Excerpt: Meet John Foe

Hiding Sly

“No, Mom, I feel fine – really!” Charlie protested into his Blackberry. His very loud, very anxious sounding Blackberry. Today was maybe the most important day of his whole life: the day he went from being Representative-Elect Charles Wilson Schmitz to being Representative-for-real Charles Wilson Schmitz. Today he would take his oath and join his colleagues in forming the 111th Congress in United States history. And it had taken ungodly acts of persuasion on his part to discourage his entire Missouri clan from driving out to D.C. to try capturing the moment on homemade video and embarrassing the tar out of him before his esteemed fellow members of the House of Representatives. The headlines about his bus crash heroics had nearly undone all that effort. “Oh, uh, Lewis told you about the dizzy spells? Listen, it was probably stress – you know, first day jitters. I’m sorry she worried you – I haven’t had one since.”

“Boss!” Sid peered into Charlie’s office and pointed to his wristwatch with a frenetic air.

Charlie acknowledged the warning with a silent nod and a mouthed `okay.’

“Yes, Mom, I’m fine,” he repeated. “And I really have to get going. You don’t want me to be late do you?” He headed toward the door and the corridor. “Yes, I’ll call you later. And don’t worry – trust me, I’ve never felt stronger. Love you.” So saying, he clicked off the Blackberry and prepared to make a mad dash to the swearing in ceremony. But not too mad a dash, he reminded himself. Maybe he should have let his parents come to the Capitol with him, but he was a grown man now and it wasn’t as if the other Representatives of the House had their parents watching them.

He made it in plenty of time, as it turned out. Rarely did Congress obey the same clocks as the rest of the country. Over 400 members, each of them with their own individual clocks or watches with their own separate versions of the correct time – is it any wonder they could hardly agree on anything? But for all his unexpected powers, and his assertion to his mother, Representative Charles Wilson Schmitz of Missouri’s 2nd Congressional District still felt a little weak in the knees when it was his time to raise his right hand and repeat the words he’d been preparing for since the returns came in on that magical night in November. This was where he belonged and this was what he was born to do. He couldn’t forget the chaos of the past two days, but on this morning he could set it aside for a while.

Several members of the House came over to meet him, to wish him well, and not a few to express their admiration, or mere vulgar curiosity, about the events of the previous afternoon. Charlie sucked in his breath and tried to appear the very model of seriousness and responsibility as he was introduced to the Grand Old Lions of the House of Representatives, some of them his political idols. He knew there would be tension aplenty to come, bitterness that the vanquished Republicans carried with them since the election, but today everyone was as friendly and cordial as a chocolate covered cherry.

Charlie, unable to resist, glanced upward at least once toward the Viewing Gallery. Even in the dimness up above, he could tell it was packed. The eyes of the nation were upon him and his colleagues. He was determined once more to live up to that trust. He took his place at the desk that he hoped would remain his for a very, very long time. Charlie wasn’t the only brand new Representative from Missouri, but the other fellow was a Republican from the 9th District whom Charlie didn’t know at all. The Senior Republicans had seen to their own, as the Senior Democrats had set aside valuable time for him and the other Democratic fresh faces. And once the 44th President of the United States was sworn in on the 20th, the real fun would begin. Charlie’s office, part of another building at the end of a maze of corridors attached to the Capitol proper, was more of a cramped architectural afterthought. The action took place in the committee rooms here, and Charlie had his own ideas about which committees he wanted to be a part of. Those decisions wouldn’t be made today, but Representative Charles Wilson Schmitz was out of the starting gate and loving every second of it.

The remainder of the morning and afternoon passed in a whirl, a splendid state of legislativeness. The Charlie that returned to his office early that evening was a happier one than his staff had yet seen. Will Dewey had returned to his post, suitably chastened from his misimpression and desertion of the day before. Sid had been thoughtful enough to procure a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne so that all three could toast the start of the Representative’s career proper. God was in his blue heaven and all, for a change, was right with the world – for at least five minutes. That’s when the small celebration was interrupted by a loud knock on the outer door and the intrusion – once again – of the very last person on Earth Charlie wanted to see. Will, eager to make up for his shortcomings as an intern, raced to answer the summons before Sid could and got bowled over like a twig in a hurricane by the intruder.

