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 7

The car had stopped. Its ignition was off. He was getting to detest cars. It would feel good to blow up some again.

He heard the crunching footsteps on the gravel as he squinted at the darkness rimming the glare of the yellow headlights. He turned to the driver beside him. "Get out here?"

"Yes, here," said the dark mustached little man, nodding in the semidarkness. The only illumination in the car was the greenish glow from the gauges on the Volvo's dashboard.

"Here," Boomer said, then worked the door handle, opening it, stepping out.

Someone spoke from the far edge of the lights. A body was partially visible. Hands held a submachine gun. "Welcome to Ankara, Herr Boomer," the voice said in English, the Turkish accent thick.

"A little bird told me cuckoo," Boomer said lifelessly.

"But only on the hour," the voice came back.

The Boomer hated passwords -- they were always stupid sounding. "Why does a Gray Wolf carry a submachine gun?"

"It works well," came back the voice in an amused tone from beyond the headlights. Then the body stepped fully into the glare, sporting the weapon hanging from its sling. The man lit a cigarette with a match that made a whooshing sound as it flared. The acrid smell of phosphorous stung Boomer's nostrils.

"It does, I guess. Where to from here?" Boomer queried.

"Two hours from now, a plane will fly you to Madrid with two stopovers. I have your travel papers. They aren't that good, but they will get you to Madrid. In Madrid, you will be given new papers. They will be very good. Then to America. I don't know what your name will be, Herr Boomer."

"So as long as they don't make me sound like a comic book villian."

The Turk said nothing, only smoked his cigarette.

***

In Gateway City, located on the West Coast of the United States, the police department received an urgent call from the First National Bank. Detectives Jim Corrigan and Wayne Hayes were excitedly greeted by the bank's manager.

At the entrance of the executive office of the bank, Corrigan asked the manager, "What's the trouble."

"Come into my office," the manager replied.

Within moments of entering the office, the bank manager pointed to another man and demanded, "Arrest this man! Even though he's been a clerk for us for the past ten years, he's been embezzling funds!"

The man looked as though he was shocked, regaining his composure, he declared to the detectives, "But it's not true, I tell you!"

Corrigan was taken back for moment as he tried to grasp on what was occurring in the bank. A sudden feeling came to him from a man sitting at another desk in the office. The detective walked over to the man and the feeling was even stronger.

Detective Corrigan asked the bespectacled man who was working on some paperwork, "And who are you?"

The man acted nervous, not expecting he would have to identify himself. "I'm Simmons, an accountant."

Simmons' mind began to race as he commanded himself, "Don't show any signs of nervousness. He can't possibly guess I'm guilty!"

But unfortunately for Simmons, Jim Corrigan possessed the ability to read minds. Corrigan quickly reached into the man's inner suit coat pocket and pulled out a legal-looking paper.

Corrigan examined the contents of the paper rapidly. Looking at the man, he said, "A $10,000 bond! Quite a luxury for an accountant!'

The man attempted to grab the paper away from Corrigan's hand. "Give me that!" he demanded.

Corrigan looked to the others in the room and pointed to the bank accountant. The police detective said, "There's the real criminal!"

The bank manager was dumbfounded by this revelation. "Simmons? Incredible!" he said.

The outraged accountant started to reach for something inside his right-hand suit coat pocket as he said, "Keep your hands up!" In his hands was a small pistol. "I'm clearing out of here and none of you try to stop me!"

Keeping the gun trained on the four men in the room, Simmons began to back toward the room's exit. Invisible to the others, the figure of The Spectre emerged from Jim Corrigan's body.

With his back almost to the door, Simmons told the four men, "Keep back!"

Reaching behind him, the accountant turned the doorknob and opened the door. He turned to leave but stopped dead in his tracks at the frightening sight that stood before him. "Huh?" escaped from his lips.

In a deep, dark voice, The Spectre asked the man, "Not thinking of leaving, are you?"

Scared out of his wits, the eyes behind Simmons' glasses were wide with terror as he asked the tall figure who wore a green hood and cape with green trunks and boots over dead white tights, "Wh--who in blazes are you?"

