by Adam Graham
He waved Dave off. “I said amscray.”
Dave raised his right eyebrow. “You gonna make me? You could call the cops. Or, if you want to fight me to get out of here, I’ll call the cops.”
Gorman put up his right hand and smiled. “Hey, no need to make a federal case out of it, but get all your weeding done tonight. There are some people who might not like you coming here again.”
Gorman crossed the street back to his house.
Dave knelt and began to pull the weeds one at a time. Hopefully a drug dealer would show up soon, or he’d have to come up with something else for tomorrow.
A black Mercedes rolled up and a blonde got out wearing a pair of jeans and carrying a duffel bag. Dave scanned the bag with his x-ray vision. It was stuffed full of $50 bills.
Dave dialed the number of the police business office.
“Seattle dispatch.”
“Tell Officer Willis to go to Gorman’s house, on its eastern side.”
Dave continued weeding until Willis arrived. Dave tuned to his superhearing to across the street.
“What the blazes?” Willis pulled out his walkie talkie. “I need a back up unit here. We’re going to have a big arrest.”
Yes, another bust by your amiable, neighborhood-weeding Powerhouse.
A few minutes later, the Mercedes woman left the house and Willis ran toward her. “Halt, police!”
The woman smacked her lips. “Leave me alone, cop.”
“You’re under arrest for possession of narcotics.” Willis read her rights to her and added, “Hands against the wall.” He frisked her and held up for Dave a pistol and a Ziploc bag. “Enough heroin to supply an elementary school for a month. Lady, do you have a concealed carry permit?”
“I’m not saying anything until I talk to a lawyer.”
“Suits me.”
Another officer arrived and took her away.
Willis knocked on Gorman’s door. It opened a crack.
Gorman said, “Yeah?”
“Mr. Gorman, you’re under arrest for trafficking narcotics.”
“I suppose you have proof.”
“We arrested a woman right outside your house who bought from you.”
“I don’t know nothing about it. You can’t arrest me for someone in my house possessing drugs.”
“I saw you sell her the drugs.”
“Impossible.”
“Apparently you’ve never seen the side of your house.”
“What are you talking about?”
Handcuffs clicked. “Let me show you.”
It was about time to leave, but there was still a lot of work to do. Dave super-imagined all of the lots on the block cleaned of weeds and trash.
“What game is this?” Gorman demanded. “The entire side of the house is a two-way mirror.”
“Not a smart move. People in glass houses shouldn't sell drugs.”
“You dirty rotten cops installed this!”
Willlis laughed. “Oh sure, we brought in a busload of workmen and replaced your wall with a two-way mirror without you noticing.”
Best for neither Powerhouse nor Dave Johnson’s car to be seen here. Dave walked to the bus stop across the street from the bust.
Gorman cursed.
“Tell it to the judge.” Willis led Gorman to the car and put him in. Willis looked around at the cleaner neighborhood. “This could be a good neighborhood without you.”
Dave got on the bus and frowned. Not if we don’t plant something good here.
Chapter 10
“We Have a Problem”
Powerhouse landed outside Power Street Community Church’s brick building. The sign out front still read, “Reverend Jones, Pastor.”
It’s been a year and a half since he died. It’s about time to change the sign.
Powerhouse scanned the church. “No one in the building.”
A basketball bounced in the youth center.
Powerhouse marched to the entrance. On the door was a gold plaque. In loving memory of Pastor Thaddeus Jones.
Powerhouse bowed his head. If only he hadn’t gotten lured away and left Jones unprotected long enough for Marco to kill him. If only I’d listened to you when you were alive. I hope you know your words weren’t wasted on me.
Swallowing, Powerhouse ducked through the open gym door.
A young black woman in a sleeveless white T-shirt and blue gym shorts raced up the basketball court with her hair in a pony tail that flowed out of her Seattle Storm baseball cap.
“Excuse me!” Powerhouse waved. “Do you know where the pastor is?”
The woman stopped and caught the basketball. “You’re looking at her.”
