by Adam Graham
Dave smiled. “Morning, Gray Giant.”
“For the last time, stop calling me that.”
“I told you it’d get you teased when you took that name.”
Zolgron sighed. “Yes, but I didn’t think adults would be that childish, particularly a CEO, and I didn’t know what it was like to be teased.”
Dave waved it aside. “Everyone gets teased.”
“Not the champion of the Karonites. Most wouldn’t dare to tease me. I could’ve scattered Mitch Farrow’s molecules throughout the galaxy for that impudence and was sorely tempted. For the sake of your reputation, however, I refrained from unleashing my fury on him.”
“Very thoughtful of you.”
Zolgron sighed. “This seems to have lessened my own powers slightly. I think I only ran 250 miles an hour back to the conference room.”
“So that’s why you’ve been moping around the house.”
He shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “I haven’t been moping. I’ve been recovering.”
One thing would snap Zolgron out of this for sure. “We’re running out of groceries. I’m going to get some TV dinners.”
Zolgron gasped. “Don’t shame me like that!”
“I could always imagine some food into existence.”
“The true chef can’t cook with that.” He stood. “I shall go get fresh ingredients, prepare the family appropriate meals for the next few days, and then I’ll fly off to India and take my frustrations out on Marxist guerillas that are harassing villagers.”
“That’s the spirit.” Dave slapped Zolgron on the shoulder.
Zolgron headed for the back door.
Dave opened the front door and picked up the newspaper. The front page headline was, “City Councilman Charged with Bribery.” The second headline was, “Fire in Tacoma Kills Seven.” He flipped to the bottom of page A-11 and read under a giant ad for a used car sale. “Local Pastors form Alliance with Powerhouse to Fight Poverty and Crime.”
Dave slipped into his bedroom. Naomi lay in their bed, wearing a pink flannel night gown. Dave tossed Naomi the paper. “Here you go.”
She picked up the paper. “Why is it turned to page eleven?”
“Look at the article on the bottom.”
Naomi gasped. “Really? I’m so proud of you!”
Dave beamed.
Naomi scanned the article. “How many projects will they establish?”
“First we have to raise the money and see how much we can afford.”
“Too bad you just can’t make everything appear.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’m going to be the main attraction at our kickoff. People will pay to get in and I’ll sign autographs. Whatever we take in goes to our first project.”
“Why don’t you sound excited?”
Dave paced. “They had an idea for an extra fundraiser only I can run.”
“Wow, what is it?”
Dave swallowed and braced himself. “Flying with Powerhouse.”
Naomi leaned back and bit her lip. She pulled a pen and paper out of the drawer and doodled. She dropped her pen. “Powerhouse can do that, but on one condition.”
“Powerhouse!” a deep voice bellowed behind him as he stood across the street from the park near a one block row of closed shops. He turned around.
Chief of Police Stone Bachman ran up in a short-sleeved black shirt and a pair of jeans. “There you are. They’re waiting on you.”
“Just a moment. I’m taking steps to make sure my time at the fundraiser is not interrupted by crimes.”
The chief sighed. “We have two extra cars patrolling the area.”
“We need to be sure. I’ve seen all the warning signs around the city. I thought if I could put a few up here, I could get criminals to stay away during the fundraiser.”
“Signs? What signs?” The chief turned to the bakery behind them. “Oh, I see. ‘No Crime allowed,’ eh?”
“I put one on that vacant shop.”
The chief strode over to it “Thank you for not stealing cars.” The chief chortled. “Nice.” They marched down to the jewelry store and glanced at the white sign on its door. “This is a crime-free zone.”
On the shop at the end of the block was the last sign. Bachman smiled. “No committing crime. Violators will be punished at their own expense.”
“So what do you think?” Powerhouse rubbed his hands together.
“It’s an interesting experiment in criminology.” The chief laughed. “If it makes you feel better by all means. Just have them down after the fundraiser.”
