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NOT
The World's Greatest Superheroes.....
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| JLI: The Return of BWA-HAH-HA! #6 - November, Year 1 | by Bertram Gibbs |
Martian Manhunter |
Blue Beetle |
Booster Gold |
Plastic Man |
TUESDAY - 1:35 AM
"Babs?" Grayson said into the voice-activated mini-transmitter.
"Yes, Dick?" she answered. He heard her voice clearly through the flesh-toned earpiece in his left ear.
"Anything?" he asked.
"Not a thing," she answered, frowning. "I checked every hotel, motel and boarding house within a ten mile radius of Metropolis. Nothing. Not a single charge to the JLA account."
"I'm coming up empty as well," Grayson said. "I scouted out S.T.A.R. Labs and LexCorp for hours. They were at both places, but haven't returned, I know that much. I checked every bar from one end of town to the other. It's like those nuts disappeared off the face of the Earth!"
"Well, they have to be somewhere," Barbara said.
"This is true. I'm going to check in again at the Watchtower," he said. "If I hear of anything, I'll update you.'
"Same here," she said. "Bye, Dick."
Grayson sat heavily on the edge of the bed in the room he rented for the night. He was wearing only slacks and had been padding around the room in his bare feet, which were sore. He was used to flying above the city for hours at a time, performing seemingly impossible acrobatic feats, but hours of steady walking made his arches ache. He tapped his belt, signaling the Watchtower.
"Watchtower," said a familiar voice. "Flash here."
"Hey Wally," he said. "Dick here."
"Gray-man!" West cried. "How's it hanging, partner?"
"Could be better, man," sighed Grayson. "Have the Larry, Curley and Moe of the JLA called in yet?"
"No word from the Mouseketeers yet, brother."
"Great," muttered Grayson.
"Maybe no news is good news?" West asked.
"Want to remember who we're talking about and repeat that question?"
"Uh, not really."
"How's J'onn?"
"Well," Wally began in an uneasy tone, "Let's just say that as long as he has his cookies, he's calm."
"He's still tripping over those three he unleashed on Metropolis unattended?"
"Oh, no," Wally replied. "He got over that by the time I came on duty this morning. What set him off was when Diana called."
Grayson swallowed. "Wally?" he asked. "Why did she call?"
"Her panties," he said softly.
Dick groaned. "How bad?"
"Oh, let's see," said Wally. "On a scale where one is the least p'd off, and ten is maximum p'd offedness, I'd say she reached a forty-seven."
"Oh, man," groaned Grayson.
"It got worse when he had to explain how all three of them got together."
"She didn't slug J'onn, did she?" asked Grayson, his shoulders hunched, expecting the worst possible news.
"Nope," answered West. "She was pretty close, though. Remember the universal machine that was in the exercise room?"
". . . Yeah?"
"Well, you know how those big cars are crunched into tiny squares by the compactors?"
"Ouch!"
"By the third time, J'onn was singing show tunes."
"Third . . . time?"
"Well, after Di ripped J'onn a new one, Black Canary called and he had to go through the whole explanation all over again."
"Damage?"
"She trashed Plas' room."
"Could be worse."
"That was call number three."
"Who was?"
"Power Girl."
"Hold on," said Grayson flatly. He put down the phone, walked over to the window and opened it. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. He repeated that a few times. He sat on the window ledge and looked across the tops of sea of buildings.
I could leave right now and no one would blame me, he thought. A pair of dark unforgiving eyes shone in the back of his mind.
Almost no one, he amended.
"I'm back," he said. "What did PG do?"
"The conference room table?"
"Uh huh."
"Should be in the vicinity of Pluto."
Grayson swallowed. Then he frowned. "Wait a minute," he said. "Didn't you tell me that you and Superman had to put that thing together because it couldn't fit through the Watchtower's door in one piece?"
"Yeah, that I did," admitted West. "Supes brought each piece in and I put it together. Suckers were heavy too! Made of some titanium alloy."
"Then how did she get it out through the door?"
It was West's turn to swallow. "She didn't use the door," he said softly.
"She . . . didn't?" Grayson asked, his skin turning pale.
"Yeah," he said. "She caused a hull breach and it took me a whole five minutes to close that hole. J'onn fused it shut with some of the pieces of the table that broke off, using that heat ray of his. Then she began to scream at him."
"Oy!" Grayson muttered.
"And we're still trying to figure out how Catwoman got control of the teleporter."
". . . Catwoman was there?"
"And she was the maddest of all!" West exclaimed. "She didn't do anything except introduce J'onn to a few human phrases I don't think he ever heard before."
