It is near sunset and Bomba has arrived in the vicinity of the jungle airstrip.  He moves stealthily towards the edge of the airstrip and pushes the dense jungle brush aside. He quickly spots a solitary C-130 aircraft parked on the old abandoned jungle airstrip. The transport is dark and the large rear cargo bay door is open. He watches the lone transport parked on the airstrip for several moments but sees no sign of activity. He scans the edges of the jungle in all directions and listens intently but hears or sees nothing.

“No one here,” thinks Bomba. “Bomba check plane.” The sun is now low on the horizon and is beginning to set as Bomba cautiously moves out of the safety of the dense jungle and out into the open onto airstrip.

Bomba quickly and silently approaches the C-130 crouching low with his spear ready. He reaches the open rear cargo bay door crouching with his spear in hand and peers into large cargo bay. He looks back around the darkening airstrip for nearly a minute scanning and listening for signs of any activity, but again he sees or hears none. He silently jumps lightly up and through the large open door and into the spacious bay. Bomba silent and cautious makes his way towards the front of the cargo bay. Strangely, the bay is empty except for a small black barred cage anchored to the steel floor with fabric straps. He ignores the small cage for the moment and quickly reaches the front of the aircraft and enters the cockpit. No one aboard thinks Bomba as he looks around the cockpit at the empty seats and darkened control panels containing numerous switches, dials, and indicator lights. He peers out the aircraft’s windscreen in every direction for any sign of activity on the airstrip but sees nothing again.

Bomba leaves the empty cockpit and returns to the cargo bay which has only one item in the expansive area – a small steel cage that measures 3’ wide by 3’ high by 4’ long. Bomba looks around the empty aircraft bay warily as the sun begins to set; he then carefully opens the cage door located on the top of the cage.

In the growing darkness, he peers down into the small cage and see miscellaneous items scattered about the small cage floor – a heavy leather hood – a thick black silver spiked collar – a set of heavy black leather mittens shaped like paws – a large black plastic ball with leather straps with buckles on the end – a large curled black plastic tail attached to a large plug. Bomba looks cautiously around the darkening empty C-130 cargo bay again before he reaches into the cage holding his spear in the other hand. He picks up the strange heavy leather hood and then closely examines it. The black hood is heavy, made of thick leather. The face of the hood has the features of a dog with pointed leather ears that sick up straight attentively on the top of the hood and a long flat snout. The hood has eye holes but has a thick leather blindfold snapped over the eyeholes – the only the other openings in the hood is two small nose holes in the snout.

Bomba has become careless. He is distracted; he continues to curiously examine the strange hood with a strange fascination, trying to imagine its purpose and that of the other strange leather items in the cage. Bomba is oblivious to the hunter’s presence. He has silently entered the cargo bay while Bomba was wonderingly examining the cage’s contents, as the hunter knew he would. “Bomba, I presume,” says the hunter casually.

Bomba is completely taken by surprise – he is startled and immediately drops the dog hood and turns quickly towards the voice and is about to crouch low and defend himself with his spear. But the hunter is ready for the defensive move. The hunter is holding a black taser gun and immediately fires it at Bomba. Two small dart-like electrodes launch from the gun pulling thin wire along behind them. The evil twin darts strike Bomba’s chest and lodge deep into his firm pecs as the hunter smiles slightly and says, “Gotcha!” 

A burst of concentrated high voltage surges though Bomba’s body. Bomba drops his spear and shrieks in pain as he falls hard to his knees on the steel deck of the cargo plane. His head and body convulse as his head jerks wildly; Bomba twists and turns on his knees as muscle spasms wrack his body. The hunter knows he now has the big Jungle Boy right where he wants him. He keeps the juice flowing full power to the electrodes in order to put the big boy down quick and hard. Knowing the big Jungle Boy is no longer a threat, the hunter walks slowly towards Bomba as he tries desperately to fight off the surge of electrical voltage coursing through his body. “You are a strong boy, Bomba…most boys your size would be sprawled out on the floor by now,” notes the hunter as he maintains the current to the electrodes.

