BRAVE NEW WORLD

Chapter One: A Hero's Welcome

Prelude: New York City, 1940

I: Eddie

Eddie had fallen asleep on the couch in his costume, with a half-drunk bottle of beer in his hand.

Again.

He almost went outside in costume when he heard Ivan "Bear" Stavrogin, Aggie and Edie Blake's crazy Russkie old man, honking the horn on the garbage truck outside.

Then he remembered he had to change his clothes.

Half-asleep, with two fingers on one hand taped together and his nose taped up, Eddie threw on a pair of his overalls from his construction worker days over his holey undershirt and threadbare shorts, put on his boots, a plaid shirt, and his cracked, ancient sheepskin and corduroy welder's coat, that was too small for him.

He jammed on a watch cap onto his head, and staggered out into the frosty morning.

Eddie climbed into the garbage truck, with a burlap sack in his hands.

"I would say good morning, but it is piece of shit morning. Piece of shit morning for piece of shit job. I tell your sisters, I make two, three times as much money doing odd jobs as on truck. Do they listen? No." Ivan said.

"Hey, if youse can make that kind of bread, dump this shit job and tell them you got laid off." Eddie replied.

"Can't. You need good trash for little ones."

"Yeah, well, someday, Ivan, I won't hafta live like this."

"That's right. If I could weasel way out of Kolyma, you can weasel way out of poverty. Fucking cold this morning. Reminds me of Kolyma. Here. Drink some coffee. Put more hair on chest."

Ivan passed Eddie his thermos.

"Hey, there's whiskey in this coffee." Eddie commented, with mock surprise.

"Lousy heater in this truck. We have to keep warm somehow, yes?"

"You can say that again. It would be real nice if I had a decent fucking coat. I've had this one since I was 14, and it don't fit so good. Not to mention it ain't holding up too well."

Ivan had a welder's coat on the back of the passenger seat, and it was a real nice one.

It was sheepskin and leather, not corduroy, and the lining was thicker than Eddie's.

The coat looked fairly new, and it was of a size that would have fit Ivan well.

Eddie, too.

But Ivan had a coat on.

"That your coat on the back of my seat, Ivan?"

The young Russian smiled his grin full of gold teeth.

"No. Is your coat. I look for new coat for you a long time, and I finally find this one. On building site, in big trash bin. It was very dirty, smelly too, but I take it home and Edie, she cleaned it up for you."

Eddie took off his old coat and put the new one on.

It was as nice as it looked.

Too nice to have been garbage.

He put his hand in the pocket, and found the tags.

"Ivan, this fuckin' coat is stiff as a wedding dick. You didn't find it in no trash bin."

Ivan shrugged.

"Okay, so maybe I get it new."

"How much do I owe youse?"

"Forget it. I give this guy new tattoo, usual bullshit, naked mermaid on arm, and he doesn't want to pay me. Calls me Russkie bastard. So, I punch him in nose, and take coat, throw him out. You see there on collar, little pink stain where Edie can't get all blood out. You don't believe that, I got another story. You like my brother, Eddie. Without you and your family I would be starving in street. Even in Russia, I had no family. You guys are all the family I ever had. You take coat, alright?"

"Thanks."

"You welcome. Come on, give me back thermos. Kindness only goes so far."

Ivan's route took him through some of the wealthier neighbourhoods in Manhattan, and Eddie desperately needed some of the kinds of things rich people had a tendency to throw away when they were still good.

Clothes for Mickey and Jimmy, who were growing like weeds.

Maybe some toys.

Clothes for himself, too.

He was still growing like a weed. Eddie was about three inches taller than he had been six months ago, and his shirt size had gone up twice.

That morning, he made a pretty good score.

He found a pair of boots and a pair of work pants that would fit him, and a couple of sweaters and a coat that would fit Mickey and a pair of pants that would fit Jimmy. He was hoping to find a dress for Allie, but he came across a little girl's sweater and a couple of skirts, so that was something. He picked up a toy fire-truck that was just old and dirty, not broken, and a Westinghouse toaster that he bet was just tossed out because it was last year's model, and a few magazines that Ruthie might like to look at, and a pair of shoes in her size that were in better shape than the ones she was wearing.

Best of all was a nice couch that had just been put out.

The couch they had was an old piece of shit with tape over where the springs were trying to come out. It was ugly, lumpy and it stunk when it got hot out, so this couch was a great improvement.

Eddie had put all the reward money he got for "capturing" some wanted fugitive from Chicago into buying the house in Bensonhurst, but he couldn't afford to furnish it; they'd had to bring over all the old shit from the apartment.

Capturing.

Eddie recognised the SOB from the wanted posters at the precinct.

They said dead or alive, and dead was easier on Eddie.

The guy was wanted for murder, anyway, he was some half-assed mobster who blew up another half-assed mobster's car with a detonator, even though he saw the guy had his wife and kids in it with him.

Two in the head, and Eddie had the money to get the fuck out of the old apartment.

And they said crime didn't pay.

Ivan helped him bring in the new couch and they took out the old one and threw it on the truck.

That was the last of the old shitty furniture, and good riddance to it.

After Ivan left, Eddie rousted the kids out of bed, and got their breakfast going.

