A Shot at the Big Time

by Christina McMullen

  As Take spoke, my heart swelled with pride. I had no idea that I meant that much to the corporation, let alone to Take personally. Two seconds later, my mood deflated as did my feelings toward my boss. The suggestion that she had nixed was to promote me into an organizational role with a six figure income. Still modest by Coalition standards, but a hefty chunk of change nonetheless.

  Okay, so maybe I didn’t really know squat about that particular side of the business, but would it have killed her to maybe suggest a raise or even an in-department promotion instead?

  “Okay, moving on to our next suggestion,” Harold said, tossing aside page one like it never existed. Clearly no one was going to give me the chance to speak for myself. “Aggressive investment strategy. In our opinion, this would be the quickest, easiest, and most hands off method of amassing capital.”

  “I like this,” Take said, raising an appraising eyebrow as she read over what looked like an entire novella’s worth of financial terms and legalese. “Winfield has an asset management division that can make a quick turn around on a seed as low as twenty-five thousand.”

  “Dollars?” I asked, though really it didn’t matter. Twenty-five thousand pennies was still more than I had lying around. It figured. Get rich quick schemes do work, but only if you’re already rich.

  “Well that leaves option three,” Harold said with a tight smile. On one hand I was grateful that he moved on without drawing attention to the fact that I was the broke-ass Coalition member, but on the other, the unspoken implication that I was the broke-ass Coalition member wasn’t that much better.

  I looked down at the next page in my folder, seeing as no one had spoken up yet. Entrepreneurial side project. Great. Because I had time to work, be a villain, and make something in my spare time that I could sell.

  “Can you write?” Dr. Cannibal asked. “I heard you can make a fortune pumping out erotic stories these days.”

  “Uh, probably not…”

  “Sex tape.”

  “Excuse me?” I turned my glare on Jet Set, who had the audacity to wink at me.

  “Just sayin’. A lot of chicks made bank off putting out for the camera.”

  I didn’t think my opinion of Jet Set could get any lower, but boy was I wrong. At least I wasn’t the only one who appeared offended by the suggestion.

  “I think what you meant to say is that a lot of women were able to launch entrepreneurial careers by owning the notoriety that came with their scandal,” Take corrected with a scolding look. “However, once again, all of these women had investment capital to begin with.” She turned to me with a smile that was both apologetic and predatory. “Have you given any thought to my underwear line idea?”

  “I…”

  “I could use a model.”

  Jhasha was once again eyeing me critically.

  “W-what kind of model?” I asked, still somewhat traumatized over the sex tape suggestion.

  “My fall line is ready to go on tour. Unless you show natural talent for the catwalk, there isn’t time to get you into the runway shows, but print pay can be lucrative with a bone structure like yours.”

  I wasn’t sure whether I was insulted or flattered, but I didn’t really have time for either. I decided to swallow whatever pride I had.

  “I’d be happy to audition,” I said, hoping we could finally move on to what really mattered, which was figuring out how I was going to debut and lure out Magnificent Man without having a cool million in the bank for such events. I cut my eyes back to Take, but my words were directed at Harold and Ronny. “I don’t suppose there’s a nice inexpensive corner of real estate I might ice up for the occasion?”

  Chapter 13

  It really should not have come as a surprise that thinking small wasn’t something an evil organization of villains with what amounted to the gross domestic product of a medium sized nation between them was capable of, but it was frustrating nonetheless. By the time I finally came up with a plan that the team felt I could afford, I had just an hour to get home, shower, and get my ass to work.

  It wasn’t a bad plan and it certainly wasn’t the worst I’d come up with, but it was smalltime. Worse, it made me feel smalltime, which was pretty deflating. Not only that, but in order to pull it off in a way that would actually draw the attention of Magnificent Man, I had a lot of legwork to do and little time to do it in. If there was more time, I would have made a trip to Sentraville to pay a visit to Rocky Rhodes’ Craft Emporium. I wasn’t sure picking the brain of Magnificent Man’s former rival would have turned up anything I hadn’t already dug up on my own, but I didn’t want to dismiss anything that might turn up something useful.

