by Adam Graham
Wow. Aliens or demons? Nah, this was the real world. Stuff like that didn’t happen. Well, aside from the time aliens kidnapped Powerhouse and put him on display in their zoo with Big Foot, Nessie, and Elvis. “Um, what should I do?”
Zolgron put up a finger. “On my world, when the norm changes, we call for wise counselors who can help us deal with the new situation. When a peacetime leader finds himself in war, he brings together experts and forms a council of war. When a wartime leader finds the fighting has ended, he forms a council of peace. With the corporation, you could appoint a board and make them your counsel of peace.”
“The big gray guy’s got the idea.” Marco straightened his fake white hair. “I’d better get going.”
“Drop in for a cameo any time.”
“What?” Marco blinked. “Thanks, I’m sure you mean well. If you mean you plan to put this in your comic book, though, if I’m recognizable, after my enemies have killed me, my friends will bump you off.”
Let them try. Dave laughed. “Your character has another name, face, and is totally unrecognizable, I promise.”
“Do you consider the Pharaoh a code name that totally protects his real identity?”
“Um . . . I’ll have the tip come from a random sea captain at the pier.”
Two nights later, Naomi sat at a table in the Green Feather Lounge wearing a blue dress. Soft music played in the background as well-dressed waiters dashed about.
Across from her, Dave sat wearing a blue dress shirt and a pair of black jeans. He peered around the restaurant.
Naomi’s heart pounded. Was it the mob after her boys? “Honey, what’s wrong?”
“Oh nothing. This just seems too fancy.”
“Fancy is important. We have to something to celebrate. You’ve got a whole board of directors led by me to serve as your council of peace.”
Dave sighed. “I guess, if it makes you happy.”
Mr. Renfoe walked over to their table dressed in his waiter’s uniform and carrying two cups of water and a plate of bread. “Ah, Mrs. Johnson! So good to see you. The Mold Buster did an extraordinary job on my house.”
Naomi grinned. “I’m glad she took care of it.”
Why did the guy pronounce mold buster like it was a proper name? Dave raised an eyebrow. “The Mold Buster?”
Renfoe beamed. “She came over in a white van and dressed like the Ghostbusters. In fact, she played an instrumental version of the song on a music player while she killed the mold and danced while she did it.”
“That doesn’t sound much like a superhero.” Dave laughed. “More like a cheesy promo for a new business.”
Cheeks blazing, Naomi sunk low in her seat and ducked. Why did he have to ruin her good time by making fun of it? Though he couldn’t possibly know it was her.
Her husband lifted her chin. “Why is your face as red as a tomato?”
“It must have been something I ate.”
Dave blinked. “But you haven’t eaten.”
“I did earlier.” Naomi cleared her throat and glanced to their waiter. “Mr. Renfoe, could you bring us a couple bowls of soup?”
“Oh, duh. You bought it, too, and are mad at me for not buying it.”
“Maybe.”
“Honey, please. Think about it.” Dave smirked like a know-it-all. “A superhero who fights mold? Who’d waste superpowers on mold?”
How dare he. Naomi frowned. “Not all villains are glamorous to fight, but they still need to be stopped. Mold kills people.”
“Fine, a toast then.” Dave raised his water glass. “To fighting crime and mold.”
Best to assume he was sincerely trying rather than mocking her. “Here, here.”
They drank the water.
Naomi said, “You know, we should get some champagne.”
“Sure, I guess.” Dave shrugged. “If you really want it, go ahead.”
Wait. “You’re not having any?”
“No” Dave leaned toward her ear and whispered. “I’d set a bad example.”
Superhero thing? Naomi sighed. “You’re not a role model, Dave Johnson.”
Dave glowered. “Some friends at your new job warn me I could become one someday and, should that happen, the media will dig through my past looking for dirt. I don’t want some kid to become a drunk because he found out I had a drink.”
Sure, but must they turn Dave into her father? Her dad always said drinking even one drop of liquor was a sin. Thanks to him, she’d never even had wine until she went to Paris back in school. “Doesn’t the media also trash legalists, honey?”
