by Adam Graham
Powerhouse smirked. Going inside computers made him sick. “That’s a big loss. Can I still absorb books by touching them?”
“Yes, your other powers are intact, but only at three quarters strength. Sorry, when I made these, I thought it prudent to be more powerful than my cronies.”
“So I’m the Silver Age Powerhouse?”
“An apt comparison.”
Beat being retired. Dave glanced to Naomi. “We need to tell the kids.”
Naomi’s eyes widened. “We can’t! What if they tell their friends?”
“Um, Derrick figured it out last time, on the silly basis that he named me. As far as I know, he kept my secret. Besides, they remember Diablo. I’m sure they’d rather avoid getting kidnapped.” Powerhouse marched into the hall and headed toward James’s and Derrick’s room. “Besides, who’d ever suspect Dave Johnson is a superhero? Unlike me, he’s a little goofy, has a wild imagination, and is not exactly bright.”
Zolgron chuckled. “I don’t know how you’ll pull it off.”
“I’ll manage it.” Powerhouse shrugged. He’d simply have to pretend he’d never gotten a brain-power boost from becoming Powerhouse.
Naomi rubbed the back of her neck. “This may seem silly request, but could you take me for a ride?” She touched Powerhouse’s helmet. “It’s the only way to fly.”
Powerhouse hugged her. “I’ll take everyone in the family on flights.”
He entered the kids room and strode through the toys, clothes, and junk on the floor up to their oak bunk bed. Derrick sat on the top bunk reading an issue of the kid-friendly Spider-Man comic book. On the bottom bunk, James was typing on a laptop.
James looked up. “Did you b-b-buy a costume?”
Powerhouse puffed out his chest. “No, this is real. I’ve got my powers back.”
Derrick closed the comic book and his eyes lit up. “Cool, Dad! You’re going to be Powerhouse again?”
“I am Powerhouse.”
Derrick shook his finger at him. “Dad, you need to train first. It’s been a long time.” He got out of bed and circled around Powerhouse. “Does this suit get hot?”
Zolgron perked up. “No, it’s got a great cooling system in it that I adapted it from technology I encountered on Betra 7.”
It did? Dave blinked.
Derrick knocked on the rocketpack. “Wow, it’s huge.”
Zolgron nodded. “We could go smaller on that. Dave’s design attracts fire in battle. I could adapt a rocketpack that would emit less heat and also be half the size.”
Powerhouse grimaced. “The Powerhouse costume’s a classic. Why mess with it?”
Naomi draped her arm on his shoulder. “It’s a family project now.”
Guess this would make things go smoother. Powerhouse spread out his hands. “Okay guys, we can change the rocketpack. Anything else?”
Derrick raised his hand. “Could you take off your helmet when you’re talking to us and no one else is around?”
Powerhouse removed the helmet. “Okay.”
James closed his laptop and sat up. “D-dad, we should t-t-test your suit out.”
“Yeah!” Derrick pumped his fist in the air. “Lets go where there’s not a lot of people so you can run, test weapons, and fly around. See how fast you can go.”
Naomi grinned. “And see if he can blow things up? Sounds like a fun father-sons weekend to me.”
That was a good idea. Powerhouse could make it harder to spend time with the boys. “If Zolgron will help me figure out a destination, we’ll go and test things out.”
James’ lips spread into a tiny smile. “I’ll m-make you a w-website. You need a blog, and an easy w-way for p-people to e-mail you.”
Dave smiled. “I didn’t know you did that sort of thing.”
“You d-don’t stutter when writing online.”
“Consider yourself commissioned, son. Just be careful not to use your real name to get things registered.”
James snorted. “Dad, I’m not stupid.”
“If there’s nothing else, I’m going to give everyone turns on the Powerhouse express.” Powerhouse slipped on his helmet and swooped Naomi into his arms.
Naomi laughed. “Oh Dave.”
Powerhouse super-imagined the visor open. “I’m in costume. My name is Powerhouse!”
Powerhouse dashed toward the tank barreling at him. He grabbed it by its big gun, flung it around the Nevada dessert, and smashed it on the ground repeatedly.
