Caped Read online

  Hodge stripped to his boxers and undershirt and neatly folded his slacks and shirt. He grimaced as he touched the black suit. Too late to back out now. Once dressed, he took in a deep breath and left the bathroom stall. He looked at himself in the mirror and let the breath out slowly. He looked ridiculous. The tan overcoat went over his shoulders, leaving him looking at the last piece sitting on the bathroom sink. He refused to put it on. He wouldn’t. The suit he could deal with. The overcoat would hide the bad cut of the suit, but no, he would not put on the mask and fedora. He ran his thumb and index finger over his thin mustache, smoothing it. No way.

  “Frankie? How’s it going in there?” Jimmy called from outside the bathroom door. Hodge could picture him looking at the pocket watch he always wore, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead and adjusting his glasses.

  “This is not happening.” Hodge slipped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it. He regarded the mask and fedora on the mannequin head on the corner of the sink and they watched back, mocking him.

  “Frankie, we made a commitment. If you don’t do it for the fans, then do it for your country. This is our way of helping the war effort.”

  “By parading me around like a buffoon in a silly costume?” Hodge took a deep pull on the cigarette hoping to calm his nerves.

  “You’re one of the most popular heroes on the radio, do it for the kids.”

  “One of the most popular? You mean, not as popular as Batman or Superman or the Green Hornet? The kids? I don’t care about the kids. I thought I was doing this for our country.”

  “Frankie,” Jimmy’s voice was pleading and Hodge could almost smell the sweat and fear rolling off of him. He pictured Jimmy’s tortured face and stubbed his cigarette out in the sink.

  Hodge picked up the mannequin head that wore his mask and hat and sneered at it. He was pretty sure the mannequin head felt the same way. He removed the hat and mask, took one last look at them and pulled them on.

  The mask, another shade of red, felt snug over his face. It made Hodge feel claustrophobic with the material so tight on him. At least the tan fedora matched the overcoat. He appraised himself in the mirror. Ridiculous.

  “Five minutes, Frankie.”

  “Yeah, yeah, keep your shorts on.” Hodge opened the bathroom door.

  “Oh my God. You look−”

  “Ridiculous, like a moron, like an overgrown child on Halloween, like a reject from one of those cheap movie serials?”

  “Amazing. The kids are going to eat you up.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “The Little Scrappers Club is one of the reasons we still have a show.”

  “Little Scrappers Club. The Scarlet Scrapper. Who the hell came up with these names? With the scripts I read it should be called ‘In the Crapper,’ because that’s exactly where my career is going.”

  “Those kids provide your livelihood.”

  “And in just a few more minutes they’ll be providing me with a headache. Let’s just get this over with.” Hodge pushed passed Jimmy.

  Jimmy followed, hot on his heels. “Okay, so you know how this is going to run, right?” Hodge did not answer, so Jimmy continued. “After the introduction you come out and then talk to the kids about the war effort. You’ll encourage them to help with victory gardens and finding tin cans and old rags. Any nylon or silks they come across. Heck, even tell them to ask for war bonds instead of birthday presents.”

  “I get the idea. Then I’m out of there, right?” This time it was Jimmy who didn’t answer. “Right?”

  “Well, there is one more thing.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Pictures.” Jimmy flinched away as if he were about to be struck.

  Hodge only looked at him. “For God’s sake. It’s bad enough I have to talk to these little creeps, but now I have to touch them too.”

  “It’s for the war−”

  “Yeah, yeah, for the war effort.”

  * * *

  While waiting in the hall, Hodge lit another cigarette and pulled the mask up above his mouth so he could smoke it. He could hear Jimmy clearing his throat into the microphone, heard the murmur of tiny excited voices filling the air and calming down when Jimmy started to speak. Hodge, distracted with thoughts of humiliation and ruin, couldn’t understand a word being said. The mask, constantly rubbing his face, muffled the sound and was beginning to irritate his skin. He would probably have a rash when this was all over. No doubt, he’d have to stop at a pharmacy and pick something up for it. He looked forward to that conversation. How’d you get the rash mister?

