The Rules of Supervillainy (The Supervillainy Saga Book 1)

by C. T. Phipps

  God, the police in this town were lazy. Eighty years of a vigilante protecting them and their detective skills had gone to shit.

  “What happened?” I was more curious than anything else.

  “Are you talking to the Chief of Police?” Mandy asked, beside me.

  “Yeah. He wants my help. Our tax dollars at work.”

  “Wow,” Mandy said, her earlier anger dissipating. “Tell him he’s doing a good job, and we’re glad for all the sacrifices the police department has made.”

  I put my hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Except, he’s not doing a good job. Have you been downtown lately? That place is full of freaks and weirdoes.”

  Mandy crossed her arms. “That’s unfair and you know it. The police are doing the best they can.”

  “They keep a freaking hotline to call a vigilante for help!” I said, appalled. “If that doesn’t shake your confidence in the city’s patrolman, I don’t know what will!”

  Mandy narrowed her eyes. “Don’t take that tone with me.”

  “Sorry. It’s a sore subject with me.”

  “Nightwalker, are you talking to someone?” Chief Watkins asked, either assuming I was the Nightwalker’s replacement or just used to calling whoever was on the hotline that.

  Or he was a moron, which I couldn’t discount.

  “Ahem!” I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. “No, Chief. Go on.”

  “Billionaire heiress Amanda Douglas was taken by the Typewriter,” Chief Watkins said.

  “Isn’t she married to a rap star?”

  “Wrong celebrity.”

  “Sorry.”

  I remembered Amanda Douglas now. She was a local the tabloids loved to portray as a massive party-girl with self-entitlement issues. The sex tape hadn’t helped. Mandy was a fan of hers and indicated there was much more going on there than most people thought. One thing I did know was that her father was loaded and probably willing to pay out the nose for her return.

  “Her father has offered a half-million dollar reward for her retrieval,” Chief Watkins said. “I know it doesn’t affect heroes like yourself—”

  “Ca-ching! Hell yes!”

  “What was that?” Mandy asked, leaning in.

  I put my hand over the mouthpiece, again. “Dudley Douglas is offering five hundred grand for the safe return of his daughter.”

  Mandy blinked, all trace of her earlier disapproval gone. “Amanda Douglas has been kidnapped? That’s terrible!”

  “Yeah. It’s too bad I’m not a superhero.” I gave a little whistle before looking away. “Oh wait, superheroes can’t take money for their good deeds.”

  Mandy stared at me. “Okay, fine. If it saves that poor girl’s life you can run around in tights.”

  “I am not a set of tights.”

  “Thank you.” Pulling my hand off the mouthpiece, I asked the Chief, “Could you put the father on the phone?”

  Seconds later, I was on the phone with Dudley Douglas. Like a certain other business tycoons, he was richer than God and had no objections to showing it. Still, he seemed to love his daughter and sounded incoherent with grief.

  “My daughter,” Dudley Douglas spoke with a thick Texas accent. “You’ve got to save her, Nightwalker!”

  I almost shouted, “I’m not the Nightwalker!” but held back. Instead, I said, “I’m willing to do what I can, sir. Tell me what happened.”

  “It all started like this…” Dudley trailed off, violently coughing in my ear. “Sorry, that was my cigar. They cost a thousand dollars each, you know.”

  “Really?” I asked, losing all sympathy for the man. “How do you know she was taken by the Typewriter?”

  “Because he sent us a typewritten note telling us where he could be found and that he was responsible for the kidnapping,” Dudley replied. “He’s at the top of the Douglas Building Hotel.”

  “I see we’re dealing with a real criminal mastermind here.” I was unable to process how any villain could be that stupid. Maybe there was something to the old saying all supervillains secretly wanted to be caught.

  Nah.

  “He wants ten million dollars for my little girl but the police say he might end up killing her anyway,” Dudley sobbed out through cigar puffs. “I haven’t been so distressed since mah poor wife disappeared. Tell me, Nightwa...ahem, stranger, will he kill her even if I pay?”

