The corridor was empty. It was
dimly lit; their dark capes were not going to conceal them very well in the
hall. > >"We'll have to be extra careful," Tom whispered. To Hope, it sounded
almost as if he were yelling. Concealed under her hood and cloak, she'd adopted
the body of a humanoid cat to improve her senses and ability to move he quietly.
> >"Thissss way," she hissed quietly, and moved off to the right. They soon
found the door to BCC; through the frosted glass they could see that the room
beyond was dark. The door was locked, and Tom knew little about picking locks.
"I can open it - you keep watchhhhh," Hope whispered. She hoped her whisper
would conceal her hiss, She put her hand on the doorknob, concealing it from Tom
with the big sleeves of her robe. Inside the sleeve, two of her fingers shrank
in diameter and stretched. She slipped them into the keyhole. Once inside one of
the fingers glowed with
  luminescent light and a very small eye appeared on the 'fingertip'. Working
deftly with the other finger, Hope was able to figure out the lock mechanism.
She shaped her exploratory finger to fit the lock properly, withdrew the one
with the eye, converted the 'key finger' into very hard chitin, unlocked the
door, and quickly made both fingers normal again. > >"How'd you do that?" Tom
whispered. > >"I used some of the tools from one of the inside pockets," she
whispered back, showing him a small roll of tools which she then tucked back
into the pocket. "You guys are sure well-equipped for your midnight spook acts!"
She was wearing Janie's spare cloak, and Tom had explained about the pockets on
their way here. > >"Yeah, but where did you learn?" Tom asked. > >"Not now,
Tom!" she insisted. She didn't know what she was going to tell him later, but
maybe he would forget to ask. They slipped into the office and started
searching. They found a lot of stuff -
  unfortunately, neither had any real idea exactly what they needed to find. >
>"I guess we'll have to take a lot of it with us," Tom suggested. "They'll know
somebody was in their office, but they won't know until Monday." > >"Umm, Tom, I
think they know NOW!" With her cat-keen ears she heard sounds of people climbing
the stairs. "Somebody's coming!" She started towards the door, but at that
instant, the corridor lights came on. They rushed into the inner office. > >"Out
the window and down the fire escape!" Tom ordered. > >"No use - somebody's down
there waiting for us." > >The outer door was opened cautiously, then they heard
the steps of several men entering the outer room.  > >"What should we do, Tom?"
Hope asked. > >"I don't know, never been in a pickle like this before!" he
replied. "We could go UP the fire escape to the roof. > >"Come outta der wit'
yer hands up, see!" a deep voice boomed from the other room. "Building
Security!" > >"Once we reach
  the roof, what would we do then?" Hope asked with a sardonic smile.  > >"OK,
take off your robe and stash it!" Tom replied. He suited action to words and
their robes were quickly hidden in an empty file drawer. He pulled the tails of
Hope's shirt out of the waist of her skirt, and did the same with his own. "Mess
up your hair and pretend to be pulling your clothes on when they open the door."
It probably wouldn't help, but what the heck? > >"OK, youse had your chance.
Youse ain't comin' out, so we'se comin' in, and youse won't like it," the same
voice said. The door opened, and 3 big, burly men, in ill fitting suits, one of
them totally bald, came in, all pointing guns. Tom and Hope quickly put their
hands up. The 'Building Security team' saw two young adults, casually dressed,
their clothes in mild disarray and their faces flushed. > >"Who're youse?" the
last one in said. "What youse doin' here?" His voice was higher and a little
squeeky. > >"We were
  looking for someplace private..." Tom began. > >"Shaddup!' the bald thug said
emphatically. He was the one who had given the order for them to come out. He
turned to the talker. "It's not our job ta ask da questions, Johnny - we'se just
supposed to 'detain' 'em until da boss gets here." > >Their captors detained
them by forcing them into chairs, tying their hands behind them and gagging
them, then placing them back to back and wrapping more ropes around them. And
then they waited, but they didn't have to wait too long. A few minutes later,
another man joined them. He was short, wearing a black tuxedo, green opera cape,
a thin domino mask and a top hat, and carrying a cane.  > >'That's the Baffler,
all right!' Tom thought to himself. 'I guess we hit the jackpot.' > >"We'se
caught dem sneakin' around, Boss," Johnny offered. > >"I can see that, you
cretin!" the Baffler snapped. "Did they find anything?" > >"Gee, I dunno, boss -
we dint have time ta look
  around yet. But somebody set off d'alarms at d'other offices, too. Jonesy and
Donny's checkin' dem out now." > >Before either man could say anything else the
phone rang. Johnny picked it up. "Yeah?" He listened for a few seconds. "It's
Tommy, boss. Somebody's snooping around City Hall." > >The Baffler took the
phone. "Tommy, you and Jack keep an eye on the snooper at City Hall. If he tries
to leave before I get there, slug him." He handed the phone back to his flunky.
"You three get these two ready for the short trip." > >"Mind if we'se work 'em
over first, boss? This job's been sorta, well, boring so far." This was the bald
guy again. > >"Once you get them back to the warehouse, Jilly, I don't care what
you do with them, as long as nobody hears and they end up on the bottom of the
lake in cement galoshes when you're done. And keep it quiet here, we don't want
any more snoopers." The Baffler turned and swept from the room. > >One of the
thugs removed
  the ropes holding the two vigilantes to their chairs, and insured that their
hands remained properly bound. Jilly ordered one of the others, "Lenny, bring da
car around to da loading dock." The thug who hadn't spoken so far hurried out of
the office. Jilly turned to his captives, "We'se goin to da elevator. No funny
bizness er ya gets it right here." > >On the way to the elevator, Hope stumbled
and fell. Jilly roughly pushed Tom onward. "Johnny, slug da skirt in da head and
carry 'er. Hurry it up."  > >Johnny reversed the gun in his hand and bent down
to clobber Hope. Before he could, she rolled over. Instead of a cute girl, he
was facing a fearsome monster with a mouth wider than his head, filled with more
teeth than a shark. He started to scream but it was cut off quickly with a
pained gasp as she kicked upwards, once, shifting mass and muscle into her right
leg. Willy fell to the floor, moaning, curled up into the fetal position.  >
>Tom took
  advantage of the distraction - as Jilly turned to see what Johnny was screaming
about, Tom lowered his head and drove his shoulder into the small of Jilly's
back with all the power in his legs. Jilly's head and shoulders jerked backwards
and then he was driven forward. His gun went off and then flew from his hand as
his body snapped into an unnatural position, then he fell to the floor with Tom
on top of him. He was struggling weakly when Hope stepped up to the two of them
and pointed Johnny's gun at his face from only a few inches away.  > >He stopped
struggling. "See how YOU like it, jackass!" she hissed and slugged him with the
gun, knocking him out. She turned to Tom and started deftly untying his hands.
"Somebody outside must have heard that shot. We should get out of here before
the deputies arrive!"  > >"How'd you get loose?" Tom wanted to know. > >"They
did a really bad job of tying my hands," she replied evasively. "Maybe they
thought I wasn't
  dangerous because I'm a girl?" They sure hadn't done a good enough job to hold
someone who could absorb her hands and wrists into her arms and then instantly
re-form them again as soon as the rope dropped away. > >"You keep an eye on
these guys," Tom whispered. "I'll be back in a few..." He ran lightly back to
the office, lay one of the cloaks on the floor, and dumped a lot of papers on
it. He then wrapped it up into a bundle and raced back to his friend. >
>"Y'know, Hope, I'm worried. What if the others get caught? They know about them
checking out the other companies, and they know about Damon at City Hall. You
heard what the Baffler told his flunkies to do with us. What if the others get
caught too? Those guys are my best friends, and these bad guys play rough."
There was fear for his friends in Tom's rough whisper - fear she hadn't heard
when it was just the two of them in danger. > >"We should go to the police,
Tom!" she whispered back.  > >"If
  Lambert was still the Sherriff, I'd agree with you. But Herb says Bumkiss told
them not to do anything without his specific orders, and by the time he even
decided to check out our story, it would be too late. We have to get to that
warehouse and help them somehow!" he insisted. > >"But we don't even know where
it is," Hope objected. > >"So, we'll have to get Lenny to take us." Tom paused
in thought. "Tell you what. I'll sneak into the loading dock from outside, and
get as close to the car as I can. Then you stumble through the inside door like
somebody pushed you. When Lenny's distracted, I'll jump him and put a gun to his
head." > >"That's pretty brave, Tom, but don't think it will work. Lenny's
probably pretty jumpy after hearing that shot and if he sees you, he'll shoot,
and we don't even know what kind of cover there is in the loading dock. Even if
it works, he'll probably just refuse to take us to the warehouse. After all,
what are _you_ going to
  do, shoot him? Or, maybe he'll just lead us into a trap. I've got a better
idea, but I'm going to have to trust you with a big secret - and then you are
going to have to trust me." She was very serious. "You and your friends trusted
me with the Blue Boy secret; I think I can trust you with mine." > >Tom was
mystified and despite the circumstances, more than a little intrigued. He
nodded. "Of course you can trust me!" > >"Good," Hope replied with a small smile
- he didn't know what he was getting into. She hoped this wasn't a mistake.
"You're familiar with Plastic Man, right?" > >***~~~*** > >Detective Damon was
quietly ransacking the City Engineer's office. He'd found the building permits
for the three structures which had already been blown up. They seemed legit, so
he kept looking. All three of the suspect companies had first started applying
for permits a couple of years ago. He dumped all the permits from the last 2
years into a briefcase.  > >He'd
  noticed that Big City Construction only did jobs for the city, while the other
2 only did private jobs. Contractors for city jobs were always selected by the
'submit your proposal and bid in a sealed envelope, low bidder gets the job'
process. In another file cabinet, Damon found folders containing the proposals
and bids for most of the city building projects over the past year. However, the
detective was unable to find folders that corresponded to four of BCC's permits,
and one of those was for the Mill River Bridge. He started stuffing folders for
the few other projects that BCC had bid on into his briefcase; he figured it was
time to go. > >He was too late. Just as he shut the case, Tommy and Jack burst
into the room with guns drawn. "Don't move, pally, or I'll blast ya!" Tommy
said. Like their pals at the other office, these two were big and well-muscled.
Damon figured they had both been construction workers at some time - and even
though he thought
  of himself as a good fighter, he knew he couldn't take both of them, even if he
could find a way past their guns. > >"Who are you guys?" he snapped at them
angrily. "You're going to be in big trouble, busting in here like that and
waving guns!" > >"Shaddup. We got da gats and we ast da questions!' Jack
replied. "Whatta _you_ doin' here?" > >"I work here; I was just finishing up
some paperwork," Damon answered. Good an answer as any... > >"Smart ass, huh?"
Tommy barked. "Ain't nobody workin' dis late on a Sat'day. We'se Building
Scurity and you'se is under arrest for burgary!" He waved his gun at the
detective. "Put down da case and den put yur hands up!" > >"Nothing doing!"
Damon replied cooly. "Show me some ID!" > >While Tommy kept him covered, Jack
stepped closer. "Ya want ID, pally? Here!" and and slammed his pistol into the
back of Damon's head. The detective collapsed bonelessly to the floor. >
>***~~~*** > > > >

