by Adam Graham
Mitch Farrow lay in his round, king-sized bed, laughing at his half-empty, three-thousand-dollar bottle of wine. Five-dollar wine would get me hammered just as fast. He took another swig.
His black cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. Dr. Fournier. He hit the button on his Bluetooth earplug “It’s Farrow.”
“Sir, I was in the lair, and we have an emergency in Texas. Major Speed has broken loose. Turn on your monitor.”
Mitch groped around his nightstand and grabbed a remote. It was upside down. He flipped it over, pressed a button, and a television screen came down from the wall. It showed Major Speed in jeans and a black shirt and carrying an AR-15 through the compound. Mitch cursed.
Fournier said, “The good news is all those leg exercises the nurse has been giving him have paid off. Why do you let her do those?”
So I’d have an excuse not to kill her. Mitch grunted. “That’s my business.”
“Well, the bad news is he’s found the exit, broken open the door, and taken out all the guards on the first level. He appears to be looking for her.”
“If he’s not going at superspeed, then he’s not at full strength yet. Patch me through to the intercom. Once I let him know where things stand, he’ll voluntarily return to his room.”
Major Speed stood in a corridor on the first floor of the complex. He knelt over the unconscious, brown-skinned guard, grabbed his riffle with his free hand. One could only carry so many guns. He tossed the villain’s weapon into a closet.
A television screen came down from the ceiling. On the screen, Karen was locked in a room and wore a white blouse and pink skirt. Behind her was an open window. The Pharaoh’s hateful voice came over a loud speaker. “Is she what you’re looking for?”
Karen turned and gasped. “Major Speed! You’re free!”
“That’s temporary, lady.” Pharaoh laughed. “Major Bigot, her room has a bomb under the floor. She’s on the fourth floor. If you set foot on the third, the bomb goes off. If you leave the building, the bomb goes off. So wake up my men and go to bed like a good little tin soldier.”
He couldn’t risk her life. Speed sighed. “Guess I don’t have any choice.”
“No!” Karen shook her head. “I’m done being a pushed-around victim. I’m sick of being your hostage Pharaoh, and I won’t let you do it anymore.”
“And what exactly are you going to do about it, lady?” The Pharaoh had a smirk in his voice.
She glanced at Speed. “Have you found the front entrance?”
“Yeah.” His stomach churned. “Why?”
“I can see it from my window. I’m about twenty feet to the left of it.”
Pharaoh laughed. “That wall’s too slippery to climb, and he can’t help you, lady. If he leaves, you’ll blow up into a thousand pieces the moment he steps out of the building.”
“You don’t have me trapped.” Karen’s lip quivered. She looked towards the window.
“No!” Speed lurched forward.
“Catch!” Karen screamed as hurtled herself to the earth below.
Chapter 2
Dr. Democracy Lends a Hand
I have to try. Major Speed dashed out the compound’s front door.
Karen plummeted toward Earth in slow motion. Her room exploded behind her, the shockwave deflected her path.
She was falling too fast.
Speed dived, arms held out.
She fell into his arms.
He tumbled the ground, but held onto her. He leapt to his feet, gazed at her sleeping face, and smiled. There was a catch Willie Mays would be proud of. Provided she wasn’t dead.
Major Speed felt her pulse. Just unconscious. Poor thing.
He patted her cheek. “Karen, wake up.”
“Did I make it?” She murmured as her eyelids fluttered.
“You only almost got yourself killed.”
She sniffled. “I’m sorry.”
Speed put a finger to her lips. “It was very brave. I just don’t want you risking your life.”
“Why?” She said it like a child.
Yeah, why, Joshua? Speed frowned. Don’t you dare fall for her. The you that belongs in this time is pushing a hundred, if you get back home and live long enough to create a paradox. He cleared his throat. “Let’s get out of here and notify the authorities. Which way is town?”
“It’s through that field.” She pointed, her arm trembling. Her eyes closed again. “I had to walk about three quarters of a mile.”
Footsteps pounded from behind them.