The immobile tank lay upside down, and it’s wheels slowed. It looked a like an oversized tortoise that had fallen on its back. Powerhouse grabbed the machine in the middle and tore it apart like it was Reynolds rap.
Powerhouse super-imagined his armor contracting into a metal square on his chest. He stood in blue tights with the gold Powerhouse lightening bolt on the metal plate on his chest. His helmet remained and continued to blow cool air into his face. Powerhouse dashed across the desert.
A low-orbiting, rectangular spaceship swooped after him. He spun and fled the other way as fast as he could run. The sand, hills, and cacti blended into a big blur. He was nowhere near as fast as the Flash, but he was surely breaking a world record ten times over. Good enough.
His lungs started to burn. Powerhouse panted. He had to stop.
He glanced back behind him at the ship overhead, right on his tail. Gotta keep running.
Powerhouse sped up. He passed miles of desert. His legs ached. His throat matched his surroundings. He peered at his watch. He’d been going half an hour. It had to be enough. He slowed and came to a gradual stop. He breathed in, out, nice and slow.
The spaceship landed and Derrick and James got out.
James eyes’ were wide. “That was so c-cool.”
Derrick nodded. “Yeah, Dad. I timed it. For the first five minutes, you were going 1500 miles an hour. I could barely keep up in the spaceship. Then you slowed down to 800 miles an hour.”
Powerhouse nodded. “I could practice so I don’t slow down so much, but I don’t know how I’d use it practically. I have my rocketpack.”
Derrick shook his head. “Dad, your rocketpack only goes 250 miles an hour. You’re way faster when running on the ground.”
“Too many obstacles on the ground in the city. I’ll keep working on it.”
Derrick waved back at the spaceship. “Come inside and rest.”
“Right away, son.” Powerhouse yawned. Showing off for the kids was harder than fighting crime. Still, it was worth it to spend time with them.
Powerhouse plodded into the ship and plopped in a plush captain’s chair on the bridge of the stealth spaceship.
Derrick settled into the navigator’s chair. “One more thing, Dad.”
That was it. “One more thing, Derrick Johnson. Who am I?”
“I mean Powerhouse. Zolgron gave me some information that he said you need to memorize. He wanted to be that sure you got it because he’s in Tahiti.” Derrick reached into a bag and pulled out a folded document of some kind. “City of Seattle Map.”
Powerhouse touched the map and his head was filled with a complete scale map of the city. “Very cool.”
Derrick tossed him another map. “City of Seattle sewer map.”
Powerhouse touched it. His mind filled with the layout of the Seattle sewer system. “Always handy to have.”
Derrick reached into the satchel. “Greater Seattle area phone book.”
“That’s good.” Powerhouse touched it. His body jolted and numbers zipped through his head. It figured. That always happened with big books.
Derrick reached in and pulled out half a dozen books. “And here are some martial arts books we got from the library.”
“Super!” Powerhouse grabbed them. Karate instructions and illustrations wrote themselves onto his brain’s hard drive. He added Judo, Akido, and then Kung Fu. He grabbed the fifth book.
Pictures of delicious pastries filled his mind.
Huh?
Powerhouse gaped at the co
ver. “The Betty Crocker Dessert Cookbook.”
“Oops.” Derrick flinched. “That must have been on the wrong shelf.”
Powerhouse grabbed the last book and acquired knowledge of Tae Kwon Do.
His head throbbed. Rubbing it, he moaned.
“W-what’s wrong?” James asked.
“Information overload. It’s like an ice cream headache, only worse and without getting to eat the yummy ice cream.” Powerhouse closed his eyes and imagined one of the confections in Betty Crocker’s book. A peach cobbler with ice cream, plates and a knife appeared on his lap. Powerhouse cut off a slice and lifted it toward his mouth.
He waved at the kids and the cobbler. “Have some.”
Derrick took a place, cut off a piece of the cobbler, and put it on his plate. He pressed a button on the spaceship’s control panel. “I’ll get us back to camp.”
James snatched up the remaining plate and sliced himself a piece of the cobbler, too. “D-dad, you okay?”