(Now we learn a bit more about Mason and Sully's dark past):

Note: Some of the following chapter is taken from a chapter in The Suicide
Squad: Path of the Immortal, written originally by me back in June, 2002, ten
years ago. How time flies!

***

Just before dawn a few hours later, Mason returned to Gordon Sully's apartment.
Entering, he saw that it was just as messy as he'd pictured it when he spoke
with him on the phone earlier, but there was one noticeable difference. Sully,
the happy, drunken cocaine addict, had turned into Sully, the man whose life had
just crashed all around him again.

Walking in, Mason looked at Sully, who sat at his kitchen table expressionless,
surrounded by beer bottles, including a full one loosely resting on the table in
his hand. "Sully?" said Mason, but there was no response. Looking concerned at
his old friend, he walked over and picked up the bottle of beer from the table
and was puzzled to find that it was very warm. Obviously, Sully had taken this
bottle out several hours ago but hadn't touched a drop of it for some reason.
This really bothered Mason, but he couldn't pin down why.

He looked more closely at Sully's face. He was still breathing, at least, and he
still seemed to be somewhat intoxicated, but something had sobered him up very
quickly. "Hey, compadre, you're scarin' me."

"Mason," said Sully, almost breathlessly. He looked up at him and said,
"Remember our friends back in D.C.?"

"Uh... which ones would they be?" asked Mason, not catching on.

"The ones I got into trouble with awhile back? The same ones you still owe?"

Mason's eyes went wide, and he slumped into the chair facing him, his expression
almost as blank as Sully's. Whatever this was about, this was bad. This was
very, very bad. "Yeah," he said dryly. "What about them?"

"They called me."

