by Adam Graham
“Powerhouse, we have ways of handling this.”
“Ways that are dangerous for the kid. These guys don’t have guns and the boy is by the window. I can have this over in minutes if you’ll cooperate.”
Silence. “Okay, Powerhouse, we’ll play this one your way.”
Powerhouse waited three minutes. A text came through:
“At door.”
Powerhouse texted back. “Now!”
He flew by the window and super-imagined the thug watching the boy tied up and gagged and that the window was gone. He grabbed the boy.
The boy’s eyes widened. “Powerhouse, is that you?”
“Yes. Let’s get you out of here, son.” He flew the boy out of the kidnappers’ window and into the window of his parents’ apartment.
The mother ran over. “Jeff!”
Powerhouse smiled. “You’ll be okay. I’ll give you a longer ride later.”
He flew back to the kidnapper’s apartment and in the window.
The kidnapper in the black suit ran in. “The FBI!” He gasped. “Powerhouse. I thought you were retired.”
“Justice never retires. It only takes long vacations. You will surrender or face my martial arts skills.”
“Martial arts?”
What had those books said? “Take two eggs.”
Two eggs hit the criminal in the face.
“Flour.”
White powder poured out of the sky and knocked down the criminal.
“Add diced ham and shredded cheese.”
A pound of each fell on the criminals.
Polk and Donaldson ran in, guns drawn.
The criminal jumped and raised his hands. “I surrender; get me out of here before he turns me into an omelet.”
Agent Donaldson smirked. “You sure deliver them quickly, but a little messy, don’t you think?”
Powerhouse imagined the miscreant clean.
Agent Polk said, “Go process him, Donaldson. I’ll be down later with his friend.”
Donaldson nodded, cuffed the criminal, and took him away.
Polk said, “For my report, what was that egg-throwing all about?”
“I memorized several martial arts books and a cookbook at the same time. I accidentally called up the cookbook. I’ll forget it.”
“You might as well forget the martial arts books, too. You can’t learn martial arts by memorizing a book. Martial arts are about muscle memory.”
“Oh. Really?”
Polk nodded. “Officially, I have to advise you to defer to the Bureau in the future. We don’t let civilians take charge of our operations, but I made a discretionary decision that I believe was justified and for that I want to thank you, albeit unofficially.”
“That’s the only thanks I need. If you need further unofficial help, keep my card.”
Polk smiled. “I have it in the unofficial side of my wallet.”
Chapter 9
Random Acts of Powerhouse
Powerhouse flew up to the Heating Assistance Office. The parking lot was empty. He scanned the building. Empty.
Okay, no problem. He imagined the window opening and unlocking from the inside. He crept across to the desk of the director. On the desk was a list, “Families in need of weatherization assistance.” Those who they’d been able to help were marked in yellow. Powerhouse touched the list. His head tingled as it downloaded into his brain.
He climbed out the window, closed it, and flew across town to the first house on the list. A mother and two children gathered around the television in the living room.
He couldn’t do this one now without detection. Next candidate.
Powerhouse flew off toward a trailer court. A white, rusted trailer sat in space 4. Powerhouse x-rayed it. Yay, no one home. He imagined the trailer properly insulated and weather proofed. The insulation appeared.
They probably needed more than weather proofing. Powerhouse landed, went to the door, super-imagined it open, and walked in.
The pet door drooped down on the left side. An old couch and recliner rested on brown carpeting covered with stains and dirt.
Powerhouse super-imagined the pet door fixed and new thick brown carpeting laid. He strode to the washing machine. It was disassembled. An older dryer sat by it.
He super-imagined it replaced with a brand new washer and dryer. He walked into the kitchen and checked the cupboards. Empty except for three soup cans. Powerhouse opened the fridge. Only mold and sticky dirt. The freezer contained only a thick layer of ice. Time to get some food here.
Powerhouse super-imagined half a dozen cheese pizzas in the freezer and dozens of bags of chips in the cupboards.
