Secrets of a D-List Supervillain Read online

  “Who told you that?”

  “Andy,” I answer. “He’s already working on the relationships between Flora and her husband. He’s going for authenticity. Just yesterday he was grilling me on my problems with my parents.”

  She scowls slightly. “Do they know you’re still alive?”

  “No,” I say, and let her look at me in disbelief for a few seconds. “I think they took a lot of heat from the book and I couldn’t trust them to keep the secret. More of my unintended consequences, I guess.”

  “You should tell them,” she insists.

  “Probably, but now isn’t really the time. Before you say anything else; I know they care in their own way, but sometimes there’s too much ill will. Let’s just say that water under the bridge doesn’t really count if the bridge is already burnt. I don’t have the kind of relationship you do with your parents. I wish I did, but I don’t.”

  The Olympian crinkles her brow in thought and takes a moment to compose her response. “I’m not going to meddle. Every instinct is telling me to, but I’m going to pass on this one.”

  Clearly, we’re a work in progress, but I can see that she’s willing to put in the effort. “I appreciate it, and if anyone can convince me down the road that I should reach out to my folks, it’s you. By the way, how are your folks?”

  “Good. Dad’s in Europe lecturing and consulting on a project at the CERN supercollider. Mom is doing her lobbyist thing.”

  “I don’t suppose she would take me being alive very well?”

  “It’s been over a year now and people still make off color jokes about the ink blot test, so I’m thinking no. Of course when we did gag gifts for the holidays, it didn’t help when my brother gave me a set of ink blot cards.”

  “That’s... wow!” It takes quite a bit to shock me, but that’s pretty hardcore.

  “Yes, he’s got an unusual sense of humor. You’d probably get along with him. Where’re Larry and Andy?”

  “Andy is up topside, surveying the house before it comes down next week, and Larry went to Charlotte to catch a Panthers game. Something wrong?”

  She continues to rub the back of her neck with one of her hands, and replies, “Long flight on the hoversled. Mind giving me a backrub? What’s with the shit eating grin?”

  “Sorry, I’m just trying to picture how this would sound in an adult magazine—I never thought it could happen to me, but there she was, the Love Goddess herself, sitting on my bed and asking me to rub her back.”

  “Well, if you play it right, you might get lucky,” she offers, and discards her jacket. The top follows and I’m already agreeing to whatever she wants, which also includes continuing my story.

  Just for the record, I never did think this could happen to me.

  • • •

  “So, how does this work again?” Bobby asked. “You’re really into this magic shit these days.”

  “I’m working both sides of the fence. Believe it or not, the two can actually work together – like so,” I answered. “I run this cable from the powercell bank through the piece of the magic mirror and hook it into my force blasters. The array of 3 C-class power cells would provide more than enough power to run an entire battlesuit. I just need for it to handle the load from my wrist mount and shield vest.”

  Manacles 3.0 was suddenly a whole lot more viable with the addition of these bits and pieces of old Rexy’s teleportation mirror.

  Demonstrating how it worked for my escaped felon compadre, I proceeded to fire several level three pulses in rapid succession at the target. “When I get my hands on some synthmuscle and can build a new suit, I will pound Lazarus Patterson into a pile of goo. This little trick is going to let me build the most powerful set of armor ever imagined.”

  “You should just let me steal some for you,” he offered, not quite grasping the situation.

  “Believe me, I would,” I said, and connected the shield vest into my new power distribution system. The whole thing fits nicely into the empty chassis of another C-class power cell. Hopefully, no one will notice how much juice I seem to be getting from that lone device. “But you can bet that any theft would be traced back to me by Promethia.”

  “What about the black market?”

  I threw my hands helplessly in the air, and said, “The two big suppliers were the Overlord and General Devious. The Overlord is presumed dead, his distribution channels are all silent. Even if he is still alive, most of his production capability was wiped out when he lost his last base. The general isn’t offering any for sale, and what little is out there has been marked up over 400 percent. What a bunch of damn criminals!”