"All she did was yell at him?"
"I think she's saving the best for when Yippie, Yappie and Yahooie show up."
"Wally," Grayson said, suddenly tired, "I'm going to beg off now. If you hear from them, call me."
"Will do, Bird-Boy," he said. "I'm hoping that J'onn doesn't get anymore 'calls' tonight. I'm sort'a glad Bats took The Huntress' teleporter access code. I really don't feel like running around grabbing those crossbow darts of hers."
"That wouldn't be good," agreed Grayson.
"If she called right about now, I know J'onn'll bug out . . . "
"BUG!!!!!" Grayson heard J'onn scream over the line. "BUG? BEETLE! IS THAT HIM? WHERE'S GOLD? WHERE'S PLASTIC . . .?"
"Calm down, J'onn!" screamed Flash. "It's Dick! It's not Ted!"
"BEETLE!" screamed J'onn. "GOLD! PLASTIC MAN! I WANT THEIR ENTRAILS
IN A SUPER-NOVA! I WANT . . .!"
"J'onn!" yelled Wally. "Here, J'onny! Have a Choco! Have the
whole bag!"
"CHOCOS!" growled J'onn. "NEED CHOCOS!"
"Later," said Grayson disconnecting the line, his eyes shut tight, trying to slow down the pace of the rising migraine.
He glanced around the anonymous hovel that served as his sleeping quarters. He knew he could have done better, but he needed to remain less than anonymous. He had to not exist. Places like this, some rented by the hour, were perfect. No one would question his coming and goings, or his late hours. He knew, just by association, the tenants (if such a word could be used to describe the clientele) would assume he was out trying to score a fix, or a pro. His eyes landed on the beaten flat pillow at the head of the bed. Despite its stained case, it looked inviting. A feeling of crawling went up his back and he shivered.
He stared out the window. They're out there somewhere, he thought. He noticed the absence of burning buildings, and police, ambulance and fire department sirens, feeling only slightly better. Well, tomorrow's another day, he mused. Maybe Wally's right. Maybe no news was good news. He glanced at his watch, noting the lateness of the hour. Those nuts are probably in bed right now. It can't get any worse.
The telephone on the nightstand rang. Grayson frowned. No one knew he was there. Who could it be?
He picked up the telephone and held it to his ear. Before he could say anything a deep cold voice spoke on the other end.
"Where are they?"
Grayson's head flopped forward. He was wrong. It could get worse.
"I haven't located them . . ."
"I know you haven't found them," the voice cut in. "Why?"
"Well, I . . ."
"Find them," the voice said icily. The line clicked and Grayson pressed the telephone tightly to his ear, listening to the soothing dial tone.
Twelve empty stainless steel coffee urns littered every available spot of the suite. Several empty trays that were stained with jellies, jams, preserves, and whipped cream were piled on a standing tray near the couch. Booster was stretched across the couch, his gold goggles on the floor, the spiral notebook that was three-quarters filled, was tightly clutched to his chest. Plastic Man was snoring from his folded position at the foot of the couch. Ted Kord was still staring into the LexCorp database that rolled in front of him.
"Database ends here, sir," Skeets said.
Kord blinked his eyes several times, and grinned. He stood and picked up the telephone, dialed room service and ordered a fresh pot of coffee. Minutes later, he opened the door, signed the service slip (adding a sizable tip on the bottom), and brought the tray in and let it rest on the coffee table.
"Wakey, wakey!" he screamed, jarring Gold and Plas into consciousness.
"What time is it?" groaned Gold.
"Ten-thirty," Kord said, looking surprisingly fresh, sipping from his cup.
"Coffee?" whispered Plas, stretching himself into a nearby chair.
Ted handed him a cup, which Plas took gratefully. He gulped the brew down, extended his hands to the urn for a refill, and sipped from the fresh cup. Kord handed Booster his cup and he staggered around the room, squinting at the daylight and drinking his coffee.
"What are we going to do?" asked Booster, a single eye open.
"Aside from break into the LexCorp building for me to get into their system?" Kord asked. "That's about it. Tell you something. The idea of a law abiding hero breaking into a building feels a little wrong, but as far as I can see, we really have no other choice."
"Big Blue's life is at stake here, gents," Plas said shaking the cobwebs from his head. "We have to break in and delete those files. And call it a gut feeling," he said, extending his stomach to Santa Claus proportions, "but I would prefer Baldy and those skirts not be around when we did. We can handle the general security, and we have the schematics of the building. It's those chicks that make me nervous. Don't want to tangle with them if we don't have to. Taking them down will take too much time. We have to be in and out; quick as a flash."
