by Daco
Electromancer slowly flew to toward the ground and hovered above the television cameras so everyone could see her. “You’re safe for now,” she said.
“You’re Electromancer,” a man said.
“Yes. And please, always know that I am here to help.”
“Who’s behind this madness?” a reporter asked. “Alexa Manchester?”
“She has nothing to do with this. She’s a victim. It’s some clown who calls himself Momo,” Electromancer said.
“You mean that person who supposedly runs The Momaxita?” a woman reporter asked. “Isn’t that an urban myth?”
“The Momaxita is all too real,” Electromancer said.
“Why are they attacking our city?” someone else asked.
“I wish I knew,” Electromancer said. “But rest assured that I’m going to find out.” And with that, she flashed across the sky and was gone.
Chapter 13
Back in Kensington City ...
The night after Momo had dealt with nincompoops in his laboratory and zapped The City of Angels with billions of volts of electricity, Mayor Bobby Baumgartner was dressing for his Saturday night engagement dinner party. The lightning storm in The City of Angels was all over the news. Not that The Mayor cared about what had happened in a city across the ocean. He didn’t believe the nonsense that Momo was behind the attacks. What The Mayor did care about was that the evening’s soiree would bring him one step closer to ensnaring Alexa Manchester in marriage and his taking over the Manchester fortune.
Sure, Alexa had played hard to get at first, but a lot of women did that. Like all the other women, she’d quickly surrender to his charm and good looks. What a handsome couple they’d make! She’d help him become prime minister, and after that, there’d be no stopping him. The world would be his—and so would Alexa. No more of her crazy ideas that she could run The Mick or save the world with affordable energy. In exchange, he’d lavish on her the finest things in life (though he’d use her money to do it). He knew he was old fashioned in thinking this way, but so often, the old-fashioned ideas proved to be the best.
As he looked at himself in the mirror and tied the perfect knot in his baby-blue bow tie, Bobby smiled at himself with great satisfaction. There was something in the shape of his smile that suddenly made him light-headed. His hamstrings, quadriceps, and calf muscles cramped all at once, as if they were waging World War III against each other. He was overwhelmed with queasiness, and his mouth flooded with saliva. He had the urge to spit, and so hurried to the bathroom, where he expectorated a foul tasting liquid into the sink. The greenish-black-colored substance swirled around the basin and rushed down the drain. He should have felt disgusted but wasn’t. Instead, as soon as he expelled the substance, he felt remarkably refreshed, and his appetite returned. He hoped that Chef Yurdlemon would not disappoint with an exquisite menu tonight.
After brushing his teeth for the second time, The Mayor was now ready to depart for the Manchester estate. He restraightened his bowtie and reexamined his profile in the mirror, smiling at his reflection, noting the brilliant gleam of his teeth. There had never been a more dashing and handsome man, he thought to himself.
Once downstairs, he started toward the back hallway, which led toward the garage that housed his gold Lamborghini. Just as he was retrieving his car key from his pocket, he was startled by loud pounding on the back door. Bobby jumped, springing unnaturally high, bumped his head on a hanging light, and landed on all fours. He shook his head like a stunned fighter trying to clear his mind. Preposterous—this foyer had eighteen-foot ceilings! He couldn’t possibly have jumped so high. He had a horrible thought—what if the Electromite had affected him? No, he must’ve tripped and hit his head against a shelf. The blow must’ve caused some kind of hallucination that had led him to believe that he’d hit the ceiling lamp. Still, he did feel especially light on his feet.
And why wouldn’t he, given what was going to happen tonight?
He regained his composure and went to the back door. Where were his blasted servants? Off for the night already? He opened the door to find Zachary Zero gazing at him with blood-shot eyes.
The Mayor pulled Zero inside so that no one would see him. “You look drunk, as usual. What are you doing here? Don’t you have flowers to plant?”
Zero’s clothing was stained with dirt, and his fingernails were filthy. He’d clearly had a long day’s work planting flowers. “Mayor, you’ve got to help me. Those WEEDS women are killing me. Don’t make me go back there. Please.”
