by Adam Graham
“Mitch, I’m calling about your offer to have us go to Europe for treatment. I’m taking you up on it. Rosie’s taken a turn for the worst.”
Oh no. Mitch’s stomach sank and it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He swallowed and took a deep breath. “What turn?”
“The doctor says she has three months.” Rachel’s voice was full of tears. “We have to try something.”
Months! Will King Bel’s invasion be ready by then? “I’m sorry.”
“I know you can’t handle it, Mitch, but she does miss you so. If you would—”
An irrational urge to run to his baby and his wife and hold them close slammed into him. Mitch shook his head. The religious hypocrite wasn’t his wife anymore, thank Santa Claus, and it was his fault Rachel and Rosie had AIDS. “We’ve been over this.”
Rachel’s sigh bordered on being a growl. “Very well, please send us the tickets and make the arrangements.”
“I’ll get right on it. Bye.” He hung up the phone and pulled out the Pharaoh’s black cell phone. He dialed Fournier’s number. Once Fournier answered, he said, “I had a question about Mister Manners. Do you think he and Powerhouse are going to end up fighting?”
Fournier snickered. “I wish you could get it on Pay Per View. It’s obvious he resents Powerhouse. He even shoved Powerhouse out of the way to snag a rescue.”
“That’s promising. Who do you think would win?”
“I’d give Powerhouse about a sixty percent chance of humiliating Mister Manners. This battery Varlock had us install is fascinating, though. It soaks in solar energy like a sponge and it isn’t hampered by clouds or nighttime conditions. In a battle, Mister Manners has an inexhaustible power source. On the other hand, if Powerhouse’s superimagination has any limits of any sort, I’ve yet to find them.”
“Do you remember the dampening field we used to disrupt Powerhouse’s super imagination against the Robolawyers? Do you think you could get something like that added to Manners’ arsenal?”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. I can find out when he goes to bed and do a modification on his battery using a remote-controlled device. Why? I didn’t think we were wanting him to fight. Just to discredit Powerhouse.”
“Sometimes it’s not enough to discredit hope. Sometimes, you have to kill it.” A tear slipped down Mitch’s cheek. It was either Powerhouse or Rosie.
Powerhouse sat in his titanium chair at his policemen’s Bible study with twelve police officers.
Sergeant Watts smiled at them all. “How’s everyone been doing?”
Officer Janice Tennyson flicked a bleached-blond lock of hair out of her eyes. “I had a rough shift yesterday. A certain misnamed glory-hound interfered with a high speed chase and caused an accident with six injuries. I have hours of extra paperwork.”
A medium-set officer with black hair cracked his knuckles. “I’ve had problems with that guy, too. He keeps capturing people we’re about to capture and making a mess in the process—all to get his picture in the paper.”
Gray-haired Officer Denny Graves smirked. “These superheroes are glory hogs.”
“Yeah.” Powerhouse bit his lip. “Um, am I a glory hog?”
The officers broke out in laughter.
Graves swallowed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean you, Powerhouse. You’re cool.”
Janice said, “He just reads the Guardian too much.”
They laughed again.
Graves pointed a thumb at Powerhouse. “Though, I hear we wouldn’t have had this problem if you hadn’t talked a rookie into letting him off with a warning.”
That was looking like a big mistake. Powerhouse ducked. “I was trying to be merciful. When I was a new superhero, I made some dumb mistakes.”
Sergeant Watts nodded. “Everyone here has at one time or another decided to give someone a break. Sometimes we get burned, and that’s happened to all of us, too. You’ll learn from this and make a better judgment next time, but let’s add that whole situation with Mister Manners to our prayer list.”
Powerhouse sighed. He was going to have to talk to Manners. Somehow, he doubted it was just his general hatred of confrontation saying this wouldn’t go well.
Powerhouse wore a canvas work uniform and a light weight orange safety helmet as he held up the side of the house. His cell phone buzzed.
Another worker drove the last nail into the board, and the work crew manager tested it. “All right, you can let go.”
