Leod D. Fitz
“Today is Monday, March 14, 2014, Three forty seven pm. I’m at Norwood Special Penitentiary—”
“I know all dat.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know where we is. And what time it is.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“But dere’s nobody else here?”
“I’m making notes. This session is being recorded.”
“Oh! When is it gonna be on TV?”
“What?”
“When’s it gonna be on TV? Sammy likes me to tell him when I’m going to be on TV so he can record it.”
“It’s not . . . this isn’t for television. It’s a recording for your trial.”
“Oh.”
“Uh, where was I? Oh, Norwood Special Penitentiary for enhanced criminals. Please state your name.”
“Dum Dum.”
“Your given name.”
“My what?”
“What does your mother call you?”
“Momma calls me Dum Dum.”
“. . .”
“Well she does!”
“All right, let’s try this again, what’s your proper name?”
“Oh, dat! Dillinger Dallas Woods.”
“Please list any aliases you might have.”
“A-Lee-ess-iz?”
“Any other names people call you.”
“Like Dum Dum?”
“Yes, now would be the time for that.”
“Oh. Okay. Um. Dum Dum. Hey stupid. Big lug. Bone head. Um.”
“All right I think we get the idea. Do you have any aliases . . . are there any names that people call you that aren’t insults?”
“Well . . . Sammy calls me Big D. An’ sometimes people call me Double D. An’ Big Guy. Stuff like dat.”
“All right, that’s good enough. Mr. Woods is an enhanced, as well as being a homo sapiens extremis. Characterized by increased height, weight and strength. Height is listed as nine foot nine inches.”
“Nine and a half.”
“What?”
“Nine foot, nine and a half inches. Sammy measured me.”
“Uh, sure. Nine foot, nine and a half inches. Weight is listed at eight hundred and seventy three pounds. I seem to be missing your strength index?”
“Oh yeah. I was gonna get one of dose, but dey were, like, two hundred and twenty four dollars and ninety nine cents, and I never had dat much all at once. Sammy tole me I could get it if I saved up a little at a time, he even got me a big, pink piggy bank, an’ every week when I got my paycheck I put some money into it an’ Sammy an’ me wrote down how much I’d put in, an’ I broke open da piggy bank an’ I went down dere when I had two hundred and twenty eight dollars, an’ I was gonna get it done, but den da lady at da desk said it was gonna cost . . . um . . . I think . . . two hundred and seventy one dollars an’ a whole buncha cents. I tole her, I said, it says on da sign dat it’s two hundred and twenty four dollars an’ ninety nine cents. But she said dat dere was taxes and fees and stuff. I said dat isn’t fair, on account of ‘cause I saved and saved fer, like months and months, an’ she said dat if I didn’t have da money I should stop wastin’ her time—”
“Right, that’s fine. No strength index recorded.”
“Is dat bad? Are dey gonna be mad at me?”
“It’s unusual, but it’s not, strictly speaking, bad.”
“Okay. ‘Cause I tried ta get some jobs fer big important people, an’ dey all said dat dey only hired you if you had a strength index score, but I never got one.”
“It’s fine!”
“Are you mad at me?”
“What? No, I’m not mad at you, I just have a lot of questions to get through. I need shorter answers.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, hell, I lost my place again.”
“Um.”
“What?”
“Can you not say dat word?”
“What word?”
“That . . . um, dat ‘h’ word?”
“Hell?”
“Um . . . yeah.”
“Oh boy. Look, Mr. Woods—”
“Call me Dum Dum.”
“Yeah . . . right. Look, the thing is, you’re going to be spending quite a bit of time in prison, now. You understand that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So . . . you know you’re going to hear a lot worse words than ‘hell,’ right?”
“Yeah, but dey’re in prison ‘cause dey’re bad people. Bad people are gonna swear, but dat doesn’t mean you should too. Dat’s what Sammy says.”
“I . . . do you . . . I’ll . . . try to do better. Oh, look, there’s no IQ listed either. I don’t suppose you ever had an IQ test that you remember?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Of course not. All right, let’s just move on, shall we? Only powers listed are super strength and invulnerability. Do you have any other abilities?”
