The Soaper’s Best Hope

by Jeff Baker

Night in the metropolis of Goat’s Town and the blazing headlights of the Ecolo-Car cut through the enshrouding darkness as Captain Ecology and Compost Boy are patrolling, looking for local miscreants.

“We’re fortunate that the Ecolo-Car is powered by an ecologically-viable mix of greens and vegetable juices that react with the car’s special engine,” Captain Ecology said from behind the wheel.

“And that it smells like a herd of cows threw up,” Compost Boy grumbled to himself, wrinkling his nose.

“There! Look!” Captain Ecology said, slowing down the car and pointing to a darkened storefront. “Look at the window!”

“Golly, Captain Ecology,” Compost Boy said. “Somebody did a job on another window!”

“Yes. Doubtless high-grade soap, like at the other stores around Main Street.” Captain Ecology said.

What had actually been a main street through town during Goat’s Town’s beginnings was now, over 200 years later, several blocks to the south of the main drag and the Business District.

“The last few nights. A different window every night.” Compost Boy said. “It doesn’t sound like the work of the Chicken Queen. Or the Lariat. Or the Squashmaster. Last time we talked none of them were even in town.”

“Have you dated every super villain?” Captain Ecology asked, almost suppressing a smile.

“Not the Silver Shrieker,” Compost Boy said. “She was hot but she was interested in you, remember?”

“Don’t remind me.” Captain Ecology said. “It would help if there was a letter sent to the papers or the police signed The Soaper or something.

The two of them sat and stared at the soaped window, tinted a light blue in the foam.

“Well, at least it’s clean.” Compost Boy said.

“Cleanliness is no excuse for vandalism,” Captain Ecology said. “But it fits a pattern.”

“What pattern?” Compost Boy said. “Some super villain who’s still mad his Mom made him take baths?”

“The soapings have all taken place the last couple of weeks on this street. And this is the street the Goat’s Town Pride Parade is taking place on this weekend!”

“Golly, that’s right! I forgot!” Compost Boy said.

“Commemorating the first Pride parades in New York about six years ago,” Captain Ecology said. “And that gives us our biggest clue! The soap!”

“It’s some kind of protest?” Compost Boy said.

“In a way, yes,” said Captain Ecology. “Each of the store windows lathered with a different color of soap. Matching the colors of that Rainbow Pride flag.”

“Golly, you’re right again!” Compost Boy said.

“You’re a twenty-five year old Bisexual, you should have figured this out before I did.” Captain Ecology said. “What do you know about all these soapings?”

“I’ll bet it isn’t just one guy. I bet it’s a whole gang,” Compost Boy said. “And probably we’ll never catch them!”

“Probably not.” Captain Ecology said. “Anyway, I heard that marriage-minded arachnid-themed arch-criminal is back in town and has her sights on marrying and robbing another sucker at Goat’s Town’s exclusive Club Sixty-Eight.” He started the car up again.

“Golly, Captain Ecology! You mean, Spider Ma’am!”

As the car drove off, Captain Ecology’s voice could be heard over the engine’s roar.

“It’s not just a matter of a bunch of people marching for one thing. What we are doing is standing up for the right, for the good, for the just. One person can affect lots of other people. Once we all understand that, maybe we won’t need a parade like this anymore.”

—end—