Ruthie, who was the oldest, helped him pack lunches, and he sent them all off to school, and then did the dishes.

Eddie spent about an hour in the kitchen washing the clothes in Ma's old washtub, using her old washboard and the lye soap she taught him how to make.

After that, he took the wash outside to hang it out to dry.

It was clear, but freezing, a real gorgeous morning to be fucking around with ice-cold clothes and rickety clothespins in fingerless gloves.

By then, it was nine o' clock, and he had to go to work.

Eddie didn't work construction, anymore, he drove a truck for Napier Chemical, making deliveries in the New York Metro Area, as well as to Atlantic City and Philadelphia.

The old beater of a car he'd bought for fifty bucks from the guy who sold him the house was stone fucking dead, and with the money he made selling it for scrap he bought a used motorcycle, cheap, from the local precinct.

It had been a cop bike, so it ran pretty good, and that was how he was getting around, these days.

He got to Napier Chemical around 10, which was the time they expected him to come in.

Crazy Jack's father, Dr. Angus Napier, and Jack himself.

Crazy Jack wasn't there that morning, and the old man was in the lab, as usual.

He had left Eddie's work order on the desk, so Eddie punched in, got his keys and went out to the garage.

As usual, they were still loading.

"C'mon, you fucks, I'm supposedta be in Philly by one, half past at the latest, and you're still fucking around."

That was Eddie's way of saying good morning, and the other guys knew it.

He stood around with them and smoked cigarettes and drank coffee until the truck was loaded, and then he headed out.

Eddie made good time getting to Philly, because he drove like he did everything else, aggressively.

After he made his delivery, he had enough time to stop by this broad's apartment, for a quick screw while her husband was at work.

She made him lunch, and then he got on the road again, promising he'd be back later on that week.

The rest of the day's deliveries were all in the five boroughs, so it was a lot of laying on the horn and shouting out the window.

Some prick in a Lincoln cut him off right in the middle of Central Park West, and Eddie almost rammed the guy, which, driving a truck full of industrial chemicals would not have been so hot.

Almost rammed him, but this asshole insisted Eddie was the one who put the dent in his bumper that Eddie had been staring at the whole time they were stuck at the redlight trying to make a fucking left.

This asshole, your Joe College type of asshole, with his I play football half-assed muscles, he came right up to the truck.

"Look what you did to my car, you lousy Mick bastard! Get outa that truck, I'll knock your block off."

"Okay, pal, if youse fuckin' insists."

Eddie got out of the truck.

He took off his gloves and his hat as well as his new coat; he didn't want to get blood all over it.

Joe College wasn't too bad of a fighter, but he was no match for Eddie Blake.

Eddie wasn't going to take him apart, but the stupid bastard wouldn't stay down, and the way things went, somebody got the beat cop.

"Alright, fellas, break it up! Break it up! What's this, a car accident?" the cop wanted to know.

Joe College sniffed some blood and snot back up into his broken nose.

"This guy rammed my car with his truck, then he broke my nose! I wanna press charges!"

"You lyin' sack of shit!" Eddie exploded, and the cop had to put his nightstick against Eddie's neck to restrain him.

"Take it easy, son! Take it easy! Take it easy, or I'll hafta take you in!"

"Yeah, but officer, look at that little tiny ding, an' then look at my truck! This jerk rammed somebody else's car parkin' his heap of shit, an' he wants to hang it on me so my boss hasta pay for it! Look, officer, I'm a workin' man. My Ma an Pop are dead, and I got two brothers an' two sisters at home ta raise. If youse takes me in, there ain't nobody in the world ta look after them. Ya gotta believe me. He cut me off, an' I nearly crashed the truck! An' he started the fight!"

The beat cop looked at the skid marks on the road behind the truck, and looked at the dent in the Lincoln.

He asked to see both of their lisences, and told them to get back in their vehicles.

Eddie waited, impatiently, drumming his fingers on the dashboard.

Then he saw the cop writing a ticket to Joe College, and laughed to himself.

The cop let the Lincoln drive away, and brought Eddie's licence back.

"You any relation to Lieutenant Edward Morgan, lad?"

"He was my grandfather."

"He was a good cop. It killed him, you know, when your mother married that devil Mickey Blake. When did she pass on?"

"In thirty-six."

"And you, takin' care of her little ones. God bless you, lad. You can go on your way, this time. But, next time you have trouble with a punk like that, you want to call for a policeman, not break his nose."

"Thanks, officer."

Eddie finished his deliveries, dropped the truck off and punched out at five, then rode back home on his motorcycle, where the kids were waiting for their dinner.

After he cooked dinner, he brought the washing in, and gave everybody all of their new stuff.

Ruthie did the dishes, and at first, the radio wouldn't work, but after he fooled with it for awhile Eddie got it working, and he got a few hours to himself with the kids, to listen to the radio and have a few beers.

The night before, Eddie came home from patrol at two in the morning, and Ivan honked the horn for him at three-thirty, and he was tired, but he knew he couldn't catch a nap until later.

He put the little kids to bed around eight.

Then, after Allie and Jimmy went off to bed, while Mickey was finishing his homework on the new couch, Eddie sat down at the kitchen table with Ruthie, so she could show him what they showed her in school that day.