"Uh-huh. About what?"

"They have a job for you."

Mason was floored. Now this was completely unexpected. If they had a job for
him, then maybe -- just maybe -- he could get out of this after all. "Oh?" was
all he said.

"And you'll never guess who it is," continued Sully in a flat tone of voice that
intimated all kinds of headaches.

"Do I want to know?" Mason sighed, and opened the warm bottle of beer. He drank
down half the bottle with a grimace, then placed it on the table.

Sully wasn't in the least bit tempted to take a sip of it himself. He simply
said, "The Syndicate wants you to kill Miss Terrific."

The expression on Mason's face would have been impossible to guess at this
point. This was going to be bad. This was going to be so much worse than the
last job he did for the Syndicate.

***

It was nearly two years earlier, and Mason was still a hot-shot security
consultant who did a bit of work for the Syndicate on the side. Most of the jobs
he'd done for them had been relatively simple, like bribing judges, delivering
packages, and threatening witnesses. He'd also performed a few hits, but they'd
all been rat-finks -- hardened criminals who betrayed their own mob for a little
cash on the side or in the hopes of rising in the ranks with a rival mob. Those
mobs would pass on the job to the Syndicate, who would hire a hitman with no
connection to them whatsoever. They called it Murder, Incorporated back in the
1940s, and it was still alive and well today.

Mason had never turned a job down, since he knew full well that to do so was
dangerous in itself. And once you knew what the job entailed, there was no way
you could turn that job down. You were in it until the job was done, or you
would be done.

But even Mason had second thoughts about the job when he found out that the
target of the hit wasn't a wise guy at all this time, but an academic -- a
historical researcher at the Smithsonian Institute. He couldn't figure it out.
Who would want this Miles Ambrose guy dead? Even if he owed massive gambling
debts, there were other ways to collect. It was one thing to kill a wise guy --
they were always getting killed in gang wars -- but the murder of a
well-respected historian would surely be front-page news. It was all very
strange, but Mason was a professional, and it was too late for him; he'd taken
the job.

***

Miles Ambrose cried out in his sleep, waking himself up. He blinked in the dark
room, unable to see a thing. His pillow and sheets were slick with sweat.

Turning on his bedside table lamp, Miles put on his thin-rimmed spectacles, then
walked into his small bachelor apartment kitchen and absentmindedly opened the
refrigerator door without really looking for anything to eat. He only saw the
briefest reflection of moonlight shining out of the corner of his eye when the
kitchen window shattered, and he suddenly felt a pain in his chest.

Not a heart attack; he was too healthy. Miles felt the side of his chest, just
under his arm, and brought his hand up to his eyes. He could see by the dim
refrigerator light that his palm was slick with blood. That was the last sight
Miles Ambrose ever saw.

***

From the window opposite Ambrose's apartment, Mason smiled with satisfaction at
his marksmanship. That was a direct hit if he'd ever seen one, clean through the
heart. Despite his reservations about killing a civilian, he'd have to admit
that this was turning out fairly well for him. Fifty-thousand dollars to kill a
historian wasn't bad, all things considered.

The professional lowered his rifle and turned around to have a drag from his
cigarette, telling himself that this kind of thing would only get easier with
enough practice.

***

Miles Ambrose stirred from his kitchen floor and attempted to rise, his coughing
reflex causing him to cough out red spatters of blood onto the refrigerator. The
floor was covered in it. His own blood. How was he even alive?

He realized why, now. He was no longer truly Miles Ambrose. That man had died,
and he had been reborn in his place. But how long had it been? The last thing he
remembered was that collapsing building, and then the whiteness surrounding him,
seemingly preventing him from escaping or even being reborn ever again. And yet
here he was.

Sensing the thing in the room, he walked over to it. It was not the same
gemstone, no, but it was very similar. Where had it come from? He put it in his
pocket as his mind reeled, two separate sets of memories competing for attention
-- one less than a half-century old, and the other many thousands of centuries,
many thousands of lives in one.

Blood still dripping from his shirt, he walked over to the table and found a
newspaper. He looked at the date: September, 1986.

"One year?!" he said aloud. "I've been gone a whole year this time?" He could
feel only confusion as he searched for more news. Apparently, the Crisis had
come and gone, and his adopted world was back to normal. Except where was the
news about Superman, and Batman, and the Justice League of America? None of them
could be found in the newspaper. His new memories could have told him
everything, except for the fact that these first few moments of confusion as his
old memories and new memories integrated themselves made it impossible to think
and remember clearly. He finally came across a photograph. It was the Justice
Society of America. He was on Earth-Two; he was back home.

***

Mason had just been about to pack up his things and leave. It was never a good
idea to stick around even seconds after a hit, since every moment was needed for
a clean getaway. But as he held his rifle with the intention of breaking it down
into its component parts, he took a glance over into the bachelor suite
apartment of Miles Ambrose. The man was still alive. Fumbling with his rifle, he
aimed once more.

"%#!" Mason grumbled to himself as he fired off a second shot. He was sure that
the first bullet had gone right through Ambrose's heart. This one was sure to be
the one, though. "%$#&!" he muttered after realizing the man was not only still
alive, but that he had somehow missed him. He fired off another shot, but this
time Ambrose was onto him, and he moved out of sight.

Mason shouted a string of epithets to himself as quietly as possible and
collected his gear. He knew that he would have to track him down and complete
his mission in person. This would be messy. Mason smiled in anticipation.
Ambrose was giving him too much trouble already. From here on in, there would be
no quick, painless end for Miles Ambrose.

The professional left his apartment and hesitated at the stairway door. It would
only be quicker that way if there were no interruptions on the elevator. Plus,
it would tire him out before he had a chance to begin his hunt. He made his
decision and pressed the down button, watching as the light moved from the
twenty-fifth floor ever closer to his floor, the fourteenth.

The expected ding of the elevator indicated the opening of the elevator doors.
Cautiously, he stood along the edge of the wall as they opened. He looked in. A
pretty young woman stood there. She smiled at him, and he stepped inside.

"Going down?" she said, her finger hovering over the button.

"Yes," he replied, grinning salaciously. "Main floor."

The woman pressed the M button, and the Door Close button, clutching her purse
somewhat more tightly at his stare. The elevator began to move down.

"You live in this building?" the professional asked her.

"Uh... no. I'm visiting my father," she replied, glancing at him quickly, then
turning her attention back to the door.

"Lucky father," Mason grunted, regretting that he did not have the time to
pursue this. She pretended not to have heard him.