“Thanks, Chief.” Powerhouse slapped the chief’s back. “Now, to the fundraiser!”
Powerhouse lowered the captain’s chair containing a fortyish woman with medium-length blonde hair. The crowd applauded. The grinning woman stood beside Powerhouse. A volunteer professional photographer snapped a picture of them.
She shook his hand. “Powerhouse, thank you.”
“It was a pleasure, citizen.” Powerhouse walked away to where Naomi was standing, wearing a white sleeveless dress with a red zigzag pattern.
She beamed. “So how has it been?”
“No one’s complained.” Powerhouse shrugged. “I guess it works.”
Pastor Leticia Jones stood with a mobile microphone in her hand and waved to the crowd. “Hey, all of ya’ll. Is this a fundraiser or what? This beat everything we expected. This community is ready to take back our city and bring light into the realm of darkness.”
The crowd cheered.
“We only need one more ride with Powerhouse, and we’ll have the money for a down payment for a new church where a drug dealer used to live. Anyone want a ride?”
A seven-year-old girl near Powerhouse tugged on a thin woman’s baggy dark gray wool coat. “Mummy, can I go up with Powerhouse?”
The thin woman also spoke with a British accent. “It costs a thousand dollars, dearie. With our medication, we have to watch our pennies.”
“Okay, Mummy.” Her daughter lowered her chin and frowned.
Naomi looked at them and over at Powerhouse.
He nodded. Go ahead, Naomi.
She smiled at the girl’s mother. “I’d be happy to pay for your daughter.”
The woman sniffed. “Madam, I don’t take charity.”
“It’s not. It’s something I want to do not just for your daughter, but for the city.”
“Fine.” The woman reached into her wallet. “I insist on paying $200 of it. My ex-husband finally got a new job and made good on my alimony. I think he’d find some irony in his money going to help build a church.” She handed Naomi money but kept her eyes down.
Naomi nodded. “Okay, your $200 and my $800.”
Stomach tied in knots, Powerhouse shifted from foot to foot. When do they stop negotiations and I start flying?
“Thank you. I’m Rebecca Farrow.” She extended her hand.
Powerhouse arched his eyebrow. Mitch Farrow’s ex-wife?
Naomi shook Rebecca’s hand. “You’re welcome. My name is Naomi.”
The women walked over to the pastor and handed her their money.
Powerhouse bent down by the girl. “Hello, honey. What’s your name?”
She beamed. “My name is Rosalyn, but you can call me Rosie.”
“Rosie, let’s go for a ride.” Powerhouse flew up into the Seattle sky with Rosie in his arms, past the ocean and the mighty skyscrapers.
Rosie pointed at the old Ross Insurance building and read the sign on the third flood. “Door-a-do. My daddy works there. Can we go see him?”
Her daddy really was Mitch Farrow? Wow. Well, if the jerk had such a sweet daughter, he couldn’t be all bad. “He may be busy working in a big office, but we can fly by his window. What floor is he on?”
Mitch tossed the newspaper on his desk and cursed. “Here I’m trying to get skepticism and cynicism up and along comes Mr. Goody Good and starts this churchy thing in my backyard.” That and the anonymous “God bless” guy doing all the ran
dom acts of kindness had to be stopped.
Mitch paced. Powerhouse was a sadistic, evil spreader of medieval fairy tales, a cruel false prophet of non-existent hope. He’d put an end to him one way or another.
Someone was tapping on his window. Clumsy window washers.
Mitch spun and gasped. “Rosie!”
She waved at him, her gaunt body ravaged by the disease he’d given her.
He clinched his fist. Did Powerhouse dare taunt him with the pain he’d caused? That smile. It was the result of the false hope from her mother, the cruelest thing in the world. Her only real hope lied in the invasion that would bring a cure for Rosie and all like her.
He turned away from Rosie. It was too painful to look at her. He had to bring this thing to a head to save her. He had to focus. He pressed a button on his desk. Electronic curtains closed. Rosie’s heartbreaking face disappeared from the window.
