Powerhouse Hard Pressed

by Adam Graham

  “Excuse me?” Farrow folded his arms and scowled. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  “One of my new subjects!” Manners pointed to the closet in the corner.

  Farrow stomped over and shoved it on a hanger. “Done.”

  “No, not like that!” Manners grabbed the coat and carefully rehung it. “There, now it won’t get wrinkled, and I don’t have to worry about harming the coat.” He turned and stalked toward Farrow. “Mitch Farrow, I’ve read your editorials.”

  “I take it you’re not a fan.”

  “Way worse than that.” Manners grabbed Farrow by the shirt. “You’re guilty of treason against your rightful sovereign.”

  Farrow’s eyes narrowed. “You’re an etiquette blogger!”

  “Even when you too were only a blogger, you tormented me. Now, my torment will end.” Manners tossed Farrow out the window he’d crashed through. “Happy landings!”

  The ground rushed up toward Farrow. He cursed.

  I’ve made a monster and he’s destroyed me.

  Chapter 19

  Emperor Manners

  Farrow hurtled toward the ground. I’m going to be street pizza.

  A fist clenched around his ankle and jerked his leg out of joint as it stopped his fall. Waves of agony swept over every inch of Farrow’s body.

  Laughing, Mister Manners hauled Farrow upright and sneered. “No, I won’t kill you now. You have to be executed properly for your crimes.”

  Farrow swallowed and breathed heavily. “What are you talking about?”

  “You publicly attacked our person and our name. We are not amused.”

  “You’re not a king.”

  Manners smirked. “Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘might makes right’? Since I have the might, I’m right. I’ll make your palatial quarters my own after some repairs. They’ll be the first quarters of His Resplendent Majesty Jules I.”

  Powerhouse lay in a hospital bed. His cell phone began playing the theme to Superman the Movie. Powerhouse grimaced and picked it up.

  “Powerhouse, how are you?” the chief asked over the phone.

  “Sore, but recovering quickly, thanks to my healing powers. I’m going to need help with Manners, or at least some sort of strategy. He’s jamming my super imagination, and he’s nearly invulnerable, though I think you might have a chance if you trained your men in throwing boomerangs.”

  “You’ve done what you can. We’ll have to let the Pentagon have a shot at this.”

  “Can they hit him without killing everyone?”

  “It’s not like with the Robolawyers. There’s only one of him and once he goes down, his army will scatter.”

  What? Manners had an army? Powerhouse gasped. “I’ve only been here two hours! How could he get an army?”

  “By promising the volunteers power and wealth. He’s enlisted at least three hundred men that he’s publicly declared will go through a boot camp featuring five weeks in etiquette and one week in combat. That’s after he establishes his regime, though. For now, he’ll let them be ill-mannered as they fight his revolution for him.”

  “How will the Pentagon counteract this monstrous villainy?”

  “I spoke to a colonel. He’s going to ask for the president’s permission to take extraordinary measures. Hopefully he’ll get results. I’ve got to go. We’re evacuating to a more secure location.”

  “All right, stay in touch. Bye.” Powerhouse hung up. He ought to be out there defending his country—maybe all of Earth.

  He slipped the cell phone in his inner pocket. His arm ached. Who was he kidding? Powerhouse had been beaten.

  The doctor walked in. He eyed Powerhouse. “You ready to go home?”

  “I think I can manage. How’s Boomerang Bloke doing?”

  “He’s awake and has been asking for you. He’s in room 322.”

  Powerhouse got out of bed and walked down the hospital corridor. Wow, moving felt better than lying down. He walked into a room at the end of the hall. He stood by Boomerang Bloke’s bedside. Bandages covered most of the guy’s face and all of his right arm and left leg. The Aussie’s eyes were completely swollen shut.

  “Boomerang Bloke!”

  “Powerhouse?” Boomerang Bloke turned his head toward Powerhouse’s voice and winced. He wheezed with a strange rattling sound. “Mate, I’m sorry about throwing boomerangs at you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  The rattle-like wheezing continued. “I guess I didn’t want to be a supervillain. I just wanted to . . . . I’ve been done a nobody all my life. My ex-wife, my kids, nearly everyone close to me makes sure I know it. If I could go toe-to-toe with Powerhouse and win, I’d be a somebody.”

