by Adam Graham
Speed sighed. “They kept me so drugged, it was hard to tell what was fictional or what was real. From what I saw from the little church service I was at, slacks seemed to be a lot more popular among women than they are today.”
Ace frowned. “The future is like the present, only with more slacks?”
“No, that’s just all I know for sure.” Speed snapped his fingers. “There is another thing. In the future, people carry these tiny, handheld phones around. Everyone seemed to have one, including the thugs who watched me.”
Ace pulled his sketch pad. “Let me draw this. Tell me more about them.”
“Well, my guard used one to type notes of some sort, watch television, play cards, and listen to music.”
Ace’s pencil moved fast as he wrinkled his brow. “This futuristic device was a telephone, a record player, a typewriter, and a deck of cards all at once?”
“It was a plastic box the size of a deck of cards. They called it a phone.”
“And they talked into it?”
“Actually, my guard kept calling it his phone but never talked to anyone.”
“They had phones you don’t use to call people? Did they have rocket cars you don’t use to drive?”
Speed patted Ace’s back. “I don’t think so. The vehicles they transported me in traveled in a manner that was ordinary enough, though todays cars are more appealing.”
“So it was something like this?” Ace held up a sketch of a rotary phone with a television screen in the center of the dial and typewriter keys below it. He’d attached a small record player, and a deck of cards.
Speed smiled. “Not quite, old buddy.”
A voice came over the receiver’s speaker. “They’re outside, it’s Comrade Raspov.”
Speed jumped up. “I’m moving out.”
“I’ll back you up,” Ace said.
“Stay here. Call the FBI and have them move in to back me up. I only had you come to monitor the bugging equipment.” Major Speed ran out of the hotel room down to the office.
A black sedan passed him heading the other way.
He continued to the office. He ran in the building and grabbed his mini spy camera out of his pocket. In the hallway, the traitor scientist extended the top secret formula to the Russian agent with a Lugar.
The Russian agent extended a thick envelope with a five hundred dollar bill sticking out of it. Speed stopped and snapped the picture.
The two men twisted their heads towards him.
Speed smirked. “Smile, commies! You’re on Candid Camera.” Speed dashed around the room at top indoor speed. He knocked down the traitor and the spy while grabbing the Lugar.
A bullet came at him in slow motion.
He dodged of the way. Where’d that come from?
A large man with an automatic pistol fired shot after shot.
Speed zigzagged around them, ripped the gun out of the man’s hand, knocking him to the ground, and ran out to a blue Chevy. A little man had a key in the door.
“Not so fast, Bruner. The FBI want a word with you.” Speed reached in the man’s inner coat pocket and grabbed his 9 mm Colt in only a millisecond.
He carried Bruner inside. The other commies were still down, but the traitor was up. Speed dashed ahead of him with the Lugar. “I’d sit down if I were you, mister.”
The scientist complied. Major Speed pulled a spool of rope and a knife out of his backpack and bound their arms and legs. He finished the last one in thirty seconds.
He stared at the mustached German. “Bruner, your spy ring is kaput.”
“Perhaps, but victory always comes with a price, as you will find out.”
Major Speed put up his hand. “Commies or Nazis, the taunts are always the same.” He went to the phone in the corner and dialed the hotel’s front desk. “Room 12, please.”
The phone rang and rang with no answer.
Bruner chuckled. “What’s the matter, Major? Not getting an answer at your motel?”
How did he know about the motel? Speed raced outside and down the street to the motel.
His and Ace’s window was shattered. He fetched his key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Glass was spread across the room and his best friend lay bleeding on the ground, clutching the receiver and tape recorder.
Speed ran to his side. “Ace!”
“They didn’t get it. Those stinkin’ Reds didn’t get the tape. We have the evidence.” He gasped. “They came by and started shooting, but not until after I’d called the FBI.”
“I’ll get you to the hospital.” Speed scooped his friend into his arms.