Bomba begins to sweat profusely as he continues to convulse twisting wildly in pain on his knees his arms shaking wildly as the intense muscle spasms gradually suck his strength and consciousness away. Bomba falls forward onto his hands and knees in the cargo bay and tears begin to run down his handsome face as he grits his teeth… his head and body continue to jerk uncontrollably with severe muscle spasms. Bomba is helpless before the hunter on his hands and knees as the voltage courses through his powerful body depleting his strength and even his will to fight. Seconds later, Bomba’s body is drenched in sweat, and is now thoroughly exhausted by the sustained power discharging into his body.

As the hunter reaches the boy and stands over his convulsing form, Bomba suddenly stops moving and then he stiffens hard. Bomba then relaxes as he collapses and rolls onto his back onto the steel deck of the cargo bay, and remains motionless. The hunter shuts down the taser immediately and tosses it next to the unconscious boy. He picks-up Bomba’s spear and nudges the big sweaty Jungle Boy in the ribs several times with the blunt end to makes sure he’s out cold… he is. He drops the spear down next to the boy and moves to the rear of the cargo bay. He flips a switch and the cargo bay lights illuminate. He returns to Bomba and nudges the unconscious boy with his boot. Bomba does not react. Hunter sighs and retrieves the studded collar, heavy leather mittens shaped like paws and ball gag from the cage floor. The hunter stares down stoically at the helpless Jungle Boy in the leopard loin cloth that lies at his feet unconscious, and says out loud, “A real shame… Bomba’s only a kid. Fresh meat. Bill will really work this boy over hard.” He dispiritedly tosses the leather toys next to the dog hood and then picks-up the spear. He uses the sharp spear to gently cut the leather cord around Bomba’s waist that retains the boy’s leopard loin cloth around his waist. The hunter tosses the spear towards the rear cargo bay door and then reaches down and strips the boy out of his leopard loin cloth leaving Bomba completely naked on the cold steel deck of the cargo plane.

Chapter 6 “Bomba, the Dog Boy”

The next morning Jake, the copilot, enters the cargo bay. He is not prepared for the sight. On the steel deck is Bomba completely naked wearing the heavy hood with the features of a dog and a spiked dog collar. His arms are restrained behind him, his hands encased in heavy leather mittens shaped like dog paws. The boy must be gagged thinks Jake as he stands over the helpless Jungle Boy still making muffled moans as he squirms in pain on the steel deck floor. Jake’s mouth drops open as Bomba twists on the deck face down. Bomba has a short curly black plastic tail protruding for the crack of his buttocks. “You stuck a tail up his ass?” asks Jake.

“Instructions, Jake; the fat pervert wants Bomba made into a dog,” explains the hunter. “Dog face – dog paws – spiked dog collar – and a tail.”

“Poor Bomba,” says Jake out loud as he picks-up the black taser gun and examines it.

“Taser gun. Bomba went down hard. Be careful around that old pervert in San Miguel,” warns the hunter. “Or you’ll wake up and find yourself tied up naked wearing a leather animal hood for the rest of your life.”

Jake gulps as he looks at the large, helpless Jungle Boy squirming and twisting naked in the hood and restraints – a black tail plugged deep into his firm ass.

“It’s all about power with the old pervert. He buys strong, good looking, free-spirited men and boys and degrades them.  You saw what he did to Tarzan… hooded him, harnessed his balls to his jeep, and then forced him to scurry along behind him in utter humiliation. God knows what else he did to him. Anyhow… where’s Jack and the boys?” asks the hunter.

“Outside… they sent me to check on things. I guess they aren’t into this B&D stuff,” replies Jake still staring at the naked, muscular body in the dog hood, thrashing blindly on the floor trying frantically to break the restraints. “I’m not, either… I guess drew the short straw,” says Jake sullenly, feeling twinges of remorse and sympathy, as well as fascination at the bound and gagged Jungle Boy.

