Powerhouse Flies Again

  The old man pointed at the criminal on the ground. “That punk kid tried to rob me, but this young lady and her husband saved my life. Poor guy got stabbed.”

  The officer stared hard at Saggy Pants. “Get up. What do you have to say?”

  “I want a lawyer and get me away from this crazy lady.”

  The officer glanced to Naomi. “Do you have a permit?”

  Naomi fished into her purse, dug out the permit under her compact, and showed it to the officer. The officer jotted on his notepad. “We had reports of a shot fired.”

  “That was me.” Naomi ducked. She had cause, right?

  A paramedic with a southern accent said, “Miss, we’re ready to roll, if you want to ride with your husband to the hospital.”

  Naomi nodded to the paramedic and glanced at the officer. “I’ll be happy to make a full statement at the hospital.”

  “Of course, go with your husband.”

  Three minutes later, the ambulance pulled up to the Evergreen Hospital Medical Center. Naomi stumbled out of the ambulance’s cab and rushed around to the back. A paramedic wheeled out a stretcher with an elderly woman on it. Huh? Oh, there were two ambulances parked next to one another. She must’ve gotten turned around.

  She dashed into the emergency room and caught up with the gurney as Dave was being wheeled toward an area cordoned off by a curtain.

  The nurse monitoring Dave’s IV line glanced to her. “Mr. Johnson, the doctor will be here right away.”

  Dave gritted his teeth and groaned. “Is the doctor going to take the knife out?”

  “Yes, she’ll take care of that.”

  “That’s good. It doesn’t belong there.”

  Naomi smiled. That was her Dave.

  A blonde woman approached in a pair of scrubs and spoke in a Minnewegian accent. “I’m Dr. Kowalski.”

  Another woman followed with a machine. Dr. Kowalski examined the wound.

  Dave grunted. “When can it come out?”

  “First we need to do a sonogram and check the wound. Your wife did the right thing by leaving the knife in. We don’t want to mess it up by causing massive bleeding.”

  The sonogram technician smeared blue gel on Dave’s stomach around the wound and moved a wand around his abdomen. The doctor watched the scan and left with the sonogram technician.

  After an endless couple minutes, the doctor and the sonogram technician returned. Dr. Kowalski pursed her lips. “Mr. Johnson, the knife pierced your liver. We need to operate immediately.” Dr. Kowalski turned to Naomi. “Mrs. Johnson, if you’ll go out in the waiting room, a nurse will be by with some papers for you to sign.”

  Heart in her throat, Naomi nodded and shuffled toward the waiting room.

  ###

  Powerhouse stood in a valley.

  A voice whispered, “Powerhouse, help the man from the past.”

  Powerhouse raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “The Major.”

  “What Major?”

  “Mr. Johnson, Mr. Johnson.”

  Dave’s opened his eyes. Dr. Kowalski stood over him with Naomi.

  Dr. Kowalski smiled. “Hello, Mr. Johnson.”

  “Wow.” Dave peered at his abdomen. “There’s no knife.”

  Dr. Kowalski chuckled. “No, no knife. The surgery went wonderfully and you’ll be going home in a couple days, but you’re going to have to take care of yourself.”

  Dave nodded. “Okay.”

  Dr. Kowalski patted Naomi’s shoulder. “You should be thankful to this lady. It could’ve been a lot worse if it weren’t for her.” Dr. Kowalski removed her arm. “I’ll let you folks be alone for a little while.”

  Dr. Kowalski headed out the door.

  Naomi squeezed Dave’s hand. “I almost lost you.”

  Dave looked up at her. His heart leaped. “You were incredible.”

  “I had to be.” Naomi waved. “Promise me, you won’t do something like that again. You don’t have superpowers any more. You were almost killed.”

  Not a chance. “Sorry, but I can’t make you any such promises. The guy was in trouble and needed help.”

  “Well, at least get a gun.”

  Dave blinked. She was the only one allowed to play with weapons. “You said I was never to bring a gun in the house and didn’t let the boys even have water guns.”

  “That was a foolish hypocrite. This woman has to keep her husband safe.”

