by Adam Graham
Naomi sat astride a russet, gelded rental horse at the riding academy and stared straight ahead at the brush fence about five-feet high. She patted her pony’s mane. “All right, boy, let’s go jump over the fence.”
The horse neighed back and dug in his heels. “I don’t want to.”
“I’ll give you a sugar cube.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I’ll give you two sugar cubes.”
“Make it three.”
Naomi sighed. “Fine, three.”
“Yay!” The gelding galloped. Naomi held on to his reigns and he jumped over the five foot high shrub.
She rode him back over to the stable.
The gelding snorted. “Remember, three sugar cubes.”
Why did she have to bribe him like he was Scooby Doo to get him to do anything fun? He had no sense of adventure. She dismounted and fed the gelding the sugar cubes.
She led the horse back to the stable. Why was she still at this riding academy anyway? The fun had worn off months ago. Adventure was calling her name.
She put the horse back in the stall and stroked its face. “Good boy.”
“Will work for sugar cubes anytime.”
Naomi sighed. Why did her ability to talk to animals have to also increase their ability to negotiate with her? She grabbed her street clothes and walked into the one-person, unisex bathroom to change. She removed her riding helmet, pulled a comb from her purse, and drew it through her shoulder-length hair. It’d made nice progress.
Now to see what else was on her agenda.
Powerhouse sat in his titanium chair at Chief Stone Bachman’s table at the media lunch shindig thingy along with a college professor. “I’ll have a Roast Beef sandwich.”
“Sounds good to me, too,” the chief said.
The waiter left.
In Powerhouse’s inner pocket, a cell phone rang and vibrated. He pulled out Dave Johnson’s blue cell phone. The name “Naomi” flashed on the caller ID.
“Just a second. I need to take this.” Powerhouse dashed away, left the building, and glided up to the roof with his jetpack. “Hi, Naomi.”
“Hey Dave. Was this a bad time?”
“If it was, I wouldn’t have taken it. What’s going on?”
“I just checked my calendar. Derrick has a piano recital at four, the same time James has got a soccer game. I was busy with, uh, some stuff with the Foundation and didn’t realize I’d double-booked myself.”
Dave punched his right hand into the palm of his left. “Ah, the menace of child scheduling difficulties. We know it well.”
“Um-Yeah. The best solution seems to be for one of us to cover the soccer game and the other to do the piano recital. Can you be back by four?”
“Maybe. I have this luncheon to finish and then I need to help out at a Habitat for Humanity House and see if I can snare a burglar.”
“Okay. I’ll let you get back to your luncheon.”
Powerhouse replaced the cell phone in his pocket, flew back down, and dashed back into the hall. Mitch Farrow’s leggy blonde friend, Kelli Michael, was standing by their table. Powerhouse settled into his titanium chair. “Hello, Miss Michaels.”
She smiled. “Could I ask you a question?”
"Not after what you did in San Diego."
She bowed her head. "That was Mitch Farrow's doing. I kept my word, but he edited the piece. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to speak to me again, but I'm sorry and I'd like you to answer one off the record question."
The Chief glowered. “I thought it was understood a that you didn’t get an interview with your meal.”
Powerhouse waved. “The food’s not here yet. So what’s your question?”
“First, I wanted to say you’ve exceeded my expectations. I was doing some, ah, fact-checking and came across information on how you’d saved women from being drugged by their dates and all the work you’ve done on human trafficking. I was really impressed. I wanted to do a story on it, but Farrow wouldn’t clear it.”
Powerhouse nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me. What’s your question?”
“Why did you decide to become a superhero?”
“When I was young, I thought it’d be fun. As I grew up, I also thought of how I’d get to help people. I stopped being a superhero for a while, and only came back to make a difference in the lives of people in Seattle. Not just to fight crime, but prevent it, too.”
“Did you ever wonder if people might think less of you or think of you as a nut with a bunch of superpowers rather than as a serious professional?”
