Secrets of a D-List Supervillain (9 page)

“It’s at the dry cleaners,” I quipped, and fired just after my left blaster finished charging. He easily dodged my energy pulse this time.

“Well, since you ain’t coming down...” Aggressive said, and leapt.

My suit had a really nice tracking suite which would have really helped my targeting right then. As it stood, the Mark I eyeballs were all I had to work with, and my blast clipped his legs and sent him pinwheeling into his less than graceful landing.

“That hurt,” he growled.

Of course, I’d been trying to catch him center mass and knock him back to the pavement. Instead he was up here, on the roof, with me, and I was already backing up. The indicators for my force blasters seemed to crawl in comparison to how fast Aggressive was recovering.

I ran toward the hoversled as fast as the heavy equipment would let me. Dave reached me first and his fist hammered into my right side sending me flying through the air and down the hole made by the van. My body hit the roof and made a Stringel sized dent in it. I struggled to my knees and rolled down the hood and onto the debris covered carpet, probably looking as bad as I now felt.

Ow! Ow! Ow! Dammit to hell!

The force field and protective vest I wore absorbed most of the impact, but I knew I’d have the mother of all bruises on me—assuming I lived through this. My shield was almost completely down from his single punch and now everything was charging even more slowly than before. It took both hands to pull me up and help me stand, using a nearby desk as a crutch.

“Hello, Cal,” a female voice said, snapping me out of my
AmIStillAlive
mode. The icon indicating my right force blaster disappeared, going offline. That actually helped me since I no longer had to distribute my limited power supply three ways.

“Jeannie,” I said. “You look nice. How are things?” She wore a red headed wig as part of the whole “Blazing” theme she was going for. Also, wigs can get dropped when fleeing and make it easy to blend into a crowd.

“Well, let me see. I was trying to score a decent payday when this loser asshole dropped in and ruined everything, but now I get to kill him!”

Since the right blaster wasn’t working, I grabbed the World’s Number One Mom mug from the desk with that hand and chucked it at her.

A ruby lance of energy from her eye destroyed it.

“Pathetic, Cal,” she said. “See what happens when you go over to the other side? Consider this a mercy killing.”

I dropped the force blaster to a level two and fired, our energy met and cancelled each other out, but I was already moving. I jumped behind a couch, not that it would do me a world of good against her. Still, it gave me enough cover to yank one of the two remaining tear gas grenades out and pull the pin.

“Catch this!”

As expected, she destroyed it, but that merely dispersed the gas faster. Sure, my shield was about as good as a thin bed sheet at the moment and half my weapons were offline, but my helmet sure had a nice filter on it!

Who’s the sucker now?

Blazing She-clops realized what was going on pretty quickly and began coughing and screaming. Her eye bolt lashed out and destroyed the couch in front of me. The explosion sent me on a short trip through the air where the nice hard wall was waiting to arrest my momentum.

• • •

“He’s coming around,” a voice intruded through the throbbing mental fog I drifted on. I started to mumble for my armor to start a diagnostic sequence and initiate repairs. Seconds later, I recalled why that was a stupid idea.

I’m really beginning to hate the sight of paramedics, I thought
. Jin was standing next to the man, with his chains flexing back and forth, almost like they were nervous.

“What happened?”

“She-clops nailed you, but the gas made her easy to subdue. The Menace was more difficult to capture, until he reverted to his more docile persona. You should have waited for me.”

I coughed as the EMT told me that it was bruised ribs and maybe a concussion. As ManaCALes, I’d been beaten soundly by the Bugler, but this time was more of draw with an advantage to me. My track record was improving, but it still hurt.

Rasping, I answered Chain Charmer, “If I had, there’d be a whole bunch of dead police officers.”

Jin smiled, which he rarely did in my presence. “So, people do come first? Does this mean that I get to shoot you, now?”

“No!” I hacked out a protest. “If too many of them had died, I’d have had to fight The Menace and She-clops at the same time, because my partner thought a damned aluminum fire was more interesting to look at!”

Charmer actually laughed. “You sound like you almost believe that. They’re taking you for precautionary X-rays and we will leave in the morning, if you’re able. When we get back, remind me and I will lend you the necklace.”

Something had changed his mind and I wasn’t about to ask him what, because I probably wouldn’t like the answer.