  Bobby laughed, and asked, “Well, what the hell did you expect?”

  Even though he was right, I didn’t want to admit it. If I still had all that synthmuscle that was blown up along with my junkyard base, I’d be using a portion of it to take advantage of the dramatic increase in price myself.

  “Now that I’m back on VillainNet, I’ve got a smash and grab lined up at some research facility near Cape Canaveral. Somebody wants to get their hands on NASA tech. If you don’t object, I’m going to take that one.”

  The big man sounded a bit antsy, so I tried to lay out the situation for him. “I can’t really object. Just keep your eyes open and keep track of who is doing what and where they are.”

  “You ain’t trying to make me into a two-bit turncoat?”

  Jesus Bobby! It’s not like we have membership cards and union dues!

  “C’mon Bobby,” I said and used my best disgusted face. “Do you think those goody two shoes will be happy with me when I finally whack Patterson? I’m pretty sure I’ll be back on the other side of the fence when that happens, unless I can make it look like an accident. All in all, I’m a pretty lousy hero; just ask anyone! Your cousin has already tried to get me fired at least once that I know of, but WhirlWendy shot that idea down. That could easily change when she gets back next week. The only reason I even went along with this stupid idea can be summed up in one word—Aphrodite. Well, now that’s over and I’ll be honest with you, the grass is only greener on the other side because the heroes use a better quality bullshit to make all their scams look legit! Most of ‘em have fan clubs and foundations they milk for money. Until Wendy took a leave of absence, Sheila was spending most of her time doing appearances and cashing in.”

  “You’re talking a good game,” Bobby said, and scratched at his beard. “And I understand what I’m hearing, even if I don’t completely believe it.”

  “Oh, for the love of...” I muttered, and went to the table where I’d left my bag. Fishing around inside of it, I retrieved a thumb drive and inserted it into a port on the computer. “Check this out!”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “After I got shot, Sheila put me on monitor duty and Patterson dropped by to rub salt in my wounds.”

  • • •

  In my mind, I still heard She-Dozer saying, “With Andy gone, everyone has to take turns on monitor duty. It’s your turn tonight.”

  My old sparring partner, Graham Adzima was speaking. The Dynamic Discus had gone to the East Coast Guardian team to be the deputy team leader under Bolt Action. Obviously that job was better than being top dog at this dung heap.

  “East Coast reporting situation normal. Preditaz was finally apprehended downtown six hours ago and is in the secure holding facility under guard and awaiting transport. We had a handful of sightings of CyberThor in the Boston area. Nobody knows what that nut job is planning. Bolt Action and Sea Raider are headed down there tomorrow and will coordinate their actions with Freedom’s Militia.”

  More like, tell those idiots what they’re supposed to be doing, I thought. According to rumors, the Militia was so dysfunctional it made my team look like a well-oiled machine.

  Sitting in the big chair, I stared at the screen split four ways. The three other Guardian teams occupied their spots and the last was reserved for the Olympians, who almost always had one of their
regular human employees there, and tonight was no exception. Bolt Action still had that Marine mentality and always had one of the East Coast heroes here for the nightly rundown. The folks in Montreal were hit or miss, with tonight being a hit. I recognized the speedster called the Ivory Comet, waiting for his turn.

  Naturally, the West Coast team usually followed the Olympians’ lead and had one of their employees handle this and brief them in the morning, but not tonight. A quick check of the attendance database showed that it had been over three years since the last time Lazarus Patterson sat in on one of the sessions; yet, here he was, radiating that condescending smugness that surrounded him like an aura!

  Coincidence? I think not.

  Graham finished his report by noting that there were no team members on inactive reserve status. The same could not be said for the Gulf Coast Guardians. I typed in a couple of quick notes that summarized the East Coast for the others to read in the morning. It wouldn’t be nearly as detailed as the virtual transcripts Andy was able to provide, but it would do.

  While the northern frontier team member delivered his report in rapid fire fashion, I could feel Ultraweapon’s gaze fixed on me, or maybe it was just the rampant paranoia that seemed to rule my life.