Eddie had dropped out of school in the eighth grade, but he didn't want to go through his whole life being a big, dumb Mick. He had a quick mind, and read a lot of books on his own, taught himself things, and Ruthie would always show him the stuff she learned in school, every day.

You were only going to get so far with a mask on using muscle, then you had to rely on brains; you couldn't be a moron with an 8th grade education and expect to ever be anything better than a small time punk, yourself.

Ruthie and Mickey went to bed at ten, and that's when Eddie took a cat-nap on his new couch.

At 11, he got up, put on his costume and went out on patrol.

Afterwards, around two, he made another back door man stop at the apartment of a broad he had once saved from a gang of muggers and rapos.

He came up the fire escape and she let him in through the bedroom window.

She didn't know his name, just that he was the Comedian, but she got a kick out of it that all he left on was the mask, and just like the other broads he had stashed around town, she didn't mind having a good time, no questions asked.

Eddie got back home around three, had another beer and some leftovers and went to bed.

He'd be up at six, to start the whole damn thing over again.

. Still, money was starting to come in; things wouldn't always be like this.

Sometimes, he wondered, if he became as famous a mask as Superman, would ask him, tell us, Comedian, what made you decide to become a superhero?

Maybe he would tell them it was because he liked working nights.

Yeah, that was good enough.

New York City, 1945

I: Sally

"Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"What, after all those letters, this is what I get? I just got off the fuckin' boat. I ain't even gone home to see the kids yet."

Sally closed her bathrobe tighter.

"No, I mean, Jesus, you came here first? To see me? Lemme put something on, wait a minute."

The door closed and opened again in about five minutes.

"C'mon in. I'm makin' some coffee. Jesus, look at you! You're like a brick wall."

"Yeah, I know. None of my civvies are gonna fit me. Good thing I can afford ta buy new clothes, now."

When she brought him the coffee, she had to tell it to him, straight.

"Look, Eddie, this don't mean you and I are going to be the best of friends."

"Yeah, I know, Sal. I fucked that up a long time ago. I'll drink my coffee and go. You were just the first person I wanted to see. I carried this one letter around with me the whole time. I wanted ta give it to youse in person."

When he left, Sally noticed there was a creased, dirty, well-worn envelope sitting on her table.

She opened it.

Dear Sal,

If you're reading this letter, either I'm dead or the war's over.

I kinda hope it's the second one.

I been carrying it in my pack for years, just in case.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that you were the only real steady girl I ever had. I fucked a lotta broads, sure, but when we used to go out I always had a real good time.

I'm sorry I fucked everything up, and I'm sorry I hurt you. I was just a dumb kid and I was never in love before, but I was a mean dumb kid and I just fucked everything up.

Still, I always thought of you as my girl.

And I know you don't want any part of that.

If I ain't dead and the war's over, I want you to know, even if you marry some fucking stiff and you never talk to me again, I still will.

If you change your mind, you know where the house in Bensonhurst is.

If I am dead, well, maybe you can come and see me sometime.

Just don't piss on my grave, alright?

Eddie

In spite of herself, Sally bit her lip, and her eyes filled up with tears.

She went to put the letter in a drawer with the other letters Eddie had sent her.

She just couldn't bring herself to throw them away.

"Jesus, Eddie, I wish that son of a bitch father of yours would rise up out of his grave, so I could kill the motherfucker a second time." She said, closing the drawer.

II: Sophie

"Sophie, I still think you should go see an analyst."

Sophie Kauffmann tossed her fork and knife onto her plate.

"Fuck you, Magda!"

Magda, her older sister, looked like she was going to have a stroke, and hen-pecked grey-faced Ralph Schmidt, her husband, hunched over further in her seat as Sophie's two nephews, Sol and Gene, goggled at her in something like awe at what she had just said.

At the dinner table.

To their mother, who tried to run the place like Stalin ran Russia.

"Sophie! Not in front of the boys!"

"What? They're boys, Magda! Behind your back they swear and smoke cigarettes and try to find pictures of naked girls! I don't need a fucking shrink! What would he know about what I went through? And shrinks are for people who feel bad! I don't feel bad. I feel good. Every time I think about all the fucking Nazis I killed, I feel great. And every morning I wake up in my own bed in my own place in my own city, I feel fucking great! I don't need a shrink because I'm enjoying my life, just because I'm embarrassing you and your hand-wringing, perfect little friends who never saw a minute of action! You wait till Eddie gets back, you'll see how I embarrass you. We fought that war, we won that war, and we are entitled to a little fucking fun. And, as God is my witness, Magda Schmidt, I am going to paint this town red from one end to the other, and fuck you if you don't like it! Fuck you and everybody who fucking thinks like you!"

Sophie looked over at Ralph; he was smiling into his plate.

"I'm sorry, boys. I'm sorry, Ralph."

"You're sorry? You're always sorry! Sit down, meshugga, finish your dinner! Such language! I can tell you were a soldier." Magda said

Sophie sat back down and resumed eating.

"Aunt Sophie, tell us about the time that you and the Comedian and Wolverine blew up the bridge when the Nazis were crossing it with their tanks and their trucks, and everything." Gene asked.

"Ralph, do you mind?"

"Mind? Sophie, you can always talk about killing Nazis at my table. Be quiet, Magda. This is more interesting than what that old bag Mrs. Feldstein told you in the laundry room."