"That means we need a diversion of some kind to get and keep Luthor and the ladies out of the building," Ted said frowning.
"And from what I know," added Plas, "He's always there."
Skeets, in the meantime, had turned on the television and was watching the morning news.
The sound from the set made Booster glance over his shoulder to look at the TV at the same time Skeets caught his casual glance, and quickly turned the channel.
An image registered on Booster's retina and made him do a double take.
"Skeets!" he cried. "Why'd you change the channel? Turn it back!"
"Sorry, your Goldster," he asked with deliberate slowness and began to change the channel to every station than what was on.
Booster grabbed the remote from the coffee table a few buttons until he reached the desired channel. The image on the screen made him back up a step. He turned, a huge grin on his face.
"Gentlemen?" he called.
Ted and Plas turned to their friend.
Booster Gold made a sweeping bow to the television. "Behold! Our diversion!"
"There is a God," Ted whispered in awe.
"Oh, no," Plas muttered his eyes widening in shock.
On the television was a tanned dark-haired man in a gray suit, black shirt and maroon tie, standing next to a muscular red-haired man, square of jaw and snarling of grin, wearing a tee shirt with a big red W in its center.
"So, for those of us just tuning in, I'm KMTV reporter, Lewis Marlo, and the man to my left is super-hero, turned entrepreneur, Guy Gardner. Guy is in Metropolis today to open the city's newest nightspot, Warriors -- Metropolis. Guy. What's an evening at Warriors like?"
"Well, Lew," said Gardner, giving a glance to the tips of his highly polished nails, "A night at Warriors is never dull, that's for sure. We got us a bar. We got a dance section. We got a Class A restaurant. Decent prices. A hall of memorabilia, courtesy of the Guy Gardner Collection. Occasionally, you may meet a costume or three there to unload. You never know what to expect at Warriors." He flashed a winning smile.
"He's gone Hollywood," whispered Kord.
"He's let this go to his head," Gold added in a hushed voice.
"Oh, we can't have that," Kord said, his brows going down in a hard V.
"He wouldn't forgive us if we allowed him to stay this way," Gold said nodding to himself.
"And the beauty of it all . . ." Kord whispered, his eyes going wide.
"Is?" asked Booster. "Is?"
"He would never expect us to be here," Kord said, a grin taking up residency on his face.
"Remember folks," continued Marlo. "KMTV will be telecasting the opening of Warriors - Metropolis tonight at eight. Guy, answer me a question."
"Shoot," Guy said, smiling at the camera.
"I hear that there is a party going on around noontime today. Any word on that?"
"Well, Lew," Guy grinned. "It's a little private shindig I'm holding on invite only. Sort of a pre-opening party. Tonight's open to the public."
"Any last words for the public, Guy?"
"Be there, or be square," grinned Gardner, who winked at the camera.
"On nation-wide television," gasped Gold.
"This is too good to pass up," Kord said.
"Okay, guys," Plas said suspiciously. "What diseased little gerbil is running through your collective skulls?"
"We go speak with Guy," Ted said as he bounced up and down on his toes. "We get him to invite Lexy. It'll be great publicity!"
"He keeps Luthor distracted," Booster said hovering above the floor, "At the same time, we break into LexCorp!"
Plas frowned. "You think he'll go for it?" he asked.
"Pishshaw!" waved Gold. "We're old friends and battle chums!"
"He'll do it for us!" added Kord.
"For old times sake!" tossed in Gold.
"And if that doesn't work, we'll cater to his one weakness," said Kord, pouring another cup of coffee.
"Which is?" asked Plas.
"His ego," both men answered.
Plas thought it over for a few seconds and smiled at them. "I say we mosey down to Warriors and have a talk with him," he said. "After freshening up, of course. We might even catch the lunch crowd!"
"WA-HOO!" screamed Kord, back-flipping several time across the floor, "I can't wait to see the look on Gardner's puss when he sees us!"
"Yeah," grinned Booster. "It'll be just like old times!" He flew across the room and hovered in front of the cyborg. "You hear that Skeets? We going to see Guy Gardner again!"
"Oh, joy," Skeets said in a pained monotone. "Oh, rapture."
"Looks good, Guy," John Stewart said, turning his motorized wheelchair to face the redheaded man with the confident look.
"Damn real, Johnny," he said. "Took a lot of doing to get things done on time, but I did it!" He frowned. "You think that Guy statue looks like me?"