  “Thank you for that report, Comet,” Patterson said. “Why don’t we hear from our friends along the Gulf Coast, next? How are you this evening, Mr. Stringel? I heard you took a bullet in the arm yesterday. I hope it’s nothing more serious than that.”

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” I replied, in a really bad British accent, and noticed Graham cracked a smile, obviously getting the Monty Python reference. Despite the bad blood between the two of us, he seemed to treat me professionally enough so far.

  “That’s good to hear,” Lazarus said, oozing false sincerity. “Just remember to keep your head in the fight when you’re not in your armor. Keep a cool head and temper your reactions, unless of course you intended to kill that man.”

  He was goading me, and it was working. “Well, he did try to kill me. I don’t take kindly to that. The old karma boomerang caught up with that fella a few seconds later. For some others out there, I suspect it’s going to take a little longer, but since you seem to have a firm grasp of what’s going on down here, would you care to give the report for me?”

  “No. No. I was merely wishing you a swift recovery. I seem to be doing that a lot these days. I hope it doesn’t become a trend.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Patterson, I’ll be fine. But your concern is duly noted. Other than the foiled bank robbery that we just discussed, things are relatively quiet along the Gulf Coast. We have reports from several pest-control companies in Baton Rouge about an increase in rat activity, which usually means Rodentia is in the area. Louisiana authorities have issued an advisory. She-Dozer, Anemone, and several members of the Six Pack, all left for South Florida to assist The Pelican in a counter narcotic operation that may involve supers. When they return, Chain Charmer and I are headed to Texas to investigate sightings of Blazing She-clops and the Passive Aggressive Menace in the Waco area. Our inactive roster includes Andydroid and the Biloxi Bugler. WhirlWendy sent word that she would be back in ten days.”

  “You seem short on good people down there, Mechanical. I’m sorry, Stringel; did you still want to be called that?”

  “Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you call me.”

  Patterson smiled and seemed amused. “You seem awfully angry, Mr. Stringel. Perhaps you should rethink the superhero business. It doesn’t seem to be agreeing with you. If it were anyone else, I would try to locate the components you require to create a new set of armor. However, after further consideration, and coupled with the knowledge that the blood of several of my employees is on your hands, I could not, in good conscience, provide you with any assistance... ever. It is my deepest hope the gears of history will grind you up and spit you out like the irrelevant little maggot you are.”

  The look on my face probably betrayed how deeply his barb struck, but I wasn’t the kind of person to take something like that lying down.

  “Tell me something, Lazarus; did you incorporate a mindwiper into your suit—for when your dates discover what a limp dick you are? Now, if we’re done, do you mind giving us the West Coast report or have you got something else you’d like to talk about?”

  There was the slightest change in his smug disposition, and I hoped that I scored at least one point in retribution.

  • • •

  “Yeah,” Bobby agreed as the video ended. “I can see why you think he needs killing.”

  “Like usual, I thought of a dozen things I could have brought up. From him blowing up Maxine’s bombs and killing those hostages to the fact that Maxine might have been his half-sister.”

  “Really?” Bobby said, sounding surprised. “Max V?”

  “Yeah, thought I told you that. I don’t know if it was true, but she sure as hell thought so. Every time since then, when I’m on monitor duty, he’s there like clockwork. I should feel special. He’s spending time screwing around with me when he could be porking some model.”

  “Too bad you can’t use all this against him.”

  Nodding I said, “He’s as shady as they come, but he pays his public relations department well. No one in their right mind would go up against... wait just a damn minute! There is someone I could go to.”

  • • •

  Megan Bostic was waiting for me in the hotel’s virtually deserted restaurant. Most anyone staying here was out enjoying the nightlife New Orleans had to offer. Her dark wavy hair had lightened through the years, and I concluded that she was still out of my league. She’d graduated from a woman obsessed with bringing down Lazarus Patterson, to being the face of the Anti-Hero movement. After all, taking down the one who scorned her appeared too petty. Taking them all down, now that was the sign of a crusader. Even so, the ease with which she’d agreed to meet me told me that Ultraweapon still had a place in her heart, or at least destroying Lazarus still did.

