by Adam Graham
“Well, he seemed much happier on mine.”
Stupid chick, I don’t want him to be happy. I’m punishing him for being a bigoted, witch-hunting anti-communist. I want him to suffer. Pharaoh sneered. “Have you also replaced his yucky-tasting medicine with some yummy skittles?”
“Oh no. I simply gave him the medicine until the bottle ran out. After that, I kept forgetting to refill it. That’s why I didn’t get to become a nurse. One of my instructors—”
“I don’t care. Give him his medicine.”
“I’ll put that in his IV right after the call.”
“Did you call for any reason other than to report that the nurse I hired to care for Uncle John hired a ditz to do her job for her?”
“You want to talk about someone who is just ditzy, there was a guy here who swore that your Uncle John was a 90-year old Major Speed.”
He cursed silently. “Give him his medicine. My brothers will be by to pick him up to recover more at home.”
He pressed a button on his cell phone and called one of his suited henchmen. “Tyler, get over to the Happy Nest Retirement Home. You have to make a pick up.” He stared at the phone. I better get all the info off it before I trash it. I won’t be able to use it once she talks to the cops.
Karen hung up the phone and went to grab a bottle. “Just a second. I got to put your medicine in your IV. Your guardian will be here for you.”
Major Speed grimaced. Time to fly. “That’s what you think.”
God, please give me the strength I need. His face scrunched up with exertion as he tugged on the IV. inserted in his forearm. This was harder than when he’d ripped a tree out of its roots in ‘46.
The needle came out. Finally. Major Speed rolled toward the door.
“Whoa!” Karen jumped in front of him. “You can’t leave, Mr. Smith, and you shouldn’t have done that. You need that IV. It’s got your nutrition in it. “ She grabbed onto the front of the wheelchair. “Calm down now and stay still.”
She pulled the wheelchair with her toward the medicine cabinet.
Sorry, Karen. Heart pounding hard and fast, he put his full strength to the wheels and broke her grip.
She fell backwards and landed on the floor. “Hey!”
He opened the door and wheeled out into the hall.
Three men in suits came in through the nearest entrance.
They’d be trouble. The Major Speed battle heat kicked in at last, and he blazed down the hall in the wheelchair like he was driving a race car.
An old woman in a pair of slacks and red sweater stepped out of her room.
He turned the wheelchair slightly to the left and avoided her and then swerved right to avoid the oncoming wall. Uh-oh, he couldn’t speed on this thing in here or someone was gonna get hurt.
He turned right down a hall and wheeled at a steady pace down the empty hall.
The three men in suits turned the corner with Karen in tow.
He sped up.
The colored man named Tyler Thomas panted. “Stop! Stop or we’ll shoot.”
Karen blinked. “Shoot?” She swallowed. “I should’ve listened to the ‘crazy’ feeling not to call—don’t try to tell me you’re John’s adopted nephew, sir!”
“I’ll shoot you.”
Major Speed glanced behind him. Thomas held a gun to Karen’s head. Sweat poured from her brow. Thomas glowered at him. “We can’t catch you if you keep wheeling, but she can sure catch this bullet. What’s it gonna be Major Speed?”
Karen gasped. “Major Speed? The guy from the church was right?”
Thomas held her tight.
She tensed. “Run, Major, run!”
“Shut up!”
“All they can do to me is send me to Heaven. You go, save yourself.”
Wetness formed on Major Speed’s cheeks. Why didn’t she know the gentleman of course had to protect the lady? She’d indicated Pharaoh had given him a bad impression of the future and most people did treat women with the respect they deserved. “How do I know you won’t kill her anyway?”
“I give you my word.”
“The word of a coward who hides behind a woman means nothing.”
“Shut your sexist mouth! Women are just as good of hostages as men.”
Karen whimpered. “Thank you for trying to stand up for me, but I have to side with his idea of respecting women on this one.”
What? The commies conned women into joining them by convincing them men were repressing them, but how was this deception supposed to advance their cause? “My word you can trust. Put her in a room and lock the door and then get us out of here. I’ll go along peacefully as long as you don’t hurt anyone.”
