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The World's Greatest Superheroes.....
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| JLI: The Return of BWA-HAH-HA! #4 - September, Year 1 | by Bertram Gibbs |
Martian Manhunter |
Blue Beetle |
Booster Gold |
Plastic Man |
Dick Grayson stood in front of the massive structure known as S.T.A.R.
Labs. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
“Hamilton, here,” the professor said.
“Professor Hamilton?” Grayson said. “This is Nightwing from the Titans. Good morning.”
“Yes, Nightwing,” said the professor. “What may I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you had a few minutes to spare? Super . . . “
“Yes,” cut in Hamilton. “This is regarding the message I left Superman, correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“My lab seems quite popular this morning,” he said. “I just had a visit from three . . . four . . . three members of the JLA about twenty minutes ago. How soon can you be here?”
“Ten minutes okay?” Grayson asked.
“Ten minutes is fine,” the professor replied.
That time later, Grayson, after temporarily disabling the security camera in a stairwell and donning his Nightwing uniform, was escorted into Hamilton’s office.
“Have a seat, . . . “ the professor stopped, his brows furrowing. “Do I call you ‘Mr. Wing’? ‘Night’?”
“Nightwing is fine, professor,” he returned with a grin.
“As you wish,” the professor said. “Please. Come into my lab. I’ll let you hear the voicemail message I received.”
Nightwing stood up and followed Hamilton. He was close enough to nearly collide with him when he suddenly stopped short. The professor turned and stared hard at him.
“You will promise not to touch anything?” he asked, his eyes concerned.
Nightwing frowned. “Sure thing, professor,” he said. “Anything you say.”
Hamilton regarded Nightwing, leaning forward to peer into his eyes (which was somewhat ridiculous, since he had his opaque eye shields up). He nodded once and continued forward into the lab.
The first thing Nightwing noticed was several technicians scooping up silver powder from a waist-high mountain of powder into a large bin. He turned to Hamilton, who was frowning.
“Let me guess,” said Nightwing. “One of them touched something?”
“An understatement,” muttered the professor. He walked over to his telephone and replayed the message for the hero.
Thinking quietly to himself for a few seconds, Nightwing asked, “Untraceable?”
Hamilton nodded.
“And no other information as to what Luthor might be interested in?”
“None at all,” Hamilton replied with a concerned look on his face. “Mr. Gold’s robot, Skats . . .“
“Skeets,” Nightwing corrected.
He nodded. “Skeets downloaded this week’s schedule from my mainframe for their investigation.”
Nightwing felt his stomach turn. “Did they explain why?”
“They said they were going to compare my information with what they could find on the LexCorp computers.”
Nightwing’s stomach dipped further south. “Did they say how they might access the LexCorp computers, by any chance?”
Hamilton shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I wish I had more information for you.”
“That’s fine, professor,” Nightwing replied. “Did they happen to say where they were going?”
“Sorry,” the professor repeated, shaking his head.
“Thank you for your time, professor,” he said shaking his hand. As he turned, he glanced over to a few of the technicians who were cleaning up the powder, while a few others made notes on clipboards. “Professor? Who is that gentleman over there? The one with the facial bruises?”
“Hmm? Oh, that’s Kingston,” the professor replied. “Said he had an accident. Falling down his stairs, he said.”
Nightwing’s eyebrow rose. “Really?”
Hamilton nodded. “As a matter of fact, Rubber Man . . . “
“Plastic Man,” Nightwing corrected.
“Yes, well he took an interest in Kingston’s injuries as well.”
“Did he now?” muttered Grayson. “All right to ask him a few questions?”
“Be my guest,” Hamilton said with a wave, his mind already focusing on a future task. “He knows as much about this whole thing as I do.”
Nightwing walked softly over to where Kingston stood. It wasn’t until he was almost on top of him, did the professor look up. The pencil he held in his hand slipped out and dropped to the tile floor. Nightwing, without missing a stride, caught it and handed it back to Kingston.
“Nightwing, Professor Kingston,” he said. “Who roughed you up?”
Kingston’s eyes wavered slightly. “Who roughed . . . why are you people so interested in a stupid household accident?”
“’Household accident’?”
“Yes,” Kingston sneered. “I stepped on a loose section of carpet on my stairs and fell. I told that plastic person the same thing!”
