Ultimate Mid-life Crisis

by Adam Graham

  Carmella glanced at it. “Let me know when they actually finish it.” She smiled like a predator eying dinner. “I miss babysitting for you. You and Dave ought to plan more date nights.”

  Okay, I’m not playing anymore. Naomi put back the comic. “Our date nights are when the boys are at Scouts or Church and neither of us are helping out.”

  Carmella wrinkled her nose. “Or otherwise too busy, right?”

  With any luck, her friend’s Aunt Flo was in town, she’d realized she was being catty, and she was suggesting they move on to complaining about their husbands. Naomi sipped her latte. “Last night, Dave and I had dinner and a movie planned. He let the jokers he works with sidetrack him, so we had to just settle for ice cream. That was our first date in two months.”

  “I guess everyone’s got problems.” Carmella beamed victoriously. “Why don’t you send the boys to Camp Shekinah? They’d enjoy it. Manny’s gone to one of their programs each summer for the last four years.”

  “Is he the one who has my boys and their scout friends all eager to go there?” Naomi grimaced. “Derrick and James are too young. I don’t think they understand what it would mean.”

  Carmella shrugged. “Manny was thirteen when we first heard about it, but they do take rising sixth graders, which Derrick will be by then, and James will be thirteen this month.”

  “So?” Naomi gasped. “I’m going to be the mother of a teenager!”

  Carmella laughed. “Scary, huh? Do you still think he’s too young?”

  How could her tiny little baby already be a young man? Naomi gripped her latte. “I explained my concerns to the boys and suggested they try a one-week camp near Lake Chelan, to see how they’d like being away from home before they went on a long camp out.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “Well, my boys are bent on leaving me for the whole summer. I said that I’d leave it to their father to decide.”

  Carmella whistled. “Wow. I never imagined you’d let Dave make such a big decision.”

  “I get tired of him telling the kids to go ask their mother, making me be the one to tell them no. This time, he can be the bad guy.”

  Carmella sipped. “What makes you think he’ll say no?”

  “I know him.” Naomi turned over her hand. “Dave loves the boys and loves spending time with them. He’d never send them three hundred miles away for the summer.”

  “That’d be kind of selfish, if that was the only reason.”

  Naomi swallowed. “Dave’s not being selfish. He just loves his babies and doesn’t want to send them off into the wilderness all alone. So there’s no way he’ll send them.”

  Would he?

  Major Speed stood outside a warehouse. How appropriate. My journey to the future ends where it started.

  Something that looked like a ray gun about six feet high and four feet wide was suspended from the ceiling and was pointed at a black background near a divider wall.

  Dr. Democracy handed him the black garment bag. “You can’t go back to 1957 wearing clothes from 2013, so go change.”

  Major Speed took the bundle behind the divider wall and stripped off his clothes. He put on his blue jumpsuit with a lightning bolt crest. He wore a pair of custom-made blue tights underneath and broken electric gloves. “Where did you get this?”

  Dr. Democracy said, “I had to liberate it from the Pharaoh. If I sent you back in a new uniform, you could end up naked in a 1957 Texas warehouse. You’ll want to fix those electric gloves when you get home. I didn’t for fear of messing with the time stream.”

  That sounded like a lie. Also in the garment bag was his U.S. Army Flight Jacket. He’d been through all sorts of adventures in that jacket, but he’d left it back in Kansas City, in 1957. “Where’d you get the jacket? I wasn’t wearing that I went to the warehouse.”

  “Sir, I’ve admired you for many years for what you did for my mother. I bought it at an auction from a museum that was closing. Your friend Ace had donated it to them.”

  Who was this guy who alternated lies and truth? Speed put on the jacket and walked out from behind the barrier. “Dr. Democracy, I appreciate your help, but I should stay here.”

  “You can’t, not in your weakened state.” Dr. Democracy straightened his pink bowtie. “The commies could close in on us at any moment.”

  Speed glanced at Karen, who lay unconscious on a metal cot next to a vacant one. If only he could grab her and carry her out of there. Likely, he could barely make it out by himself.