He took a breath and dialed a number. “This is the Pharaoh. I need to talk. We have a problem.”
Outside of the window, Powerhouse clutched Rosie to his chest. She sobbed uncontrollably. Powerhouse scowled at the closed shutters. What kind of heartless creep could treat a sweet little girl like this?
Rosie craned her neck toward Powerhouse. “Why doesn’t my daddy love me no more?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Powerhouse shook. He was the most powerful man on Earth, second only to Zolgron, but there was nothing he could do to fix her heart. Except pray. Lord, you can help Rosie. I don’t know how, but please help her.
Rosie touched his shoulder. “Powerhouse, can I go back to my mum?”
Powerhouse clutched Rosie tight to him. “Sure thing, honey.”
Rise of the
Robolawyers
Chapter 1
The Secret Weapon
1957
Major Joshua Speed ripped the door of the warehouse off its hinges and tossed it aside like an old newspaper. Frowning, Speed scanned the place. The warehouse was piled high with crates. Finding Leopold was going to be a job. That Commie spy had probably hidden in a hole with the rest of the rats.
Speed blinked in the same space of time as he moved fifty yards to the center of the warehouse, surrounded by hundreds of crates. “Leopold! If I have to, I’ll tear this building apart. You and your comrades aren’t going to destroy this country. Don’t make this hard.”
A beam of light blinded Major Speed. He raised his arms and squeezed his hands into fists, firing his electric gloves. It was no good, the energy was dissipating. A spark flew from the left glove as it shorted out. Major Speed pushed down with his magnetic boots, but they wouldn’t stick to the floor.
He slammed into the side wall.
The shock spread through him like a tidal wave.
The energy pushed him into—into what? The side wall?
No, this wasn’t something solid. He was being shoved into nothing.
Major Speed flailed against the oncoming oblivion. He couldn’t feel his legs. He twisted until he couldn’t do that either.
He closed his eyes. “Christ have mercy.”
Big Ralph’s round bottom flowed over the edges of his stool in a diner located a mile from the warehouse. The four-foot-eleven crime boss shoved a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.
Beside him, Little Louie fit his seven-foot, skin and bones frame onto his stool with room to spare. Little Louie glanced down at Big Ralph. “Boss, what was that thing I used on Major Speed?”
“Don’t know.” Big Ralph shrugged.
Louie blinked and rubbed his head. “I whacked Major Speed, and you don’t know how?”
Ralph glanced around the empty restaurant and leaned toward Louie. “I bought it from a rogue Russkie. Back when Stalin was in power, they executed a scientist, thinking he was a dissident. He left behind an invention, but they had no idea what it was, other than it wasn’t part of their defense plan. The rogue got it out of a warehouse and sold it to me for fifty g’s. I only got it so cheap because he couldn’t make any guarantees.”
Louie’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know what it would do?”
“Nah.” Ralph shoveled another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. “He said it might even blow itself up.”
Louie frowned. “Boss, you didn’t tell me that before you had me fire it!”
“It worked.” Ralph reached up and slapped Louie’s shoulder. “Why worry you?”
“Gee, that was nice of you. So what is Mr. Dorado giving us?”
Ralph twirled spaghetti on his fork. “He’ll give you a color television.”
“Wow, Boss! Now I can watch Superman in color!”
Ralph glowered. “Don’t you see anything ironic about that?”
“What’s ironic mean?”
“Skip it.” Ralph cleared his throat. “My reward is that I’m going to get set up in politics. He said I’ll be a Congressman or Governor in a few years. Maybe President, but that might be asking too much.”
“You got rid of Major Speed forever and ever. You deserve it.”
“I don’t know if I did.”
Louie scratched his head. “Boss, we saw him disappear.”
Ralph took a bite of meatballs. “The Russkie said the scientist may have been trying to create a time machine. Speed could appear fifty or sixty years in the future. I’ll be dead by then, though, so he’ll be someone else’s problem.”