  “I don’t know.” Dave bit his lip. “I get kind of nervous around real guns.”

  “You just need to be safe and responsible.”

  Dave scratched his head. “You’d trust me with a gun?”

  Naomi hesitated before nodding.

  “I don’t know. Powerhouse carrying a gun?”

  Naomi’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Dave, you’re not Powerhouse any more.”

  “Then why do I have dreams where I’m still Powerhouse?”

  Naomi shrugged. “Obviously, you miss doing that, dear, but be more careful. You don’t have super powers, a black belt, or the money to build a billion dollar robot suit. So think about a gun.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about.” I won’t get one, but I’ll think about it.

  “A detective will be by the morning to get your statement, and Carmela will bring the kids by after work.”

  “She still watching them?”

  Naomi nodded, yawned, and gave Dave a peck on the lips. “I’m going to call the office and tell them I won’t be in tomorrow, then go to a motel for the night.”

  She scurried toward the door.

  Dave called, “Naomi?” He swallowed. “Would you have really shot him?”

  Naomi leaned against the door. “If it was you or him, yes.”

  “Oh. Night.”

  “Night.” Naomi slipped out of the room.

  She shouldn’t have been shouldered with that responsibility. Maybe he should carry a weapon. Not a gun, but maybe a samurai sword. Nah, too big. Crossbow, maybe. Were there any belts made for crossbows? Which superhero used a crossbow?

  Dave’s heavy eyelids sagged.

  ###

  Mitch approached the old Ross Insurance Building and peered up the black glass edifice. The signage on the third floor now read, “Dorado Incorporated.”

  He pushed through the front door, strode across the lobby’s silver carpeting, and took the elevator. He punched the button for the eightieth floor.

  On the second floor, someone got on the elevator, another got on at the fourth floor and got off at the fifth floor. The second floor guy got off at the seventh floor.

  Mitch hopped from foot to foot and peered at his watch. Nine fifty. All these people getting on and off the elevator were going to make him late.

  The elevator zoomed up, and no one got on until someone pushed a mail cart into the elevator on the thirty-sixth floor and got off on the thirty-seventh. From there, it was a straight shot to the eightieth floor. He checked his watch. Nine fifty-six.

  He sped off the elevator into another silver-carpeted lobby. A man sat at a desk typing on a computer. He looked up at Mitch. “Your name’s sir?”

  “Mitch Farrow.”

  The male receptionist pointed to a door. “Mr. Bertrand will see you now.”

  Mitch rushed to the door and scanned the inscription on the nameplate. “Mike Bertrand, Chief Executive Officer.”

  He was getting interviewed by the CEO? This had to be a big job, whatever it was. Mitch strode inside. On the couch spread a wide-legged, large balding man in a white suite with a diamond ring on his pinky.

  “Aw, Mr. Farrow.” The CEO lumbered to his feet and shook Mitch’s hand.

  Mitch dipped his head. “Mr. Bertrand, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Bertrand settled at the big shiny power desk. “Have a seat.”

  Mitch unbuttoned the top button on his suit jacket and sat in the small black grunt office chair across from the power office chair. “Thank you.”

  Bertrand smiled. “Mr. Farrow, I
have to admit you astonish me.”

  Mitch smirked. “I astonish myself sometimes.”

  “You are perhaps the most outwardly cynical man I’ve ever heard of. I’ve read your blog and all of your views match what you said in the interview.”

  Mitch arched his left eyebrows. “You’re so cynical, you investigated mine?”

  “I would apologize for not taking you at your word.”

  “It’d be insincere like everything else in the world, so skip it.”

  Bertrand nodded. “You also still care about humanity and its unsolvable problems. It’s a rare combination. We turned down many apathetic cynics, but you were exactly what we’re looking for: an extreme cynic that cares.”

  “It’s a depressing combination, but I’m glad you find it appealing.”

  “Quite. To solve the problems of humanity, we must get to their root. The root cause of humanity’s problem is—”

  “—the humans. We’re selfish, corrupt, and easily manipulated.”

  “Precisely. Human control of the Earth has led to mankind’s problems.”

  Uh-oh. Mitch narrowed his eyes. “What’s the alternative?”