Powerhouse raised his eyebrows. She didn’t look like a pastor. “Oh, um, I need to talk to you.”
“Let me clean up.”
“Okay. I’ll be back in half an hour.” Powerhouse exited the gym and rocketed into the sky over the area. There had to be something he could do while he waited. Powerhouse flew over a neighborhood grocer.
A young woman in an orange blouse and a pair of denim capris got out of her dirty blue Ford Escort with a little boy. Tears streamed down her face.
The boy tugged on her arm. “Momma, are you okay?”
She wiped her eyes. “It’s okay, honey. I just miss Daddy.”
“Me too, Momma.”
Powerhouse hovered above the market. Maybe he could help her somehow. But what did she need?
A man in a blue polo shirt and khaki shorts sauntered by her car and sneered at it. He wrote on the dirty windshield, “Wash me.”
Powerhouse landed and eyed the car’s back bumper. Gold star wife. He snarled and counted ten. He whispered, “Lord, help me not to be a big jerk when I confront this guy.”
Powerhouse raced across the parking lot on foot. The man in the khaki shorts opened the door to a blue Jeep.
“Hold up, citizen!”
The man jumped. “Powerhouse? What can I do for you?”
“Come with me.”
“Sure, it’s my day off.”
Powerhouse led the man to the car he’d written on.
The man ran his fingers through his hair. “Why are you leading me to this filthy thing? I don’t get why anyone would let their car get that dirty.”
“I do.” Powerhouse pointed to the bumper sticker. “Do you see that?”
The man eyed the bumper sticker. “Gold star wife? What’s that mean? Her husband got a good grade in school?”
Powerhouse clinched his fists. “A blue star wife’s husband is serving in the military. A gold star wife’s husband died while serving in the military.”
The man swallowed. “Oh.” He gazed at the unfaded bumper sticker. “It looks like she just put it on.” He stared at his shoes. “Okay, so I’m a big jerk. What can I do?”
“The car’s already told you.”
He stared at his writing. “I don’t have anything to wash the car with.”
Powerhouse super-imagined a portable power sprayer filled with water, a bucket of soapy water, two sponges, and a large towel.
“Oh.” The man blinked. “Pretty nifty.”
“All right, citizen. Let’s fight grime.” Powerhouse scrubbed the front of the car and the man in the khaki shorts scrubbed the rear.
Powerhouse finished scrubbing the passenger front door. “I have an appointment. I’ll leave the rinsing and drying to you. Keep the equipment.”
“What for?”
“In case you see another car that needs cleaned. Powerhouse away!”
Powerhouse rocketed back to the church. The front door was unlocked. He walked back to the office. The sign on it said, “Leticia Jones, Pastor.”
The women’s basketball player paced around Reverend Jones’ office as she read Smith’s Bible Dictionary. She stood at six foot, one inch tall. Tiny black braids fell to the middle of her back. She wore a saffron, mid-calf dress.
Wow. She looked more like a princess than a pastor.
She place
d the dictionary on the bookshelf and sat behind Reverend Jones’ desk. “Have a seat.”
Powerhouse lowered his bulk into the leather office chair. “So, are you related to the old pastor, Reverend Jones?”
“He was my uncle.”
“I’m sorry. I was guarding him, but there was an emergency.”
She put up her left hand. “I read the news articles. My uncle would’ve wanted you to save downtown from the nut with the rocket. He would’ve put their lives first. Now, what is it I can do for you today?”
Guess she didn’t want to talk about his failure. Powerhouse sighed. “I’m back to fighting crime, but my counselor tells me it’s not enough to clean and sweep the house. I have to replace the evil with good. Otherwise, the evil will just come back.”
She scribbled on a yellow legal pad. “What’s your idea?”
“I can clean up the neighborhoods, help churches move in to replace the crime.”
“By setting up youth centers, food pantries, satellite churches, that sorta thing?”
“Yeah.”