Sophie Kauffmann came into her majority when she was still fighting her way out of Slaughterhouse Europe, thereby inheriting a very sizeable chuck of change that her father who had vanished into the Holocaust had left her in trust with his New York lawyers.

She began the war as a refugee, and ended it as a decorated hero, Sergeant Kauffmann of the Invaders, who fought along side the celebrated Wolverine and the even more celebrated Comedian.

It was a bittersweet victory, considering that Cap and Bucky were not there to share it with them.

For Bucky, though, considering how his experiences in the war shattered him, it might have been for the best.

At least he died with his friend and with his boots on, a genuine American hero.

The war ended for her on VE day, May 8th, and she was demobbed and returned to New York City by May 20th.

Home again at last, she felt she'd earned that money and a rest.

Her sister, who never saw so much as a gunshot of the war that destroyed the civilisation that had existed since 1066, wanted to wallow in the misery of an event she didn't have to see.

Sophie wanted no part of that.

She had witnessed it.

She mourned her father, and her mother, her younger brothers and sisters, but she had run with them and prayed with them and hid with them and hid herself when the Nazis came.

"This is my whole family, Mein Herr."

Those were the last words she heard her father speak.

What could she do?

He was giving his life for hers.

Sophie ran, so that her father's sacrifice would not be in vain.

She kept running.

And while her fat sister with her fat ankles was home tut-titting to her fat, long-suffering husband and her children who were unfortunate enough to have her as a mother about how hoarrrible it all was, Sophie had her war.

It was a vicious, brutal, hand to hand war, of fighting and killing, alternating with running and hiding, eating what she could, sleeping when she could, killing men she didn't want for trying to touch her, leaving those she did, knowing they were as good as dead.

What the hell did her sister know about that?

What right did she have to tell Sophie anything?

The only thing Sophie really wanted from Magda was her aged cat, Gracie.

She inherited the family place on the Upper East Side, but Sophie had no wish to live with their ghosts.

She sold it for a small fortune, and was able to buy new clothes, and a townhouse in the Village, and a car, and rugs and dishes and furniture and everything, without even touching the principal of her inheritance.

The family lawyer had been her trustee, and she retained him to manage her money, a task with which Sophie was an active participant. Her father had taught her all about finance, real estate, stocks and investments since she was a little girl.

Sophie imagined that eventually, she would go to college, probably for a business degree, marry her old sweetheart, Max Grossmann, who had waited for her all these years, and maybe open a restaurant or a deli with him.

But, for right now, she just wanted to enjoy herself, have a good time.

Max understood.

Even about Eddie.

Max didn't have a cent to his name; he had grown up in the Bronx and spent the war years in the Air Force, and because he was poor, her family, especially that social climbing, false, phoney bitch Magda had never wanted her to get serious about Max, but she loved him.

He was a good man, a wise man, good as gold.

She went out with him some nights, and what he did other nights she didn't ask about, and vice versa.

"We're young, we just got back from the worst war in the history of mankind. Someday we'll get married, we'll be married forever, then we'll be old and married. Let's have a good time while we can, huh, Soph?" Max joked.

She felt she was entitled, after what she'd been through.

During the day she read books, listened to records and went to the movies, enjoying freedom and security for the first time since 1938.

She went out at night and had a good time, the best time she could have.

V-J Day in August and the end of the war made her sister happy, it made everybody happy. They were fools.

They thought it really meant something, some kind of great moral victory.

All it meant was that Hitler was dead and the world was free of his mad ambitions, but you couldn't put the rabbit back into the hat.

Things would get better, but they would never be what they were before.

Not after that kind of catastrophe.

Europe would rebuild, America would recover, Russia would regroup.

But that which was rotten would still be rotten, rotten under the surface.

Only a matter of time before the war's real legacy showed through.

But, despite what Sophie knew, she didn't care.

So the world was rotten, so what?

It had always been rotten, it was just getting rottener by degrees. People were still just people and everyone wanted to breathe a sigh of relief and have a good time and rebuild and what was wrong with that?

Nothing at all.

Magda wanted to get her little chicks together and buy them little flags and go to the parade and wave them and cheer, and she probably thought her sister was turning over a new leaf, going with her to the big parade through Times Square.

Sophie, however, was only looking for the stars and stripes in one place.

She'd met a lot of men during the war, in Germany, and back home in New York, but she only met one who she thought was crazy enough that she could really live it up with, a man who saw things the way she saw them.

You know, the way they really were.

Col. Edward Morgan Blake, USMC Special Forces, the Comedian.

So, Eddie was now a big national hero, so what?

She knew that was how he felt about it.

Eddie cared about four things.

His brothers and sisters, having a good time, doing his job and getting laid.

Smart man.

Ticker tape fell out of the sky on every hopeful deluded soul in the city who would fiddle while Rome burned as they cheered and waved flags.

Sophie cheered and waved a flag, too.

She fought for her country, and killed for it, and now she was going to reap the rewards, goddamnit.

Everybody waved at Eddie, everybody cheered for Eddie; he was their last living Red, White, and Blue War Hero Masked Avenger Superhero. He sat in the back of the big black car, smirking and shaking his head most of the time.