“Representative Schmitz!” Bob Tara boomed as he swept into the room, “may I be the first to congratulate you?”

On what, Charlie thought. My ability to attract leeches?

“No, you may not,” Charlie said in as cold a manner as possible. “You’re already too late for that, and I’ll thank you to remove yourself from my premises.” Not that I want to thank him for anything! Eyeing the lobbyist’s pork barrel-like bulk with dismay, Charlie wondered if even his mutated strength would be enough to remove this wolf from his door. Meanwhile, Sid was helping Charlie’s pale wraith of an intern up from the floor where he’d landed.

“Now don’t be so down on me yet, Charlie boy!” Tara put his hands to his chest as if to protest his innocence. “We hardly even know each other-”

“And I’d like to keep it that way,” Charlie added, balling his hands into fists and hoping that simple gesture and his words would be enough to get the point across to this persistent pest
.
“Problem, gentlemen?” A familiar purr sounded from the hallway behind the two antagonists. Charlie looked past Bob Tara to see Colleen Hughes standing there alongside her fellow columnist Carson Davidson. Tara turned around to face the newcomers and blanched and backed up slightly.
“Mr. . . . Tara, isn’t it?” Colleen smiled one of her sweet, frightening smiles at him. “From the other day? You know, I was just thinking about doing a little research on you . . . .”

Like a giant, chubby cockroach searching for a dark crack to scuttle into, Tara attempted to dodge his bulky way through the pair of pundits only to come up against the extended hand of Carson Davidson.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Carson grinned every bit as dangerously as Colleen and shook the unwilling Tara’s hand before the lobbyist could make any objection, introducing himself as he did so. “Our apologies for interrupting,” Carson oozed. “But it appears you were leaving anyway, weren’t you? We’ll talk later.”
Tara, red-faced, nodded agreement without uttering a single syllable and inched his way out of the office before fleeing down the hall. Watching him go, Charlie unclenched his fists and resumed his relaxed pose with a sigh.

“Well, yesterday you saved me and today I save you,” Carson quipped.

“I consider it a fair trade,” Charlie grumbled. “That man is the main reason my immediate predecessor’s facing 3 to 5, and now that his former sucker’s burned up, he thinks he’s going to fasten himself on to me.”

“If you think it’ll help you, I’ll be happy to have a private chat with him,” Carson offered. “You’d be amazed at my powers of persuasion. Besides, I figure I owe you a favor. You made me miss the bus, after all! And it’s not every day a man who can make me miss a bus does so to prevent my being late.”

Colleen Hughes groaned and rolled her eyes.

“I warned you about his puns!” She exclaimed.

Charlie didn’t really mind the moaner, he just wished he could think one up on the spot himself.

“And it looks like we barged in on your celebration,” Carson observed, casting a glance at the cheesy plastic champagne glasses still half-filled with faux bubbly.

“Join us?” Charlie asked, as Sid pulled out from somewhere a couple of even cheesier paper water cups and filled them for the new guests. When the second round was handed out, they raised the motley set of drinking vessels in one more toast.

“To Representative Charles Wilson Schmitz,” Sid McCarty offered. “Washington D.C.’s newest Congressman!”

Charlie murmured a few gracious words and drank with an urge to smile so wide it hurt to hold it back.

Congressman. He liked the sound of that.

With his new friends and staff in tow, Charlie elected to skip the informal banquet that many of the other House members would be popping in and out of that evening to opt for an even more casual dinner out at one of D.C.’s outskirt eateries. He’d been answering questions about his role in rescuing a victim of the runaway bus incident all day – tonight he wanted to avoid more curiosity seekers and relax. But even his small group of guests couldn’t resist bringing the conversation around to that subject.

“So have you always been the stalwart, heroic type?” Colleen had seated herself next to Charlie and had hitched her chair so close to his she was practically in his lap.