Karen said, “No, this is all my fault!”
Thomas sighed. “Don’t make me regret believing you. Put her in a room, Les.”
One of the other men in suits knocked on a door. An old woman opened it.
“Get in the bathroom!” Les said, cursing. He grabbed Karen, shoved her in, and then put a chair in front of the door.
Major Speed snarled. “You have no respect.”
Les snarled back. “You gonna teach me some, pops?”
When I’m at full strength. “Some day.”
Thomas waved his gun. “Come on, head this way to get out and avoid the lobby.”
They marched out and Major Speed followed.
Powerhouse flew over the retirement home with his jetpack. Hopefully, that old man who acted like Major Speed was still here and safe. Powerhouse wore his silver colored uniform that covered him from neck to toe with a gold Powerhouse lightning bolt on the front. He wore a titanium motorcycle helmet with an orange visor.
A tiny voice cried inside the retirement home, “Help! Get us out of here! Help!”
Powerhouse flew down, landed near a rear entrance, and dashed in.
He followed the sound to a locked door, superimagined the door unlocked, and flung it open. A chair blocked the entrance to the bathroom. Powerhouse removed the chair and opened the bathroom door.
Major Speed’s nurse and a granny were inside. The nurse was crying.
The granny touched her head. “Honey, it’s all right. Powerhouse is here.” She glanced up at Powerhouse. “Some lowlifes locked us in here. They and their homeboys made off with a fogey in a wheelchair.”
Powerhouse blinked. “Huh?”
“Isn’t that how people talk these days when there’s been a 427?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You’ll bag the perp? That’s what they always say on COPS.”
Powerhouse crossed his arms. “Um, yeah. How long were you in there?”
Granny checked her watch. “Forty-five minutes. Darn it, I missed a rerun of NCIS on USA.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be another one.” The nurse wiped her eyes.
“Forty-five minutes?” Powerhouse whistled. “This looks like a job for the FBI.”
“Not Powerhouse?” Granny blinked.
“The criminals could be practically anywhere in forty-five minutes, and the FBI could start a worldwide search. I’ll call them and then do what I do best—wandering around randomly, hoping I find him.”
The nurse cried. “This is all my fault! He surrendered to save me. He shouldn’t have done that. I’m not worth it. I’m a big screw up. Everyone tells me, and I proved it.”
Poor lady. Powerhouse put an arm on her shoulder. “We’re all worth saving.” He stared down at the cross around her neck. “Don’t you know that?”
She cried even more.
The Pharaoh sat in his headquarters, staring at the weak figure before him in the wheelchair. “You’re very quiet now that we’ve calmed those raging powers of yours with an injection. I see you’ve been physically abused. Let me assure you that you deserve it. Be glad your nurse was harassing you instead of some innocent American who hadn’t run around accusing everyone and their brother of being Communists.”
Major Speed swooned. “I was—”
Pharaoh w
aved it away. “I’m not interested in your explanation. I can no longer carry out that punishment. I have a business to run, and you being out there is a huge security risk. The easiest thing to do would be to eliminate you.”
Thomas whipped out a .45 and put it to the man’s head.
Pharaoh frowned. Shooting a guy in a wheelchair? Maybe if that serum hadn’t made him so weak and helpless. He swallowed. “However, you may be useful as bait for Powerhouse someday, so I won’t kill you. “
Major Speed smiled slightly. “Then there’s hope.”
The Pharaoh scowled. “No, there isn’t. You’ll be kept in suspended animation with no contact with humanity until you resume your full, twenty-hour daily schedule of television programs. It’s simply too risky for you to do it in Seattle. Thomas, I want you to lay low for forty-eight hours, then you and your men will be taken out of state in the back of a semi-truck to a facility in Texas.”
“We ain’t coming back?”
The Pharaoh nodded. “Consider it a consequence of letting the nurse live.”