He chuckled to himself and watched the numbers go down. Nine, eight, seven, six,
five... Finally, the elevator stopped at the main floor, and the doors opened
with a ding.

The woman walked quickly out of the elevator, not looking back, and headed
toward the front glass doors. The professional chuckled to himself again and
fingered his Bowie knife in anticipation, taking a step through the doors into
the now-empty lobby.

He suddenly found himself pulled back inside, however. "What the %^&*?!"

Mason felt a hand move quickly around his mouth a moment before the elevator
doors shut and the lights flickered out. He felt the elevator begin to move
slowly upward.

"Hello."

Mason futilely tried to squirm out of the strong grip he felt himself in; it was
no use. He could not reach his knife, either.

"I assure you, sir. Resistance is futile."

The hand removed itself from Mason's mouth, and the professional took a moment
to speak, "Who are y--?" The hand clamped over his mouth again.

"The question is not who am I? sir, but who are you? And for what reason did you
murder me?"

Mason frowned in confusion as he tried to figure out who this was. He was a
skilled assassin, a professional in every respect. That meant making sure all of
his targets were dead. So who was this guy? He tried to play dumb. "Murder you?
I don't know what the hell you're-- " The hand silenced him once more.

"I do not believe you are that stupid, my boy. We both know what you've just
done. Now I want to know why. Who sent you? Who are you working for?"

Ambrose, Mason suddenly realized. But how? "N-nothing personal, Ambrose," he
said. "It was just a job. I don't know who wants you d--" The hand again.

"That is not what I wish to hear right now, sir. You must understand that. The
recently departed are not as patient as one might think. Now, a name."

"We don't use names," Mason said quickly. "What do you expect from m-- ?" The
hand.

"Savage."

Mason was quiet. He had not expected that. "I can't--"

"Quiet."

The professional dimly heard a ding just before he passed out.

***

Mason's head throbbed as he realized that he had been unconscious for several
minutes at least. He was cold, and he had a terrible headache. He groaned as he
tried to move but found himself unable to do much more than squirm. Then he
opened his eyes fully and looked up -- at the street.

"AAAHHH!"

The Immortal Man, reincarnated in the body of Miles Ambrose, waved at Mason --
hanging strung upside-down off the building's flagpole -- with a smile as he
walked down the sidewalk below. That trick wasn't really his style. It was
something he had learned from a certain young man named Wayne long ago in
another lifetime, but he had always wanted to try it out.

Right now, though, he had his answer. The memories he retained from Ambrose had
pointed to the right clues, but the would-be assassin's answer was confirmation.
Vandal Savage was back on Earth-Two, and the Immortal Man had somehow followed
him back to their home-world. (*)

[(*) Editor's note: See The Suicide Squad: Path of the Immortal, Chapter 8:
Reincarnation.]

"This is the police!" shouted a voice from behind the stairway door on the roof.
"Don't make any sudden moves!"

Mason rolled his eyes; could this job have gotten any worse? After a few
moments, Mason heard the door slam open, followed by the sound of footsteps
walking across the roof. Then a police officer looked down over the side of the
roof and spotted Mason hanging upside-down from the flagpole. The officer
laughed.

"You're the luckiest bastard I've ever met, you old dog!"

"Sully, will you get me out of here?!" Mason yelled. "Quick!"

"Hold your horses," said Gordon Sully, the corrupt cop. "Let me go find a rope
or something."

***

After that night, Mason and Sully had both tried to turn over a new leaf. Mason
was questioned for his role in the supposed assassination of Miles Ambrose, but
the murder investigation quickly turned into something else altogether when most
of the evidence disappeared, and despite leaving several pints of his own blood
on his kitchen floor, Ambrose himself turned up alive but was unwilling to
provide any help the authorities, since he had secrets of his own to keep. From
his strength and speed, Mason guessed that this Ambrose guy was actually a
metahuman, and probably one of the new ones, since the Syndicate usually didn't
place a hit on an established superhero. Too many risks involved.

With a little help from Gordon Sully and a mechanic friend with some pull, Mason
was able to clear his name completely, and the investigation was dropped. Mason
settled back into his dull life as a security consultant, and the Syndicate
stopped calling, except to let him know that he owed them for failing to finish
the job. As for Sully, he decided to get out of town and take a job with the
Gateway City Police Department, where he was able to get himself clean and
sober.

But now the two were locked into another job, one that was so much more risky.
There was a reason the Syndicate never targeted superheroes -- they had powerful
friends, and if you targeted one, you had to target them all or risk becoming a
target yourself. It was bad business. But for Miss Terrific they had made an
exception, and Mason and Sully were both screwed.

Well, if he had to kill Miss Terrific, a superhero, and a chick at that, then so
be it. He'd track her down eventually and be done with it as quickly and
painlessly as possible. But there was no way he was going to let Geri Sloane
slip out of his life, now that he'd found in her his ideal woman -- a good girl
during the day, a bad girl at night. Stan Beamish be damned.

As far as villains go, I rather like Sully and Mason. :)



/FM



From: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
[mailto:theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com] On Behalf Of Doc Quantum
Sent: Wednesday, April 04, 2012 6:00 AM
To: theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com
Subject: [The JSA All-Star Story Site] There's Something About Geri, Part
10: Bad Business





(Now we learn a bit more about Mason and Sully's dark past):

Note: Some of the following chapter is taken from a chapter in The Suicide
Squad: Path of the Immortal, written originally by me back in June, 2002,
ten years ago. How time flies!

***

Just before dawn a few hours later, Mason returned to Gordon Sully's
apartment. Entering, he saw that it was just as messy as he'd pictured it
when he spoke with him on the phone earlier, but there was one noticeable
difference. Sully, the happy, drunken cocaine addict, had turned into Sully,
the man whose life had just crashed all around him again.

Walking in, Mason looked at Sully, who sat at his kitchen table
expressionless, surrounded by beer bottles, including a full one loosely
resting on the table in his hand. "Sully?" said Mason, but there was no
response. Looking concerned at his old friend, he walked over and picked up
the bottle of beer from the table and was puzzled to find that it was very
warm. Obviously, Sully had taken this bottle out several hours ago but
hadn't touched a drop of it for some reason. This really bothered Mason, but
he couldn't pin down why.

He looked more closely at Sully's face. He was still breathing, at least,
and he still seemed to be somewhat intoxicated, but something had sobered
him up very quickly. "Hey, compadre, you're scarin' me."

"Mason," said Sully, almost breathlessly. He looked up at him and said,
"Remember our friends back in D.C.?"

