What Could Go Wrong? (Superheroes)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

E zra Smith straightened his blue polyester tie and sat up tall as he waited for the connection to his Zoom meeting to go through.

Today was the day. Today was when he got selected to lead the all-important Special Processing and Management (SPAM) Canadian contingent outside of Toronto. Having an actual office complete with staff would be amazing and not needing to go into Toronto even better. Now, Ezra had to nail this interview with April to get the position. Ezra had been dreaming of this moment since he first discovered the covert unit as a teenager.

He hadn’t been searching for them. His discovery started innocently enough when he began hunting for new recipes for the canned meat, Spam. Somehow his searches led him to weird message boards on the internet and mysterious codes. And he became hooked. At first, he lurked. Ezra read all the posts between the agents without clicking on anything. If anyone discovered his presence, they’d change the privacy settings. Honestly, the mission reports, as he called them, delighted him. He had binders full of stories written from the plot bunnies they stirred up. Every once in a while, he considered releasing his own completed works to the public. But the fear of SPAM coming down on him like a tonne of bricks scared him more. They were so widespread and powerful. Hell, the day he learned they had a Toronto office, he almost jumped for joy. It was apparent they had money and clout.

Ezra had joined SPAM a few years ago in an underhanded fashion. He completed the mysterious application located in the depths of his junk folder. He shuddered at the amount of bad emails he'd peeked at. No one needed that many penis enhancements. Shockingly enough, SPAM hired him. Now he assisted the agents on the backside with research and background information, the vocation of his dreams.

“Good morning, Ezra. Unfortunately, the video isn’t working on my end, so we’ll have to have this meeting with audio only. I do hope you’re okay with that.” April’s thick Southern accent threw Ezra off for a minute. He wasn’t used to the drawls and tics. He tried to remember the last time he had an actual in-person chat with April, but his memory came up blank.

“No worries. I’m preparing my briefing for you in regard to Chauncey Adams. He’s recently retired, but I believe he’s?—”

“Ezra, hun. I appreciate you going above and beyond your job description, but it’s not necessary. We have someone from the States coming in to sort out this situation. Our man is excellent at discovering who's behind these sorts of capers.” April’s tone shifted to no-nonsense, stinging Ezra right in the ego. He’d done the work. He’d done the research for who’d be the best fit for this mission. Sometimes, the person’s skill set wasn’t important, but it was their local knowledge.

“You don’t understand, April. Where this job is, no American would be able to locate the exact spot. Even other Canadians would have a hard time unless they knew that part of the province,” Ezra explained. His voice cracked, embarrassing him. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Searching for Bigfoot along the peninsula is a wicked challenge. Not a lot of people realize how dense the bush or woods are up here. The perpetrator would be able to disappear without anyone knowing.”

“That’s okay. We have agents with this particular talent. You’ve been a great help in getting the information in order. Now you should consider taking some time off, like we suggested.”

“I haven’t asked for any though. I was going to stay in the city and join the maintenance guys to oversee the setup.” Ezra stared at his desktop where April should have been. If he had the balls, he’d give her voice the finger. But who knew if she could see him. And if she could, that’d get him fired or reprimanded.

“Ezra, send me your briefing, and we’ll go from there. As of right now, you’re officially on vacation. Stay home. Relax. The new office will be in the capable hands of your colleagues. Thank you again, and I will give you a ring when you’re needed for another mission. Goodbye.” The audio call disconnected, and Ezra sat in his chair, blinking at the sudden dismissal.

“April?” Maybe she hadn't left. She could be on mute to talk to another person. That had to be it. Ezra ran a hand over his short-cropped hair in restless agitation. Wasn’t this supposed to be an interview for the office manager slot? Maybe he'd read the email wrong.

No, everything he suspected was in the email. Interview for the lead position in the newly formed local office through a Zoom meeting. Have examples of your best work prepared. This was not the interview he had signed up for.

Well, the best way to prove his abilities was to get results. He had all the information necessary to find Chauncey Adams and invite him to solve the mystery of Bigfoot. Completing this mission would be easy enough. He'd camped at the Bruce Peninsula every summer when he was a child. He even hiked the trail from Tobermory down to Niagara-on-the-Lake. Bringing Chauncey in would be easy as pie, and getting an agent who’d been in the field use their skills to teach Ezra would be a feather in his cap.