  Democracy added, “We don’t have time, but you do. Get back to 1957.”

  Tires screeched out front.

  Democracy shoved Speed. “Hurry! In front of the time tunnel.”

  Speed set his jaw. He had to take a chance. No way was he getting caught by the commies again.

  Dr. Democracy turned on a ray.

  It slammed into Speed’s body. The world began fading away. The door exploded open, and men with guns ran towards Dr. Democracy.

  Blackness enveloped him a moment before he swirled through a dizzying maze of vortexes. His head throbbed and his eyes ached. He closed them.

  Speed’s eyes opened after an eternity, and he clutched his temples. The warehouse no longer had any mad scientist stuff. Just crates, invoices, and a fork lift. He stumbled to his feet, snatched an invoice off a crate, and read the shipping date: August 3, 1957. Home. Could it be?

  “Hey pal!” A chubby man with glasses in a brown night watchman’s uniform walked up to him with a gun drawn. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I don’t know. What day is it?”

  “Thursday, the eighth of August. Do you need the year, too?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  The guard chuckled. “1957. Now what are you doing in my warehouse in a Halloween costume?”

  Speed rubbed his head. Trips to the future were something he’d talk to with someone in the government, but a night watchman? “I’m Major Speed. While I was on an investigation, I was captured and left here. I can give you the number of Agent McPherson of the FBI. He’ll vouch for me.”

  “Okay, I’ll call him.” The guard extended his notebook and pen.

  Speed wrote down the number. How did I remember it so easily, with all the garbage they’ve been putting in my head from the television?

  The guard said, “I was afraid that one of those darkies was stealing from me. About all they’re good for.”

  Speed clinched his fist. In the war, brave colored men died for this country! Such real bigotry feeds the Commies’ propaganda machine. That’s one thing we’re gonna put a stop to.

  Chapter 3

  The Perilous Pay Raise

  Naomi drove her invisible hover van past sixth-story windows. Certainly quicker than taking I-5. She approached the Merrick Office building.

  Below, the perfect parking spot lay in the shade, far enough away from the building’s windows that no one would notice her appearance.

  Naomi said, “Orange cones, I need you around the parking spot.”

  They appeared.

  Naomi said, “Van, land and return to normal shape. Remain invisible.”

  The van touched down.

  Naomi glanced behind her. A red Mustang passed by. A moment later, a gray Taurus followed.

  Okay, she was alone now. “Van, reappear. Cones, disappear.”

  They did so. Naomi exited the car carrying a brown attaché case.

  Inside the Merrick Building, she rode the elevator up to the forty-second floor, then took the stairs for the last five floors. She power walked to the door that said, “McCall, Swenson, Marrero, and Chang, Attorneys at Law.”

  Naomi walked to the bony blonde receptionist’s sleek black desk. “I’m here for the Powerhouse Incorporated board meeting.”

  The receptionist glanced at her screen and smiled. “Mr. McCall’s in with a client. He’ll be here in ten minutes to take you back.”

  Naomi sat in the waiting area between a young man in Detroit R
edwings shirt and an older man in a gray double-breasted suit.

  A window lay across from her. Powerhouse flew up to it, opened it, and came in shouting like he was still outside. “That costume is still completely unacceptable. It’s useless as defensive armor. Would you fight crime in it?”

  He glared at the cell phone strapped to his wrist, like he was using his helmet’s Bluetooth device. “I’ll put it another way. Would you fight crime in a Speedo? That is what you’re asking your heroine to do.” Powerhouse said to Redwings Fan and Gray Suit, “Would you go to war in a Speedo?”

  Redwings Fan said, “Um, no.”

  Gray Suit shook his head vigorously.

  “See?” Naomi’s husband pumped his fist in the air. “No male crime fighter would ever wear a Speedo! Why would a CIA agent make her costume the female equivalent?”

  Face warming, she sunk low in her chair. Powerhouse’s cell phone, disconnect.

  Powerhouse tapped his helmet. “Hello. Hello.”

  She got up and whispered to him, “Inside voice.”

