Issue #1

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"A Fresh Start"

by Chuck Burke

"Are you sure there aren't any apartments available on campus?"

"I'm sorry, but I haven't been able to find anything. All of the University-sanctioned apartments seem to be taken. This isn't unusual at this time of year. We don't get many students starting school in the spring semester, after all."

"I understand, ma'am. But it's getting pretty expensive living in a hotel, and the off-campus apartments want security deposits and references that I just haven't been able to pull together."

"Well, there are a few non-sanctioned apartments around the area that might have openings. They usually aren't too strict about who they rent to either."

"You make them sound so charming." comes the sarcastic response.

The heavy-set, middle-aged woman behind the desk in the Residency office glares at the inquiring student. "We don't normally encourage the renting of non-sanctioned apartments, Mr. Grant. They tend to be non-sanctioned because they have a history of trouble. Still, " she pauses, looking him up and down, a very long trip, "you look like you should be able to defend yourself."

"I like to think so, Mrs. Fitzgerald. Is there a listing of these apartments somewhere?"

She reaches into a file drawer and pulls out a stapled sheaf of papers. "Here's what we have. I'll keep your name on our waiting list, though."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Five hours later, a black Jeep Wrangler pulls up in front of a weathered, two-story house.

"Less than five minutes from the medical center, not bad. Overlooks downtown, even better. Probably too much to hope for a separate entrance, though." After rejecting three previous apartments for one reason or another, hope is running thin.

He trudges through the snow drifts between the street and the sidewalk, noting with approval that the walks themselves, as well as the double-width driveway, are shoveled. Noting that there are lights shining in the first floor windows and not the second, he rings the doorbell.

The door opens, and the young man answering it starts to speak, but stops before anything recognizable comes out. His face tilts up to look at the face of the man standing in the light snowfall.

"Ummm, hi. You here about the apartment?"

"That's right. Sorry to just drop by, but there was no phone number on the listing." Ted cocks his head to one side, smiling.

"That's okay. We prefer people come by. The phone disrupts Toby when he's painting. Here, come on in." He steps back, opening the door wider. The man bows his head a bit and steps inside.

"Thanks. How are ya? Name's Ted Grant." Ted puts out his hand. The younger man takes it, and shakes it, his hand dwarfed by the older man's huge fist.

"Benny Jackson. I'm the owner here. The hairball over there is Toby Barnes, artist extraordinaire." From across the room, Ted sees a hand rise up from behind a canvas and wave.

"You're the owner? I figured you as another student." Ted released his hand, and glanced around the living room of the lower apartment. A cut above the typical student apartment, with furniture that looked like it was actually bought new, and a pair of collages of family pictures on the wall.

"Well, my aunt used to own it, and rent it out. When she died last year, she left it to me. I'm working on my Master's in User Interface Design at Syracuse University. How about you?"

"I'm a SUNY Med student. Just got here over the weekend, and I'm looking for a place to crash. The apartment still available?"

"Sure. I'll take you on up. Gotta go outside again to get up there, though."

They go out, visions of an outside stairway in the snow whirling through Ted's mind, until he sees the doorway on the side of the building. It is at the base of an enclosed stairway running up along the side.

Nice setup for coming and going, thinks Ted.

Upstairs, he finds a two bedroom apartment, with a large combination living/dining area. Used but sturdy furniture fills each room, including a thick-mattressed double bed in one of the bedrooms.

"Nice. Furnished, even, which is what I need. What about utilities?"

"Heat's included in the rent. It's a single gas furnace for both apartments. You pay the electric and phone. Cable TV's available, or we can set up for you to tap off our satellite dish. Campus even wired us for Internet connections last year. You interested?"

"Sure, where do I sign?" Once again, the two shake hands, this time to seal the deal.

Two nights later, an hour after midnight, a dark, shadowy figure slinks down the steps from Ted Grant's apartment. Looking out in the street, it waits until there are no cars or people in sight, then slips out the door and is lost in the shadows.

