“I apologize, but I’ve been on vacation recently, so I haven’t had a chance to keep up with your comings and goings. Rest assured that anything you do to me will be returned on you threefold by Ultraweapon.”
Didn’t realize that I’d invoked some kind of Shakespearean curse. “Yes, I can see the good time you’ve been having,” I said. “I’m here to pay you back, personally, for all the growth you’ve helped me with. Stay right here and don’t move, if you want to live to see the sunset. Or move, and that will just make my day a whole lot easier.”
Closing my visor, I flew back to his house. Miranda had pulled on some clothes, which was a shame. I was waffling between actress or model, but either one seemed to fit her.
“Where’s Randall?”
“He’s safe, but you need to leave,” I said. “There’s a good chance that a supervillain could attack this house at any minute.”
An extremely good one, I thought. Almost a certainty at this point.
To twist the knife a little more, I said, “In fact, there may even be a price on his head, so you may not want to be seen with him for some time to come.”
“Is he still going to introduce me to his director friends?”
“Miss, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but he doesn’t have any director friends.”
“That sonnuvabitch! Now I hope someone does destroy his house!” She stalked away and a minute later I heard the slamming of the door.
Your wish is my command.
• • •
Not wanting to waste much time trashing his house, I took his laptop, identity card, and desktop, ripped his safe out of the wall and set all that at the end of the driveway along with a couple of items from Barton’s garage. His Porsche roadster went over the cliff first and then I flew around and cranked up the force blasters to maximum. There were probably plenty of other things I could have pilfered from the place, but this wasn’t a money making trip.
It took more effort than I thought and half my available power, but I carved a trench in the side of the cliff. A slow rumbling built as first his endless pool emptied itself onto the beach below and then the whole structure began to slip over the side.
“Looks like the land value here has plummeted recently,” I observed, returning to the man, holding a life jacket from his kayak and his Harley-Davidson FX Super Glide. The motorcycle looked to be a well maintained, highly collectible 1971 version. It was a sweet ride and what I was about to do, to me at least, was more criminal than destroying the man’s house.
“You can have one,” I said. “Choose wisely.”
The look on his face told me I’d struck a nerve. “This thing’s a little heavy, so I can’t stay here all day.”
“I’ll take the vest,” the words squeezed out of his mouth painfully.
I dropped the bike into the water and tossed him the vest. “Smart man. It’s a pretty long swim back and the water temp isn’t doing you any favors. Maybe you can just wait here and see if you can flag down someone walking along the private beach. Might be a long wait, though, but I’ll be pulling for you. Now, I’m sure if you make it out of this, you’ll go crying to Ultraweapon. Make sure to tell him that I’ll get to him one of these days, but if he comes looking, then I might have to make a habit of hitting his business interests. That’s the problem with being all over the place, so many things to protect.”
“You’ll get yours in the end, Stringel,” he said, making an empty threat.
“It’s Mechani-CAL to you, Francis. Plus, you can count on me coming around every now and again to kick over whatever anthill you call home. I’m guessing after the first couple of times, you’ll have a hard time getting any kind of insurance and the nice thing is, I can show up any old time and drop in on you. You made a game out of destroying my life, now I’m going to make a game out of doing it to you. See you around Francis. Enjoy your swim.”
Flying away, I stopped to pick up the goods I’d taken. The contents of his safe might be interesting as well as the things he keeps on his computer. Twenty miles inland, Bobby was waiting for me and gorging on In and Out burgers. I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat either; my appetite for revenge had been sated for the moment, but I’d be hungry again by my next stop in Biloxi. Ultraweapon might come looking for me but, more likely, he’d waste assets protecting his branch offices and his turd of a vice president.
Bobby warned me that I shouldn’t go looking to fight any superheroes and I’d done my level best to stick to his advice, but for the Biloxi Bugler I’d make an exception.
• • •
The armor itself was a little uncomfortable to sleep in, but I managed. Bobby would drive several hours and then stop at whatever hotel caught his eye and pull in to get some rest. I’d just wait in the van.
“Cal, are you going to take the armor off eventually? It’s been a couple of days now.”
“Not until we’re back at our base,” I said. “And not when I’m so close to taking my revenge!”
“Don’t you think that’s a little...odd?”
“Don’t judge me! Besides I’m making sure I’m ready to fight The Bugler.”
“You need a lot of planning for that? He’s kind of a has-been.”
“Bobby, he beat me once,” I said. “I don’t want that to happen again.”
“I could probably knock him around a bit, if you want. We fought a long time ago. I took him then; I could take him now, especially since he looks more like the Biloxi Blob. The guy has really let himself go to shit, but hey, don’t let me get in the way of your vendetta.”
Maybe it was a touch of megalomania, or that I was feeling good about getting back at Barton; either way I didn’t really care. Today was “Biloxi Appreciates Our Bugler day” and I wanted it to be one he wouldn’t forget.
Ignoring Bobby’s jibes, I tuned into the local coverage. Naturally, there was a parade and people lining the streets of the city waving plastic bugles.
There he was, sitting on a float with his uniform on and a big sash that said Grand Marshal on it.