  “Right. Sorry, Citizen.” As he spoke, his phone rang. He glanced to his phone and continued in a more normal voice. “Sorry, we got cut off. Where we? Oh yeah, Speedos.”

  Even with inside voice, this would not be a pleasant conversation.

  Powerhouse stiffened. “Hey. That costume’s a classic! Besides, compared to your costume design, Wonder Woman goes to war in a burqa! Not that she should wear a burqa.”

  The receptionist cleared her throat. “Sir, ma’am, would either of you mind waiting for Mr. McCall in the conference room?”

  “Not at all.” Naomi grabbed Powerhouse’s arm and led him into the conference room.

  Powerhouse spoke once the door was closed. “I want a fresh, practical, respectful costume design by tomorrow or you’re fired. That is not a bluff. If you won’t do the work, I’ll get someone else to do it. Powerhouse out.” He smacked his cell phone. “Artists.”

  Naomi grimaced. He’d finally got bored of getting paid to spend hours debating comic books. She cleared her throat. “So how’d it go in Texas?”

  “Polk and I found the guy that Karen Jerome had caught a ride with and discovered the bad guy’s abandoned hideout. Then we discovered a barn they’d been in with an old Soviet uniform left there. We lost the trail when they got to the Highway.”

  “That’s rotten luck, Powerhouse.”

  “Luck didn’t make the San Antonio field director delay looking into it. Someone tipped them off. If I’d gone last night, I might have found him.”

  Her stomach tightened. It was her fault that he hadn’t. “You can’t know everything, honey.”

  “God does. I should’ve asked him. The next big decision, I’m definitely praying about.”

  “That’s nice honey.” Hopefully, his alter ego’s next big decision would be to have the guts to tell James and Derrick they couldn’t spend the summer far away from their mother.

  The other board members trickled in. Jeff Murphy entered wearing a black sweater, a fedora, and dark glasses. John Delaney of Powerhouse Family Insurance came in wearing a buckskin jacket, blue jeans, and a bolo tie. Pastor Leticia Jones strode in decked out in one-inch heels and a pink dress that dropped to mid-calf.

  Finally, Brent McCall strolled in with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his tailor-made navy suit. Right on his heels was McCall’s chief paralegal and right hand woman. Barbara was in her late thirties, in pinstripe pantsuit, and wore her brown hair in a chic reverse ponytail.

  She sat next to her boss, beamed, and pulled out a notebook.

  Naomi smiled. She’d be alarmed if those two were ever on time. “Let’s get started.”

  Powerhouse flew across the city street to where a little girl was sobbing beside a pond. The black-haired child was about seven and wearing chipped red nail polish. He landed and squatted down. “What’s the trouble?

  “I lost my Frisbee!” She pointed into the pond.

  Powerhouse scanned it using his x-ray vision. This water trap had more Frisbees than a wishing well had coins. “What color was it?”

  “Green.”

  Powerhouse imagined the two green Frisbees gently flying up out of the water and back to the little girl.

  She grabbed the darker one and hugged him. “Thanks, Powerhouse!”

  “Glad to help, little citizen.”

  Once she released him, Powerhouse zoomed up into the sky.

  He tuned his superhearing to cries of distress.

  On the other side of the pond, a man cursed. “Stupid piece of junk is out of power.”

  Powerhouse spotted the man in the suit beating a poor, innocent cell phone. He landed beside him. “Let me help citizen.”

  He stared at the cell phone, visualizing it turning on with its power bar showing it as fully charged.

  It blinked on. The citizen said, “Thanks, you’re a life saver.”

  Powerhouse flew back into the air.

  From a nearby parking lot, a middle aged woman yelped. “Cold! Stupid drive thru.”

  He frowned. Undercooked food could cause death. This looked like a job for—well, the Super Chef, but she’d have to settle for Seattle’s most bored costumed crime fighter. Powerhouse zoomed down to where a woman sat in her car with a bag of fast food. “I’ll warm your food, citizen.”

  The short-haired woman sneered. “With what?”

  “Watch.” Powerhouse squinted at the wrapper and visualized the food piping hot. The smell of it wafted out towards him.