“Um, I think so. Barry said I have a . . . a . . . a laymen . . . cypress . . . resentment.”
“A what?”
“A lament cyclist re—“
“Do you know what the ability does?”
“Oh! Yeah! Barry said dat nobody could get inside of my head. An’ den Mr. Bitter said dat it made sense on account a’ ‘cause my brain had ta be as thick as my skull. Den Barry made Mr. Bitter go into da other room because he was bein’ a pest.”
“Couldn’t get into . . . Oh, I see. A latent psychic resistance.”
“Dat’s it! Dat’s what he called it!”
“Okay. There are a few more things to fill out here but I think I can take care of them myself. Now we can get started on the interview. As I understand it all of this started in a special, class four holding facility in Colorado Springs?”
“All of what?”
“Your association with the criminal organization known as Revolt.”
“Oh! Yeah! ‘Cause dat was where I met Tommy.”
“For the record, Mr. Woods is referring to Thomas Emanuel Roaker. Long time member of Revolt, and class five speedster with a broken back. Tell me about that first meeting.”
“Okay. He was gettin’ made fun of by dese guys. Dey said he was a double useless . . . um, they called him a bad word. Da one dat starts wit’ an ‘n.’ I don’t have ta say it, do I?”
“No.”
“Okay. Dey said he was double useless an’ were sayin’ all kinds of bad t’ings about him. I said dey should stop, and dat dey should know what it was like to have people being mean on account of dey had dese funny lookin’ drawin’s all over deir faces, like somebody drew it on dem when dey was asleep or somet’ing. Tommy laughed about dat, which made ‘em angry. And den dey started calling me stupid, which was fine wit’ me cause lotsa people call me stupid, and dey said I should watch myself because dey was part of da . . . arena brotherhood, and dey was the baddest . . . um . . . well, they used a bad word. And dey said dat if I hung around dey’d mess me up, ‘cause one of dem could cut me up wit’ his bones and one of dem was super strong. He wasn’t big like me, but sometimes small guys can be super strong, too. Anyway, I tole dem what Sammy always tole me, dat just ‘cause you can do somethin’ doesn’t mean you should do it. And dey laughed at me. Then one of dem started buzzin’ around, an’ his skin peeled back and he had dese bones comin’ out of him like dey was knives and he got really close an’ started hitting me wit dem.”
“For the record, that would be Christopher Roger Gauche, who suffered multiple broken bones and spent the next six months in the hospital.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t do not’ing to him! He jus’ rammed into me an’ fell down and started cryin’. Den da other guys got mad an’ came at me, an’ I didn’t know what else ta do, so I thumped dem on da heads!”
“You thumped them on the heads?”
“Yeah. Sammy says I’m not supposed ta hit people, ever, but I didn’t know what else ta do! So I thumped dem!”
“All . . . let’s see . . . all five of them?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“For the record, that would be in reference to the fight listed on page six of the notes. Please note, the five members of the Aryan brotherhood were all treated for concussions.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry about dat, but dey were all really mean. And loud. I don’t like it when people get loud.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Now, about Thomas?”
“Oh yeah, Tommy! Tommy was really nice. He said thank you for da help an’ could I please help him back to his cell. I don’t t’ink he actually needed help, ‘cause he rolled hisself da whole way, mostly he jus’ wanted ta talk. He asked me what I was doin’ in holdin’ an’ what I was goin’ ta court fer, an’ about what I did fer a living, an’ why I had’n joined one of dem superhero teams, an’ stuff like dat.”
“And why did you never join a superhero team?”
“Oh, I tried! I tried like . . . three . . . four . . . um. I think I did it four times, but it might be five.”
“And what happened?”
