“Are you talking about the villains or my team?”
“I was talking about the villains, but I guess it could apply to Holly and the rest. Though Holly didn’t really stab me in the back so much as spit on my face and rub my nose in it.”
“Not going to let that go, are you?”
“Not anytime soon. I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”
We laugh a bit, and I check the GPS on the suit. “Better call upstairs and tell Wendy to get ready for her close up. I’m about thirty minutes from Phoenix.”
“Actually,” she answers and starts toward the staircase. “I promised to help her with her makeup, so I’ll go. She might be in for a disappointment. My powers give me a natural beauty and, as a result, I don’t have to use very much of it at all.”
“I won’t hate you because you’re beautiful,” I offer to her retreating form, and get a single finger in reply. “Now that’s a rude gesture, Stacy! What would your fans say?”
Chapter Ten
Make Way for Captain Unintended Consequences
“I can see why you call it the poop chute,” Stacy says, as I replay the video of Wendy sliding out the backside of Megasuit, behind the CBS Phoenix affiliate’s dumpster. “It looks like you just crapped out a superhero.”
Mega remained behind the dumpster as Wendy walked with purpose into the building, intent on getting an interview. I didn’t have the heart to make fun of her, as someone who has also had warrants for their arrest out on them.
“Andy? Can you help me hack directly into their cameras and their interior security system?”
The robot processed my highly questionable request and said, “I can do that to ensure Wendy’s safety. I also have no known location on the West Coast Guardians. The other Guardian teams are accounted for, and the majority of the Olympians remain in Europe, are listed as inactive, or are seated next to you. There are no reports of local superhuman activity in the Phoenix area at this time.”
“Good, continue to monitor. My guess is the West Coasters were on the way to back the government up with me, so they’ll be in the area.”
“What’s going on?” Larry asks coming down the stairs.
“Wendy and Mega are in Phoenix so she can do an interview. Uncle Sam is trying to crack down on us. Mind suiting up and being on stand-by? We might get a visit from the West Coast Guardians. How was the game?”
“Panthers won. I always thought Sundays were supposed to be a day of rest.”
“No rest for the weary or the wicked, take your pick as to which one applies to us,” I reply and wink at Stacy.
“All right,” Larry says and turns toward the staircase. “I’ll get into my costume and be ready in ten.”
I begin monitoring the security cameras inside the station. Naturally, the fools inside are hesitant to believe that one of the most famous supers in the world just walked in off the street and requested an interview. The main lobby experiences a sudden windstorm before someone runs to fetch the general manager.
There’s a brief wait, until a woman in business attire rushes down the corridor to greet Wendy and escort her to one of the smaller studios, while one of the junior reporters appears to be teetering between eagerness and panic as she rushes into the makeup chair.
“Well, it looks like we have some more time while she does her interview,” I say. “Are you ready for more story?”
“Sure,” Stacy replies. “What happened after you died? Did you go into the light?”
“If you mean the light in the bathroom, I went in there all the time.”
• • •
“...In conclusion, Calvin Matthew Stringel was a flawed man. His story is a lesson in perseverance and rising to the challenge when it matters the most. It often is said that one way to judge a man is to see how he behaves when he thinks no one is watching, but I submit to you that the opposite is also true. You can also judge a man by what he is willing to do when everyone is watching. Heroes step forward when needed and something you can take away from Cal’s life is that whatever your past, even if you aren’t a well-liked person, or an especially nice one, you can still make the choice to be the hero you were meant to be. I don’t know if Cal considered me a friend, but I shall always consider him one.”
Not everyone gets to watch their own funeral, and I’ll confess I was a little choked up by Bo’s words. I’d been hard on the Biloxi Bugler, mocked him mercilessly at times, but it was because he was the genuine article. What he lacked in power, he more than made up for in conviction. I was on the fence about considering him a friend, but he’d more than earned my respect.
Bobby pointed to the monitor and proceeded to kill the moment, “You sure you weren’t seeing the Bugler on the side?”
I gave Bobby an incredulous look and said, “No.”
“He sure seemed to like you. Just saying.”
My empty casket memorial was in Biloxi, Mississippi of all places—also Bo’s doing. In attendance was a who’s who in the superhero world and even a smattering of political folks, including Wendy’s father. My guess was that the PR folks had worked overtime to convince most of them that it would be a good idea to attend. The President hadn’t come, but he’d sent along a statement and my long overdue pardon.
That might come in handy down the road, I thought.
Aphrodite had released her own statement before the funeral, separate from the one made by her team, that was both kind and gracious. I figured that meant she hadn’t read the book yet. It also lacked anything that indicated her memories had returned.
I did have to laugh at the shitstorm my memoirs had kicked up. It was an international bestseller already. Promethia’s stock was at an all-time low and there was talk that they might even change their name, the way the tobacco companies did.
The next person to take the stage made me gulp involuntarily. Wendy looked like she hadn’t slept since my armor blew up, and I immediately felt bad.