“Business is business. Come on. Help me put the kid in his cage,” orders the hunter as he roughly grabs one of Bomba’s muscled biceps. Jake and the hunter pick up the struggling boy and manhandle him, folding him down into the cage onto his knees, his abs over his powerful thighs. The hunter quickly attaches a chain to one of the D rings on the spiked collar and pulls Bomba’s hooded head close to the cage floor and secures the end to one of the cage bars. The hunter slams the cage door shut and secures the locking bolt. “That takes care of Bomba…. Tell Jack to get ready. We’re leaving within the hour,” orders the hunter.

Chapter 7 “This Looks Like a Job for Superman!”

 “I see Red is still looking fine,” observes the fat old man as he leers at the copilot bent over, performing his aircraft inspections on the airstrip on San Miguel.

“Forget Red, Bill. We have more important things to consider!” explains a worried hunter as he accepts the briefcase with the bounty for Bomba. “This party is over! My contact in the police commissioner’s district headquarters contacted me in the Azores, when we stopped to refuel. The acting police commissioner, a certain Boito, contacted his district headquarters two days after I kidnapped Bomba. It seems Superman showed up at the police commissioner’s office looking for Bomba.

Bill eyebrow’s raise and his eyes grow wide as he asks hopefully, “Superman?!”

“Yes, Bill, Superman,” replies the hunter. “It seems we raised Superman’s interest with the disappearance of Tarzan. I can only assume he is following up on other jungle heroes… Bomba was the next likely victim.”

“Superman! How much time do we have, Hunter?” asks Bill in some dismay.

“It’s only a matter of time before Superman tracks down our paid off police commissioner. He’ll squeal like a pig. That will lead them to Vince and Shawn, my money boys. Then to me – then here to you.” explains the hunter sullenly. “A day, maybe two…. three at the most!

“I see, Hunter,” muses the fat old man as he licks his lips and studies the cage and its contents that have been loaded into the back of his open air Jeep. The old man smiles as he watches his latest piece of property, Bomba sweating and struggling futilely against the restraints in his small cage, as he mulls over another idea he was obsessed with a few years back.

“Superman will come here, Bill, to free his pals Tarzan and Bomba,” explains the Hunter dispiritedly.

“I see,” says Bill. “Well then, I’ll have no choice but to prepare for Superman’s imminent arrival,” explains Bill

“Capturing Tarzan and Bomba is one thing. Stopping Superman is impossible, Bill,” explains the Hunter.

“Maybe not, Hunter! I smell opportunity knocking here on San Miguel! Listen, I had an idea, more like an obsession a few years back. An idea to develop a way to neutralize the mighty Superman’s superpowers, and imprison here on my island. I had my scientists in R&D study him to develop a way to vanquish him. In the end they found nothing but the obvious – Kryptonite. Unfortunately, naturally occurring Kryptonite is rare, very rare, and that fool Lex Luthor squandered whatever Kryptonite that was on Earth on that ridiculous land scheme out west. Believe me because I spent a fortune searching the world for Kryptonite – just ain’t anymore to be found! Synthetic Kryptonite? I’ve been there, done that – that dog just won’t hunt! So science was not the answer to Superman’s demise. Desperate, I even looked into the dark arts – magic. That never panned out either; so I was forced to shelve my plan to enslave Superman and lowered my sights a tad,” explains the hunter as he gestures towards Bomba.   

“Ideas… plans… for God’s sake, Bill. Let’s cut the stroll down Memory Lane short! Superman is hot on our trail!” reminds the hunter. “I fear no man. But Superman… my hands don’t reach that high!” exclaims an agitated hunter.