“Mostly dey never called me back. Sammy said dat da first ones were maybe ‘cause I didn’t fill da form out right. And he said maybe it didn’t help dat I filled dem out in crayon. But dat’s not my fault! Da only t’ing I can write good wit are dem big crayons dat Sammy picks up for me! Everyt’ing else is too small an’ makes my hands cramp up.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Once, Sammy drove me to Denver so I could do an interview with da League of Vigilance, but dey said dat super strength and in—in—in-vurn-abal-ness is da most common t’ing dat any enhanced has, an’ if dat was da only t’ing I had, I needed ta get indexed ta be considered, an’ I told dem about da money, an’ one of da guys said, ‘oh boy, dat’s just what we need on da team, a big dummy, next,’ an’ den da guy wit’ da earpiece told me I had to get off da stage.”
“Interesting.”
“Dat was da last time I tried ta be a superhero.”
“I see. And what did Thomas have to say about all of that?”
“He said dat de problem wit’ smart people is dat dey aren’t half as smart as dey t’ink dey are, an’ dey’re twice as prej—prej-a-dissed as they pretend to be.”
“And that’s when he invited you to meet his friend?”
“Oh, no. He jus’ asked me a bunch more questions. Like where I worked and my favorite restaurant and stuff like dat.”
“When was the next time you saw him?”
“Ummm . . .”
“The court records indicate that he was released later that same day, while you were in the facility for three more days before a judge saw you.”
“Yeah. Dat sounds right.”
“So how long after that before you saw Thomas again?”
“It was a couple’a days, I t’ink. Um, maybe two weeks? I don’t know. I’m not good wit’ dates and times and t’ings.”
“Shocking. What can you tell me about your next meeting? Do you remember where you were?”
“Oh yeah! I remember dat! I was leaving work!”
“Which job? According to my file you had three or four at the time.”
“Da warehouse. My boss, Mr. Clacker, he had me stay late ta help him load some boxes. He did dat sometimes on Fridays. Dat’s fine wit’ me, it means dere aren’t so many cars around when I run home.”
“You run home?”
“Oh yeah. I hafta! Do you know how much a car dat fits me costs? It’s . . . like . . . a lot of money. Like . . . a thousand. Or a million. Or something.”
“A thousand or a million or something? Let me make a note of that here . . . So you were getting out late, and you saw Thomas?”
“Yeah. He was on da corner next to da warehouse. He had an ice cream cone for him, an’ a whole carton of butter pecan for me, which is my fav’rite ice cream ever! Except maybe for pistachio fudge. Maybe.”
“Focus on Thomas. What did he say to you?”
“He said . . . he said . . . he said he had tole one of his friends about me, an’ his friend really wanted to meet wit’ me an’ talk about my future an’ what I thought about my job an’ life and a bunch of other stuff. I figured he was teasin’ me at first, on account of how nobody ever wants to know what I t’ink about t’ings, but he said he was really and for real serious. So I said okay.”
“And the friend he wanted you to meet was Barry Whitmore?”
“Yeah. Barry was really nice. I got his table sticky, on account of I’d jus’ had my ice cream an’ I might have gotten a little bit on my face and hands. But Barry didn’t mind. Most people get mad at me. He was jus’ really nice and said he was pleased to meet me and he’d heard a lot of t’ings about me.”
“And then?”
“And den I said I was sorry on account of how I’d got his table all sticky. And he said dat was okay, it was just a table.”
“No, I mean . . . what happened after that? What did the two of you talk about?”
“Mostly he wanted to know about my life. I tole him about my mom and Sammy. I tole him where I worked an’ all about my bosses. Den he asked me what I wanted most in the whole, wide world.”
“And what was that?”
“Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Thanksgiving dinner? That’s what you want most in the world?”
“Yeah. But not just any Thanksgiving dinner. Da Thanksgiving dinner we had in two thousand and two. Dat was when momma was dating Mr. Weisman. He owned a restaurant. He was always super duper nice to me. Momma always use’ta yell at me for eatin’ too much, but Mr. Weisman said dere was not’ing wrong wit’ a growing boy havin’ a healthy appetite. For Thanksgiving he had us over to his restaurant and he tole me I could eat as much as I wanted! And all da people who worked fer him were super nice, too. One of dem even made more mashed potatoes for me after I ate all of da mashed potatoes. An’ we played games out back afterward, and when I ran into a tree an’ it broke an’ fell over nobody yelled at me or not’ing.”
