by Adam Graham
Powerhouse groaned. “Not more villains.”
The Silver Metal laughed. “Nah, we’re here as mercenaries hired by the Boomerang Bloke.”
The Boomerang Bloke nodded. “Yeah, he had this service listed on his website.”
“A supervillain team with a website?” Powerhouse groaned.
The Silver Medal shrugged. “It’s for my therapeutic massage business. I figured I could save hosting costs and combine the two.”
Hurler glared. “Yeah, and Genius here just had to offer a coupon. Buy one service, and get another for a $1. We’re each getting twenty cents for this. Next time put, ‘one service of lesser or equal value.’ I wouldn’t have come here if it were just for your typo.”
Boomerang Bloke said, “I would’ve been here sooner, but the shortest massage he offered was for half an hour, and I had to do that first.”
Dr. Stero glared at the villains with Bloke. “It’s bad form for you folks to attack me. Why don’t you just take care of Boomerang Bonehead and leave Powerhouse to me?”
Silver Medal shoved him. “What is bad form is you using steroids. That sends a bad message to young, aspiring villains. Worse yet, you could lower the standing of American villains with a doping scandal. Foreign villains won’t want to deal with us. All US supervillain accomplishments will have asterisks beside them, and the public won’t know whether to live in dread fear of us or of our steroids.”
The Hurler punched his palm. “I hate steroids.”
Stero sneered. “You don’t get as big as you are without using steroids.”
“Shut up! I may be an undocumented entrepreneur, but I would never use steroids, and there’s no drug test that said I did.”
“Gentlemen, I appreciate the sentiment, but how do you expect to defeat me when you lost to Powerhouse?”
Silver Medal laughed. “Fool, we know why we lost.” Silver Medal put up a finger. “Poor branding, poor unity. We wasted no time on foolish endeavors such as developing new skills and focused on what was really needed: a new name. By changing our name, we change our destiny, and we’ve acquired unity from our new t-shirts that just arrived. Behold, the new Legendary Army of the Mercenaries of Evil.”
They threw off their trench coats.
The Silver Medal, the Hurler, the Juggler, the Contortionist, and the Mime all wore black t-shirts that said L.A.M.E.
Dr. Stero cracked up. “Lame? That’s a good word for your team.”
Yeah, they had to be his lamest allies yet. Powerhouse groaned
“What?” The Silver Medal growled. “For failing to proof this order, the screen printer will taste the wrath of the Legendary Army of the Mercenaries of Evil! But in the meantime, we shall not be mocked!”
Naomi’s jet-powered BMW rocketed to the fight from six stories up.
The radio announcer said, “Powerhouse is dazed on the sidelines. The assassin Dr. Stero is working through Steel Rottweiler, the Boomerang Bloke, and a band of convicted felons who are using their t-shirts to call the world lame. The felons known as the Mime and the Contortionist were the first to go down, and look at that, Stero just knocked out the Juggler and took his bombs and he’s throwing them at the wounded Powerhouse.”
Naomi gasped. “Please God.”
“Wait, Silver Medal has fired a weapon and disintegrated the bombs.”
She heaved a sigh and wiped her forehead.
“At this point, the odds are five to one against the assassin, but those odds may still not be high enough to save Powerhouse.”
Naomi breathed hard through gritted teeth. Lord, please let Justice Woman arrive before it’s too late. “I should be there about now. Windshield, show what’s going on below the car. Include audio.”
She looked through the view screen which focused behind Powerhouse.
Powerhouse rubbed his head.
The Boomerang Bloke shouted, “Bonzer! Silver Medal saved us.”
Powerhouse stood. “I can’t believe I owe my life to the Silver Medal.”
The Hurler charged in from the front, swinging his fist and throwing his full weight against Dr. Stero.
Stero growled, grabbed the Hurler’s shoulder, and twisted it. “I’ll break off your arm.”
From behind him, the Steel Rottweiler zoomed in on a grappling wire and crashed into his back. The Hurler also jumped on Stero.
Stero shrugged off Rottweiler and sent the Hurler flying.