Powerhouse released the side of the new house. It stood firm. He glanced at the cell phone and read his new text message. “PH Squad biz. Hurry. Melvin.”
“I have to go now.”
“Thanks for the help.” The work crew manager shook his hand.
“Always glad to lend a hand to the heroes of Habitat for Humanity. Powerhouse away!” He superimagined his normal uniform on and flew up into the sky.
He landed at an apartment complex. It had pealing teal paint, five stories, and took up an entire city block. He went up to the second floor and walked to the door of Apartment 292.
A man opened the door dressed in a true to life Powerhouse suit. “Powerhouse!”
Powerhouse grimaced. “I told you to stop wearing the Powerhouse suit. I’ve got a lot of enemies that might mistake you for me and they’d hurt you.”
Melvin put up his right hand. “I’m just wearing it around the house to relax.”
Who relaxed in a suit of armor? Powerhouse sighed. “We had business?”
“Yeah!” Melvin removed his helmet, revealing his uneven complexion and his unruly red helmet hair and a frown. “Come on in.”
He led him into the apartment. On the couch sat the hulking six foot one form of Jazeel Hunter. The black superhero wore a Powerhouse Squad symbol on the shoulder of his black leather uniform which had a white logo in the middle of it which featured a Rottweiler. He wore a simple black Zorro mask and a steel hoop pierced his right ear.
Powerhouse smiled. “Ah, Rottweiler.”
Rottweiler smiled, stood, and extended his hand. “Big P, put her there!”
Powerhouse shook the Steel Protector’s hand. “So did you reconsider my offer of your own comic book?”
“Nah, don’t need the money. Still haven’t spent everything I earned in the NFL.”
“Well, then what’s this about?”
“Rottweiler needs help!” Melvin ran in between them, waving his hands like a goofy teen sidekick despite his being at least thirty. “He’s got problems on the street.”
Rottweiler frowned. “That clown Mister Manners.”
Powerhouse sighed. Another one? “What’s he done now?”
“He keeps hassling me about my earring.”
Powerhouse grimaced. “Say what?”
“He came all the way to Tacoma to tell me real men don’t wear earrings. I was trying to stop a couple of kids from fighting and he made them laugh at me.”
Powerhouse frowned. He wasn’t a fan of men’s earrings, either, but Rottweiler was an adult and free to make his own costume choices. “I’m sorry, man. That was wrong of him. How are you handling it?”
“I’m certainly not gonna change my style to please that fool. Honestly, I’ve been tempted to put the beat down on this dude, but I know what the training says.”
“I’ll have to have a talk with him.”
“You’d better. If he does it again, I’m going to stop him, before he ruins me.”
That was his responsibility. Powerhouse sighed. “I’m going to find him right now. Melvin, put an all-squad alert out for him. Don’t engage him, just text me his location.”
Melvin snapped to a salute. “Yes, sir!”
Powerhouse’s cell phone buzzed. It was a text message from the chief. It read, Manners. Hurry. It provided an address. “Never mind. I know where he is.”
Melvin sighed and whined. “I never get to send out an all-squad alert.”
“Next time.”
“That’s what you said the last time.”
> Powerhouse sighed. “Send one out saying I said to keep up the good work.”
Melvin smiled. “I’ll dash it off right away!”
Rottweiler punched his left palm. “Can I come?”
That would not be in the best interests of Rottweiler’s health. Powerhouse shook his head. “He’s getting too powerful.”
Steel Protector laughed. “That little guy?”
“He’s changing.” Powerhouse cringed. “And not for the better.”
Powerhouse left the apartment and soared away.
At a supermarket on Fourth Avenue, two EMTs were loading a woman into an ambulance. Manners stood about a hundred feet away surrounded by police and reporters.
Chief Stone Bachmann stood by the ambulance. He was frowning.
Powerhouse landed beside him. “Chief, what’s up?”
The chief glanced over to the crowd around Manners. “One way or another, someone has got to take him down. Is he bulletproof?”
“I’ve never shot him.” Powerhouse turned and shouted at Manners. “Hey, Manners! You bulletproof?”
The chief slapped his forehead.