“That does sound pleasant. What did Barry say?”
“What? Barry wasn’t dere. I hadn’t met Barry den.”
“No! I mean, when you told him about your best Thanksgiving ever, what did Barry say?”
“Oh! He said dat it sounded like it was a lot of fun. An’ I said yeah, it was.”
“And then?”
“Then he asked me about the Orions I thumped in prison.”
“The Orions? Oh, the Aryans. What about them?”
“He asked me why I did it. I tole him dat dey were bein’ mean ta Tommy, an’ dey were sayin’ bad words an’ gettin’ violent an’ loud. He asked me if I knew dat it was against da rules to get into fights in jail, an’ I said, yeah, I knew dat, an’ he said, so how did I decide dat it was okay ta thump dem. And I thought about dat for a little while, not ‘cause I didn’t know, but ‘cause I wasn’t sure how ta say it right, and Barry said dat was okay an’ I could take all da time ta t’ink about it dat I needed. An’ I did. An’ den I tole him dat I did it ‘cause what dey was doin’ was worse dan what I did, so even though I got in trouble instead of dem, less bad stuff got done.”
“And what did he say to that?”
“He said dat was a really good answer, an’ he was glad that I’d said it.”
“And then?”
“Den he asked me about da history of superheroes. I tole him dat I knew all about Mr. Ul-ti-ma-chi-na man, an’ Lady Uber, an’ da Nightshade. I’ve been readin’ deir comic books every month since I was eight years old!”
“Did that impress him?”
“I don’t t’ink so. He said dat was’n what he meant. He asked me if I knew dat superheroes used to be vila . . . vila-gentries.”
“You mean vigilantes?”
“Um . . . maybe. Den he asked if I knew what dat meant, an’ I said no, so he tole me it meant dat dey was breakin’ da law. I thought he was kiddin’, ‘cause dey’re superheroes, so how could dey be breakin’ da law? But he said dey were doin’ what I did when I thumped dose guys on da head. Dey were doin’ somet’ing dat dey wasn’t supposed ta do ta stop somet’ing even worse from happenin’.”
“And how did you feel about that?”
“Um, I thought he was wrong. ‘Cause all of the superheroes in da comic books Sammy gets fer me work fer da League an’ dey all have ta follow da laws an’ when dey don’t dey have ta go ta da league court and everyt’ing.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Uh-huh. He gave me a book. It was a hiss-tury book an’ it was all about da early superheroes and how da league got formed and everyt’ing. Dere were a lot of big words in it, but I took it home an’ Sammy helped me read it. I did’n know how much trouble da superheroes use ta get into!”
“And is that when you decided to join his gang?”
“Oh, gosh no! When I tole Sammy about what happened, he said I couldn’t see Barry or Tommy or Mr. Bitter or Layla no more! I didn’t mind so much about Mr. Bitter. He makes fun of me sometimes. He t’inks I don’t know it, but I know.”
“Let me see . . . Bitter is the street name for Walter Nichols, safe cracker and con man. My file says he’s able to exude from his pores a sticky substance at a variety of levels of acidity.”
“Uh . . . Oh, you mean dat weird sweat?”
“Basically.”
“Yeah, that’s gross. He got it all over my hands one time. It felt like snot an’ I had ta wash an’ wash an’ wash ta get it off.”
“Riveting story, I’m sure. What about this Layla? Can you tell me more about her?”
“Oh yeah, she’s really nice. An’ pretty. An’ tiny. I mean, everyone is small ta me, but she’s, like, super duper small.”
“Yeah, that’s helpful. Can you tell me her last name?”
“Ummm, no.”
“Of course not. Can you describe her?”
“Uh, she’s small. And pretty.”
“Yes, you said that already. Anything more detailed?”
“Uh . . . she has black hair, an’ . . . an’ . . . an’ her skin is creamy.”
“Great. We’ll put a bolo out on a tiny, pretty woman with creamy skin and black hair. Okay, so Sammy told you that you couldn’t see them anymore, what happened next?”