“You did?” Nightwing said, a small proud smile sliding on his face.
“Yes, I did!” said Kingston. “I fell down the stairs. I fell down the stairs. I fell down the stairs! How many times do you want me to say it? Why don’t you believe me?”
Nightwing grasped Kingston by the wrist and brought him closer to him. No matter what he did, no matter which way he turned his arm, Kingston could not pry himself loose from the young man’s grasp. When he stopped struggling, Nightwing brought his face close to him.
“You want to know why we don’t believe you, Professor Kingston?” he said in a low soft tone. “I’ll give you two reasons; one, if you sustained these injuries falling face first down a carpeted stairway, where are the carpet burns on your face? As deep as these bruises are, you would have had to have received carpet burns. Two, the bruise on your cheek has a definite resemblance to the heel of a woman’s shoe.” Nightwing moved his face closer to the professor’s. “Other than that, your story’s perfect. By the way, how’s Luthor doing these days?”
Kingston’s mouth opened, then he pressed his lips tightly together. “Luthor?” he asked. “Lex Luthor? What does he have to do with me?”
“Good question,” Nightwing replied. “Wanna tell me?”
Kingston’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re asking me, so I don’t know how to answer you,” he said quietly. “May I go now?”
Nightwing released the professor’s hand and watched him walk away. He turned on his heel and walked over to where Hamilton was staring into a microscope.
“Professor, I need you to do me a favor,” he said.
“Anything,” he said.
“Keep your eye on Kingston.”
“Do you . . .?” Hamilton began. Nightwing held up his hand, stopping him.
“I want to do a little checking before I commit to anything,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
He turned, took one last look at Kingston, who was staring right back, and walked out the door.
“Babs?” said Grayson into his collar speakerphone.
“Well, well,” said Barbara Gordon, aka Oracle, the JLA’s key source of any and all information. “Calling to pick up the boss’ messages?”
Grayson winced. “Low blow, sweetheart,” he said in a wounded tone. “You mad at me or something?”
“Now Dick, why should I be mad?” Barbara said in a sweet voice. “You stood me up for dinner twice, and haven’t called in three weeks, so why should I be mad?”
“You suddenly forget what I do?” he asked.
“Dick,” she began. “I’m not angry with you for standing me up for the cause. I’m hurt because you haven’t called. Not even an email, letting me know you’re all right. You seem to forget how much I worry about my favorite person.”
“You’re right as usual, Babs,” Grayson replied. “And I’m sorry; I really am. But I’ll make it up to you right after I’m finished here, and that should be this Friday morning. How’s about we go to dinner and a flick on Friday night?”
“My dance card is open for that evening.” Barbara scanned the transmission’s readout. “Your transmission is coming from the roof of S.T.A.R. Labs in beautiful downtown Metropolis. Planning on giving Our Boy in Blue a little competition?”
“Hardly,” Grayson sniffed. “I would be local, except you-know-who asked me to baby-sit.”
“Baby-sit who?” she asked.
“The Blue Beetle. Booster Gold. Plastic Man.”
There was silence on the line for several seconds. “Babs?” Grayson said. “You there? I can’t . . . “
“Odd,” she said.
“Odd?” he repeated. “What’s odd?”
“Well, I just pulled a visual of Metropolis from an orbiting satellite and I don’t see buildings burning, flooded streets, or people running in terror. And it looks like there’s no visible damage.”
“They’ve only been here since 7:30 this morning.”
“Then there’s still time to evacuate.”
“Need you to look up someone for me,” he said.
“It’ll cost you, lover,” she said.
“Will it be something I’ll be able to pay?”
“Might have to put you on a weekly payment plan,” she replied.
“How many years?”
“I’ll get back to you on that,” she returned. “Name?”
“Kingston. Henry Kingston. One of the brains at S-Labs.”
“The whole enchilada?” she asked.
“See if the skeletons in his closet has skeletons,” he answered.
“Get back to you in a bit, Dick.”
“Thanks, Babs,” he said grinning. Grayson glanced at his watch. Almost lunchtime. He groaned inwardly. With all the restaurants in Metropolis, those bozos could be anywhere. These were the times he wished he had a super-power.
