Tales of Capes and Cowls, page 27
He was still climbing to his feet, only a little unsteady. His low chuckle was the sweetest sound I’d heard all day. “Boy, you’ve got the wrong end of this. Foxxy makes her own decisions. She doesn’t need a man to tell her who she can and can’t see. Not even me.”
“Foxxy who?” I answered, fists raised to shoulder level.
“So, it’s not about the girl, huh?” he asked, all casual, brushing brick dust off his clothes from the wall he’d just broken through and the wall behind him he’d cracked and dented. He raised his hands, one open, the other in a fist. It looked martial artsy to me. Nothing mattered except the way he returned my grin. “Doesn’t matter. Solid Gold never backs down from a challenge.”
Just the answer I’d been hoping for.
I swung again, and all I got for it were three punches to the gut. Made of metal he might be, but Solid was fast. He ducked right under my arm. The punches hurt, too, hard enough to stagger me back and leave the places he’d hit me aching.
It was glorious.
Lunging forward, I threw a jab, since he was much too fast for a roundhouse. He raised his arms to block and got knocked backwards. He was heavier than me, and strong, but not nearly strong enough. I followed up with a real punch to his stomach, sharp and hard.
I didn’t hit. Staggered he might be, but he still twisted away at the last minute, bracing his shoulder under me and flipping me into the air. I hit the pavement on my back, feet raised to kick, but he stayed out of reach. He held back right until I actually got my legs underneath me, and as I pushed up, he stepped in. Foxxy’s boyfriend hit as fast as he dodged, and a golden fist plowed into my cheekbone. It was me that went flying this time, a good twenty feet to the edge of the main street.
A man who could move like that was too dangerous to trust with even this much distance. I rolled up to my hooves fast. “Not bad. I might have a black eye tomorrow morning.”
I bounced, loosening up as I watched him, wary in case he moved before I did. He was back to that one open hand pose he’d started in. Ah, but while he might look all business, his tone was just as jovial as mine. “Kid, you are way too strong, but you’ve still got to learn how to fight.”
Laughing, I lowered my head and charged. He tore a brick off the wall and threw it right into my face. It stung but didn’t slow me down. My fist led, and he ducked beneath it to the side, but I wasn’t half as foolish as I looked. My other arm swept out in an arc so wide he didn’t have room to dodge. Latching a grip around his waist, I swung around and tried that fine trick I’d learned just this afternoon. I threw him. Only this time, not over the buildings, but straight up into the air. All that waited for him on the way down was my cocked fist.
I about had the daylights scared out of me when gentle hands closed over mine. Gentle, but strong enough to push my arm down.
Gaping, I looked to the side. A nun—an actual nun—pressed my fist down, and while I didn’t fight, she had the kind of strength where I’d have had to.
While I gawked like a lummox, she leaped into the air, habit flapping, and caught Solid Gold. They didn’t exactly flutter back to the ground, but she slowed him down enough that they both landed safely on their feet.
I gawked some more. A nun with super strength. Black dress, ankle length skirt, wimple draped over her hair and everything. She glowed, white light making hazy fog-like wings behind her. A halo floated above and behind the wimple, not a ring but a disc covered in tracery and symbols, like an illustration straight from a church.
She was pretty, actually. Not dainty, not strong, like Foxxy. Well, much stronger physically than Foxxy, but she didn’t look it. Brown braids had been dislodged from her hat in the air, and the first thing she did when she let go of Solid was tuck them modestly back into hiding.
My heart skipped at least three beats and left me with entirely inappropriate intentions for a nun. Inappropriate, perhaps, but my blood burned with eagerness as I offered them. “I don’t normally hit women, but I don’t meet enough folks in my weight class to be choosy. Shall we have ourselves a rip roaring good versus evil dust-up, t’en?”
“Why?” she asked.
The question floored me. There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or taunting in the word. She folded her hands in front of me, and the glow around her faded. It left merely brown, concerned eyes, the kind far too few nuns actually had.
