10:12 PM, 25th of March 1989.
Location: Just south of the Cathedral of Notre Dame
"He said his name was Harold." Kal El translates.
"You know sign language?" I'm now actually quite impressed.
"There are several varieties, but Harold uses Signed Italian as opposed to Lingua dei Segni Italiana; the former is simply Italian spelled out in signs the other is an entire language based on Italian. He actually started his introduction in American Sign Language, but his knowledge of English isn't comprehensive." Superman supplied.
"Well, it's nice to meet you Harold. Can you tell us what you were doing out here?" I asked.
A flurry of fingers and gestures respond.
"He claims to be here in France looking for employment as an engineer with a local mechanic workshop, but it seems they didn't know of his disability and didn't even hear him out when he came to accept the position. As a result… oh that is terrible… he's homeless. His clothes came from a charity. There is a shelter nearby offering a place to sleep, he was headed there when these men jumped him." Superman translated, visibly sympathetic. "He doesn't know why they wanted him, or how they knew where to find him."
"Huh." I glanced at the thugs. "Why were you after this man?"
"Whatever he told you is a lie, for weeks now my brothers have been beaten over and over and left tied up by that ugly b… guy." One thug shouts.
"Mistaken identity?" I ask. "Harold here seems harmless, which means we have a second hunchback in Notre Dame. A violent one?"
"You know, funny you say that. I can hear someone limping not too far away. Just give me a moment..." Kal El says before zooming away.
The thugs glance at each other and brace themselves.
"Don't even think about running." I growl. "How far can you run? Far enough to escape someone who can fly faster than a car? I'm talking about myself, Superman is leagues above me in speed." As far as I can tell.
They slump back down, defeated.
Superman returns a minute later, with a grumpy looking fellow (from his body language) that could pass for Harold's twin brother… if that obviously wasn't a rubber face mask he was wearing. He also carried a shillelagh, because what is more French than… I'm sorry that's just immersion breaking. Like a medieval knight using a katana.
Okay, sure this joker is pretending to hobble about on it like a cane but I can sense the steel rod at it's core. It's a weapon.
"I demand to know why I, The Hunchback have been detained!" He snapped. Oh god, he's a theatrical type of vigilante too?!
The (fake) Hunchback looked my way and sneered. "Oh and look here, a government lapdog serving his masters, the rats that rule this stinking city!" An anti-establishment type too? Could you be more of a stereotypical, self-entitled jerk? Well I guess they can't all be working with the cops as intimately as Batman, but this is still really jarring.
"So you what, beat up criminals and leave them where they fall? Instead of prosecuting them legally after performing a citizen's arrest? What does that accomplish, besides riling them up?" I asked slightly leery of the guy.
"It teaches them that haunt the underworld that they should fear The Hunchback!" He crowed.
You know what? That shit doesn't fly. Even Superman seems mildly ticked off. He could have killed someone.
I grabbed hold of his precious whacking stick and pulled, dragging him along with it up close. Face to face.
"Listen here you hack. What your stupid stunt did is bring all of your enemies right down on innocent Harold here, who unlike you can't exactly take off that face and hunch when he goes home. Nor does he bask in all his self-centred, meaningless violence like you. So how about you go shut your mouth, after which You see the inside of a cell for instigating an assault on the handicapped!" I pulled out my radio and found myself talking to an operator from the air force. I asked them to call in the local police. "So... Mr Hunchback. I am quite sure this is just a mask for your own obsessive need for self satisfaction. Boring social life? Wealthy playboy? Too much time on your hands?"
He flinched at the last couple.
"I'll be sure to see if I can't have you placed in a separate cell away from your long term victims. Maybe get you some serious psychological help, because you are a maniac and a thug who deliberately riled up a gang resulting in them attacking an innocent." I looked him over. "You disgrace the very nature of Victor Hugo's classic with your antics. You are no Quasimodo. Because he was a real man in the face of his misfortune. You bear his image and only serve to mock it."
I let go of the cane and turned aside to Kal El. "Sometimes the line between being the good guy and the bad guy is hard to find, huh?"
"No, he was in the wrong the moment he chose violence for it's own sake. It must always be a last resort." Superman responded.
"I can agree there." I replied slowly. "He lost control of his own impulses."
"What do we do with Harold?" Kal El asked.
"I'll see he gets medical attention and some form of shelter. My influence over local politics should be strong enough for that." I finally decide. "Shame things went this way, I would have liked to finish the tour. Tell you what, next time drinks are on me."
Superman smirked. "Non-alcoholic. You are a kid after all."
"But my ID says fifteen… in a few months I'm of legal drinking age… on paper. Welcome to France." I respond, chuckling. "We love our wine every bit as much as our food."