I’d gotten my ass kicked many, many, in fact too many, times. This was the first time anyone ever offered me jewelry afterward.

Yeah, I’ve got a head injury. I decided as they finished loading me onto the gurney. With my helmet off, I could see Jeannie surrounded by the Feds. Her wig was off and one arm was in a sling. They’d forced this ridiculous piece of headgear onto her that looked like a bad mix of
Phantom of the Opera
meets a fishbowl. I found it more amusing than she obviously did.

“Hey, Jeannie!” I called out.

“Go to Hell, Stringel!”

I waited a second, and then said, “Hey, Jeannie!”

“What?” she demanded.

“So how are things?” I repeated my earlier question as if nothing had happened.

Her profanity laced rant wouldn’t heal my wounds, but it soothed my aching spirit. Since I wasn’t going to risk pissing off Jin, I had to get my jollies somewhere else.

• • •

“You’re a lot more heroic than you give yourself credit for,” Stacy says, and runs her fingers through my hair.

“No need to go insulting me,” I say, and act hurt while making faces at Gabzilla.

“I think Clops had a thing for you, Strings,” Bobby comments. “I ran into her on a... job... recently and she was asking me a bunch of questions about you. Maybe that’s why she was so angry about you working the other side?”

I laugh and say, “I never really thought about her that way, but if you say so. Music. Play
Don’t know what you got till it’s gone.
”

Naturally, this starts an argument about whether or not Cinderella counts as Classic Rock.

“You don’t really believe that?” Stacy asks, while admiring the rail gun. I’m down in what used to be the prisoner area, checking on Andy’s suit maintenance while he watches my daughter. After getting Bobby all riled up, I thought it best to bring my newly reunited girlfriend down to this level and continue the story.

Laughing, I respond, “Nah, I just like to yank Bobby’s chain. It’s fun to see him get all spun up from putting Arena rock bands in with his beloved Lynyrd Skynyrd. Honestly, he’d be less likely to hit someone who says a bad thing about his mother then if they insult his favorite band.”

“That’s low, Cal.”

“Well, I am a petty man. Hell, I already immortalized my pettiness in a novel for the whole world to see! Anyway, that’s like saying the Semi-Transparent Man passes for a real superhero. I have to admit, when I was in prison with him, I had no idea he was really a mole for Unky Sam. What’s with the look?”

Stacy banishes the “I just swallowed a glass of sour milk” expression from her face. “I had dealings with him before and let’s just say he’s about as pure as the driven snow.”

I’m tempted to ask if STM belongs in the same group as Mather, but reminding her of the other guy I killed, pretty much in front of her, could be a downer. It doesn’t seem like a good time to mention that.

“This is cute,” she says pointing at the graffiti decorating the barrel of the rail gun, where it says
Knock, Knock Mother Fu
.

“Bobby’s contribution. If you get close enough to Megasuit to see the end of the pistol, you’ll see the C, K, E, and R. The movie poster from A Christmas Story is my idea. Except my Red Ryder uses three inch diameter BBs that travel at supersonic speeds. They’ll do more than just put an eye out.”

Holding up a pair of the rounds for her inspection, I gallantly offer to let her hold my balls.

“Really,” she says and crosses her lovely arms. “You’re going there?”

“It seems appropriate.”

“And that’s why you are you,” she concludes. “Maybe later, I’ll try holding your balls, but you seem to be enjoying holding them right now.”

“That’s not nice,” I protest.

“Whoever gave you the impression that I was nice?”

Even I have to admit that’s a good comeback.

With a grin on her face and a wink, she continues, “One thing is certain; your balls hit harder than Bolt Action.”

“I may have to use that line down the road. Actually not much harder,” I confess and explain. “The force is concentrated over a smaller surface area. Your typical shield generator is going to try and cover as much area as possible. Nothing Promethia puts out commercially would stop it.”

“So, how do you defend against it?” Stacy inquires.

“Well, duh, your best bet is to not get hit,” I quip.

“Seriously, Cal,” she says. “I have a good idea how you think. You already know how to stop it, don’t you? Admit it?”

“I could tell you, but why should I tell one of Unky Sam’s sanctioned superheroes how to stop my boomstick?”