“Toughen up, Zero. Count your blessings that you’re not locked up behind bars. If you were any kind of man, you wouldn’t have stolen their flower money. You would’ve found something more macho to steal.”
Zero shrugged. “I just thought you should know that I overheard Henrietta Hensinger talking.”
“Why would I care what that old crone says? I’m late.”
“Seems that Miss Henrietta Hensinger was talking with Mr. Corn.”
“They hate each other. I don’t need to listen to tales of their failed romance and twenty-year flirtation.”
“No, it’s not that, Boss. Mr. Corn was talking about saving the Sugar Express Train Depot. He said he and his CABOOSE pals found an old ordinance on the books that says the city can’t lawfully let any of its property fall into disarray, disorder, or disrepair. That there’d be penalties to pay. Maybe even criminal sanctions if it’s malicious or for an ulterior motive. He said that any member of the city’s Trust Advisory Board can approve immediate action be taken if the city neglects its obligations and duties and if the property has been in this condition for more than five years.”
“That’s exactly why the place is going to be demolished. No more disrepair.”
“Yeah, but apparently Mr. Corn paid a visit to Alexa Manchester—she’s a member of the Advisory Board as you know—and Ms. Manchester signed off on the approval for repairs to begin immediately.”
“What?!”
“Don’t shoot the messenger, Boss. I just thought you should know.”
The Mayor grumbled inarticulately. His face grew hot with rage. He felt that any second, he would explode and go on a maniacal rampage. Then he belched. The sound was so ferocious that he might have been mistaken for a gaseous lion. Zero registered surprise, but not as much surprise as The Mayor was feeling inside.
“What else do you know?” The Mayor asked when his insides had settled down a bit.
“Those amateur engineers from CABOOSE are already down at the Sugar Express working. Wood has been delivered, paint, nails, everything. The stuff is being delivered by the truckload. They didn’t waste any time. And those women are down there, too, making their plans for planting flowers, bushes, ornamental trees, you name it.”
“Why are you telling me this? What do you want?”
“For you to rescue me from those flower ladies. If I look left, they swat me with switches. I look right, they step in front of me like I’m going to bolt. I tell you, I can’t take it. I’m thinking it might just be better to serve my time and get it over with, and I would, but they don’t have any juice in the joint.”
“You need to stay away from the liquor, Zachary.”
Zero looked around the kitchen as though he’d heard quite the opposite of what The Mayor had just said. “I could use a little juice about now.”
“Get out of here.”
Zero turned toward the door, stopped, and looked back. “Have you heard the news, Mayor?”
The Mayor grimaced. He was growing impatient. “You just told me the news.”
“No, the other news, Boss.”
“Zero, I said, ‘Get out!’”
“There was a deadly thunderstorm or something in The City of Angels, causing fires, and the city was saved by that Electromancer lady. They say she fought electricity.”
“I heard about that. It’s all a media hoax. TinselTown meets BNN.” Britannia National News network was supposed to be legitimate, but The Mayor cons
idered it no better than the International Enquirist. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” The Mayor started to close the door, but Zero put a hand on his chest to stop him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The Mayor asked.
“You ever heard of someone called Momo?” Zero asked.
“Another hoax. Now, get going.” The Mayor pushed on the door to close it, but Zero was stronger than he’d once been. All the lifting and planting must’ve strengthened him.
“There’s been an awful lot of weird happenings going on since we stole that Electromite, Mayor.”
“I didn’t steal anything,” The Mayor said defensively. “You did.”
Zero narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t the way I see it, Mayor.”
The Mayor scowled at Zero. “You’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”
“If you ask me, I think you gave that rock to Momo.”
The Mayor shoved Zero off the stoop. “Ridiculous. I told you, there is no Momo.”
“You owe me Mr. Mayor. I don’t want to be working for those ladies any longer.”