  Powerhouse smiled. “You stepped in to help me even though you had no powers at all. That says you’re somebody.”

  “You stood up for me, only person who stood up for me. Maybe, I could’ve been—somebody.”

  The machine beeped continuously. Boomerang Bloke had flatlined. His eyes closed and his arms went limp.

  Oh no! Powerhouse screamed, “Nurse!”

  An apple-shaped nurse ran in. She peered at the flat line and at Bloke’s good arm. Growling, she reached under the bed and plugged the machine in.

  Bloke’s heart restarted. Powerhouse sighed with relief.

  The nurse put her hands on her hip. “You unplug that one more time, and I’ll break your other arm.”

  Wait. Powerhouse scowled at the Aussie. “You have a very sick sense of humor.”

  “Maybe, but that’s not what the doctor says.” The Boomerang Bloke rasped. “He says I think, if I pretend to die, I won’t feel so scared of it. Anyway, I caught my father’s boomerang before that whacker stonkered me. It’s in the side pocket of my Utilikilt. Take it. Use it if it comes in handy and think of the old Boomerang Bloke.”

  “I will.” Powerhouse exchanged a three-minute round of goodbyes with the Aussie and headed out in the hallway. He’d take his cloaked airship home.

  Once he was safely in his backyard in Bryerton, he changed into Mild-Mannered Dad Dave Johnson and strode in the kitchen door. Naomi ran out of the living room, her arms open, and hugged him tight, burying her face in his shoulder. He relished the hug for a moment and then pulled back. “Is Zolgron back?”

  Naomi frowned. “I’ve been trying to call him for hours. He must be in a remote area.”

  “We gotta get him a satellite phone.” Dave sighed. “I’ll look for help elsewhere in the meantime.”

  Dave lumbered down the basement stairs to his mancave. Naomi had purchased a new leather brown couch on sale, but it looked odd down here when he had a Windows 98 computer and his desk was a white folding table. Zolgron’s bedding was folded on top of six red milk crates that held most of Dave’s comic book collection.

  He transformed into Powerhouse, plopped on the new couch, put his feet up, and dialed Miss Invisible’s number on his cell.

  Her machine picked up. “Hi, you’ve reached the Miss Invisible. If this is an emergency, please dial 9-1-1. I’m away from my home for the next two weeks and am not available. Please pray for me as I go through a discernment effort regarding the future of my career. Leave a message and I will return it when I get back.”

  Powerhouse hung up. Yuck. Superhero voice mail.

  He dialed Captain France’s number.

  The line clicked. “Bonjour, mon bonbon.”

  “Bonjour, mon donut.” Powerhouse snickered.

  “Powerhouse! I was expecting—never mind. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got an unbeatable supervillain and was wondering if you could come over and help.”

  “Sorry, but I am on ze trail of a terrorist who will make ze London subway Bombing of 2005 look like a church picnic, non? If I leave now, I will lose him, and I’ve chased him all ze way from Pakistan.” Captain France coughed. “Besides, I have a most disturbed ex-girlfriend who has moved to Seattle. I must avoid going there, oui?”

  “Even if evil aliens invade the Earth starti
ng in Seattle?”

  “I would wait until ze battle reached ze city of Portland to join it. Now, I must go. I’m awaiting an important phone call. Au revoir.” Captain France hung up.

  So much for that. Powerhouse sighed.

  The Powerhouse Cell Phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID window. Melvin. Terrific. He picked up. “How can I help you?”

  “It is I, Melvin Stankiwicz, the Compact Fury, Senior—”

  “Yeah, I know. Could you get to the point?”

  “Oh, um, how are you?”

  Powerhouse groaned. “Sore and waiting for you to answer my question.”

  “Okay, Okay. I had a couple ideas for our next move. Why don’t you go and get the Infinity Gauntlet?”

  Powerhouse laughed and snorted. “Because a comic book writer made it up for a publisher far better known than Blue Cat Comics.”

  “Oh, you might just want to check around your Fortress of Solitude.”