Naomi’s voice echoed in Powerhouse’s head. “Kids need a balanced diet.”
Dave sighed. He envisioned cans of corned beef hash, green beans, and corn as well as cereal in the pantry, and lunch meat, tomatoes, and cucumbers in the fridge along with a gallon of milk. He placed a note on the fridge:
From A Friend
God Bless
All this super-imagining food into existence was making him hungry. He grabbed a can of corned beef hash, opened it, and meandered into the living room. He scooped the canned meat out bite by bite with his gloved fingers.
He finished the last bite as a car’s headlights shined from the parking space beside the trailer.
“Drat!” He’d fail in his mission if they found him here. How did he get out? Powerhouse stared at the pet door. Of course. He could change his physical appearance into that of a cat.
He super-imagined himself as a little black cat. His body began to swirl, but the dizzying sensation stopped. He was still himself.
Outside, a car door opened.
Maybe a kitty cat was too small. Powerhouse super-imagined himself as a dwarf jaguar that could squeeze through the pet door.
His body transformed into the jaguar and he crept behind the chair.
A boy about James’ age entered carrying a hamper of laundry. “I hate the laundromat.”
A chubby, short-haired blonde entered, her lips pursed. “Only because your DVD’s are here.”
“What’s for dinner, Mom?”
“Soup.” The mother sighed.
“Again?” The boy lugged the hamper over to the laundry area. “Mom, the washer!”
“What?” The mother raced to the washer. “How did that get here?”
“Duh. Somebody broke in and put it here.”
“A burglar that gives people things? Come on, let’s eat.”
Footsteps echoed and they left the carpet and stepped on to linoleum.
The mother read, “From a friend. God bless.”
The fridge door creaked open. “My God!” Her voice cracked. “Look at this, Tyler.”
Now to make his escape. They’d be distracted in the kitchen for a while.
Powerhouse dashed through the pet door.
Now to get out of this form before someone called the police.
A window smashed.
What the devil? Powerhouse climbed up a tree and looked down.
A teenage boy was climbing out the window of a well-painted white and red trailer across the court, carrying a jewelry box.
Powerhouse jumped from the tree onto the gravel.
The boy screamed.
Powerhouse snarled. “Unhand that jewelry box, miscreant!”
The young criminal screamed. “A talking jaguar!”
Powerhouse roared and peered down at his dwarf jaguar body. Oops. He’d forgotten to change back. “Down on the ground or I’ll devour you. There’s no escaping me. I’m the fastest cat on Earth.”
“B-b-but, I thought that was the cheetah.”
“I’m as fast as seventy-five jaguars!”
The quivering criminal hit the ground.
Now he had to contain this guy and make his escape before someone called animal control. Powerhouse super-imagined the criminal tied up and dashed behind a bush. He transformed back into his normal human body and superhero costume, pulle
d out his pay-as-you-go cell phone, and dialed police dispatch. “I’ve got a miscreant here for law enforcement to apprehend and bring before the great bar of justice.”
A female dispatcher’s voice came. “What?”
Police hacks had no sense of poetry. “I caught a burglar at the Budget Trailer Park with the jewelry box he stole still on him. Do you want him?”
“Why didn’t you just say so? We have an officer a few minutes away from your location.”
“Thanks.”
A white 1990 Crown Victoria pulled into the trailer court. A white-haired woman wearing a peach-colored shirt and a pair of white capris got out. She looked at the boy lying on the ground. She put her hands on her hips. “Why is my grandson tied up?”
“He was breaking into this trailer.”
“This is my trailer. Why would he break into it?”
“To steal your jewelry box.”
“You’re lying. He’s a good boy.”
A police car pulled up with its lights flashing. An officer climbed out and jogged over to Powerhouse. “What going on here?”
Powerhouse peered at the officer’s name on his badge. “Officer Willis, I caught this boy breaking into his grandmother’s trailer. He stole a jewel box.”