“My turn.” Could the jerk survive her hitting him with the BMW? Best not to find out the hard way. “Shoes, transform into hover boots with gravity controls.” The gravity controls appeared on her belt.
She jumped out of the car and glided down.
The Silver Medal pointed at her. “A masked woman’s diving out of a flying BMW.”
“Nice try, fool.” Dr. Stero chortled.
Naomi turned off the glide feature by twisting the knob on her belt and slammed into Dr. Stero’s back with her boots, hitting him with three times her weight. She whispered, “Annoying music off.”
He screamed. Naomi picked Dr. Stero over her head and slammed him to the ground.
Nobody got away with almost killing her husband.
Stero swung his fist.
Naomi grabbed it and squeezed until it cracked.
He screamed in pain.
She kneed him in the stomach, and then pummeled him in the gut at superspeed for twenty seconds.
His body went limp. “Who are you?”
“I’m Justice Woman.” Naomi picked up Dr. Stero and slapped him hard across the chops. “Stay away from Powerhouse.”
“Please, stop!” Dr. Stero moaned. “I surrender.”
“Go to jail and stay there, or I’ll come back and finish you.” She tossed him to the ground in front of Powerhouse. “He’s all yours.”
Ropes materialized around the villain.
Naomi shook her head. “He needs something stronger.”
Powerhouse nodded. The ropes grew thick enough to hold a ship.
She glided back to the car and did a U-turn back toward Wyoming. Her crown glowed.
Dave had needed her. Naomi frowned.
She shook her head. No he’d needed Justice Woman. A wife was still nonessential at best, detrimental at worst. She grinned, glowing again. Still. It was true. She was a real superhero. She was Justice Woman.
“That was unexpected.” Powerhouse stared at the quivering mass of supervillain before him. Kelli Michaels AKA Justice Woman had returned to Seattle in his hour of need and with a cool black costume. Last he’d heard, she was in New York, but who else had Justice Woman’s superpowers? Though Kelli’s were only good for a few minutes.
Two police officers came and picked Dr. Stero up.
Stero glanced at the guards, eyes wide with terror. “Your jail’s solid?”
One officer said, “We like to think so.”
“Excellent.” Stero stared up in the direction Justice Woman had gone.
The Hurler said, “If she’s a mercenary of the night, I am in looove.”
Powerhouse asked, “What makes you think she’s a mercenary?”
The Hurler shrugged. “If she were a superheroine, she’d show a mid-riff or cleavage.”
“You’ve read too many comics.” Did he really just say that? Powerhouse groaned. “I mean, you’re read too many of the wrong type of comics.”
Silver Medal rubbed his hands together. “Okay, with our commission completed, the Legendary Army of the Mercenaries of Evil is ready to exploit your weakened condition.”
Powerhouse groaned. “Before we rumble, my super imagination’s back.”
“Oh.” Silver Medal backed off, hunching his shoulders. “Perhaps, it’d be best to stick with our share of the gold medal for this battle against Dr. Stero, but we’ll be back. Next time, we’ll be better prepared to destroy you.”
The Hurler slapped him. “Yeah, let’s go get better t-shirts.”
The Silver Medal left carrying the Contortionist. The Hurler lobbed the Juggler
over one shoulder, and the Mine over the other and followed.
Once they’d returned to their van and pulled away, the Steel Rottweiler said, “Wait, a second, there are outstanding warrants for them.”
Powerhouse yawned. “Don’t you recall the lesson from the Powerhouse Squad training? When you engage in a team up with a supervillain, you can’t turn him in after the fight. You have to uphold the truce until they attack you.”
The Steel Rottweiler said, “I don’t remember that.”
“Maybe it was from a cartoon.” Powerhouse wobbled.
The Boomerang Bloke said, “Are you okay?”
“Perfectly fine.” Powerhouse mumbled.
The world went dark.
Chapter 15
Intervention
Mitch Farrow was dressed as the Pharaoh as he marched to Varlock’s office with several hoods from Portland. They carried boxes.
