The Rules of Supervillainy (The Supervillainy Saga Book 1)

by C. T. Phipps

  “Si,” Diabloman said.

  “Gary!” Mandy’s mouth was hanging open. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

  “I’m not serious.”

  “Gary...” Mandy whispered, her eyes narrowing.

  “I know what I’m doing,” I lied.

  “You will have enough money to purchase the Clock Tower.”

  “I will?” I asked, confused.

  “What’s inside that place must not fall into the hands of anyone but me.”

  “Are you talking to your magic hoodie again?” Mandy looked at me sideways.

  “It’s a hooded costume, not a hoodie. There’s a big difference. Muggers wear hoodies. Supervillains wear costumes,” I said. “But yes, Cloak says I should be able to afford it.”

  “You’re taking financial advice from a piece of sackcloth,” my wife grumbled, rolling her eyes. “This keeps getting better and better.”

  “Hey, it can’t get any worse than taking advice from the so-called experts,” I replied, smiling. “Remember what shape they got the country in.”

  “Oh, God, more of your class warfare bull...” Mandy started to speak before Diabloman coughed in the receiver.

  “Oh, are you still there?”

  “Si,” Diabloman said.

  I was surprised he hadn’t hung up. “Something wrong?”

  “The Clock Tower appears to have been the Nightwalker’s former headquarters,” Diabloman said.

  “I’ll be right there.” I hung up.

  Diabloman’s description changed everything. Possessing that would be enough to change my status in the Underworld forever. I could skip over all of the parts about building a reputation right to declaring myself a major player. That didn’t include any potential loot, trophies, or information I might get from the place.

  “It’s really not as impressive as you might think. More of a workshop than anything else.”

  “Did he say the Nightwalker’s headquarters?” Mandy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Mandy said.

  “I’m not sure...” I trailed off.

  Mandy’s eyes narrowed.

  “All right,” I said, giving her two thumbs up. “Let’s wolf down our breakfasts, put up the dogs, and get this show on the road.”

  Chapter Ten

  Where I Get My Supervillain Digs

  The Falconcrest City Clock Tower was the single most impressive building in the city. It was the sort of building you expected King Kong to climb to the top of or the Ghostbusters to banish Gozer from. If Douglas Grand Hotel was creepy-disturbing the Falconcrest City Clock Tower was creepy magnificent. Constructed at the turn of the century, it was a monument to the founders’ desire to create the weirdest city in America.

  It wasn’t even the fact it was a clock tower larger than the one in London, it was the fact that it rose like a spire from the center of the city and seemed a focus for all the weird offbeat energy which permeated our metropolis.

  Pulling our minivan into the tower’s underground garage, I drove thirteen stories down to the empty bottom level. There, Diabloman and Cindy were waiting for us. Both were in full costume, though Cindy’s had changed yet again. This time, she wore a cloak very similar to my own except dyed red.

  Complementing the outfit was a cleavage displaying black corset and miniskirt. It was a poor choice for a henchwoman’s outfit. She looked like she was auditioning for the adult film version of Little Red Riding Hood. I don’t know, maybe that was the look she was going for.

  Parking the car, I stepped out and wave. “Great choice, Diablo. I can’t think of any place I’d rather have as my hideout.”

  “I can. Maybe some place that’s not a local tourist attraction?” Mandy was disguised, wearing a blue trench coat, red wide-brimmed hat, and sunglasses. She was beautiful but looked a trifle out of place.

  “Carmen Sandiego?” Cindy inquired.

  Mandy glared at Cindy. “Hello, Cindy.” Her voice was frosty.

  I winced. “Is her presence going to be a problem? Cindy is an excellent henchwench. She’ll keep me from being killed.”

  “Henchperson,” Cindy corrected. “And probably! Don’t look at my past track record with bosses.”

  “Ugh.” Mandy ignored Cindy’s statement. She then looked up and down her somewhat lingerie-esque costume. “I will say it makes a great deal more sense why you’re interested in becoming a supervillain now. If you wanted a hot girl to wear sexy costumes around you, you could have just asked me.”

