Confessions of a D-List Supervillain (10 page)

“Who else are you trying to get?”  José is a scrub and Sheila Dozier is okay for a strong girl, but she can’t fly and isn’t that much stronger than the suit I’m wearing. Anytime I fought the GCGs, I just stayed in the air and used my force blasters. The most She-Dozer could do is toss stuff at me, but her being a hero, she was reluctant to damage people’s personal property. If I’m going to be part of a team, I don’t want to be the only one besides Wendy that can handle an emergency.

“Chain Charmer is available, but I heard the Northerners are after him. I think I have the inside track though. Andydroid is tied up for the next two months with the Olympians until they get their new switchboard computer, but he said he might be forming a duo with someone else, so I’m not sure. There’s a few of Doc Mangler’s experiments and a couple from your side of town out there looking for a fresh start under the second chance program.”

“Andy is waiting on me,” I say. “If you take me on, I can talk him into coming when he’s finished being the MountOlympus phone sex operator. I’ve heard Chain Charmer is pretty good. Did he and the Grey Logger break up?”  They kept trying to go by a different team name, but “Link and Logs” stuck and eventually the same sex partners accepted it.

“Grey Logger went down fighting the bugs. He was one of the first to die. The information was in the computers at MountOlympus. Now that he’s been wiped, Chain Charmer is still trying to come to grips with it. He’s leaving Seattle.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I say and gesture to Imaginary Larry. “Too bad you can’t recruit a powerhouse like him.”  I get the armor to a standing position and make my first wobbly step – so far so good. The power meter shows nine percent. If Larry does wake up in a fighting mood, I might be able to give him a couple of shots with my force blaster and then spit on him. That’s about it. A couple of determined Eagle scouts armed with can openers could take me in my current condition.

Looking at the older man in the burnt letterman’s jacket, I see his hand twitch. “Um, Wendy. Sleeping beauty just got his kiss. What do you want to do?”

She grimaces and pulls off her mask. “Alright Mechanical, I’ve spent a third of my life in teenaged sitcoms and dramas. Just follow my lead.”

• • •

“So let me get this straight,” Stacy says, looking at the mangled mess that is my armor spread out on two workbenches. She’s changed out of that heavenly strapless number she’d been wearing when my sorry ass arrived into some jeans and an oversized tee shirt. Good God! She could make a burlap sack look appealing. “You show up three hours late for our date and you’re idea of spending time with me is for us to work on your armor? That’s not exactly sweeping me off my feet. You could’ve at least bought flowers.”

Thankfully, her tone is teasing. Andy told me that she was one of the people ripping MindOver a new one for letting just two supers take on Imaginary Larry. Maybe his new name should be BendOver.

“Hey,” I answer eloquently. “I had a lot on my hands tonight. I was never good at basketball and there I was as the new basketball coach for Larry’s high school against their arch rivals for the State Championship. It was so intense.”

We’re in one of the underground warehouses below the Olympians base. It’s like one big techno junk pile. The Olympians employ a cleanup team that follows behind them and removes all the debris from their battlefields. Whatever can be reused or recycled or is just too damn dangerous is sorted out. The rest ends up here. Yet another thing that I’ll have to get used to – picking up after myself. Villains don’t generally worry if they leave depleted uranium shell casings all over the place, or cadmium residue, and so on. Most of it is too battered to be of any use, but I’m down here scavenging synth-muscle and anything else that might come in handy. I like this place. It’s quiet and reminds me of my old junkyard hideout.

“I’ll bet,” she laughs and hooks up an arm to a diagnostic computer and then makes a face saying, “Eew. This needs a full rewire. So what role did Wendy play? Cheerleader?”

I poke my head out from inside the chest piece. “No, she was my trouble making younger sister, who just transferred to the school. I told Larry to keep his eyes off of her and on the game. She said it was like every cheesy after school special she’d ever been in rolled up into one big ball.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I got the lights on in the arena and we sat there with a bunch of Larry’s fake people and I coached the game of my life. You should have heard my halftime speech. I’d have recorded it, but my audio mikes are shot.”

“I suppose Larry’s team won.”

“Time was running out and we were down by two with just fifteen tics on the clock left. Our best shooter had turned his ankle, so I told Larry it was all on his shoulders. Fortunately, Apollo was waiting outside and I had Larry shoot the three pointer to win it, because winners don’t play for no stinking overtime!”