She sighs, which is somewhat distracting. “I guess it is time to set some boundaries. Outside, we can be Aphrodite and, is it Megasuit you’ve settled on? Okay, good. When we’re here, it’s your girlfriend Stacy asking. I disabled the GPS in the hoversled before I came here because I fully plan to protect your secrets. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

I can feel some heat in my cheeks and realize I must be embarrassed.
Odd feeling doesn’t happen often.
“Yeah, I can work with that. To beat it with a shield generator, you’d need a narrow beam focused shield and a computer to calculate where to put it. If it were me, I’d tie Andy into my suit and let him run my shielding, like I did against Lazarus. Your buddy, Hera, or someone like General Devious could probably do it instinctively with a cylindrical shield or an angular one that would deflect it away. Even then, it still might not work. I didn’t build this to screw around, and if you ever see me pointing it at something or someone, it’s because I am fully prepared to obliterate my target.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says. “Frankie was joking that we need to find out what your weapon was and upgrade the defenses at Mount Olympus.”

“How is Ares anyway?” I ask. Patterson’s pet atomic robot had curbstomped the God of War in San Francisco. I consider him to be one of the least annoying of my girlfriend’s teammates.

“He should be back on the active roster in four weeks,” she said.

“That soon?” I reply. “He looked pretty rough. I thought for certain he only had a fifty-fifty shot of making it to the hospital.”

“It was touch and go for the first two days. First Aid showed up to do what he could.”

“And to show that he wasn’t on Patterson’s side...”

She nods. “Probably, but as soon as Frankie made it through the first forty-eight hours, I knew he’d make a full recovery. We heal fast. The powers that be almost decertified the West Coast Guardians after you faked your death.”

It’s my turn to nod. “Wendy didn’t think it would amount to anything, even with her pappy leading the charge.”

“No, there’s some fallout from all that. We used to have a total of two government liaisons. Now we have six and they are considerably more intrusive.”

“They had one assigned to the Gulf Coasters. He was hardly ever sober enough to meet with us. I think he was somebody’s son and he had a bunch of juicy dirt on someone.”

She doesn’t bother trying to deny this. “I heard he was replaced by three bureaucrats. And if they are anything like ours, they’re annoying and a hindrance.”

“That’s why you should come over to the unsanctioned side of the tracks. We throw better parties!”

She looks skeptical and I can’t blame her. Cracking under the weight of the stare, I stammer, “Truth be told, our parties are lame. Larry turns off the porn whenever Wendy is here, because he gets embarrassed. Bobby, as you can well imagine, has no problem with having it on all day. Hell, he wants me to invent LCD contacts that would allow him to watch porn whenever and wherever he wants.”

“Sadly, I could see it,” my girlfriend admits. “So, did you?”

“No,” I say. “The logistics proved to be too much of a problem, but I’m sure someone will do it in the next fifteen years. It’ll be a big seller.”

I am also sure that when that happens, they’ll discover a patent I filed in Bobby’s name concerning flexible LCD screens inserted over each eye that allow for a full package of entertainment features. Bobby wants to call it Pornovision, but I’m still holding out for a better name. My fingers are crossed, concerning its approval.

Being an Intellectual Property Slimeball might make a good backup plan if all this super powered business doesn’t pan out. Three cheers for being a Patent Troll! Where’re my licensing fees and my goat?

“So, do you remember where you put them, or have you forgotten why you brought me down here?”

Of course I had, but I’m not about to admit that! I roll my eyes and lean under a workbench and fish around. Pulling out a storage tub marked Cal’s socks and underwear. “Here it is.”

She points at the labelling and I answer, “If you were stealing stuff from this base, would you bother with a bin that says this?”

“Probably not. You win.”

Those last two words mean a lot to me, and I begin pulling out the silver plates containing the ancient dinosaur magic spells. Spreading them out on the workbench, I call her over. Each of them is about seven and a half inches wide and fourteen inches long.”

She leans closer and I hand one to her.

“So you can really understand all this without the necklace?”

“I had to make up some hand translation guides, but yeah. The one you have in your hands is a simple one for controlling other reptiles. It’s the first one I managed to cast.”

• • •

“Thanks for dropping in,” Bo said and pushed his wheelchair around the kitchen. It was a nice place, a French Colonial style from the Civil War era. Technically, it didn’t belong to his family. The city of Biloxi owned the property and let him and his family live there rent free. The more jaded side of my personality applauded his scam, while the other side knew that the man was far too gracious to take advantage like I would.