“It’s too late. Tell Arlene I love her, Joshua.” Ace’s body went limp.
“Ace? Ace!” Major Speed bowed his head. Tears trickled down his cheek.
He held the corpse of the best man he’d ever known to his chest.
Powerhouse jabbed the Mutilator in his stomach.
The Mutilator stumbled back into the force field surrounding their brawl.
A spectator shouted, “Way to go, Powerhouse! He’s no villain, he’s no villain at all.”
Growling, the Mutilator charged with his electric-saw hand and swung it at Powerhouse.
“Don’t let him hit you!”
Powerhouse jumped out of the way. “Thanks for the advice, citizen.”
Spectators. He rolled his eyes.
He rocketed in the air and kicked the villain in the face.
The villain stumbled back only to charge again.
Another spectator shouted, “Duck, Mutilator! Duck.”
The Mutilator half-ducked. Powerhouse delivered a haymaker that sent the villain sprawling Powerhouse picked up the Mutilator by his foot, and spun him. He smashed the villain on his side.
Crunch! The nasty saw blade prosthetic shattered.
Powerhouse tied up the Mutilator’s arms.
The Mutilator spat. “It’s not fair. You had a home field advantage. If we met on my home field, where the crowd was with me, it’d be different.”
“Where would you find a crowd who’d root for a psychotic serial killer?”
“Prison.”
“Not when you rape and murder children!” Powerhouse snarled, his fists clenched. “Even prisoners have families they want to keep safe from you.”
“Then I’ll fight you in the pits of hell.”
“I won’t be joining you in that venue.” Powerhouse yanked the Mutilator to his feet.
The Mutilator spat, “This whole thing’s become a circus.”
“It has not!” Sporting event, maybe, but circus?
A bearded lady showed up juggling bowling pins as her partner worked the crowd with a carton full of popcorn and peanuts strapped to his chest. He shouted, “Popcorn, peanuts, pretzels, Powerhouse bobblehead dolls. Get your popcorn, peanuts . . .”
The Mutilator snarled. “There was a time when two guys could beat each other half to death without all the hoopla.”
“Yeah, those were the good old days.” How was the crowd following him around? Powerhouse created a ten-foot-long pole with giant tongs on the end and scooped up the Mutilator. As he left, he disabled the force field keeping the crowd away from the combatants.
Down at police headquarters, he dumped the villain on the floor before the desk sergeant. “Here you go. The Mutilator.”
Sarge whistled. “I’ll take care of him.”
Powerhouse plodded out of the building and leaned against the wall. I can try calling Naomi, then read a digital comic. Powerhouse’s cell phone appeared in his hand. It beeped with a note from his Calendar app: Volunteer at Food Bank.
He yawned. I better go do that. I haven’t had any time for volunteering, Naomi, comics, or for anything else since the crime wave started.
Farrow strode into Varlock’s office. The desk floated in the corner. In its normal position hovered a metal table with the alien warlord curled up under it. Peering at him cross-eyed, Farrow ambled over. “What are you doing?”
“I’m waiting f
or a lackey to come with cash. He said he was going to pay me under the table for my portion of the receipts from the concessions for the Powerhouse fights.”
Farrow slapped his head.
The alien warlord grimaced. “The fool said he would give me something called a kickback, and I insisted that he pay in currency instead.”
Farrow smirked. “Why would you care? You’ve mocked Earth’s system of giving money in exchange for desired goods and services.”
“Your system is irrational, but there’s something oddly pleasurable about swimming through money, once you’re wearing appropriate protective gear.”
Farrow groaned. “Fair enough, McAlien, but why do you have vendors there? And why is there a crowd of onlookers every time he has a fight?”
“Varlock and Sons has provided Powerhouse a receiver that lets him know whenever any of the world’s most dangerous criminals are on the loose in Seattle. At the same time, I’m running an underground newsletter for thrill seekers letting them know when Powerhouse is active.”