  “And now,” Jimmy’s voice rose and Hodge could understand every word, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for . . . Introducing the Scarlet Scrapper!”

  The room burst into a loud applause and whistles that caused Hodge’s heart to pound and his stomach to twist like a caged weasel. He took in a slow deep breath to calm himself, let it out even slower, and pushed the door open.

  Lights flashed and crackled as bulbs dropped from cameras. The crowd erupted into louder cheers that Hodge didn’t think was even possible. He hoped to come off as mysterious, but felt self-conscious and silly from the costume. Standing as tall as he could, with his chest puffed out, he stepped up to the microphone and let the cheers and applause die down. He looked over the crowd, surprised by the turn out. Maybe there was something to this whole Scrapper thing after all.

  “Good afternoon Little Scrappers,” Hodge said in his deep Scarlet Scrapper voice. He wanted to laugh, but knew that would not do. “I’m pleased to see you all here at a very special meeting of the Little Scrappers Club, brought to you by Blue Coal, for all your family’s heating needs.”

  Kids from all walks of life sat in attendance. Most wore their official Little Scrappers Club pins, a red button in the shape of two fists held up like a bare knuckle boxer. Amid the crowd of children, a few adults were sprinkled throughout the large room. In the back stood the press, their bulbs constantly flashing, like Hodge had something important to say or do and they needed to catch every moment of it.

  “Today I’d like to talk to you about the war effort. If we each do our part here on the home front, we can help win this war!” Hodge went on to talk about all the things that Jimmy had covered and even used some of his favorite slogans from the posters up around town. Including, We beat ‘em before. We will beat ‘em again., and United we win! Hodge finished his speech with his favorite slogan of all, “So, keep your trap shut, careless talk may cost American lives!”

  The crowd cheered him, the kids in the crowd giving a standing ovation, while their parents sat with a more refined and polite clap. Hodge gave a wave to the crowd and exited through the door he had entered by. He pulled the mask from his face and wiped away the sweat, his fingers exploring the irritated skin. From behind the door he could hear Jimmy at the microphone again.

  “The Scarlet Scrapper is going to take a short break, but he will be back to take pictures!”

  The crowd erupted again. Jimmy slipped through the door a moment later.

  “That was great, pallie.” Jimmy said. Hodge continued to touch his irritated skin with tender fingers.

  * * *

  Hodge had already grown tired of kneeling next to the little creeps by the fourth child. At least they weren’t trying to sit on his lap, like he was Santa Claus or something. That would be even more unbearable. The stream of kiddies never seemed to end. They were paraded in front of him, their parents urging them to tell Hodge how much they loved the show, how much they admired him for all his heroics. He wanted to scream that it was fake, that he was not a real hero, just to see the looks on their faces. Maybe he’d throw in how fake the Tooth Fairy, and Easter Bunny were for good measure.

  The endless hugs, pats on the backs, and light punches to the shoulder were enough to make him sick. If another kid showed him their Little Scrapper membership button he would go bananas.

  A scraggly looking boy stepped up to him, no
t as boisterous as the others. Heck, if the kid hadn’t been standing in front of Hodge, he would be practically invisible. The boy’s shirt was stained and wrinkled. The fabric hung longer near the bottom where there was a tear, as if someone had grabbed at the boy and stretched the material. He wore no pin, and a streak of dirt ran from below his eye and down his cheek.

  “You’re not as big as I thought you’d be.” The boy’s eyes only flickered up to meet Hodge’s once every few moments, otherwise they locked onto his own feet.

  “Sorry I don’t meet your approval, kid.”

  “No sir, it’s not that, it’s just . . .”

  “Do you want a picture or not?” Hodge looked up at the line of kids still waiting.

