Local Hero

you dig up some samples for me?”
    “Universal Comics, please hold.” The receptionist pushed another button. “You put him in a good mood, you’ve got my firstborn.”
    “Just the samples, Lou. Put on your helmet, Corporal. This could be messy.” He led Radley down a short hall into the big, brightly lit hub of activity. It was a series of cubicles with a high noise level and a look of chaos. Pinned to the corkboard walls were sketches, rude messages and an occasional photograph. In a corner was a pyramid made of empty soda cans. Someone was tossing wadded-up balls of paper at it.
    “Scorpion’s never been a joiner. What’s his motivation for hooking up with Worldwide Law and Justice?”
    A woman with pencils poking out of her wild red hair at dangerous angles shifted in her swivel chair. Her eyes, already huge, were accented by layers of liner and mascara. “Look, let’s be real. He can’t save the world’s water supply on his own. He needs someone like Atlantis.”
    A man sat across from her, eating an enormous pickle. “They hate each other. Ever since they bumped heads over the Triangular Affair.”
    “That’s the point, dummy. They’ll have to put personal feelings aside for the sake of mankind. It’s a moral.” Glancing over, she caught sight of Mitch. “Hey, Dr. Deadly’s poisoned the world’s water supply. Scorpion’s found an antidote. How’s he going to distribute it?”
    “Sounds like he’d better mend fences with Atlantis,” Mitch replied. “What do you think, Radley?”
    For a moment, Rad was so tongue-tied he could only stare. Then, taking a deep breath, he let the words blurt out. “I think they’d make a neat team, ’cause they’d always be fighting and trying to show each other up.”
    “I’m with you, kid.” The redhead held out her hand. “I’m M. J. Jones.”
    “Wow, really?” He wasn’t sure whether he was more impressed with meeting M. J. Jones or with discovering she was a woman. Mitch didn’t see the point in mentioning that she was one of the few in the business.
    “And this grouch over here is Rob Myers. You bring him as a shield, Mitch?” she asked without giving Rob time to swallow his pickle. They’d been married for six years, and she obviously enjoyed frustrating him.
    “Do I need one?”
    “If you don’t have something terrific in those tubes, I’d advise you to slip back out again.” She shoved aside a stack of preliminary sketches. “Maloney just quit, defected to Five Star.”
    “No kidding?”
    “Skinner’s been muttering about traitors all morning. And the snow didn’t help his mood. So if I were you . . . Oops, too late.” Respecting rats who deserted tyrannically captained ships, M.J. turned away and fell into deep discussion with her husband.
    “Dempsey, you were supposed to be in two hours ago.”
    Mitch gave his editor an ingratiating smile. “My alarm didn’t go off. This is Radley Wallace, a friend of mine. Rad, this is Rich Skinner.”
    Radley stared. Skinner looked exactly like Hank Wheeler, the tanklike and overbearing boss of Joe David, alias the Fly. Later, Mitch would tell him that the resemblance was no accident. Radley switched Taz’s leash to his other hand.
    “Hello, Mr. Skinner. I really like your comics. They’re lots better than Five Star. I hardly ever buy Five Star, because the stories aren’t as good.”
    “Right.” Skinner dragged a hand through his thinning hair. “Right,” he repeated with more conviction. “Don’t waste your allowance on Five Star, kid.”
    “No, sir.”
    “Mitch, you know you’re not supposed to bring that mutt in here.”
    “You know how Taz loves you.” On cue, Taz lifted his head and howled.
    Skinner started to swear, then remembered the boy. “You got something in those tubes, or did you just come by to brighten up my dull day?”
    “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”
    Grumbling, Skinner took the tubes and marched off. As Mitch started to follow, Radley grabbed at his hand. “Is he really mad?”
    “Sure. He likes being mad best.”
    “Is he going to yell at you like Hank Wheeler yells at the Fly?”
    “Maybe.”
    Radley swallowed and buried his hand in Mitch’s. “Okay.”
    Amused, Mitch led Radley into Skinner’s office, where the venetian blinds had been drawn to shut off any view of the snow. Skinner unrolled the contents of the first tube and spread them over his already cluttered desk. He didn’t sit, but loomed over them while