“I can’t help but wonder what Cal would think if he were here,” she began. “He’d say something completely inappropriate, I’m certain. I don’t honestly know if I taught him anything about being a hero, but I can say that he taught me how to be a better leader, just by trying to keep up with him. He was a handful and a hot mess. He had this unfiltered personality that never failed to let you know what was on his mind. Cal could walk into a room and ten minutes later, everyone would be ready to strangle him. If this sounds like I’m insulting him, I’m not. Anyone who spent time with him knows this. In his book, he lamented that he had no real power to call his own. From my perspective, he had the ability to wield the truth in such a caustic and brutal manner that it angered you to hear what he said. When my child is old enough to ask about his or her father, I will say that he was a poor role model, who made a never ending series of bad decisions, but there was no one better to have at my back when I needed someone, because that was the kind of person Cal Stringel was. My child will grow up knowing that Cal died saving the city of Los Angeles, and was the primary reason the world was rescued from the control of the bugs. One could never accuse him of having noble intentions, but he did these things regardless, and that says everything you’d ever want to know about him. Thank you.”
Bobby passes me a beer and says, “If she ever finds out you’re alive, she’s gonna kill you!”
Nodding, I didn’t exactly relish the thought of telling her. “Hopefully, she never finds out.”
“So, how long do you think it’s gonna take you to build that new set of armor?”
I picked up the schematics I’d been working on ever since we’d gotten back inside, and removed what little contamination and irradiated materials there had been from the downstairs.
“I’ve got enough synth stockpiled to wire it, but I’ll need some extra. I’m a little short on armor plating and that’ll eat up a chunk of the remaining cash, but I still have a decent amount here of what Wendy loaned me, to get new armor. We shouldn’t have to worry about money for a bit. I�
��m guessing three months for construction, since I don’t really have much else going on.”
“So,” he said. “You okay with me going out on more jobs?”
My immediate reaction was to say no, but then I started thinking. “Actually, I guess there isn’t a reason not to. No one knows the location of this base except for you and me. Hell, Aphrodite doesn’t even remember where it is. I don’t see why not. Go for it.”
He looks all smug. “Guess I’m not the idiot you said I was in your book.”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“No. Are you surprised I could read?”
“I said that on purpose to make sure people think that I really didn’t like you. You have to believe me. I was just covering all the bases.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said, not looking completely convinced. “So, you really have that sex tape of you and Aphrodite in your room here?”
With a groan, I replied. “No, you can’t see it. Do you really want to see me having sex? Weren’t you just accusing me of some kind of relationship with the Bugler? Are you jealous or something?”
That dig really got Bobby’s hackles up, which made me feel better as he launched into a long and descriptive, profane rant.
But it did remind me that I needed to find a different hiding place for the drive containing that video. I wouldn’t put it past Bobby to crack open my safe like a coconut, to get it.
• • •
Even a technohermit like me could get cabin fever. When I opened the safe to hide the only copy of my meaningful encounter with a love goddess, I dug out one of my old fake identities—Jason Durso. After dying my hair black and not using my shaver, I looked more like Jason and less like Cal.
With my new armor about forty percent complete, I decided to head down to the Gulf Coast and take in the sea air. Inevitably, I found myself drawn to the spot where I’d spread the ashes of Vicky and the clone of Joe Ducie. The last time I’d been here had been just before the bugs, when I still had a base a short distance away, where that little crater now sat.
I’d liked that base. I saw a homemade sign where one of my neighbors was selling Mechani-CAL memorabilia. I had to laugh. I had a gift shop and had put this little spot of Pascagoula on the map. Vicky would have laughed her ass off.
Either my base self-destruct or a lightning strike had damaged the tree. The old oak had been battered, but had somehow survived. It was a fitting comparison to my life. I’d endured so much since the last time I stood in this spot.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “Look who came back? I’d have come back sooner, but I’ve been busy. Who would’ve thought that being dead would tie a person up so much? Since I’ve been gone, I’ve saved the world, became a poor excuse for a superhero, got the girl, lost the girl, fathered a kid with another girl, succeeded in knocking Lazarus Patterson from his perch, and faked the most epic death scene in history!”
Sitting down on a rock, I stared out over the water, talking to and joking with, a pair of dead people for close to two hours. The last time I was here, I’d hit what I thought was rock bottom and had been close to going insane, or was that even more insane? Tough to tell. I was in a better place now and not hearing any imagined voices. I was also at a crossroads. In roughly two months, the most powerful suit of armor in the history of this planet would be ready... and I hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to do with it!
“Sure,” I said, wishing either was here to give me advice. “I could go back to robbing places. Odds are no one could stop me. I could do the hero thing again, but it turns out that being a hero is more tedious than extraordinary. Monitor duty stinks, patrols stink, and it’s more cliquish than any high school ever! That’s the thing, rolling around in a pile of cash with everyone praising my name used to be the dream. People’s opinions don’t really mean anything to me anymore, and a villain’s life is usually about the money, but it just doesn’t cut it now. I guess I need to figure out where I’m going and what I want to be when I grow up, but that’s on me... or whoever I’m pretending to be now that I’m dead. Maybe I should just pack it all up and move to Costa Rica, like we always talked about, huh, Vicky?”
