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The World's Greatest Superheroes.....
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| JLI: The Return of BWA-HAH-HA! #8 - January, Year 2 | by Bertram Gibbs |
Martian Manhunter |
Blue Beetle |
Booster Gold |
Plastic Man |
NINE
Grayson paced the length of the rented room, scowling. He had called Barbara
Gordon three times, and the Watchtower four – no one (not even an irritatingly
chirpy Kyle Rayner, who had met his deadline ad was on watch in the tower) had
heard from the men. The mercifully last conversation with Bruce didn’t help
matters.
And the fact that someone next door was holding a cabbage cookout wasn’t helping
either.
He stared out the window for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. He needed
action. He needed to do something. He needed to feel the air rush past him and
see the shining towers of Metropolis beneath him. He had already tried to
monitor calls to Luthor’s office in the LexCorp Building, but Luthor had some
sophisticated scrambler built into the telephone lines, in the event someone
tried that exact same thing.
The JLA’s answer to the Marx Brothers was missing. It was Tuesday. He needed to
find those three and see what they were able to glean, if anything, and figure
out Luthor’s connection to S.T.A.R. Labs was. And after hearing of what Lex
Luthor was capable of from Bruce (aside from what he already knew), it was a)
probably real bad news, and b) would probably concern Superman. The only thing
he knew was that Professor Kingston was involved.
Babs checked Kingston’s records and found several large deposits made to his
bank accounts (there were a few) from some Third World pharmaceutical company. A
deeper trace found that a toy company in Tunisia was funneling money into the
bank account of the pharmaceutical company. The money was coming from a dairy
plant in Czechoslovakia. The money going into the dairy plant came from a small
newspaper in Detroit. The money going into the newspaper came from a bistro in
Paris, France. The money trail finally came to a halt. The main bank account was
in the name of the owner of a full service garage/filling station in Patterson,
New Jersey. Who didn’t exist. Checks for the maintenance of the station were
signed by this non-existent individual, who had a birth certificate, a social
security number and paid his taxes early and regularly, without fail. There were
school records, dental records, fingerprints (which didn’t match any felon in
any law enforcement agencies around the world), magazine subscriptions, credit
cards (items charged and paid within thirty-three days), library cards, but no
photo identification. Simply because she was exhausted, had a splitting
headache, a sour stomach, and a neck and shoulders that would cramp
unexpectedly, on a hunch, Barbara Gordon ran a match for anyone living in the
small town in Iowa the invisible man was born in, that worked or works for
LexCorp.
Bingo!
The man was born in the same town, on the same exact street, in the same exact
month, year and day Lex Luthor’s personal chef was born.
And that was it.
Things were not going well. Not at all.
The signal on his belt hummed.
“Yeah?” he said, expecting more bad news.
“Hi, Dick,” came a young voice on the other end.
Grayson smiled.
“Hey, Tim,” he said to the present Boy Wonder. “What’s up?”
“Find ‘em yet?”
“No,” he replied, feeling his mood drop again. “Not a trace. Babs has been
looking and they haven’t called in to the Watchtower since they left. Coming up
with nothing but dead ends here.”
“I think I may have found something.”
Grayson, who was lowering himself to the bed, shot up to a standing position.
“You found them?” he asked.
“Uh, not really,” Drake replied. “But it’s a good place to start. You have a
television in that place?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Turn on channel three.”
Grayson looked for the remote control, then realized that the set didn’t have
one. He walked the five steps to the set and turned it on. The reception was
fuzzy, but he could make out a man with a microphone in the foreground.
“Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen,” the man said grinning into the camera. “We’re here
in front of Warriors – Metropolis and yes, the man you see next to me is Jay
Garrick, the original Scarlet Speedster; the Flash! Jay, please tell the
audience why you’re in Metropolis today! Fighting an evil that only the Justice
Society of America can handle?”
The camera turned to a older man, wearing a loose fitting red jersey with a
golden lightning bolt running down the center. He wore his trademark silver bowl
hat with the Mercury wings sticking from its sides. Jay smiled into the camera,
looked up suddenly and whisked the hat from his head. For the viewers, the hat
was there one moment and gone the next.
“Hello, Todd,” Garrick said with a shy grin. “No, I’m here, with a lot of others
to support Guy Gardner’s opening tonight. He’s having a small celebration before
the opening. We’re just letting our hair down for a short while.”
Grayson stared at the screen, his eyes wide. Behind Garrick was a hero named the
Black Lightning, an African-American dressed in black leather that sported a
lightning bolt on his chest. The man spotted the camera, grinned and snapped his
fingers, sending a small shower of sparks in the air. He waved and walked into
the club.
“How many heroes are here with you, Jay? Who’s here?” Todd asked.
