Peter Nowak - The Rise of Real-Life Superheroes

For Stan

Copyright 2020 Peter Nowak

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright, .

Douglas and McIntyre (2013) Ltd.

P.O. Box 219, Madeira Park, BC , V 0 N 2 H 0

www.douglas-mcintyre.com

Edited by Derek Fairbridge

Indexed by Blaine Willick

Cover illustration by Marcus To

Cover and text design by Shed Simas / Ona Design

Printed and bound in Canada

Printed on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council

Douglas and McIntyre acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: The rise of real-life superheroes : and the fall of everything else / Peter Nowak.

Names: Nowak, Peter, 1974- author.

Description: Includes index.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20200180649 | Canadiana (ebook) 20200180657 | ISBN 9781771622509 (softcover) | ISBN 9781771622516 ( HTML )

Subjects: LCSH : Vigilantes. | LCSH : Community activists. | LCSH : Heroes. | LCSH : Crime preventionCitizen participation.

Classification: LCC HV 7431 . N 69 2020 | DDC 364.4/3dc23

Many of the individuals in this book maintain secret identities and spoke with me on condition that I not reveal their real names. In such cases I did my best to verify their identities and the details of what they told me; I note in the text where I may have had my doubts as far as veracity is concerned.

Some individuals are less protective of their alter egos or gave permission to use their real names. Others have been unmasked in other media, court appearances and public documents, in which case Ive used their actual identities as well.

Meanwhile, back in Gotham City or rather, downtown San Diego our superheroes find themselves in a heap of trouble. Its a sweaty, ninety-degree night and a scowling, shirtless man is bounding around them like a boxer circling his opponent. Hes well muscled, over six feet tall, sporting the abs and pecs of a professional wrestler. He is wearing white pants and polished black leather shoes that match his cropped, shiny dark hair. His eyes are glassy, but laser focusedtwo black, beady pinpoints fixated on the six colorfully costumed individuals who are now backing into a defensive semicircle to meet his imminent attack. The shirtless man isnt the only problem, though. An older and clearly drunken gentleman, with tanned, leathery skin and white hair tucked beneath a baseball cap, is also instigating a fight, threatening on a second front. The air is thick with tension and humidity. You can almost see a collective thought bubble form over the heads of the superheroes, wondering: How did we get ourselves into this mess?

The situation arose a few moments earlier, when the shirtless man was still fully clothed. Surprised by the costumed people as they casually walked by him, he swatted at one of them, barely missing. When the superheroes didnt react, he followed them, then again tried to get their attention by attempting to force his way into a closed restaurant. It workedwhen they stopped to see what the commotion was, he approached them anew. Using the universal gesture for I want to fight, the shirted man thus became shirtless. The other man, meanwhile, approached from a different direction, swaying from side to side. Wearing a blue T-shirt and green cargo shorts, he was clad in the telltale uniform of a tourist. Like the shirtless man, he set to glaring at his targets, paying special attention to Grim, the tallest member of the costumed group. With a crooked smirk adorning his face, he began to poke Grim in his blue skull mask. Grim took exception. Sir, please stop, he said. Im going to have to stop you if you dont. The man, undaunted by the menacing skull speaking to him, grinned like a mischievous five-year-old and continued.

A showdown here outside Joltn Joes Gaslamp is now imminent. Two months ago, twenty-seven-year-old Corey Poole and a friend were engaged in a punching game inside the bar, named after New York Yankees slugger Joe DiMaggio, and they went too farPoole took one hit too many to the chest, then collapsed and died. Eager to prevent something similar from occurring, Grims teammatesself-styled real-life superheroes who call themselves the Xtreme Justice League ( XJL )maneuver themselves between the poking man and the bouncing man. The XJL members know from years of experience patrolling San Diegos Gaslamp District that bad things tend to happen when such individuals meet. They may have inadvertently created this problem themselves by virtue of their conspicuousness, but its also possible the two men would have run into each other independently, with a conflagration following. It happens all the timethese sorts of combustible elements have a habit of sparking larger blazes. Just like containing a fire on a submarine, compartmentalization is key.

Mr. Xtreme, wearing a combat helmet and fatigues, ski goggles and a purple cape, tries to defuse the bouncing man. Its okay, dude, just calm down, he says, his hands up in gentle assurance, like hes trying to soothe an angry bear. No one wants any trouble, just calm down and lets talk.

Grim, who has had enough of the poking, takes the opposite tack. He grabs the older mans wrist and twists downward. The man buckles like a tree felled by a chainsaw, going with the motion smoothly. Im sorry for this, Grim says to the man, now prone on the ground, but I warned you several times.

The takedown appears to give the shirtless man second thoughts about starting a tussle. He stops bouncing and his demeanor shifts from hostile to curious; he strikes up a conversation with Mr. Xtreme and Fallen Boy, who is wearing a black flak jacket, military fatigues and a domino mask. He says his name is Aaron and hes from Arizona. He and his friend, who had been quietly watching this encounter unfold from the sidelines, had been barhopping in the Gaslamp District. His friend explains that they were waiting for an Uber to pick them up when they spotted the costumed group. They just wanted to say hello.

Thats not entirely true. Aaron had indeed swiped an outstretched hand at Light Fists head as he passed by him a few moments earlier, but no one on the team had paid it any mind. Light Fist, dressed in green sweats, yellow motocross pads and ski goggles, hadnt even noticed.

The older, now-chastened man, meanwhile, needs help. Violet Valkyrie, an African-American woman wearing a purple jacket and sequined bandana across her face, learns his name is Oscar. Marshaling his concentration, Oscar pulls out his phone and dials a number, then hands it to her; his concerned wife answers. The couple are indeed tourists, Violet Valkyrie discovers, and Oscar had ventured into the Gaslamp alone for late-night drinks. Now, hes lost and fall-down drunk. Or, rather, takedown drunk.