by Dale W. Glaser
Issue # 1

"Come Together"

Bourbon Street at night always reminded Ed Baird of a rainforest documentary he had seen in school as a kid. It wasn’t just the sweltering, damp heat that barely subsided when the sun went down, although that certainly enhanced the analogy. Mostly it was the constant motion of people thronging between the old buildings, carrying their half yards of Dixie Beer and their hurricane glasses like the little red ants carried their sections of tree leaves up and down the trunk. Constant motion, every night. Most people might think Mardi Gras was the only time the city ever came alive, but Ed had lived most of his life in New Orleans, and he knew that Party Street, USA was open for business year-round.

Ed sat on the patio of Crawgator’s with his wife, Katarina, as they enjoyed iced coffees and people watching. Although they had both turned 30 in the past year they still considered themselves able to hold their own in bar-hopping, but tonight was a weeknight and neither of them wanted to face the morning hung over – fine for tourists, not for residents. Ed would have a full plate at LSU the next day as final exams were coming up and he pushed his students to finish the courseloads of his three American Studies classes; Katarina was on the early shift at the hospital and training two new nurses, as well. So it was iced coffees rather than daiquiris or depth charges, but it was still a relaxing way to pass the time.

Ed looked across the table at his wife, smiled, and suddenly a tiny cupid floated in the air over their table, miniature wings fluttering slowly, holding a banner which read "I LOVE YOU" in red script.

"Edward," Katarina chided, like a mother addressing a mischievous child. "I love you, too, but illusions of cherubs might attract some unwanted attention, don’t you think?"

Ed shrugged. "Maybe. I just figured anyone who’d notice would just think the rum and the heat were getting to them. Swamp fever hallucinations, you know." But he waved his hand and the cupid figure disappeared. Katarina blew him a kiss, and the tide of tourists and party-seekers continued past. The music from a zydeco band playing down the street drifted through the air.

The zydeco band, the Delta Do-Wells, was playing at the Cat’s Meow, where Jack Fenris was tending bar. The Do-Wells were a big draw, gathering in a crowd that more than covered the dance floor and kept Jack himself busy filling orders for drinks. Pretty soon one of the waitresses would start The Game.

On busy nights the bar hosted a game – The Game – which most tourists couldn’t resist. It started with one of the waitresses asking Jack to pull out the bottle of Fighting Cock whiskey, then betting him he couldn’t hit the bullseye of the dart board after taking a shot. Jack would take her up on it, and take her one dollar bet when he succeeded. Then he opened The Game up to any of the bar’s patrons. Every bet had to double the last, since the stakes were higher the more of the 103 proof whiskey Jack ingested. Once Jack had someone bet him $200 he would finally miss the bullseye after his eighth shot of Fighting Cock, but Jack had nailed the dart board dead center all the same.

It was a fix, of course. For one thing, Jack’s alien physiology was unaffected by alcohol. The Fighting Cock had no more effect on him than chocolate milk on a human. But more importantly, Jack could mentally guide every steel-tipped dart straight to bullseye with his magnetic control, so there was never a chance he could miss. The only hard part was making it look like a smooth throw of the dart, a subtlety Jack had mastered.

He gave the money back to each bettor once there were no more takers. Collecting money off marks and rubes wasn’t the point. The show was the thing, entertaining the entire crowd with the unbelievable skills of the hardest drinking barkeep in the French Quarter. Jack enjoyed performing, never having been the type to sit alone in the corner when he could take center stage.

Another man, twice Jack’s age, did sit alone in one of the shadowy corners of the Cat’s Meow. Johnny Chancellor had lived through war and learned he preferred peace and quiet, the freedom to enjoy a beer and listen to his own thoughts, even as they mingled with the swing and bounce of the band’s melodies. He preferred the peace and quiet, yes, but somehow that hadn’t affected his vocational choices. From Army pilot in Vietnam to mercenary work right through the end of the Cold War to … call a spade a spade, Johnny thought to himself, you’re a vigilante. Over 50 years old and taking justice in your own hands. Well, it’s a crazy world and I’m just one of the nuts.

