by Tom Andry
Chapter 6
Two weeks later I was pretty much at my wit's end. It seemed that the doctor's fears were unfounded. He'd given out nearly four dozen trackers (I had to have Ted make some more) to his patients. I'd been hemorrhaging money paying for the additional trackers, the personnel to follow all the patients, and all the other incidentals. Even though my expenses over the last two weeks were more than my last six months combined, with what the doctor had been paying me, I don't think I'd fully eaten through the first day's pay yet. That meant that I had two stops to make that day. The first was to my banker, the second to the doctor to tell him I was off the case. He might be willing to pay through the nose for his paranoia, but twenty-four hour surveillance was taxing and, frankly, I didn't want to work for the bastard for one more day.
I'd personally followed the doctor as much as I could, mostly from a distance. A few times he insisted that I sit in on some of his sessions with people who didn't mind to get a sense of the types of patients he saw. He had an upbeat if slightly abrasive bedside manner, something that hadn't changed since back when I was still married. It consistently surprised me how little his manner bothered others. With the supers he was mostly okay. Sure, he focused more on the ailment than the patient, but no one really minded. With the tippys, it was different. It was like they weren't there. On more than one occasion, I watched a tippy spouse ask a question just to have the doctor give the answer to the super. While some seemed a bit put out, most tolerated his eccentric nature. When he was curing a debilitating disease, people could overlook a lot of idiosyncrasies.
I had to admit that Medico obviously was at the top of his field as I watched him diagnose and cure ailments that I hadn't even heard of in the time it took others to change the oil in their car. The fact was that supers had special requirements: they were born different and more often than not they had ailments that didn't affect the general populace at all.
Everywhere that the doctor went, so did Assistant. I was constantly surprised by how easily supers accepted the bio-mechanical robot. If the doctor were to wheel that thing into a store or mall, panic would ensue. But supers were so inured to such strangeness that they didn't seem to notice. As alien and strange as the construct was, they didn't even bat an eye. If there was ever evidence of the difference between tippys and supers, that was it.
For my first stop of the day, I had to visit my banker because of the large influx of cash from the doctor. I had my money split up into a number of different accounts on and offshore. That way, if something happened to one bank, I'd still have a nest egg. Before this job, I had enough to retire on. Now I had enough to retire and live well. At only thirty-four, I wasn't exactly ready to retire though I couldn't tell you why. I liked my work, which was a bonus, but it was dangerous. It always felt like I was just one wrong move away from pissing off the wrong super. I did have contingency plans in place, but if any of those had to be used, I'd have to be in pretty dire straits.
The drive to the TOP office was a short one. TOP, or Tippy Outreach Program, was a small, community based organization that provided counseling and support for people who were affected by supers. They were located in a small office in the center of downtown, which was basically within walking distance of my place. Well, walking distance if I wanted to get a bit of exercise. I didn't.
Liz Novac, who runs TOP, is one of my oldest friends. We go back just as far as any two can - I think I was the first one she ever played house with. Our families have always been friends though we each went our own way as adults. She became a high dollar financial attorney for a multinational corporation while I seemed doomed to the life of a perpetual student. While she always seemed to know what she wanted, I never could quite figure it out. I probably hold some sort of record for most undergraduate degrees almost completed. While I was racking up student loans, she was pulling down six figures and living the high life.
Of course, it all went pear-shaped when it turned out that the multinational corporation she worked for was a front for The Anarchist. The Anarchist, as his name implied, had planned to destabilize the world economy - somehow - and then plunge the world into anarchy for reasons that were never meant to be understood. I'm sure there is a psychiatrist somewhere getting a migraine trying to figure out why super-villains do what they do. Sure, some just want to kill everyone (and liberate the plants/animals/mother earth/etc.), but most don't really have much of a point. I mean, what was he going to do after his planned worked? Say, "Ha! See! Anarchy!"
Anyhow, Liz couldn’t exactly include "worked for super-villain" on her resume with special merits such as "unknowingly crashed the economies of two third world countries while perhaps unwittingly funneling money to groups that may have assassinated four world leaders." There really wasn't any coming back from that sort of job history. She took what money she had left (which, I have to commend her, was considerable) plus the settlement from the Super State and started TOP. As a special favor to me, which I reciprocate on occasion, Liz handles my banking.