It re-appears six blocks away, at the scene of a fender-bender in downtown Syracuse. As one driver gets out of his car to survey the damage, the tall man in the dark blue cat suit pulls the door open on the other car to check on its driver. After ascertaining that none of her injuries are life-threatening, he lifts her from the car and gently carries her over to a spot on the sidewalk sheltered from the snow by an overhanging awning. Noticing him for the first time, the first driver hangs up his cell phone and rushes over.

"Is she all right? I called 911, the police should be on their way any minute now. Wait a second, aren't you...?" He stops, realizing that he's talking to a tall, muscular man with a cat mask over his face.

"Call me Wildcat, fella. Now, how about you sit down right here next to her, you look a little shaky." Wildcat eases the man down to the sidewalk. He glances into the cars, looking for anything to cover either of the victims. He spots a blanket in the woman's car, grabs it, and covers them both. When he hears sirens approaching, he debates whether to leave. "Nah, gotta meet the local joes sooner or later."

A blue city police car pulls up, and its door opens. The officer that climbs out is female, short, slender, with black hair that refuses to stay tucked up under her cap. She spots the costumed figure standing over the victims, and immediately reacts. She opens the door again, to keep at least that part of her vehicle between them. She pulls out her police issue pistol, and grips it in both hands.

"Okay, mister, get your hands up in the air, and step away from those people." When Wildcat doesn't respond instantly, she snaps "Now, damn it!"

Wildcat steps away from the bodies, careful to remain in her sights and line of fire. "Sure thing, officer. Got two victims here, one looks like she was knocked out by the air bag, the other looks like he's suffering mild shock."

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Abby Walker keeps her gun pointed at the big man as she moves toward the crash victims.

"I'm known as Wildcat. I'm a member of the Justice Society. You're familiar with them, right?"

"Okay, I thought you looked familiar. What are you doing in Syracuse, though?" She lowers her gun and holsters it, moving over to check on the crash victims. "Did you carry her out of the car?"

"I checked her over first. No signs of internal injuries. I think it was just the airbag that knocked her out. As for me, get used to seeing me around here, Officer. This cat is settling in." Wildcat steps up to the officer and offers his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Officer, no, it's Lieutenant, isn't it? Lieutenant Walker?"

"Wildcat. I've heard a lot about you, actually, I just didn't recognize you. We don't get many metahumans up this way." Abby Walker takes the proffered hand, and shakes it.

"I'll try not to attract any more, Lieutenant. I'd hate to have to share your attention." Through the cat mask, she sees him wink and smile. "I'd better be moving along now. I hear the ambulances coming."

With those last words, he leaps high, grabbing the edge of an awning overhead. He swings himself up and around, landing briefly on top of it. Using the awning like a trampoline, he bounces, then leaps upward to grasp an overhanging flag pole. He swings around on that, and uses the momentum to launch himself further, and is soon out of sight of the police officer.

I've got to find something better for getting around town, thinks Ted Grant under the cat mask. The Jeep is tied to me, and that could be traced. This swinging around on the rooftops is for the Batman and his cronies.

The following week is busy, if uneventful. Ted Grant's days are filled with classes, from the basic liberal arts classes required of all students, to the introductions to chemistry and biology that will lead into the state college's medical program. At night, he prowls the streets and rooftops of Syracuse as Wildcat, familiarizing himself with the city and the surrounding area.

"Would have been nice to carry over my previous college credits." Ted muses to himself while writing an English paper. "I don't think they'd accept them from a university that closed thirty years ago, though." Given renewed youth through the explosion of a fountain of youth, Ted is starting over as a student fifty years younger than his true age. The combined experience of a career as a heavyweight champion boxer and as a crusading crimefighter and member of the Justice Society of America haven't been enough for him. Ted is seeking to complete the education he started decades earlier, to fulfill his long-delayed goal of becoming a doctor. "Still, I can't complain. Between the DEO and the Wayne Foundation, I'm able to meet tuition and still continue in costume. Speaking of which," Ted glances at the clock on the wall, "I'd better go see what the cat can drag in tonight."

