Powerhouse Flies Again

  Zolgron perked up. “No, it’s got a great cooling system in it that I adapted it from technology I encountered on Betra 7.”

  It did? Dave blinked.

  Derrick knocked on the rocket pack. “Wow, it’s huge.”

  Zolgron nodded. “We could go smaller on that. Dave’s design attracts fire in battle. I could adapt a rocket pack that would emit less heat and also be half the size.”

  Powerhouse grimaced. “The Powerhouse costume’s a classic. Why mess with it?”

  Naomi draped her arm on his shoulder. “Dear, it’s a family project now.”

  Guess this would make things go smoother. Powerhouse spread his hands.“Okay guys, we can change the rocket pack. Anything else?”

  Derrick raised his hand. “Could you take off your helmet when you’re talking to us and no one else is around?”

  Powerhouse removed the helmet. “Okay.”

  James closed his laptop and sat up. “D-dad, we should t-t-test your suit out.”

  “Yeah!” Derrick pumped his fist in the air. “Lets go where there’s not a lot of people so you can run, test weapons, and fly around. See how fast you can go.”

  Naomi grinned. “And see if he can blow things up? Sounds like a fun father-sons weekend to me.”

  That was a good idea. Powerhouse could make it harder to spend time with the boys. “If Zolgron will help me figure out a destination, we’ll go and test things out.”

  James’ lips spread into a tiny smile. “I’ll m-m-make you a w-website. You need a blog, and an easy w-way for p-people to e-mail you.”

  Dave smiled. “I didn’t know you did that sort of thing.”

  “You d-don’t stutter when writing online.”

  “Consider yourself commissioned, son. Just be careful not to use your real name to get things registered.”

  James snorted. “Dad, I’m not stupid.”

  “If there’s nothing else, I’m going to give everyone turns on the Powerhouse express.” Powerhouse slipped on his helmet and swooped Naomi into his arms.

  Naomi laughed. “Oh Dave.”

  Powerhouse imagined the visor open. “I’m in costume. It’s Powerhouse!”

  ###

  Powerhouse dashed toward the tank barreling at him. He grabbed it by its big gun, flung it around the Nevada dessert, and smashed it on the ground repeatedly.

  The immobile tank lay upside down, and it’s wheels slowed. It looked a lot like an oversized tortoise that had fallen on its back. Powerhouse grabbed the machine with both hands in the middle and tore it apart like it was Reynolds rap.

  Powerhouse super-imagined his armor contracting into a metal square on his chest. He stood in blue tights with the gold Powerhouse lightening bolt on the metal plate on his chest. His helmet remained and continued to blow cool air into his face. Powerhouse dashed across the desert.

  A low orbiting rectangular-shaped spaceship appeared and swooped after him. He spun and fled the other way as fast as he could run. The sand, hills, and cacti blended to a big blur. He was nowhere near as fast as the Flash, but he was surely breaking a world record ten times over. Good enough.

  His lungs started to burn. Powerhouse panted. He had to stop. He glanced back behind him at the ship overhead, right on his tail. Gotta keep running.

  Powerhouse sped up. He passed miles of desert. His legs ached. His throat matched his surroundings. He peered at his watch. I've been going half an hour. It was surely enough. He slowed and came to a gradual stop. He breathed in, out nice and slow.

  The space ship landed and Derrick and James got out.

  James eyes’ were wide. “That was so c-cool.”

  Derrick nodded. “Yeah, Dad. I timed it. For the first five minutes, you were going 1500 miles an hour. I could barely keep up in the spaceship. Then you slowed down to 800 miles an hour.”

  Powerhouse nodded. “I could practice so that I don’t slow down so much, but I don’t know how I’d use it practically. I have my jetpack.”

  Derrick shook his head. “Dad, your jet pack only goes 250 miles an hour. You’re way faster when running on the ground.”

  “Too many obstacles on the ground in the city. I’ll keep working on it.”

  Derrick waved back at the spaceship. “Come inside and rest.”

  “Right away, son.” Powerhouse yawned. Showing off for the kids was harder than actually fighting crime. Still, it was worth it to spend time with them.

  Powerhouse plodded into the ship and plopped in a plush captain’s chair on the bridge of the stealth spaceship.