  She laughed. “Who says a superhero isn’t around when you need one?”

  Powerhouse glanced at the building where the board meeting was still going on and on and on. A group of people arrived at the door. Three women and one man in suits.

  “There’s no doorman!” He put his hands on his hips. “This looks like a job for Powerhouse.”

  So long as it didn’t involve sitting in a meeting for hours. He landed and held the door.

  The gentleman said in a Middle Eastern accent, “Thank you my friend.”

  Okay, so there were no emergencies. Powerhouse sighed. I should have probably stayed in the board meeting, but had to do something fun after having to fight all those artists and writers. Plus this was only the second time I’ve left since the meeting started forty-five minutes ago.

  He flew upstairs and imagined the window open and returned to his seat beside his wife at the conference room table. Naomi glared at him like she did at their boys when they tried to wiggle out of doing their chores. “Were those rescues taken care of?”

  “Yes, Mama Johnson.”

  “Please take this seriously, Powerhouse. We’re not scheduled to meet again until September, when the new building we bought for our headquarters will hopefully be ready to move in. Any new business?”

  Pastor Leticia Jones raised her left hand. “I need to resign effective next month. I’m leaving my church.”

  “Why?” Powerhouse gaped.

  “The Lord’s taking me another direction. I’d suggest you fill my positions with Victor Edwards at First Hill Baptist.”

  Naomi scribbled on something specific. “That’ll be on the agenda for September.”

  Powerhouse said, “What are you going to do?”

  Pastor Leticia shrugged, shaking her head. “Visit a friend back East. My heart is towards youth, but I still have to figure out how to best do that.”

  “Oh. I see.” Powerhouse leaned toward her. “It’s too bad you’re being written out.”

  Naomi elbowed him. “He means you’ve done a lot and you’ll definitely be missed.”

  Powerhouse groaned. “Oh this is real life, not my comic book. Sorry, I sometimes forget.”

  Once everyone had laughed, he added, “Seriously, thanks, Leticia. You’ve been a great help. I trust God has something great for you.”

  Smiling, Naomi glanced around. “Anything else under new business?”

  McCall stood. “I have a concern about Powerhouse’s pay. This was
set before I got on the board.”

  So he’d been caught getting paid way more than a super-powered janitor was worth. He swallowed. Oh well, he could live with a cut, since he also had the money Blue Cat was paying him to be a glorified obnoxious fanboy telling the writers and the artists how to do their jobs.

  McCall eyed him as he squirmed before issuing the verdict. “Powerhouse is not getting paid nearly enough. His designated salary is a paltry $35,000 a year! That’s absurd given we’re getting millions in licensing and royalties.”

  Powerhouse smiled. “That’s all I need. I’m not an overpaid pro athlete.”

  “Son, I’ve represented a lot of pro athletes in my practice. Their pay isn’t as unreasonable as people think. Their line of work comes with great expenses in the present, a serious hit to their health later in life, and the risk of serious injury. The same applies to you.”

  John Delaney nodded. “I agree, McCall. His pay is ridiculously low for a Chief Operating Officer. When he got that title by being the very reason this corporation exits, it’s a shame he gets paid half of what the CEO makes. I won’t quibble with her salary, but I would propose we increase Powerhouse’s pay to $300,000 a year.”

  How did he get out of this mess? He and Naomi were already clearing $100,000 a year before his Blue cat salary. What would he do with $300,000? He’d add to his collection the comics with the first appearances of Spider-Man, Batman, and Supergirl.

  He spread his hands to his board members. “Guys, I don’t need what I’d do with wealth as much as street people and abuse victims need food and safe shelter. Further, I refuse to earn more than my police buddies. They heroically take the same risk without my body armor. They encounter horrors I’ll never comprehend, such as paperwork.”

  “If you want paid like a cop, you still have a raise coming.” McCall slid a piece of paper across the desk to Powerhouse. “The average Seattle Police Officer earns $54,000 a year.”

  “They do?” Powerhouse gaped. “Why those overpaid sneaks.”