Jay frowned slightly. “Let’s just say, for the sake of protecting the civilians
in their home cities, there’s a nice crowd here for Guy. I have to get inside
now. A pleasure speaking to you.” Garrick waved to the camera and disappeared
from view, a gust of wind sending Todd’s hair in all directions and scattered
papers.
“Wow,” whispered Todd, then realized the camera was still running. “That’s all I
have people. We’ll keep the cameras going and see if we can have a small talk
with another hero. So stay tuned. And don’t forget the official opening of
Warriors – Metropolis tonight at eight o’clock. This is Todd Griffin from KMTV.”
Grayson’s grin widened as he put his mask on the upper part of his face.
“Thanks, Tim,” he said.
“Don’t mention it, Dick.”
“And not a word to you-know-who.”
“About what?” the young man asked. “I haven’t spoke to you in a week.”
The line clicked off at the same time Grayson turned off the set. He turned to
the window and in three steps, leaped out, shooting a grappling wire in front of
him.
“Last call for alcohol, you booze-hounds!” bellowed Gardner over the club’s
PA system. “I gotta clean up your mess before tonight’s opening, so get your
drinks before I close the bar!”
The club filled with a chorus of catcalls.
“Shut yer holes, ya bunch’a no-paying bums!” Guy said grinning. “That’s the
word! And thanks again for coming. You showed me how many friends and moochers I
have!”
Guy bounded off the stage and walked to where John Stewart was sitting, nursing
a hot cup of coffee.
“Great party, eh, Johnny?” Guy said grinning
“Good one, Guy,” he replied. He made a sour face. “I’m just not sure about
inviting Lex Luthor here.”
“Lookit, Johnny,” Gardner said. “Skeets said there was a ninety-three percent
chance for success. Ninety-three percent! And a possible movie about me in the
process!”
“That’s one of the things I’m not sure about,” Stewart groused.
Guy waved at him. “You’re just jealous, Johnny,” Gardner said. “Maybe I can get
you a part in the film!”
“Guy,” John sighed, “Luthor hasn’t even showed up and you’re already planning a
film career. Let’s just wait and see how this pans out. You have tonight’s
opening to concentrate on!”
“You can be my sidekick!” Guy exclaimed. “The Warrior needs his loyal sidekick!”
Stewart leveled Guy with a dark look. “Let’s not go in that direction, okay,
Guy?”
“Ah, you . . . “ Gardner stopped and spun around looking behind him. All he saw
was Alan lecturing Constantine about something, and Big Barda giving a piece of
her mind to Ted Grant, who was nonchalantly sipping on his beer, smiling. He
scratched the back of his neck. He felt something. He shrugged and turned back
to Stewart.
“GAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” he screamed. Standing in between him and Stewart was Nightwing,
grinning. “I hate when you Bat-freaks do that!” he rasped between gritted teeth.
He stared at the young man in black. “’Sup, ‘Wing? Here to let your hair down?”
Guy said, his grin, though a slight forced, back on his face. He glanced around,
then returned his gaze back to Grayson. “Where’s tall, dark and irritable?”
“Where’s Beetle, Booster and Plastic Man?” he asked.
Gardner shook his head, smiling. “Just like your boss,” he said. “No small talk;
pure business.” He moved closer to the bar and leaned against it, propping
himself on his elbows. “I know you got the skill, ‘Wing,” Gardner said, “But you
don’t have the ‘tude. Wanna try that again?”
“Gardner,” Grayson sighed, feeling a little tired, “I need you to tell me where
they are.”
Guy frowned. “You need,” he sneered. “Again with the wannabe attitude. Trying to
be like the Bat; telling people what to do. I put up with his crap for several
years . . . “
“Gardner,” Grayson began, trying to keep his temper. He could fully understand
why Bruce didn’t care for the man. Gardner was respected for his doggedness and
what he had done to help mankind, but that didn’t mean the man had to be liked.
“And I’m not gonna take it from a punk in short pants trying his dad’s shoes on
for size,” snarled Gardner.
“Look, you . . . “ Grayson started, his anger beginning to overflow.
“Yeah, I know,” waved Guy. “You were part of the original Teen Titans, and
you’re now head of the Titans. You’re good. You’ve paid your dues several times
over. But that don’t mean you can come waltzing in here . . . “
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” bellowed John Stewart loud enough to turn the heads of the
remaining heroes still in Warriors. They took one look at Guy’s face and while
some resumed their conversation, others were pointing out Nightwing and peering
into the club’s dark corners for the Dark Knight.
Stewart rolled his chair a few feet closer to Nightwing, who had forgot he was
there. Grayson saw the man still had the same commanding presence he had when he
was a Green Lantern.
“Nightwing,” Stewart began in a tone of infinite patience, his eyes mostly on
the still smoldering Gardner than the young hero, “Plastic Man, Booster Gold,
and the Blue Beetle were here a while ago.”