“Uh . . . oh! Den he said I should go to bed ‘cause I had ta go ta work da next day.”
“No! I mean, when was the next time you saw Barry or Tom or Layla or Bitter?”
“Da next day. I was on da way ta work an’ Mr. Bitter drove up next ta me an’ said dat Barry wanted to see me again. I tole him dat Sammy said I couldn’t talk ta any of dem anymore. Mr. Bitter said ‘what, do you always do what Sammy tells you?’ an’ I said I pretty much did, except sometimes I forgot. Then Mr. Bitter said maybe I should forget what he tole me about talkin’ to Barry, and I said how was I gonna to forget something on purpose? And he said . . . hey are you okay?”
“What?”
“Are you okay? When Sammy rubs his head like dat it’s usually just before he tells me he needs a quiet time an’ I should go read my comic books or take a nap.”
“Admittedly, I might need a quiet time pretty soon myself. How about you skip ahead to the part where you go visit Barry?”
“Oh, sure. Except I didn’t. I went to work. Den after work Mr. Bitter was waitin’ for me in his van, an’ when I tole him I wasn’t gonna go wit’ him, da door opened up an’ Barry was inside an’ he said dat he jus’ wanted ta talk ta me fer a little bit, dey could even give me a ride home while he did it.”
“And you took the ride?”
“I did. I knew Sammy wasn’t gonna be happy about it, but I figured dat if I ran home dey’d just drive next ta me an’ talk anyway, an’ if they was gonna do dat, I might as well get a ride home. I like ridin’ when I can. I don’t get too often ‘cause I mostly don’t fit, but when I can it’s fun. Bouncing up an’ down an’ swaying back and forth.”
“What did Barry tell you?”
“He mostly talked about tryin’ ta do the right t’ing, even when other people tole you dat it wasn’t the right t’ing. Some of it was complicated and hard ta understand, but he talked slow an’ explained it pretty good fer me. Den he tole me dat he had a project he wanted ta do, an’ it was important an’ very good, but it would be super hard ta do, an’ he needed da help of someone like me.”
“And that was how he talked you into robbing that bank?”
“Oh, no! No, he said dat robbing da bank was easy, dat he coulda had Mr. Bitter and Tommy rob it, an’ nobody would know what had happened until da guys dat owned dose boxes came in and tried ta get deir stuff out.”
“Really? Then why did you participate in a daytime raid?”
“Because . . . because . . . what did he say? Uh, because of something about chess pieces movin’ around? He said dat winning at chess was’n about where yer pieces were, dey were about where da other person’s pieces were. An’ I said what does dat have ta do wit’ da bank? And he said dat he needed ta put certain pieces in certain places so dey could do what he needed dem ta do, when he needed dem ta do it. An’ I said I had no idea what he was talkin’ about.”
“Did he explain?”
“Yeah, he said it was the most exe—expec—expel—He used a word I don’t know. And he said it jus’ meant it was da fastest way ta get what he wanted.”
“Which was . . .”
“He wanted me ta help a friend of his.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. What friend?”
“He said her name is Paula Marco.”
“Paula Marco? Paula ‘Viscous’ Marco? The shapeshifter convicted of kidnapping fourteen congressmen and three senators?”
“I don’t know.”
“But she’s here. She’s in D block.”
“Yeah.”
“What did he want you to help her do?”
“Break out of prison.”
“. . .”
“He said it was super important an’ he was gonna make it super simple fer me. I didn’t even need ta talk ta her when I got here. I jus’ needed to be a good prisoner fer a couple a days, an’ not let on ta anybody how strong I really am, an’ den, on Monday da fourteenth at exactly four pm, I need ta bust through all da cement walls wherever I am an’ break inta D block an’ find Paula, an’ then she’d tell me what ta do after dat.”
“But . . . that’s today. And it’s four P.M. now.”
“Nuh-uh. Look, it’s three fifty nine.”
“Oh.”
“. . .”
“. . .”
“Now it’s four.”