“We’d better run,” Speed clutched her close and raced toward the field.
He hit an invisible barrier and rocketed backwards, gripping Karen. Can’t drop her. Twisting, he slammed sideways into a tree. The world disappeared.
Powerhouse soared over the city. One more morning patrol to make sure everything was okay and then it was off to Texas.
A net shot up at him.
Powerhouse dodged to the left.
“Curse you, Powerhouse! You shall not defeat the Silver Medal.”
That guy escaped again? Powerhouse rolled his eyes and flew to a rooftop.
By a heating vent, the villain stood dressed in black with a silver medal around his neck.
Powerhouse folded his arms. “How about we skip me humiliating you again, and I simply return you to jail where you belong?”
“You insolent fool, I almost defeated you! And many others have almost tasted defeat at my hands.” Silver Medal cackled. “But that was alone.”
He dropped a smoke bomb.
When the smoke cleared, five other costumed fighters appeared: the Mime in his grease paint, the Hurler who wore a muscle shirt, the Juggler who was dressed like a court jester as he tapped his foot, the Boomerang Bloke in a Crocodile Dundee hat and khaki shorts, and the Contortionist who lay on the ground with his feet on his shoulders.
Silver Medal laughed. “My Sinister Six will destroy you.”
The Boomerang Bloke waved his crocodile Dundee hat. “Destroy him? The invitation said we were going to give Powerhouse what he deserved. Me and him are pals now.” He grabbed a toaster oven off the ground from behind him. “I brought him a present.”
“You shouldn’t have.” Powerhouse eyed the toaster’s “$1.99 as-is” thrift store price tag. “Um, that’s nice.” He glanced up at Silver Medal. “You can’t be the Sinister Six. There’s only five of you. Besides, my comic book company can’t afford to buy out the guys who own the Sinister Six.”
The Silver Medal glowered. “Then we’ll be the Fearsome Five.”
Powerhouse laughed. “That rips off Darkwing Duck’s rogues’ gallery.”
The Hurler smirked. “How about the Satanic Six minus one?”
Silver Medal shirked back from Hurler. “That’s a bit much.” He cleared his throat. “We are the Final Five, for we are the last villains you’ll face before oblivion, Powerhouse.”
“You wish.” He smirked inside his helmet. “But it works.”
Boomerang Bloke dashed to Powerhouse’s side.
The five villains surrounded them.
Bloke formed a T with his hands. “Before we get started, Silver Medal, I want to know who I’m fighting. I know you’re like a mad scientist type, but who are these people?.”
“I guess the introductions are obligatory.” Silver Medal jerked his thumb at Hurler. “You’re first.”
The Hurler had piercings up and down his face and a tattoo of Satan on his arm. “I’m the most dangerous man alive, a born killer.”
Powerhouse snorted. “I caught him breaking into a vending machine.”
The Hurler spat. “Even an evil sadist gets hungry.”
The Contortionist stood, leaned backwards, and touched the back of his knee with his head just below his hips. “I am the world’s greatest contortionist. Powerhouse ruined my career when he caught me breaking into a bank.”
The Juggler tossed two handkerchiefs and kept them in the air. “I robbed banks by juggling bombs while the
cashier filled the bag with money.”
Powerhouse snickered. “I transformed your bombs into tomatoes, and you dropped them on yourself.”
A man in mime makeup pointed an imaginary machine gun at them. The Boomerang Bloke jerked his elbow toward the Mime. “And who’s he? Does he have the power to make force fields with his hands?”
“No, he’s what he appears to be.” Powerhouse laughed. “I caught the Mime holding up a bank with his finger.”
The Boomerang Bloke gasped. “What is it with you blokes and robbing banks? You trying to undermine the whole bleedin’ economy.”
“Enough of this.” Silver Medal waved his men on. “Attack!”
The Mime vibrated like he was firing a machine gun.
The other villains gaped at him.
Powerhouse slapped Bloke’s shoulder. “It’s up to you, partner. Throw a boomerang at Mime’s gun.”
“What gun?”