The sun was close to setting as I stood and said my goodbyes to my fallen friends, wondering what either of them would do in my shoes. Joseph, the clone, would have likely overthrown his master and would be halfway to world domination. Vicky, naturally, would have already conquered the world and would be having the best time, ever, doing it.
Me? I’d always prided myself with being the idea guy. Unfortunately, I was out of those at the moment. Starting down the hill, I saw a car moving at an excessive rate of speed for the bumpy access road. The tires spit gravel when the red sedan braked hard and came to a stop, nearly hitting Bobby’s truck. The driver threw open the door and came barreling out, staring at the cellphone in his hand.
Thankful there hadn’t actually been a collision, and trying to think what this chump’s problem could be, I was surprised when the man started running up the hill toward me. My pulse pistol was under the seat in the truck, so I became more than a little apprehensive. I stopped moving down the hill and waited for him to get closer.
“Hey!” he called, panting his way up the last half of the few hundred feet. The guy looked younger than I, late twenties I hazarded a guess, and was a bit on the overweight side.
“Yeah?” I replied.
“Were you just up there?” he asked pointing to the top of the hill.
“Yes.”
“Was anyone else up there with you for, like, the last hour?”
“No. Just me. Are you looking for someone?”
He seemed to relax and slowed his frantic pace. “I guess I’m looking for you then. I was supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago, but got a damned flat; bet he saw that coming too!”
“What? What do you want?”
“To give you a postcard and ask you two questions.”
A postcard? Who runs around giving people postcards? I let the stranger get closer. He didn’t appear armed, and I was confident I could outrun the slob. “Okay,” I said, very cautious now.
The man pulled out a postcard, folded in half, that’d been stuffed into his back pocket, and finished closing the distance between us. He had this giddy look on his face that was more than a little creepy. “I can’t believe it’s finally over! This is the last one!”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Oh, sorry man. First thing’s first, here you go.”
I looked down at the bent postcard he hands me. It showed the Grand Canyon with the stylized phrase, “Wish You Were Here!” scrawled across it in blue ink. Looking at the back, it had a date almost a year from now, and some words below:
On the above date, you should be in San Francisco with the most powerful people you can recruit.
It was signed, Jeffrey Dunlap. The name sounded vaguely familiar and alarm bells began ringing in the distant corner of my mind.
“What is this?”
“What city were you born in, and what’s your birthday?”
“Huh? Why should I tell you that?”
“C’mon man, I’ve been sending out these cards from Mr. Dunlap for over half my life, and this is the last one! Just tell me!”
“Who’s this Dunlap guy?”
“You mean, you never heard of Prophiseer?”
Yeah, I had heard of him—some kind of psychic who saw the future, but he’d been captured and killed by the Overlord a long time ago. The memory of the HORDES battle came to mind, where the Overlord had taunted Lazarus Patterson with the knowledge that he’d be killed by a man in a suit of armor. It was followed by another one of Bo saying he knew to be in Biloxi the night he caught me because he’d gotten a similar post card.
People had speculated about those postcards with vague and mysterious warnings. They hadn’t come from Dunlap’s widow, or anyone else he’d been connected with.
“Yes. Who are you?”
Th
e guy looked perturbed. “Does it matter? Just tell me what I want to know and I’m outta here!”
“Well, I’m curious how you knew Prophiseer?”
“Fine! You want to know? I’ll tell you. We lived on the same street and he bought lemonade from the stand I ran when I was a kid. When my family got ready to move, he came over and gave me a box filled with these postcards and an envelope with five grand in it and told me to mail them out in order. This last one just had a map coordinates on it and said to use the GPS on my smartphone. They didn’t even have those when he gave me the box!”
“Wow,” Was all I could say. “Why didn’t you just keep the money and pitch the post cards?”
He must’ve been ten at the time. The idea of some preteen holding on to all these little prophecies and mailing them out like a dutiful worker bee seemed slightly absurd, but if Matthew hadn’t been my middle name Slightly Absurd probably could have been it.
“Tell me where you were born and what your birthday is first.”
“Lincoln, Nebraska and August twenty-fifth.” I didn’t really hesitate. He could probably use that and maybe put together that I was really Calvin Matthew Stringel, but Prophiseer could have just told him that. Plus, he really didn’t look like he cared.
He scribbled it down on a piece of paper. “All through this, he’s been leaving me pieces of a puzzle along the way. That’s the last bit I need to solve where he hid my final payoff. Now, I just have to put it together with the rest of the clues and go find my three million dollars. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a pile of cash hidden somewhere out there.”
My head was still spinning from all of this as he ran off like the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, leaving me staring at the note on the postcard. I’d gone up that hill looking for a little direction, and fate had responded by sending me a note from a guy who’s been dead for years, telling me where I needed to be.
I’ve had plenty of odd stuff happen to me, in my life. This was definitely in the top five.
Secrets of a D-List Supervillain Page 16