  Powerhouse sighed. “If I had one of those, I’d get sued by the other industry giant. All I’ve got is an ordinary mancave.”

  “Um, any orders, sir? Mister Manners has commanded the Powerhouse Squad to disband. He says he’ll patrol Seattle and take down any disobedient ones.”

  “Get out of town. He’s out of your league.”

  “W-where should w-we go?”

  “Go defend Tacoma. If his side starts winning there, retreat to the next city. Hopefully, America will defeat him before you run out of American cities to defend.”

  Melvin sighed. “Okay, boss. Wish we would just take it to the bad guys.”

  “Me too.” But the bad guy had nearly killed him. He needed a plan. He couldn’t risk the brave members of the Powerhouse squad, and certainly not Naomi and the kids by flying into unknown danger.

  The only thing he could do was wait and pray.

  Mitch Farrow sat in his cell in an office building basement. He sat in a white lawn chair at a brown folding card table. Behind him was a green sleeping bag. Guarding him was a hood dressed in tattered blue suit that looked like it’d been liberated from Goodwill.

  A man with a comb over in a 1970s leisure suit entered. “His rabbi is here to see him.”

  “Rabbi?” Mitch blinked. No one in his family was Jewish.

  Fournier entered wearing a stereotypical rabbi suit, hat, and beard.

  Mitch facepalmed.

  “Shalom.” Fournier cleared his throat. “Could you leave me with him?”

  “Do guards usually do that?” Goodwill Liberator asked.

  Fournier took the other white lawn chair.

  Wow. Mitch blinked. Manners had got dregs to work for him, all right.

  He glanced across the table at his “Rabbi.” Then again, so had he.

  “Don’t try anything. We’ll be right outside.” Comb Over Leisure Suit shrugged, hauled out Goodwill Liberator, and closed the door behind him.

  “It’s me.” Fournier pulled down his beard.

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “No? Really?” He folded his arms. “Why would an ex-Christian convert to Atheism have a Rabbi? You’d have done better to come as a Catholic priest.”

  “Why would I have a Catholic priest outfit handy?”

  Mitch cleared his throat. “I was surprised you didn’t wear a bowtie.”

  Fournier frowned. “Bowties have been banned effective immediately by order of Emperor Manners. That also goes for men wearing earrings, women wearing nail polish colors other than pink and red, anyone using text message and internet slang, wearing pants without belts, failing to return shopping carts to their corrals, and using cell phones in public, which includes your own car. He’s likewise banned using an mp3 player outside of your own home. All-you-can-eat buffets must shut down immediately, and all express line checkers must strictly enforce the posted item limit.”

  Oh brother. Mitch raised his left eyebrow. “His plan is to take over the city and create a new code of laws based on his pet peeves?”

  “I’m afraid his plans get even more ambitious. In two weeks, only cowboys, farmers, gardeners, construction workers, and ranchers will be allowed to wear jeans, and they’ll still have restrictions on where they can wear jeans. He expects all offices in the city to have a formal dress code with no casual Fridays.”

  Mitch snickered. “He’s trying to get Men’s Warehouse to ally with him.”

  “In addition, public schools must teach manners for three periods a day.”

  Mitch put up a hand. “Okay, I’ve heard enough of the platform of the National Anal Retentive Party. What brings you here?”

  “I came to assure you I’ll get you out of this. I’ll even help Powerhouse defeat that bowtie-hating clown.”

  “What’s Varlock’s position?”

  Fournier scowled and pursed his lips. “I knew we couldn’t trust him! The alien clown hopes this will enable his people to pass off their own conquest of Earth as liberating us from the home-grown menace.”

  “Oh.” Mitch relaxed. If King Bel got to swoop in and save the Earth from the fascist reign of Emperor Jules Manners, the grateful people would all embrace Earth’s entry into an enlightened, interdimensional empire.

  His life would be a small price to pay to save his daughter. To keep her from becoming worm food, too, for as long as possible anyway. Mitch swallowed. “Fournier, Varlock is absolutely right. Don’t worry about me.”

  “What?” Fournier gaped at him, blinking. “Have they drugged you?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Mitch’s hands shook. “Could use some bourbon, though.”