“I think so.” Manners cocked his head. “Why?”
“Just asking.” Powerhouse spun back to the chief. “Apparently.”
“Look, he hurt that woman. It’s not certain whether she’ll live.”
Oh no. “Why did he do it?”
“He’s all too happy to explain that. Either get that lunatic to surrender or else take him down. He’s too dangerous.”
“Right.” Powerhouse marched over to Manners. “What’d you do?”
“Justice, what else?” Manners pointed at a minivan two hundred feet away with a sweltering dog in it. “This evil woman left her poor little dog in the roasting heat with the windows up! To make her crime even worse, she came to this store to buy cancer sticks. She needed to be taught a lesson and to pay for endangering the life of a precious little Chihuahua.”
“That was the cops’ call to make, not yours,” Powerhouse glanced at the minivan and gasped. “The dog’s still in there with the windows up.”
“Of course.” Mister Manners laughed and rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to be responsible for letting some mutt run free in the parking lot.”
Whoa, just how demented was this guy? Powerhouse snarled. He ran over to the van, imagined the door unlocked. It wouldn’t unlock. Oh no, what was going on with superimagination. Would he have to rip the hinges off?
Maybe not. He tried the door handle. She’d left the door unlocked.
He opened the door and grabbed the poor dog out of the car. It panted and its little heart beat so fast as it trembled, staring hard at him with big eyes.
He ran two hundred yards away and superimagined a bowl of water for it to drink, set it down, whirled, and dashed back to Manners. “Don’t you ever think of not being a jerk? You know, helping people?”
Manners smirked. “Stop helping people at once. From now on, you work for me, and your job is to help me force inferior barbarians to behave properly if they fail to willingly do as I say. You will stop being so soft, and you will cease seeking to make people like you more than me so you can steal my glory. I am the invincible superhero and never err in my judgment. I’m the one who can lead this city to a brighter today.”
“You mean a brighter tomorrow?”
Manners laughed. “No, I mean a brighter today. Why wait for tomorrow when someone as marvelous as me is around? Nothing can get past me.”
A boomerang slammed into the back of the megalomaniac’s head.
Snickering, Powerhouse turned.
The Boomerang Bloke stood in his trademark khaki shorts. “Greetings, I’m the Boomerang Bloke, and I’ll be your ultimate supervillain challenge.”
Too late, I already have a psychopath with superpowers to take down. You’re just a nuisance. Powerhouse groaned. “I thought you said you’d stop this.”
The Boomerang Bloke poked his index finger in the air. “I said nothing about him. He deserves to be challenged, the pumped up blowhard.”
Can’t argue there.
“If you want a fight, you’ve got it!” Manners leaped beside Boomerang Bloke, smashed his fist into his face, and threw him into the sky.
Powerhouse rocketed into the air, caught Boomerang Bloke, and stared at the bloody mess on BB’s face. The poor bloke’s nose was broken and the skin around his eyes was swelling and turning black.
Now Manners had definitely gone way too far. If he hadn’t caught the Bloke, Manners would’ve killed him.
“Powerhouse? You saved me?” Boomerang Bloke’s weak voice only made it over the sound of the jetpack thanks to Powerhouse’s superhearing.
“Yeah, that’s what real heroes do.”
“Take me to my van. It’s on the corner north of the grocery.”
“Sure.” Powerhouse put him down near the van. “Will you be okay?”
“Yeah.”
Hopefully the chief would call another ambulance. Powerhouse raced over to where Manners stood.
Manners gasped and folded his arms. “You saved a supervillain.”
“That’s what well-behaved, mannerly, civilized superheroes do. You’d know that if you’d swallow your pride, admit you’re an ignorant ‘barbarian’ when it comes to proper superhero protocol, and learn from a veteran.”
“If you’re correct, then I’m not a superhero, nor do I wish to be. You’re weak, you’re soft. You’re the old order. I’m the new order and your superior—your god! Accept that and bow to me or else suffer the consequences of my wrath.”
“Okay, Jim Jones, get your rear flat on the ground and slap your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest.”