  I decided the truth was better than candy-coating it. “It’s possible. Supervillains aren’t as nice as they used to be. If this were Diabloman or Doctor Sin, yeah, I’d say they’d return her, but this sounds like amateur hour stuff. A lot of potential to go bad.” I paused, deciding to cut the guy a break. This wasn’t the kind of business I wanted to get into but I figured I could make an exception. “Okay, I’ll get your daughter back for half a million dollars.”

  “What?” You could hear Dudley Douglas choking on his cigar as he spoke. “Aren’t you a superhero?”

  “Hey, man, you posted the reward.” I snorted at the man’s cheapness. “Don’t blame me for taking advantage of it.”

  “Yes, but I did it for the publicity!” Dudley choked. After a second, though, he calmed down.

  “Gary!” Mandy said, listening in.

  I raised a hand for her to wait, covering the receiver with my other hand. “I’m negotiating, honey. It’ll be fine.”

  Finally, I heard Dudley crack. “Oh, all right, fine. If you can deliver her back to me safe and sound I’ll write you out a check.”

  “Make it cash. Remember, I know where you live.” I hung up the phone before he could respond. “Well, that went well.”

  “You know, for a supervillain, you seem to be foiling a lot of crimes.”

  “Only for selfish reasons!” I placed my hand over my heart.

  “Is your cloak talking again?” Mandy asked, looking concerned.

  “Yes. He’s trying to talk me out of my chosen career path. He thinks supervillainy is a poor career choice.”

  “I can’t imagine why.” Mandy looked worn out despite having just found out about my new career a half hour ago. “We need to talk more about this.”

  I took a second to ponder how much my new career meant to me versus the approval of my wife. It was easy to see which meant more.

  “Listen, Mandy, I can’t do this without you. I’ve wanted to be a supervillain since I was eight but that doesn’t mean anything compared to my love for you. If you want me to, I will give up my cloak after tonight.”

  I meant it, too. Say what you will about supervillains all being psychopaths, I loved my wife and she meant more to me than my dream. If she wanted me to quit, I would. I’d take up a similar but unrelated career like politics or law.

  Mandy seemed torn, perhaps realizing how much this meant to me. “Are you going to save this girl’s life?”

  “Yes,” I answered her.

  “And get paid for it?”

  “Yes,” I repeated, this time more forcefully, sounding almost like Cloak.

  “You’re not going to kill anyone else?”

  I bit on my back teeth. “How about I promise to only kill people who have it coming? Like clowns, communists, serial killers, Nazis, or Islamic terrorists?” I neglected to mention people who annoyed me. That wouldn’t have gone over well.

  “You do realize you could end up in jail because of this. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life married to a man behind bars.”

  “Please, supervillains never stay behind bars. There are whole fields of law devoted to beating the system for super humans.” I put the phone receiver in its box. “It’s one of the reasons I voted for the current President. The whole ‘three strikes and you get sent to the moon’ policy is the kind of hardcore stance we need on super crime.”

  “You’re a supervillain who supports ‘tough on crime’ policies?”

  “Less competition that way.”

  “Okay then.” Mandy took a deep breath. “I’m willing to try this out with a couple of caveats.”

 
; “I love it when you talk dirty.” I tried kissing her on the lips only for her to push me back with one hand.

  “Caveat isn’t a dirty word.” Mandy raised an eyebrow. “Are you ready to listen? I mean, really, listen?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Number One: Don’t steal from anyone who doesn’t deserve it.” Mandy poked me in the chest.

  “That should be easy; people who don’t deserve having it taken away don’t have any money to begin with,” I said, smiling. “Next.”

  “Number Two: I don’t want you staying out all day and night doing this. I need you around the house.”

  I winced, that would cut into my efforts to make a name for myself. “Okay, I’ll be a part-time supervillain.”

  “Number Three: Don’t use your powers in the house.” Mandy narrowed her eyes. “The last thing I need is you setting Galadriel on fire.”

  “Hey!” I wrinkled my nose. “I know how to use my powers better than that.”