I was a janitor, lady. That’s not the most respected profession. “I’ve never cared whether the white-collar crowd thinks I’m their kind of people.”
The waiter arrived with the sandwiches and a bowl of soup.
“I guess the interview’s over.” Kelli sighed. “Thanks.”
Powerhouse grabbed a sandwich and nodded.
She sauntered away.
Powerhouse took a bite.
A man with a lab coat walked up to him. “Hey, Keith Forester, National Science Report. I was wondering if you could scientifically explain your powers?”
Powerhouse finished chewing. “Nope, sorry.”
“Come on! There’s a clear scientific explanation for everything.”
“If I knew what it was in this case, revealed that info, and my enemies got it in the newspapers, it’d be very bad for me. The only explanation you’re ever going to get is already recorded in my comic books.”
“But, that’s pseudo-science! You got an alien armlet, put it on, and it melded with you, and you became Powerhouse. Please.”
Powerhouse took another sandwich bite. “It’s what happened.”
Forrester frowned. “Where did it come from? What was it made of? Did it change your genetic structure? Are you physically and mentally stable? My readers have a right to know—and if you honestly don’t know, you ought to be concerned.”
Powerhouse grabbed a fry. “Sorry, but I’m not. Big Gray wouldn’t give me powers if it would hurt me.” Especially when he’d intended to use these for his own army back on his home world. “I’m just glad it works.”
Lab Coat Guy sighed. “But there has to be a—”
A fat man in a tweed suit pushed him out of the way. “Move aside, buster. You’re being rude. Powerhouse doesn’t want to talk to you, so scram.”
The science reporter scowled and retreated.
“After all, you really want to talk to me.”
Powerhouse chewed his fry and swallowed. “Not if you’re a reporter.”
Fat Man waved a hand. “Of course not. I’m a simple businessman with a simple proposition. You know what you need?”
Fat Man held up a T-shirt that featured Powerhouse in dancing shoes, wearing a sombrero and holding a pair of maracas and with red and green letters at the top of the shirt reading, Powerhouse’s Casa de Boogey. “Your own Mexican restaurant/dance club.”
Seriously?
“You’d have one up on those guys from DC and Marvel. They turned down our ideas for Bat Burgers and Planet Galactus. I had an idea for bat signal buttons at the drive through to place your order for Bat Burgers. And I even had a cool T-shirt with Galactus saying, ‘The hunger is upon me.’”
How do I say no without being mean? “Fella, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but the fact is that I have many dangerous enemies because I’m a real life superhero. They’d harm the patrons. They might even torture you to death.”
Fat Man paled and stuffed the shirt back behind him. “You know, I think you’re right. I’ll find someone else. I just need to find the right comic book.” He snapped his fingers. “I got it. Hellboy’s Hot Time Bar and Grill.”
Fat Man waddled away.
The chief laughed. “You should’ve just told him to get lost.”
Powerhouse sighed. “That wouldn’t have been nice. Gentle pays off.”
A short stocky brunette in a black suit with a red blouse strode to
the lectern and spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this special event for the Seattle Press Club.”
The room slowly quieted down as the lady at the podium went on talking about the club. Powerhouse stifled a yawn. This had to be his least favorite part of the job. Wasn’t there a supervillain around here for him to fight? Who was he kidding? Even many of the normal criminals had left town. No, he wouldn’t get out of here that easy.
He gazed from one end of the room to another. Jeff Murphy sat at a table with three other journalists taking copious notes. That was one friendly face. His gaze went up to the head table. Mitch Farrow was looking up at the club President. He had a frown etched on his face.
What was wrong with him?
The audience applauded, so Powerhouse applauded as well.
Farrow stepped to the podium. “Thank you. I’m honored to participate in today’s Civic Achievement Award. We at Dorado Incorporated recognize the importance of community involvement.” Farrow opened up a folded piece of paper. ”Civic leadership is defined by caring for those in trouble and having a vision so contagious, others can’t help but join in. We have such an inspirational leader among us. This person is both a leader in helping others and a key figure in the fast paced world of comic book publishing as Vice-President in charge of Acquisitions for—What?”
