Origins of a D-List Supervillain by Jim Bernheimer Page B

hands.”
    “If that’s what you want,” I said, realizing this wasn’t going to go anywhere. Just when I was starting to give Bobby some credit for not being such a yokel, he goes and asks me for a pair of over engineered baseball bats.
    Sighing, I knew Maxine’s vibrator would have been more of a challenge.
     
     
     

Chapter Six
    My Mouth Tends to Get Me in Trouble
     
     
    Life, such as it was, progressed; just not at the speed I would have liked. Maxine turned out to be very protective of her employment of me. When I asked her to drop my name to any of her friends, colleagues, or what have you, she actually concentrated so that she could reply slowly.
    “You work for me, Cal. You only work for me. If I catch you working for anyone other than me, not only will I terminate our retainer arrangement, but I’ll terminate more than that. You can barely keep up with my needs and outfit this shithole at the same time, but you think I’ll be your little brokering agent. Think again.”
    “That’s not it!” I protested—even though it was.
    “Sure, it isn’t,” came her mocking reply, laced with rapid-fire laughter. “Besides, in lieu of this month’s payment, there’re three spools of synthmuscle in the storage locker.”
    “Really?” I asked, not bothering to hide my greedy look. It was enough to do the entire lower torso and more than my usual retainer would cover. “Where’d you get it?”
    “I was raiding one of Patterson’s warehouses and it was just lying there looking for an owner. I could’ve probably given it to my Aunt’s people, but they make their own, even if it isn’t as good as Promethia’s. I figured, given your history, you’d appreciate it more.”
    “Synthmuscle, and you stole it from Lazarus Patterson? I could kiss you right now.”
    She scrunched her nose and said, “No, thanks, I’ll pass. A quick peck for you is a tedious experience for me. Now if you were a really hot chick, I’d consider it. Speaking of which, if I move now, I’ll be on the beaches of Florida in forty-five minutes, where I can round up tonight’s entertainment. See you around, Snailman.”
    I understood. We both dug hot chicks. Unlike me, she could actually get them, even if it required kidnapping. The best I could manage was a date from the occasional skank at Floozies. Technically, I was living with one, which meant I paid half her rent in exchange for Sparkle collecting my mail and helping me fool Leonard, which really wasn’t that hard. Sparkle, real name Leslie, and I had slept with each other twice. The first was a drunken mistake and the second was done sober to make certain it was a bad idea.
    New Coke and the Hindenburg were better ideas than that train wreck.
    Walking to my cluttered workshop area, I looked at the five tables and the mess on them vanished, in my mind. On each, I could see a major section of my soon-to-be-built masterwork. It would be a combination of black and gunmetal gray. The arms would end in my force blasters. I had a workable design for an armored jetpack, which would be housed on the unit’s back. Synthmuscle, the only thing that prick Patterson ever came up with on his own, would fill the chassis and allow me to lift up to three tons when standing on the ground. The jetpack’s thrust would limit me to about a half a ton extra in flight. Sure, it wasn’t quite in Bobby’s league, but I could fly circles around him and zap him with my blasters without him ever laying a mitt on me.
    It’s all coming together! I thought, while wringing my hands and sparing a glance at the printed sheets duct taped to the cave wall. I’d printed out Ultraweapon’s schematics and upgraded them with my own ideas. It wouldn’t be anywhere nearly as elegant and streamlined as the one I saw him in, posing for pictures with the Olympians on the cover of an old issue of Superhero Weekly. The title, Olympians and Ultraweapon Thwart Rigellian Menace, mocked me.
    If Patterson was any closer