  I had a response for that but it was lost in going through various memories of Mandy’s outfits at FalconCon.

  “Are you a supervillain now too?” Cindy asked Mandy.

  “No,” Mandy responded.

  “It’s too bad,” Cindy said. “Supervillain parties are the best. There’s this one kind where everyone puts their keys in a bowl—”

  Diabloman bowed his head to me, clapping his hands together. “Big Ben will be arriving shortly.”

  “Great, I want the ten million dollar tour before I pay full price.” I turned around to look at the lot’s entrance.

  Diabloman was about to say something when his cell phone started playing “Sympathy for the Devil.” Looking surprised, he said, “Excuse me, it’s either the satanic cult that raised me or my daughter. Either way, I have to take this.”

  “Sure, go ahead.” I waved him off. “Say hello to your daughter for me.”

  It’s important to keep good employee relations after all, even when you’re evil.

  Diabloman answered his phone. “Hello, Pookie. What can Daddy do for you?”

  Meanwhile, Mandy was still staring daggers at Cindy. I had no idea what they were discussing, but I suspected it had gone farther south than the neighborhood where we’d gone to school together.

  “Gary, fire her.” Mandy glared at me.

  “Hey!” Cindy said, putting a hand on her hip. “Just because I got drunk and told inappropriate stories at your wedding is no reason to hold a grudge.”

  “That and half of those stories involved unsolved felonies,” Mandy said. “That and attempting to invite yourself on the honeymoon.”

  “Oh, was that not welcome?” Cindy asked.

  Mandy shot me a nasty look. “I mean it, Gary.”

  I grimaced. I’d forgotten about that. There had been a time when Mandy and Cindy had been pretty friendly, back when she’d been cleaning up her act to go to medical school. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to that. I wasn’t one to pry but I had the sneaking suspicion she wasn’t in the program anymore.

  “Oh, you think?” Cloak asked.

  The wedding, though, had been an unmitigated disaster and I wonder if she’d been backsliding since. She might even be using Happy Gas again. That wasn’t my problem, though, and a choice between her and Mandy wasn’t a choice at all. Sighing, I stared down at my feet before looking back up. “I’m sorry, Cindy, but if my wife doesn’t want you here—”

  Cindy clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. “Mandy, can I please work for your husband? Pretty-please with sugar on top? He pays well and hasn’t tried to kill me once. You have no idea how rare that is in the supervillain business.”

  “No,” Mandy said.

  “I’ll be your best friend,” Cindy said, cheerfully leaning up against her.

  Mandy pulled away. “No!”

  Cindy then leaned up and whispered something in Mandy’s ear. My wife did a double take, staring at my henchwench. “That was you?”

  “Uh-huh!” Cindy smiled.

  Mandy sighed, slumping her shoulders in defeat. “Okay, then, I guess you can work for him.”

  “Really?” I asked, confused. “Do I want to know?”

  “No.” Mandy sighed. “Just know I owe her. I still don’t like her, though. Not by a long shot.”

  “Oh, you’ll like me. I’m infectious like that!”“ Cindy said, jumping up and down. She did the whole adult ‘woman-child’ thing well. I suppose
it was a blessing she’d given up her medical residency dreams. Could you imagine her dealing with patients?

  “Know they’ll be no flirting with my husband,” Mandy said, “or killing people for him.”

  “That don’t deserve it,” I added.

  “No flirting with you or your husband, gotcha. I forget the next one.” Cindy shouted, giving Mandy a hug from behind. “We’re going to be like sexy-sisters! Or co-henchpersons! Beautiful assistants! Bi and Bi-Curious Life Mates! The four of us can go on quadruple dates with fellow sexy supervillains!”

  Mandy sighed, holding her face with the palm of her hand. “She’s not listening to a word I say, is she?”

  “Not a bit.” I shook my head in amusement. “I wouldn’t worry, though. That’s how she treats everybody.”

  “That’s…terrifying,” Mandy said.

  Further discussion was prevented by the arrival of Big Ben’s distinctive car—a stretched limousine with a Union Jack colour scheme. The car pulled in at about ninety miles per hour and spun around into a nearby parking spot.