Louie grinned. “Boss, you’re thinking like a politician all ready.”
Major Joshua Speed ran through the nothingness of the limbo that surrounded him. It was like he was inside a transistor radio with all these circuits.
A shining portal opened up.
Here’s hoping this leads somewhere good. Major Speed dashed into it and ran through the blinding light in his solid blue costume.
He emerged back in the warehouse.
A young man wore jeans and a T-shirt with hard-to-read cursive writing printed on it. He had a gun in a hip holster and plastic black things stuck in his ears. Tiny black ropes lead from the things in his ears and disappeared into his pants’ pocket. His face and ears were covered in piercings like a pagan.
He ran over to the pagan and pulled the gun out of the pagan’s holster.
The pagan swore.
Major Speed glared. “Who are you?”
The pagan swore again.
Major Speed grabbed the pagan by the shoulders and lifted him two feet in the air. “Where’s Leopold? What was that trick you pulled on me?”
“I don’t know any Leopold.” The pagan swore again.
“Leopold takes his orders from Moscow. I don’t know what he’s paying you and your fellow tribesmen, but it doesn’t pay to help the Commies.”
The pagan blinked and cursed. “Dude, what are you talking about?”
How could this guy be that oblivious? Major Speed glanced at the man’s T-shirt and focused on the writing. Bumbershoot Festival 2012.
Major Speed gasped.
“Let him have it!” the pagan shouted.
A jolt of electricity shot through his back and filled his body.
He screamed. Where was that coming from?
The world fell out from underneath him.
“He’s got to die.” Mitch Farrow scowled as he sat in his plush office. It offered the best view of Seattle from the top of the Ross Insurance Building and a pale reflection of him. Mitch’s short, salt and pepper hair was unkempt.
King Bel’s shining, cherubic visage smiled through the viewscreen on the back wall of Mitch’s office. “Mr. Farrow, first of all, when you are in the presence of the king, you must remember to kneel.”
“I’m not in your presence.”
“Even if you’re talking on a viewscreen.”
What is your bidding, my master? This dumb king thing was going to be so hard to get used to. If it meant curing his ex-wife and daughter of the deadly disease they’d caught from him, though, so be it. Mitch knelt. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I’m new to the protocol.”
“I have to destroy Powerhouse. He is not only very powerful, he’s beginning to create a sense of hope. Right now, his activity is limited to Seattle, but it’s gonna spread as soon as someone gets a viral video of him.”
Bel grimaced. “We can’t have such an evil menace creating cruel false hope. Talk to Dr. Fournier. His technology will be at your disposal.”
“I’ll contact him at once, Your Majesty. In the meanwhile, I’ll unleash the most horrific weapon I have.” Mitch smirked. “A lawyer.”
Bel bellowed laughter. “Fournier’s weapon may prove to be a less severe punishment.”
“Thank you.” Mitch bowed his head.
“You’re learning.”
The monitor went blank.
Mild-Mannered Dad Dave Johnson sat on the brand-new, black leather sofa across from his wife Naomi. Dave was tall and muscular with cropped black hair. Naomi wore her hair dark hair just under her chin. They had the evening news on, but Dave had tuned it out.
Dave smiled at the check as he held it out to his wife. “Hey, take a look at this before I deposit it. This is the biggest check I’ve ever seen.”
Naomi took it and stared. “I’ve seen bigger, but I work at a mortgage company. For personal revenues, this is huge.” She dropped the check on the lap of her jeans. “This check is from Blue Cat Comics and is made out to you for Powerhouse’s royalties. Do you see a problem, Mr. Secret Identity?”
Yes, a huge one. Dave sighed. “I couldn’t figure out how they could pay me without getting my name in the system. Their Chief Accountant knows, but that’s it.”
“You should have incorporated.”
He laughed. “Whoever heard of a superhero incorporating?”
“Whoever heard of a superhero getting $50,000 per quarter or helping build churches and community centers? How are you handling the proceeds for the toys?”