  The building quaked.

  Mitch held onto the table. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know.” Fournier bit his lip. “If you’re sure you don’t want my help, this little Rabbi will be running along.” Fournier adjusted his beard and fled.

  The alarm clock buzzed. Dave rolled over in bed, stood, and stretched. All better, but still no plan. Say, where was his wife? He walked into the living room. The smell of sizzling bacon filled the air.

  Naomi called from the kitchen, “Dear, breakfast will be ready in two minutes.”

  “Smells good.” He had about ten minutes until the next Super Friends rerun, so he might as well see if there was any news out of Seattle. He flopped on the couch and flipped the TV on to Rise and Shine, America.

  A short-haired woman sat at anchor’s desk in a yellow suit. She folded her hands, her lips pressed together and her forehead creased. “Last night, the Air Force launched a direct assault on an alleged homegrown terrorist who claims to be America’s rightful sovereign, Emperor Jules! Joining us from Seattle is Emperor Jules.”

  Mister Manners came on the screen wearing his white unitard and a diamond-studded gold crown. “We, the Emperor of Earth, are dismayed by the treacherous attack of the rebellious American government on our own sovereign soil. The cowards dropped a one-ton bomb upon our sleeping chambers. We are not amused. Nor were we amused when the treasonous scum Arthur Polk led an FBI task force against us and foolishly attempted to arrest.”

  The anchor raised her eyebrow. “What is your planned response to this allegedly unlawful action?”

  “Polk and his men will be summarily executed today at one thirty, Pacific Time.”

  Dave gasped.

  Beads of sweat appeared on the anchor’s brow. “That’s at one thirty this afternoon, Pacific Time?”

  “Yes, Ms. Millwood. Noon is typical, but I want to make sure people get a good lunch and have time to digest it. I don’t want the onlookers to vomit, and they’re not yet accustomed to the necessary unpleasantness of public beheadings. “

  Naomi came in. She wore a bathrobe and carried a plate with eight pieces of bacon, two waffles, and scrambled eggs. “Here’s your breakfast.”

  “Thanks, I’ll need it.” Dave swallowed. “Plan or no plan, I have to combat Mister Manners.”

  Chapter 20

  Naomi’s Plan

  Seated beside his wife, Dave stared at the kids across the breakfast table. Derrick
wore a navy hoodie and James a red soccer jersey.

  Derrick’s lip quivered. “Dad, you can’t fight him. He’ll kill you.”

  “Maybe, but I can’t let him kill Agent Polk.”

  Folding his hands in his lap, James stared at his plate. “What are you going to do if he knocks out y-your imagination?”

  “I’ll think of something.” Dave shrugged.

  Naomi grimaced. “That’s your problem. You do everything spontaneously.”

  “What’s wrong with spontaneity?”

  Naomi picked at her bacon. “Nothing when your super imagination is working right. Since it’s not, you should plan what you think you might need in battle and superimagine it all beforehand.”

  “How do I know what I need?”

  “What powers does he have?”

  “He’s strong, fast, and can fly. He seems to be darn near invulnerable.”

  “Okay so now we just think of ways he might attack or ways to attack him and come up with a bag of tricks. For one thing, add a button to your suit for the force field, and he won’t be able to hurt you.”

  Oops. Dave ducked. “I guess I did kind of forget to turn that on.”

  Naomi patted his hand. “Then we just need to throw everything we have at him and make sure to get the prisoners out.”

  Derrick leaned forward. “Can we help?”

  Absolutely not. “Sorry. Too dangerous.”

  Naomi’s eyes twinkled. “I think we can use them.”

  “What?” Dave’s eyes bugged out. “The Protective Mama Bear wants her babies to go into battle?”

  Naomi grinned from ear-to-ear. “No, that would be dishonest. After all, tomorrow, I’ll send them to school with notes saying, ‘please excuse my son’s absence yesterday. I kept him home due to a family emergency.’”

  “All right!” James jumped up, pumping his fist in the air.

  She eyed James. “I’ll also get your homework and tutor you in any spare time leading up to the battle to make sure you don’t miss anything,”