  “I’ll get to that in a moment. It will suffice for now to say you will be the instrumentation of this solution if you accept the job.”

  If you’re the fourth Reich, I’m so out of here. “What’s the job?”

  Bertrand raised his hand, palm up and facing out. “Patience. All will be explained, but I must ask you if you wish to continue this interview. If I explain our position to you and you decline to participate, I will have no choice but to have you eliminated.”

  Mitch hesitated. This guy was far more likely to be simply another mob boss moving in to the void Ross had left. If the system was so corrupt, maybe not everyone in the underground that the system called a criminal was really all that bad.

  Besides, what did he have to lose? Mitch shrugged. “I’m dying and don’t have any relationships with anyone. The only people who’d care that I was gone would be the bidders on my eBay auctions. So go ahead, bump me off, but please make it look like a reasonable accident, so my daughter can collect on my accidental death policy.”

  “Fair enough, but that proviso was really almost unnecessary in your case. You’ll work out splendidly. Do you know anything about the Dorado Incorporate?”

  “Nah, I didn’t cover the corporate world much.”

  Bertrand nodded and spread his hands out on his power desk. “Officially, Dorado Incorporated is the little company that could. We were a conservatively run mining outfit that built up a healthy reserve and expanded into the world of venture capital. Over the past sixty years, we’ve enjoyed an ever-increasing portfolio and have acquired large stakes in other corporations. We’ve grown to $120 billion a year in annual profits.”

  “Save your official story for the tourists when they buy pencils at the gift shop.”

  The portly CEO chuckled and leaned in. “The truth is, we were a conservatively managed company going back to 1848, with enough reserves to keep us solvent through wars and depressions. We would have remained small if it weren’t for James Dorado the fourth, the great grandson of the founder. He wanted bigger things. One night, he was offered a chance to get it. He’d be given stocks to short sell, build profits, and invest in other companies. Dorado was a cynic about the world and despised the 1950s culture’s jingoistic sunshiny attitude. He readily agreed to the program given him.”

  Mitch laughed. “I certainly can’t blame him for hating the 1950s.”

  Jury was still out on the going corrupt, though.

  “Dorado made money hand over fist and acquired interests in entertainment and media. Thirty years ago, he turned the reigns over to me, along with his fortune as he’d left no heir. At the time, I was the downcast, cynical head of a non-profit. Now, I’m getting ready to leave, knowing that mankind’s future will be secure.”

  What did this have to do with him? Mitch glowered. “I don’t understand.”

  “Because you don’t listen. We’ve all benefited, but the goal has been to serve our benefactor and his ultimate purpose, saving mankind from itself. Our benefactor is King Bel from Rezella, a world located in a completely different dimension than ours.”

  Mitch laughed for a full minute. Now, it was time for the camera. “ET has been giving you investment advice? Okay, this has been fun, but you’re a few stocks short of a mutual fund. I won’t tell anyone. It might cause a sell off of your stock.”

  He leapt up and sauntered toward the door. It locked. Mitch whirled.

  Bertrand held a remote in his hand and remained seated, stone-faced. “Mr. Farrow, this is no joke. Please sit down. I’d rather not have to kill you.”

  Mitch returned to his chair and took a deep breath. “Okay, so the space men came and advised this Dorado guy. You’ve been helping the space men ever since.”

  “The Rezellians are an advanced race. They have cures for many diseases that are still fatal on Earth. Do you know how obscene the idea of dying of AIDS sounds to the Rezellians? It’d be like dying of a tension headache. Rezellians can cure nearly every human disease. They can end human wars through peacekeeping. They can abolish the barriers of travel that keep our world divided through their teleportation technology.”

  Mitch clucked his tongue. Good thing for the alien Nazis that Captain America wasn’t real, eh? “Let me guess. They can’t do all this without conquering the world.”

  “Imagine what would happen if they introduced a vaccine for AIDS. Some religion would object.”

  “More to the practical point, the FDA would hold it up.”