  Derrick settled into the navigator’s chair beside him. “One more thing, Dad.”

  That was it. “One more thing, Derrick Johnson. Who am I?”

  “I mean Powerhouse. Zolgron said there was some information you needed to memorize and wanted to be sure you got it because he's in Tahiti.” Derrick reached into a bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “City of Seattle Map.”

  Powerhouse touched the map and his head was filled with a complete scale map of the city. “Very cool.”

  Derrick tossed him another map. “City of Seattle sewer map.”

  Powerhouse touched it. His mind filled with the layout of the Seattle sewer system. “Always handy to have.”

  Derrick reached into the satchel. “Greater Seattle area phone book.”

  Powerhouse touched it. His body jolted and numbers zipped through his head. It figured. That always happens with the bigger books. “That’s good.”

  Derrick reached in and pulled out half a dozen books. “And here are some martial arts books we got from the library.”

  “Super!” Powerhouse grabbed them. Karate instructions and illustrations wrote themselves onto his brain’s hard drive. He added Judo, Akido, and then Kung Fu. He grabbed the fifth book and pictures of delicious pastries filled his mind.

  Huh? Powerhouse gaped at the cover. “The Betty Crocker Dessert Cookbook.”

  “Oops.” Derrick flinched. “That must have been put back on the wrong shelf.”

  Powerhouse grabbed the last book and acquired knowledge of Tae Kwon Do.

  His head throbbed. Rubbing it, he moaned.

  “W-what’s wrong?” James asked.

  “Information overload. It’s like an ice cream headache, only worse and without getting to eat the yummy ice cream.” Powerhouse closed his eyes and imagined one of the confections in Betty Crocker’s book. A peach cobbler with ice cream, plates and a knife appeared on his lap. Powerhouse cut off a slice and lifted it toward his mouth. He waved at the kids and the cobbler. “Have some.”

  Derrick took a place, cut off a piece of the cobbler, and put it on his plate. He pressed a button on the spaceships control panel. “I’ll get us back to camp.”

  James snatched up the remaining plate and sliced himself a piece of the cobbler, too. “D-dad, you okay?”

  “Yes, son.”

  Derrick glanced at his older brother and slipped sound-proof earphones on.

  James sighed and swallowed. “D-d-dad, you’re not a d-dork. I’m s-sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven, son.” Powerhouse smiled. “From what I’ve heard, most sons your age think their dads are dorks.”

  “Heard? Didn’t you?”

  “My father died when I was four.”

  “Oh.” James blinked. “Y-you never mentioned it.”

  “Not a happy memory.” Powerhouse’s chest constricted.

  “Well, y-you’re cool.”

  That alone made the whole trip worth it. “Son, have another piece of cobbler.”

  Chapter 8: Powerhouse v. the Kidnappers

  Powerhouse landed on the window sill of Chief of Police Stone Bachman’s office at police headquarters and crept inside. “Hello, Chief.”

  The chief pulled his nine millimeter handgun from his shoulder holster and turned his head toward Powerhouse. “Oh, it’s you.” He put the gun away. “Didn’t I tell you not to come in that way?”

  Powerhouse smiled. “You also moved the bookshelf so it wouldn
’t be in my way and left the window open.”

  “I rearranged my office and leaving the window open is a green initiative.”

  “Yeah, I saw a few green bugs crawling around. I just came by to give you my card.” Powerhouse handed the card to Bachman.

  The chief held the card up to the light. “A number for the Powerhouse phone?”

  “Yes, initially only you and one other guy will have the number.”

  “Well, it beats that Powerhouse signal they used in Bryerton.” The chief locked his computer. “So, is it going to be the same deal as before? Just fighting crime and telling us where to pick up the criminals?”

  “I’m going to work to build churches and youth centers as I clean out the criminal element.”

  The chief grinned. “Now, that’s a good idea. It’s gonna be tough, but let me know if I can help.”

  “Will do chief. Now, I’m off to see a balding man. Powerhouse away!” He flew out the window, toward 3rd Street, and stopped outside a building that said, Seattle FBI Field Office. Powerhouse scanned the three story building from top to bottom until he found the office of Special Agent in Charge Polk.