No more kowtowing. No more games. Varlock was supposed to be the expert qualified to kill Powerhouse. Instead, he was a bureaucrat only good at gaining power. Pharaoh’s chest heaved. If he was going to keep control, he had to insist on doing things his way.
Even if he had no plan. He pounded on the door. “Open up.”
Silence buzzed.
“Varlock, I know you’re in there. Answer or I’ll have to report your lack of cooperation.”
The door opened.
Pharaoh stormed in. “Wait outside, boys.”
Varlock hissed. “What are you doing here?”
“I assume that blubbering villain Stero was part of your master plan to get Powerhouse?”
Varlock glared. “My plan had nothing to do with Stero’s failure.”
Pharaoh crossed his arms. “Then tell me what is your plan is?”
Varlock scanned the room and focused on a Spider-Man paperback. “I’ll force him to sell his marriage to a demon.”
“His marital status is unknown.” Pharaoh snorted. “That might be your plan, but it isn’t the plan King Bel approved.”
“How do you know?”
“The Pharaoh knows all.” Sheesh, could he sound any more corny? “So after all these months, your plan has failed.”
Varlock darted out his tongue. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“That’s not what my report will say. If you’ve got this out of your system, I’m going to take the lead and get rid of Powerhouse.” Somehow. “Keep your nose clean, and I may let you live and enjoy a share of the success.”
“I am a warlord. My nose doesn’t get dirty.”
“You’re now a warlord without a stockpile of cash.” Pharaoh opened the door. His thugs came in with their boxes. “Guys, crate up the money and put it on the moving van. No free samples.”
Varlock sputtered, “You—you can’t take away my money. What will I go swimming in?”
“Try water.”
Varlock made a face.
“The organization needs this money, and I may also need it in my plan against Powerhouse.”
“What plan is that?”
The Pharaoh smirked. “That’s for me to know.”
Powerhouse’s eyes fluttered open behind his helmet as he lay on a cot in a room that looked like it’d been designed by the same person who had laid out police headquarters. Standing over him were the Seattle chief, Agent Polk of the FBI, Steel Rottweiler, Zolgron, Lieutenant Colonel Snyder of US Army Intelligence, and the Boomerang Bloke.
Zolgron clapped. “Welcome back. How does sleep feel?”
Powerhouse yawned. “How long have I been out?”
“Twelve hours.”
Powerhouse jumped up. “I’m late for my morning patrol!”
Zolgron pressed his hand against Powerhouse’s breastplate. “You’re not going anywhere. This is what you earth people call an intervention.”
“Over what? I’ve been drinking too much coffee?”
The chief grunted. “A blood test did indicate you’ve been abusing energy drinks, though that’s not actually a crime.”
Zolgron waved. “Powerhouse, that’s only a symptom of the problem. You’ve been working too hard on too little sleep. You’re going to get hurt and who will be at fault?”
“Me.” The chief sighed. “I shouldn’t have relied on him so much.”
He’s lost faith in me. Powerhouse’s stomach tightened. “Chief, there are ultra-dangerous criminals out there. Real ones that require a superhero.”
Zolgron waved. “Ninety-six percent of your battles were with opponents any Powerhouse Squad member could’ve handled. Your life is completely out of balance. Before this, when was the last time you slept more than two hours? When was the last time you did community service work to help the poor?”
Powerhouse shrugged. “There have been crimes. I had no time for a full night’s rest, let alone to help anyone other than random emergencies.”
The Steel Rottweiler pressed in. “What about attending the cops’ Bible study and church?”
“I haven’t been able to get to either in three weeks.”
A note appeared inside of his helmet. Has it also been that long since you last talked to your wife and kids? Z.
Oh yeah. He had a family. Powerhouse hung his head.
Zolgron asked, “And why didn’t you call me?”
“You’re busy with emergencies all over the world.”
“But I don’t owe the world a debt of honor. You simply hadn’t needed my help before or asked for it. But let me handle this for now.”
Zolgron, trade being the champion of the world for only Seattle? “This is my city. Protecting it is my job. I can’t give that to someone else.”