Dave Johnson stomped into the house from the backyard. Naomi was sitting on the couch in their spotless house. Man, she’d been keeping the house so clean the last few weeks, it was almost like she’d acquired super-cleaning powers. He shrugged and crashed onto the couch. “No sign of him anywhere.”
“Powerhouse isn’t likely to find him looking randomly.”
Dave slumped his shoulders. “It’s all Powerhouse can do.”
“What about the FBI?”
“They checked the fingerprints against their database and determined he was Colonel Joshua Speed of the Army Reserve, and he was reported missing in 1957 by his friend Ace Johnson.”
Naomi’s eyes widened. She cupped her hand over her mouth and giggled. “That was his real name? Major Speed?” She cleared her throat. “What about his age? That guy couldn’t have been much over sixty.”
“Super metabolism sometimes works differently. He could have slowed aging or they could have drugged him. All I know is that I can’t find him.”
“This isn’t your specialty. You should hire a private eye.”
“How much does that Harry Nile guy charge?”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Dear, he’s fictional.”
They should’ve said that on the radio shows. “Oh, then who would you suggest?”
“Um.” Naomi stared at the floor and swallowed. “You remember when I told you that I’d gone speed dating when we were separated?”
Dave tensed. “Why bring that up? I forgave you already. It didn’t sound like you’d had a nice time anyway.”
“It was the most humiliating experience of my life.”
“That’s what you said about the time I showed up to your company picnic dressed as the Incredible Hulk.”
“This was worse. I speed dated a detective and he saw through me. The guy was obnoxious and embarrassed me.”
“And?”
She swallowed. “I think you should hire him.”
Dave blinked. “Huh?”
“The guy mortified me, but he’s good at what he does. Go see him in Portland, and he’ll find Major Speed.”
“Okay, if you say so, I’ll see him first thing tomorrow. Now, I have to take the boys to Scouts.” Dave rose from the couch but snapped his fingers. “Oh, almost forgot. What’s the guy’s name?”
“Neil Worthington.”
Chapter 3
Brief Cameos
Major Speed lay on a table paralyzed with his dry eyes stuck open. On a miniature of a commercial movie theatre’s screen, a man with ears full of gold swore at his mother while sitting on a gray chair against a brick background. His stepfather stood and grabbed a chair. The young man grabbed one, too, and hit his stepfather with it. His stepfather hit him with the chair he held.
The wicked host’s eyes smiled. “Hey, stop that.”
Major Speed bit his lip. He’d have to watch this until he went mad and they’d made it harder for him to turn his attention way. He’d missed his chance.
Security guards separated the two males as they cursed.
Then again, maybe they’d missed theirs. Thanks to Karen, he knew this was all a psy-op. The world wasn’t as bad as Pharaoh wanted him to think it was, and mentally making fun of this ridiculousness of the Commie propaganda might limit its effects. If it worked, when he escaped, maybe he could get a show where he could make fun of dumb movies.
He chuckled inside. Don’t be silly Speed, who’d watch guys making fun of movies? But I will make it out of here, by God’s Grace, I will.
So do I look better as a blonde or a redhead?
Naomi stared at herself in the bedroom mirror. She smiled. Blondes had more fun. She superimagined her hair blonde.
“Yech!” She wrinkled her nose. “That looks like it came out of a bottle.” Her superimagination corrected it in response to her verbal critique. She petted her natural blonde hair. “That’s more like it.” She eyed her reflection. Now to do something about the length. “Hair, grow out immediately to the middle of my back in a perfect wave.”
Her scalp tingled as her hair obeyed.
Oh wow. She grinned. She’d never been able to get her hair to grow out like that. It’d always end up with horrible split ends.
Now the dreaded complexion. She stared at the ugly, detestable mole on her elbow. “Skin, become clear of all defects and lightly tanned.” She stared at the humungous belly fat that hadn’t gone away since James was born. It disappeared.
Now an outfit. She mentally conjured an outfit she’d seen in a French fashion magazine. She grimaced as her stomach panged. I’m not stealing them. I couldn’t afford to buy this dress, so they’re losing nothing. Besides, how many women daydream about wearing the latest Paris fashion? The only difference is, with Zolgron’s magical alien cuff, I can actually put myself in it.