“Do what you’re told.” The Mayor slammed the door shut, returned to his study, and searched the Internet. When he finished reading about the events that had occurred in The City of Angels, he was sure of one thing: Momo really was behind all the terror and destruction taking place. It wasn’t a media hoax after all. And Zero was right—Momo did have the Electromite, courtesy of Bobby Baumgartner, Mayor of Kensington City. When The Mayor realized the enormity of this, he no longer felt so spry.
• • •
Biggie Bitterman drove down through the mountains like a maniac. He was going to The Mick to filch the prototype casing. He didn’t like it—the place would be crawling with coppers and private security guards. But like it or not, Momo had ordered him to do the job, so he couldn’t say no. Besides, he was good at getting in and out of places without being noticed. It was one of his many talents and had served him well.
One talent that he didn’t have was driving. His mind was always racing, thinking about the next score, so that he didn’t always focus on what was in the road ahead of him. Another problem was his height—at four eleven in shoes, he could barely see over the steering wheel. Now, as always, he was sitting on a pillow, which made it difficult to reach the foot controls.
As he rounded the curve near the Sugar Express Train Depot, a man staggered into the road. There was no time to stop. Bitterman steered the car toward the shoulder as he tried to stomp his foot on the brake but couldn’t reach it, and in his panic, he slid off his pillow and hit the gas pedal instead. He wrestled with the steering wheel, almost had it under control, but then the car unexpectedly hit a pothole—that damn Mayor Baumgartner had left the highway in disrepair—before careening wildly across the road. Bitterman, who, as always, had neglected to put on his seatbelt (he thought they were for wimps) was thrown into the backseat. As the car pogoed along, he was tossed around like a ragdoll. How fitting—with all the danger and violence that he’d experienced, he was going to die because he hit a pothole. The car spun around 180 degrees and ended up on the highway in the opposite direction, heading toward the Sugar Express. While Bitterman rolled around in the backseat trying to get his bearings, the car struck the man who’d caused all this, who was still staggering down the street. There was a sickening thud, and the pedestrian went sailing into the air. Had it not been for a utility pole the car ran into, Bitterman would have ended up in the Kensington River.
Bitterman regained consciousness just as the ambulances arrived to take the men to the hospital. He was relieved to be alive; his broken leg hurt like the dickens. But the pain from his leg was nothing compared to the pain that he’d suffer when Momo found out that the job at The Mick hadn’t come off.
• • •
Indeed, Momo almost strangled the man who’d delivered the news about Bitterman’s screw up—he’d never bought into that old platitude about not killing the messenger. Why not kill the messenger? They’re annoying and only make you unhappy with their downer news. Besides, they choose their profession and so assume the risk of being killed by innocent crime bosses like Momo. He only spared the man’s life because his cadre in the mountains was already getting thin, with the demise of two of Professor Slipter’s assistants and now with Bitterman’s accident.
He would’ve liked to strangle Bitterman as well—no, to incinerate him with that proton screwdriver—but he needed the man. No one was better at carrying out operations than Bigelow Bitterman. Bitterman wouldn’t talk, either. The man might look like a rat, but he wasn’t one. Besides, Bitterman knew what The Momaxita did to rats, and it wasn’t a quick disappearance by proton screwdriver.
Blast it all! If The Big Zapper had worked properly—with the ceramic casing—the electrical bolts it had unleashed would’ve been better targeted, stronger, and more powerful than any weapon in the world. Not even Electromancer could’ve contained the all-powerful zaps.
Momo needed that prototype. He’d been able to attack The Big Apple and The City of Angels, but both operations had failed because of that Electromancer. Who was she? Where had she come from? It didn’t matter—whoever she was, she was a problem, a big problem. He’d have to get rid of her and soon.
First, he had to get ahold of the prototype. But how? Then it dawned on Momo—he’d been going about this all wrong.
Chapter 14
Saturday evening ...