  Polk was out, but there was a paper notepad on his desk. Powerhouse flew up to Polk’s window and focused on the piece of paper. He imagined a pen running lightly across the top of the piece of paper to reveal what was written on the piece that had been above. An address appeared of 3136 NE 140th Street #504. He checked that against the phonebook. That was the address of Dr. Ronald Carter and his wife, Jan.

  Ah ha. “ Now, I’m off to see Agent Polk. Powerhouse away.”

  Though he’d best not fly up to the window again. The FBI would probably not react well to the surprise and he wasn’t completely bulletproof. Powerhouse landed at an apartment building, dashed inside, and got in the elevator. He pressed the button for the fifth floor. A red-haired man in a spring weight green jacket jumped in to the elevator before the doors closed.

  The red-haired man stared up at Powerhouse. “Wow, that’s the second best Powerhouse costume I’ve ever seen.”

  Powerhouse grunted. Second best?

  The little man got off on the fourth floor. Powerhouse got off on the fifth floor, marched to Apartment 504, and rapped hard on the door.

  It creaked open and out peered a woman with short mousey brown hair and lines under her eyes. “Are you really Powerhouse?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  She wrapped her arms around him. “I can’t believe you came! You’re going to find him. I know you will.”

  Find who? Powerhouse raised his eyebrow. “I will?”

  “Of course you will, you’re Powerhouse.”

  A young man with a full head of blonde hair came forward. “Sir, please get out of the way. You’re interfering with a federal matter.”

  “Who are you?”

  The man removed a wallet and flashed his badge. “Donaldson, FBI.”

  Huh? Where was Polk? “That’s not possible.”

  “The badge is genuine.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not balding.”

  Donaldson’s eyes widened and he gaped.

  The woman grabbed Powerhouse’s elbow and pulled him into the apartment’s living room. Agent Polk sat on the couch with a man wearing a grey cardigan sweater.

  Agent Donaldson put up a hand. “Stop!”

  The woman smacked her lips and put her hand on her hip. “You FBI people are not God Almighty. I want my boy back and Powerhouse can help.”

  Powerhouse grimaced. A kidnapping case? Definitely a job for Powerhouse.

  Special Agent in Charge Polk jumped up, frowning. “What’s going on?”

  Donaldson glared at Powerhouse “He’s interfering with our investigation.”

  Powerhouse eyed Polk. His hair had retreated entirely off the top of his head leaving a thin layer of brown hair on either side of his bald skull. Polk’s trim athletic frame remained the same.

  Polk nodded at Powerhouse and turned to Donaldson. “A good agent uses every available resource. Powerhouse has provided cooperation to the bureau in the past. If Mrs. Carter wants him here, we’ll welcome him.”

  Mrs. Carter smiled up at Powerhouse. “Our boy is your biggest fan.”

  “I’ll do everything I can.” Powerhouse turned to Polk. “What happened?”

  “About eight o’clock this morning, Mrs. Carter stepped into the shower. About four minutes after that, she heard the boy scream, got out of the shower, and at 8:06, she found the boy gone with a note on the door for ransom. She slipped on her robe, looked down the hall, and walked all the way down the stairs and found no one. She contacted the FBI field office at 8:15 a.m. We’ve begun a citywide manhunt for the boy and coordinated with state and local officials. We are ready to trace any calls and we have the initial kidnap note promising a call at 2:30 and we’re having that analyzed.”

  Agent Donaldson snarled at Powerhouse. “What can you do that we can’t?”

  Powerhouse tapped his left ear. “I have superhearing. If you have a recording of his voice, I can listen for his voice and track it like a homing signal.”

  Agent Polk’s eyes smiled. “That could be helpful. Doctor Carter, do you have a recording of your son’s voice?”

  The man in the gray cardigan sweater nodded slowly. “Yes, on the computer.”

  He led Powerhouse and the two agents over to a blue laptop with the name Jeff sprawled on the case in white crayon.

  The doctor pressed a button on the lid and opened the videos folder and pressed play on a video.

  An eight-year-old boy with brown hair, green eyes, and pierced ears ran out from behind a tree. He beamed into the camera. “Happy Anniversary.”

  Mrs. Carter put her arm on Dr. Carter’s shoulder.

  Powerhouse memorized the sound. “I’m going to hone in on his voice signal. I won’t be able to hear you or anything else.”