The question floored me so hard, I’d been standing there with my mouth open for several seconds. I fought to get it back together. “To make me mend my ways, and stop beating up poor, defenseless fellows like t’is one, and rampaging about the place.”
Solid Gold folded his arms, the stare he leveled upon me containing all the sarcasm I’d expected from the nun, and a good dollop of his own besides. She tilted her head, almost a bow. “If I can’t convince you to give up violence and crime with words, what good would beating you up do?”
“Not a lot. Look at us, Sister. What are we supposed to do with power like ours except fight?”
Solid adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. It looked as gold as his body, moved like fabric, and hadn’t gotten damaged. When he spoke, his sarcasm had elevated to the driest of wit. “Well, personally, I’m an accountant.”
I stomped one hoof. “Now you’re putting me on!”
“Accountant. I know how to fight, but I don’t let it define me. I fell in love with a thief, but I prefer to take people’s money the legal way.”
“With a name like Solid Gold?” I demanded, not having it.
He shrugged, his smile never wavering. “Foxxy calls me that, and whatever Foxxy wants, Foxxy gets.”
“Unless Foxxy wants the so-called love of her life not to scrap in back alleys like a twelve-year-old,” interrupted the vixen herself, picking her way through the broken wall, careful to avoid the streaming water. As always, she made walking across a pile of rubble look like ballroom dancing.
Or at least a tango. Was a tango ballroom dancing?
“A real man respects his woman’s pride, but he’s got to take care of his own,” Solid answered smoothly.
She kept glaring, unconvinced.
Soft hands turned my face back to the nun. “You’re wasting your life and your talents like this, Bull. Your strength would be better used rescuing people trapped in fires, or helping build bridges, or just carrying the luggage for your wife and children on vacation.”
Her touch was so soft, and the brown of her eyes wasn’t dull, but gleamed like metal, or like she was filled with light. Everything about her was soft. All that power, and not a hint of tension, or anger, or anything worse than compassion.
The fires of battle died. I asked helplessly, “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
Her little hands took mine. Their grip was still just as gentle and just as strong, and her smile just as kind. “My name is Sister Marianne Tinsley. You robbed a train yard today, Bull. Once word was out, it wasn’t hard to know who the giant horned animal man was, or that he’d show up soon enough at the supervillains’ chosen tavern.”
Foxxy slapped her hand over her eyes, then dragged it out over her nose. Her fur looked just as sleek afterwards. Could a woman have superhumanly great hair? “If you know about this place, then the police know. We’ll have to find a new spot before they get the courage up to launch a raid.”
Sister Tinsley squeezed my hands, bringing my attention back to her. She stood very close, head tilted back, brown eyes looking right into mine. “You really don’t have to be a villain, Bull.”
Carefully, as carefully as if she didn’t have any powers and was as fragile as she looked, I untangled her hands from mine. “I’m afraid you’re barking up t’e wrong tree, Sister.”
She didn’t fight, and she didn’t argue. She took a step back, and said, “If you’re going to stay here in LA, we’ll meet again. Remember that it will never be too late.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t planning to stay. She and Foxxy together were enough to at least tempt a man to stay, but two friends weren’t an anchor, or a home.
Solid Gold stepped up beside me, and she raised her hand to slap palms with him. On her it looked out of place, but not as out of place as him talking solemnly with a nun. “He’ll do what’s right for him, Sister. Big fan, by the way.”
A bit of playfulness finally crept into her smile. “I do more good taking care of orphans than acting as missionary to the supervillains, but this is what’s right for me.”
The white light returned, lifting her up into the air. She paused only long enough to touch her fingertips to my forehead before drifting off into the yellow sky.
I took a deep, slow breath, in and then out, as I watched her disappear.
A gold elbow nudged me in the ribs. “You’re a good man, Bull, but she’s taken.”
Foxxy hooked her hand around Solid Gold’s bicep. “He’s a good kid, anyway. He did pay for the broken wall.” She said it as proudly, chin lifted high, as if she was bragging about her little brother.
Solid’s eyebrows tilted up at an angle. “And not a dime left?”