“The one he thinks he’s holding.”
The relatively sane criminals charged.
Bloke threw a boomerang at the Mime. It hit the Mime’s imaginary gun. The Mime yelped silently and sucked his trigger finger.
Juggler approached while keeping four knives in the air. He threw one at Powerhouse as the Silver Medal fired his ray gun.
The Hurler and the Contortionist were about to reach them. Powerhouse grabbed the Boomerang Bloke by his waist and rocketed into the air.
Juggler’s throwing knife hit Silver Medal in the shoulder. Silver Medal’s ray gun got Juggler in the stomach, and he collapsed.
While rubbernecking at his fallen comrades, the Hurler crashed into the Contortionist and became entangled in the Contortionist’s flexible limbs.
The Mime reached into his sock, pulled out an imaginary dagger, and threw it up in a trajectory aimed for Powerhouse’s vulnerable neck.
He ducked. “Missed me.”
“What missed you?” Boomerang Bloke asked.
Right, it wasn’t real. Powerhouse groaned. “Okay, play time’s over.”
He superimagined the crooks tied up and landed.
Bloke sneered at the Final Five. “And you call yourselves supervillains!”
The Silver Medal pouted. “At least we tried rather than finking out.” He glanced to Powerhouse. “This’ll look better in the comic books, right?”
“It’ll have to.” Powerhouse shrugged.
“Good. Now, I need medical attention before I bleed to death.”
Juggler said, “Yeah, me too.”
Powerhouse sighed. It’d probably take longer to ferry the criminals than it’d taken to fight them.
Bloke said, “Mate, I’ll watch these blighters while you take the other two to the hospital.”
“Thanks.” Powerhouse created two stretchers, loaded the injured villains on them, and flew through the air. I really need to get to Texas . Hopefully, this won’t hold me up too much.
Major Speed awoke tied to a slab and surrounded by the six guards who had held him in the compound. Karen lay next to him on an adjoining slab.
A Red Army Colonel approached wearing a brown cape. His monocle fell out of his eye, and he picked it up and put it back in. “Good morning to you, Comrade Speed.”
Speed growled. “Don’t call me comrade, commie.”
“I called you Comrade Speed, not Comrade Commie. Regardless, I have questions, and I want answers regarding the American defenses.”
“You’ll never get answers.”
“I will!” The red colonel slammed his fist on the table, and the monocle popped out of his eye again. He ducked as he retrieved it. The villain stuck out his tongue and moved it up and down.
Speed blinked. “Why would you want defense information that’s fifty-five years old, anyway? I was transported here from 1957 by one of your fancy commie weapons.”
“I don’t intend for you to talk. I intend for you to suffer.” The monocle popped out again.
Major Speed arched his brows. This guy sounded more and more like an actor delivering movie lines rather than a real commie.
The door slammed open. “Not so fast!”
Major Speed turned his head. In the doorway was a short man wearing a pink bowtie and an American flag button-down shirt. Two men wearing gas masks stood beside him.
The Red Colonel sneered. “So we meet again, Dr. Democracy.”
Dr. Democracy said, “You’re surrounded, Colonel Putin. Give us Major Speed and the girl.”
“If you insist.” The Colonel bowed.
Major Speed scrunched his brows. That guy had to be up to something.
Dr. Democracy straightened his pink bowtie. “Tom, Jasper, help Major Speed and the girl to the America Van while I deal with these reds.”
The bigger one scooped up Karen’s still form.
Major Speed asked, “Is she alive?”
“Yes,” said the big guy carrying her in his arms.
The shorter one untied Speed, helped him down, and led him outside to a van painted in American Flag colors.
Major Speed glanced sideways at the other guy, his eyes narrowed. “If the commies have taken over, how can you drive such a conspicuous van?”
“Um, ask the doc.” The short guy opened the door to the van.
“I can manage.” Speed stepped on the running board and lowered into the seat before closing the door. Something wasn’t quite kosher here.
The men put Karen in the captain’s seat behind him.