“Not true!” The grandmother ran to Powerhouse and pounded on his armor. “Ow!” She rubbed her hand. “Arrest him! He tied up my grandson for no reason.”
Officer Willis sighed. “Powerhouse, there’s a coffee shop at the corner. Would you mind going down there and waiting for me?”
The grandmother waved her fist. “You’re letting him go? Powerhouse and the cops work together. All you guys ever do is hassle people.”
Officer Willis extended his hands. “I’ll talk to him once I talk to you.”
Powerhouse nodded. “Powerhouse away!”
He zoomed three block down the street to the coffee shop, landed, and dashed inside. The barista was in his early twenties and had a diamond stud in his left ear. He smiled at Powerhouse. “Sir, welcome to Coffee King. May I say, that is the second best Powerhouse costume I’ve ever seen.”
Under his helmet, Powerhouse rolled his eyes. “Uh, thanks.”
“Can I take your order?”
“I’ll have a Large Chocolate Latte, decaf.”
“Sorry, we don’t have a large. We have dainty, average, and mondo.”
Man, he so hated ordering in coffee shops. “Which of those is largest?”
“Mondo.”
“Then I’ll have the mondo.”
“Coming right up, sir.”
Powerhouse reached into his armor, pulled out Dave Johnson’s wallet, and dropped down a five dollar bill. “Keep the change, citizen.”
“Wow, fifty-five cents, sweet.” The barista placed the bill in his till and deposited two quarters and a nickel in his apron.
Powerhouse walked over to a table, sat down, and imagined a hole in his helmet big enough to put a straw through. He sipped his latte.
A little girl said, “Daddy, it’s Powerhouse.”
Powerhouse looked up.
“It’s just someone in a costume, honey,” the girl’s father said.
How obsessed were his fans getting, for people to think he was another fan in a Powerhouse costume? Powerhouse sipped from his latte.
The door opened with a jingle.
Officer Willis rushed past him to another table behind him and said to someone sitting there, “Good news, Powerhouse.”
“It’s just a costume, officer.”
What? Powerhouse jerked his head around.
A short man was sitting in a Powerhouse suit, typing on a laptop.
Clenching his fists, Powerhouse got up and marched over to the table.
The imposter pointed both his index fingers and thumbs as him. “Hey, your costume’s pretty good. It’s a little dirty though. You should shine it.”
“Ha, that makes it authentic, citizen. A superhero suit doesn’t stay shiny for long if you’re flying around in it, actually fighting crime and doing good deeds. The rocketpack creates heat and then there’s the air.”
“Flying around? Wow!” The little imposter jumped up and down three times. “You mean you’re really, really Powerhouse?”
Powerhouse raised his shoulders. “Yes, I’m really, really Powerhouse.”
The little imposter hugged Powerhouse. “You’re my hero! I’ve got all your comic books, action figures, and all three of your video games.” The little imposter squeezed even tighter. “I love you, big guy.”
The entire shop was staring at the two metal clad figures. Must be nice to fans, no matter how annoying they are. “I have some business to attend to.”
The fanboy let him go. “Can I have your autograph?”
“I don’t do autographs, citizen. However I’d be happy to make your suit look more authentic.”
“Please, please, please!”
Powerhouse imagined a less shiny suit. “Now it looks just like mine.”
“Oh, thank you! If you need any help, I’ll be at your every beck and call. The name is Melvin Stankewicz.”
Powerhouse gripped Melvin’s hand and shook it. “Thanks, citizen.”
“Do you need my card?”
Was he serious? “Don’t worry, citizen. I know how to find you.”
“Really?”
“You live at 324 Wordley Circle in apartment number 307 and your phone number is 835-3704.”
“The phone number is right, but they moved me to apartment 292.”
That must not have made it in the phone book he’d absorbed. “I’ll update my records, citizen. Now, I have to talk to the officer.”
“It was awesome meeting you.”
“Officer Willis—” Powerhouse started, but two small hands pulled on his thigh. He glanced down. A little girl maybe three years old in a pink shirt and a pair of OshKosh B'Gosh overalls was squeezing his leg.