A group of college kids were crowded around a table next to Johnny’s, carrying on raucously. The boy closest to Johnny laughed explosively at something and threw his hands over his head, one of which clutched a mug of beer. Golden liquid sloshed over the rim of the mug and fell through the air towards splashdown on Johnny’s head. Johnny’s eyes narrowed slightly and the beer changed course in midair just before striking him. It flew backwards rapidly as if fired from a nozzle, and squirted into the corner of the careless boy’s eye. The boy yelped in surprise and began wiping his eye with the neck of his t-shirt. Johnny smiled, an expression mostly hidden by his bushy black beard. Taking justice wherever I can get it, he thought. He turned to look out the window of the Cat’s Meow and saw a giant of a man striding up a side street that connected with Bourbon Street.

Other revelers were steering clear of Lester Ample, all 7’2’’, 400 pounds of him. He was used to it. Given a choice, he’d rather have people give him a wide berth than feel so threatened they might get the crazy idea of starting something with him. He’d hate to accidentally hurt someone just because they made him mad. Ideally people wouldn’t be scared or threatened or anything – they’d realize he was just a normal guy like them, only bigger. But life wasn’t ideal, and Les was accustomed to people backing off as he approached.

Les had come to New Orleans from over in Metairie to unwind a bit. It had been a long day on the construction site and he just wanted a relaxing walkabout to end the day on a pleasant note. Most of the bars were so cramped that he wasn’t comfortable inside them, but the truth was Bourbon Street was one big open-air bar, and Les was happy to walk the street. He could always stop by one of the walk-up windows that sold shooters if he wanted to wet his whistle while he meandered.

Les Ample took a deep breath, running one of his massive hands over his bald pate and then scratching his brunette goatee. And then he heard – and felt – the explosion behind him.

Johnny Chancellor saw the explosion, blowing out a plate glass window in one of the side street bars. He got up from his seat and headed toward the back of the bar. His van was parked behind the building.

Jack Fenris heard the explosion, asked one of his co-workers to watch the bar while he used the men’s room, and made his way toward the lavatories.

Edward Baird was on his feet before the echoes of the concussive blast had faded completely. His body was tensed, but he relaxed long enough to lock eyes with Katarina.

"I have to …" he started.

"I know," she cut him off. "Be careful, love."

He winked at her and grinned slyly. "I always am." He ran off towards the source of the explosion. Halfway there he ducked into a narrow alley where, concealed by shadows, he transformed. When he emerged from the mouth of the alley, he was Karnival.

He was covered all over in skin-tight black, everywhere but his hands and his head. Encircling his calves and his wrists were bands of yellow, green and purple fringe, and draped around his neck were ornate strings of glass Mardi Gras beads, twinkling under the streetlights. A purple Mardi Gras garter adorned his left bicep.

Karnival’s hands were nothing more than whitened bones now, albeit human-looking bones. But his head was now a grinning skull with demonic features – sharp pointed teeth, flared ridges up his cheeks and above his eyes. And the skull was split open from forehead back over the crown of the head. A jet of white flame rose some six inches out of the fissure.

Karnival continued purposefully down the street. There were people running towards him, past him, trying to get away from whatever had caused the initial explosion.

Karnival corrected himself: whoever had caused the explosion. Now he knew the answer: Sudden Death.

Sudden Death was an overgrown beach bully with long, stringy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and what looked like a week’s worth of blond stubble covering his cheeks. He was wearing black sunglasses, Karnival noticed without surprise. Of course he was. No one would accuse Sudden Death of being brilliant. Dangerous, but not brilliant. Sudden Death was dressed in an orange jump suit with the initials B.R.M.P. stamped in black across the chest. He must have just broken out of Belle Reve, Karnival thought, wondering how someone who insisted on wearing sunglasses at night could have escaped from the Metahuman Penitentiary.

Karnival was about to call out to get Sudden Death’s attention when a figure barreled through the air overhead and collided with the criminal. The impact sent Sudden Death skidding down the street and caused him to drop a paper bag he had been carrying. Greenbacks fluttered out of the mouth of the bag while the flying figure came to rest and stood over Sudden Death.

Jack Fenris had changed into his costumed identity as Valence in the men’s room of the Cat’s Meow. Not so glamorous, he knew, but it worked in a pinch, like when someone started blowing up the neighborhood. Now he was wearing his gray body suit with green trim, including a huge design dominating his torso that resembled the symbol of the Green Lantern Corps. It was a reminder of an old favor Valence owed his very existence to. Valence had also donned a heavy black leather jacket.

