When he was ten, the boy who would grow up to become El Luchador boarded a bus one weekend afternoon and showed the driver his pass. The driver looked at the card, the boy, and beyond to parents who were not there.

“Everything okay, kid?” the driver asked.

“Yes,” the boy replied. “I am going to the VA Hospital to visit my uncle. My parents are working, so they send me.”

Mexicans, the driver thought. What can you do? In truth, the boy had been born in a country south of Mexico, but men such as the driver were unconcerned with nuance. He shrugged, and waved the boy to his seat. As long as the kid was not an obvious runaway.

The boy had committed the route to memory. He watched Skyscraper City go by through the bus window, looked at what he could from the stops while waiting for his next connection, and kept an eye on his surroundings. He was stocky, and a formidable defender on his soccer team, but a Hispanic kid was all but invisible in public. Still, it was smart to watch.

The VA Hospital was just off the river, near the East Beltline freeway. The bus stopped in front of the hospital, and the boy jogged up the sidewalk to the entrance. In the lobby, he found the Information desk. “Hello,” he greeted the attendant. “I would like to visit with Physique, if he is available.”

Each resident had a list of family members and friends who were on the green-light list, but a retired superhero got so many visitors that the attendant knew Physique’s from memory. Besides certain individuals, and a handful of reporters, Physique had a unique item on his list: any kid who wants to visit is OK.

“Fifth floor,” the attendant told him. “Go to the nurses’ desk. They’ll take you to him.”

 

The nurse tapped the door twice, and cracked it open. “Sir? You have a visitor.”

“Send ‘em in.” That baritone was still strong after all these years. The nurse nodded to the boy, who took a breath and entered.

“Hey,” the voice greeted him, then paused. “Huh. You’re a little younger than most of the kids who come to visit. You’re not writing a term paper, are you?”

Physique was still an imposing figure, even seated next to the window with a blanket over his lap. Death might be the most formidable opponent of all, but this was no easy target. The boy had done his research, and knew Physique was in his eighties and battling cancer. Aged, ailing, and he still looked like he could take on any challenge.

“No, sir. I want to be a hero when I grow up, so I need to know what to do.”

“Careful what you ask for,” Physique chuckled. “What’s your name? I don’t want to call you ‘kid,’ okay?”

“Juan Valdez,” the boy replied. That was not his real name, but his parents told him to give that name to any stranger. It was actually the name of a fictitious coffee grower, featured in TV commercials.

Physique caught on right away, and took no offense. “Hah. Got it. We all have our secret identities, right? So you want to be a hero. You know you won’t get a superpower until you’re twenty or so, if you get one at all. But that doesn’t stop some people from trying. What do you want to know?”

“What’s the most important thing about being a superhero?”

“Wow,” the old man replied. “Forty years since I retired, and you asked the really important question right away. Reporters ask me how I felt about catching a crook, school kids writing papers want to know my life history or what I thought was my finest moment. Once in a while, someone will ask the right question, but you’re the first who did it right off the bat.” He returned Juan’s grin.

“So,” Physique continued, “the most important thing about being a hero is, always answer the call for help. You know the Hero’s Way, right?”

“Yes. ‘Always answer the call for help. Fight for truth and justice, wherever it leads. Be blameless in your conduct. Better the crook go free than to harm an innocent.’ You were the one who… what’s the word?”

“Codified it, I guess. That means I put it together. But that doesn’t mean I made it up. Have you ever heard of Man of Justice?”

“Who?” Juan looked puzzled.

“Man of Justice. He was a superhero in the ‘20s. He was the one who first said we should always answer the call for help. Some of the other parts were mentioned here and there. I just put it together.” Physique sighed. “And, like most people, I didn’t always live up to it.”

“The person you hurt?”

“Yeah… no. Listen. I know adults aren’t supposed to ask kids to keep secrets. But hero to hero, I’m gonna ask you to keep one. Okay?”

Juan nodded.

“Quitting over that was just an excuse. Everyone took my side. Even the guy I hurt. His name was Henry Morgan, like the pirate. But when it came to fighting for truth and justice… there was stuff going on. Corruption. When I started to move against it, the Mayor asked me to stand down, there was an investigation, all the reassurances. But part of me knew he was in on it, too. I think Henry got hurt because my head wasn’t in the game that day. I was thinking too much about the things I wasn’t doing to pay proper attention to what I was doing.”

“Why not take a vacation?”

“You know why. I see it on your face.” Physique shrugged. “Always answer the call for help means always. Even if you’re on vacation. Even if you’re sick, or just not feeling up to it.”

“Yes… I see.”

“Can you promise something, Juan? Not to me, but to yourself. Promise yourself, if you’re a hero, you’ll pay as much attention to truth and justice as answering the call for help. Sometimes, I think the villains do a better job of that than the heroes.”

“I can do that,” said Juan.

“Good. We need good people on our side. Corruption won’t root itself out.”

“Sir?” a nurse called around the door. “It’s time for your medications.”

“I should go,” said Juan. “I’ll remember, though. Thank you for your time.”

“Thanks for yours,” Physique replied. “Come on back some time, okay?”

“I will,” he said, but opportunities like this were hard to come by. Before Juan could return, Death claimed its toughest opponent at last.