"Uh... which ones would they be?" asked Mason, not catching on.

"The ones I got into trouble with awhile back? The same ones you still owe?"

Mason's eyes went wide, and he slumped into the chair facing him, his
expression almost as blank as Sully's. Whatever this was about, this was
bad. This was very, very bad. "Yeah," he said dryly. "What about them?"

"They called me."

"Uh-huh. About what?"

"They have a job for you."

Mason was floored. Now this was completely unexpected. If they had a job for
him, then maybe -- just maybe -- he could get out of this after all. "Oh?"
was all he said.

"And you'll never guess who it is," continued Sully in a flat tone of voice
that intimated all kinds of headaches.

"Do I want to know?" Mason sighed, and opened the warm bottle of beer. He
drank down half the bottle with a grimace, then placed it on the table.

Sully wasn't in the least bit tempted to take a sip of it himself. He simply
said, "The Syndicate wants you to kill Miss Terrific."

The expression on Mason's face would have been impossible to guess at this
point. This was going to be bad. This was going to be so much worse than the
last job he did for the Syndicate.

***

It was nearly two years earlier, and Mason was still a hot-shot security
consultant who did a bit of work for the Syndicate on the side. Most of the
jobs he'd done for them had been relatively simple, like bribing judges,
delivering packages, and threatening witnesses. He'd also performed a few
hits, but they'd all been rat-finks -- hardened criminals who betrayed their
own mob for a little cash on the side or in the hopes of rising in the ranks
with a rival mob. Those mobs would pass on the job to the Syndicate, who
would hire a hitman with no connection to them whatsoever. They called it
Murder, Incorporated back in the 1940s, and it was still alive and well
today.

Mason had never turned a job down, since he knew full well that to do so was
dangerous in itself. And once you knew what the job entailed, there was no
way you could turn that job down. You were in it until the job was done, or
you would be done.

But even Mason had second thoughts about the job when he found out that the
target of the hit wasn't a wise guy at all this time, but an academic -- a
historical researcher at the Smithsonian Institute. He couldn't figure it
out. Who would want this Miles Ambrose guy dead? Even if he owed massive
gambling debts, there were other ways to collect. It was one thing to kill a
wise guy -- they were always getting killed in gang wars -- but the murder
of a well-respected historian would surely be front-page news. It was all
very strange, but Mason was a professional, and it was too late for him;
he'd taken the job.

***

Miles Ambrose cried out in his sleep, waking himself up. He blinked in the
dark room, unable to see a thing. His pillow and sheets were slick with
sweat.

Turning on his bedside table lamp, Miles put on his thin-rimmed spectacles,
then walked into his small bachelor apartment kitchen and absentmindedly
opened the refrigerator door without really looking for anything to eat. He
only saw the briefest reflection of moonlight shining out of the corner of
his eye when the kitchen window shattered, and he suddenly felt a pain in
his chest.

Not a heart attack; he was too healthy. Miles felt the side of his chest,
just under his arm, and brought his hand up to his eyes. He could see by the
dim refrigerator light that his palm was slick with blood. That was the last
sight Miles Ambrose ever saw.

***

From the window opposite Ambrose's apartment, Mason smiled with satisfaction
at his marksmanship. That was a direct hit if he'd ever seen one, clean
through the heart. Despite his reservations about killing a civilian, he'd
have to admit that this was turning out fairly well for him. Fifty-thousand
dollars to kill a historian wasn't bad, all things considered.

The professional lowered his rifle and turned around to have a drag from his
cigarette, telling himself that this kind of thing would only get easier
with enough practice.

***

Miles Ambrose stirred from his kitchen floor and attempted to rise, his
coughing reflex causing him to cough out red spatters of blood onto the
refrigerator. The floor was covered in it. His own blood. How was he even
alive?

He realized why, now. He was no longer truly Miles Ambrose. That man had
died, and he had been reborn in his place. But how long had it been? The
last thing he remembered was that collapsing building, and then the
whiteness surrounding him, seemingly preventing him from escaping or even
being reborn ever again. And yet here he was.

Sensing the thing in the room, he walked over to it. It was not the same
gemstone, no, but it was very similar. Where had it come from? He put it in
his pocket as his mind reeled, two separate sets of memories competing for
attention -- one less than a half-century old, and the other many thousands
of centuries, many thousands of lives in one.

Blood still dripping from his shirt, he walked over to the table and found a
newspaper. He looked at the date: September, 1986.

"One year?!" he said aloud. "I've been gone a whole year this time?" He
could feel only confusion as he searched for more news. Apparently, the
Crisis had come and gone, and his adopted world was back to normal. Except
where was the news about Superman, and Batman, and the Justice League of
America? None of them could be found in the newspaper. His new memories
could have told him everything, except for the fact that these first few
moments of confusion as his old memories and new memories integrated
themselves made it impossible to think and remember clearly. He finally came
across a photograph. It was the Justice Society of America. He was on
Earth-Two; he was back home.

***

Mason had just been about to pack up his things and leave. It was never a
good idea to stick around even seconds after a hit, since every moment was
needed for a clean getaway. But as he held his rifle with the intention of
breaking it down into its component parts, he took a glance over into the
bachelor suite apartment of Miles Ambrose. The man was still alive. Fumbling
with his rifle, he aimed once more.

"%#!" Mason grumbled to himself as he fired off a second shot. He was sure
that the first bullet had gone right through Ambrose's heart. This one was
sure to be the one, though. "%$#&!" he muttered after realizing the man was
not only still alive, but that he had somehow missed him. He fired off
another shot, but this time Ambrose was onto him, and he moved out of sight.

Mason shouted a string of epithets to himself as quietly as possible and
collected his gear. He knew that he would have to track him down and
complete his mission in person. This would be messy. Mason smiled in
anticipation. Ambrose was giving him too much trouble already. From here on
in, there would be no quick, painless end for Miles Ambrose.

The professional left his apartment and hesitated at the stairway door. It
would only be quicker that way if there were no interruptions on the
elevator. Plus, it would tire him out before he had a chance to begin his
hunt. He made his decision and pressed the down button, watching as the
light moved from the twenty-fifth floor ever closer to his floor, the
fourteenth.

The expected ding of the elevator indicated the opening of the elevator
doors. Cautiously, he stood along the edge of the wall as they opened. He
looked in. A pretty young woman stood there. She smiled at him, and he
stepped inside.

"Going down?" she said, her finger hovering over the button.

"Yes," he replied, grinning salaciously. "Main floor."