  “Why does he drive a car like that if he’s a criminal? Isn’t it just announcing to the police he’s inside?” my wife asked, distracted from Cindy’s presence.

  “It’s a supervillain thing. Big Ben was a trendsetter for a lot of classic tropes. Whenever you think of bad guys who have a specific theme, you’re thinking of him. Before Big Ben, most superhero foes were gangsters and mad scientists. He’s also the guy who invented the razor-sharp throwable bowler hat. He had it decades before Oddjob used it in Goldfinger. He and Tom Terror practically invented supervillainy.”

  “Stop hugging me,” Mandy said.

  “Oh, right.” Cindy let go.

  Seconds later, a group of henchmen dressed as chimney sweeps stepped out of Big Ben’s car. Yes, like in Mary Poppins. The chimney sweeps formed a protective circle around the limousine before the tallest one opened the door to the back seat. The distinctive figure of Big Ben stepped out, looking every inch the supervillain.

  He was about four foot two and he cut a memorable figure with his bowler hat, silver-tipped cane, and U.K. flag-colored suit. Even in his mid-nineties, Big Ben looked scary, projecting the menace only a criminal who had outlasted generations of younger rivals, could pull off.

  Speaking in an exaggerated Cockney accent, Big Ben addressed me, “Greetings Gov’ner, glad to make your acquaintance. You’ve been making big waves. I’ve been lookin’ forward to this meeting since your debut.”

  “Which means you’ve been looking forward to it for all of twenty-four hours?” Mandy asked.

  “Shh,” Cindy said. “He’s supervillain royalty.”

  “Save it for the tourists, Ben,” I said, exaggerating my natural Southside accent. “I came here to do business.”

  Big Ben’s accent vanished. “Fair enough, Merciless. I understand you’re in the market for a secret headquarters.”

  “You could say that. You could also say...” I trailed off when I realized I had nothing to say, blowing my cover as a smooth operator. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

  Big Ben ignored my idiocy. “Then I think you’ll like the location we’ve found.”

  “I bet I will.” I glanced over at Diabloman. “Diablo, time to go up.”

  “No, Pookie, all the girls are not doing it.” Diabloman was still talking on the phone. To his daughter, I hoped. “Yes, I’m quite sure. Your boyfriend is feeding you a line. Oh and tell him if he touches you, I’ll rip out his spine.”

  I paused. “Do you need a minute?”

  Diabloman lifted up his palm to me. “Uno momento.”

  “No sweat. We’ll wait.”

  If Diabloman needed a few minutes to talk to his daughter, I wouldn’t begrudge him it. It would be healthier for me in the long run.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, I’ll see you next weekend when it’s my turn for custody. Remember, no summoning demons and don’t do drugs. I learned both lessons the hard way. Bye-bye.” Diabloman hung up, putting away his cellphone. “Kids.”

  “She sounds like a lovely girl,” I said. “Shall we go?”

  Diabloman nodded. “I think you will be impressed. The Night Tower has been sought after by supervillains since its existence first became known in the Forties.”

  I looked over to Big Ben and raised an eyebrow before asking, “Just so we’re clear, this is the Night Tower, correct? The headquarters of the Nightwalker?”

  “Master Warren never called it that. That was an invention of the radio show adaptation of our adventures. We also never named half of the gadgets his brother bought for us. Hell, we never even used a third of them. I mean, what possible use could we have for a spray to ward off dinosaurs?”

  “Shh,” I whispered, wanting to hear what Big Ben had to say.

  “So it would appear. I’ve fought the Nightwalker since before you were born and never thought I’d see the day when he was dead and gone. I won though, by outliving him.” Big Ben cackled before degenerating into a series of violent coughs.

  One of Big Ben’s henchmen brought out an oxygen tank and mask from which the elderly supervillain took several long breaths. Wheezing, he put it aside and said, “You didn’t see that.”

  “Of course not,” I said. “To what do you attribute your longevity to, anyway?”

  “An often-asked question.” Big Ben took deep breaths between words. “Hate, regular sex, and carrot juice.”

  Eww. “Good advice!”