  Dr. Carter pulled a notepad out of his pocket and handed it to Polk. “Write down whatever you need to say and he can read it.”

  “Thank you.” Polk took the pad and wrote down a phone number. “Powerhouse, here’s my cell phone. Notify me when you’ve found him.”

  Powerhouse opened his ears and a world of sound came at him. Dripping faucets, ringing phones, thousands of discordant pieces of music slammed him to the ground. He covered his ears and screamed. Now I remember why I don’t like this power.

  Okay, he simply had to focus on just the male children.

  That made a slight dent in the overwhelming amount of sounds. “Okay, folks, I’m going to focus on your son now.”

  The sound stopped altogether.

  Drat. Powerhouse growled. “He’s not talking.”

  Agent Donaldson smirked.

  Agent Polk wrote on the paper and his lips moved while looking at Mrs. Carter. Polk held up his note. The kidnapper will call in five minutes. Mrs. Carter will insist on speaking to the boy.

  Powerhouse nodded. “Right, I’ll fly outside and wait for it, so I can get wherever the kidnappers are.” He handed Polk his business card. “Text me if anything changes.”

  Polk nodded and flashed him a grin. Powerhouse opened the window and flew thirty feet up on his jet pack.

  Eight minutes later, the boy’s voice came. “Mom, I’m scared.”

  Powerhouse flew to the sound of the voice.

  The boy cried, “No, don’t. You jerk!”

  Powerhouse focused in on the wall as he used his x-ray vision to look through it. A man in a black suit slapped a piece of duct tape back over the boy’s mouth and carried him to the bedroom. His partner waited out front. Powerhouse x-rayed them.

  Powerhouse pulled out his cell phone and restored his ears to normal. He dialed the number for Agent Polk.

  “Just a second,” whispered Agent Polk. A door closed. “Go ahead.”

  “I found them,” said Powerhouse.

  “Where are they?”

  “In apartment 516.”

  “What?”

  “They’
re on the same floor as you. Get down to 516 and get ready to make a bust. Text me when you’re at the door.”

  “Powerhouse, we have ways of handling this.”

  “Ways that are dangerous for the kid. These guys don’t have guns and they put the boy by the window. I can have this over in minutes if you’ll cooperate.”

  Silence. “Okay, Powerhouse, we’ll play this one your way.”

  Powerhouse waited three minutes. A text came through:

  “At door.”

  Powerhouse texted back. “Now!”

  He flew over by the window and super-imagined the thug who was watching the boy tied up and gagged and that the window was gone. He grabbed the boy.

  The boy’s eyes grew wide. “Powerhouse is that you?”

  “Yes, let’s get you out of here son.” He flew the boy out the kidnappers’ window and into the window of his parents’ apartment.

  The mother ran over. “Jeff!”

  Powerhouse smiled. “You’ll be okay, son. I’ll give you a longer ride later.”

  He flew back to the apartment and in the window.

  The kidnapper in the black suit ran in. “Barney, it’s the FBI.” He gasped. “Powerhouse. I thought you were retired.”

  “Justice never retires. It only takes long vacations. You will either surrender or face my martial arts skills.”

  “Martial arts?”

  Powerhouse closed his eyes. What had those books said? “Take two eggs.”

  Two eggs appeared and hit the criminal in the face.

  “Flour.”

  White powder poured out of the sky and knocked the criminal to the ground.

  “Add diced ham and shredded cheese.”

  A pound of each fell on the criminals.

  Polk and Donaldson ran in, guns drawn.

  The criminal jumped and raised his hands. “I surrender; get me out of here before he turns me into an omelet.”

  Agent Donaldson smirked. “You sure deliver them quickly, but a little messy, don’t you think?”

  Powerhouse imagined the miscreant clean.

  Agent Polk said, “Go process him, Donaldson. I’ll be down later with his friend.”

  Donaldson nodded, cuffed the criminal, and took him away.

  Polk said, “For my report, what was that egg-throwing all about?”

  “I memorized several martial arts books and a cookbook at the same time, so I accidentally called up the cookbook. I’ll forget it.”

  Polk nodded. “You might as well forget the martial arts books, too. You can’t learn martial arts by memorizing a book. Martial arts are about muscle memory.”