The woman pressed the M button, and the Door Close button, clutching her
purse somewhat more tightly at his stare. The elevator began to move down.

"You live in this building?" the professional asked her.

"Uh... no. I'm visiting my father," she replied, glancing at him quickly,
then turning her attention back to the door.

"Lucky father," Mason grunted, regretting that he did not have the time to
pursue this. She pretended not to have heard him.

He chuckled to himself and watched the numbers go down. Nine, eight, seven,
six, five... Finally, the elevator stopped at the main floor, and the doors
opened with a ding.

The woman walked quickly out of the elevator, not looking back, and headed
toward the front glass doors. The professional chuckled to himself again and
fingered his Bowie knife in anticipation, taking a step through the doors
into the now-empty lobby.

He suddenly found himself pulled back inside, however. "What the %^&*?!"

Mason felt a hand move quickly around his mouth a moment before the elevator
doors shut and the lights flickered out. He felt the elevator begin to move
slowly upward.

"Hello."

Mason futilely tried to squirm out of the strong grip he felt himself in; it
was no use. He could not reach his knife, either.

"I assure you, sir. Resistance is futile."

The hand removed itself from Mason's mouth, and the professional took a
moment to speak, "Who are y--?" The hand clamped over his mouth again.

"The question is not who am I? sir, but who are you? And for what reason did
you murder me?"

Mason frowned in confusion as he tried to figure out who this was. He was a
skilled assassin, a professional in every respect. That meant making sure
all of his targets were dead. So who was this guy? He tried to play dumb.
"Murder you? I don't know what the hell you're-- " The hand silenced him
once more.

"I do not believe you are that stupid, my boy. We both know what you've just
done. Now I want to know why. Who sent you? Who are you working for?"

Ambrose, Mason suddenly realized. But how? "N-nothing personal, Ambrose," he
said. "It was just a job. I don't know who wants you d--" The hand again.

"That is not what I wish to hear right now, sir. You must understand that.
The recently departed are not as patient as one might think. Now, a name."

"We don't use names," Mason said quickly. "What do you expect from m-- ?"
The hand.

"Savage."

Mason was quiet. He had not expected that. "I can't--"

"Quiet."

The professional dimly heard a ding just before he passed out.

***

Mason's head throbbed as he realized that he had been unconscious for
several minutes at least. He was cold, and he had a terrible headache. He
groaned as he tried to move but found himself unable to do much more than
squirm. Then he opened his eyes fully and looked up -- at the street.

"AAAHHH!"

The Immortal Man, reincarnated in the body of Miles Ambrose, waved at Mason
-- hanging strung upside-down off the building's flagpole -- with a smile as
he walked down the sidewalk below. That trick wasn't really his style. It
was something he had learned from a certain young man named Wayne long ago
in another lifetime, but he had always wanted to try it out.

Right now, though, he had his answer. The memories he retained from Ambrose
had pointed to the right clues, but the would-be assassin's answer was
confirmation. Vandal Savage was back on Earth-Two, and the Immortal Man had
somehow followed him back to their home-world. (*)

[(*) Editor's note: See The Suicide Squad: Path of the Immortal, Chapter 8:
Reincarnation.]

"This is the police!" shouted a voice from behind the stairway door on the
roof. "Don't make any sudden moves!"

Mason rolled his eyes; could this job have gotten any worse? After a few
moments, Mason heard the door slam open, followed by the sound of footsteps
walking across the roof. Then a police officer looked down over the side of
the roof and spotted Mason hanging upside-down from the flagpole. The
officer laughed.

"You're the luckiest bastard I've ever met, you old dog!"

"Sully, will you get me out of here?!" Mason yelled. "Quick!"

"Hold your horses," said Gordon Sully, the corrupt cop. "Let me go find a
rope or something."

***

After that night, Mason and Sully had both tried to turn over a new leaf.
Mason was questioned for his role in the supposed assassination of Miles
Ambrose, but the murder investigation quickly turned into something else
altogether when most of the evidence disappeared, and despite leaving
several pints of his own blood on his kitchen floor, Ambrose himself turned
up alive but was unwilling to provide any help the authorities, since he had
secrets of his own to keep. From his strength and speed, Mason guessed that
this Ambrose guy was actually a metahuman, and probably one of the new ones,
since the Syndicate usually didn't place a hit on an established superhero.
Too many risks involved.

With a little help from Gordon Sully and a mechanic friend with some pull,
Mason was able to clear his name completely, and the investigation was
dropped. Mason settled back into his dull life as a security consultant, and
the Syndicate stopped calling, except to let him know that he owed them for
failing to finish the job. As for Sully, he decided to get out of town and
take a job with the Gateway City Police Department, where he was able to get
himself clean and sober.

But now the two were locked into another job, one that was so much more
risky. There was a reason the Syndicate never targeted superheroes -- they
had powerful friends, and if you targeted one, you had to target them all or
risk becoming a target yourself. It was bad business. But for Miss Terrific
they had made an exception, and Mason and Sully were both screwed.

Well, if he had to kill Miss Terrific, a superhero, and a chick at that,
then so be it. He'd track her down eventually and be done with it as quickly
and painlessly as possible. But there was no way he was going to let Geri
Sloane slip out of his life, now that he'd found in her his ideal woman -- a
good girl during the day, a bad girl at night. Stan Beamish be damned.





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

I wasn't real impressed with the start of this one, mainly because I'm not a Ben
Stiler fan and I thought the bathroom sequence was too much. After reading your
rewrites, however, I continued reading, and am glad I did. This story will make
a great addition to the site. I can't wait to see what you have in store.
 