The Steel Rottweiler patted Powerhouse’s shoulder. “When I played for the NFL, I also played for the Lord. Both careers had me working full-time hours, plus overtime. I cut out stuff I needed, such as prayer, Bible study, and friendships. I even broke up with my fiancée. I would have been in the grave by now, if I didn’t hear one simple statement at a conference. A man there said the pace at which I’m doing God’s work is destroying God’s work in me.”
Powerhouse bit his lip.
Rottweiler continued, “You know what people liked about you? There was a joy in what you did. Now you haven’t been taking care of yourself or your relationship with God, and you’re breaking down and getting cranky with folk. You’ve got to rest, man. When you do go out there again, you have to be able to feel God’s pleasure.”
Zolgron patted Powerhouse’s shoulder. “I’ll give you a break. Choose a few Powerhouse Squad members to be more than a neighborhood watch.”
The chief extended his hands to Zolgron. “Let’s be clear on one thing, Big Gray. I’ve heard about your methods overseas, and you’d better not go too far in Seattle.”
“You can’t believe everything you read in comic books.” Zolgron snorted and waved dismissively. “Let me fly you home, Powerhouse. I’ve prepared a rejuvenation chamber which will expedite your recovery from this overwork.”
Naomi yawned as she padded in her trouser socks through her single wide trailer toward the screen door. She was still wearing her Justice Woman outfit. “Outfit, change to a denim midi skirt with brown leather boots, and cowboy shirt, color white with pink pattern. Make up, be perfectly arranged.”
“May I come in?” Mike called as he knocked on the door. “Brought some coffee.”
“You deliver?”
“Only when it’s free.”
Naomi opened her single wide trailer’s door, led Mike to her kitchenette, and grabbed a couple of blue coffee cups.
Mike poured. “So how did things go last night?”
“After the coffee? I simply headed home.”
Mike frowned. “Darlin, I know you’re Justice Woman. I was watching on TV when she showed up in Seattle to save Powerhouse’s hide. How’d you get there so fast?”
Time to cover. She laughed. “Either I have superpowers, or there’s two of me running around. You think I have superpowers?”
“I don’t know what to thi
nk, but I do wonder what you’re doing here.”
“Taking a vacation.”
“For six months?”
“More like two weeks.” Naomi glanced over at her wall calendar. “Well, three weeks, and I have vacationed here a lot in the last six months. Is there a problem with that?”
“No, folks like you, but I get the sense you’re running from something.”
“Aren’t a lot of people out here?”
“Sure, people often move to out of the way places to get away from the past, but it’s not healthy. Sooner or later, we have to face things rather than running away. Hiding from yourself and others doesn’t work out well, ma’am.”
“I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.” Here she was appreciated. He even said she was liked. The animals loved her. Back in Washington, her own husband didn’t need her, and her kids didn’t care about her. Here she could thrive. How long would it take Dave to even notice she’d never come back from her vacation?
“Let me pray for you.” Mike bowed his head.
“Certainly.” He could pray, but she wasn’t going running back to Seattle.
Dave awoke in the rejuvenation chamber. That was the best sleep ever, even if the chamber made him feel like he was a meal being kept warm under plastic. Dave removed the plastic lid, shrunk the contraption, and compressed it into a cube, which he dropped on his nightstand.
He hopped out of bed and stretched limbs. It doesn’t even feel like I fought a deadly supervillain yesterday. His head was clear. He glanced at the clock by the nightstand, 2:30, he’d been in there four and a half hours. “Hey, Naomi.”
She must have gone to the store or something.
They’d talk when she got back. Now, he had someone else important to talk to. He padded to the basement, flopped at his folding table of a computer desk, and grabbed his Bible.
Where was he in his devotions? It’d been at least two weeks since he did this last. “God, I don’t know how it happened. One moment, I had everything in balance, like I promised Naomi and the kids it would be. The next moment, I was staying up all night, acting like I thought I was Batman. Everything got out of whack. I’m sorry, Lord. Please show me how to get back on track.”