  The rest of the Coalition, however, weren’t so keen to help me in my plight for vengeance as much as building my brand. Though I still pushed back against the idea, it didn’t take long to be beaten down enough to accept that this was my new normal. Each new development, rule, suggestion, and bit of ‘helpful’ advice—no matter how outlandish and insane, no matter if it was imparted via email or trans-dimensional being popping their head out of the space my computer occupied—now got no more of a reaction from me than would a quarterly user report or the news that the diner down the street was out of today’s special.

  And it wasn’t just Take and her army of consultants either. Coworkers whose names I could barely remember were dropping by with suggestions and bits of information, solidifying my conviction that uniformly unidentifiable underlings is not just a strategical weakness, but obnoxious as well. So when Gina Vasquez sent me a text asking me to go shopping with her, I agreed with nary a raised eyebrow, despite not being a fan of shopping and the fact that outside of our costumed capers, the two of us hardly ever hung out.

  “Okay, so the wedding is outside, but it’s after Labor Day. Can I still wear sandals? Would it be in poor taste to wear black shoes to a wedding?

  “Why would the color of your shoes matter?”

  What Gina neglected to tell me was that we would be shoe shopping. Shoes were right down there with properly fitting jeans on the list of things I wish would magically appear in my closet so that I never had to waste my time—or raise my blood pressure—shopping for them.

  “Aren’t there rules to these things?”

  “There might be, but come on, look at me,” I said, holding out my arms to give her a full view of my unofficial uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and weather appropriate sturdy footwear. “I dress for comfort, not fashion.”

  She gave me the once over with an appraising eye and kind of grimaced an agreement. “Yeah, you definitely favor the slob look. I guess I just assumed…” she trailed off, looking sheepish.

  Ouch. Slob wasn’t exactly fair. I might have gone for casual comfort, but it wasn’t like my shirt was covered in ketchup stains or Cheetos dust. I mean, geez! I worked in IT. I definitely saw my share of walking stereotypes, but I tried to present myself as something of a semi-socialized professional.

  “Assumed what?” I prompted.

  “Well, I saw you hanging out with a bunch of girly girls at La Luxe a while ago,” she admitted. “And I heard you’re the new face of Jhasha Couture.”

  Okay, so maybe it wasn’t too hard to see how she got the entirely wrong impression of me. I had been dressed up for the night at La Luxe and it hadn’t even registered in my mind that when I agreed to model, I would be working for one of the biggest names in high end fashion. Sure, I’d noticed the billboards, but I didn’t immediately connect the images of pouty girls in gossamer threads with outfits containing materials meant to be impervious to lasers.

  “Sorry to disappoint you with the reality that I’m a slovenly nerd.”

  “Ah, I’m not disappointed,” she said with a grin. “At least I get to share my torture with someone who sympathizes. Besides,” she added, turning away with a strange expression. “We um, never did do a lot of hanging out other than on the job.”

  Nothing she said was untrue. Aside from my brother, I really didn’t spend any time w
ith the Mals. I deliberately kept my circle of friends talentless to avoid complications and to feel somewhat normal every once in a while. I wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of being friends with Gina. In fact, it might be nice to have someone I could actually talk to about the job who would understand where I was coming from.

  “There’s something else going on here, isn’t there?”

  Of course, there was this itsy bitsy hurdle of being completely paranoid and lacking tact that I had to overcome first.

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I really was hoping you could help me with the shoes,” she prefaced before getting to the point. “I’ve overheard a few things and I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Certain folks aren’t too jazzed about your promotion.”

  “I figured as much,” I said with a shrug. It made sense. There were nearly fifty of us second tier Malevolents. Obviously there was going to be some discontent when folks found out someone else got picked for what was basically our collective dream job.

  “Silencer in particular has been pretty vocal,” she added. “Claims you only got in because you work for Winfield.”