“I don’t consider myself heroic at all,” Charlie blushed, trying to concentrate on cutting up his steak. She was a very attractive woman and the vibes he felt coming off of her were enough to make his palms sweat. “I’m a regular guy, mostly. Except for the politician part.”

“That’s a mighty big exception,” Carson pointed out.

“But so modest! That’s what I think I like about you,” she sidled still closer. It took all Charlie’s effort not to drive his knife right through the china plate or break it, and the steak did not look pretty.

Across the table, Sid McCarty was trying as hard to keep his eyes averted, while Will was staring at the pair like they were a 9th grade biology lesson. Carson merely seemed amused.

“Careful, dear,” the male pundit cautioned. “I think you’re embarrassing the poor man.”

“Me? Would I embarrass anyone?” Colleen laughed. “And Representative Schmitz is a professional politician, so he doesn’t embarrass easily – right, Charlie?”

The jury’s still out on that one, Charlie thought.

“So how `bout them Cards?” he asked with a laugh, attempting the usual Missouri method for changing the subject.

Sid immediately launched into a discussion of baseball and the Nationals’ chances (or lack thereof) to get his boss off the spot. Charlie made a mental note to himself to look up Sid’s salary and give him a 10% increase – the man was definitely a saint. Colleen, perhaps in response to Charlie’s absence of one, moved her chair back from his. The conversation moved on to nice, safe topics until dinner was over and the party prepared to go their separate ways. The small group took a shared taxi (paid for in advance by the new Congressman) back to the center of town, but the others protested when Charlie asked to be let off near the park.

“Not safe, boss man,” Sid warned. “There was some sort of gang rumble in the park the other night. This is not a town to go walking in after dark.”

“Oh, really?” Charlie responded, all innocence. Maybe I could change that . . . .

It was a foolish thought, he realized. There were no such things as real life superheroes – everyone knew that – and he wasn’t invincible. A mere sheet of paper had been enough to prove him very vincible. And yet . . . .

“Okay,” he grumbled, allowing himself to be dropped off on his own block ahead of the rest of the party.

“You know what your problem is?” Colleen teased. “You got a taste of excitement and danger yesterday and now you just can’t wait for another taste of it. I dated a guy like that once.”

The look she gave him as he exited the cab told him she wouldn’t mind dating a guy like that again.

It’s not like you aren’t single, you know.

Maybe Sid was right – maybe she did like him. Buoyed by the possibility of going out with the pretty (and pointed) pundit at some future date minus the three male chaperones, he all but danced up the steps to his apartment.

But as he prepared to click his key into the front door, something nagged at him. He was forgetting something, but what? He felt a vague sense of uneasiness that he didn’t think was caused by the old warning not to get into bed with the press. Then a thought occurred to him – the old woman he’d rescued in the park two nights ago – was she all right? And what had she been doing in that park in this supposedly unsafe town that late at night? Walking home from work, or a late engagement, like he’d been doing? Probably – he couldn’t imagine her being engaged in any unsavory activities herself. And maybe she couldn’t drive a car, or didn’t have a car to drive. But if she actually needed to be taking a shortcut through the park after dark . . . .

What if she’s doing it again?

The woman had a son, though, and he’d sounded sensible in the brief, anonymous conversation Charlie had had with him on the phone – sounded concerned too. Surely, her son would have talked some sense into her, wouldn’t let her go wandering after dark. Not again. Not so soon.

And yet . . . .

Charlie checked his Rolex. It was now close to midnight - about the same time he’d encountered the old woman and the muggers in the park two nights ago. If walking through the park at midnight was part of the elderly woman’s routine, she’d be doing it right now. And she’d probably be safe, maybe had done it a thousand times before without a single incident.

And yet . . . .

And yet, it couldn’t hurt if he checked. It wouldn’t take long. A quick walk through the park – where was the harm in that? A minor errand, just to be sure that an elderly woman who looked a lot like his grandmother was safe. Sid and the others would never even have to know, and if the park was unsafe, well . . . . He now had a little extra advantage in dealing with unsafe situations that most people didn’t. And what was the good of having superhuman powers if you never used them to-
To?