  “You really don’t. However, we can address that later.”

  I grunted, wishing Cloak would cease his incessant commentary.

  “Number Four: Don’t bring your work home either. I won’t tolerate a bunch of supervillains hanging out here, and if superheroes attack our house, I’m divorcing you.”

  “Okay.” All of her objections were reasonable. “I can do that.”

  “Finally, I want you to wear this.” My wife walked to the bedroom and brought back an earpiece.

  “Pardon?”

  “I want you to be available when I need you. No more of your usual leaving your cellphone in your car or not charging it. When I see you on the news battling the Ink Splotch or whoever, I want to be able to call you.”

  I was pretty sure Ink Splotch never battled anyone outside of Future City but that was a technicality. “I’m not sure how good an idea it is to talk to you in the middle of a battle but you’ve got it.”

  I put the device in my ear and checked my cellphone to see it was fully charged. It felt good to have the wife’s approval, however grudging. I couldn’t do this without her. I’d once read in a magazine the vast majority of supervillains were unmarried loners. It made me wonder what was wrong with them.

  A spouse was the absolute best thing a supervillain could have. It was the superheroes who struck me as the perpetual bachelors. I mean, come on, the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s my enemies’ thing is so they can stay single and get sex from the people they rescue. I have it on good authority the Silver Lightning uses it all the time to pick up guys. Admittedly, the good authority was my brother’s old gang but if you couldn’t trust them then who could you trust?

  “You’re a very strange man, Gary Karkofsky. You’ve obviously put far-far too much thought into this.”

  “Proudly so.” I affixed the earpiece. “I come from a long line of criminals, lunatics, and insurance salesmen.”

  Which was about one-third true.

  “Okay.” Mandy took a look at me. “I think that’s it. Stay safe and don’t get yourself killed.”

  “Thank you, baby.” I leaned in to give her a short kiss on the lips. It turned into a much more passionate one, lasting over a minute. Breaking away, I stared into her eyes. “I’ll try and make it back soon.”

  “Hurry,” Mandy said, her voice softening. “And don’t get killed.”

  “I won’t.”

  Chapter Three

  Where I Discover the Limits of My Powers

  The Douglas Grand Hotel towered over Falconcrest City’s skyline. Sixty-six stories high, its black stone edifice sported gargoyles along the side of its windows. The Douglas family rejected the whole ‘hotels are meant to be inviting and pleasant places’ theory of design. Instead, they went with ‘hotels should look scary as shit.’ The place looked like a giant red eye should be hovering over it.

  Staring up from the ground at the topmost floor of the building, I said to my cape, “You know, I have to wonder about the architects in Falconcrest City. It bothers me less the Douglas Grand Hotel looks like Dracula should be staying there than that it fits in with the surrounding buildings. It’s like the city fathers decided to combine Art Deco with H.P Lovecraft.”

  “The city was designed by the Brotherhood of Infamy as a gigantic mystical amplifier to summon their demon-god, Zul-Barbas. They intend to offer the citizenry as a human sacrifice in order to bring about the end of the world.”

  “What?”

  “One of the many random facts I know. You’d be surprised at how many horrible secrets lie hidden in this city. Don’t worry, the Nightwalker hasn’t heard from the Brotherhood in years.” Cloak’s ‘voice’ was almost cheery.

  “You’re terrifying.”

  “Thank you.”

  Seeing the hotel was cordoned off by the police and surrounded by hundreds of cop cars, I cursed my luck. I didn’t want to announce my existence to the police, especially after robbing a bank less than three hours before. I needed a plan, not just for getting in, but for dealing with the Typewriter when I did.

  I tried to remember what I knew about the supervillain. All I could recall was that he wore a stupid outfit and was supposedly a complete buffoon. When even civilians know you’re a joke, your career is over.

  “I need some info about this guy,” I muttered aloud. “Something to build a battle strategy around.”

  “Yes, because a man who dresses up in an antiquated suit with a prop typewriter on his head is a man you need to out-think.”