“All right, Bobby, I’m going to go and get him,” I said.
“Have fun, I guess,” he said, clearly not approving. It was tempting to throw his grudge against Seawall in his face, and call him a hypocrite, but I wasn’t sure he’d understand the word.
I took to the air and started flying. Today was about exorcising demons. Bobby couldn’t get it. Streaking over the parade route, I saw people pointing up in the sky at me. They were cheering and thought it was some kind of special surprise, which in a way, it was.
Pulling ahead of the main float, of course it was a bugle, I turned and hovered. Beauregard Carr, also known as The Biloxi Bugler looked at me sideways and held his bugle at the ready. He moved next to his motorcycle, painted to look like the state flag of Mississippi. Carr had taken enough flak over the years for his cape looking like the Confederate flag, and had changed it out in favor of a simple gray one, but he never budged on the motorcycle. It was somewhat commendable.
I pointed at him and kicked on my loudspeakers, “I’m Mechani-Cal and I’m here for my revenge on you, Bugler.”
What Bobby said was true; time hadn’t done Mr. Carr any favors. Several cops on motorcycles pulled up and the parade drew to a halt.
“If that’s really you, Calvin Stringel, then, I guess there’s no talkin’ you out of this,” the man answered in his southern drawl, seemingly not nervous. “I’ll fight you, but let’s not do it here—too many innocent people around. I don’t mind endangering myself, but no sense in anyone else getting hurt.”
“Fine by me,” I replied.
He mounted his crotch rocket, which sagged under his girth, and said, “Follow me.”
The crowd cheered him as he started the bike and a few even chucked stuff at me as I trailed behind him. It got me wondering if my bright idea to humiliate him on “his day” was such a great idea. It wasn’t playing out nearly how I thought it would.
He pulled into the parkin
g lot at an abandoned factory and hopped off the bike. As I touched down, the first blast of concentrated sonic waves smacked against my shields.
Fatman isn’t so slow on the draw, I thought as another burst hit me. My shields were holding nicely, but I had to admit he was good and didn’t use any kind of targeting system that I could see.
“My turn,” I said, giving him a shot of low intensity force blasters that sent him spinning sideways. I thought the bugle would go flying, but he seemed to have some kind of tether on it that kept it close.
He jerked it back to his hands and fired twice more and I noted that his best efforts had so far knocked only eight percent off of my shields.
The Bugler dodged my next blast and I was impressed that he could still move that well for his size.
Instead of trading energy blasts with him, I started walking toward him and right through his bursts. He tried to back away, but I was too quick and grabbed his arm. He screamed and I realized that I’d put a little too much effort into it and had broken his arm. He fought through the pain and managed to flip his bugle into his off hand and let me have it point blank. Even my shields and ear protection couldn’t stop that from getting through and ringing my bell.
Somewhere in that, I let go of him and he staggered from me trying to keep up his sonic assault. I threw my hand out and dialed up a higher level force blast that hit him like a sledgehammer. Maybe too much, I thought and stumbled over to him.
He was still alive and clutching his chest. The Bugler tried to raise his instrument, but didn’t have enough breath to blow it.
Sputtering some blood from the corner of his mouth, he looked at me and wheezed, “You can break me, but you can never truly defeat me.”
“You look pretty defeated to me,” I said. “The ribs? Are they broken?”
He nodded and I continued, “Since I can’t put you in prison, I’ll settle for putting you in the hospital.”
“Does that make you happy? Do you feel like a bigger man?”
“No, I suppose not. I had it all in my head where I beat you and snap your bugle in two.”
He looked at his invention and said, “I’m in no position to stop you. Can’t even take a deep breath right now.”
Looking down at his weapon, I appreciated the craftsmanship he’d put into it. “Nah, you’ll need it for the next time we tussle.”
I doubted there’d be a next time. This was a bad idea from the start. I was just a little too obsessed to see it.
He managed a painful smile and said, “I’m a little old to be picking up an archenemy, Mr. Stringel. Then again, I might come up with a better version that’ll crack your armor open like a can of tuna.”
The emergency sirens were getting close and I lingered just long enough to see the first of them pulling into the parking lot before I turned back to Beau Carr and said, “I’ll stay out of Biloxi as long as you’re out of commission. Plenty of other places around here.”
“Evil never truly prospers, Calvin Stringel. It might seem like it does for a short time, but it never wins.”
His pithy expression had no real effect on me; I shrugged and activated my jetpack. The Bugler had humiliated me years ago and I’d returned the favor today. This wasn’t like Barton, who’d kept after me. As far as I was concerned, the scales were balanced.
Revenge might be a dish best served cold, but sometimes cold revenge leaves a bad aftertaste in the mouth.
• • •
The fallout from my Bugler Beatdown had the Gulf Coasters putting me on their most wanted list—at number seven. Then again, considering half their payroll was coming from Lazarus Patterson, it might be due to Promethia’s influence.
I was relaxing in Central Command and considering what kind of surface defenses our base needed when I received an email, courtesy of the Wireless Wizard’s bootleg internet. Sadly, even a supervillain isn’t immune from getting spam...or sending it, in the case of my weapons designing career.