Speed grunted. He might have enough of his strength back to get away, but he couldn’t carry Karen far enough, and he wasn’t leaving her.
The back of the van open and closed.
A moment later, Dr. Democracy hopped into the driver’s seat. The item he held was a plastic black garment bag on a hanger. He twisted toward Speed and smiled. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. You don’t know me, but you saved my mother’s life when she escaped from the Communists in Poland.”
Speed rubbed his head. “Was that in ‘52?”
“No, it was 1954. She spoke highly of you and your friend, Black Cobra.”
That was when he’d been in Poland and helped some refugees. Perhaps this guy was legit. Best to keep testing him, just to be sure. “So doesn’t this van stick out in a war zone, with the commies in charge of everything?”
The doc waved. “That would only be a problem if we were professional soldiers. I’m a scientist, and they’re my assistants. The communists don’t run everything. The battle’s ongoing.”
Perhaps that explained some of the amateurish conduct. “Don’t worry, doc. I’ll be happy to do anything I can to help defeat the Reds.”
“I’m sure.” Dr. Democracy handed him the garment bag. “Major, the best thing you can do to stop this from happening is to go back to your own time to stop them from taking over. So I’m sending you back to the past.”
“You can do that?”
“Of course, it’s taken years, but I’ve perfected my time machine.”
Major Speed glanced back at Karen. “What about her?”
“She belongs to this time. I’ll see that she’s properly taken care of.”
“Can I say goodbye to her?”
“If she wakes up in time. We have to get you back before the reds catch up to us. Plus she may not exist as you know her.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you return to 1957, it’ll lead to changes in history, setting things right. She’ll grow up in a different world.”
Perhaps he should let her sleep. She’d wake up in a better time, when Major Speed was only someone in the history books who helped the cause of freedom in defeating Communism.
Naomi sat in a coffee shop in Seattle in a green leather chair across from Carmella Carmichael. Her friend was absentmindedly detangling her amber curls with her fingers. Naomi twisted four packets of Splenda into her half-caf, non-fat, sugar-free chocolate latte and replaced the lid. “Dave’s gone to Texas, hoping to finally find Major Speed. I was afraid those trailer park guys h
e hired in Boise wouldn’t come up with anything, but they finally did.”
“Nice.” Carmella waved at Naomi’s trim figure. “What’s your secret?”
“Diet and exercise.” Naomi sipped her latte. And stealing one of her husband’s extra alien cuffs and using her superimagination to slowly melt away every extra inch of padding.
Carmella played with her hair more before blurting, “You’re just lucky to have gotten away from Washington Monolith. With all the donuts and pizza they bring, I’d swear they were fattening us up to be eaten by some monster.”
“I would’ve preferred cash rewards, but then they have a bunch of tax issues, while handing out donuts isn’t taxable. At least that’s how a manager explained it to me once.”
Carmella straightened up. “Anyway, Manny’s going to the Coast Guard Academy. Then he’ll get his legal training through them. The other school he could’ve gotten into would’ve meant some big time loans. We’ve saved some for college, but not enough for Princeton.”
“Your boy never imagined anything small.” Naomi eyed her nails. Was it her imagination, or was her friend challenging her to a round of competitive motherhood? “College is a long ways off for my boys, but we thankfully can now afford to send them to whatever schools they choose.”
“How nice. Well, in June, I’m taking my family on a mission trip to Guatemala. We’ll be building some orphanages.” Carmella leaned in. “So how are your boys doing in school?”
Naomi beamed. “Derrick’s getting A’s in all but English. The reading assignments bored him, so he only got a B, but I’m working on it with him. He’s the best student in his piano class. James got named his soccer team’s best offensive player of the year.”
“After the gang shooting, James is blessed to simply be alive, so don’t be ashamed to admit to his poor academic performance.”
Naomi’s stomach panged. She wasn’t imagining it. When did Carmella get so catty? “James has fallen in love with writing. In fact, he’s the son who got an A in English. He and Derrick created their own comic, with Derrick drawing and James writing. It was so adorable.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the two-page book.