My feelings of awkwardness somehow found another level to leap up to. I looked down at the alley floor, its pavement ripped up, bricks scattered about, a trash can crushed under a section of wall, and broken pipes sticking out of the pile. Just reminders that I’d gotten a bit carried away.
A golden hand clapped me on the shoulder, hard. “We’ve got a couch. You’re welcome to it.”
Foxxy abandoned us both, stepping over the rubble Solid and I had left lying around, and out into the street. “That’s fine with me. It’ll be nice and quiet, after all.”
Pouting, Solid Gold hurried after her. “Awww, come on, baby…”
And that, for me, was July 22nd, 1969, my first day as a supervillain in Los Angeles.
Wednesday
Holding a bicycle railing out of the way, I extended my arm to let Foxxy pass first into the lush green campus grounds.
She caught me staring, and not at her. “What?”
“I didn’t expect so many trees, not in downtown L.A.”
Golden yellow eyes looked up at me, bemused. She pointed off at an angle. “Downtown is that direction, Bull. We were there yesterday.”
When I didn’t know what to say, her smile widened, and she pinched me on the shoulder. “I know what you mean. It’s a nice place, isn’t it? Shame to mess up the lawn.”
Furniture stampeded past us, ripping up the turf. My hooves left divots as well. “It’s nice to see trees that aren’t palms for once.”
“There’ll be a few less when we leave. See the students ducking into those buildings? An army of living furniture will be on the police bands and radio soon. You’ll get the superhero action you want today.”
It was my turn to grin. Straightening up, I rubbed my hands together and looked around. No traffic on the street behind us, or anyone lurking around the shabby houses across from the university. None of the fleeing students stopped to size us up from a safe distance, like a hero preparing to fight. Even campus security had decided to stay away from three supervillains and an army of living furniture. An old bronze statue of a man, corroded black, seemed in no hurry to do anything heroic. Still, we’d just gotten here. Even a superpowered student wouldn’t have had time to respond, right? We were getting lots of attention, which meant… “Do you t’ink Evolution might show up?”
“We don’t want Evolution to show up!” rasped Carbuncle.
Black, clawed fingers snapped in front of my face. “Foxxy wants a new topic.”
“And whatever Foxxy wants, Foxxy gets?” I guessed.
She chuckled, and her hips swayed extra-wide, tail swinging in exaggerated approval. “You’re learning. Let me get you started. What are you planning on spending your money on?”
I pouted, sticking my hands in my pockets. “I’m t’inking ‘a train ticket nort’ isn’t an acceptable answer?”
“Not on your life, Mister. I love having a man who can pick up a train at my beck and call. You’re going to make my criminal career so much easier.”
My face heated up, and my heart lifted. I wasn’t embarrassed. It just felt good to be appreciated. “T’e company is nice. It’s all stone-cold tough guys back home, which was fun until it got to where t’ey couldn’t even make a fight of it. What’s a man supposed to do when a fellow who don’t even have super strength starts t’rowing punches at him?”
Foxxy’s hand slid along the muscles of my forearm. “You’re awfully gentle for a guy who likes to pick fights.”
“No point if it’s not a real fight, is it?”
Carbuncle interrupted again. “Men only fight to prove they’re strong when they’re afraid they’re weak.”
Now I did blush, and my shoulders tensed up and lifted… until I realized he was complimenting me, not making fun of me. Carbuncle got it. Some guys pick fights because they just have to show you they’re tough. I just wanted to have fun.
I wasn’t good at taking compliments, and especially not from the killer half-man, half-car, half-rabbit. Trying to steer things back a bit, I asked Foxxy, “Well, what are you doing wit’ your money?”
“This little nest egg gets put aside. Foxxy bets the Beatles will do at least one more concert, but it could be anywhere in the world, and ticket prices will be sky high.”
Raising my hand, I waved it at what I was pretty sure was north. “Isn’t t’ere a big show in Woodstock next week? Why not go to that?”
“Don’t get me wrong, big boy. The hippies are sweet. They just aren’t my scene.”