“Hunter, will you relax for a minute and hear me out,” replies the fat man. “I found real magic on this island a year or so ago. I’ve became acquainted with a native – an old witch doctor who lives on the far side of my island. He calls me Island Boss Bill. Moro, that’s the witch doctor name, is a strange old hermit. But the thing ism Moro really knows how to make magic… big magic, according to the locals. Superman, hunter, like everyone is susceptible to magic,” says Bill rather excitedly. “I’m going to take a box of cigars and a case of whiskey and pay the good doctor a visit. I’ll see if I can enlist his help in dealing with Superman, when he comes here to free his jungle pals, and tries to send me to the crowbar hotel.”

“You’re going to take on, Superman… with magic?” asks the hunter incredulously. “If I were you, I’d cut and run! Now! I know I am! I’ll lay low for a longtime!”

“I’ve seen the witch doctor’s magic. It’s real… real enough that the locals and I don’t mess with him,” explains Bill. “The previous owner of this island was foolish enough to try and force the witch doctor off the island.  He went completely mad the following day; he’s in a sanitarian in San Juan to this day. I just have never thought about pitting Moro’s magic against Superman until now. I must be getting old! I’m betting that the witch doctor’s magic can bring Superman to dead stop in his shiny red boots. As you say, Superman’s arrival is imminent – Moro is my… our only hope, hunter.”

“Magic… it’s a stretch… a real long shot,” concedes hunter. “But, we are all in this together. I don’t relish a confrontation with Superman! I would owe you big time, Bill, if you got Superman out of the picture, before he catches up to me, too!”

“I’ll tell you what, Hunter! There are a pair of young stud crime fighters operating in Gotham City. I want you to bring those two to me here – just like Tarzan and Bomba!”

“Batman and Robin?!” asks the hunter. The hunter turns away and rubs his chin with his fingers. “It will be tough; a very long campaign, but it is doable… at least they are ordinary men, unlike Superman. It will cost me what I made on Bomba!”

“That’s my price for getting Superman off your back… the Dynamic Duo!” offers Bill.

“How will you get Superman off my back, before he tracks me down? Shawn and Vince will send him right to me,” reminds the hunter.

“Simple! Call your money boys Shawn and Vince; tell them my plan. Superman will find them first! When Superman tracks them down, have your boys send Superman straight here – thus bypassing you. It will save your ass and probably both the fly boy’s asses, too,” says Bill as he gestures towards the C-130. “Superman won’t imprison the money boys until he’s freed his pals. Don’t forget, Superman’s real goal is to find the party that orchestrated the disappearance of Tarzan and Bomba, namely me. But when Superman comes to my island, I’ll be ready for him with big magic,” laughs Bill.

“We have a deal! I’ll bring you Batman and Robin within 1 years’ time providing you take care of Superman,” accepts the hunter

“Done! Batman and Robin – if you bring the boys here by year’s end, I’ll throw in an early delivery bonus… $1,000,000.00,” snickers the fat man; “I have something special in mind for those two,” laughs Bill.

Bill tries to disguise his disgust for the pervert, “Done, and done again. But Bill, inviting Superman here is crazy,” says the Hunter.

“Maybe it is… but what else can I…. we do. I can’t cut and run… I’m too old. Where can I… or you hide from Superman? Just have Shawn and Vince send Superman here to my island. Better yet… have the boys tell Superman he can find Tarzan and Bomba jailed in old plantation brig on the north side of the island. Tarzan and Bomba will be the bait for the trap I’ll set for Superman! Superman will come face to face with big magic — in my plantation’s brig!”

Hunter sighs uncertainly, but agrees, “I’ll radio Vince and Shawn to send Superman here as soon as I’m airborne. Good luck. I’ll contact you in a few days… if you’re not in jail,” replies the Hunter. Then he turns and heads out towards the C-130 with his briefcase.

Bill turns and directs his attention back towards his newest toy compressed tightly into the small steel cage in the back of his Jeep. “Yes! Superman, the Man of Steel, will be the crowning addition to my collection of fallen heroes,” sneers Bill as he rubs his hands together. “Broken and shattered. Unable to ever “be,” or rise again!”

THE END OF BOOK II.