  “I . . .” The kid pushed Hodge and grabbed the silver cigarette case peeking out from the inside pocket of the cheap suit jacket. He took off in a sprint.

  Hodge stared at the vacant spot where the kid had been. He shook his head to clear the confusion and jumped after the boy.

  “Frankie, where you going?” The smile that had been plastered to Jimmy’s round face all day vanished.

  “Kid stole my cigarettes!”

  Hodge’s eyes never left the sandy blonde buzz cut dodging through chairs and people, right out the door. He pushed onward, gaining on the boy who had stolen his silver cigarette case.

  “Hey kid!” He ran harder. “Stop!”

  The kid kept going, rounding the corner and out another door. Hodge followed a moment later, shoved through the door, and there stood the kid, tossing the silver case up and down.

  Hodge stepped in front of the boy in two long strides, his gaze burning into the boy. Underneath the mask he felt like he was burning too. He longed to tear the mask off and go to town scratching it, but that would just make it worse. The kid tossed the cigarette case his way, and held up his hands in surrender. Hodge caught the case and tucked it back into his pocket.

  “Sorry, Scrapper. I needed to get you alone.” The boy’s smudged face showed a mixture of sadness and fear.

  Hodge had a suspicion that the fear had nothing to do with him. “Well you’ve got me, now what do you want with me?”

  “I n-need your help. You’re the only one who can help.” The boy’s lips trembled as he fought hard not to cry.

  “You going to tell me? Or are you just going to blubber?” Hodge said and when the boy looked wounded on top of all the other emotions he felt sorry about the comment.

  Kneeling down in front of the boy, Hodge placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “What do you need kid? An autograph or something?”

  “I need your help, Scrapper. They killed my folks.”

  Hodge stood up fast, not sure if he had heard right. “Come again?”

  “They broke into our apartment and shot them. They didn’t see me. I was listening to your show. They’ve been after me ever since, like they know where I’ll be.”

  Hodge backed away from the kid. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if this was real. “Hey, now that isn’t funny kid. Quit the gag.”

  Tears fell from the kid’s eyes and his lips trembled more. His breathing grew more rapid as he tried to get words out, but only inarticulate grunts trickled from his lips. The kid closed his eyes and took a moment.“No joke. They killed them. Shot them both. Then when they saw me, they chased me right out of there. Would have shot me too, but for the sirens.”

  “Have you gone to the police?” Hodge said.

  “No, I heard on the show that you’d be meeting people today. You’re the only one who can help me.” The kid looked up and held Hodge’s gaze.

  “Wait a minute, how am I supposed to help you?”

  “You’re the Scarlet Scrapper. You’re a hero.”

  “Now hold on there, son, I’m an actor. This isn’t me; this is a mask, a character.”

  “You’ve got to help me. I ain’t got nobody else.”

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Thomas.” The kid looked hopeful.

  “Okay, Thomas, let’s see if we can find someone−”

  “There he is!” A thin man with a narrow face pointed from the end of the alley. He wore a gray, herringbone newsboy cap and suspenders held his loose pants up around his non-existent belly. The thin man reminded Hodge of a toothpick in a hat. Thomas hid behind Hodge’s legs.

  A second man entered the alley, his black hair slicked back. Where the first man was thin and tall, the second man was about a foot shorter, but broad with muscle. If he had a bull’s head he could be a Minotaur. A match stuck out of the corner of his mouth.

  “We have business with that boy,” the bull said.

  “Yeah, business.” Toothpick took a step closer and rammed a fist into his open palm.

  “And what kind of business could two fellas like you have with this young man?”

  “That business is none of your business.” The bull looked Hodge up and down, a curious expression on his face. “So, unless you are going to pay up, shut up.”

  Hodge regretted not removing the mask and fedora earlier, these guys would never take him serious in the get-up he wore.

  “Then I think I have to decline letting you take the boy. Have a good day, gentlemen.” Hodge placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder and led him toward the door they had exited. With a hand just above the door knob, just when he thought they were safe, a shot caused his ears to ring.