  “Oh good grief! Are we really doing this again?” I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. Silencer was one of Manifestation’s inner circle thugs and for whatever reason, never liked me. He tried to protest my moving up to the rank of named henchperson a few years ago even though he had no reason to do so. “What does he have against me?”

  “He’s jealous, obviously.”

  “No, he’s hated me since the beginning.”

  “Yeah, probably because deep down he knows he doesn’t have a chance.”

  She had a point. Despite the name, Silencer wasn’t some sort of expert sniper or assassin. He had the ability to muffle all sound around him. Sure, that was really helpful for break-ins and keeping witnesses from calling for help, but it was an assistant’s talent that didn’t have enough offensive flair to stand on its own.

  “He’s not the only one. Flame Bro-er, MediKate, The Javelin, there’s a bunch of folks grumbling about your promotion.”

  More like a bunch of second-rate jerk wads. Seriously, all the names she rattled off were the kind of folks who were Mals for no other reason than pure mean spirited douche-baggery.

  “Okay, so everyone on the Z list is jealous of me.” I cringed as the words came out of my mouth because it sounded like the kind of egotistical nonsense one of them would have said and it was preposterous to boot.

  I mean, I wasn’t immune to infighting. There was never any love lost between me and Jet Set, but it’s not like I was jealous of him when he became a Coalition member. Okay, maybe a little, but that was just because he barely spent any time as a henchperson before throwing a whole bunch of money at their organization and was welcomed in with open arms. Of course, I hadn’t realized at the time that was actually the typical method for membership.

  Well, that was a depressing tour of tangent-town.

  “So, I’m going to guess there’s probably a reason you’re telling me this and it ain’t just to dish the dirt?”

  “Bingo,” she said with a wink. “Silencer is trying to rally a bunch of other underlings into sabotaging your debut. He knew better than to ask me if I wanted in, but word spread pretty fast.”

  “Wow,” I said, but there was really no awe behind it.

  “Yeah, I think it’s pretty shitty. I may be a Malevolent, but I’m not an asshole.”

  “I’m glad there’s at least one of you,” I joked, but added, “No seriously though, Gina, I appreciate the heads up. Still, if anyone deserves to join the Coalition, it’s you, not Silencer.”

  “No thanks,” she said with a mock shudder. “I don’t need that kind of culpability.”

  “Huh?” I did a double take. Literally everyone with talent, Malevolent or Action Figure, dreams of making the A-team one day. Well, literally everyone except AcroBot, apparently.

  “Think about it, Lisa. I’m a gay minority and a Mal.” She gave me a look as if that was supposed to say it all, but I didn’t get it. “I don’t want to be responsible for the stereotype explosion that would come with me being in the limelight,” she explained.

  “Ah. Yeah, I understand,” I said with a grimace. I felt bad. Not only because she was right, but also because in the last five minutes, I’d learned more about my colleague than I had in five years as literal partners in crime. “Well, I hope you weren’t expecting to make a secret killing as my informant,” I added partially to lighten the mood, “because I gotta warn you, if you’re expecting a tip, I’m broke.”

  “Well shit! Here I was hoping you would gift me a Lamborghini.”

  “You better be joking.”

  “Of course. Everyone knows I’m a Ferrari girl.” She stuck her tongue out at me, but added with a devious grin. “Not that I don’t have my selfish reasons. With you out of the picture, I become top banana. That is, unless you want to make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

  “I pay in couch change and discount coupons from Big Royal Burger, but I gotta warn you, the raise I got for being Take’s second in command wasn’t much better.”

  “Medical and dental?”

  “Ah hell, you’re better off sticking with the big boss.”

  Although the whole exchange was a joke, it served to remind me exactly how unprepared I’d been for the reality of being a supervillain. Aside from Lane, who was really only on the list because he was family, AcroBot was the only Mal I’d actually want on my team, but I couldn’t afford to pay her anything that wouldn’t be an insult. Hell, at this point, I couldn’t even recruit the greenest of the green underlings with the least effective talent.