She dropped her pen and leaned back, putting her hands behind her head. “We’re struggling to keep our existing ministries going. I don’t know how Uncle Thaddeus managed to pay for all this. Must have been like the Lord feeding the five thousand.”
Powerhouse frowned. If there was one congregation in Seattle that he could count on, it was this church. “What about other churches?”
“Are you a believer?”
Powerhouse nodded. “A late comer, but yes.”
“I could see if I could get together some of the pastors. You could share your testimony and see who you can get to come on board.”
What? Powerhouse shook his head. “I’m not a preacher. Superheroes don’t testify, and why would the pastors need to hear my testimony? There are people that need help. I’m willing to help them.”
“This is a ministry effort you’re organizing, Powerhouse. The faith of the leaders of a ministry they support matters to most pastors who preach the gospel.” She leaned forward. “Also, superheroes do too testify.”
“No, they don’t.”
“You mean superheroes never tell anyone their origin story? I’ve read it in hundreds of comic books.”
Powerhouse blinked. “You read comic books?”
“Yeah. Superheroes testify all the time about what happened to them, how the spider bit them or their daddy got shot. So why can’t you explain what God has done?”
“They don’t tell this type of thing to everybody in the comic books.”
She waved. “It’ll be closed doors with pastors only. No recording. Anything you got to keep secret for safety, you don’t have to share. Think of all those raggedy supervillains who pretended to be heroes and roped folks into helping them. When they’re unmasked, it’s a big embarrassment. Why did it happen? Because supervillains had a different testimony.”
Okay, she was related to Thaddeus Jones. “You don’t think that I’m a supervillain?”
“Uncle Thaddeus spoke well of you, and he was a wise man, but we’re tapped out. If you think the support of the youngest pastor in the city is going to do anything for you, you got another think comin’. However, I know a few pastors of big churches who’d like to meet you. They’ll listen to you, but you had better be prepared to talk to them about what you’re about. Just tell your story. Nobody expects you to be a preacher.”
Powerhouse nodded. “All right, you get the meeting together. Any day other than Sunday and any night other than Tuesday.”
“I’ll get it set up. How do I get in touch with you?”
Powerhouse pulled out a card. “I set up an email address.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Powerhouse stood and headed to the door. He turned. “Do you really read comic books?”
“Not much any more, but I still subscribe to your comic books.”
Powerhouse smiled. Maybe this would work out after all.
Mitch Farrow grinned as he spoke into his cell phone’s Bluetooth earpiece to the Guardian’s managing editor. “Jeff, I got your email. Thank you for the interesting information on Powerhouse.”
“I don’t know how interesting it’ll be. He’s not allowing press in. Only a select group of pastors. We can’t sneak in, but we can still run a story about the meeting.”
And step all over my plan. “You’ll do no such thing. Your boys may not know how to get information, but I do. I’ll handle this.”
Jeff sighed. “Farrow, you’re not a newshound anymore.”
Farrow wiggled a finger. “If there’s a story I’ll get it.” And if he could gain more by keeping it to himself, he’d have that option. “Now, you’ve got a paper to run. Let me know if you get any more Powerhouse tips.”
He hung up on the editor and called his secretary. “Have Marcy bring the car around. I need to visit Radio Shack.” Farrow twirled a 360 in his office chair. “It’s going to be like old times.”
Powerhouse stood near the podium. Seventy-five pastors sat at banquet tables, with the remains of ham sandwiches and potato chips on their paper plates. Leticia Jones joined Powerhouse. “You ready to go?”
“With a lot of prayer, yes.”
She pointed at Zolgron. “Who’s he?”
“Oh, that’s the Gray Giant.” Powerhouse smirked. Zolgron was really going to regret choosing that secret identity one of these days. “He’s helping out with security.”
The Gray Giant strode to Powerhouse and whispered, “There’s a listening device under one of the front row tables broadcasting to a location several miles away. Start your speech, and I’ll get that out of here once I’m able to hone in on where the receiver is.”
“Thanks, Big Gray.” Powerhouse nodded and turned to Leticia. “Pastor, go ahead with the introduction.”