“I’m glad you’re making money on the side, but Powerhouse beat his eightieth super clown this month. That’s eighty times your plans have failed this month.”
“Wrong!” Varlock tried to stand up but banged his head against the table and cursed in alien. “It is all part of the same brilliant plan. It is succeeding and will enter its final phase soon. Thanks to my efforts, Powerhouse has had only ninety minutes of sleep in the last two days. Each fight has the added stress of bystanders who could be injured. The kill is coming.”
Farrow laughed. “You’re planning to have him die of a heart attack in a couple years.”
“No, I’m planning to have him dead and defeated within a week.”
Naomi wore her cowgirl outfit as she leaned against a tree. This was the life. She had peace, quiet, horseback riding, and she wasn’t getting in Dave’s way. Judging by the lack of a single cell phone call, he didn’t miss her. He was probably enjoying the break.
Her dad’s voice cried out from somewhere, “You stupid, worthless girl! I can’t believe how dumb you are.”
Several hard blows against soft, young skin sounded like thunderclaps.
Young Naomi cried, “Please stop, Gary!”
Naomi gasped. That wasn’t a flashback. A real girl was being hurt.
She leaped to her feet and mounted her horse. “Come on, Cyrus. We have to gallop North. There’s someone in trouble.”
The horse galloped along. Naomi listened for the girl’s voice.
Half a mile away, she reached a big fence that separated the property she was on from the next door neighbors.
The girl screamed again.
Naomi dismounted. “You stay here.”
The horse looked up at the nine foot high barbwire fence. “I didn’t plan on jumping it.”
Naomi eyed the obstruction. The girl needed help, but that barbed wire could rip her to shreds. Could she leap over it? It’d been years since she’d competed at the high jump in college. Would her new abilities be enough to allow her to clear the fence without hurting herself?
One way to find out.
She slapped her upper arm. “Okay, magic cuff. Make this work.”
Naomi backed up, charged towards the fence, and leapt.
She cleared it by five feet and made a perfect landing on the other side.
“Wow.” She grinned.
The child cried out again.
No time to pat yourself on the back. Naomi grimaced and ran into the barn.
A red-faced man held a belt in his hand. A young blonde girl with a pixie cut was tied to one of the beams. “I’m sorry, Gary!”
“Not as sorry as you will be by the time I’m through with you!” Gary swung to strike her.
Naomi growled. “Monsieur, stop!”
Gary leered. “Stop what? I’m just teaching this girl some manners. Now run along or I’ll teach you how to treat a man after I’m done.”
“How about I teach you how to treat women and children?” Naomi sped over at her fastest non-suspicious speed, snatched away the belt, and flipped Gary behind her.
He snarled as he stood. “You’ll regret meddling in other people’s affairs.”
“Not when an innocent baby’s involved.” Super Soccer Mom punched the evil child abuser in the jaw.
He went careening across the barn only to rise and charge at her.
Adrenaline surged, and Naomi slammed her fist into the abuser again.
He went down on the ground.
“Get up.” she snapped, kicking him.
Gary stumbled up and Naomi hit him again and again and again.
She picked him up and tossed him into a bail of hay in the corner.
A woman with long scraggly hair raced in and gasped. “You leave my man alone! He has every right to discipline my rebellious, ungrateful brat.”
“Madam, you’re allowing a vicious beating. What type of woman are you? You’re next, sister.” Naomi picked him up and punched him in the stomach.
The woman cursed her and ran off, shouting, “I’m calling the police!”
In the corner, the girl cried and trembled. “Lady, please don’t kill Gary and my mommy. It’s my fault. I was bad. I’ll be good, and he won’t hurt me anymore. I promise.”
“It doesn’t work that way with his sort. This isn’t your fault.”
The sobbing child clasped her hands together. “Please don’t kill us.”
Huh? Naomi eyed the abuser’s bloodied face and shirt. His smashed-up nose looked broken.
She let go.
Gary slumped to the ground.