As her guests mingled in the formal living rooms of the Manchester mansion, Alexa was taking no joy in the evening’s festivities. True, the party was shaping up to become one of the most memorable in the social history of Kensington City. Chef Yurdlemon had outdone himself. The vintage Veuve Clicquot and Bollinger champagne—Yurdlemon had selected wines for every taste—flowed freely. Servants carried silver trays lined with white doilies on which sat the most superb and decadent hors d'oeuvres imaginable: blue cheese crostini with balsamic-roasted grapes, marinated shrimp artichokes, blackberry-brie pizzettas, sesame salmon croquettes, Russian beluga caviar. Chef Yurdlemon had not skimped on the exotic Spanish paprika, truffle oil, or cold pressed extra virgin olive oil. Such a lavish affair—and yet Alexa wanted no part of it. She was still concerned about the citizens of The City of Angels and with what Momo would do next.
Another problem was that she was wearing Mayor Bobby Baumgartner’s ring. Gladys had objected, even shouting at her for the first time since she was a toddler and had almost walked out into the busy superhighway during a shopping excursion. But what could Alexa do? She had to keep the charade going. She’d convinced herself that now that she’d embraced Electromancer, she could overcome whatever powers The Mayor’s emerald had. So far, she hadn’t felt anything strange.
Mayor Baumgartner was twenty minutes late, unusual for the skilled politician. Alexa hoped he didn’t show up at all so she could call off the engagement right away. She deflated when she heard Stumpy Stellar, the district attorney, say, “There you are, Mayor. We were about to send out a search party.”
A breathless Mayor walked over and shook Stellar’s hand.
“I have to tell you something confidentially,” Stellar said, but his voice was so loud that there was nothing confidential about it (Stellar couldn’t hold his champagne). “I have it on good authority that Henrietta Hensinger has agreed to allow Conroy Corn to take her to dinner. I hear they’ve been working together rehabilitating the Sugar Express Train Depot.”
“No, I haven’t heard that,” The Mayor mumbled.
“Cupid didn’t just hit the bull’s-eye with you and Alexa, I guess.” Stellar guffawed. He was the only person laughing.
“Yes, of course.”
Stellar glanced over at Alexa, who was standing in the corner. “Alexa. Come join us. The love of your life has arrived.”
Alexa forced a smile and joined the group. The Mayor stiffly took her hand. He didn’t seem in any better mood than she was. What made her jump was that Stellar, a married man, took h
er other hand and pressed his shoulder against hers.
“Did I tell you that you’re looking radiant, Alexa?” Stellar said. “There’s no one sexier than a woman in love.” He winked at her and lowered his voice. “A woman in love is dangerous—the notorious femme fatale. Speaking of femmes fatales, have I ever shared with you my latest theory about crimes of passion in which a female commits murder because of a sudden strong impulse ...” Stellar went on to pontificate about venue and jurisdiction, and malice aforethought, and then mens rea and actus reus, whatever those words meant, and all the while, he was touching Alexa’s arm and shoulder and bumping up against her in a manner that was clearly inappropriate. Stellar had never behaved this way before; and she could tell that Mayor Baumgartner wanted to take a punch at the district attorney, but that wouldn’t have been a politically astute move.
Finally, Alexa spotted the Dowdy twins. “Oh look, Mr. Stellar,” Alexa said. “There are Della and Dani. I’m sure that they’re just dying to hear about that juror who fainted last week in court when looking at those dreadful autopsy photographs.”
Before Stellar could reply, Alexa took his arm and virtually dragged him over to speak with the twins, who seemed encased in an invisible bubble of expensive but decidedly slutty perfume. The Mayor glanced at Alexa, unable to hide his annoyance, but she ignored him.
“Hello, ladies,” Alexa said brightly. “Stumpy here was just telling me the most marvelous stories, and I know you’d like to hear them.”
Della said, “Alexa, Dani and I need to speak with you about a small matter.”
“I’m so sorry, I can’t now. I’m needed in the kitchen. You know Chef Yurdlemon will only talk to me, and he’s calling.”
“Yes, but about Dani ...” Della said.