“Look, Johnny,” Guy began. Stewart silenced him with a look.
“They talked Mr. Hollywood here into inviting Luthor to tonight’s opening, and .
. . “
“John,” Guy began again. Stewart’s gaze stopped him again. But instead of
continuing the explanation, he crooked his finger at Guy to come closer. Guy
tilted his head close to his friend’s.
“Guy,” John whispered. “You are one of my longest and closest friends.”
“Same, here, Johnny, but . . . “
“That does not mean I would not kick your red-headed butt from one end of the
club to the other if you don’t shut up.”
Guy face showed surprise, then a wide grin. “You’re going to kick my butt?” he
asked.
John Stewart’s face was steel. Guy moved back to the bar and went into a sulk.
Stewart returned his eyes to Nightwing, who had watched this exchange in
silence, and equally flinched when John’s eyes locked with his. He made a mental
note to talk to Bruce about the one time Green Lantern.
“They tried to get Guy to help, but Miss Congeniality wasn’t listening,” John
continued. “They left for parts unknown not long after. That’s all we know.”
“Could you give me a call if they come back?” asked Nightwing.
John finally smiled. “Of course we will.” Though his smile stayed in place, his
eyes hardened when he turned to Gardner. “Won’t we, Guy?”
Gardner’s lips curled, then relaxed. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ll give you a jingle.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Nightwing. He was about to say something else when his ears
picked up a small rumbling through the crowd. He turned toward the sound, as did
Stewart and Gardner. All three men watched the crowd part. Grayson swallowed
what felt like a Volvo. Standing there with her hands on her hips was Diana, the
Wonder Woman. To her left was an equally angry looking Power Girl, her arms
crossed over her overly developed bosom. To Diana’s right was Dinah Lance, the
Black Canary, wearing her fishnets and leather, eyes blazing when she saw
Gardner. She moved forward, but Diana’s hand came up sharply, stopping the
gorgeous blonde in her tracks. Diana moved forward, just as Guy stepped in the
women’s direction to greet them.
“Ladies!” he exclaimed with a wide grin, his arms outstretched as if to embrace
them.
That was all he had a chance to say. Diana had grabbed him by the front of his
shirt and lifted him off of his feet.
“Where are they?” she whispered harshly.
“Where are who?” Guy asked, all bravado gone.
“Don’t play cute, Red,” snarled Lance.
“Where is Plastic Man?” hissed Power Girl, sweeping a lock of golden hair from
her cold eyes with the flip of her head. “Where is Booster Gold? Where is the
Blue Beetle?”
“Why ask me?” Guy asked.
“Because out of all the Leaguers,” said Diana flatly, “You were closest to Gold
and the Beetle. You being in Metropolis at the same time they are is too much of
a coincidence.”
Power Girl moved forward and peered very closely into Gardner’s widening eyes.
“There is no such thing as coincidence,” she said flatly.
“And, Red,” said Lance, smiling without a trace of humor, “Just to let you know,
if you try to activate your Warrior powers, Diana is going to grab you by one
leg and PG is going to grab you by the other leg and make a wish.”
A small rush of anger filled Gardner. “And what are you going to do, Blondie?”
he said in a snarl. “Stand there and watch?”
“No, Red,” Lance grinned. “I’m going to be doing my rendition of the Nutcracker
Suite.”
All the male super-heroes present, as well as John, Grayson, and Gardner,
shuddered.
“So we will ask you once more,” Diana said. “Where are they?”
“Ladies,” began Stewart rolling closer to them. “May I . . . ?”
“KEEP OUT OF THIS!” they yelled in chorus.
John turned to Grayson. “Nightwing,” Stewart said, quickly rolling his chair to
the furthest corner of the club, “Let me show you something in this direction.”
“Uh, what would that be, Mr. Stewart?” Grayson asked softly, not taking his eyes
off of the three women and Gardner, whose feet had not yet touched the floor. He
quickly followed Stewart, who was already several feet in front of him, but
glanced over his shoulder in time to see Gardner mouthing the word, ‘help’.
When Stewart came to a sudden halt, Grayson collided into the back of the
wheelchair. Grayson looked down to see Stewart’s dark brown eyes locked on his
own. “Son,” he asked, “You know of any super-heroes whose secret identity was a
Castrati?”
“Uh, no,” Nightwing replied. He turned in time to see Lance eyeing Guy’s lower
extremities, cracking her knuckles. Grayson swallowed; this time the lump in his
throat was the size of a Buick.
“Well, if you want to add that visual to your list of experiences, feel free to
stay and watch the show,” Stewart said glancing over to a pale Gardner, whose
mouth was moving a mile a second. “Me, on the other hand . . . “
Stewart looked back to where Grayson was standing, and found him no longer
there. He glanced around to find Nightwing had vacated the premises entirely.