  “And imagine introducing teleportation! Thousands of lobbyists would oppose it. A teleportation station on every corner would make it so the average person could travel to see relatives all over the world or to work with no pollution, but it’d also put the car companies, airlines, and oil companies out of business. It’d also hurt companies that do road construction. There would be a ban on teleporters or it would get tied up in red tape. Governments likewise will never voluntarily surrender their ability to make war.”

  “So we have to make them, but how?” Method was the potential deal-breaker.

  Bertrand leaned back in his chair. “The Rezellians are fully capable of conquering this planet via the direct, violent route, Mr. Farrow. If they’d done that sixty years ago, they’d already be our overlords, but that goes against their culture of peace. If they advanced their cause the odious way that villains like the Nazis and Soviets did, every human would become their avowed enemy, and there’d be a bloody guerilla war for centuries.”

  Mitch chuckled. “People don’t like aliens invading. Everybody freaked out about Orson Welles’ War of the Worlds.”

  “The 1930s were a Xenophobic time. Opposition to foreign rule of any sort has always been proportional to how violently that rule is established and the value people place on the status quo. The aliens see the people of Earth as a divided, foolish nation at war with itself. However, its fractions still tend to be patriotic and committed to their own beliefs about the world, humanity, family, ethics, rights, and the divine. The aliens are especially fascinated by the U.S.A. as it was the first fraction to consist almost exclusively of people from every other fraction of Earth’s people, united under a single flag. They view the U.S.A. as humanity’s first failed attempt to build the United States of Earth.”

  Mitch roared with laughter and slapped his leg. “Failed is right. We’re the most pathetic, corrupt, backwards first-world country on Earth.”

  “Without a Rezellian governor at the helm of a united Earth, certainly, but before she’ll accept new hope, we need you to undermine the things she values, so that Earth’s people will be far less willing to risk their lives in a war against the spacemen.”

  “How?”

  “Through cynicism, of course.” Bertrand smiled like a hungry lion. “Our goal is to undermine belief in Christianity especially, political institutions, economic i
nstitutions, and the family. We have a great team of lobbyists who push for bills that deepen public cynicism. They don’t know our prime motivation for pushing the legislation we do, they only know they are well-paid. Dorado Incorporated began to acquire media companies in the 1950s and choose executives who would be our unwitting allies.”

  “You mean useful idiots.”

  Bertrand flashed him another toothy grin. “Well put. Through them, we’ve created mass amounts of public cynicism all around the world. Earth has a growing population of people who are fat, lazy, cynical and only interested in free bread and circuses like Rome of old. In addition, we control the world’s largest network of organized crime. It adds to our bottom line and undermines the authority of every county on the planet.”

  Yeah, some corporation he’d never heard of had managed to do all this. “So what do you want me to do?”

  Bertrand folded his hands on his desk and pressed his lips into a thin line. “To take my place, just as I succeeded Mr. Dorado thirty years ago. The Rezellians have determined there’s a need for fresh blood in my office.”

  “Should I scream at the top of my lungs, ‘I’ll never join you’?”

  “If you did so sincerely, you would not be the man I thought you to be.”

  This guy expected a cynic who cared not to also be cynical regarding a free lunch offer from a megalomaniac, delusional mob boss heading up a crooked corporation he’d never heard of? Mitch renewed his smirk. “Here’s the problem, Mr. Bertrand. You put an ad out for a cynic, invite me here for a follow-up interview, and instead you spin me a conspiracy fable about aliens who are inside traders and running the media. Now you want me to agree to be the Chief Executive Officer of Cynicism with no proof.”

  Bertrand let go a loud laugh. “Quite right, Mr. Farrow.” He pressed a button on his desk. “Here is your proof.”

  A glowing red portal opened on Mitch’s right. From it emerged a seven or eight foot tall, radiant, rainbow-skinned creature with glowing eyes and huge hands that held a silver staff. The alien plodded toward Mitch.

  Mitch got out of his chair, “Okay, okay! I believe you.”

  Radiance held up his staff. It lit up, glowing in a luminous blue.

  What had he gotten himself into? Skin crawling, Mitch raised his hands over his head and backed away from the radiant creep toward the door.

  Radiance twirled the staff like it was a baton and he was leading a parade. A blue burst of energy slammed into Mitch’s body.