Mr. Stringel,
A mutual friend of ours, who tells the most shocking jokes, said you’d be interested in meeting me. I will be in Branson this week and would like to meet with you to discuss a potential business opportunity. Please respond at the below location if you are interested.
V
The reference to EM Pulsive was obvious. Suspicion was almost second nature now, but I followed the link anyway. It was to a book discussion forum started by someone who went by the moniker Heinlein_FanGurl. The poster would have a little discussion on which book of Heinlein’s she was reading at the time along with other tidbits like vacation plans, places to eat, and so forth. I studied the posts and tried to determine if this was the elusive Victoria Wheymeyer. If so, then the others must be various criminals she was arranging meetings with. I’d ponder it later. For now, I went to the last post.
Can’t wait for my trip to Branson next week. I’m thinking of bringing along either The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, or Starship Troopers (cuz you know how much I loves me some powered armor). Which do you think I should take?
It was open for guest posting, so I replied.
Speaking as a fellow Roughneck enthusiast, I say go with Starship Troopers. Powered Armor beats moon rebels every time. I’ve been thinking of visiting that city as well and seeing the sights. I hope your trip is everything you hope for.
Thirty minutes later the reply arrived via my email.
Mr. Stringel,
Thank you for taking me up on my offer. The address below is the estate where I will be. It is in a rather remote area and your best approach is from the south. Please do bring your suit. I would like to see it for myself. Also, bring suitable attire for dining.
Looking forward to meeting you,
V
“Almost sounds like a date,” Bobby said when I told him about it.
“Damn!” I exclaimed. “I left the two nice jackets I owned at Leslie’s. Think I should knock over a men’s clothing store? Nah, stupid question. Guess I need to go clothes shopping anyway.”
Somehow, I didn’t think my collection of jeans, sweatpants, and the like would really impress her.
• • •
The first thing I noticed, approaching the estate, was the massive pool. It was the kind that you could invite fifty of your friends to and have a rousing game of Marco Polo in. Instead of the slides, they might as well just put a dock in it. The main building was a three story affair with the garage looking like an additional house had been slapped onto the slide. Slightly to the east was a stable and riding trails, according to the satellite maps I’d studied. Still, it was one thing to see the place on a screen and another to see it sprawling out in front of you.
My hole in the ground seemed somewhat inadequate by comparison.
I spotted the two security guards first. The woman in the large hot tub didn’t immediately register, but she saw me, set down the book she was reading, and climbed out. Considering that she wasn’t startled by a man in powered armor landing a short distance away, I figured I’d found Ms. Wheymeyer. She was a brunette, five eight-ish and in a blue bathing suit. Vicky wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t exactly smoking hot either. Somewhere in the middle, I supposed.
“Isn’t it a little early for the hot tub?” I asked.
Victoria scrunched her nose and shook her head. “It’s never too early for a hot tub, Mr. Stringel. I like to catch the sunrise in it. So, this is your armor. Let me see it.”
I set my bag down containing my clothes and allowed her to circle around me.
“Very nice,” she concluded after a minute. “You wouldn’t believe how many people set out to build their own set of armor and quit when they figure out how difficult it is. It’s refreshing to see a person willing to put in the necessary work.”
“Do you like it?” I asked. “Are you really a powersuit fangirl?”
“You bet your ass I am! I can see a lot of early Ultraweapon in your design. Not surprising since you once worked for him. Did you steal the specs yourself?”
“No, I got them from Max V. Did the rest from memory.”
“You must have a good memory,” she said.
“It’s not photographic, but it’s pretty close,” I replied.
“Well, let’s go inside and have some breakfast. There’s a changing room over there where you can leave your armor,” she said and walked back to retrieve the novel she’d been reading. I figured it would be Heinlein’s classic, but was surprised to see a grocery store romance novel.
“I thought you’d be reading Starship Troopers,” I said. My guesstimate said that she was in her mid-thirties, which put her a couple of years older than me.
“I have that pretty much memorized by now. This just passes the time,” she said.
As Victoria turned, I saw a pair of dice tattooed on her right shoulder, with a four and a three facing out, and it struck a chord in my memory. Combined with the way she leaned over to grab the book, it suddenly clicked. “Wait a minute! I’ve seen you before.”
“Really? Where?”
“It was a picture, sent to my cellmate. I’m guessing you know The Gardener. I remember the dice, but you had several more tattoos.”
She also had considerably less clothes on, but that was another matter altogether.
“Oh, that,” she said and laughed, somewhat nervously. “Body painting, but I’ve had my lucky dice for years now. Your memory is very impressive to remember a picture from roughly eighteen months ago.”
“It was a nice picture,” I blurted out and felt immediately embarrassed, thankful she couldn’t see my face.
The lady actually blushed. “You’re too kind.”
My mind tried to picture her and Kenneth as a couple and it wasn’t working. That’s when the other shoe fell. She was either the evil genius behind the mass escape or worked for the evil genius behind the mass escape.
“Something wrong, dear?”
“Just putting puzzle pieces together in my mind. Say, didn’t that prison break happen shortly after Kenneth received that picture?”
Origins of a D-List Supervillain Page 14