The Spectre replied, "Someone who intends to see to it that you don't thwart justice."

The Spectre's figure and voice were apparent only to Simmons. Corrigan, of course, knew The Spectre was responsible for the man's strange behavior. But the other three men -- the bank manager, the wrongly accused embezzler and Detective Hayes -- did not see or hear what the accountant was responding to.

Corrigan played up the charade of not knowing what was happening. He said to the others, "He's talking to himself!"

"The man's mad!" observed Hayes.

The men in the room watched as the terrorized Simmons pointed the gun and pulled the trigger three times toward seemingly nothing at the door.

"I know the gun's loaded --" he said to The Spectre, "-- But the bullets aren't coming out!"

The deep voice replied, "Because I willed it so."

The Spectre moved closer toward Simmons and grabbed the man by the lapels of his suit coat. He looked deep into the accountant's eyes and asked, "Will you confess your crime or do you prefer to come into the Valley of Death with me?"

Simmons backed away in horror after The Spectre released his coat. Almost in hysterics, he said staring at seemingly nothing in the room, "Those terrible eyes -- I can't bear to look into them! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

Turning to the other men in the room, the accountant made a startling declaration, "I'll confess! I did it! I'll tell everything!"

Detective Hayes was dumbfounded by the turn of events. He said, "That's odd -- just as he was escaping, he confessed of his own free will."

***

Much later, after Corrigan and Hayes processed their prisoner at police headquarters, the two men stepped out into the night air.

Hayes said to Corrigan, "How about spending some time together -- like old times?"

"Sorry," Jim replied quickly. "Can't make it!" He offered no further excuse. But in his mind he thought, "A ghost can't follow normal pursuits."

It was dark out and Corrigan began to cross the street from headquarters.

Suddenly, Hayes yelled out, "JIM! LOOK OUT!"

An older-model red-colored truck was barrelling down on Jim with no headlights on. The warning from Detective Hayes came too late. Corrigan had no opportunity to move and the truck struck him square in the back. Jim Corrigan's body was thrown several feet onto the pavement.

Hayes immediately rushed to where his partner's body lay in the street. He was horrified by what he had just witnessed. Shaking a fist at the truck that never stopped, he said over Corrigan's body, "Those cold-blooded killers! They've murdered Jim -- They've ..."

Hayes' curses came to an abrupt halt when he suddenly watched Corrigan sit up -- seemingly unhurt. Jim said to his partner, "Calm down! I'm just a little shaken up -- but no broken bones."

Hayes was astounded as Jim stood up with very little effort. Wayne asked, "You mean you're unhurt? It's a miracle!"

Corrigan, rubbed his elbow and replied, "Just lucky, I guess."

Inside the truck which was now several blocks away from where it hit Jim Corrigan, the rough-looking driver said to his equally seedy-looking passenger, "I swore that'd I get that interfering cop -- an' I always keep my word!"

Back on the street in front of police headquarters, Hayes was unable to observe that The Spectre had emerged into existence and started in pursuit of the fleeing truck.

The Spectre flew like the wind after its target that carried two criminals inside.

Now that it was safe distance away from the scene of the crime, the driver of the truck checked his speedometer to make sure he wasn't speeding. It would do no good to be caught speeding at this juncture in their getaway. As his eyes started to move back onto the road, the driver was shocked at the impossible sight that sat before him.

"What the --?!" the man exclaimed. "Someone's sitting on the hood! B-but how ...?"

Sitting on the hood of the truck was the terrifying image of The Spectre. The fighter of evil was staring hard at the two men inside the truck as it continued to move down the road.

The truck was now in the hills of Gateway City. It was on a winding road near the would-be murderers hideout. The winding hill road had no guardrails at the side to prevent a vehicle from falling off the road and into a deep ravine.

Though frightened, the driver could only think of escape in his mind and continued moving even though there was a strange man sitting on his hood. Perhaps the terrible-looking man would fall off and the criminals could continue on their way, the driver hoped.