Lee

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Thanks, Doc, very nice

--- In theJSAallstarstorysite@yahoogroups.com, "Doc Quantum"
<the_time_trust_2000@...> wrote:
>
> (Now we learn a bit more about Mason and Sully's dark past):
>
> Note: Some of the following chapter is taken from a chapter in The Suicide
Squad: Path of the Immortal, written originally by me back in June, 2002, ten
years ago. How time flies!
>
> ***
>
> Just before dawn a few hours later, Mason returned to Gordon Sully's
apartment. Entering, he saw that it was just as messy as he'd pictured it when
he spoke with him on the phone earlier, but there was one noticeable difference.
Sully, the happy, drunken cocaine addict, had turned into Sully, the man whose
life had just crashed all around him again.
>
> Walking in, Mason looked at Sully, who sat at his kitchen table
expressionless, surrounded by beer bottles, including a full one loosely resting
on the table in his hand. "Sully?" said Mason, but there was no response.
Looking concerned at his old friend, he walked over and picked up the bottle of
beer from the table and was puzzled to find that it was very warm. Obviously,
Sully had taken this bottle out several hours ago but hadn't touched a drop of
it for some reason. This really bothered Mason, but he couldn't pin down why.
>
> He looked more closely at Sully's face. He was still breathing, at least, and
he still seemed to be somewhat intoxicated, but something had sobered him up
very quickly. "Hey, compadre, you're scarin' me."
>
> "Mason," said Sully, almost breathlessly. He looked up at him and said,
"Remember our friends back in D.C.?"
>
> "Uh... which ones would they be?" asked Mason, not catching on.
>
> "The ones I got into trouble with awhile back? The same ones you still owe?"
>
> Mason's eyes went wide, and he slumped into the chair facing him, his
expression almost as blank as Sully's. Whatever this was about, this was bad.
This was very, very bad. "Yeah," he said dryly. "What about them?"
>
> "They called me."
>
> "Uh-huh. About what?"
>
> "They have a job for you."
>
> Mason was floored. Now this was completely unexpected. If they had a job for
him, then maybe -- just maybe -- he could get out of this after all. "Oh?" was
all he said.
>
> "And you'll never guess who it is," continued Sully in a flat tone of voice
that intimated all kinds of headaches.
>
> "Do I want to know?" Mason sighed, and opened the warm bottle of beer. He
drank down half the bottle with a grimace, then placed it on the table.
>
> Sully wasn't in the least bit tempted to take a sip of it himself. He simply
said, "The Syndicate wants you to kill Miss Terrific."
>
> The expression on Mason's face would have been impossible to guess at this
point. This was going to be bad. This was going to be so much worse than the
last job he did for the Syndicate.
>
> ***
>
> It was nearly two years earlier, and Mason was still a hot-shot security
consultant who did a bit of work for the Syndicate on the side. Most of the jobs
he'd done for them had been relatively simple, like bribing judges, delivering
packages, and threatening witnesses. He'd also performed a few hits, but they'd
all been rat-finks -- hardened criminals who betrayed their own mob for a little
cash on the side or in the hopes of rising in the ranks with a rival mob. Those
mobs would pass on the job to the Syndicate, who would hire a hitman with no
connection to them whatsoever. They called it Murder, Incorporated back in the
1940s, and it was still alive and well today.
>
> Mason had never turned a job down, since he knew full well that to do so was
dangerous in itself. And once you knew what the job entailed, there was no way
you could turn that job down. You were in it until the job was done, or you
would be done.
>
> But even Mason had second thoughts about the job when he found out that the
target of the hit wasn't a wise guy at all this time, but an academic -- a
historical researcher at the Smithsonian Institute. He couldn't figure it out.
Who would want this Miles Ambrose guy dead? Even if he owed massive gambling
debts, there were other ways to collect. It was one thing to kill a wise guy --
they were always getting killed in gang wars -- but the murder of a
well-respected historian would surely be front-page news. It was all very
strange, but Mason was a professional, and it was too late for him; he'd taken
the job.
>
> ***
>
> Miles Ambrose cried out in his sleep, waking himself up. He blinked in the
dark room, unable to see a thing. His pillow and sheets were slick with sweat.
>
> Turning on his bedside table lamp, Miles put on his thin-rimmed spectacles,
then walked into his small bachelor apartment kitchen and absentmindedly opened
the refrigerator door without really looking for anything to eat. He only saw
the briefest reflection of moonlight shining out of the corner of his eye when
the kitchen window shattered, and he suddenly felt a pain in his chest.
>
> Not a heart attack; he was too healthy. Miles felt the side of his chest, just
under his arm, and brought his hand up to his eyes. He could see by the dim
refrigerator light that his palm was slick with blood. That was the last sight
Miles Ambrose ever saw.
>
> ***
>
> From the window opposite Ambrose's apartment, Mason smiled with satisfaction
at his marksmanship. That was a direct hit if he'd ever seen one, clean through
the heart. Despite his reservations about killing a civilian, he'd have to admit
that this was turning out fairly well for him. Fifty-thousand dollars to kill a
historian wasn't bad, all things considered.
>
> The professional lowered his rifle and turned around to have a drag from his
cigarette, telling himself that this kind of thing would only get easier with
enough practice.
>
> ***
>
> Miles Ambrose stirred from his kitchen floor and attempted to rise, his
coughing reflex causing him to cough out red spatters of blood onto the
refrigerator. The floor was covered in it. His own blood. How was he even alive?
>
> He realized why, now. He was no longer truly Miles Ambrose. That man had died,
and he had been reborn in his place. But how long had it been? The last thing he
remembered was that collapsing building, and then the whiteness surrounding him,
seemingly preventing him from escaping or even being reborn ever again. And yet
here he was.
>
> Sensing the thing in the room, he walked over to it. It was not the same
gemstone, no, but it was very similar. Where had it come from? He put it in his
pocket as his mind reeled, two separate sets of memories competing for attention
-- one less than a half-century old, and the other many thousands of centuries,
many thousands of lives in one.
>
> Blood still dripping from his shirt, he walked over to the table and found a
newspaper. He looked at the date: September, 1986.
>
> "One year?!" he said aloud. "I've been gone a whole year this time?" He could
feel only confusion as he searched for more news. Apparently, the Crisis had
come and gone, and his adopted world was back to normal. Except where was the
news about Superman, and Batman, and the Justice League of America? None of them
could be found in the newspaper. His new memories could have told him
everything, except for the fact that these first few moments of confusion as his
old memories and new memories integrated themselves made it impossible to think
and remember clearly. He finally came across a photograph. It was the Justice
Society of America. He was on Earth-Two; he was back home.
>
> ***
>
> Mason had just been about to pack up his things and leave. It was never a good
idea to stick around even seconds after a hit, since every moment was needed for
a clean getaway. But as he held his rifle with the intention of breaking it down
into its component parts, he took a glance over into the bachelor suite