Closing his books, Ted rises and walks over to his closet. There, under a pair of old robes from his days in the boxing ring, hangs a bodysuit of Kevlar-lined, midnight-blue Spandex. The feet are padded, yet flexible. The arms end with an angle cut, the points sewn together to keep the material stretched down the arms while leaving the fingers free. From a battered Stetson hat box, he lifts a matching mask. The front is built up with padding to resemble the face of a bobcat, and protruding on the upper parts of each side are fake ears that lay back on the skull. On the sides, the mask hangs down loosely, giving the appearance of jowls. The loose material hides the sophisticated JSA communication device on one side, and a built-in, voice-activated cellular phone on the other.

He switches off the lights in the room. Stripping to boxer shorts and heavy cotton socks, he pulls the suit on. He fits the mask over his head, twisting once or twice to get it positioned correctly. Almost as an after-thought, he grabs something from his desk and slips it into an elastic pocket near his ankle. Then, without a sound, he slips out the door, down the stairs, and into the night.

On the west end of Syracuse, several miles from the University Hill, stands a once-proud neighborhood. The rotting remains of grand houses line Onondaga Boulevard. These buildings, once home to the movers and shakers of the Salt City, have long since been divided into apartments. Several are boarded up, condemned by the City government. In the dark of night, some of these closed-up houses still have the occasional occupant.

"It's getting late, Paulie. Are you sure he's gonna show?"

"He'll be here. I've dealt with this guy before. He wants real bad to deal with us."

Lit by a small battery lantern, the kitchen in the back of the old house is empty. Two men lean against the wall, one warily watching the floor for signs of vermin. From outside, the high whine of a street motorcycle is heard.

"That would be him now."

The motorcycle comes to a stop, and they hear footsteps outside. The one called Paulie switches off the light, then pulls the ancient door open.

"Come on in. We been waiting."

A third figure enters, clad in black leather and carrying a black courier bag.

"Sorry, I had to circle around a couple times. There was an ambulance pulled up down the street." The door closed again, the light is switched on. "Your friend ready to deal, Paulie?"

"You got the amount we agreed on?" In response, the black-clad biker opens his bag. Paulie reaches in, pulls out a bundle of bills and leaves through them. "Good." Paulie turns to his companion and nods.

The other man passes a briefcase over. It is opened, revealing dozens of clear plastic bags, filled with white powder. As the figure in black is inspecting the contents, the room is suddenly illuminated by a lightning-fast flash of light from above.

"What the hell?!? Someone's upstairs!" Paulie reaches into his jacket, pulling a Mauser pistol. Pointing straight up, he fires two shots, then pauses. "You guys, get out of here! I'll handle this." The other two scramble to obey.

Upstairs, Wildcat leaps up from the hole where he had been observing the deal. The camera is slid into the shadows of a room across the hall. "Two sets of stairs - which will he try for?" Opting for a more direct approach, he jumps up, tucking his feet under him. As he drops back down he kicks down with all his might, shattering the rotting remnants of the floor and the plaster ceiling beneath it. With a roar of fury, he drops into the kitchen just as Paulie dashes toward the living room.

"Come on, punk! Let's boogie!" Hitting the floor on legs coiled to spring, Wildcat launches himself toward the drug dealer who is just turning around. His momentum carries them both out into the middle of the living room, which is filled with old doors, counters, and plumbing fixtures which have been removed from the other rooms of the house. They crash into a toilet that sits in the middle, tumbling over it. Caught sprawled over the top of it, Wildcat is distracted just long enough for Paulie to swing his pistol around and catch the hero on the jaw. Recoiling from the impact, the 'Cat falls back, lifting his feet to kick into the gunman's stomach.

"Okay, mister. Now's when you remember that you're holding a gun, and you try to shoot me with it." Under the mask, Wildcat smiles. It doesn't go unnoticed, even in the dim light from the kitchen.

"And what do you do about it?"

"I demonstrate that it is possible to eat that popgun, but I don't think you'll find it very tasty."