Mercy and Hope sat at their desks, which flanked the large double doors that lead to Lex Luthor’s office. Mercy stood and smoothed down her black mini-skirt and matching blazer, and walked to Hope’s side of the outer office, holding an open magazine in her hand. She dropped it in front of the woman, who was scanning information on her computer.
“Check it out, girlfriend,” she said in a Lauren Bacall purr.
Hope’s eyes lowered to the magazine and then widened. She shivered slightly, and a dreamy smile covered her luscious face.
“Hmmm,” she muttered approvingly. “Twenty-shot clip. Accurate range, one hundred-twenty feet. Can be converted from .22 to .44 magnum.”
“And it’s not only made out of a ceramic compound, but eye that last line.”
Hope’s moist lips made a small ‘oh’. “And you can order the rounds to be made out of the same compound?”
“Meaning, no metal detector will pick them up!” Mercy said with a smile.
“You putting this sweet thing on our wish list to Mr. L?” Hope asked, her green eyes glittering in the light.
“You know it!”
The elevator at the far end of the long hallway pinged. Both Mercy’s and Hope’s eyes went flat as the doors opened. Two men came out of the car, one dressed completely in a blue jumpsuit and matching mask, the other in a black and gold jumpsuit, but with gold goggles.
“More spandex,” hissed Hope. “Shall I ring Mr. L?” she asked.
Mercy shook her head. “Let’s see what the boys want first.”
From the end of the hallway, Beetle and Booster Gold spotted the two beautiful women. Both of their jaws dropped and their eyes widened.
“Oh, mama!” they whispered in unison.
“I think I’m in love!” whispered Beetle.
“With which one?” asked Gold.
“Does it matter?”
“Not in the slightest,” replied Booster. “Which one do you want?”
“The brunette,” Beetle returned. “Problem?”
“Not at all,” grinned Booster. “Let me do the talking.”
Booster placed the large red overnight bag on the floor next to his feet and crossed his arms across his chest, flexing a pec. Beetle began to copy Gold’s stance, then felt suddenly stupid, and placed his fists on his hips and felt worse. He ended up clasping both hands behind his back, remembering to tighten his stomach muscles. They stood in front of the two women, smiling. Neither woman smiled back.
“Hello, ladies,” Booster greeted in a friendly tone.
Neither answered.
“I’m Booster Gold. My partner is the Blue Beetle.”
“Is that She-loves-you-yeah-yeah-yeah-Beatle, or bug-Beetle?” asked Hope.
Beetle cleared his throat. “Uh, bug,” he said quietly.
“As I was saying,” continued Booster, “We’re with the Justice League and we would like to . . . “
While he was speaking, Mercy leaned forward and began to type something into the computer, allowing both men a clear view of her ample cleavage.
“No,” she interrupted in a flat voice.
Booster blinked. “Uh, no what?”
“You’re not with the JLA,” she said, her deep green eyes locked with his.
“Excuse me?” Beetle asked.
Her eyes dipped down then returned, now locking on Beetle’s. “Let me amend that,” she said. “You are not with the core group of . . . heroes. You are on their alternate list.”
“You boys are on the bench,” Hope added.
“Well, regardless,” said Gold. “We’d like a few minutes with Mr. Luthor.”
“Why?” asked Hope, her gorgeous face void of any emotion.
“Well, we haven’t been in Metropolis since its renovation, and wanted to pay our respects,” replied Booster.
“Why?” Hope repeated.
Booster slapped a warm grin on his face. “Either of you ladies doing anything tonight?” he asked.
Mercy moved around the desk and stood directly in front of Gold. Hope had also stood and moved in front of Beetle.
“What do you have in mind?” Mercy asked.
“Well, we intended to ask Mr. Luthor to recommend a few of the hot spots in town, but maybe you’d like to give us a small, but meaningful tour?”
Mercy looked Booster up and down, her eyes slowly scanning every inch of his uniformed physique. Mercy did the same with Beetle, who tightened his stomach muscles even more. Simultaneously, both men thought the temperature in the room had increased by fifty percent.
At that moment, the double doors opened and Luthor, in rolled shirtsleeves, came out and eyed his bodyguards and the men the stood in front of.
“Mercy? Hope?” he said, one eyebrow raised. “Care to tell me what is going on?”
