"This place is a bowl of piss."
The speaker sat on an easy chair watching a football game on TV. He was a man of average height, dark haired, curiously handsome though his shoulders were narrow and he looked soft in the belly. The 'bowl of piss' was a barroom on Eighth Street in Galloway City. At the moment the bar was nearly empty.
"Hell, the world is a bowl of piss."
Another guy, tall and thin with brown hair and eyes, sat on a wooden table across the room. He was holding his right arm out, bent at the elbow, and placing pennies on it. There were a hundred pennies on his arm, placed in neat rows of ten, when he was done. Suddenly he straightened out his arm and caught every penny before they fell to the floor.
"What's your problem, Butch?" asked the Penny Man.
Butch, the first man, was suddenly in front of the Penny Man. He pointed to the television and sneered.
"Look at the shit on TV. Bunch of pansies running around a field, playing with a ball. Why the fuck do I watch it? Give me the ball and I'll score touchdowns at will," said Butch.
"Yeah, just like Superdooperman in the movies. Depends who's on the other team, Butch," replied the Penny Man.
"I ain't in the movies, dude. I'm the real thing. And there still ain't too many of us around," said Butch.
The Penny Man laughed. "Butch, you have no imagination. With all the power in the world, you sit around and bitch about a couple of normal guys playing a game. Super power is wasted on you, my friend."
Butch lashed out at his companion in a movement so fast only he and the other man could see it. The slap missed as the Penny Man slipped the blow.
"Save it for the masses, Butch. I'm one of the guys you don't want on the other team," warned the Penny Man with a grim smile.
Butch picked up a penny from the table the other man was sitting on. With a casual flip, he spun it at the television, and it penetrated the TV like a bullet and embedded itself in the wall beyond. "That's the kind of shit you like to do. I prefer to flick bullets."
Pennies are my statement, man," said the Penny Man, "besides, all you've done is break the TV."
"So what? I ain't got to pay for it. Where the hell is that barkeeper? I need a drink," said Butch. "Hey, you fat son of a bitch, get your ass out here."
There was scuffling in the kitchen. Butch fine tuned in on those sounds and laughed when he heard the barkeeper mumbling.
"Oh, God! Please, God, I don't want to go out there again."
"Well, you better get out here again, you fat piece of shit. Or
I'll tear this shit house down on your bald head," yelled Butch.
"They are so difficult to control," mused the Penny Man.
"No wonder we call them Punies. Puny, stupid and gutless," grunted Butch. He whizzed into the kitchen and returned holding a large, overweight man by the belt. Laughing at the Puny's wide frightened eyes and pitiful attempt to cover his face with his hamlike hands, Butch dropped the bartender on the bar.
"Get to work, Harold," he commanded, "pour me a fuckin drink."
"There are not all stupid or gutless. Puny, they are though," continued the musing of the Penny Man.
Butch downed a shot of whiskey. Its affect on him was minimal. He missed the way it used to burn down his throat before the Change. Angry, he crushed the glass to powder.
"Get something stronger, Harold." he ordered. The fat man scrambled to obey.
"He probably doesn't have anything stronger. And he may not have anymore glasses. He has a lot of powder, though," laughed the Penny Man.
"Stupid, fat fuck," grunted Butch.
The Penny Man shook his head and smiled. It was a pity that the Change never improved anything more than the body. Or, to be more precise, it improved the way a person interacted with physical reality. And while the body was improved, the mind and soul retained its human flaws and frailties. Those who were lucky enough to have been Changed called the rest of humanity puny, while those that had remained normal referred to the Changed as Brutes. In the Penny Man's mind it was all childishly poetic.
The fat puny continued to scramble. Frantically he searched the bottles on the shelf next to the bar for a liquor strong enough for Butch to enjoy. Yet, even while he searched, his great hairy, overweight chest heaved in dry sobs because he knew there was nothing to be found.
"Get me something or I'll poke my finger through your fuckin brain," Butch yelled.