He was probably thinking about the money.

When the car stopped, briefly, a bunch of women and girls mobbed it, screaming and crying.

That was all for Sophie.

She was not about to beg.

Sophie stepped back from them, and was going to just go home, but then there was an awful commotion, and when she turned around, she saw Eddie had made them stop the car.

"Hiya, Soph! C'mon, get in the car."

"Eddie, they asked me to be in this parade and I said no."

"Yeah, I can see why. Where you livin?"

"Townhouse at the corner of 6th and Bleeker. In the Village. I'm in the biggest apartment, it's on the top floor."

"What's your number?"

"East 6th-4500."

"Okay! Talk to ya soon, Soph."

Sophie sat impatiently through dinner, where Magda had to cluck over her, take her back to Greenpoint, with Sol and Gene who wanted to eat in front of the radio, and doughy, watery-eyed, near-sighted poor unfortunate Ralph in his saggy, baggy grey flannel suit and his uninteresting tie.

She drove like a maniac all the way home, but when she got there she went to unlock the door and found it was already open.

Sophie wasn't one of these idiots who kept a spare key in the mailbox or under the doormat so anybody could just break in, so she knew that somebody had to have picked the lock.

She reached up under her skirt, pulled the service automatic out of her garter, but as she came around the front door, she saw the thick leather breastplate with the metal stats and stripes shields on the shoulders hanging on her coatrack.

And the smell of cigars hung in the air.

Expensive cigars, now.

"Eddie, you son of a bitch, you broke my lock!" she yelled.

"What are you gonna do, Soph? Shoot me?"

He was in the kitchen, listening to some grainy blues record on the radio, and not only had he kicked her door in, he had also taken the liberty of making himself a sandwich and leaving the plate with crumbs all over it on the sink and the bread on the counter.

Worse, he had found the cigar box in the bedroom, and he was smoking her tea.

"Get your feet off my table, you shanty Mick bastard! Gimme that reefer! Don't smoke it all, you know what that cost me?"

"Relax, Doll. I got an in with the cops, I can getcha better stuff than that. For free. Don'cha yell at me, ya crazy Jew bitch. Where the fuck have you been all day? I called you about six times."

"At my sister's. Suffering. So, what did you come here lookin' for? A good time?"

"Yeah. Best time in the city, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean, you son-of-a-bitch?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.

He put her up on the table, the table wasn't high enough, he put her on the counter, the counter was too low, she was laughing with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he carried her into the living room, where the sofa was one size fits all.

"I thought you forgot about me, Eddie."

"How could I forget a classy broad like you? It's been a busy month, an' I didn't know where to find youse. You ain't in the phone book."

"Well, you found me now. What are you gonna do with me?"

"What the fuck d'you think?"

He tumbled her into the couch and they stripped naked and fucked, noisy and sweaty and hard.

She was still asleep when he carried her upstairs and they were in bed for the rest of the day, all night, and well into the next morning, although there was some sleeping involved.

That night, they went out to some clubs, and got drunk and then went to the movies and he gave her the time in the movie theatre and they went to the Automat at three in the morning and she drove him home to Bensonhurst at dawn.

She parked behind a shiny new black Cadillac.

"When did they start making cars again?"

"They ain't. Not till October. This is one of the prototypes. I said somethin' to a reporter about how I was gonna buy me a Cadillac when I got home, and they had this baby, all new and shiny and ready for me to drive away when I got off the airplane comin' home. I didn't even hafta pay for it. I mean, I got alla this money, now, Soph, ya wouldn't believe it. Every time somebody wants ta talk to me, they gimme a big check. I'll never have to buy the kids clothes second-hand, or put newspapers in the bottoms of my shoes again. It's good to be the king."

"I'll bet it is, Eddie. Can I ask you a question without you getting insulted?"

"Try me."

"Do you know anything about having large sums of money?"

"Me? Fuck no. I just opened a bank account for the foist time when I was in DC, so I could put alla them checks, sand alla this dough I keep getting someplace. I mean, I got two grand hidden in my boots, and a suitcase with ten grand in it under the driver's seat. I don't know what the fuck to do with it."

"Well, my father was an investment banker who played the stock market. I know a lot about money. You should let me help you manage yours."

"Yeah, well I figured I was gonna hafta find somebody to do it, but I didn't know who I was gonna trust. But I trust you, Soph. So, we gonna do this again, sometime?'

"You bet your ass! You and me, Eddie, we got years of misery, abuse, and bullshit to make up for. We're going to paint this town red from one end to the other!"

Eddie grinned at her.

"Sounds good to me, Soph. You think I can afford to keep smokin' these kinda cigars?"

"How much money do you have in your new bank account, Eddie?"

He got his bank book out of the pocket in his brand new gangster-looking suit, which he told her Macy's had given him for free, along with five others just like it, just for wearing it in a picture they took of him for Life magazine.

With the mask on, of course.

Sophie opened up the bankbook.

Seven figures.

"Do you have any plans for what you're going to do with all this money?"