To help others, of course!

There was a phrase he’d read in a Spiderman comic book years ago, and he couldn’t remember the exact words anymore, but he was pretty sure that whatever it was applied to the current situation. Responsibility – that was the one word he remembered for certain. And he felt responsible for that old woman, for all people really, not just the voters of his Congressional district.

He’d do it – he’d take that quick walk through the park.

But to be on the safe side . . . .

He’d need some sort of disguise. Nothing extreme, only a little covering to keep himself from being recognized. He didn’t want to be captured on film by the paparazzi, if any were seeking to stake out the same turf for any reason. He was fairly sure the old lady wouldn’t recognize her rescuer, given the mace she’d been sprayed with, as long as she couldn’t recognize his voice either. But what could he use? Dark glasses after dark wouldn’t be smart, and even if he owned a hoodie – which he didn’t – the last thing he’d want is to look like a gangster himself. Wouldn’t do much good to check up on the poor lady if he gave her a fright or a heart attack in the process! So what would do?

He entered his apartment, hardly believing he was rummaging in his half unpacked belongings so he could find something to conceal his identity – from a woman he didn’t know – for the purpose of protecting her from no known threat at all. Silly! He had to be insane to be considering this, he told himself, even as he glanced at his watch anxiously and realized he’d have to hurry up to stay on schedule. He had so little to work with! He grabbed a big scarf that an Aunt had made for him and that he’d only brought to Washington so as not to hurt her feelings, a hat he seldom wore, and a too-large London Fog raincoat/trench coat, and donned them as quickly as possible. A scarf, a hat, a long coat. Well, if it could do for Lamont Cranston, it was good enough for him!

Checking outside at the front stoop of his building to make sure the coast was clear, no National Enquirer or People magazine sleazoids stalking (how fast fame flies!), he dashed across the street and entered the thin cover provided by the trees that lined the jogging path.

As long as I can keep from tripping over the scarf, why don’t I find out how fast I really am?

Charlie made sure the scarf was secured around his face, unbuttoned and hitched up the trench coat as much as he could, pressed the hat down as far and firm as possible, and allowed himself to go from a jog to a flat out sprint, running as hard as he could.

Am I fast? He wondered, as the world seemed to slow down as it had during the bus crash incident. He came to a standstill, and rested a hand on one of the trees.

Dummy! You ought to try timing yourself! It’s not as if his watch wasn’t capable of doing it! He decided he’d run to a specific point in the park near where he’d encountered the muggers, but not so near that he’d risk literally running into the old woman and frightening or knocking her down. Time to stay off the beaten path and take to the grass. He knew his destination was about one quarter of a mile away. Putting himself in the sprinter’s starting position, he checked the seconds hand, took off and made it – so slowly it seemed to him! - to the end point in . . . . fifteen seconds.

Oh!

Or should he say, D’oh! He berated himself as he practically kneeled down panting, breathing heavily, with the muscles in his legs clamping up and whining in protest. He felt a bit dizzy, but this time with the kind of dizziness he recognized all too well from his days on the high school track team.

Charlie Schmitz, you can run a one minute mile, but boy, are you out of shape!

He hadn’t had the sense to warm himself up or stretch first. He’d be feeling this little adventure tomorrow for sure! So he could now run approximately four times as fast as the best professional middle distance runners, but he wouldn’t be keeping the Flash or Quicksilver awake nights, and he’d need to work on his physical condition and endurance if he wanted to use that speed. Plus, he felt hungry again – and after the steak dinner he’d had too!

But when he could look up from the level of his knees again without vomiting, he breathed a sigh of relief. A few minutes past midnight and there was no sign of the old woman walking all alone through the park, or of any muggers here-

And at the very moment he thought that thought, he heard another scream, this time faint - from several hundred yards away? It didn’t sound like the old woman’s voice either. Making sure his scarf was still wrapped around his face and his hat still on, he ordered his shaky legs to get themselves in gear and took off toward the sound. With the world moving at a quarter of its usual speed, he saw the source of the cry. Another woman, a much younger one, reacting to the hoodie and baseball cap-wearing stranger jumping out of the bushes at her. The stranger with a gun.