"Man, you need a piece of ass," said the Penny Man dryly.
Butch whirled. His lip curled into a dog's snarl.
Butch was too uncontrolled and strong to make love to a puny woman.
He had killed the last woman with whom he had had sex; her
pretty, normal body was broken by his sexually charged superhuman strength.
The Penny Man was aware of that, and Butch was certain his friend was insulting
him.
"You trying to say something, Penny Man?" he snapped. "Cause if you are why don't you just spit it out."
"Nope, I'm taking the 5th."
"That shit don't mean anything to us. Ain't no law that can touch us, Penny Man. But you can be damn sure I can touch you," threatened Butch.
"Hey, Butch, " said the Penny Man softly, "maybe its time I go back to my own turf. We don't want to go anywhere hostile, do we?"
Butch considered the question. Both of these men were endowed with extraordinary physical power. In his heart Butch thought he could beat the Penny Man, though victory was always in doubt when facing another Brute because Brutes were nearly invulnerable to harm, and as he considered further he realized that the Penny Man was one of the few friends he had left. It was better that they part without a fight or Butch might find himself alone in a neighborhood of punies.
"Nah, I guess not, Penny Man. I didn't want to hurt her. I just got carried away. I got to find a Brute babe," Butch said in a softer, slightly yielding tone. It was the custom of a Brute to stake out his Neighborholding, a word that was used to denote the metropolitan territory that the Brute lorded over with absolute authority. Puny law enforcement was unable to restrain or bring to justice any Brute or stop him from doing whatever he wants within his territory. Brute Holdings were a relatively new phenomena, appearing as individual Brutes began to realize their invulnerability to conventional restraints. It was a sign of an evolving society; the making of a new nobility, and one that was based on physical power rather than eligibility to rule.
Suddenly both men turned toward the door. Supersensitive ears picked up footsteps walking across the street directly to the bar. Beyond that were the murmuring whispers of a group of punies that were easily identified as police by the content of their conversation. After a brief moment of tension, the two super-men relaxed in the confidence that no conventional weaponry on Earth could harm them.
Technically the bar was still a place of business, and the door retained its Open sign. A man entered the bar and faced the two Brutes. He was slightly taller than average, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame packed in a skin tight black and red uniform. His head was covered in a mask which was cut back around the eyes to allow him a full range of optical perception. His eyes were cold, green-grey steel as he paused before speaking, allowing the other two men a chance to appraise him. Then he motioned to the bartender with a universal sign to leave. Harold needed no second prompting.
"I give the orders in here," said Butch. Neither Butch or the Penny Man recognized the uniform. They were not impressed by the muscles, because they knew that Changed power was not a result of ordinary muscular exertion. Since it was a new phenomena, Changed abilities were still unknown. The source of their existence, the why only a certain few were selected, and how the Changed could act with superhuman proficiency had not been determined by either Brutes or Punies. Since Changed abilities virtually elevated the Brutes above the Law, the Punies were desperately seeking the answers to those questions. The Brutes, however, were less inclined to understand where their power came from. Since it was a fact they simply enjoyed the fact.
If this man were not a Brute then his muscles were insignificant. If he was a Brute, then those muscles were no indication of his true power. So, Butch and the Penny Man were not impressed by his physique. What impressed them was the man's audacity. This was a case where one was confronting two.
"Your authority is questionable. It has been reported to civil authorities that you have recently killed several citizens. That is no longer tolerable," replied the uniformed man.
"Since when, and by whom?" asked the Penny Man. "Its not that I'm sticking my nose into Butch's business. This isn't my Holding. I'm just interested in what authority you represent."
Though Butch frowned at these words, he was not surprised at the neutrality of their content. The Penny Man had been his friend before the Change, and remained a friend afterward, but there was no true loyalty between supremely powerful Brutes. Ordinarily, none was needed.
"I am John Law. I represent a coalition of Brutes who realize that the Punies are valuable. Their society is valuable. And most important their civilization and technology is valuable. And something that is valuable must be protected," the newcomer informed them. He placed his hands on his hips and spoke with confidence.