Farrow gaped and stared at his speech like he was reading it.
What? Powerhouse wrinkled his brow inside his helmet. He was no longer so naïve as to think public speakers wrote their own material, but he got the strange feeling Farrow had never even looked at his speech before.
Farrow grimaced like he was eating a raw ginger. “As VP of Blue Cat Comics, he has revitalized their line and introduced Seattle to superheroes from all around the world, but . . . “ Farrow coughed like he was trying not to vomit. “He will always be Seattle’s favorite hero, and he doesn’t just fight crime. Through the Powerhouse Foundation, he has been rebuilding and strengthening our city, and making our neighborhoods safer places to-to raise a-a family.” Farrow closed his eyes like he was picturing Rosie.
Did the jerk feel guilty about abandoning his sick little girl? Maybe he wasn’t all bad. God, somehow get a hold of that man. Give Rosie back her daddy.
Clearing his throat, Farrow continued. “In addition, Powerhouse has helped to organize the Powerhouse Squad, an official organization that is training and equipping hundreds of real life superheroes who have ordinary human abilities. Today, he is gearing up to transform our entire city with their help.” Farrow grimaced. “Maybe eventually, the nation.”
Powerhouse X-rayed the introduction. The poor guy still had another half page to go, and he was already sick of hearing his praises sung himself.
Best to fix that. He superimagined all but the last line of the speech disappearing.
Farrow glanced down, blinked, and smiled. “Here he is, Powerhouse.”
Powerhouse walked onto the stage with everyone applauding. Now he had to focus on repeating it right. “Thank you, thank you for that heartfelt introduction.”
The audience cracked up.
Huh? That wasn’t supposed to be a laugh line. Powerhouse cleared his throat. “I couldn’t have accomplished everything I have without the help of Powerhouse Incorporated’s CEO, Naomi Johnson. That also goes for Pastor Leticia Jones, everyone on the board, and all of our volunteers with the Powerhouse Squad. Thank you. It’s great to have the Press Club honor something positive. So much of the focus of the media is on all the bad stuff that happens, but there’s a lot of good things going on in Seattle. I’m going to talk about that for the next few minutes.”
Mitch Farrow plopped in his office in front of the computer and popped another anti-nausea pill. Okay, time to vomit in a way befitting a professional. He opened his journal’s file, scrolled to the bottom of the document, and wrote:
I’ve laid off him in terms of actual acts of violence. He’s too powerful for that. With those superpowers of his, though, every few months, he’ll draw some independent thug hoping to make a name for himself.
At first, I hoped one of these outside guns would solve my Powerhouse problem, but I doubt that’ll happen. These losers are unimaginative hoods with only super-inflated egos. Wannabe supervillains just can’t pull it off.
His secretary entered. “Sir, the president of Dorado Home Entertainment is here.”
Sigh. Mitch saved his file. “Send him in.”
Powerhouse flew a thousand feet over gray and brown slanted residential roofs. At a two story house with tan siding, a young man with a backpack walked around the windows trying each one. Was the guy simply locked out or a burglar?
The young man got a window open, heaved himself up, and crawled inside the house. Powerhouse hovered overhead. What time was it? He glanced at his cell phone. 2:55. Maybe, he’d better call Detective Nachez in burglary and have her watch the house. He had to get back to Bryerton.
The youth ran out of the house. His backpack was now overflowing jewelry and personal electronics.
Yep, burglar. Powerhouse landed in front of him.
Burglar dropped his bag. “Uh, Powerhouse. What are you—”
“What’s in the bag?”
“Stuff.”
“Whose stuff?”
Burglar smiled. “A friend’s. She told me to bring it.”
Powerhouse X-rayed the backpack. “Two diamond rings, a bracelet, an iPod, two cell phones.”
“Yeah.”