  “Top banana it is,” she said with a wink. “But all jokes aside, if you need any help, I’ve got your back.”

  “Thanks. One day I might even be able to afford to take you up on that.”

  “Cute.”

  “I’m being serious here. I have to wonder if there wasn’t some sort of a mistake.”

  It definitely felt good to have someone to confess my misgivings to that understood my situation. Gina ran a small shop that sold handmade goods to tourists. I was pretty sure Take’s paycheck was the only thing keeping her afloat on the off season.

  “You?” Gina scoffed. “Lisa, come on. There’s a reason you were fast tracked to the top. You have skill and you have the confidence to use that skill. Where did the doubt come from?”

  “Honestly?” I felt my cheeks burn. Maybe taking the shop talk into the realm of my financial issues wasn’t such a great idea. “It’s not my talent I’m doubting, it’s my… lifestyle.”

  She gave me a blank stare.

  “I’m the only Coalition member who isn’t independently wealthy,” I explained. “I’m over here trying to figure out if my next drink is going to mean I can’t put gas in my car and meanwhile, I’m dealing with people whose biggest decisions in life are whether they take the Bentley to work or the Aston Martin. It would be bad enough if it was just a matter of being pitied, but they all expect me to catch up financially.”

  “Wow, really? I just assumed there was some sort of a… I don’t know, a pool of funds? An offshore account or something?”

  “There probably is, but there’s also a lot of expenses they don’t tell us about. If I’m going to pull off anything big enough to catch the attention of Magnificent Man, I’m gonna need capital.”

  “Okay, I’m stumped. Aside from a really well planned bank heist, how does one become an instant millionaire?”

  “Billionaire,” I corrected with another wince. “And that’s the thing. I just don’t know. I took the modeling job because Take suggested slapping my name on a line of underwear, Dr. Cannibal suggested writing erotic novels, and Jet Set ‘volunteered’ to star in and leak a sex tape.” I paused to shudder and keep my lunch from coming back up for a repeat performance. “If I didn’t already know how creepy and voyeuristic this business can be, it would ha
ve been one hell of an eye-opener.”

  “Yeah, no kidding. Wait a minute. What about Manifestation? He doesn’t have any job that I know of.”

  “Dr. Cannibal finances him,” I replied. “I think he helps out around the lab, though with what, I probably don’t want to know.”

  Gina frowned. “Okay, so why does he get to be a Coalition member? That sounds more like the position of sidekick to me.”

  “Dude, you seriously wanna be the one to tell a demonic presence from another dimension that they’re just a sidekick?”

  “Fair point,” she conceded, turning her attention back to the two pairs of shoes in her hands, holding them both up to me. Neither looked like anything I would want to attempt walking in without a solid insurance plan, but then again, I wasn’t the one who spent her evenings dangling from cellphone towers and tight-roping between skyscrapers. She held them out to me with an expectant look.

  “Um, the pink ones are cute?”

  “Yeah, they are,” she said, tossing them back on the shelf. “That would have been a disaster.”

  Chapter 14

  It was a damned good thing I’d soon be getting a decent income off my modeling jobs because I owed Vasquez a whole lot more than a debt of gratitude. Without her warning, my first official night out might have been a complete and utter disaster before it began. Not that it wasn’t a complete and utter disaster in the end, but it could have been worse.

  Silencer and company decided the best way to show their displeasure was to cause a water main break in the area I’d planned my event. Sure, it was tempting to use the break to my advantage and kick start the ice-pocalypse, but the image of Harold gleefully presenting me with a bill for the damages at the next meeting took the wind out of my sails pretty quickly.

  Instead, I had to scrap everything and come up with a new plan on the fly. The biggest difficulty was trying to minimize the damage done by the sore loser brigade while still making it look enough like I was attempting a nefarious act to draw the attention of the ‘Figs. Specifically, Magnificent Man.