"I gotta buy some new clothes. Not this flashy shit, regular stuff. Buy some for the kids. I'm gonna get a TV set, too. An' a new radio. Maybe get the kids a few things. I got hookups for a washer an' dryer, so I'm gonna get those, too. Maybe a freezer. An' then, I guess I gotta set up a college fund for alla them. Thinkin' about gettin' myself some fancy joint downtown, you know, to take broads to. An' now I've got some dough, I might take some of those night classes they advertise in the paper. Get my diploma. It looks bad, a guy like me havin' an 8th grade education, even though, I'm a lot fuckin' smarter than that. I don't want these wiseass reporters makin' me look like I'm just some big, dumb Mick. I dunno, Soph. Nothin' too special. I'd get a car for Ruthie to knock around in, but I got a free car from Ford, too."

"You don't want to buy a mansion on Long Island, or a home in the country, or in the south of France?"

"Naaah. Waste of money. I live pretty good. So do the kids. Now we can just live a little better."

"You're a smart man, Eddie. In that case, you can afford to buy all the expensive cigars and expensive booze you want."

"Good. Hey, Soph, y'wanna come back tonight, an' have some dinner? I gotta cook for the kids, anyway, and you might as well meet 'em."

"Sure. Why the hell not?"

Sophie had heard about Eddie's brothers and sisters that he had been responsible for since he was 14, and raised since he was 16, because a steady stream of letters and pictures passed back and forth between them, during the war years.

When he was on furlough, he sent her a picture of all of them, outside the house in Bensonhurst, with his older sisters and their common-law husband.

The place looked just like it had in the picture.

When Eddie came to the door to let her in, three of them, she could tell from their pictures, Mickey, who was 13, Jimmy, 11, and Allie, who was 10, were sitting around the radio.

"Ruth, get off the fuckin' phone, we got company!" Eddie yelled.

"In a minute, Eddie! Jeeziz!"

Eddie went into the kitchen and Sophie followed him.

On the phone, in the kitchen was a pretty teenager of medium height, with strawberry blond hair and blue eyes, in a plaid skirt and a sweater and a nice pair of spectator pumps, reading somebody the riot act.

"…just who the fuck do you think I am, Nick, the whore of humanity! Don't you even think about showing your face here again! If I see you on my block, I'll beat you with a baseball bat! You lousy, no-good, dirty sunnuvabitch Wop bastard, I'll goddamn cripple your ass! You get me? Fine. Fuck you! Good bye!"

Ruth Blake slammed the phone down.

"Asshole!" she yelled.

"So, I guess Nicky ain't comin' around, anymore, huh?" Eddie chuckled

"Eddie, you kill people, right?"

"Not on cue, Ruthie. Why?"

"Well, can you at least beat him up for me? We went out last night, right, and you know what he did? He brought some of his asshole buddies around. He wanted me to do it to all of them! All of 'em! And when I told him to fuck off, he put his hands on me, and I punched him out. Then he dumped me out of the car, and I had to walk home!"

Eddie got the look on his face that he wore when he was about to do something unspeakable.

"He did what? WHAT? Make yourself at home, Soph. I'll be right back. C'mon Ruthie. Bring the bat. Oh, Ruthie, this is Sophie. I told youse about her. We was in the war together."

"Nice to meet you. Eddie wrote us about you all the time. You think you could watch the little ones for us?" Ruth asked.

"Oh sure. Have a nice fight. Whack the bastard once for me." Sophie said, cheerily.

She went into the living room, introduced herself to the younger kids, and sat down to listen to the radio.

Eddie and his sister were home in about twenty minutes, and Ruth came into the living room to listen to the radio with her siblings and Sophie.

Sophie didn't ask, the bat was nowhere in sight, nobody had any blood on them, and neither Eddie or Ruth said anything.

"Guess I'll go cook dinner."

"I'll do it, Eddie."

"Naw, Ruthie, you stay put. I like bein' in my own fuckin' house, cookin' my food in my kitchen, knowin' I won that fuckin' war an' that cocksucker Hitler is dead and smokin' an' toastin' in Hell with Pop."

"Are we gonna have leftovers again, Eddie?" Mickey yelled.

"No. But if you don't like what I'm cookin', you know where the door is, right?"

"I'm just sayin', Eddie, holy crap, three days of leftovers."

"I liked it." Allie said.

"What do you know? You're a girl." Mickey told her.

"Hey! Can that shit!" Ruth told him.

"Did you and Eddie get that Nicky guy? Didja? Didja?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah. Turn up the radio."

Ruth set the table, and after their program was over, they took what were probably their usual spots at the table.

All of them smoked, even the two younger kids, and Eddie was smoking while he was cooking, so Sophie didn't feel bad about lighting up.

When the food came to the table, they all put out their butts, so Sophie did, too.

"Is this chicken good enough for youse, Mickey? Do you think the potatoes will be warm enough? Or did you want me to sit on them for ya?" Eddie joked.

"Awww, I wanna go get Chinese food." Mickey replied, laughing.

They just passed the plates around, so Sophie went along.

"So, Ruthie took us all to the parade! I can't believe you were in the car with Superman! What's he really like?" Jimmy asked.

"Just like he is in the comics, Jimmy. Squeaky fuckin' clean."

"So, Eddie, can I borrow the new Caddy on Friday?" Ruth asked.

"Sure you can. After I'm dead. Take the Ford to the drive-in. You got another boyfriend on the string?"