“Okay.” Dave slapped his lap. “We can have them bring me a glass of non-alcoholic wine and you can pretend it’s champagne.”
Naomi smiled. No, not like Dad, just a little too conscientious. “Guess Dad also said drinking one drop of liquid that looks like liquor was a sin, too.”
“How did that jerk show up to ruin my dinner?” Dave squinted.
“Um, I mean, sparkling cider sounds like a plan for after dinner.”
The waiter returned with their soup bowls.
Dave grabbed a spoon and began to eat.
“Barbarian!”
Naomi jumped and located the source of the scream. A short blond man dressed in a black tuxedo had jumped out of his seat at a neighboring table.
“Huh?” Dave glanced up at Rude Guy. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, you, disgusting pig!” Rude Guy pointed four fingers at himself and one at Dave. “You are eating your soup with a teaspoon rather than your soup spoon.”
Dave squinted at Naomi a second before staring at Rude Guy. “That’s what I always eat soup with at home.”
“No doubt!” Rude Guy snorted.
Dave narrowed his eyes. “How is this any of your business?”
Rude Guy extended a business card. Dave took it, frowned, and handed it to Naomi. She read it aloud. “Mister Manners—Promoting Decency, Civility, and Proper Etiquette since 1997.” She laughed. “Yelling at my husband is part of that?”
“My condolences to you, madam. I was hoping he was but a boyfriend.” Rude Guy sighed. “Such barbaric behavior will be the death of western civilization. There was a time when people used the correct utensil for each dish. If this beast is allowed to eat here, I fear he’ll eat dinner with his dessert fork, which is a total faux pas according to the manual of manners by Cecelia Witherspoon.”
Dave slapped his hands to his cheeks. His gasp sounded fake. “Oh, the horror.”
Rude guy talked over Dave. “And he looks like he’s dressed for casual day at Chase Bank. There was a time people dressed up even to go to the movies.”
Dave grimaced. “I dress up a lot when I go to the movies.”
I don’t think he meant as Spider-Man. She eyed Rude Guy. “For someone who is supposed to be promoting good manners, you’re the rudest person I’ve met.”
“Why should I care if I offend you? I’m in a war on bad manners. Your hurt feelings are but collateral damage.”
Mr. Renfoe walked over. “Is this gentleman bothering you?”
“Yes, but he was just leaving, wasn’t he?”
“Actually I was just getting started, but discretion is the better part of valor. Good day.” Rude Guy returned to his seat at his own table.
Mr. Renfoe searched Naomi’s eyes, his brow furrowed. “Are you guys all right?”
“We’ll be fine, thank you.”
“Okay, then.” Renfoe left.
Dave smiled. “All that lecturing, and he forgot to say what a soup spoon is.”
What was that about? Naomi frowned. “Dave, you know what a soup spoon looks like. You use one all the time when we go down to that seafood place.”
Dave grabbed his soup spoon. “My point was that jerk made a public spectacle of himself without actually helping people to do better.”
“Oh. I’m sorry that guy made you feel bad.”
“Don’t worry. You deserve a night here. Next week, we’ll go to a place wher
e good manners or even good taste don’t matter.”
“Oh yeah.” Naomi groaned. “The Comic Book Convention in San Diego.”
Chapter 6
The Comic-Con Con
Mitch Farrow stood outside San Diego’s comic book fan convention. Next to him was a leggy reporter named Kelli. She was slender but not sickly looking and had spiky short blonde hair, and wore a Seattle Guardian Press pass, a white blouse, and jeans. Mitch wore a short-sleeved black collared shirt.
Kelli yawned and tapped her high-heeled foot. “Mr. Farrow, I still don’t know why you drug me here to this freak show. There’s no news here.”
“There’s going to be lots and lots of news. For instance, Dorado Incorporated has bought Awesome Comics, which makes us a real player in the industry.”
“Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re hoping you can rope me into writing your corporate press releases.”
What a girl. Mitch smiled. “You’re cynical, hard boiled, and hard bitten.”
“I’m also bitter, angry, and resentful.”