“Mr. Luthor!” exclaimed Booster. “I’m Booster Gold and this is the Blue Beetle. As I was explaining to your secretaries, we were in the neighborhood and decided to drop by.” Gold’s eyes glanced at Mercy’s. The look in her eyes decreased the room’s temperature by eighty percent. He stole a glance at the woman in front of Ted. Her eyes also radiated the same degree of coldness.
Luthor grinned, coming around to stand off to one side. “It would be in your best interest not to refer to Mercy and Hope as my ‘secretaries’. The last person who did that was in traction for a month.”
Both men glanced at the women, then to each other, and back to Luthor.
“Really?” asked Beetle.
Hope and Mercy moved their faces close to Beetle and Booster’s.
“Really,” they chimed in flat dangerous chorus.
Luthor was still grinning. “Of course!” he said. “It would be rude not to take a few minutes for such notable heroes. I have a few minutes. Please come in!”
Luthor returned to his office and Beetle and Gold began to follow, but both Mercy and Hope had blocked their way.
“Open the bag,” ordered Hope.
“Security, gentlemen,” Luthor called over his shoulder. “You understand.”
“Certainly,” said Gold and placed the large bag on the desk.
Hope moved away from Beetle (who suddenly remembered he had forgotten to breathe for the last few minutes) and opened the bag. Her head pulled back and her eyes blinked rapidly. She removed a pen from the holder on the desk and pushed aside the sweat socks and underwear, seeing folded shirts and pants. Mercy had taken a metal detector and ran it up and down the sides of the bag. When it reached the metal clasp, it began to beep. Her eyes went up and locked with Gold’s smiling face, then she readjusted the sensors on the detector and moved it across the bag’s surface. This time, it did not go off. Using the edge of the metal detector, she pushed the bag closer to Gold.
“Like I said,” he said with a winning smile as he closed the bag, “We just got into town and haven’t had a chance to find a hotel to put our gear.”
“Also have to do a little laundry,” Beetle said with an apologetic shrug.
Both women moved to one side, allowing the heroes to pass. They followed and shut the doors behind them.
Luthor had taken a seat behind his massive desk. “So gentlemen,” he said. “What may I do for you?”
“Well,” began Booster. “We’re in town for a small vacation, so we decided to look up one of Metropolis’ main benefactors.”
“We’ve been here before,” added Beetle, “but not since the city’s new architecture was . . . installed.”
“So we asked ourselves who could recommend a five star restaurant and grand hotel, and your name was the first to come to mind.”
Luthor eyed both men, his smile never leaving his face. “You thought of me first?” he asked skeptically. “You did not consider asking . . . your fellow teammate?”
Booster sat in the closest chair, placing the bag to the side of the desk. Beetle pulled a chair away from a small table and moved it next to his partner.
“Lemme tell you something,” Gold said in a conspiratorial tone. “Superman? He may be faster than a speeding bullet . . .“
“Bend steel in his bare hands,” added Beetle.
“Change the course of mighty rivers, and yada-yada-yada, but the dude is pure take-out and drive-through.”
“How . . . provincial,” replied Luthor.
“Our point exactly,” grinned Beetle. “We’re used to the finer things in life.”
“So when in Gotham City, you go to Bruce Wayne for dining tips and real nice places to stay,” explained Booster. “When in Metropolis . . .“
“I see your point,” replied Luthor. He turned to face his computer and began to tap in a command. “Patience, gentlemen,” he said. “This won’t take long.” His eyes canted over to Gold’s. “Would you like me to put in reservations for you as well?”
“Naw,” replied Gold. “Just the names will do. We’ll handle the rest.”
Luthor shrugged. “As you wish.” He returned to the computer.
Beetle stood up and walked to where Hope was standing.
“So,” he said in a seductive tone, “Would you like to join us for dinner and . . .?”
“And what?” she asked.
“That, is entirely up to you,” he answered.
Booster had risen from his chair and stood next to Mercy.
“The offer is extended to you as well, you know,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said flatly.
Booster stepped closer to Mercy. “So, tell me, Babe . . .“
Luthor’s eyes were still scanning his database when he heard Booster say the B-word and he winced.
“What do you do for fun?” Booster continued.
“Mr. Gold,” Luthor said in an absent tone. “I would strongly advise you not to refer to Mercy as ‘Babe’.”
Booster looked over his shoulder. “Why?”
“Because I don’t like it,” Mercy said.