  It’s important to have a goal. I’ve learned that over the years. “Good evening, Ms. Bostic.”

  “I must say, I’m astonished that you actually showed up,” she said, and tilted her wine glass to me as I sat. “People in the superhero community rarely call me unless it is to deliver the threat of another lawsuit. For one to actually want to meet with me borders on the astonishing.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call me a member of the community, but if you’re going with that analogy, I’m the guy who just moved in and is driving down everyone else’s property values.”

  She let out an amused laugh before saying, “I’d put you more at the registered sex offender status, given your little romp with WhirlWendy.”

  “Oh, you know that wasn’t me,” I replied, and sipped my water.

  “Of course it wasn’t, and strangely enough, no one has seen Michael Mather since then, and dear Wendy has been on a personal hiatus since that night. Could we just skip over the part where you pretend I’m that stupid?”

  “Oh, no offense intended, Ms. Bostic. I just promised Wendy that I would deny it publicly, so I’m going to keep doing that. Ask again, and you’ll get the same answer. Read into that what you will.”

  “Fair enough, Calvin. May I call you that?”

  “Actually, call me Cal.”

  “So, do you seriously want me to help you write and publish your memoir?”

  “Confessions of a D-List Supervillain, and yes, I do.”

  “I like the title,” she declared. “Sounds catchy. However, what makes you think it will sell. Granted you spent a few weeks as Stacy Mitchell’s bed warmer, and that will garner some interest, but my time is worth more than an all too brief ‘boy lands the dream girl and proceeds to lose her’.”

  “My suit. Before it was recently destroyed,” I began. “It recorded almost everything, and I archived it offline fairly religiously. The book would practically write itself.”

  Pulling my tablet
out, I handed it to her. “Here’s a little slice of the dirty underside of the superhero world that everyone works so hard to stop the public from seeing. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

  She practically snatched the device from me. I’d chosen the part where I was arguing with Athena about the public story giving Ultraweapon credit for stopping the bug invasion, and culminating with Patterson zapping Aphrodite with a mindwiper.

  “This footage could be faked,” she said, but the unhealthy gleam in her eye told me she’d already taken the bait.

  “Sure, it could be, but it isn’t. I’ve got lots and lots of juicy stuff and no qualms about letting it all hang out. I just need someone to be an editor and agent for my manuscript. Since you’re an award winning journalist who already has several excellent novels out concerning the problems presented to society by super powered human beings, I could think of no other person on this planet who is better positioned to help me make this dream a reality.”

  “How long did you practice that bit of sucking up?” she inquired.

  “Long enough to memorize it,” I replied. “I’d like for us to be able to do business, but there are a couple of conditions.”

  “There always are,” she commented. “All right, let’s hear them.”

  “First, we can’t release anything until I get that pardon they keep dangling in front of me like a carrot. It’s one thing to give a massive middle finger to everyone in a cape and tights, but it will be hard to enjoy the victory from several hundred feet below the North Dakota countryside, if you know what I mean?”

  Megan nodded, and said, “I can see why you want that. Anything else?”

  “Actually, now that I think about it, that’s the only one that will really hold things up. Obviously, you’d be signing an ironclad nondisclosure agreement, but that’s just a technicality.”

  She appeared surprised by my sudden reversal. “Why is that Cal?”

  Leaning forward, I tried to seem nonchalant while answering, “For a moment there, I almost started acting like one of them. I’d better watch myself. The truth is that if you screw me over I won’t be in a position to bring a lawsuit against you, because I’ll be either in prison or on the run again. For your sake, you’d better hope it is prison. Otherwise, you, and probably anyone you care about, won’t have much longer to live. After all, there’s a reason the title has the word supervillain in it. I have what I like to call extremely flexible morals. So, stab me in the back and you’ll get the answer to where Mather is.”