"Well, I can't disagree with that. We Brutes are not smarter than anyone else, nor are we exceptionally talented. Though we don't require food, it is a pleasure to eat. Puny civilization supplies diverse entertainment if nothing else," said the Penny Man.
"It supplies a resource of intelligence, inventiveness and order. It supplies production of goods and services. It supplies a background of emotional stability and continuity. We are different from the Punies in our capacity for physical effect only. We can still relate to them," said John Law.
"That's all very interesting, but what does it have to do with me. I'm still the boss here. Not you, and not your coalition," barked Butch.
"Let me explain what we'd like you to do. Your authority within your Neighborholding is still you own. However, we'd like you to keep killings to a minimum, and allow any Puny who wants to leave the right to do so. Is this a problem?" asked John Law.
Butch stepped closer to John Law. He twisted his angry, distorted face into John Law's unmoving one.
"Yeah, I got a problem with some fancy clothed company man coming into my Holding and giving me orders. I ain't got to do nothing you've said here. I do what I want. Now, what are you going to do about it, dude?"
"Take it easy, Butch. He's just here with a proposal," said the Penny Man.
"Well, you know what he can do with that proposal!" shouted Butch. "Just what the fuck do you think you can do to me? Its as hard for a Brute to hurt another Brute as it is for the police to shoot me down. If we go a few rounds, the only thing that will happen is the neighborhood will be trashed and punies will die. So what the fuck can you do about your stupid proposal?"
"You refuse to consider the proposal of the Coalition?" asked John Law softly.
"Yeah, I do."
"Then a demonstration is due. Care to step outside," said John Law.
"What! Step outside! What for?"
"To keep the damage to a minimum. And give us room to 'go a few rounds'," replied John Law.
Butch did a few dance steps. "Are you kidding, dude? I'm damn near invulnerable to harm. You can't hurt me."
John Law didn't reply. He turned and walked out into the street.
Butch turned to his friend. "What the fuck is going on here, Penny Man? Is that guy nuts?"
"Or does he know something you don't?" replied the Penny Man. "Maybe you should cool off, Butch."
"Fuck him. He can't hurt me," said Butch as he stormed out of the door. The barroom's hardwood floor splintered under his feet as he stamped out onto the street. The concrete pavement and paved street were also pulverized by Butch's angry steps.
"Okay, lawman, do your stuff," challenged Butch with a sneering grin.
John Law leaped up and smashed both fists down on Butch's head. With incredible force, Butch was driven into the earth like a nail into wood. Moments later he broke free, with an effort that shattered windows for blocks as if an earthquake had occurred, and attacked the solemn figure of John Law.
Butch's fist arched toward his enemy in a right cross. With expert ease, John Law turned with the punch, grabbed Butch's arm and waist, exerted pressure in the direction of Butch's attack with an addition of redirecting that direction slightly until Butch was swept off his feet and hurled into the air. At the end of the throw, John Law used all his strength and hurled Butch straight up. An echoing wail followed Butch as he zoomed out of sight and out of orbit. With the breaking of the sound barrier, a tremendous, thunderous bolt split the sky.
John Law whirled to face the Penny Man, but there was no threat coming
from Butch's old friend.
The Penny Man was leaning against a lamppost with a speculative look
on his long face.
"That won't kill him."
"He can't fly. How's he going to get back?" answered John Law.
"How'd you do that?"
"I'm a martial arts expert. Ordinarily throws and sweeps are meant to take an opponent to the ground. When dealing with a Brute that result is inadequate. Lying on the ground they still have a base to center on. I spent the last year modifying my skill to deal with Brutes. My throws are designed to throw up, not down."
"He was a problem, so I removed the problem. The people in my group want a new, civilized order, Penny Man. Your have to decide if you want to be a part of it," posted John Law.
"I'll give it some thought," said the Penny Man.
The End.
copyright by Rod Hunsicker 5/11/1998
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