Sudden Death looked up at Valence over the top of his sunglasses and laughed. "Great shot, punk. Hit me again!"

Valence’s fists glowed as they charged with magnetic energy and he looked around for a metallic weapon with which he could oblige the villain.

"No, don’t do it!" Karnival called out suddenly.

"Huh?" Valence spun around expecting to see another bad guy. But he recognized New Orleans’ hometown hero, Karnival. "What are you talking about, K-Man?"

"Who cares?!?" Sudden Death spat, still reclining on the street at Valence’s feet. "Hit me! HIT ME!!!"

"Never," Karnival explained as he closed the distance between himself and Valence, "give them what they’re asking for. If they want it, you don’t want them to have it."

"I suppose I shall have to do the giving ‘round here, then," a cultured voice came from inside the darkened bar which had housed the initial explosion. Leaping through the broken plate glass window came a man wearing an orange Belle Reve jumpsuit, but also cloaked in an orange fur cape and cowl with feline ears. He landed gracefully beside Sudden Death’s head and pistoned one leg out, catching Sudden Death’s jaw with his heel. The crunch of the blow was sickening, but after his head had rocked back Sudden Death smiled broadly.

"Thanks, Catman," Sudden Death growled, "you ain’t a half-bad partner." Behind his sunglasses his eyes began to crackle with energy.

Catman dropped to one knee and shielded himself with his cape as Sudden Death released another destructive explosion of energy. Karnival and Valence were both caught by surprise and flew backwards on the concussion wave. They landed roughly, halfway up the street, momentarily stunned.

"Ya-hoo!" Sudden Death laughed wildly. "Damn that felt good! Uh-oh …" he interrupted himself, looking around frantically. He spotted the paper bag full of money, ran over and grabbed it. "Whew! Thought I lost it. C’mon, Catman," he said as he hurried over to rejoin his partner. "We bust up a few more bars and take what’s in the registers, we can disappear real comfy until the heat dies down."

"Don’t bet on it, blondie," Johnny Chancellor said as he rounded the corner. He was no longer Johnny Chancellor, having suited up as Hangfire in black fatigues and a Zorro mask. It was fortunate he had taken to transporting all of his equipment in his van these days.

Catman instinctively adopted a defensive martial arts position, but Sudden Death spread his arms wide. "Come on, scary man, gimme your best –"

BANG! With faster-than-human reflexes Hangfire drew his gun and fired at Sudden Death. The rubber mercy bullet loaded in the chamber ricocheted off the bridge of Sudden Death’s nose, snapping his sunglasses in half.

"OOWWWW!!! DAMMIT!!! OOWWWW!!!" Sudden Death reflexively clutched at his nose as his bisected sunglasses fell away from his face. Blood began to dribble down his hand.

"Warning shot," Hangfire intoned grimly, drawing a second gun to cover Catman. "Give it up, boys; you’re both safer inside Belle Reve."

"You’re mistaken, my good man," Catman hissed, reaching into the folds of his cape. "About the likelihood of our re-incarceration, and the effectiveness of ‘warning shots’!" He drew out his arm and flung a razor-sharp Catarang at Hangfire.

Hangfire’s forcefield enveloped him at his mental command. At the same time, the street shook with the impact of Lester Ample landing behind Catman. He had jumped from the rooftop three stories up, a vantage point he had assumed after stripping off his overalls to reveal the blue and black wrestler’s singlet he wore underneath. A blue domino mask now covered his upper face as well. Catman whirled to face this newcomer to the battlefield.

"And who might you be?" Catman snarled.

"Call me More," the giant replied. "As in, more than enough man to handle a pussy like you!"

More hoisted Catman off the ground with one hand wrapped around Catman’s throat, just as the Catarang rebounded harmlessly off Hangfire’s natural forcefield. Hangfire willed it straight towards Sudden Death, who was still clamping his hand to his nose in pain.

More tightened his grip on Catman’s throat. "Ready to surrender to the bigger man?"