When someone makes as many enemies as my job pretty much guarantees, he'd do well to hide his money. Liz makes sure that I don't have too much money in any one spot. I have bank accounts in almost every stable country on the planet, a considerable sum in gold and diamonds, and I'm told I hold a majority stake in a number of companies. Liz has assured me that no matter what happens, sans another anarchy plot, I should be able to retire comfortably. I live fairly humbly, though I overpay my assistant and the people I occasionally hire on to help out with stakeouts and odd jobs. The exorbitant fees I charge my clients pretty much ensure that I'm always in the black. Since I have very little competition, if they want my services, they basically don't have much of a choice. Since money means very little to supers, they generally don't mind anyhow.
TOP was located downtown within the towering skyscrapers of the central business district. On the ground floor of many of the shorter buildings were multiple businesses, usually topped by high dollar apartments (similar to mine but much more expensive) or offices. While I didn't much mind going in through the front door from time to time, I generally opted for the back entrance. I parked in the garage across the street and crossed. Above the TOP office were a number of offices all connected by a common hallway. It was long and straight and, barring someone with X-ray vision or invisibility, nearly impossible for someone to see you without you seeing them. I stopped outside of a door marked Drs. Myer, Walker and Walkowski, and waited. When I didn't see or sense anyone in the vicinity, I entered.
A lot of times, I feel like I'm being watched. This is in no way a superpower. It's a combination of paying attention to my surroundings and listening to my gut. When Gale and I were first married, she was moving her way up through the ranks of the supers. That attracted more than a little unwanted attention. My gut instincts helped us out more than once. To get accepted into the Super State, a person has to show that they have a power. For Gale, it was easy. She could control air, which is simple to demonstrate. Super geniuses have a much harder time than those with physical powers. That's probably why so many super-villains tend to be of the genius persuasion. During our fairly short marriage, she quickly climbed from a Level 1 citizen to a Level 3. Level 1 is just showing up. After qualifying for Level 1, supers pretty much never have to work again as the Super State gives them a stipend that would keep most middle class families happy. Ted, even after five years, was still a Level 1. To get to the next level, supers need to prove their worth. When a super gets a promotion, they get a stipend raise but are also called upon more often and for more dangerous missions. Reach Level 5 and a super becomes part of the government, usually a member of the earth defense force known as The Bulwark, where they have the entire coffers of the government at their disposal if they can justify it. Two years after we split, Gale reached Level 5.
The perky receptionist took one look at me, flashed a perfectly white smile and said, "Ah, Mr. Smith! Dr. Walker is waiting for you in room four."
I nodded and handed her my parking stub, "Why don't I go ahead and get this validated now?"
She took the ticket and stamped it, handing it back.
"Thanks, doll."
I walked through the side door to room four. Inside was what looked to be a slightly outdated chair next to a tray filled with instruments that looked slightly more torturous than normal dental equipment. If anyone mistakenly went in here, they wouldn't necessarily think it was staged to look scary, but they'd probably ask to be taken to another room (or at least wouldn't object if it was suggested to them).
I sat in the chair slowly, dreading what was about to happen. Reaching down, I pulled out the leather straps and wrapped them around my ankles. Again, I reached under the chair and pulled more leather straps to secure my thighs and waist. I reached over to the tray and took one of the tongue depressors from the glass cup and bit down on it. I leaned back on the chair, pressing my head hard into the headrest. I grabbed the armrests firmly and waited.
Strictly speaking, the restraints weren't necessary. But Joe Blow off the street wasn't going to strap himself or allow himself to be strapped into a dentist chair. The purpose of the restraints was to set in motion the room’s mechanism. Liz had it installed years ago when she first moved in to the space. While technically, she didn't have to be close by for the mechanism to work, keeping an eye on it was easier that way. After about forty-five seconds, the tingling in my legs started.
After that, it felt as if I was being turned inside out. Everything went dark for a moment and when I could see again I was about three feet off the ground in a room with a fully padded floor. I hit hard, the air pushed violently from my lungs along with the tongue depressor. It flew across the room smoldering on both ends. I curled up in pain for a minute or two as the aftereffects of the teleportation wore off. Once again, the same thought went through my mind: all this so I don't have to walk in the front door?
"Ah, so you've arrived."
I managed to lift my head. The illumination inside the room was minimal, so Liz was framed in light from the doorway behind her. She wore a dark coat and a slightly above-knee skirt with smart, medium heeled shoes. Her head was backlit so I couldn't see her face, but her hair - dark, straight and shoulder-length - was immaculate as always. She flipped the switch, bathing her pale features in light. She would've been plain by super standards though she was still plenty attractive. Her triangular face was well accented by a wide smile, clear skin, and small ears. She had her hair parted on the side and pulled behind one ear. Her smile was familiar and comforting if a bit unappreciated at the moment. Under her ever-present dark business suit was a red silk blouse.