As Booster turned around, his face deftly blocked Mercy’s over handed right to his jaw. He went down on his butt. Hard.
Beetle instinctively moved forward to help his partner, but Hope had grabbed his arm, spun, and thrown him over her shoulder. Because of his martial arts and gymnastic skills, Beetle did a mid-air flip and landed on his feet.
“And that was done, why?” he asked.
“Your friend and Mercy are having a private conversation,” she replied.
Beetle nodded. “Nice toss,” he said, eyeing her admiringly. “What else do you know?”
Hope looked past Beetle to Luthor. Mercy did the same.
“Enjoy yourselves,” he replied. “I’ll be a few minutes. Don’t break anything.”
“Yes, Mr. Luthor,” they said in chorus.
“How’s this?” Hope asked and came at Beetle like a dervish, her hands and legs a complete blur. Beetle back-stepped, but blocked all her blows, then turned the table and gave a few of his own.
Booster had risen to his feet and threw a punch at Mercy’s midsection, which connected. It felt like he hit concrete.
“Sorry about the ‘Babe’ remark,” he said.
“No problem,” she replied, then did a wheel-kick that Gold blocked with his forearm. Booster glanced at Beetle and nodded. Both men went on full attack, using martial arts, boxing, and gymnastics, only to be surprised when the women countered every move.
“You ladies are good!” exclaimed Beetle.
“Mr. Luthor only hires the best!” Mercy shot back.
Both women leaped and sent a spinning kick at the heads of the heroes. Both Beetle and Booster ducked underneath their oncoming heels, went into a crouch and swept their legs out from under them when they came in for a landing. Both women landed on their backs, and pushed off into a standing position, which Gold and the Beetle were expecting. Both men sent a hard fist into each woman’s jaw, flooring them.
Mercy landed hard and when she looked up, she had tears in her eyes. Hope also wore an identical hurt expression. Booster and Beetle shot each other a concerned look and moved forward, hands extended to help them up.
“Hey, we’re sorry!” cried Beetle.
“Didn’t mean to get that rough,” said Booster sincerely.
Mercy wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “You know what hurts the most?”
“What?” asked Beetle.
The mournful expression on Mercy’s face suddenly became as hard as granite. “This,” she said. Both women sent the very hard toe of their shoe into a very sensitive section of the men’s anatomy. Both men collapsed on the floor before them, their hands closing around their wounded . . . pride.
“Voila!” cried Luthor. He removed a sheet of paper from the printer and came around the desk and handed it to Mercy. “There is the address of the best hotel and restaurant in Metropolis! At the restaurant, please feel free to use my personal table. I’ve taken the liberty of calling ahead to let Maurice, the maître d’ know. Please enjoy your stay. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Mercy? Hope? Please show them out.”
Mercy went to Luthor’s desk and grabbed Booster’s overnight bag, then grabbed Gold by his collar and dragged him out the door. Hope did the same with Beetle.
Once in the outer office, Booster Gold and Beetle managed to come to a standing position. Without saying a word, both men limped down the hallway to the elevator. When the doors opened, they stepped inside. When the doors closed, both men fell to the floor.
They walked very slowly out of the LexCorp building, went three blocks down and over to a bench near the northeast entrance to Schuster Park.
The handle of the bag stretched and Plastic Man’s head formed in its place.
“Great job, guys!” he exclaimed.
“Did we get everything?” Beetle said in a high-pitched voice.
“Most certainly, your Blueness,” said Skeets, slowly levitating out of the Plas-bag, sending the clothes inside to the bench and ground. “I not only downloaded Mr. Luthor’s database, but the mainframe for the LexCorp Building.”
“Way cool, Skeets,” Booster said in a strained voice.
“Similar to what I did in S.T.A.R. Labs.”
Plas’ smile stretched out three feet. “Skeets,” he said in a nonchalant tone. “Are you going to tell me that when you downloaded the professor’s weekly itinerary, you also downloaded the complete S.T.A.R. Labs database?”
“I will if you deem it necessary, sir.” Skeets replied. “In actuality, I only downloaded 85.6%.” It spun around to face Booster. “I was interrupted by his Ramboship, here.”
“Gentlemen,” said Plas, returning to his physical form. “I think lunch is in order. Any requests?”
“Ice,” both men groaned . . .