"Size …," Catman wheezed, "…isn’t … everything!" He swung his leg in a fierce upward kick and drove the toe of his boot directly into More’s windpipe. More choked on the scream of pain in his throat and dropped Catman to the ground. More struggled for breath.

The Catarang sliced across Sudden Death’s scalp and he howled in renewed pain. He dropped his hand from his face, looked with rage at Hangfire and charged toward him.

Hangfire braced himself for collision when Sudden Death made a flying leap for him. Without thinking Hangfire reacted with a jujitsu throw that sent Sudden Death crashing into the exterior of the bar. Sudden Death giggled as his eyes blazed with explosive energy. BA-BOOM!!! Hangfire was knocked over by the blast.

"Hurry, my partner!" Catman called to Sudden Death. "Let us make haste now and seek the funding for our long term plans in greener pastures!" He turned and ran down the street, his fur cape trailing in an orange flutter.

Sudden Death surveyed the damage. Three heroes out cold, and one retching with his wind knocked out. Probably best to light out now, Catman was right. Sudden Death ran down the street as well, kicking Hangfire hard in the ribs as he went by.

* * *

More helped Hangfire get to his feet as Karnival and Valence stood a few paces behind. Hangfire brushed himself off, muttering, "Well, THAT certainly sucked."

"Man, I’ll say," Valence agreed, rocking his head back and forth on his neck to make sure it was still attached. "Those guys dropped us like amateurs." He turned to Karnival. "You fight those guys before, Karny?"

"No, I haven’t," Karnival answered.

"How’d you know I shouldn’t beat down the Blonde Bomber?" Valence asked.

Karnival replied, "I read up. I do research. I’d heard enough about Sudden Death to know that he converts physical damage done to him into explosive energy. Makes it a real pain to put him away."

"Uh huh," More nodded. "What about Captain Cat?"

"Catman," Karnival corrected. "Apparently he’s out to prove himself to be the anti-Batman. Same moves, same equipment, just fighting on the other side of the law. Plus he thinks his Cat-cape grants him nine lives, so he can’t be killed."

"Yeah, right," Hangfire grunted.

"Nobody seems to believe it except Catman. He’s a loon. Usually works solo, though. I never would have pegged those two to team up. They must have met on the inside, been assigned work duty together at Belle Reve or something." Karnival paused and looked around at the other three. "We really didn’t work together very well back a few minutes ago. But if anyone wants to give it another try …"

"I’m in," Valence assented.

"Hell, yeah," More agreed.

Hangfire surveyed the group. "I’m getting’ too old for this … but you only live once. Let’s go."

* * *

Karnival, Hangfire and More stood in a rusting hull that had once been a small speedboat but was now missing its motor. Valence flew above it and pulled it along with his magnetism. The craft was skimming over brackish water and reedy grasses as the four heroes were heading deep into the Louisiana swamp.

"You sure we’re going to find ‘em in here?" Valence asked.

Karnival answered, "The great thing about ‘supervillains’ is that they all have the power of Mental Density. They all think they’ve got what it takes for the master to plan to really work this time. Makes ‘em nice and predictable." Karnival checked the surroundings, got his bearings, pointed slightly off to the left as a new direction for Valence to follow, and continued. "Anyway, 90 percent of the bad guys who escape from Belle Reve hightail it for this little Checkpoint Charlie shack in the swamp. It’s the worst-kept secret in the criminal underground. Sudden Death and Catman had a little looting planned, but I think we changed their minds and sent them off to the Jailbreak Hotel in a hurry."  As Karnival said 'Jailbreak Hotel' his costumed changed to a white sequined jumpsuit, and a black pompadour capped his demon-faced skull.  He made a few Elvis-like gyrations with his hips, to the amusement of the others.  Instantly he changed his appearance back to normal, and went on, "When we found that dock on the river with the busted moorings, it seemed like a safe bet they stole a boat and are heading for the shack. And there it is."

The foursome emerged into a clearing in the swamp trees, where a small hill rose out of the water. A small powerboat had been hastily anchored beside it, and a dilapidated structure sat atop the hill. Through an open window they could see two figures. As they waited a moment longer in the shadows, they could hear the voices coming from the shack – Catman and Sudden Death.

"Everyone got the plan?" Karnival whispered.