“That’s what I like about you.” Mitch laughed. “Okay, if you need more than that, Powerhouse will be here representing Blue Cat Comics and announcing their new superheroes, all chosen by Powerhouse himself.”
‘So you had me fly all the way to San Diego to be your ad girl and to follow the adventures of that overrated man-child.” Kelli smacked her lips and snorted. “It gets richer and richer, Bub.”
She was perfect for this assignment. “Your perspective on Powerhouse is different from most of the reporters in Seattle and can help bring people the real story.”
“So we don’t like him. That’s hardly a reason we should spend four days crawling around a convention with a bunch of stinky fan boys.”
“You’re stereotyping. Not everyone here is like that.”
A man came up wearing a blue Star Trek: The Original Series uniform and Vulcan ears. He glanced her over. “A female. Fascinating creature.”
He walked into the convention hall.
She turned to Farrow. “You were saying?”
“Uh, that was Vulcan for, ‘Wow, doll, you’re hot!’ A geeky pick-up line, nothing more.” Mitch hunched his shoulders. “Trust me, there are plenty of female sci-fi geeks who marry male sci-fi geeks and raise their children to be sci-fi fans.”
“Name one woman you know who has so little taste.”
Mitch glared at her. “My mother!”
“Oh.” She stepped back but put a finger up. “I bet you haven’t been here before, though. Only the nuts who take that stuff seriously show up.”
“I think you’ll find some very sane, respectable people here, too.” Albeit he suspected most of his peers only came for business reasons like he had. “For the feature, I’d like you to focus on the normal people here.”
She sneered. “And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact Dorado’s jumping into comic books and doesn’t want their fans ridiculed in their paper.”
Maybe that was part of it. Mitch swallowed. “The hard news angle is the coverage of Powerhouse. I want you at his press conference. Before he comes on, be sure to check the New Your Enquirer.”
“That rag? Please.”
Mitch chuckled. “They’re going to report a tawdry story about one of Powerhouse’s compatriots. It’s the type of sleaze the Guardian wouldn’t touch.”
“Yeah, that’s trashy, but we’ll definitely report on the Enquirer reporting it.”
“Precisely.”
She pursed her lips together. “Sometimes, this job is a racket.” She sighed. “I’m off to search for a sane person at a comic book convention. Maybe I should carry a lamp, then I can be like Diogenes searching for an honest man.”
She sauntered off.
Mitch strode to a recycling bin, reached into his pants pocket, and dropped an envelope in the recycling bin. His stomach churned. This was a rotten thing to do.
No, it was necessary to take Powerhouse down a peg and save his daughter’s life and protecting her was the right thing to do. This had to be done. It was the only way.
Then why did he feel like he needed a shower?
He slunk into the exhibit hall. The convention was filled with a glut of costumes, t-shirts, and booths supporting every major sci-fi and comic franchise on Earth. Nearest to him, a Latino with a ponytail was setting up a table with X-men trading cards.
A hairy hand pressed against Farrow’s chest. He glanced down at a short man wearing a Wookie costume and a bowtie. “Hi, Fournier.”
“Fournier who? I’m looking for someone who can give me the password.”
Mitch rolled his eyes. “You know it’s me.”
“Do I? Powerhouse is a shape-shifter. You could be him in disguise.”
Oh terrific. Mitch stared around the room. Thankfully, it was early enough that not many folks were in ear shot at the moment. Mitch sighed and grit his teeth. “Oompa loompa doompa doopedy doo.”
The Fournier Wookie clapped. “I’ve got another riddle for you!”
Could he disappear into the floor now? Mitch’s cheeks warmed. “Okay, I’m never doing that again. You keep acting like you’re a wanted man.”
“I’m a dangerous fugitive.” The Fournier Wookie straightened his pink bowtie.
“In your dreams are you either dangerous or a fugitive. The FBI’s not looking for you. The Seattle PD isn’t looking for you. They probably would be, if they knew of the battle armor you made for Marco, but apparently he didn’t give you to them.”
“He was a good man who believed in loyalty, honor, and even justice of a sort, the mob’s kind, of course, but still. He’d never betray a friend.”