"You got no room to talk, Eddie. But no, not really. I'm goin' to get back together with Dom. You remember, I wrote to you about Dom."

"Boots Marcano's brother, Dom?"

"Yeah."

"Good. He's a good guy. So is Boots. Not like that asshole Nicky. Don't he have a car?"

"No. Boots does. But he's usin' it on Friday."

"Take the Ford."

"Uh, Eddie? You know, uh, about the medicine cabinet? The box is empty."

"Bedroom drawer, Ruthie. You didn't get to know Nicky all that well, didja?"

"Fuck no! That's why I punched him out."

"He's like his two-bit, small-time, mobbed-up hood father. No fuckin' good."

"What's in the medicine cabinet in the box?" Jimmy asked.

"Mickey, don't you dare!" Ruth cried.

"He hasta know sometime!" Mickey protested

"That's enough! Not at the table, not when we have company, not when he's 11 and not in front of Allie." Eddie told them.

"But I know what's in the medicine cabinet in the box, Eddie. And you shouldn't say it out loud, Mickey. Not when I'm eating. It's too gross." Allie replied.

"Hey, Eddie, if Ruthie felt that way, you wouldn't have had to beat Nicky up!" Mickey cracked.

"You little prick!" Ruth howled, jumping to her feet with her fork in her hand.

Eddie slammed his fork and knife down and they all got quiet.

Ruth sat down

"Alright, that's fuckin' it! You always gotta show off, dontcha, Mickey? You got more than just Pop's name, that's for sure. Okay, wiseass. Upstairs. Now."

"Can I take my food?"

"No. If you was hungry, you should have been puttin' your food in your mouth, not flappin' your jaws. Upstairs. Right fuckin' now."

She couldn't get over it.

Those kids listened to Eddie like he was their father.

Well, he had raised them, after all.

After dinner, a man came to deliver the new TV set, and Sophie helped Eddie decide where to put it.

Eddie was just as transfixed by the TV as his younger brothers and sisters were, and he called his older sisters, Edie and Allie to come over with Ivan, and they all stared at the thing like it was made of gold and dispensing the wisdom of the ages.

Ben Kaufmann had a television set in 1935, so it was nothing new to Sophie. However, in 1935 when she had been living on the Upper East Side in an apartment with a television, a private laundry room with attendant, for all the tenants and a live-in maid, Eddie and his family had been living in a tiny, crowded hovel in East New York, in the most grinding poverty imaginable with a tyrannical father who made the bad situation of being poor, Irish, and broke during the heart of the Depression a whole lot worse.

"You guys want one for your place? I'll buy you one." Eddie offered his sisters and the Russian.

"Can you afford that, Eddie?" Aggie Blake asked.

"Ask my banker. Can I afford that, Soph?"

"Sure you can, Eddie." She told him.

"See? It's only the best for the Blake family, from here on out." Eddie promised them.

He looked as happy as she had ever seen him, just then, in his living room, with his whole family, promising them all that he would take care of them, just like he always had.

Only now, he knew he could do it.

In later years, when people would accuse Eddie of being all kinds of horrible things, of being a bad man, she would remember that night, and whoever and wherever they were, Sophie would tell them they were full of shit.

III: Hollis

The weekly meeting of the Minutemen began, as it usually did, all the remaining members in attendance.

Sally was supposed to be retired, but she was there, anyway.

In fact, it was hard for anyone to see how she had retired, as much as she still seemed to work.

Dollar Bill had died, so it was him, and Sally and Captain Metropolis, Hooded Justice, the Silhouette, and Mothman.

Nelly was about to call the meeting to order when the familiar smell of cigar smoke announced an unexpected arrival.

"Well, I see you boys were busy while I was off savin' the world."

He looked like a completely different person than the punk kid in the yellow boiler suit.

In six years, that rotten punk kid had grown up to be a big bad man, every bit as big as Rolf, dressed in armour made of steel and black leather, sporting the stars and stripes on his shoulders.

He was in the Invaders, and fought alongside Captain America, and with Cap dead, he was probably America's most famous and celebrated superhero next to Batman and Superman.

Eddie Blake had his masked mug on every magazine cover imaginable. He was a man who had the ear of Prime Ministers and Presidents, and if rumour had it right, he worked with the CIA and military intelligence, and was assisting Nick Fury in founding a super secret, quasi-military international espionage and law enforcement agency.

But that didn't change Hollis Mason's opinion of the man.

He might have grown up to be a war hero, military strategist, expert in covert operations, and even a helluva detective and a crime fighter, but to Hollis Mason's eyes, the big man in the leather and steel costume wasn't all that different from the skinny punk kid in the yellow boiler suit.

He was still a swaggering, foul-mouthed, dirty- minded, cocky amoral asshole.

And Hollis Mason didn't often even think in cuss words.

"Just what do you think you're doing here, Blake? You ought to know you're not welcome." Hollis protested.

"Relax, Mason. I just dropped in ta say hello to alla youse, an' see who was still around."

"Well, you did. And now you can go."

The Comedian sat down.