CharlieboyyouaregoingtohavetobeFAST!!!!

With the adrenaline flowing through him and the blood pounding in his ears, the world slowed down even more as Charlie ran straight at the man with the gun, aiming to push that arm with the weapon up, or aside, anywhere but at the intended victim. No holding back now! Charlie slammed into the attacker with force, feeling his opponent’s arm twist backwards in a way it shouldn’t, seeing the gun go flying out of the hand that had held it. For him, it was all in slow motion, the breaking of the attacker’s arm, the arc of the weapon through the air, the sound of the gunpowder exploding, the bullet leaving the chamber-

And then the world clicked back to normal speed, and more than just the woman screaming. She was unhurt – thank God! Thank God! Thank God! And the bullet had slammed into a tree trunk, but-

That could have hit somebody!

He was shaking with something other than battle rage as he turned to deal with the attacker, now shrieking from a compound fracture. The woman this assailant had tried to assault began to take off at a dead run – Charlie couldn’t blame her – and there was still the gun on the ground, now a hundred yards away, to be dealt with also. Charlie had an idea what do about that, straight from a cartoon or comic book, but hesitated for a moment. Fingerprints – he mustn’t leave any.

Now I know why superheroes wear gloves!

Fortunately, the pockets of the trench coat contained a pair. He whipped them on again as fast as he could, stomped over to where the gun lay, grabbed it by the tip of the barrel – and crushed. The metal barrel bended shut in his grasp without putting up much opposition. Charlie then twisted the barrel at a 90 degree angle and held it up so the hooded attacker to see it in its state of ruin. But Charlie didn’t have to do anything more to subdue hoodie man, because the perp fainted outright at Charlie’s approach.

The gunshot and the fleeing woman would attract police attention soon – no doubt about that. But just as Charlie was wondering what his next move should be, a bugling ringtone sounded from the Blackberry in his inner pocket and the nagging sensation of the something he’d forgotten to do came rushing back to his agitated consciousness.

I forgot to call back Mom!

With an added degree of difficulty because of the gloves, he silenced the Blackberry, knowing there would be hell to pay later. Then working as fast as his increasingly fatigued body would allow, he tore the metal rim off a nearby trash can and wrapped it around the unconscious gunman’s ankles in a way that ensured even if he woke up before the police arrived, he wasn’t going anywhere fast. The twisted gun Charlie left just far enough away on the ground that whoever found hoodie man would find it too, not that it could ever be used again. Then, Charlie summoned the last bits of energy he could to flee the scene himself and make it back to his own apartment.

His breath was ragged and his hunger intense as he peeled off his outer layers of clothing and collapsed onto his bed. He rested for several minutes before he was able to get up again, grab a stash of protein bars he’d brought to Washington with him and devour them as if they were the first food he’d had in days. Then, with a shudder, Charlie knew it was time to face another situation of life and death.

“Hi, Mom?” He was too tired to move the Blackberry away from his ear at super speed, so the first blast that came out of the receiver made him wince. “Yeah, yeah, I know! I’m sorry! And yes, I know what time it is! I know, but we were out celebrating and . . . .” He waited for the Volume 10 squawking to die down before he even tried to put it back to his head. A lecture was the very least he deserved for this night’s work. He thought about the gunshot, and how the evening could have ended much, much worse.

You don’t know what you’re doing, Charlie. You got lucky tonight. Very lucky.

If he was going to figure out what to do with his strange abilities, he’d have to learn from somewhere, but where?

“Uh, Mom? Yes, I’m listening! Really! And I’m sorry – I really, really am! Listen, Mom, I need to ask you a favor-” That got her attention. “Yeah, the thing is . . . uh huh, do you still have that old box of comic books I used to keep in my room?”