Jackhammer

[WP] You're a street-level, neighborhood hero. You fight a "villain" about once a year but spend most of your time helping resolve domestic disputes. You just got home to find one of the premier heroes in the country on your doorstep. The first words out of their mouth were "We need your help."

*****

Being “The Jackhammer” ain’t a grand thing, far as superheroes go.

I’ve got an aesthetic. My jumpsuit is neon-fluorescent-yellow with black highlights and big logo in the shape of a hammer. People always tell me that it is confusing that my name is Jackhammer but my logo is a regular hammer, but those people are wrong and don’t understand that I need to appeal to the lowest common denominator. Some people in my focus groups responded that they didn’t understand what the silhouette of a jackhammer was supposed to be, but everyone got the hammer right. So I’m Jack Hammer, I guess? My agent told me it was better.

I’ve got a nemesis too, Dr. Nefario, but he’s still workshopping his character. Guy has no sense of continuity or motivation. We fight once every, oh maybe six months, as that’s about how long it takes him to get prepared again, and every time he’s shown up with some new get up, new costume, new plot, new gripe with me. I think the only thing consistent about him is that he’s pissed off about the notes on his performance I email him late.

We duke it out down in Forest Park. When I beat him up, he has to pay for the collateral damage too. Honestly Nefario is more like a fun distraction. My real job is a lot more… depressing.

Most of the time, I break up domestic disputes. You can get to me two ways. There’s a hotline (1-800-GET-JACK) and I contract with the cops. Simple stuff. A guy gets drunk, starts swinging on a lady, she calls me, and I come fast as I can if I’m in the neighborhood. If not, I’ll hand it off to someone nearby. What’s depressing is how often I’m out, and how often its the same people over and over.

Like tonight, I was walking home with my grocery bag when I got a buzz on the Hammer-o-meter. I dropped my bag and tore off my shirt. My jumpsuit glowed in the streetlights just coming on as the sky went from rosy to orange. The call was coming in from a nearby apartment complex. I ran down the alley and hurled myself up an eight foot wall, tumbling into the garbage bin hidden on the other side. Out of it, I found the exterior stairs and ran up to the fourth floor, following the directions my Hammer-o-meter gave me. Left. Right. Number 40.

Through the metal door I could hear him shouting. I tried the handle, but it was locked, so I just punched the thing right off its flimsy frame. (What? I’m the Jackhammer. What did you think my power was?) Anyway, I sent that thing flying. Walked in and saw the weird drab green walls, the crusty carpet, the dude in the undershirt beating on the bathroom door, and thought: crap, I know this place.

“Darius, bro, knock it off,” I said

He turned around like he was going to do something, but when he saw me, he just sat down. We’d already figured out several times which one of us, the guy who could bench 210 or the guy who could punch through walls, was stronger. I put my ear against the bathroom doo

“Dacia, I’m here, don’t worry."

She gave a muffled reply from inside.

“Alright Dacia, I’m going to take you somewhere else tonight. Ok? We’ll get things worked out in the morning.” I said. Turning to Darius, I added, “I’m going to need you to stay here and wait for an officer to come by

He knew he had messed up.

“We gotta get your life back together, man."

“Fuck you,” he said.

Dacia came out of the bathroom. I called in the report. We left Darius sitting there, waiting for the cops to come pick him up, and I walked Dacia back down to where I’d dropped my groceries. The evening had gotten completely dark, and the only light came from the streetlamps. I found my clothes scattered in the bushes and put them back on while Dacia texted her family to tell them what was going on. Then we walked the last couple of blocks back to my apartment.

..

​There was a man sitting on my couch. He was roughly the size and build of a professional basketball player, and he wore a blue jumpsuit with red and white highlights. And a cape. He had red gloves and a red helmet with a white stripe down the middle, and his hair was blonde and perpetually flowing in some breeze I didn’t think was reall

He looked at me and said, “We need your help."

Dacia screamed.“Superstar!"

Superstar was an A-list hero, the captain of the Supreme Seven, the U.S. government’s superpowered anti-terrorism and planetary defense force. This was a guy who shook hands with presidents and slept with movie stars. He belonged in his mansion, or his team’s secret fortress, or battling aliens or something. But here he was, in my living room in an apartment in Hialea

Superstar was still talking to his fan. He grinned a perfect, hot guy grin with the glittering teeth and the brick-breaking jawline.“Alright!” He said. “Yeah, it’s me."

The situation was weird, but as far as finding strange men in my apartment, this one was on the calmer side. No really, in my line of work, this happens. I come home and have to punch holes in guys on a monthly basis. But Superstar was famous. He didn’t need to come down here and beat the crap out of a nobody like me, so I put the groceries on the table and flopped down on the couch next to him. Dacia had been here enough times that she knew how to make herself comfortable.

Dacia said, “I’ve seen you on..."

“TV? Fighting the Academy of Evil Academics? Hell yeah, sister!” Superstar said. He winked at me. “Actually though, I came down here to ask about you, Jackhammer

“Me?” I said. Finally, the answer.

“What does the Supreme Seven need with a guy like me?” I asked.

“Well,” Superstar said, and for the first time, he seemed awkward, like he didn’t really know how what to say or how to order it. “Well, you’re pretty specialized, right? You…” he glanced at Dacia, “you are good with domestic problems? Right? Like you’re a good arbitrator.

“So what’re you getting at?” I asked.

“Well, we’re having a bit of a conflict on the team, the Supreme Seven, right? Rhinohide and Flicka are, well they’re not speaking, and the whole team is just paralyzed over it. People are taking sides and I don’t know what to do. You’re supposed to be really good about this.

“Naw,” I said, “I ain’t that kind of arbitrator. I’m so bad at talking, man. My whole selling point is that whoever the guy is giving you problems, I’m stronger than him, but, with you guys, well that’s not really gonna work

“Please, just give it a try."

I glanced at Dacia. She was holding a mug that said World’s Best Dad, sipping tea. Arbitration never seemed to work for me. That mug. Why’d she have to be holding that mug. It was just the whole epitome of why I never did any talking. Everything I said just tripped me up later. But Dacia was staring at me and nodding furiously.

“I’ve got to take care of her for tonight,” I said, nodding at Dacia. “Gotta make the arrangements and everything."

“We’re staying at the Betsy on South Beach. We can put her up for the night, take care of everything. Honestly, Jack—is that right?” I nodded. “Jack, I told them we were coming to Miami to blow off some steam, but honestly I wanted you to talk to them. I brought the Supreme Seven to Miami just for you."

“For me?"

“Our agent said you’re REALLY good at this.”

*****

THE END.

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