“He turned State’s evidence and sent twenty men to death row.”
“Nobody’s perfect.” Fournier gasped. “Wait a second! Why are you talking about me doing battle armor here? I may not be wanted now—”
“It’s a comic convention. We can say anything we want and people will think it’s just a role playing game.”
Fournier glanced over at the Blue Cat Comics table and Miss Invisible, who knelt as she talked to an Asian little boy. “I ought to go see if I can get her autograph. She looks so beautiful and resplendent, smiling and talking with fans.”
“You’d better go see her quick.” Farrow swallowed. She won’t be smiling long.
Powerhouse waded through a sea of hundreds of fans assembled around a stage.
One guy in a Spawn costume whistled. “Cool costume.”
“Uh, thanks.” Powerhouse shuffled toward the podium.
A large hand tapped him on the shoulder.
Powerhouse spun. Mitch Farrow? Powerhouse grimaced. “Hello, Mr. Farrow.”
Mitch’s lips smiled but his eyes remained hard. “I thought I’d say hi, since we’re in the same racket now.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What else? I’m watching your little press conference. Hear you’re going to be introducing quite a few comics.”
Powerhouse nodded. “Yeah, three titles today.”
“Well, I look forward to finding out what they are.”
Why was Farrow being nice? He was a jerk, not a villain, but he was up to something. Powerhouse marched to the podium with a blue kitty on it at the Blue Cat Comics display. Now to deliver that statement his press advisor had sent. “Ladies, gentlemen, and members of the Press.”
The press mumbled, frowning.
“Just a little joke.” Not a very funny one, though. Powerhouse swallowed. “We at Blue Cat Comics have offered tales of my adventures to the public in addition to our great fictional heroes, such as the Blue Cat. We’re expanding our line of real life superheroes. To begin, we’re pleased to announce, a six-issue special edition telling the life story of Philadelphia’s late champion, The Crusader.”
Beside him, a fancy-pansy hologram projector loaded a life-sized image of a black man in a green outfit.
Powerhouse gulped and closed his eyes a moment. “After acquiring a
n amazing green battle suit, for eleven years, the Crusader waged a never-ending battle against crime and injustice.” And saved all of New York City as well as Powerhouse and three other Superheroes but they couldn’t tell that. The Crusader Hologram “teleported” to one corner of the hall, to another, and then back. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the Crusader.”
The fans applauded.
Powerhouse continued. “We’re also pleased to announce our next hero in our new line-up will be Major Speed.”
Mitch Farrow gaped with his jaw hanging as low it could go in the real world.
Wow. That was really weird.
A new hologram appeared. This one was a sandy-haired man in an Air Force blue unitard with a lightning bolt logo.
“While tending a neighbor’s herb garden in Western Montana in 1937, teenager Joshua Speed was hit with a bolt of lightning. The combination of all-natural, potent herbs gave him superhuman speed, strength, eyesight, and an amazing metabolism. In 1938, he became Speedman, battling injustice and crime wherever he found it on the Campus of the University of Montana in Missoula. After graduation, he moved to Omaha and fought crime there. When World War II came, he became Major Speed and fought valiantly for the Allies against the Axis forces and then defended the country for twelve years afterwards as the first line of American defense at home. Major Speed.”
The audience applauded, save a sour-faced Mitch Farrow.
“Now, for our next hero. When she was attending the Miss Teen New York USA pageant, she was kidnapped by a mad scientist who planned to turn her into pure energy. Instead, she gained the power of invisibility. She combines this power with her lifelong training in seven martial arts, kickboxing, fencing, and her knowledge of navigating the New York subway system. Please welcome Miss Invisible.” Powerhouse looked around the room. “Oh where oh where can she be?”
The fans sent him blank looks.
Better work on my acting skills for things like this.
A poof of light shone through the room. Miss Invisible appeared smiling in her white unitard and a white duster. She bowed. “I’m right here.”
Powerhouse waved to her. “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for New York’s top superhero, the star of her own Blue Cat Comic Book, Miss Invisible!”