“Try to arrest me.” Manners flicked his hand at him and the force of the blow shoved landed Powerhouse four strides away.
Powerhouse bounded back, wrapped his arms around the shorter man, and tried to superimagine ropes surrounding him. Pain sliced through his forehead. Can’t focus!
“If you can’t heed a warning, take this!” Mister Manners grabbed Powerhouse’s and threw him in the air.
Powerhouse sailed down the middle of the street. He dodged a Volkswagen bug and pressed the button on his arm to turn on his jetpack and recovered his control.
The chief screamed, “Manners, you are under arrest! Follow Powerhouse’s orders and get down on the ground, hands behind your back, or we’ll open fire.”
Manners laughed. “Try it.”
Bullets bounced off Manners.
Manners smirked and shook his fist. “Mortal enforcers of the old regime’s laws, bow to me or else! Obey and enforce my decrees, or I’ll execute you for treason!”
This nut had to go down. Powerhouse rocketed forward full thrust into Manners and slammed him into the hotel across the street.
Manners looked up, smirking wickedly. “Is that the best you have?’”
He slapped Powerhouse across the chops, flinging him clear across the street and into the parking lot of the market. Manners raced over and picked Powerhouse up.
Lungs blazing, Powerhouse gasped for breath.
Manners pummeled his helmet repeatedly like it was a punching bag.
Powerhouse kicked back, making contact with Manners repeatedly.
“Pathetic!” Manners laughed. “It’d almost be as improper for me to kill you as it would be to kill a dog, but it has to be done. With you dead, no one will dare resist me!”
“Think again, mate.” A boomerang zoomed through the air and slammed into Mister Manners’ head.
“Hey!” Manners dropped Powerhouse as if he’d been startled.
Guess the Bloke wasn’t as bad off as he’d thought he was. Powerhouse looked up.
The Boomerang Bloke had slipped on his Utilikilt and was throwing boomerang after boomerang at the approaching menace. “Run!”
Not on your life. Powerhouse ran to the Boomerang Bloke’s side as Mister Manners grabbed Bloke’s arm and smashed him into the ground.
> Powerhouse delivered an upper cut to Mister Manner’s jaw.
It sent him flying.
The Boomerang Bloke clutched his left arm. “I can’t move it.”
Bloke was bleeding from seemingly everywhere. His left arm was bent the wrong way, his right leg was battered and bruised with a bone showing.
Powerhouse gasped. “I got to get you to an emergency room.”
Mister Manners skulked over. “No, I’ve got to send you both to the morgue.”
The reporter Kelli Michaels ran out from where the other reporters stood and grabbed Powerhouse’s arm. She closed her eyes.
Manners stopped mid-stride.
Kelli Michaels swallowed. “Time is frozen for ten seconds. Get him to the ER.”
“How?”
“Seven seconds!”
Oh. Powerhouse scooped up the Aussie and dashed off. The explanation for the Kelli-ex-machina would have to wait.
Mitch Farrow smiled as he stared down over the city of Seattle from his office atop the Dorado Insurance Building. Powerhouse would be dead in no time flat, and so would the citizens’ faith in superheroes.
Below, people fled around cars abandoned in the streets. King Bel might get to deliver the world from Mister Manners in exchange for their allegiance.
He was a genius. Farrow slipped his hands behind his back.
Mister Manners flew up towards Farrow like a fearful monster. Manners rose higher, higher.
Higher.
Right toward Farrow’s window.
Farrow stepped back.
Mister Manners crashed through the window and the glass shattered all over the office.
Screaming, Farrow dove behind his desk. “What are you doing?”
Manners grabbed the desk and ripped it in two. He gripped Farrow’s blue jacket and both shoulders only to let go, scowling. “I can’t do this.”
Finally, the nut job had found his limit.
Manners folded his arms. “Take off the jacket!”
“What?”
Manners punched his left fist into the palm of his right hand. “I won’t ask again.”
“Fine.” Farrow took the jacket and off and dropped it on the floor.
Manners gave him a pat on the cheek that felt like a hard slap. “How old are you? You don’t put your things on the floor. Take it to the closet.”