My date is amused. “Of course they don’t. So what happened next? He made the shot?”

“From almost half court. It was nothing but net! I’m pretty sure he was fouled too, but the idiot refs weren’t calling anything all night. Anyway, I shook his hand and Wendy gave him a peck on the cheek as all his telekinetic constructs carried him on their shoulders around the arena.”  I pause and point to my heart. “It got me … right there.”

“I’d call bullshit, but it sounds like you managed to have a good time.”

“Except for all the damage to my armor. Still, I might just have to go back to his facility … err high school for football season.”

Stacy chuckles and says, “I do love a happy ending. Wendy probably didn’t like it. I heard the last two seasons of her show she was trying to get out of her contract without doing anything serious to mess up her squeaky clean image that she fools everyone with.”

Wendy has a wild side?
“What? No sex tape? Nothing says, ‘Get me out of a contract,’ like a good video romp plastered all over the internet.”

Stacy rolls her eyes. “Why are guys so obsessed with sex tapes? You won’t ever catch me in one. It’s all just so … what’s with that look on your face, Cal?”

“Um,” I stall for time and try to think of the best way to break this to my amnesia burdened girlfriend. “You might want to rethink that statement.”

She gets an incredulous look on her face. “Seriously? You’re not pulling my leg? No, really? How the hell did you ever talk me into something like that?”

“Actually, it was your idea,” I answer looking for somewhere I might hide. This wasn’t exactly first date material. My plan was to let her remember it on her own or tell her sometime, anytime as opposed to right now. “In fairness, you were … uh … well you were worried about the bugs getting you again and it was the night before we were attacking this base. You might have been feeling a little impulsive and reckless.”

She crosses her arms and is clearly not amused. “Where is it?”

“At my base. In a safe, on an encrypted USB drive and not connected in any way to the internet. I don’t even keep a copy on my suit.” 

I wouldn’t put it past Ultraweapon or someone on his payroll to try breaking into my suit’s computer. I’d like to think I could catch someone doing that, but I’m just one really smart guy. There’s only so much I can do. That said it feels like the temperature just dropped about twenty degrees in here.

“Just see that it stays there,” she says. Her expression becomes unreadable and I feel a twinge of guilt. I have to cut her some slack. We’ve only kissed a couple of times since she lost her memory. I’m honestly beginning to wonder if she’s just marking time with me while she tries to figure out what she saw in me in the first place. Hopefully, she starts recovering those memories soon.

“Well, this is awkward,” I admit after a pause. “How about we change the subject? Wendy wants me to join the Gulf Coast Guardians when they reform. She said you had a hand in her offer. Thanks.”

She relaxes a bit and smiles. “Don’t mention it. Holly put in a good word for you also.”

“I’d thank her too, but I think her motivations are less about me being on a team and more about me being over a thousand miles away.”

“Be nice,” she cautions.

“That was me being nice to her,” I respond.

“So, are you going to take it?” Stacy asks.

I set the chest plate down on the bench and nod. “I’d hoped to be closer to you and maybe get a shot on the East Coast team, but it sounds like New Orleans or Montreal are my only two options and since it’s about the same distance from either of those two places to you, I’d rather be warm – thank you very much. Until then, I guess I need to get my suit fixed, so I can get back out in the field on riot and food convoy escort duty. It’d be easier if I had minions.”

“Minions?”

“Well yeah,” I answer. “Nobody messes with Hades and those shadow monsters he makes. Imaginary Larry had an entire high school worth of lackeys.”

“Too bad all those Type A robots we had in Missouri were destroyed.”

“Yeah, they’re in a scrap yard somewhere. Then again Type A robots are honestly more trouble than they’re worth, unless you’re using them to guard something. Anything else and I’d be spending all my time fixing them on top of fixing my suit. Now if I had a Type B or two that might work. They’re tougher, easier to maintain, and mount a better array of weapons.”

She points over my shoulder. “There’s bound to be something you can use in those piles. You want me to look around back there?”

“Actually with your strength, I know you can wind synth-muscle bundles tighter than I ever could. If you want to do that, I’ll poke around and see if there’s anything other than a bunch of broken stuff.”

Stacy agrees and I head into the junk pile, armed with a flashlight. Part of me is eager to find something cool, but a larger part is worried that we are already drifting apart, and I’m not sure I can fix that. At my base, she developed so much confidence in her abilities and herself. Now, she’s taken a few steps backward and seems hesitant. Being unsure of herself, it doesn’t take a genius to see that she’s just keeping me around until she decides whether I’m worth her time.