Powerhouse smiled. “Hello, honey.”
She held her arms up, making a lifting motion.
Awe. Powerhouse picked her up. This was one female who wouldn’t make Naomi jealous.
Her father pointed a cell phone camera at him. “Can I get a picture?’
“Sure.” Powerhouse nodded.
The father snapped three pictures.
Best to get out of here before Melvin decided he wanted a picture, too. Powerhouse put the girl down. “I have to go talk to the nice policeman.” He turned to Officer Willis. “Can we ride in your car a bit?”
“Sounds good.”
They walked to the cruiser and got in. Officer Willlis pulled out of the spot and on to the road. “It took a while, but the grandmother accepted what had happened. Her grandson burglarized her house to get money for drugs. Kid is hooked. He’s got it written all over him. She wouldn’t buy it until he told that story about being attacked by a talking jaguar. I’ve heard of some crazy hallucinations but that wins first prize.”
“Yeah.” Powerhouse gulped.
Officer Willis said, “Another unit took him to be booked. I wish I could get the guy who’s been selling these kids drugs. Pete Gorman. Every time we obtain a warrant to search the place, it’s clean, and we don’t have probable cause to go in without a warrant.”
The car turned off on a side street. Officer Murphy pointed at a large well-kept two-story house standing in the middle of a block of run down homes. “That’s it.”
Outside it stood a balding, middle-age man with patchy black hair salted liberally with gray. He was wearing a red Hawaiian shirt and a pair of khaki pants. Red Hawaiian Shirt ambled out to the police car. “Oh, Officer Willis, how to nice to see you.”
Officer Willis grimaced like he’d drank pickle juice. “This is the owner of the aforesaid house, Mr. Gorman.”
Lets make it a menacing mutter like Batman to introduce myself to this scum. “I’m Powerhouse.”
“You’re what?”
Powerhouse raised his hoarse whisper a tiny bit. “I’m Powerhouse.”
&nb
sp; Officer Willis asked, “Did some coffee go down the wrong way?”
Powerhouse sighed. Apparently only Christopher Nolan could pull that off. He swallowed and took another sip of coffee. “I’m Powerhouse.”
Gorman smirked. “It’s a pleasure I’m sure.”
“I’m sure its not. Drug-dealing scum, Powerhouse will defeat you.”
Gorman laughed. “Sure, you’ll huff and you’ll puff and you’ll blow my house down.” Gorman did an exaggerated blowing motion like he was telling the story to a five-year-old. “But there’s nothing in my house. You do any damage to it, and the cops will hunt you down. Ain’t that right, Officer?”
Willis nodded. “Of course.”
“I’m a law-abidin’ citizen. Cops have searched my place four times and found nothin’ and no tin-plated boy scout is going to get away with violatin’ my rights.”
Times like this, he so wished he hadn’t killed off the Emerald Avenger. Lord, I’ve got to stop him. “Citizen, I won’t blow your house down, but I will stop this.”
“You have a really overactive imagination just like the cops. Good night, friends.” Gorman strolled down the walkway, chuckling and whistling.
Officer Willis glowered. “I feel like going into real estate.”
“But people need you.”
“They need someone who can get scum like Gorman off the streets. If only we could see what goes on in the house. We’d get that guy for sure.”
You can with the help of my super-imagination. Powerhouse smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll catch him.”
Dave Johnson stood across the street from the drug dealer’s house in a pair of black coveralls, pulling weeds from an overgrown lawn.
Gorman swaggered over. “What are you doing here?”
“Cleaning up the neighborhood.”
“You a cop?”
“No, I’m a mild-mannered citizen with herbicides far beyond the power of mortal man, fighting a never-ending battle against weeds, filth, and liter.”
“At eight o’clock at night? When the sun’s down?”
“Slime never sleeps.”
Gorman cracked up. “Continue your battle elsewhere.”
“Once I’ve banished the evil weeds from this place.”