Ignoring the warning, Paulie brings the pistol up. Before he can lift it high enough to fire, however, Wildcat kicks up a length of pipe, catching Paulie's gun hand with it and knocking the pistol from his hand. That is followed by Wildcat closing quickly on the startled criminal, and by a left jab - right uppercut combination that leaves Paulie unconscious on the floor.

"Now to see if the surprise I arranged outside worked."

Ted walks back to the kitchen, just in time to meet Lt. Walker coming in the door.

"Good evening, Lieutenant!" You're looking nice tonight."

"Hmmph. You've looked better. Want me to have someone take a look at that leg?" Abby Walker gesturs with the pencil-thin flashlight that she holds in one hand. For the first time, Ted realizes that he has a piece of lathing board from the ceiling embedded in his calf.

"Might not be a bad idea, at that." Bending down, Ted takes hold of the long sliver, and pulls. It comes out easily, and he lays a hand over it to staunch the bleeding. "Maybe one of them has a pressure bandage I can put on this."

"Right. I don't think we can match the outfit, though." She turns to call out the door for a First Aid kit. Turning back, she asks "You took one of them down in here?"

Wildcat gesturs to the living room with his thumb. "Out there. Have someone look upstairs, too. They'll find my camera, with a shot of the deal going down."

For the first time, Abby Walker smiles. "Terrific. I was afraid I'd have three perps with nothing to book them on."

"Three? So, you got my call in time to grab the others as they lit out?"

"We caught one running down the street. I spotted another on a motorcycle, we have vehicles in pursuit." As if on cue, Walker's phone beeps at her. "Walker here." "Yeah?" "Good, I'll meet you at the PSB." She snaps the phone shut. "That was one of my men. They caught your biker, and they're taking him down to the Public Safety Building. I'll need you to ID him. You need a ride?"

"Yeah, lady, as a matter of fact I do."

It is well past midnight when Wildcat and Abby Walker stroll out of the building that serves as police headquarters for Syracuse. "Nice to know some things are consistent wherever you go." says the masked hero.

"What's that?" replies the dark-haired police lieutenant.

"Every city I've been in, the police have lousy coffee!"

"I'd be tempted to laugh, but I've been in too many precinct houses myself. You need a ride home, big guy?"

"Nah, I can make it on foot. The run will do this leg good, keep it from locking up on me. Take care, Lieutenant." Starting at a slow jog, Wildcat starts down the street, picking up speed as he goes.

"I think someone could use a little help in the transportation department." Abby Walker says to herself as she watches the massive dark-clad figure recede in the distance.

Thirty minutes later, a still costumed Ted Grant is climbing the steps to his apartment. "Gotta see about getting a cycle or something. This is for the birds." he says as he opens the door at the top of the stairs. Too late, he realizes that there is a light on in the apartment, and the door swings wide open. Standing before him, mouths wide open in surprise, are Benny Jackson and Toby Barnes.

Note from the writer:

That wraps up the first issueof the "new" Wildcat, folks. No spectacular battles with supervillians, no cosmic catastrophe, not even very many cat puns. After the events of Requiem for a Heavyweight, I wanted to get the champ settled in his new life. But don't worry, it won't always be traffic accidents and small-time drug dealers.

Why Syracuse, NY? Why not? I live near Syracuse, so I'm familiar enough with the area to write about it realistically. Syracuse University has a strong sports program, and the State University of New York operates a teaching hospital here, which work together to provide a good medical program, and I figure Ted would want to stay around sports. The Boxing Hall of Fame is less than an hour's drive from Syracuse, and I think that might be of interest to Ted, as well.

What does the future hold? I'm working on that. However, I am planning visits from one or two old friends of Wildcat's, and I'm planning a story that will bring back a character that I loved in the 70's. I also hope to do a "Times Past" story, featuring Wildcat and a teammate from the Justice Society.

So what do you think? Good stuff? Trash? Please let me know what you think of the story so far, and any ideas you might have for the future. Wildcat has a new lease on life, and he's going to enjoy it.

Email me at cjburke@lycos.com

Chuck, aka

da 'Cat!