Relationships aren’t really my strong suit. Like that’s a big surprise to anyone. When it comes down to it, I’m not even sure that
I
like Calvin Matthew Stringel that much, but I’m playing the hand I’ve been dealt, and I’ll go as far as it will take me.

From the sounds of things, I’ll be on a team full of superheroes soon. I’m already cringing at the thought. How’s a selfish, out for himself, bastard like me going to rub shoulders with a bunch of do-gooders without going insane?

Those are today’s million dollar questions and, like always, I’m a bit short on cash.

Chapter Seven

Further Proof I’m an Asshole

Taking a deep breath, I look at Stacy. She isn’t bothered in the least. It’s pretty silly for someone who’s faced the dangers that I have, but I’m nervous anyway. I feel naked and nervous without my armor.

“It’s not too late to slip out and go watch a movie. We can say hello to all the nice photographers that have been tracking us like bloodhounds,” I say hoping she agrees.

“Oh, it won’t be that bad. C’mon, I’ll prove it,” she says opening the door. “Mom, Dad. We’re here.”

Great. Just flippin’ great. It’s meet the parents night. To make matters worse, mine are here too. I hadn’t seen them since shortly after I got out of prison and that went over so very well. A few months later, there were arrest warrants out for me, which made visits for the holidays somewhat difficult – not that I was interested in trying.

People come into the foyer to meet us. Dad looks like he’s lost weight along with a bunch of hair and Mom looks smaller than I remember. The fact that she’s using  one of those four-legged canes sends a pang of either guilt or remorse down into the pit of my stomach to disturb the butterflies currently there.

Dad is beaming. I get a man hug, complete with a slap on the back. “Good to see you, son,” he says.

“Nice to see you, too. Hello Mom.”  I lean down and give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Neither is really returned.

Me being a supervillain kind of put a negative spin on Mom’s active social life. The poor life choices I’d made impacted her standing in her gardening club, church, and just about everywhere else she went in my hometown. I didn’t encourage her to brag to everyone about my getting a full ride to UCLA or the job at Promethia. She’s was the one playing the “my son is better than your children” game with all the other women on her block. Suffice to say, there’s a bit of a grudge being held there. Being a supervillain means you never have to say you’re sorry, unless it’s to the judge or the parole board. Even then, it’s only an option. Odds are it won’t change what’s going to happen.

Dad, after I was tossed into the slammer, never had any expectations. Apparently, I’ve exceeded his wildest dreams lately.  The guys at the lodge and down at the bowling alley Dad manages are probably getting an earful now about how his boy is dating Aphrodite.

Stacy’s parents are giving me a critical once over. Doctor Harrison Mitchell is tall, slender man who is a renowned physicist and author who usually spends half the year lecturing all across the world. I’m an electrical engineer, not necessarily in his league, but I can follow what he says. Then again, I might be out of touch when it comes to the latest views on superstrings, but I can build a powersuit. Can he?

His wife is a lawyer and a lobbyist for green energy and definitely not your usual socialite and trophy wife. The father might have the brains, but the mother is the one with the killer instinct. I greet her with a polite handshake and the same with her father.

The niceties last until just after I finish my dinner salad when Ophelia Mitchell asks, “So young man, I’d like to know why you turned to a life of crime.”

“Dear,” her husband says, “Can your cross examination wait until dessert?”

I clear my throat. “Bad decisions, Ma’am. There’s a long version, but in the interests of keeping it simple, it ultimately it comes down to a series of bad choices on my part.”

“Well that leads to an interesting question. Does one good deed outweigh the sum total of one’s bad decisions? What do you think, Harrison?”

“If life were an equation, so easily solved by balancing the good and the bad, the solution would have been reached a long time ago, dear.”

It doesn’t seem like her husband is taking her bait. Suddenly, I’m liking the man more and more.

“I’m just happy to see that Calvin’s making something of himself,” Dad chips in. “Never thought my boy would make the top ten list on
The Late Show
!”

Considering the topic was
Things People Can’t Remember About the Bug Invasion
and a picture of me was shown with the caption of, “Proof that being one of the last available men on the planet can actually work!”

The guy with the big chin on the other network wasn’t nearly as harsh. Here I thought people who get their fifteen minutes of fame are supposed to be able to enjoy the ride.