“Smart boy,” he muttered, rolling his chair to a safe distance, which he felt
should have been near Wisconsin.
“That’s all I know!” cried Gardner. “They didn’t tell me if or when they were
comin’ back!”
Diana’s eyes, as cold and as blue as a glacier, stared into Gardner’s. She
nodded once and let him go. Guy bounced off the floor and rammed his back into
the bar.
“You will contact us should you hear from them,” said Diana. “Correct?”
“Yeah,” muttered Gardner.
Power Girl stepped in front of Diana, her hand shooting down between Gardner’s
legs and squeezed. He rose up on his toes and his eyes bulged in their sockets.
“I didn’t get that,” she said, leaning into his face.
“Yes!” Guy whispered in a strained tone. “If they come back, I’ll call you!”
“Very good,” said Diana. Her eyes canted to PG’s. “Release him.”
PG’s beautiful face showed a highly disappointed expression, but she complied.
As Guy lowered himself to the floor, a rush of air expelled from his lungs.
Lance came over and gently caressed Guy’s cheek. He flinched slightly.
“Gonna buy us a drink, Red?” she asked coquettishly.
Guy pointed out an empty table to the women and turned to the closest bartender,
who was behind the bar, frozen in position, afraid to move a muscle.
“Give ‘em whatever they want!” he said, walking unsteadily over to where Stewart
was sitting.
“Well,” said Stewart, sipping on a fresh cup of coffee, “That went well.”
“Where’s Bird-Boy?”
“He took appropriate measures and beat feet.”
Guy collapsed on a stool and ran his fingers through his red hair.
“This ain’t the way I planned it, Johnny,” Guy said shaking his head. He eyes
went dark. “Gold!” he hissed. “Beetle! Every time those morons are around,
trouble follows!”
“And this is new to you?” John answered, covering his smile with his cup.
The sound of snickering made Guy turn. Standing there, cowl pulled back from his
head revealing the face of a tough older man, was Ted Grant.
“You have something to say, Grant?” Guy sneered.
“Naw, Gardner,” he said, glancing over to the ladies, who were in a very heated
discussion. “You, for the most part, handled that pretty well.”
“Don’t start, Grant,” Guy warned.
Grant grinned. “Just offerin’ you a compliment, Guy. I’m actually looking
forward to tonight.”
Guy’s head swiveled on his neck. “What are you talking about? Tonight?”
“Well, I’m coming to the opening of course,” he replied. Before Guy could
respond, Grant held up a hand. “Out of costume and with cash,” he added.
Gardner groaned. He looked at Grant. “Just don’t start anything, got me?”
“Got you,” said Grant, draining his beer mug.
“I mean, tonight’s a special night.”
“I said, I got you, Guy,” Wildcat said smiling. “I heard you the first time.”
“Okay,” Gardner said. “Just so we understand each other.” A small smile appeared
on his face. “You can help me get these bums outta here. We have to clean up and
get ready for the opening.”
“That I can do,” Grant replied, eyeing Power Girl’s ample cleavage.
Gardner eyes followed his old friend’s. “Ted,” he said. “You’re a tough nut. We
all know that. But you wanna tangle with PG, with Wonder Babe and the Bird at
her back?”
The pupils in Grant’s eyes dilated. “Good point, Guy,” he said softly. He turned
to his friend. “Guy, about you tangling with Nightwing . . . “
“Don’t want to hear it, Grant,” warned Gardner. “Don’t need some kid trying to
rattle me by using Bat methods! I didn’t take it from him when we worked
together, and I certainly won’t take it from his junior partner! Not today of
all days!”
“But, Guy,” began Grant.
“I said drop it, okay?”
Grant shrugged. “Okay, Guy. Whatever you say.”
“Right,” said Guy. “I say in about ten minutes, we start clearing the place.” He
ran his fingers through his hair again. “Crud!” he exclaimed. “What else can
happen today?”
Screams from the table the ladies were sitting at sent Guy’s head in that
direction, the vertebra snapping loudly in his neck. The three women were
pounding the table, grinning wildly. Lance stopped and stuck two fingers in her
mouth and made an ear-piercing whistle. Diana had her fist raised and made what
Gardner assumed was some Amazonian battle cry. PG’s hand was pulling out bills
from within her cleavage, and was separating singles from the rest of her money.
For a brief moment, Gardner wished he were George Washington’s face. He turned
in the direction the women were looking. He felt a massive headache coming on.
At the same time Guy turned, Stewart tapped him on the leg. “I think you have
your answer to that question,” he said.
“ALAN SCOTT!” Gardner screamed. “YOU GET THE HECK OFF MY BAR! AND PUT YOUR
CLOTHES BACK ON, FOR CRUD’S SAKE!”
Ted Grant grinned as Guy stormed over to Scott.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’m really looking forward to tonight.”
To be continued…
