Thunderball sits in singlet and jeans, on his small, thin bed, in his loser’s apartment. Ten dollars a night, pay as you go. Stains on the mattress, cracks in the walls. He looks out the window at Chicago, two floors below. Another train rattles by on rusted steel stilts, as if trying to fall, shaking his coffee off the gas heater.
“Shit!” he curses.
I want more than this, he thinks. I want more, damn it!
He looks around, the room is so damn small! Like a cell.
Dirk Garthwaite, the Wrecker, is sleeping on a chair, his feet on the bed Thunderball is lying on. Thunderball moves the feet away.
“Fucking Blues Brothers…” he mumbles.
He stands, looking hard over his shoulder at his wrecking ball in the corner, a few empty beer bottles on it. He kicks through all the empty beer cans and goes down the stairs, to the ground floor, which is a seedy bar with pool tables.
He comes face-to-face with Clint Barton. At first, they say nothing.
“And who are you?” Barton asks, deadpan, glaring up at the much bigger man.
There is another moment’s silence, as if they are sizing each other up.
“Nobody. And you…?”
More silence.
“Was just leaving. Still am.”
Barton goes. Thunderball plays while looking around.
Men’s world, he thinks. How far is the nearest woman from here? In a city? The nearest one worth a damn?
The grey haired, skinny man shooting says: “Just ‘cause your built, doesn’t mean you can play for shit.”
Garthwaite, comes down the stairs, watching Thunderball play pool.
“Rack ‘em up again,” the grey haired man says.
Thunderball racks them and breaks while Garthwaite goes to the bar, buying them both a beer. Thunderball takes his and keeps playing.
“Well, enough catching up. Let’s talk business,” Garthwaite says. “Parker has another job lined up.”
“Oi, Dirk, do you mind?” Thunderball protests, looking at the barflies.
“Fuck, Eliot, as if they’ll rat! Everyone here’s been slotted. Who gives a shit?”
“What’s slotted?” the old man asks.
“Done time, Pops. In the can.”
“Dirk…” Thunderball moans.
They take a six-pack each to the roof.
“So, Parker-“
“Fuck Parker. I’m out.”
“Out?” Garthwaite laughs. “Out?! Hahaha! You wouldn’t know how.”
“Check it, man. I’m shrinking back down. Haven’t touched the ball in weeks.”
“Why, you bloody idiot?”
“I want something more. More than this.”
“Fuck that. Don’t even know what you mean.”
“Look around.”
“Do a job. This shithole, being slotted. it’s just, like, crim tax. It never lasts. The betweens are brilliant! Booze, birds, we own the fucking world, bloke! You know that!”
“I used to be smart, Dirk!”
“What?” Garthwaite protests. “So yer smart? Common knowledge. The Black Bruce Banner. So what?”
“Nah, I used to be, man. You, you’re an animal. I love ya for it, you’re my best friend. Piledriver, he was always just a ‘roided up pretty boy, even before what happened to us happened. Bulldozer, who knows what the fuck he is?”
“Ha. Hear ya.”
“But I used to be scientist, man.”
“What, Stark smart?”
Thunderball gives the Wrecker a dirty look.
“Okay, who then? Tinker smart? Forster smart?”
“Sorta. Once upon. He had more money, more funding.”
“Well, he’s dead!”
“Fuck you. I’m still Beast smart, Spiderman smart. That gooey web shit, that’s an invention, that’s worth somethin’.”
“Spiderman? Spiderboy? The bloke’s a kid!”
“Still…”
“Eliot, you sound like a junkie, man! Sooky, sooky. I don’t wanna. I could this, I could that. If only this, if not for that.”
“Don’t you want more? To do something. Anything. Doesn’t it make you cross-eyed angry?”
“Nah, that’s not us.”
“Not you.”
“Not us.”
“Okay…. You want more power?”
“Sure, who don’t?”
“Let me go, man. I’m the reason you can’t beat Thor. Me and the others. I figured it. As badass as you are, and you plenty badass, your power’s been quartered. You really wanna make the grade, feed that ego? Ditch us.”
“No need to get personal, bloke.”
“Why the fuck do you keep saying ‘bloke’!?”