apartment of Miles Ambrose. The man was still alive. Fumbling with his rifle, he
aimed once more.
>
> "%#!" Mason grumbled to himself as he fired off a second shot. He was sure
that the first bullet had gone right through Ambrose's heart. This one was sure
to be the one, though. "%$#&!" he muttered after realizing the man was not only
still alive, but that he had somehow missed him. He fired off another shot, but
this time Ambrose was onto him, and he moved out of sight.
>
> Mason shouted a string of epithets to himself as quietly as possible and
collected his gear. He knew that he would have to track him down and complete
his mission in person. This would be messy. Mason smiled in anticipation.
Ambrose was giving him too much trouble already. From here on in, there would be
no quick, painless end for Miles Ambrose.
>
> The professional left his apartment and hesitated at the stairway door. It
would only be quicker that way if there were no interruptions on the elevator.
Plus, it would tire him out before he had a chance to begin his hunt. He made
his decision and pressed the down button, watching as the light moved from the
twenty-fifth floor ever closer to his floor, the fourteenth.
>
> The expected ding of the elevator indicated the opening of the elevator doors.
Cautiously, he stood along the edge of the wall as they opened. He looked in. A
pretty young woman stood there. She smiled at him, and he stepped inside.
>
> "Going down?" she said, her finger hovering over the button.
>
> "Yes," he replied, grinning salaciously. "Main floor."
>
> The woman pressed the M button, and the Door Close button, clutching her purse
somewhat more tightly at his stare. The elevator began to move down.
>
> "You live in this building?" the professional asked her.
>
> "Uh... no. I'm visiting my father," she replied, glancing at him quickly, then
turning her attention back to the door.
>
> "Lucky father," Mason grunted, regretting that he did not have the time to
pursue this. She pretended not to have heard him.
>
> He chuckled to himself and watched the numbers go down. Nine, eight, seven,
six, five... Finally, the elevator stopped at the main floor, and the doors
opened with a ding.
>
> The woman walked quickly out of the elevator, not looking back, and headed
toward the front glass doors. The professional chuckled to himself again and
fingered his Bowie knife in anticipation, taking a step through the doors into
the now-empty lobby.
>
> He suddenly found himself pulled back inside, however. "What the %^&*?!"
>
> Mason felt a hand move quickly around his mouth a moment before the elevator
doors shut and the lights flickered out. He felt the elevator begin to move
slowly upward.
>
> "Hello."
>
> Mason futilely tried to squirm out of the strong grip he felt himself in; it
was no use. He could not reach his knife, either.
>
> "I assure you, sir. Resistance is futile."
>
> The hand removed itself from Mason's mouth, and the professional took a moment
to speak, "Who are y--?" The hand clamped over his mouth again.
>
> "The question is not who am I? sir, but who are you? And for what reason did
you murder me?"
>
> Mason frowned in confusion as he tried to figure out who this was. He was a
skilled assassin, a professional in every respect. That meant making sure all of
his targets were dead. So who was this guy? He tried to play dumb. "Murder you?
I don't know what the hell you're-- " The hand silenced him once more.
>
> "I do not believe you are that stupid, my boy. We both know what you've just
done. Now I want to know why. Who sent you? Who are you working for?"
>
> Ambrose, Mason suddenly realized. But how? "N-nothing personal, Ambrose," he
said. "It was just a job. I don't know who wants you d--" The hand again.
>
> "That is not what I wish to hear right now, sir. You must understand that. The
recently departed are not as patient as one might think. Now, a name."
>
> "We don't use names," Mason said quickly. "What do you expect from m-- ?" The
hand.
>
> "Savage."
>
> Mason was quiet. He had not expected that. "I can't--"
>
> "Quiet."
>
> The professional dimly heard a ding just before he passed out.
>
> ***
>
> Mason's head throbbed as he realized that he had been unconscious for several
minutes at least. He was cold, and he had a terrible headache. He groaned as he
tried to move but found himself unable to do much more than squirm. Then he
opened his eyes fully and looked up -- at the street.
>
> "AAAHHH!"
>
> The Immortal Man, reincarnated in the body of Miles Ambrose, waved at Mason --
hanging strung upside-down off the building's flagpole -- with a smile as he
walked down the sidewalk below. That trick wasn't really his style. It was
something he had learned from a certain young man named Wayne long ago in
another lifetime, but he had always wanted to try it out.
>
> Right now, though, he had his answer. The memories he retained from Ambrose
had pointed to the right clues, but the would-be assassin's answer was
confirmation. Vandal Savage was back on Earth-Two, and the Immortal Man had
somehow followed him back to their home-world. (*)
>
> [(*) Editor's note: See The Suicide Squad: Path of the Immortal, Chapter 8:
Reincarnation.]
>
> "This is the police!" shouted a voice from behind the stairway door on the
roof. "Don't make any sudden moves!"
>
> Mason rolled his eyes; could this job have gotten any worse? After a few
moments, Mason heard the door slam open, followed by the sound of footsteps
walking across the roof. Then a police officer looked down over the side of the
roof and spotted Mason hanging upside-down from the flagpole. The officer
laughed.
>
> "You're the luckiest bastard I've ever met, you old dog!"
>
> "Sully, will you get me out of here?!" Mason yelled. "Quick!"
>
> "Hold your horses," said Gordon Sully, the corrupt cop. "Let me go find a rope
or something."
>
> ***
>
> After that night, Mason and Sully had both tried to turn over a new leaf.
Mason was questioned for his role in the supposed assassination of Miles
Ambrose, but the murder investigation quickly turned into something else
altogether when most of the evidence disappeared, and despite leaving several
pints of his own blood on his kitchen floor, Ambrose himself turned up alive but
was unwilling to provide any help the authorities, since he had secrets of his
own to keep. From his strength and speed, Mason guessed that this Ambrose guy
was actually a metahuman, and probably one of the new ones, since the Syndicate
usually didn't place a hit on an established superhero. Too many risks involved.
>
> With a little help from Gordon Sully and a mechanic friend with some pull,
Mason was able to clear his name completely, and the investigation was dropped.
Mason settled back into his dull life as a security consultant, and the
Syndicate stopped calling, except to let him know that he owed them for failing
to finish the job. As for Sully, he decided to get out of town and take a job
with the Gateway City Police Department, where he was able to get himself clean
and sober.
>
> But now the two were locked into another job, one that was so much more risky.
There was a reason the Syndicate never targeted superheroes -- they had powerful
friends, and if you targeted one, you had to target them all or risk becoming a
target yourself. It was bad business. But for Miss Terrific they had made an
exception, and Mason and Sully were both screwed.
>
> Well, if he had to kill Miss Terrific, a superhero, and a chick at that, then
so be it. He'd track her down eventually and be done with it as quickly and
painlessly as possible. But there was no way he was going to let Geri Sloane
slip out of his life, now that he'd found in her his ideal woman -- a good girl
during the day, a bad girl at night. Stan Beamish be damned.
>