Johnny Saturn

Death on the Docks by Scott Story – Part V – Copyright 2008 Story Studios LLC.  All rights reserved.

“That was so cool,” expounded Decorum, “the way you shook that guy down.  He really thought you were going to throw him off the roof!”  Decorum momentarily had forgotten her affected swagger, and now she was all admiring fan-girl.

Johnny Saturn showed no interest in talking to the young meta-heroes, and he walked away without acknowledging them, heading for the stairs down.  It was not his style to jump from rooftop to rooftop, as did modern meta-heroes, and he preferred elevators, stairs, or ladders (in that order) where he could find them. 

“Wait,” cried Shadowcowl, heading Johnny off.  “We never get to meet real old-timers like you!  Shouldn’t we join forces or something?  I want to see you kick some ass like they did back in the day!”

“Yeah,” added Decorum.  “All we ever fight is meta-villains, and those guys fold or run all the time.  Let’s do a team up!”

Johnny Saturn stopped and surveyed the two.  He frowned deeply, and, even though this was his default expression, his eyes conveyed the impression that he was not pleased.  Truly, admired Shadowcowl, no one had ever worn a sour disposition with more dignity or arrogance than did Johnny Saturn.

Johnny stepped around Shadowcowl, and as he did he casually pulled a white, plastic bottle from under his belt.  He upended the container, spilling a half dozen or so white pills into his mouth, and he began chewing these without the benefit of anything to wash them down.  His actions were not self-conscious.  It was as if he did this numerous times a day without giving it thought.

“Dude, what are you poppin’ there?” asked Shadowcowl.

“Yeah, like, that cannot be good,” added Decorum lamely.

Johnny grunted.  “Pain pills.  If you kids live as long as I have, then you’ll probably be as full of pins, sutures, plates, and staples as I am.”  Johnny then said, “Out of my way, meta-heroes.  Go do whatever it is you do.  There’s a truck coming to pick these crates up, and I am going to intercept it before it gets here.” 

Shadowcowl grabbed Decorum around the waist, saying “Not if we get to it first!”  Off, into the sky they shot, leaving Johnny Saturn on the roof.

“Dammit,” swore the big mystery man.  “Damn, damn, damn…”

Death on the Docks by Scott Story – Part IV – Copyright 2008 Story Studios LLC.  All rights reserved.

The Spire City Police Department arrived on the scene with all the pomp and circumstance of a circus coming to town, their strobing lights splitting the night with red and blue, and their sirens wailing an ear-splitting cacophony.  Six patrol cars skidded to a halt, effectively enveloping the prone Charlie Blockers.  Many of the twelve thugs were already regaining their senses as the police, shielded behind their cruisers with their guns raised, took position around them.

Detective Greg Buchanan, or “Pretty Boy Buchanan” as his fellow cops called him, stepped forward.  He was a homicide detective with the 23^rd Precinct.  At 27, Buchanan was handsome, but not that he would have known it.  Some would say that he resembled a young Brad Pitt, but only if Pitt walked around enveloped in a dark cloud of gloom, hid his face from the world behind dark sunglasses that he never took off, and wore his facial hair in a trendy goatee and moustache combo.  No matter where the sun shone, this man moved as a dark, trench-coated ghost in a world of eternal night.

“Move in, officers,” commanded Detective Buchanan.  “The suspects are already down.  Restrain them and read them their rights.  Someone call in a paddy wagon, and an ambulance too.”

Buchanan pushed over one the Charlie Blockers with his foot.  Lamar rolled onto his back and groaned.

“Who did this to you?” asked Detective Buchanan.

“Shatunn … Sjonny Shatunn…” Lamar helpfully offered up, despite a swollen lip, a mouthful of blood, and the loss of his front teeth.

“Figures,” said Buchanan with the air of a man whom almost was bored into somnombulance.  While the cops secured the Charlie Blockers, the detective broke open one of the crates and looked within.  (He felt confident in doing this, because he knew a judge who was always willing to hand out search warrants retroactively.)  Buchanan knew what to expect inside, and he was not disappointed: Bizarre weaponry, circuitry, and an assortment of rare and expensive raw materials.  The sort of supplies that an illegal cybernetics lab would require.  There were also freezers that Greg knew would contain an assortment of black market human tissues: Eyes, hearts, livers, and much, much more.

“Wissenschaft…” muttered Buchanan.