“Watched Crocodile Dundee again before I came over, didn’t I!” Dirk grins. “That’s not a knife! Love that fucking movie.”
“Dirk, dude, stop dating yourself!”
“I do what I want. We’re immortal now!”
“You don’t know that.”
“I haven’t aged a day since we got powered up!”
“You don’t know that either. I love ya, but I’m out.”
Garthwaite is sitting on a milk crate, popping four beers and drinking them at once.
“Parker won’t let ya.”
“I ain’t afraid of him,” Thunderball says, a bitter steel all over his face.
Garthwaite leans over, grabbing Thunderball’s beers and starts drinking them, too.
“He’s got three or four that could take ya.”
“Ain’t scared of dying, Dirk. Never was.”
Garthwaite looks hard at Thunderball, who stares back.
“I could kill him,” Thunderball says.
“No you couldn’t.”
“With your power, and the other two’s. I’d be Godded-up.”
“Even if I agreed to that, the other two wouldn’t. C’m’on, man! I know I’d be stronger without the three of ya, but we’re the Crew!”
“Don’t care. Out.”
Garthwaite gets right in his face.
“What the hell do you want, man!?”
“I DON’T KNOW! DREAMS, DIRK! I want DREAMS! I see all those shiny fuckers we fight shooting about, as if they actually have somewhere to go, as if they actually have something to do… and I’m jealous as all hell! Of every one of them! I’m SURE that’s why we lose so much! They got DREAMS! They’re building something.”
“Yeah, well, when you’ve fought the Beyonder, it’s a bit hard to go back to competing with a kid to build the goo that goes into web shooters.”
“Spidy managed.”
“He’s young, you ain’t.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“You need kids.”
“Don’t I really know it.”
Garthwaite looks out at the passing train.
“You’ll be back,” he says, walking to the fire ladder. “If Parker doesn’t kill ya.”
“You won’t let him,” Thunderball smirks.
“Maybe.”
“Most of ‘em can’t stop me. The Controller can’t control anything mystical. Living Laser hurts, but big whoop. I’m used to hurtin’. I’ll go straight for the Griffin or Robins. I ain’t got no family he can hold over me, I’m untouchable.”
“You got me.”
Thunderball pauses, turning his stare from the horizon back to the Wrecker.
“He wouldn’t…”
Garthwaite, on the stairs, says nothing.
“That’s a cheap card, man!” Thunderball says.
“Just sayin’.”
“Then fuck him. You’re the Wrecker, dude! The Wrecker! Line in the sand time. Let’s do it, let’s kill him.”
“He’s probably listening now.”
“Don’t give a shit, man.”
“I like the money.”
“A decision is made, then. I’m out. I’ll miss ya.”
“You were always the only one of us who was never in it for the dollars. The Beyonder or goo. You’ll be back.”
“I doubt it.”
Garthwaite’s voice drifts up from down in the alley, somewhere.
“Yer weak, Eliot, we all are. You'll be back, or murdered.”
Thunderball looks over the edge.
“I wanna have dreams, man!”
“But you don’t, do ya?”
Later, Thunderball returns to playing pool with the skinny, grey-haired man, then, with a bald black man, then, with a bikie. Then an Hispanic cool-cat. So much of playing billiards is simply holding your cue, waiting for your shot, killing time. The bar is always smoky, despite the no smoking signs. No women come in, no-one ever feeds the jukebox.
Days, nights and dusks pass, Thunderball is back playing the old man, leaning against the wall, waiting his go. Tears start rolling down his face. He sits, hand over his eyes, tears running down his palm, mumbling to himself.
”Fuck you, Dirk. Just because you know me, you think you know me...”
“What’s that?” the grey-haired man coughs.
Thunderball doesn’t hear him. Head still lowered, he says.
“This power, it’s already killed me.”
“Speak up, loser!”
Thunderball lifts his head.
“I used to be a scientist.”
“So? Ya want me to fart in your honour or somethin’?” the grey-haired man says. “Watch me sink this seven ball! They’ll write songs about this shot!”
The old man buckles over in another one of his coughing fits, while, head lowered, face lost in shadow, Thunderball presses a number on his mobile.
“Parker? I’m in,” he says.
“Aren’t you going to try to off me?” the Hood’s voice asks. Thunderball can almost see the smirk.