Spinning around to face the monitor once more, Ezra opened his connection to the SPAM message boards. They hadn’t been updated since the early aughts, so a lot was out-of-date and piecemeal. The site had been frightfully easy to break into, and he'd read the multitude of posts from every member—both former and current. It had been a fascinating glimpse into the history of SPAM, and Ezra soaked up as much information as he could.

Here, he discovered when Chauncey first joined the organization and when he began asking questions. Chauncey’s naivete had been similar to Ezra’s, so the other members' responses gave Ezra insight to this inexplicable organization. Other people were mentioned here and there, but they disappeared once they became established agents. The code names used were quirky and not what Ezra would expect from a professional management team. Maybe the whole point was to throw their enemies off the scent? What a backwards way to work.

Ezra joined SPAM the minute he found the mysterious application. Most people would never open their junk folders, but Ezra always had a good laugh over some of the spam mail he’d received. Before applying to the office manager position, his original task was to haul SPAM into the twenty-first century, which meant getting rid of the old message boards. Not that he planned to; they’d been his gateway to another fascinating world. He’d, of course, create a database on his own server so the mission reports would be preserved for posterity.

Tapping a few keys, Ezra opened the maps program and searched for the last known location of Chauncey Adams. He was supposedly in a place in Ontario called Wiarton. The town was most famous for its albino rodent prognosticator, Wiarton Willie. Getting there wouldn’t take long, about two hours on the highway. He could drive, chat with Chauncey, and still be back for dinner.

If he could convince Chauncey to show Ezra how field operations worked and solve the case of the oddly located Bigfoot, maybe April would let Ezra work in the K-W office, rather than the Toronto one with supervisors looming over him all the time. Ezra bobbed his head as he considered a perfect argument to ensure Chauncey’s agreement. This plan had to succeed. Sure, Chauncey might be a bit reluctant to dive back into the SPAM world. According to his file, he’d recently retired and was content to live away from civilization. Ezra didn’t believe the story for a minute. Chauncey was sulking and needed a nudge of sorts to return to the fold. And Ezra could be the one to entice him to un-retire.

Printing off his copious notes detailing everything about Chauncey’s career with SPAM as well as an out-of-date picture, Ezra packed a few snacks and drinks before hitting the road in his Corolla.

The drive was nice. The sun shone down on him through his sunroof, and everywhere Ezra looked was gloriously green. As he drove, his phone read out loud the notes he'd made about Chauncey, including his weird quirks. Some people at SPAM called them superpowers, but Ezra didn’t understand why. How talking to a Magic 8 ball was considered a magic thing was beyond him. These abilities were quirks. Like when people approached Ezra in stores, asking questions about where specific items were. He wasn’t in the store uniform and yet people were drawn to him. Maybe he exuded answers and solutions. Ezra had to admit, he was tired of explaining where the tomatoes were in Walmart.

Chauncey was considered a cleanup guy. Ezra wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t dare ask April. She was very particular about people’s privacy. Did Chauncey discover evidence after car accidents, or was the job more sinister, like removing dead bodies? Again, nothing in Ezra’s notes said anything about murders or criminal activity. Not that he could find anyway. Ezra scowled as he squeezed the steering wheel. Everything in the SPAM mission briefings was so clinical and boring. The exact opposite of what they had been on the message boards. All he could find now were minimal details about Agent A doing this while Agent F saved the world with static shock? Something was up with those filings. He used to have access, but the files were locked down after a data breach. But if he was part of the lead team in K-W, then he’d get the non-redacted versions of the missions.

And that was when Ezra’s stories were born. He filled in the details, added a bit more flavour to the story, and BOOM! The mission had become a James Bond style shoot-'em-up extravaganza. God, he loved creating his own versions of the redacted reports. Maybe when he found Chauncey, he’d ask him about his most memorable mission and try to see which it was and compare it to one of his already written stories.

Incoming Call

Ezra narrowed his eyes. Since when could his car take incoming calls? The Corolla was old, and the Bluetooth hadn’t worked even before he bought it. “Hello?”

“What are you doing?” A squeaky voice barked at him. Ezra glanced around the car, trying to see if he was being punked. He was driving in the middle of nowhere and had told no one of his plans. Maybe Ezra should have let someone know. Not April, of course. She’d flip her lid.

“Driving?”

“Who told you about this mission?”