“Yes, but it’s only a matter of time before he messes this up as well,” Mom contributes. Absolutely no bitterness there. My luck with the females in this room is limited to Stacy and we’re just doing “okay” at the moment.

I feel the heat on my face, but I work through it and just keep eating. Looking at Mr. Mitchell, I ask, “So what was Stacy like as a child?”

“Very happy and mischievous,” he answers. “She had a way of doing things that made it impossible to stay upset with her. I just wish Hannah and Nikolai were able to be here this evening.”

Somehow I doubted Stacy’s siblings would help the already charged atmosphere, but as an only child, I couldn’t be sure.

Dad tries to get a thought in. “Calvin here was a real pistol, always taking things apart so he could see how they worked. I used to go to yard sales just to buy broken electronics so he’d stay away from the vacuum cleaner and the VCR.”

“So you’re saying he had a pattern of disregarding other people’s possessions?”  Ophelia comments.

“Mother,” Stacy says in an emotionless tone. “Your disapproval is duly noted, but this is dinner and not an inquisition.”

I force a smile and offer, “If you’ve got an inkblot test, I’d be happy to take it after dinner. It would probably be more fun than Pictionary.”

If she actually took me up on it, I’d have to tell her that the first card looks like her daughter’s vagina. That would go over well.

“Are you trying to be clever, Mr. Stringel? If so, you’re failing.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am. I’m just trying to get through the night without any major incidents. Nothing I can do or say tonight will change your opinion of me. I’m something of an acquired taste. My decisions were bad, but if you’re looking for me to apologize for them,” I pause for effect before concluding, “you’re sadly mistaken.”

“I see,” she says, conceding. “Perhaps we should discuss something else. I’ve heard Promethia is moving forward with their combined solar and wind initiative in California and they’re going to absorb the costs of any budget overruns. Yet another instance of generosity from Lazarus.”

I give her credit. She does go for the throat. “I’m sure the profits from his military robotics division will offset any potential loss for the shareholders of his company.”

Of course, I could counter her argument by saying that Ultraweapon’s one “bad” decision caused the bug invasion and in addition to all the blood on his hands by virtue of his military hardware that he’s also at least partially responsible for roughly a half a billion dead people worldwide. But, it’s all good because some tree huggers are happy! What do I know?

The rest of the meal continues on the same theme. Mrs. Mitchell looks for avenues to needle me while her husband does his level best to recuse himself from the festivities. Mom joins in at odd intervals to emphasize how she can’t trust me anymore after I’ve made her bitter. Dad eventually surrenders and stops trying to offer anything helpful about me. He’s outmatched by this crowd and stabs at his entrée and dessert with disinterest. For her part, Stacy stands by me, but I’m not certain whether it is for me or to spite her mom. I do my best to keep things civil, but I’m almost glad the two mothers came with their mental pitchforks. I don’t mind people being angry or disappointed by me. It’s when people are being too damn nice that I get uncomfortable.

Good times. I just love ‘em. I should have gone on a riot patrol instead. At least then, I would have been able to knock a few heads around or tear gas a group of people just because I can.

• • •

Riding the hoversled back to MountOlympus, Stacy says, “I’d expected my mom to be on her worst behavior. I’m sorry that turned out so badly. Our dates don’t seem to be going all that well so far.”

“There was no bloodshed, so it wasn’t that bad,” I say dismissing the evening. “I’m guessing you didn’t enjoy yourself.”

“Not really,” she answers. “Did you?”

“It was a date with you. I’m not complaining.”

“That’s sweet,” Stacy says. I don’t tell her that I’ve had that line ready for the past eight hours. I didn’t need any kind of precognition to know how the evening was going to turn out.

“Thanks. Your parents weren’t going to like me. You’ve got a pretty good idea what mine think of me. Now we have an excuse for not doing that again for at least six months. How about our next date we just take a boat out on the Chesapeake Bay and get away from the photographers, the parents, the other superheroes, and everything else? Do you like to fish?”

With her driving, I can’t see her face, but she says, “No, but I like relaxing in the sun. It’s funny. I almost didn’t go on that cruise in the Mediterranean. My parents were supposed to take me to Australia instead.”

I hadn’t heard this story before. “What happened?”

“Some legislation was put on hold in a committee in Congress. Mom cancelled to go do her lobby thing and Dad didn’t want to go without her. So, I managed to get on that yacht at the last minute. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t make it. Would they have still taken me from wherever I was or would somebody else be Aphrodite? What about you, Cal? Suppose Promethia never came after you with that no compete clause. Would you have been happy at Ubertex?”