“Yes, son.”
Derrick glanced at his brother and slipped sound-proof earphones on.
James sighed and swallowed. “D-dad, you’re not a d-dork. I’m s-sorry.”
“You’re forgiven, son.” Powerhouse smiled. “From what I’ve heard, most sons your age think their dads are dorks.”
“Heard? Didn’t you?”
“My father died when I was four.”
“Oh.” James blinked. “Y-you never mentioned it.”
“Not a happy memory.” Powerhouse’s chest constricted.
“Well, y-you’re cool.”
That alone made the whole trip worth it. “Son, have another piece of cobbler.”
Chapter 8
Powerhouse v. the Kidnappers
Powerhouse landed on the windowsill outside Chief of Police Stone Bachman’s office at police headquarters and crept inside. “Hello, Chief.”
The chief whipped out his nine millimeter handgun from his shoulder holster and spun toward Powerhouse. “Oh, it’s you.” He sighed and put the gun away. “Didn’t I tell you not to come in that way?”
Powerhouse smiled. “You also moved the bookshelf so it wouldn’t be in my way and left the window open.”
“I rearranged my office. Leaving the window open is a green initiative.”
“Yeah, I saw a few green bugs crawling around. I just came by to give you my card.” Powerhouse handed the card to Bachman.
The chief held the card up to the light. “A number for the Powerhouse phone?”
“Yes, initially only you and one other guy will have the number.”
“Well, it beats that Powerhouse signal they used in Bryerton.” The chief locked down his computer. “So, is it going to be the same deal as before? Just fighting crime and telling us where to pick up the criminals?”
“I’m going to work to build churches and youth centers as I clean out the criminal element.”
The chief grinned. “That’s a good idea. It’s gonna be tough, but let me know if I can help.”
“Will do, Chief. Well, I’m off to see a balding man. Powerhouse away!”
He flew out the window to 3rd Street and stopped outside a three-story building that said, Seattle FBI Field Office. Powerhouse scanned it from top to bottom until he found the office of Special Agent in Charge Polk.
Polk was out, but there was a paper notepad on his desk. Powerhouse flew up to Polk’s window and focused on the piece of paper. He imagined a pen running lightly across the top of the piece of paper to reveal what had been written on the piece that had been above it.
An address appeared of 3136 NE 140th Street #504. He checked that against the phonebook. That was the address of Dr. Ronald Carter and his wife, Jan.
Ah ha. “Now, I’m off to see Agent Polk. Powerhouse away.”
Though he’d best not fly up to the window again. The FBI wouldn’t react well to the surprise, and he wasn’t completely bulletproof. Powerhouse landed at an apartment building, dashed inside, and got in the elevator. He pressed the button for the fifth floor. A short, red-haired man in a spring weight green jacket jumped in to the elevator before the doors closed.
The red-haired man stared up at Powerhouse. “Wow, that’s the second best Powerhouse costume I’ve ever seen.”
Second best? Powerhouse grunted.
The little weasel got off on the fourth floor.
Powerhouse got off on the fifth floor, marched to Apartment 504, and rapped hard on the door.
It creaked open and out peered a woman with short mousy brown hair and lines under her eyes. “Are you really Powerhouse?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “I can’t believe you came! You’re going to find him. I know you will.”
Find who? Powerhouse raised his eyebrow. “I will?”
“Of course you will. You’re Powerhouse.”
A young man with a full head of blond hair came forward. “Sir, please get out of the way. You’re interfering with a federal matter.”
“Who are you?”
The man removed a wallet and flashed his badge. “Donaldson, FBI.”
Huh? Where was Polk? “That’s not possible.”
“The badge is genuine.”
“Yeah, but you’re not balding.”
Donaldson’s eyes widened and he gaped.
The woman grabbed Powerhouse’s elbow and pulled him into her living room. Agent Polk sat on the brown couch with a man wearing a gray cardigan sweater.
Agent Donaldson put up his right hand. “Stop!”
The woman smacked her lips and put her hand on her hip. “You’re FBI, not God Almighty. I want my boy back and Powerhouse can help.”