"You coming? We've got work to do."
"In a moment, honey," I struggled to stand. "Just let me throw up a bit first." I managed to get to my feet and stumble to her office. I leaned on the doorjamb, clutching my midsection, "Is it just me or was that worse than normal?'
Liz called out from her office down the hall, "Yeah, I heard that from a few people. Should have warned you I guess."
I stumbled down through the door and collapsed in a well padded chair.
She organized some papers as she spoke, "You know, I couldn't be sure until someone who rode it regularly came through." She looked up and smiled again, "You just got lucky I guess."
"Funny, I don't feel lucky."
"Scotch?"
"A bit early for that."
"Coffee?"
"I didn't say no to the scotch. I was just pointing out the time."
She smiled and poured a small drink from the bottle she always got out for my visits.
"You have something for me to sign?"
"Yeah, rich boy." She passed over a stack of papers. "Need your signature everywhere there's an X."
I grabbed the pen she offered and got to work.
"If you don't mind me asking, you’re really working for Doc Arts?"
I gritted my teeth, "Yeah."
"Whew," she whistled through her teeth, "I never thought I'd see the day." She poured herself a coffee, "You sure are making him pay, though."
I shook my head.
"What?" she asked.
"He doesn't care about the money. Didn't even faze him."
"Supers," she responded, "there's no figuring them, is there."
I continued signing.
"How much longer you got on this job? I'm running out of places to hide your money."
"Today's the last day. Oh, and make sure you take a respectable amount out for yourself. Maybe get that damn teleportation chair fixed." I looked the paper over, signing a missed spot on the bottom. "How's business?"
She leaned back in her chair, "Oh, you know, there's always something to do, some right to wrong. You hear about the Names-a-Million incident?"
I shook my head. Names-a-Million was one of the many naming agencies that would suggest names for your child based on your powers, or just powers you wanted your child to have. I didn't buy it, though it was all the rage with new parents.
"Yeah, well, some mom named her kid Millhouse Crush on their recommendation." She sipped her coffee. "Changed his last name and everything. Mom's a low-level brick, can maybe bench press an economy car on a good day. Husband has some sort of stink power."
I looked up.
"Hey, don't ask me, you're the one with all the connections," her hands went up in a surrender pose. "Anyhow, kid's got some sort of flower power."
A guffaw escaped my throat.
"Yeah, he can make flowers grow. Anyhow, his parents went through the roof. Tore the agency up."
"How're you involved?" the stack of papers didn't seem to be getting any smaller. At first I scanned each one, but eventually I gave up and just started signing.
"Well, seems that dad's stink power is somehow toxic. He really let it rip, so to speak."
I didn't have to look up to know that she was smiling as she said it. Liz always did have a guttural sense of humor. We had that in common.
"Blasted not only the office but also got into the surrounding buildings. Not sure the number affected yet, but we're rounding them up now. Counseling for all, of course. Plus I hired a few more lawyers."
"To go up against the Super State?" I asked.
"Hey, you don't have to lean on them too hard to get them to pay. You, if anyone, should know that. It isn't like they care about money."
I grimaced and continued signing.
"So, what's the deal with Arts?"
"Same ol' bullshit," I responded finishing the last paper and pushing the stack over, "you know how it is. 'Someone is following me, my patients are disappearing.' All that paranoia crap."
"Anything I could get involved in?"
"Naw, it's super on super stuff. Or well, it would be if it were real."
"It isn't?"
"No," I answered, "that's why I'm cutting him loose."
"I'm surprised you're not trying to bleed him dry, given your history."
"Well, even I have my limits," I downed my scotch in one gulp. "I can only live with so much dirty money. If he cared more, maybe, but this? This could go on forever."
"Can't say I understand the sentiment, but whatever," she looked over the papers. "Everything looks to be in order. I'll send you an updated list of your accounts later in the week."
"Thanks Liz; appreciate it.”
"Hey, thank you. Even before your recent windfall, you were our biggest supporter."
"Anything I can do to support my fellow tippys."
She frowned at the slang term for non-powered people, "Anyway, I wish you'd let us list you as a donor. People deserve to know how much you do for the community."
"And ruin my reputation?" I stood, "People like their PIs like they like their accountants... just a little slimy."
She stood as well, her hands on her hips, mock indignation in her voice, "Are you saying I'm slimy?"
"Just the right amount, baby. See ya."
"Later Bob.
"
