JSA: Atrocity
By Bruce Wayne
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.
An Elseworld's story: Stories, situation or events involving familiar characters in unfamiliar settings.
Chapter 6
Doctor Charles McNider was having difficulty adjusting his lap belt. The auburn-haired, blue-eyed stewardess leaned down as she passed him.
"May I help you with that, Dr McNider?"
"Yes. Yes, you may," he said, smiling up at the voice.
The woman brushed back a lock of hair with a pink manicured fingernail and returned the smile. "Let me help you," she offered again.
"You're a lovely woman, I can tell by the sound of your voice," McNider, who was legally blind, told her, feeling rather silly saying this, but powerless not to.
She smiled. Through the lenses of the special dark glasses he wore, he saw it was a warm pretty smile, inviting. "Thank you very much, sir." Then she reached down and gave a final tug to his lap belt.
"What's your name?" He'd never asked a stewardess her name before.
"Johanna, sir. Are you comfortable now? We'll be landing shortly at Heathrow according to the captain."
"Yes, very comfortable, Johanna." He smiled toward the sound of her voice.
They were still approaching Heathrow Airport in the Boeing 707 airliner. Johanna came back and sat in the empty seat beside him. "I understand you're a crime writer," she said, looking at the glasses that covered his eyes. He could feel her piercing gaze. "It sounds like an interesting profession."
"I imagine men must say that to you constantly -- as a stewardess."
She smiled, nodding only slightly, still looking at him.
"It's really rather a dull job, I confess. I just write detective stories for people's amusement."
She only smiled.
"But what do you do, then?" she asked.
"Before I write my stories, I do some research of the locales that I base my stories on. On this trip, I was studying Hamburg for an upcoming story."
"But what do you do?" she repeated.
"Well, I try to write exciting fictionalized accounts of detective work. And on occassion I will write editorials about organized crime and the effort -- and in most cases -- non-effort that is done to combat it. I often visit various police agencies, such as Interpol, Scotland Yard, the Surete, the FBI."
"Have you met the American -- oh, what's his name? Hoover? J Edgar Hoover? The American police chief?"
"He'd probably cringe at your description of being called a police chief," he laughed, feeling happy, expansive. If there hadn't been the dinner appointment with Diana Prince and Ted Grant, he would have dared ask her out. But he wondered if he would have. "All I do is gather together some information on criminals."
But you are ... are ... impaired. Your eyesight --?"
The blonde-haired man smiled and tapped his head with his forefinger. "I keep it all up here."
"I imagine you write about murderers. I shudder at the thought of people doing such horrible things. I guess it makes me afraid." She smiled, looking at him.
He licked his lips. "I, er, Johanna. Do you, I mean, well, perhaps I shouldn't ask or mention this -- no, I shouldn't."
"I can't tonight, Charles."
"Well, actually, I can't either. But I suppose it's always the same for you ... I mean, suitors hovering about and all ... a girl like you."
She seemed to laugh -- perhaps a private joke, but he never thought she was laughing at him. "Some other time," she said, looking down at her hands folded in the lap of her skirt.
He licked his lips again. "Yes, I'd like that very much, Johanna."
"Do you have a card? I could give you my phone number."
But, alas, my dear, a number on a card would do me no good."
She clasped her hand to her mouth. "Oh, I am so sorry! Forgive me. I --"
"No apology necessary, my dear," he said. "In fact, I'm flattered that you forgot. Just tell me your number and I'll remember it. How could I forget such a charming young woman, such as yourself?"
She told him the number and then said, "It's just an answering service. I share it with some of the other girls."
He produced a card and handed it to her.
"My number, if you, er, ever need ..."
Her left hand reached out, rested for the briefest instant over his right, and then she stood. "I won't forget," she promised as she edged past him.
He felt silly for saying it. "Neither will I." Unbeknownst to her, he watched her walk down the aisle away from him.
***
"Ted, how often is it that I talk with you?"
"About once every two months or so."
"How many times have I bought you dinner only to have you refuse to consider helping us put the old team back together?"
"Counting this time?" Ted Grant smiled, sipping at his glass of ice water. "This makes eight times."
"Dammit, Ted, the world needs the team back together again. Just look at that affair yesterday at Marchand's."
"You make it up into the foundations department much, Charles?"
"Don't attempt to be humorous, Ted. We're really serious," Diana Prince interrupted.
Dr Charles McNider watched him smile. Ted's blue eyes were laughing.
"I'm not really trying to be funny, Diana. I'm really flattered that you would want me back on the old team. But I'm not interested." He set down his glass. "Now you can wine me and dine me in another sixty days or so -- I'll never pass up a free meal -- but the answer'll be the same, Charles."
"But we need you, Ted!" McNider pleaded. "You abilities are needed in the fight."
"Bullshit," Ted told him calmly. Then he looked to Diana. "Pardon my French, Diana."
Her look was enough to scold him.
McNider wasn't giving up easily. "Look, for about ten years we all teamed up and dealt with very serious problems." He lowered his voice. "How many
times did we save the world from disaster? From supervillians? From would-be world dominators?"
"We did indeed do that, old friend," Grant replied. "I'm not denying that for one minute."