Crashes and screams started in the building ahead of us. Doctor Righteous’ living furniture jumped in through windows, and some were already jumping out carrying metal chairs and desks.
Break time was over. It was time to get to work.
Carbuncle shook his head, and his body squeaked and clattered as his forearms unfolded and rearranged, sliding out different extensions one at a time. I recognized the chainsaw, and a couple looked like guns. His voice sounded like a grinding motor. “This job is a freak show. Our employer is a freak show. The money is too good to pass up, but I’m not telling anyone I helped furniture kidnap furniture.”
Foxxy threw her head back and laughed, an entirely pleasant posture to watch. “Ha! He’s in the winner’s bracket, but I’ve worked with weirder. There was this high school girl I met, once. She had weapons made of candy and kept talking to an invisible rabbit. Not only that, she was dangerous. It took some heavy hitting to put her down, and then I never heard of her again.” She shrugged, her smile fading into a grimace. “Maybe somebody got rough. It’s part of the job.”
We reached the greenhouse Doctor Righteous directed us to. I pulled off the door and stood aside like a gentleman for Foxxy. “We can set a good example, at least.”
Sticking her orange-furred head inside, Foxxy announced, “Hey, she’s here! You must be Ursula? I just love a target who’s prompt and reliable.”
A figure in a coat, blurry through the white-stained glass, raised her arm. A woman’s voice yelled, “Back off. I’ve got a trowel, and I know how to use it!”
Foxxy slunk in, raising her hands, palms forward. “Honey, there’s no need to fuss. Our boss is crazy, but he’s not a killer. He just wants us to bring you in for a little chat. Tell him he has pretty eyes, you’ll be out again in twenty minutes, and he’ll have forgotten you by tomorrow.”
I was next, ducking under the low beam. Sweet heaven, this greenhouse smelled nice. I’d started to forget just how bad the air smelled outside. Something in here tickled my nose with hints of hay fever I’d never known before, but it still smelled good.
White salt crusted the windows, reducing the outside world to a blur, and inside, on tables and racks, sat planter after planter of grass and little flowers. A couple of saplings sat in big pots in the corners, but mostly the building was full of little spiky and fuzzy plants, like anybody’s overgrown lawn. I’d expected something a lot more… sciency.
The botanist matched her creations. Sharp-featured, she had blonde hair with hints of red, curled into loops like a helmet. A red bandana ruined the care she’d put into her hair, and a long, shabby overcoat and yellow rubber gloves must have been sweltering in the summer heat, but she didn’t look uncomfortable. Well, it was for sure she didn’t look uncomfortably hot. She stood with a rigid propriety that made my spine ache, even while she held up a trowel in both hands, aimed at Foxxy.
Foxxy took another couple of slow steps forward, hands still raised. “Put the gardening tool down, professor. We haven’t hurt anyone in this job so far, and Foxxy wants it to stay that way.”
The trowel lowered, but not completely. Now she held it flat at waist level, on guard rather than extended to strike. “All your employer desires is parley?”
Foxxy gave Ursula her playful smirk, hips and head tilting to the side. “His idea of evil is to hire supervillains to steal furniture. Foxxy doesn’t do torture and assassinations. If he gets too rough, I’ll make Bull sit on him.”
The curly-haired blonde sighed heavily, and the trowel at last fell to her side, held limp in one hand. She pulled a pair of little rectangular spectacles out of a coat pocket and slid them primly and exactly onto her nose. “Trusting a fox is famously unwise, but I suppose right now this is merely a very rude dinner invitation.”
“That’s the stuff, professor. Bull, pick up her plants, I’ll—”
Those words set the botanist off. She vaulted over a low table, coat flapping, and pointed her little spade at my face. “I will not allow you to contaminate this biome with Alianthus altissima! Do you even know what the Ambrosia genus is doing out east?!”
Metal plates poked into my ribs as Carbuncle shoved past me. He reached for Ursula, growling, “This job gets stupider by the minute. You’re coming with us, right now!”
“Bull, don’t let him hurt—” Foxxy started to order, but she didn’t get to finish.