Instead, however, the face of the monstrous figure on hood began to grow to inhuman proportions. Larger and larger the Spectre's face grew until the driver could no longer see the road. The Spectre's face now consumed the entire windshield.

The driver cried out, "He--he ain't human!"

The passenger threw his arms across his face and said, "Those terrible eyes -- they burn into your very soul!"

The driver of the truck was frozen with horror. He lost control of the vehicle and it hurtled off the edge of road headed for the bottom of the ravine. But instead of falling -- the truck remained suspended in mid-air as though a giant hand was holding it.

"HEY!" the truck passenger exclaimed.

The driver yelled, "WHAT?!"

Defying the laws of nature, the truck moved upward in the air and was magically placed back on the road again to continue its journey.

Inside the vehicle, the passenger said in obvious relief, "I--I still can't believe it! It's -- it's ..."

"Whether we were dreamin' or not -- we're clearin' out of here!" the driver said to his cohort.

Unseen behind the truck, to the side of the road, The Spectre himself was mystified by what had happened. He said to himself, "That's odd! The truck's behavior wasn't my doing. Then how ...?"

Behind the man who battled evil for the might of God, an accented voice answered what was supposed to had been a rhertorical question. "Permit me to take the credit."

The Spectre whirled around and he saw the figure of an older man dressed in dark evening clothes with a top hat. The man had a mustache and a pointed goatee.

The Spectre asked the man, "But how could ...?"

The man spoke with the air of authority and power, "I am ZOR! Like yourself, a spirit confined to Earth -- only through the centuries I have spread evil upon this world."

Immediately upon hearing the word evil, The Spectre backed away from the strange man. The Spectre became more wary of this apparent adversary.

"Your career ends NOW!" declared the Spectre.

Where ordinary men would had cringed at the sight of the Spectre, Zor only laughed at the hooded figure and replied, "We shall see!"

The two powerful figures prepared to square off against one another.

A fantastic struggle ensued as the two strange figures -- unseen to anyone else -- began to swiftly grow in size. Zor threw a hard right fist into the body of the Spectre. The battler of evil stumbled a few steps back and realized he was fighting a being with immense power.

Within minutes, the two mighty titans towered over the countryside. They continued to grow as they traded punches. The Spectre managed to rock the giant Zor with right fist to the jaw. Zor's head snapped back from the blow.

Larger and larger to the two super-natural beings grew. So immense that they soon reached the blackness of space. The battle of who could outgrow who was taxing the Spectre's vast powers.

Taller and taller they grew until finally The Sprecte reached his limit and acknowledged, "I--can't--equal--your--size!"

Zor, who was now towering over The Spectre, sneered and replied, "Fool! Time has made me your superior!"

Even though he knew he could cause physcial damage to The Spectre at the moment, Zor told his adversary, "I leave you now to bring you real anguish."

Like the magician that he resembled, there was suddenly a large puff of smoke and Zor was gone! He disappeared, literally, into thin air.

The Spectre said to himself, "Alone! He's gone!"

The events that The Spectre had involved himself in had only taken mere moments in real time on earth. Back in front of the Gateway City Police headquarters, Detective Wayne Hayes was still questioning the well-being of his partner, Jim Corrigan. "You're certain you are all right?"

Brushing off his clothes, Corrigan replied, "Positive!"

In his mind though, Corrigan was thinking back to the clash that The Spectre had just gone through. He thought, "I wonder what Zor meant by his threat?"

Minutes later, Corrigan got into his car and headed for his home. As he was driving, he was struck by a fearful thought and soon afterwards an idea came to his mind.

He said to himself in the car, "I need assistance."

Once at his apartment, he walked swiftly to his phone and dialed a special number. A number that was electronically rerouted automatically to other phones around the United States. Over the receiver, Corrigan heard what sounded like two sounds of someone picking up the phone but no one offered a greeting. Soon Corrigan gave a cryptic message. "Uncle Jim in Gateway City has passed away. Maybe you could go there and help with the arrangements?" Then he hung up.

Looking at the black telephone with the roatry dial, Corrigan only hoped that assistance would arrive quickly.

TO BE CONTINUED ....

***

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