John sighed. "Yes, Guy," he said. "The statue looks just like you. The Green Lantern statues look just like Alan, it looks just like Hal, it looks just like Kyle, it looks just like Abin Sur, it looks just like Killawog, it looks like the members of the Corp, it looks just like me, and it looks just like you!" he said in one harsh breath. "And it has looked just like you the last five times you asked me!"
"Okay, okay," Guy said grinning, holding up his hands in surrender. "Cut me some slack here, Johnny. You know how much work I put into Warriors in the Big Apple."
It was John's turn to hold up his hands. "I know, Guy," he said. "It's just you're getting a little . . . excessive with this."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Gardner said, his fists moving to his hips.
"I just mean that the Warriors -- Metropolis is a great idea, and your attention to the design of the place is great," he said, rolling towards the bar that took up the side of one wall. He grabbed his club soda and sipped. "You, my friend, have the makings of a designer."
"Enough with the soft soap," he said. "What are you telling me?"
"This is going to your head."
Gardner's eyes narrowed. "Come again?"
John drained the glass with the red Warriors logo on it and replaced it on the bar. "I agreed with the full page advertisements," he said. "Had no problem with that. I somewhat agreed with the interview in the Daily Planet a few weeks ago. I questioned you doing the talk show circuit, but I remembered you telling me that you are your best publicity."
"And I am," Gardner said with a smirk. "People coming to Warriors got to see the Warrior himself. You think I want some pretty California-tanned vegetarian to promote my place, just because the demographics say he should?"
"You haven't given up on that, have you?" John asked in a pained tone.
"Hey, Johnny," Gardner snarled. "It was you're idea to go to that Yuppie marketing place, not mine!"
"I said I was sorry!" John said angrily. "What I'm questioning is you being a co-anchor on this morning's news! I think that was a little much, don't you?"
"What do you mean?" he asked wounded. "I did okay."
John sighed deeply. "What's next, Guy?" he asked. "A tractor pull?"
Guy frowned. "You sure you're only drinking club soda, Johnny?"
Stewart threw up his hands. "I give up!" he cried. "I'm not going to argue with you anymore! Don't listen to me!"
Guy walked over and laid a strong hand on the man's shoulder. "Look, Johnny," he said with a soft smile. "Now that I have the loot, I just want the place the way I originally wanted it to look like. A tribute to the Lanterns and the other heroes I admire and worked with. You've helped me more than I can say, with your structural this and foundation support-thingy that."
"You're lucky you have a friend who's an architect," John said with a smirk. "I could have cost you big money!"
"You don't think I keep you around for your stimulatin' conversation, do ya?" he said, slapping the man's heavy muscled back.
"Well, I knew it wasn't my good looks," John replied.
"And you'd be right," Guy shot back. He looked across the room at the Green Lantern display and frowned. "Hey, Johnny?"
"Yes, Guy?"
"You think that Guy statue looks like me?" After a few seconds, Guy realized his friend hadn't answered. He turned to see John calmly pounding his head into the side of the bar. Gardner walked over and grabbed Stewart's empty glass and sniffed it. He shrugged.
"What d'you know?" he said. "Club soda." He looked down at John's head repeatedly hitting the bar. He sniffed and shrugged. "Genius types. Go figure."
"How do I look, Johnny?" Gardner asked from the privacy of his office. He stood in front of a full-length mirror and checked to see if his hair was just so, his gray sport jacket over his black tee shirt and black jeans. The leather and chrome on his expensive boots shone in the overhead light.
"You look fine, Guy," John said patiently.
"I mean, I don't look fat in this, do I?"
"You look fine, Guy," John repeated.
"How's the crowd, Johnny?"
John rolled over to the desk and picked up a remote control and pressed a button. On the wall in front of them, ten security monitors clicked on, showing a large crowd of super-heroes and adventurers milling about Warriors - Metropolis. All seemed to be having a grand old time.
"Looks good, Guy," John said.
"We got enough booze?" he asked. "Enough peanuts, pretzels and trail mix?"
"You checked the inventory three times, Guy," John reminded. "You have more than enough of everything to stage a frat party for a third-world country."
"Great!"
"You ready to greet the guests?"
"Just about." Guy turned around in front of the mirror, his eyes focused on his butt and stomach. "Johnny? I don't look fat in this, do I?"
"You look fine, Guy," John said in a monotone.
Guy glanced in the reflection at his friend's hand. "Club soda again?" he asked, pointing with his chin.
John glanced at the glass in his hand and smiled. "Aw, hell no!"