  Mandy leaned in to my side and whispered, “You do realize these guys are all lunatics, right?”

  “Trust me; I know what I’m doing.”

  “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

  I shook my head and muttered, “Not at all.”

  Mandy glared at me. “I heard that.”

  Thinking at my cloak, instead of talking, I said, “You were with the Nightwalker for eighty years. You must have known about this place. However, you didn’t think to mention it. Anything else you’re keeping from me?”

  “Not deliberately. We haven’t had time to sit down and chat. There’re a million possible things which might get you killed that I haven’t had time to tell you about.”

  Wow, that was reassuring.

  I gave my wife a quick peck on the cheek. “It’s cool”

  Mandy shook her head and gestured for us to go. I appreciated her trust, even if I hadn’t done much to earn it. “Just don’t get us killed.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Allowing Big Ben’s gang to go up the elevator first, my group followed. Something about the situation set my teeth on edge and I found myself becoming paranoid.

  Would Big Ben sell this place for a mere ten million dollars? Even assuming it was nothing more than a finder’s fee, there were still a lot of unanswered questions. If it was the Night Tower, the equipment alone would be worth a hundred million dollars or more. What did Big Ben really hope to gain from all this?

  “You’re learning. I’m surprised. You can’t trust Big Ben.”

  “No shit,” I mentally replied. “Really?”

  “No need to be sarcastic.”

  “There’s always a need to be sarcastic,” I snapped back.

  “I’m getting that feeling…with you.”

  My hesitation vanished when the doors opened to reveal the Night Tower. It was a mixture of retro and ultra-modern, embodying what a well-equipped badass the Nightwalker had been. There was a huge wall of monitors, a giant computer, a brachiosaur skeleton, a disassembled giant robot, and of course the massive clock-face behind everything. Scattered between these items were multiple platforms filled with the Nightwalker’s equipment, vehicles, and trophies.

  Weirdly, most of the place looked unused. The one part which looked used was a large section to the back. There, two dozen plain wooden bookshelves were covered in spellbooks and other occult paraphernalia. There was also a small table nearby with a map of the city and a big black scrying orb beside it. I knew what the latter was because it look
ed like the crystal ball the Wicked Witch of the West had in the Wizard of Oz. The incongruity between the two sides of the Nightwalker’s hideout didn’t keep me from being awed by the place, though.

  “I am totally buying this joint.”

  “Where did the Nightwalker get the idea for something like this?” My wife asked, sounding impressed.

  “Comics. That’s where all the big names got their ideas. You know, back when they were still about fictional characters.”

  “It explains a lot,” I muttered, still stunned by the place.

  “Don’t be too impressed. Master Warren’s brother tried to give us a proper secret lair and equipment but it’s all for show. There’s no point in driving around a super-car if you want to sneak up on a subject. Plus, it’d be easy to follow back to your headquarters. The Nightwalker drove around the city in an anonymous white van and turned into his costume form whenever he wanted to make an entrance. I never had the heart to tell Arthur—”

  “Does the car come with the place?” I asked, having stopped listening around the word ‘super-car.’

  “Absolutely!” Big Ben flashed a salesman-like grin.

  “Sweet!”

  Big Ben had already begun the ten million dollar tour, gesturing with his cane as he walked. “As you can see, he was a well-prepared little twerp. From what I could tell from his notes, he started fighting crime after his wife and child were killed, and he somehow got his magical cloak from... someone. Local legend says he made a pact with the Devil.”

  “The Grim Reaper, actually.”

  “Shush,” I told Cloak. “I want to hear this.”

  It’s impossible for a cape to roll its eyes, but I sensed Cloak was doing the closest approximation he could.

  “This place has been untouched ever since,” Big Ben said.

  Except for whoever gave me the cloak. I wondered who it was. It clearly wasn’t Big Ben.

  “You’re only now just wondering that?”

  “I’ve been busy,” I said back.

  We passed a row of mannequins in display cases. These held a Nightwalker costume for every day of the week. They were all lacking his trademark cape, however. That didn’t make any sense, though. The cloaks permanently bonded with a person. If he had these, then that meant he never wore them and must have gotten them from someone dead.