Leticia stood at the podium and turned on its mic. “Brothers and sisters, we’re ready to start. Pastor Levitz, will you open us in prayer?”
An old man wearing a black sweater stood. “Let us pray.”
Powerhouse bowed his head. Lord, if you could have a supervillain like Doc Oc show up right now, so we could fight a battle to the death and I wouldn’t have to give the speech, I’d like that. If not, help me to do a good job.
Pastor Levitz intoned, “Amen.”
Leticia beamed at Powerhouse. “We’re glad to have Powerhouse with us today. Come ahead and share.”
She took a seat.
Powerhouse stepped behind the podium. Maybe it’d be good to start with something familiar. “Everyone bow their head and close their eyes.”
Everyone closed their eyes except for the Gray Giant.
Powerhouse cleared his throat. “Who wanted to be a superhero when they grew up? Raise your hand. Don’t be embarrassed. Only I can see you.”
Two thirds of the hands shot up.
Powerhouse smiled. This would be easier than he’d thought. “Thanks, you can lower your hands and look up. I had that dream. Only for me—”
Boom! A flock of paper plates flew into the air. Powerhouse jumped and glanced around for the Gray Giant, but only found pastors ducking for cover.
Mitch sat at his desk in his office, listening to his bugged table’s radio. He had a scrap of blue paper at his side and a pen in hand. Of all the idiotic exercises he’d ever heard speakers use, that had been the lamest. Now, it was time to get to the action.
A noise like a semi-truck passing a compact car replaced Powerhouse’s voice. Mitch grabbed the receiver and shook it. He swore. Made in China.
His door banged open. In burst a basketball-football player sort dressed in a green cape and black body armor and wearing gray skin paint that looked authentic. Costumed Jerk stood before him holding the transmitter. “There’s no problem with the receiver.”
Costumed Jerk tossed the transmitter on the desk.
Mitch scowled. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I’m the Gray Giant, and I’d like a show on Food Network, though
that’s more of a long-term goal. My card.”
Mitch took the card. A vaguely familiar Western theme song emitted from it as he read it. Have Superpowers, Will Travel. Email Gray Giant.
The Gray Giant puffed out his chest. “I got the idea from Paladin.”
Who? Mitch chuckled. “Nice card. With a name like Gray Giant, you’d definitely fit in on the Food Network.” Mitch closed his eyes and sung, “Ho ho ho, Gray Giant!”
The Gray Giant grimaced. “I was curious who would be listening in to my friend Powerhouse’s little talk and why.”
Mitch adjusted his tie. “Ever hear of freedom of the press?’’
“Ever hear of the right to privacy and journalistic ethics? You people seem to forget whatever is inconvenient at the moment.”
“Look, it’d be a heck of a story, and I do know somebody who knows someone at the Food Network. Just put that bug back and the show’s yours.”
Gray Giant glowered. “Do you really think I, the mighty Gray Giant, am subject to such petty bribery?”
“Everyone has their price.”
“You’re the most cynical person I’ve met.”
“I’d better be. That’s how I got this job.”
The Gray Giant turned towards the door
“Hey, I also know someone at TLC.”
The Gray Giant spun around. “Bah! If you have any other great ideas to surreptitiously record the meeting, forget it. I put a dampening field around the room that will stop all transmissions in or out until the speech is done.”
“What if someone has an emergency and needs to make a cell phone call or text?”
“Your people’s idea of an emergency text is ‘OMG, I left my keys at school.’ Hardly worth the security risk.” Gray Giant burst out the door.
Mitch leaned back in his chair and laughed. Good thing that guy wasn’t a threat to the Cause at present. When it came time to invade, Gray Giant would need to be dealt with, if he still hadn’t been made to see that he was fighting on the wrong side.
Dressed in his Superman bathrobe, Mild-Mannered Dad Dave Johnson walked past Zolgron as Zolgron slouched on the couch drooling at the Home Shopping channel.