"I'll go when I'm damn good and ready, Boy Scout. I got a little somethin' I wanna say to youse. Not alla youse. Just Mason and Mueller. I guess you fuckers thought ya had me pegged. He's a rotten punk kid, only a little better than the criminals he chases. Little bastard'll never amount to anything. If he don't end up in jail, himself, he'll be back on the construction site, or behind the wheel of that delivery truck, forever. That is if they don't find him on the docks with a knife in his ribs. Couldn't have been more wrong, couldja? And before you throw Sal in my face, Mason, lemme remind youse she ain't married ta you, and it's me she was writin' all through the war. I got time for you to come around, doll. Shit, I got alla time in the world. As for you, Mueller, if I had a shred of fuckin' proof that you are the Nazi I think you are, I'd kill ya where ya sit. But I don't. An' besides, I wouldn't want to make poor Nelly a widow."

The Comedian laughed at his own joke.

"Well, I guess that's about it. I just wanted to let you two know that I didn't turn out ta be the punk you figured I would. In fact, I outclass you two fuckers by a country mile."

Nelly laughed a little, and Hooded Justice gave him a dirty look.

Eddie put his boots up on the table, and lit up.

"Hiya Nelly. This big SOB still beatin' ya up, an you still likin' it?"

Captain Metropolis blushed.

"Well, I, ah…er… that is…"

"What? I'm just kiddin' youse. Takes all sorts ta make the world, my Ma used ta say. How 'bout you, Byron? Got that drinkin' under control?"

"I can quit any time I want to, Eddie." Mothman told him.

"I'll bet. I heard about what happened to Bill. That was a goddamn shame."

"We got the men who killed him." The Silhouette volunteered.

"Yeah, you prob'ly tracked 'em down yourself, and let the rest of these jerks share the credit. So, how 'bout that doll I seen you with, Ursula? Is she your new girl?"

"What about the doll I saw you with, Eddie?"

"Who, Sophie? We was in the war, together. Yeah, I guess she is my girl. How about that shit, huh? Listen, if you girls ever wanna man around, ya know, just for a change, I still live in the same place."

"What about your girl? Will she be at the party?"

"Sorry. Door only swings one way. But I know this broad downtown, she lives by the park, in one of those penthouses, this rich broad, she's up for anything. Whaddya say?"

"Eddie!" Hollis protested.

"Awww, put a fuckin' sock in it, Mason. Some of us like to get laid." Eddie protested.

"That's what I like about you, Eddie. You're a shameless pig. What the hell, I could use a laugh. How about Friday?" the Silhouette replied.

"After work?"

"After work."

"Fine. You bring the booze, I'll bring the reefers."

The Comedian got out of the chair.

"Well, I'll be seein' youse around. I'm goin' down to the docks. Gotta get back to work. Let these punks know the law is back in town."

And, as abruptly as he arrived, the Comedian left, in a cloud of cigar smoke and sarcastic laughter.

"Are you really going to have some depraved orgy with Eddie Blake and some woman you never met before, Ursula?" Hollis Mason asked.

"Actually, I think I know the girl he's talking about, Hollis. You do what you do for fun, and the rest of us do what we do."

"Ursula! Don't talk that way in front of Sally! She's a married woman, now."

Sally swallowed a laugh.

"It's alright, Hollis. I'm not offended."

"Well, that man is a menace." Hollis said.

"At least he's our menace. If he was on the other side, God help us all." Captain Metropolis replied.

The door opened again, and the Comedian leaned in.

"I almost forgot. You wanna go have a drink with me after work, Sal?"

Sally Jupiter shook her head.

"Go down to the docks and kill somebody, Eddie. And don't forget to duck when they shoot at you." She told him.

"You wanna come? I got a big tip off Moloch's movin' a huge shipment of dope in, tonight. He's gonna have a lot of muscle down there, tonight. Things might get real innarestin'."

"Oh yeah?" Sally replied.

She got up out of her chair.

"Sally, where are you going?" Hollis asked.

"To do my job. I got nothin' else to do tonight, anyway."

She reached into her bustier and pulled out a 9mm automatic.

Eddie winced.

"Jesus, Sal, that's too much for a guy to handle when he's wearin' iron underwear!"

"Yeah, you're a real laugh riot. You got an extra clip for this, Eddie?"

"In the car, sure."

"Let's go. But this is strictly business, buster. I'm not the wide-eyed would-be starlet I used to be. If you touch me, I'll shoot you right in the balls."

"Hey, Sal, I'd still pay good money to see youse in a movie. Mean an' every other guy in America. Especially the kind in the back rooms on 42nd Street."

Sally put the gun to the side of the Comedian's codpiece, where the zipper was.

Eddie put his hands up.

"Gee, Sal, how didja know where the zipper is? Ya musta been lookin' real hard."

Sally rolled her eyes.

"You just consider all this foreplay, don't you, Eddie, you crazy fuck? Well, you take a good look, because that's all you're going to get! C'mon, we got work to do. Pour some ice water down your codpiece and let's go."

"After youse. I insist."

"So you can look at my ass? Fat chance."

The Comedian and Silk Spectre left the building, in that order.

The Nite Owl watched the door for a few moments.

"Meeting adjourned." He finally said.

(Author's Note: Portrait of The Comedian As A Young Man, eh? Well, this might get interesting. Especially for Sally. And, for those of who who are not yet acquainted with Sophie Kauffmann and what Eddie did with the Invaders, click to my profile and check out "Full Adamantium Jacket")