  “It’s always the kooky ones you have to watch out for.” Pulling out my cellphone, I dialed Mandy. After she picked up, I spoke in my most charming voice, “Hey, Honey. It’s your beloved husband, the world’s greatest criminal mind.”

  “Have you rescued the girl yet? Also, have you been paid?”

  I bit my lip. “No, I just got down here. Traffic is terrible. You’d think there was a crisis downtown or something. Do you have your computer?”

  “Of course,” my wife answered. “I was looking up information on the next Derek Hawthorne novel.”

  My wife loved vampire romance novels; it was another of our shared interests. “How’s that going?”

  “It’s available for pre-order! I’m also searching for signs you’ve been killed or maimed. Thankfully, there’s none of that.”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t intended to worry her like this. “Okay, I need you to look for information on the Typewriter. I don’t need to go in there blind.”

  “Okay. Oh, by the way, could you pick up some yogurt on the way back?”

  “Sure.” I wondered if Tom Terror ever did grocery shopping for his wife. “No problem.”

  “Henpecked.”

  “What was that?” I glared at my cloak.

  “Huh?” Mandy asked.

  “Nothing. Just talking to my costume.”

  Mandy grimaced. “That’s freaky. You know that, right?”

  “He’s an okay sort. His comments are starting to grate, though. Any luck with the Typewriter?”

  “One second,” Mandy said. It took more like five. “Okay. Got it.”

  “You hacked into his police file?”

  “No. I’m checking out his Superpedia file.”

  “Oh.” I realized that was probably the better resource. “That works. Lay it on me.”

  “The Typewriter, real name: Theodore Keyes,” Mandy started. “With a name like that I suppose he was destined for supervillainy.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Theodore was a book editor at a major Belgian publishing house before murdering his entire staff with explosive computer keyboards. He had grown sick of all the typos sent to his office.”

  “A common enough story. The Belgians have always been twitchy about their grammar.”

  “No superpowers to speak of, the Typewriter possesses a genius intellect and a cane which possesses uncertain super-technological properties.”

  “Uncertain super-technological properties?” I asked, confused.

  “Tha
t’s what it says.”

  “It means the cane does stuff no one understands. Technology is like a grab bag. Sometimes, devices do random unexplainable things.”

  “Ah, super-science,” I said, probably confusing Mandy. I was going to have to learn to respond to Cloak with my thoughts and thoughts alone.

  “Oh and he’s cheap,” Mandy added.

  “Cheap,” I repeated. “A cheap supervillain?”

  That shocked me more than the fact the Typewriter told the police where he was. Good pay was one of the major draws for henchmen. If a supervillain didn’t pay his goons well, why would they put up with his antics? What was wrong with this guy?

  “Yeah, over here on the commentary page, one of his henchmen said so. He wrote some nasty stuff about him,” Mandy said. “Be careful, Gary. This guy may act like an idiot but he’s killed a lot of people.”

  “Hey, I’m always careful.” I smiled. “Take care of yourself, Mandy. I’ll give you a call right after I’m done.”

  “I love you,” Mandy whispered.

  “I love you too.” I tapped the side of the earpiece to hang up.

  “That was simultaneously heartwarming and sickening. I don’t think I’ve ever met a happily married supervillain before.”

  “There’s no law against it,” I said, smiling. “And if there was, I’d break it.”

  “Touché. May I ask how you intend to get to the top of the building where the hostage is held?”

  “Can I just, uh... fly up there?” I was pretty sure Cloak had mentioned levitation.

  “Levitation is not flight. There’s a subtle difference. You can go up and down but not forward. You also move as fast as a rising balloon.”

  “The Nightwalker glided everywhere,” I pointed out.

  “He started from tall heights and moved down,” Cloak countered. “Unfortunately, the Douglas Grand Hotel is the tallest structure in the city with the exception of the Clock Tower and Warren Towers.”

  Unfortunate indeed. Both structures were on the other side of town. “Maybe I could waltz through the police cars, blowing them up one by one, as I send the crowds scattering in awe of my terrifying visage. Then I can march into the hotel and call the Typewriter out.”