“Don’t push it.”
“The Wrecker will be… relieved,” Parker’s voice says. “Met us on the roof in five minutes.”
“Shit!” he curses.
I want more than this, he thinks. I want more, damn it!
He looks around, the room is so damn small! Like a cell.
Dirk Garthwaite, the Wrecker, is sleeping on a chair, his feet on the bed Thunderball is lying on. Thunderball moves the feet away.
“Fucking Blues Brothers…” he mumbles.
He stands, looking hard over his shoulder at his wrecking ball in the corner, a few empty beer bottles on it. He kicks through all the empty beer cans and goes down the stairs, to the ground floor, which is a seedy bar with pool tables.
He comes face-to-face with Clint Barton. At first, they say nothing.
“And who are you?” Barton asks, deadpan, glaring up at the much bigger man.
There is another moment’s silence, as if they are sizing each other up.
“Nobody. And you…?”
More silence.
“Was just leaving. Still am.”
Barton goes. Thunderball plays while looking around.
Men’s world, he thinks. How far is the nearest woman from here? In a city? The nearest one worth a damn?
The grey haired, skinny man shooting says: “Just ‘cause your built, doesn’t mean you can play for shit.”
Garthwaite, comes down the stairs, watching Thunderball play pool.
“Rack ‘em up again,” the grey haired man says.
Thunderball racks them and breaks while Garthwaite goes to the bar, buying them both a beer. Thunderball takes his and keeps playing.
“Well, enough catching up. Let’s talk business,” Garthwaite says. “Parker has another job lined up.”
“Oi, Dirk, do you mind?” Thunderball protests, looking at the barflies.
“Fuck, Eliot, as if they’ll rat! Everyone here’s been slotted. Who gives a shit?”
“What’s slotted?” the old man asks.
“Done time, Pops. In the can.”
“Dirk…” Thunderball moans.
They take a six-pack each to the roof.
“So, Parker-“
“Fuck Parker. I’m out.”
“Out?” Garthwaite laughs. “Out?! Hahaha! You wouldn’t know how.”
“Check it, man. I’m shrinking back down. Haven’t touched the ball in weeks.”
“Why, you bloody idiot?”
“I want something more. More than this.”
“Fuck that. Don’t even know what you mean.”
“Look around.”
“Do a job. This shithole, being slotted. it’s just, like, crim tax. It never lasts. The betweens are brilliant! Booze, birds, we own the fucking world, bloke! You know that!”
“I used to be smart, Dirk!”
“What?” Garthwaite protests. “So yer smart? Common knowledge. The Black Bruce Banner. So what?”
“Nah, I used to be, man. You, you’re an animal. I love ya for it, you’re my best friend. Piledriver, he was always just a ‘roided up pretty boy, even before what happened to us happened. Bulldozer, who knows what the fuck he is?”
“Ha. Hear ya.”
“But I used to be scientist, man.”
“What, Stark smart?”
Thunderball gives the Wrecker a dirty look.
“Okay, who then? Tinker smart? Forster smart?”
“Sorta. Once upon. He had more money, more funding.”
“Well, he’s dead!”
“Fuck you. I’m still Beast smart, Spiderman smart. That gooey web shit, that’s an invention, that’s worth somethin’.”
“Spiderman? Spiderboy? The bloke’s a kid!”
“Still…”
“Eliot, you sound like a junkie, man! Sooky, sooky. I don’t wanna. I could this, I could that. If only this, if not for that.”
“Don’t you want more? To do something. Anything. Doesn’t it make you cross-eyed angry?”
“Nah, that’s not us.”
“Not you.”
“Not us.”
“Okay…. You want more power?”
“Sure, who don’t?”
“Let me go, man. I’m the reason you can’t beat Thor. Me and the others. I figured it. As badass as you are, and you plenty badass, your power’s been quartered. You really wanna make the grade, feed that ego? Ditch us.”
“No need to get personal, bloke.”
“Why the fuck do you keep saying ‘bloke’!?”
“Watched Crocodile Dundee again before I came over, didn’t I!” Dirk grins. “That’s not a knife! Love that fucking movie.”
“Dirk, dude, stop dating yourself!”
“I do what I want. We’re immortal now!”