Naomi folded her arms. “If I ever catch you beating that child—leave town tomorrow and never return. Understand me? Make your arrangements.”
She stomped out of the barn. When Powerhouse saved people, they were happy and grateful. When she did it, they were scared to death?
She glanced at the blood on her knuckles.
What had this been about?
Chapter 10
Taking Out the Trash
Disguised as Marie, Naomi held a stick over her campfire. The flames slowly browned her impaled, low fat turkey hot dogs.
“Excuse me, ma’am? Miss Dubois?” A woman asked behind her.
She spun to the woman in khaki and wearing a badge that said Sheriff.
Naomi swallowed. So much for hoping Gary’s pride would be enough to stop his evil girlfriend from keeping the promise to get her arrested for assault and battery. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“I heard about what you did last night.”
“Oh.” She’d have to escape and return to Seattle. Otherwise, she’d have to answer questions. She touched her blonde curls. Too many questions.
“I wanted to say thank you.”
Naomi turned to face the sheriff. “Excusez-moi?”
“Gary’s been asking for what you gave him since the day he was born.”
Not likely. She flinched. “Did he file a complaint?”
The sheriff chuckled. “He slunk out before sunrise, after stopping his girlfriend from calling me last night, lest I find out why you had beat him. I gathered that when she ignored his warning this morning to complain about you running off her man. Said you were dangerous, and that’s why I’m here. I need somebody who’s dangerous.”
They didn’t need help from a fool. Gary would find new victims to use to vent his rage at his own abusers. “Mademoiselle Bench overstates things.”
“You got over that barbed wire fence and beat a child batterer within an inch of his life. That’s dangerous. I need somebody to clean up this county.”
“This county?” Naomi laughed. “Pardon, you don’t have much crime.”
“Miss Dubois, I hear you spend most of your time camping with a trip or two in town for supplies and some coffee at Mike’s. There’s a darker side. We have a drug problem.”
“That’s a city problem. Why would they bother to bring them out here?”
“Meth ad
dicts can cook their drug at home, and it causes more misery than heroin. People bring supplies down from Cheyenne and mix it up. I have eight thousand square miles of territory to patrol and twelve deputies. There are probably half a dozen meth labs spreading that junk, and I want them shut down. Secondly, there’s the problem of domestic violence.”
“Madam, I’m not a masked vigilante. I simply happened across one child in trouble and helped her. That’s all I can do.” Naomi turned back to her food and put the hot dog back in the fire.
The sheriff tapped her on her shoulder. “Please turn around.”
Naomi twisted sideways.
The sheriff had removed her badge. She touched Naomi’s arm. “Now, I’m asking as you a mom. My son Jason died from meth. That’s why I ran for Sheriff, but I’m losing the war and a lot of people are suffering. I’m desperate. I think you can help. You’re the only one who can.”
What if it had been James? Naomi swallowed. “I will see what I can do.”
“Good. Keep in mind, we never had this conversation, but it’s time to fumigate this county. Do it as you see fit. They have to pay.”
What had she gotten herself into? She hadn’t set out to become a small town superhero. Well, at least here she was needed.
Dr. Fournier skipped in, carrying a briefcase and whistling the theme to Star Wars. He grinned at Mitch Farrow. “What can I do for you, oh master of my corporate benefactor?”
If he keeps goofing off . . . Farrow clenched his fist. “This is outside of your normal work. I need you to spy on Varlock.” Pain ripped through him. “My baby girl doesn’t have long to live.”
“And that’s why you’re always nursing a bottle?”
Farrow grimaced. “Don’t judge me. If Varlock kills Powerhouse, she’ll die. If I get Powerhouse, the aliens will give her a treatment that will extend her life for two years.”
Fournier narrowed his eyes. “Why do the aliens want Powerhouse dead?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
“I do, if we’re going behind their backs to sabotage their efforts. If you want me to risk my life, I have a right to know the stakes.”