"Quite. We need someone who knows how to fight." McNider looked to Diana for an instant. "Ted, Diana and I agree you were the soul of the team. You were instrumental in keeping us together to work as a team."
"That was before the government succeeded in breaking us up back in '51," Ted replied. "Good God, Charles, don't you remember how humiliating that was to be summoned before the House Committee on Un-American affairs?"
McNider shot back quickly, "Those were the days of McCarthyism. Nothing was sacred and they implied we had ties to foreign agencies with interests contrary to those of the United States."
"A total fabrication," Diana piped up.
"Yes," continued McNider, "But accordingly, the Committee demanded that the team surrender our true identities and submit to an interrogation in order to maintain our status as a legitimate legal organization."
"Charles? Remember?" Grant interrupted. "I was there. I found the whole thing disgusting. It's why I got out of the hero business."
"Good God, there's no man as skilled with his fists as you are," the doctor said. "You know how to track down criminals."
"Got boring," Grant said.
"This wouldn't be boring," Diana said, leaning back in her chair.
"I'm sure it wouldn't," Ted agreed. "But I'm not bored with what I do now. I travel all over the world teaching self-defense. I have my own gym in Queens. I make a good living. I've got a little bungalow -- on time with the mortgage payments and everything. What's wrong with the life I live?"
"What's wrong with doing the same thing you did yesterday, but with us?" McNider asked.
Ted Grant smiled. "You mean play fisticuffs with criminals?"
"Yes, not just trade fisticuffs, but tracking them down," Diana replied.
"I get involved in the fighting end of things very little these days. You know that, Diana."
McNider was still pleading but in low tones so that he couldn't be overheard in the restaurant. "We need you -- as Wildcat. You're the heart of the old team."
Grant laughed. "Charles? You've been reading too many of those thriller novels you write, watching too many movies."
Diana sat bolt upright, took a swallow of her water, then said, "You know my position with military intelligence? We are now seeing assessments in regards to terrifying weapons that can wipe out entire populations in the blink of an eye. Atomic and hydrogen bombs. There is chemical weapons, like Mustard Gas. There is even a report that they might resort to using manmade diseases as weapons, like the bubonic plague or something. Ted, sooner or later some evil forces will attempt to join together and acquire these horrific weapons to use against innocent people. And what is there to oppose them? Cooperating police departments? There is Interpol, which isn't an enforcement agency at all, as you know. There are various intelligence organizations, but they never tell all they know. The world needs the JSA to protect it from the evildoers who might do it harm."
Ted Grant considered Diana Prince's words very carefully. When she explained it in that manner, he thought, she was right.
Grant let out a sigh and then asked, "Who all else is in, so far?"
McNider's face lit up. "We have Bruce in Gotham ..."
"And that terrific gentleman, Terry, in Gateway City," Diana Chimed in with a cyptic identification.
"Rex is in and so is Carter and Shiera," the doctor added.
"The sleepy one, Wesley," Diana said. "Of Course, our little friend, Al, would never want to be left out."
"And ..." There was a long pause from McNider as he hesitated to mention the last name.
"And who?" prodded Grant.
"Our friend, the police detective, from Gateway City. He used to be from New York," Charles explained.
Ted Grant laughed. "Him? You got him? You got ol' spooky to go along with this?"
Diana Prince smiled. "Yes. He seemed most eager to combine forces. If there is anything he despises -- it's evil."
"What about the others? What about Alan and Jay? And how about Dinah?" Ted asked.
"We haven't been able to get around to everybody yet, Ted." McNider said. "But we will in due time. But we really wanted to get you on board. With you back, I'm sure everyone will agree."
"I haven't said I was in, yet."
"Ted?!" Diana exclaimed in a disappointed tone.
Ted Grant smiled and took Diana's hand in his and kissed it. "How could I ever say no to you, such a wonderful woman?"
Diana beamed at him. McNider's face also had a big smile.
"Great! We're just about ready for anything now," McNider said.
***
Bruce Wayne stood under the steaming hot shower. His hands were lathering soap over his body.
Crime was starting to get out of control, and that was obvious to anyone, Bruce realized. Not just in Gotham City, but everywhere.
He had received a coded telegram from Diana Prince informing him that eighty-odd people who had been hostages at Marchand's department store in London had been saved by Wildcat and Wildcat was now on board as a returning member of the Justice Society of America.
The goal of the JSA was to stop evildoers -- as many and as often as possible. Save lives and vast sums of money.
Bruce set the soap down. He let the hard spray pelt his body. Then he turned the water straight cold.
After getting out of the shower and drying himself, he looked at the clock. It was almost 5:30 A.M. He had just gotten in from being out on patrol and had collected some clues regarding The Penguin's latest scheme.
The JSA was getting back together again. Bruce thought the time was right because something in his gut told him -- they were all going to be needed sometime in the near future. Crime had finished it's holiday during the 50's. The 1960's, he predicted, were going to be a troubling time.
***
The Boomer heads for America. Rex Tyler continues on his journey. We meet The Sprectre, Hawkman, and The Atom as they work on a case in chapter 7.
***
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