“I used to think I would, but now I’m not so sure. I was an arrogant sonnuvabitch. I’d have probably stayed there a year and looked for the next big raise. Either way, it didn’t happen. That’s for the best. Otherwise the bugs might not have gotten stopped. I don’t have any regrets. You in a hurry to get back?”

“Not particularly. My shift in the chair doesn’t start for another four or five hours. If I’m late, Mather can just deal with it.”

I don’t have an issue with her sticking it to that rat bastard. “Why don’t you land on one of the rooftops? We’ll just hang out and watch the stars.”

“Last time I did that, a group of Rigellians landed.”

“Were they trying to take over the planet?”

“No, just bounty hunters looking for Gravmatar.”

“Wrong continent.”

“I didn’t say they were good bounty hunters,” she responds and laughs while landing on an apartment building.

Looking out over the DC suburbs, I get my hopes up that something can be salvaged out of this train wreck of a night. For thirty seconds, it seems like it just might happen. Then, the wind shifts direction.

Stacy coughs a little and my eyes tear up. The stench is overwhelming.

She finishes and says, “I hope they start picking up the trash soon.”

“Yeah, that’d be a nice start. I’m guessing the GulfCoast is in even worse shape.”

“Did we ever go to a junkyard?” Stacy asks out of the blue.

“That was my first base. It was destroyed. Are you getting some memories back?”

“Just a flash. Maybe it was the smell that reminded me of it. Was it a dive?”

I get over the unintended insult and admit, “Actually it was better than my other base.”

• • •

One month later, after a quick stop by my secret lair – I upgraded it since I’m supposed to be “one of them” now and hideouts are for criminals – to pick up some supplies, I’m passing the outskirts of New Orleans and in sight of the Gulf Coast Guardians’ headquarters. Last time I was here, I didn’t have time for sightseeing. I was just here to steal … liberate their jet and lead the attack on DC.

I think I’ve said it before, but I always looked down on the GCGs. Some of the solo heroes down this way command more respect. It was the last of the Guardian franchises to be established and it shows. The fact that this team was essentially mothballed during the crisis with just a couple of heroes left to lend a hand while everyone else was pulled to the East and West Coast teams probably won’t be forgotten anytime soon by the region.

But now, we’re “reopening.”  I’m sure they’re waiting with open arms. Open palms is probably more like it.

WhirlWendy wants to turn it all around and show everyone that she can be a leader. Good luck to her. I don’t intend to mail in my performance, but I’m not jumping for joy and looking to make an impact just yet.

The mansion is a converted high school that was shuttered in the late seventies, used by the National Guard as an armory in the mid eighties and occupied by the GulfCoast team in the late nineties. Warm and friendly are not words used to describe this place. The chain link fence topped with barbed wire is knocked down in places and still hasn’t been put back up. Several windows look like they were busted out, probably by looters. My sensor array spots four Type A’s walking inside the perimeter. Yeah, like those will stop anyone!

Frankly, I’m in a bad mood. My relationship with Stacy is stuck in neutral. Other than the occasional flash of a memory, she still hasn’t been able to reconnect the dots. My date on the bay ended up being spoiled by cloudy skies and some industrious photographers in a rented helicopter, who were tipped off by the place we rented the boat from. Stacy wasn’t impressed when I started suiting up to chase them off. The picture of me flipping them off looked nice on the three heavily trafficked websites that bought it.

“Cleared for landing on the helipad. Boss lady wants everyone in the briefing room,” José, or one of his clones informs me. He sounds bored. I can’t say I blame him.

The only good thing about the response to this crisis is that it’s making everyone forget how badly everyone flubbed it during Katrina. The bugs relocated most of the populace, which was why I liked it during the early days of the invasion. Obviously, the bugs didn’t want to build in places that were technically below sea level. Maybe they were onto something.

The helipad is on the roof of the main building. Both helicopters are missing. I look over at the airstrip that was built where the football field once might have been. The main hanger is still half-collapsed from my last visit here and the fight with the few active robots that tried to prevent our little grand theft airliner. The place needs some work. Hopefully, Wendy will let me put in some gun emplacements and replace those tired ass Type A robots with some less tired ass Type B robots that I might be able to locate if there are any left in those other bunkers that used to belong to the Evil Overlord.