“I’m wearing burgundy shoulder straps, a gold bodice, and a fluffy burgundy skirt that puffs out two feet in diameter.” Eek. That wasn’t practical unless she was going to a ball. “Make that a red sleeveless polka dot dress that went down to just above the knee.” She swished in her new dress. “Perfect.”
“Body, I’m also wearing open-toed shoes with one inch heels and a new leather purse. Both match my dress, sans polka dots.”
The heels pumped her up in the air, shifting her weight on her feet. No, even with superpowers, she shouldn’t punish her mother-of-tweens back like that for the sake of fashion like a silly college girl. A half-inch heel would do.
She stared at her chipped pink nail polish from last week’s manicure. “Be as perfect as you were when Carmella and I left the salon. Toenails, be painted bright red.”
Now, the face. “Goodbye, fine lines. Hello, beauty mark on my left cheek.” She smiled. “Eyes, let’s try out another color. Your pick.”
Her eyes softened from mud brown to the blue of the hydrangeas in her garden.
She stared at the beautiful stranger in the mirror. Dave would flip if he saw her like this. She bit her lip. He’d forget to be mad for the reason she’d feared. He’d be too busy being furious that she snitched one of his back up cuffs and used them to keep the house clean and to play dress-up. He’d say she was abusing the power their space-alien chef had given him. Would Zolgron mind? It was his opinion that should really matter.
She twirled in her dress. Of course Zolgron wouldn’t care. He’d understand she wasn’t a superhero and had the extras lying around anyway. Dave would be wrong to complain if Zolgron wouldn’t, so it didn’t matter what he’d think.
Maybe, she’d go pick up a couple things at the store while he was in Portland. She reached into her old brown purse on the bed and transferred her wallet into her new red purse along with her car keys.
Hmm, she’d better stop at the ATM for some cash. No one at the store would believe she was plain, boring old Naomi Johnson.
Dave rang the doorbell on the steps of a brownstone mansion in the suburbs of Portland. His heart thudded a
s he waited.
The door opened. A Latino with a Caesar hair cut, thin arms, and a slight paunch stood on the threshold in a green T-shirt and jeans. “Señor, your name?”
“Um, I’m Powerhouse.”
“Señor Powerhouse, I’m Gaston Perez. Señor Worthington will be down at eleven. He’s in the plant room tending his orchids, which he does every day from nine to eleven. Please come in.” The man in a green shirt led Powerhouse into an office and flopped onto a cream-colored couch.
How rude. Powerhouse glanced around at the bright red and yellow leather chairs, which matched the extra couch in the corner. A giant globe wider around than Powerhouse stood before two bookshelves. One was well-organized with books and files arranged by height. The other had papers strewn haphazardly. Powerhouse wandered over to this odd library. On top of the messy shelf sat a copy of the South China Post from 1978 next to a bloodstained cloth, an unloaded revolver, and a bologna sandwich.
Powerhouse glanced at the man on the couch. “Who are you?”
”I’m the, um, personal trainer. I only answer the door while the butler and his assistant are out. It’s one of the burdens of working here.”
Powerhouse eyed the out-of-shape guy. “You don’t look like a personal trainer.”
”I train his mustache.” The mustache trainer shrugged. “You should see it before you judge my services of keeping it in good shape. I’m an expert.”
Powerhouse blinked. “But you don’t even have a mustache yourself.”
He sat up. “I had to sacrifice my own. Maintaining one mustache is a challenge for any man, let alone two. Trying to maintain two mustaches would be like trying to maintain two wives.”
Behind his helmet, Powerhouse raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.”
Floorboards creaked as a man almost as rotund as the globe sauntered in carrying three orchids that looked like props. He did have a rather unique mustache, but he’d ripped off Sherlock Holmes’ wardrobe, the hat in particular. He put the fake flowers in the vase on his big oak desk and sat in a king-sized, orange desk chair that looked like it’d been salvaged from a thrift store and reupholstered to look new again.