"Roger that," Hangfire replied in a barely audible voice. "The three of us triple team the Cat, and Sudden Death is all yours, Karnival."

"Let’s do it!" Valence breathed, towing them around to the backside of the hill.

* * *

"All I’m sayin’," Sudden Death groaned, "is that I don’t see why you’re acting like half this money is yours. All you did was make time with that redhead waitress while I was cleaning out the cash register. I did all the work!"

"Need I remind you," Catman responded condescendingly, "who did ‘all the work’ in planning our recent escape … partner?"

"Yeah, well, maybe now that I’m escaped I don’t need a partner anymore!"

" I very much doubt that!" Catman retorted, rising to his feet.

Before Sudden Death could reply the wall behind Catman exploded inward, brittle wood bashed apart by More’s fists. Valence swooped in through the hole and drove Catman out the opposite window. More and Hangfire pushed through the opening as well.

"Oh ho ho," Sudden Death yelled, "Back for more so soon, losers …"

But More and Hangfire went past Sudden Death without a glance, crashing through the opposite wall.

"What the hell?" Sudden Death screamed as he charged out of the shack himself.

Valence looped around and tossed Catman at More, who caught one of Catman’s arms in each hand and held him steady.

"You fools!" Catman shrieked. "Don’t you know that so long as I wear this cape I have the very nine lives of a cat! I can’t be killed!"

"We don’t want to kill you," Hangfire answered gruffly, as he drove a knee into Catman’s stomach. A burst of air rushed out of Catman’s lungs.

"Yeah, we just want to knock you out and shut you up!" Valence added. He magnetically ripped the metal bench seats out of the rusty hull his cohorts had ridden in, and smashed them into both sides of Catman’s head. Catman bellowed in agony.

Sudden Death bolted out of the shack and found himself face to face with Karnival.

"Oooh, I’m sooo scared," Sudden Death mocked the figure before him. "It’s the one who’s too smart to hit me so I don’t blow up! Wonder how this is gonna end?"

"I’ll show you," Karnival answered, spreading his arms wide.

Sudden Death saw a wall of flame leap up behind Karnival which quickly encircled them both and rose impossibly high into the night swamp sky. The blazing barrier grew brighter and Sudden Death realized the very ground he was standing on was on fire. As he looked down at it he saw sinewy crimson limbs rising up from the fiery floor, swiping at his flesh with black talons. He tore his gaze away to look at Karnival and beg him to stop, and found the grinning skull face was now impossibly huge, ready to swallow him whole. The mental onslaught was too much, and Sudden Death passed out from sheer terror.

Karnival dropped the hellish illusion he had created and turned his attention to his teammates. Hangfire and Valence had worked over Catman and now More held him aloft while the villain still clung to consciousness.

"You picked a bad day to piss me off, kitty," he shook his head sorrowfully at Catman. "Don’t let it happen again." With that, More tossed Catman through the wall of the shack, knocking him cold.

"Now THAT," Valence said, "is more like it. Game, set, match to the good guys."

"Just gotta haul their sorry butts back to Belle Reve. There’s gonna be some bad blood between them bad guys and us good guys for some time," Hangfire commented.

"Well," Karnival interjected, "maybe we four should set about making bad blood between ourselves and a lot more bad guys."

The four heroes looked at each other for a moment, and More broke the silence first. "I’ll back you guys up if you back me."

"Me too, absolutely," Valence immediately responded.

Hangfire shook his head. "A team … this probably isn’t the best thing I could do for myself at this point, but it’s sure to be interesting. Let’s do it."

Karnival nodded. "Here’s to the good guys, and to bad blood!"

"TO BAD BLOOD!!!" Valence, Hangfire and More echoed.

THE BEGINNING ….

 

MESSAGES WRITTEN IN BLOOD ...

Welcome to the first issue of Bad Blood!  Or, since you've made it this far, welcome to the space that will eventually house the letters column for Bad Blood.  If you've got questions, criticisms, suggestions, rants, or worshipful haiku, you can send them to me at badblood51@hotmail.com.   For now, I'll simply say thanks for reading and be sure to come back ... DWG

NEXT ISSUE: A serial killer stalks New Orleans, and Bad Blood races against time to end the slaughter in the streets.  Plus, new additions to the Bad Blood roster!