“No.” Powerhouse superimagined Burglar tied up. “Now, the police will have the person who’s been doing all these burglaries.”
“But this is my first one I swear.”
Powerhouse put his hands on his hips. “I’ll leave that to the detectives, but it’d be kind of coincidental, don’t you think?”
The youth struggled against the ropes but then gave up.
Powerhouse pulled out his cell phone. He glanced down the street.
A man wearing a wide-brimmed black hat tiptoed down a street near a picket fence. He carried a coffee pot.
I wonder what that’s all about?
Something hard smashed into the back of his helmet.
Chapter 11
Powerhouse v. The Boomerang Bloke and Silver Medal
Ow! That hurt a little. Powerhouse rubbed his helmet and turned.
A man with a deeply lined, tanned face and short blonde hair wore an olive green shirt and khaki shorts as he caught a boomerang. “G’day, Powerhouse. I’m the new supervillain in town: the Boomerang Bloke!”
Powerhouse glanced at Burglar. “So is this your boss?”
The Burglar narrowed his eyes. “Come on, give me credit for some taste.”
Another boomerang hit Powerhouse’s helmet.
Growling, Powerhouse rubbed the back of his helmet and whipped around. “Stop that. It’s annoying.”
“Mate, I’m the Boomerang Bloke!”
“You said that.”
“Duh, it’s my catch phrase.” He waved his fists. “Fight me.”
“No.” Powerhouse superimagined the nut tied up on the ground.
“Bewdy! You’re afraid to face the might of the Boomerang Bloke.”
“No, I’m afraid I might hurt you and damage U.S.-Australian relations.”
“You’re running, mopoke. I win.”
“Not if you’re tied up.” Powerhouse turned and called dispatch.
A male voice answered, “Seattle Police Department.”
“Patch me through to Detective Nachez.”
“One moment please.”
A deeper male voice came on. “Nachez speaking.”
“I may have your Green Lake neighborhood burglar here. Caught him leaving a house with a bag full of expensive stolen items. He says he’s not behind the other burglaries, but I’ll let you sort that out.”
“Give me the address.”
Powerhouse did so. “Also, there’s an annoying, I mean an Australian guy here that kept throwing boomerangs at me. He might be involved, too
.”
“I’ll have a patrol there in two minutes.”
“Thanks Detective.” Powerhouse waited for the black and white to unit to pull up to the curb. He took off, cruising over the neighborhood.
A net dropped on him from a nearby roof. Powerhouse ripped the net off and glanced on top of the building. A blonde woman in a white jumpsuit stared at him. He landed in front of her and put his fists on his hips. “Lady, what was the big idea?”
“You must come with me,” she said in low, husky voice, tugged on his arm, and trotted across the roof.
Weird. Powerhouse followed along. She glided to the ground, landed, and then strolled in a very herky-jerky movement like a toy soldier.
Wherever she was going, this would take a while. It’d better be worth it. He pulled out Dave Johnson’s cell phone and called Naomi. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it on time. I’m following someone on a case. I think it’s an android supermodel, based on how it’s moving.”
“It could be a real woman.”
Powerhouse X-rayed her. She was filled with wires, gears, and circuits. “Nope, now I’m positive she’s an android.”
“Dave! You X-rayed a woman under her clothes!”
“No, I X-rayed a robot, and I don’t use the airport scanner sort of X-ray. If it had been a woman, I’d have only seen her bones. Anyway, I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it. Could you videotape the kids? I’ll watch it later.”
“The boys will understand. You’ve made most of their events. I’ll see you later.”
“Thanks.” Powerhouse hung up with Dave’s wife and called Nachez.
“Nachez here.”
“At the risk of you laughing, I’m following an android supermodel down the street and she’s leading me to someone’s secret lair.”
Nachez chuckled. “If it were anyone but you, I’d tell them to go get sober.”
“Anyway, stay in the area. I’ll text you the address when I get there. I think it may be the hideout of the guys who’ve committed all the burglaries.”