“You don’t know that.”
“I haven’t aged a day since we got powered up!”
“You don’t know that either. I love ya, but I’m out.”
Garthwaite is sitting on a milk crate, popping four beers and drinking them at once.
“Parker won’t let ya.”
“I ain’t afraid of him,” Thunderball says, a bitter steel all over his face.
Garthwaite leans over, grabbing Thunderball’s beers and starts drinking them, too.
“He’s got three or four that could take ya.”
“Ain’t scared of dying, Dirk. Never was.”
Garthwaite looks hard at Thunderball, who stares back.
“I could kill him,” Thunderball says.
“No you couldn’t.”
“With your power, and the other two’s. I’d be Godded-up.”
“Even if I agreed to that, the other two wouldn’t. C’m’on, man! I know I’d be stronger without the three of ya, but we’re the Crew!”
“Don’t care. Out.”
Garthwaite gets right in his face.
“What the hell do you want, man!?”
“I DON’T KNOW! DREAMS, DIRK! I want DREAMS! I see all those shiny fuckers we fight shooting about, as if they actually have somewhere to go, as if they actually have something to do… and I’m jealous as all hell! Of every one of them! I’m SURE that’s why we lose so much! They got DREAMS! They’re building something.”
“Yeah, well, when you’ve fought the Beyonder, it’s a bit hard to go back to competing with a kid to build the goo that goes into web shooters.”
“Spidy managed.”
“He’s young, you ain’t.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“You need kids.”
“Don’t I really know it.”
Garthwaite looks out at the passing train.
“You’ll be back,” he says, walking to the fire ladder. “If Parker doesn’t kill ya.”
“You won’t let him,” Thunderball smirks.
“Maybe.”
“Most of ‘em can’t stop me. The Controller can’t control anything mystical. Living Laser hurts, but big whoop. I’m used to hurtin’. I’ll go straight for the Griffin or Robins. I ain’t got no family he can hold over me, I’m untouchable.”
“You got me.”
Thunderball pauses, turning his stare from the horizon back to the Wrecker.
“He wouldn’t…”
Garthwaite, on the stairs, says nothing.
“That’s a cheap card, man!” Thunderball says.
“Just sayin’.”
“Then fuck him. You’re the Wrecker, dude! The Wrecker! Line in the sand time. Let’s do it, let’s kill him.”
“He’s probably listening now.”
“Don’t give a shit, man.”
“I like the money.”
“A decision is made, then. I’m out. I’ll miss ya.”
“You were always the only one of us who was never in it for the dollars. The Beyonder or goo. You’ll be back.”
“I doubt it.”
Garthwaite’s voice drifts up from down in the alley, somewhere.
“Yer weak, Eliot, we all are. You'll be back, or murdered.”
Thunderball looks over the edge.
“I wanna have dreams, man!”
“But you don’t, do ya?”
Later, Thunderball returns to playing pool with the skinny, grey-haired man, then, with a bald black man, then, with a bikie. Then an Hispanic cool-cat. So much of playing billiards is simply holding your cue, waiting for your shot, killing time. The bar is always smoky, despite the no smoking signs. No women come in, no-one ever feeds the jukebox.
Days, nights and dusks pass, Thunderball is back playing the old man, leaning against the wall, waiting his go. Tears start rolling down his face. He sits, hand over his eyes, tears running down his palm, mumbling to himself.
”Fuck you, Dirk. Just because you know me, you think you know me...”
“What’s that?” the grey-haired man coughs.
Thunderball doesn’t hear him. Head still lowered, he says.
“This power, it’s already killed me.”
“Speak up, loser!”
Thunderball lifts his head.
“I used to be a scientist.”
“So? Ya want me to fart in your honour or somethin’?” the grey-haired man says. “Watch me sink this seven ball! They’ll write songs about this shot!”
The old man buckles over in another one of his coughing fits, while, head lowered, face lost in shadow, Thunderball presses a number on his mobile.
“Parker? I’m in,” he says.
“Aren’t you going to try to off me?” the Hood’s voice asks. Thunderball can almost see the smirk.
“Don’t push it.”
“The Wrecker will be… relieved,” Parker’s voice says. “Met us on the roof in five minutes.”
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