“What mission? Who are you?” Ezra put his four ways on and drifted to the shoulder. His attention couldn’t be less focused on driving than anything else. Who was this man, and how did he know Ezra was deviating from all SPAM protocols? God, maybe someone set up a surveillance camera in his car. Ezra was so fucked if that was true.

“Why aren’t you here? Everything is ready. Because you aren’t here, the timeline has been thrown out the window, and the boss will have your head. You know what? Go home and stay there. Someone else will arrive to dole out the punishment.” And the voice was gone.

Ezra scratched his head and stared at the console. What just happened? Was this a test for new agents? Did April order someone to check in on him? Should he call April and ask? But then she’d discover he disobeyed her direct order to go on vacation? God, this was getting so messed up!

Was Chauncey in trouble? Was this going to be a rescue mission? Hot damn, his first day out in the field and he was already going to be a hero. Canadian April be damned. They’d have to give him the role he wanted.

Doubts raced in, chasing away his high. Chauncey could probably save himself. He'd retired from SPAM with full benefits. He had to be fit as a fiddle and a quick draw. If anything, Chauncey would be the one to rescue him. Ezra shook his head. It didn’t matter. The point of this little drive was to bring Chauncey up-to-date on April’s mission, and everything would be gravy.

Minutes after the odd phone call, Ezra drove into the parking lot of the Wiarton Tim Hortons. His stomach was revolting after nibbling on car snacks, and he needed proper sustenance. The information about Chauncey in Wiarton was sketchy, and he hoped to familiarize himself with the town before approaching Chauncey. And maybe he’d take a peek at Willie. The groundhog was such a hero.

Only one person was ahead of him in the store, and a few people were in the dining room. A man with shaggy brown hair under a baseball hat sat at the window, staring out pensively. Ezra sighed unconsciously at the sexiness and immediately blushed when the lady in front of him cleared her throat. He ducked into the washroom to cool his cheeks and hide from anyone who'd seen him gaping.

After giving himself a pep talk, he slipped out and ran smack into a tour bus of city folk waiting in line. His quick stop had been lengthened considerably.

Ezra groaned before standing up on his toes. He hoped to find his mystery man once more. There he was, still in the dining room. Ezra couldn’t see his face as it was hidden by the baseball cap’s shadow. He sighed at the sight of a strong jaw and stubbly cheeks. Brown hair curled around his ears, making the man appear wholesome. Hot dog, Mystery Man ticked all of Ezra’s buttons. A tickle at the back of his head warned Ezra this man was special but not in the way he first supposed. Ezra dismissed the notion. He’d never seen him before and likely would never again. So innocent fantasies were okay.

The man lifted his head and met Ezra’s gaze head-on. The intense stare combined with a smirk was everything Ezra loved. Dark melty eyes, long straight nose, and mirth. What was he laughing at? Ezra longed to ask, but the line moved painfully slow. The tour group was there for lunch, and the guests were not familiar with the Tim Hortons menu. Ezra bounced on his toes, anxious to meet this intriguing man. April’s dismissal and his lack of Canadian support all melted away as he watched the eye candy smiling back at him.

As Ezra approached the counter to place his order, he’d forgotten the reason why he was in the restaurant. It took him a minute to tell the young woman before he was able to move to the sandwich line. Ezra turned his head slightly to spy once more, but there was no one in the man’s seat. Ezra straightened and searched the dining room, but he only found old people and tourists. “Dammit.”

“Ahh, you were peeping at him too?” The sandwich maker grimaced in sympathy. “Super nice guy. I see him at least once a week.”

“Oh, I didn’t think I was so obvious. I’m sorry.” Ezra blushed. He had assumed he’d been discreet.

“No worries, pal. We all look. Here’s your sandwich.”

“Thanks. Hopefully someone else comes in just as pretty.” Ezra grabbed his lunch and ran away. Maybe he shouldn’t be let out in public. That was the dumbest thing he’d ever said.

With every inside spot taken, Ezra ducked outside to eat his sandwich. As he settled on the curb with his sandwich on the wax paper beside him, Ezra opened the notes app on his phone and studied what he’d copied about Chauncey and where in Wiarton he might be. He remembered reading about Chauncey’s interest in fishing. So, finding a beach or a pier might be a good place to start.

This man was a SPAM agent. What was his skill that had him joining the unit? It had to be pretty special.