  “Not so fast.”

  Hodge turned to see the toothpick aiming a gun at him. “That isn’t necessary.” Hodge held his hands up. “Why don’t you put that thing away?”

  “Hand over the kid,” the bull said.

  A screech of metal caused all three men to jump as the tension rose. The door to the building opened and Jimmy’s head slipped out.“Everything okay out here, Frankie? I thought I heard−”

  “Things are swell. Just talking with some fans. I’ll be back in a moment. Just tell those little sweethearts how much I appreciate them.” Hodge gestured with his head and hoped that Jimmy would go back in. He could probably use some help, but not from Jimmy. Hodge had known him practically all his life, and his old friend was many things, but a fighter was not one of them. Jimmy looked the scene over for another moment, looking as if he were about to say something else, but then ducked back inside.

  “Okay fellas.” Hodge stepped toward the toothpick and bull. He held his hands up, real peaceful like, and stood in front of them. He had a problem, that was obvious. The kid had an even bigger problem. While Hodge was no fan of kids, especially when they stole from him, and got him mixed up in their crazy business, he was even less a fan of bullies. It was one of the two things his no-good father had taught him. Never let a bully get away with it. And these guys were bullies and murderers at the least. They were threatening a little boy, and now they had threatened him.

  Hodge stepped right up to the toothpick, right up to the gun. A moment of fear flashed in toothpick’s eyes and that gave Hodge a sense of satisfaction. Maybe he was frightened of Hodge, or maybe he was frightened of how Hodge looked, just a lunatic in a mask and fedora. Hodge didn’t care which it was, but he did take advantage of the situation.

  The second thing his father taught him was how to fight, and Hodge threw a quick jab into toothpick’s solar plexus. He tore the gun from toothpick’s loosened grip and tossed it deeper into the alley. The bull threw a punch, but Hodge danced left and ducked under it. He came up with an upper cut that smashed the bull’s chin and followed up with a bolo punch that knocked the bull to the dirty concrete.

  Toothpick came at him again and Hodge dodged and ducked. He threw a furious combo at toothpick’s sides, chest and face, knocking him down.

  Hodge felt his head knock forward before he felt the pain. The fedora hit the concrete a moment later as Hodge staggered to keep his balance. He spun on his heel and saw the bull holding a broken piece of wood. Littered at his feet were the splinters of the piece that had whacked Hodge in the back.

  Hodge heard toothpick getting u
p behind him but kept his eyes on the bull.

  “Enough of this.” The bull reached into his jacket and pulled out a Randall knife instead. Hodge stepped back and bumped into something tall and hard. He didn’t think there were any flag poles in the alley, so it had to be the toothpick. Hodge rammed an elbow backward.

  “Oof,” the toothpick said.

  Thomas scurried out from behind a trash can. Hodge had almost forgotten all about the kid, who ducked down behind the bull and gestured with his head. Hodge understood. He tried to keep the bull lined up with Thomas, all while not getting stabbed—a real neat trick if he could accomplish it.

  Hodge dodged the swing of the bull’s knife but couldn’t close the distance. He bounced on the balls of his feet, back and forth. The bull swiped the knife in a long arc that overextended his reach. Hodge shoved him backward and he went down hard over Thomas, cracking his head on the cement. Hodge pulled Thomas to his feet and they both turned to face the toothpick.

  “All right, mister, all right.” The toothpick held his hands up and backed away.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Hodge placed his hands on his hips. Sweat burned his eyes and soaked his shirt.

  The toothpick looked down at his fallen friend and back up toward Hodge and Thomas where they stood side by side. Thomas matched Hodge’s pose, hands on hips and chest puffed out. As the toothpick turned to run, Hodge grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, and knocked the toothpick in the jaw. Thomas threw a second punch into the toothpick’s groin. The skinny man collapsed beside his bullish partner.

  “Just what the heck is going on here?”