The first time he had dragged me kicking and screaming for dinner at his house, I’d finally made the acquaintance of his lovely wife. Melinda was a kind-hearted soul with long blonde hair and eyes that had probably seen more than their fair share of sorrow. She greeted me with a big hug and said her man had told her that I saved the world. I shrugged my shoulders and replied that he was giving me too much credit.

“Bo isn’t one to exaggerate. So, if he said it, I believe it. Besides, the way I see it, that pretty much squares the books on that time you almost killed him.”

From that moment on I had a good idea that Melinda can always be counted on to say exactly what is on her mind. It was a refreshing quality to find in someone, when the majority of my days were spent with people capable of speaking out of both sides of their face at the same time.

Today, she was picking their youngest son up from the airport and might have mentioned to me that her other half was in a bit of a funk. I’d been in a rut since my armor was destroyed, so I figured misery loves company, and told her that I’d be happy to come over and hang with him.

“So, are you making any progress with the magical stuff?”

Shrugging, I looked at him, and responded, “It’s tough. I can read the words, but sometimes it’s hard to understand the context. I was hoping it would be a little less complex and more along the lines of eye of Newt and so on.

“So, it’s kind of like speaking a Cajun dialect of French, and then going over to Europe and being misunderstood.”

“Pretty much,” I reply. “But it’s more like speaking English and then going back in time to the Ancient Rome and trying to hold a conversation, if you know what I mean. Now how about you? When are you going to be back on the active roster? I could use a patrol partner who doesn’t drive me up the wall.”

“Sadly,” he said. “This old body just doesn’t heal as quickly as it used to. But you can bet that I’ll be serving up the stanzas of justice before too long.”

“Sometimes Bo, it actually makes me physically ill to hear you speak like that! I’m still pissed that they wouldn’t send First Aid out here to help you.”

“Now, Cal,” he began, and took on a lecturing tone. “I know you want to see a conspiracy behind every corner, but he does have other responsibilities, and he has a tremendous gift, and a terrible burden.”

“Sure, he’d have to sit around with broken legs for a day. Tremendous burden? I heard about his deal. If you’re lucky enough to see him for a serious disease, and he heals you, you have to sign a contract donating ten percent of your income to his foundation for the rest of your life.”

Bo scratched his neatly trimmed beard and said, “I’m not talking about that, besides his foundation helps people all over the world. Frankly, it’s a way to have the rich donate ridiculous sums of money. First Aid’s healing powers make him live under constant threat. If it’s not some desperate parent taking hostages to try and cure their child, it’s cultists who either want to sacrifice him or worship him as the next prophet of the Almighty. He’s been abducted by his own bodyguards twice in the past decade.”

“Want me to get you a drink from the fridge?” I offer, changing the subject. I was supposed to come over here and cheer him up; not let him rain on my parade. Someone like First Aid—everybody wants something from him. I’m kind of on the other end of the spectrum.

“Sure, I’ll take a can of diet soda. There’s no beer, if that’s what you’re looking for. Melinda’s worried that I’ll put on weight during rehab and that it would bring back my Type Two diabetes.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to play around with that crap,” I answered, and pulled a couple of aluminum cans from the refrigerator. “So, did you ever give any thought to my improved helmet design? Since I can’t scrounge up enough synth to create a suit, I need to improve my ManaCALes equipment and a cut down version of your design would work decently. Heck, we could even go into business and make tactical helmets for the military and the police when you decide to hang it up for good.”

Mentally, I patted myself on the back for my own personal development. A few months ago, I’d have just taken the design and run with it. Unfortunately, that meant that I was growing fond of this man. The thorax piece of my destroyed armor was a bigger, badder version of the design I’d sent him.

“I think it will work, but you’ll be operating at less than peak output because of the space constraints. As for your other idea, I don’t think I’d like to see my invention mass produced and put in just anyone’s hands.”

There was a point to be had in his argument. “Still, sonics, as a weapon, are tamer than plasma and is better for something like crowd control than Tasers. You have to admit that. Some governments are using cheap versions already; maybe it’s time to cash in on your design?”

Bo shook his head while taking a drink. “Cal, it’s not about the money. Look at your nemesis, Lazarus Patterson. He has more money than some countries. It doesn’t seem to make him any happier or a better person.”