Powerhouse grimaced. A kidnapping case? Definitely a job for Powerhouse.
Special Agent in Charge Polk jumped up, frowning. “What’s going on?”
Donaldson glared at Powerhouse “This costumed freak is interfering with our investigation.”
Powerhouse eyed Polk. His hair had retreated entirely off the top of his head, leaving a thin layer of brown hair on either side of his bald skull. Polk’s trim athletic frame remained the same.
Polk nodded at Powerhouse and turned to Donaldson. “A good agent uses every available resource. Powerhouse has provided cooperation to the bureau in the past. If Mrs. Carter wants him here, we’ll welcome him.”
Mrs. Carter smiled up at Powerhouse. “Our boy is your biggest fan.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help.” Powerhouse turned to Polk. “Sir, what happened?”
“About 8:00 this morning, Mrs. Carter stepped into the shower. About four minutes after that, she heard the boy scream and got out of the shower. At 8:06, she found the boy gone with a ransom note on the door. She slipped on her robe, looked down the hall, and ran down the stairs but found no one. She contacted the FBI field office. We’ve begun a citywide manhunt for the boy and coordinated with state and local officials. We’re ready to trace any calls, and the initial note promises a call at 2:30. We’re having that analyzed.”
Agent Donaldson snarled at Powerhouse. “What can you do that we can’t?”
Powerhouse tapped his left ear. “I have superhearing. If you have a recording of his voice, I can listen for it and track it like a homing signal.”
Agent Polk’s eyes smiled. “That could be helpful. Doctor Carter, do you have a recording of your son’s voice?”
The man in the gray cardigan nodded slowly. “Yes, on the computer.”
He led Powerhouse and the two agents over to a blue laptop with the name Jeff sprawled on the case in white crayon.
The doctor pressed a button on the lid, opened the videos folder, and pressed play on a video.
An eight-year-old boy with brown hair, green eyes, and pierced ears ran out from behind a tree. He beamed into the camera. “Happy Anniversary.”
Mrs. Carter put her arm on Dr. Carter’s shoulder.
Powerhouse memorized the sound. “I’m going to hone in on his voice signal. I won’t
be able to hear you or anything else.”
Dr. Carter reached into his pocket, pulled a notepad, and handed it to Polk. “Write down whatever you need to say and he can read it.”
“Thanks, sir.” Polk took the notepad and wrote down a phone number. “Powerhouse, here’s my cell phone. Notify me when you’ve found him.”
Powerhouse opened his ears’ superhearing. Dripping faucets, ringing phones, thousands of discordant pieces of music slammed him to the ground. He covered his ears and screamed. Now I remember why I don’t like this power.
Okay, he simply had to focus on just the male children.
That made a slight dent in the overwhelming amount of sounds. “Okay, folks, I’m going to focus on your son now.”
The sound stopped altogether.
Drat. Powerhouse growled. “He’s not talking.”
Agent Donaldson smirked.
Agent Polk wrote on the notepad and his lips moved while looking at Mrs. Carter. Polk held up his note. The kidnapper will call in five minutes. Mrs. Carter will insist on speaking to the boy.
“I’ll fly outside and wait for it, so I can get to wherever the kidnappers are.” He handed Polk his business card. “Text me if anything changes.”
Polk nodded and flashed him a grin. Powerhouse opened the window and flew thirty feet up on his rocketpack.
Eight minutes later, the boy’s voice came. “Mom, I’m scared.”
Powerhouse flew to the sound of the voice.
The boy cried, “No, don’t. You jerk!”
Powerhouse focused in on the wall as he used his x-ray vision to look through it. A man in a black suit slapped a piece of duct tape back over the boy’s mouth and carried him to the bedroom. His partner waited out front. Powerhouse x-rayed them.
He pulled out his cell phone, restored his hearing to normal, and dialed the number for Agent Polk.
“Just a second,” Agent Polk whispered. A door closed. “Go ahead.”
“I found them,” Powerhouse said.
“Where are they?”
“In apartment 516.”
“What?”
“They’re on the same floor as you. Get down to 516 and get ready to make a bust. Text me when you’re at the door.”