NOT The World's Greatest Superheroes.....
JLI: The Return of BWA-HAH-HA! #10 - March, Year 2	by Bertram Gibbs

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Martian Manhunter

Blue Beetle

Booster Gold

Plastic Man

Guy Gardner

ELEVEN


“And what do you flakes think you’re doing?” asked Grayson, who was in no mood for comedy.

Plas stretched the left side of his face towards Beetle, while his right stretched to Gold. In the middle his nose flattened and widened considerably, while his mouth was a stretched slit. The visual made Grayson’s stomach twist.

“Don’cha just hate it when someone comes in the middle of a movie?” he asked the Blue and the Gold simultaneously. Their reaction was similar to what Grayson felt.

Plas’ face shot like an over-stretched rubber band back into place, and then formed the face of Laugh-In announcer, Gary Owens. He cupped his ear with one hand, and formed an old fashioned microphone out of the other. “For those just tuning in,” he said in the announcer’s voice, and suddenly returned to normal. He began to inhale noisily and his chest started to expand. When his chest was about five feet across, he spoke in one massive exhalation.

“Went-to-S.T.A.R.-Labs-downloaded-files-suspect/egghead-named-Kingston-involved-with-Luthor-went-to-LexCorp-I-was-a-suitcase-downloaded-files-Big-Blue-to-be-eighty-sixed-from-cellular-level-also-downloaded-LexCorp-building-schematics-went-to-Warriors-to-con-Guy-Gardner-into-getting-Mount-Baldy-out-of-the-building-along-with-his-two-bimbo-bodyguards-to-break-in-erase-his-Supes-files-and-cause-general-mischief-and-mayhem-and-keep-him-from-finding-out-we-did-so-he’ll-miss-the-Friday-deadline,” he finished, folding himself in a neat pile on the floor in front of Nightwing. He shot back up like a jack-in-the-box and looked at Beetle and Booster. “Did I forget anything?”

“Naw, man,” Gold said. “You got it covered.”

“Very cool,” Beetle said, turning back to the computer.

Grayson’s head began to pound. He began to understand why J’onn was flaking out. If Plastic Man alone could drive you crazy, combined with Gold and the Beetle must be . . . Grayson could not even fathom a word for what J’onn must be going through.

“Did you do that,” Grayson said in a very controlled voice, “just to make me crazy?”

“No!” Plas shot back, his face directly in front of Grayson’s. He lifted his goggles and stared angrily at the masked crimefighter. “I did it because I felt you wouldn’t have heard a single word I said if I didn’t make with the funny!”

“And how do you know that?” demanded Nightwing.

“Because you’re wearin’ the same expression the others wear whenever I open my yap, that’s how!”

The pounding in Grayson’s head went up a notch.

“Are you going to stand there and tell me that Bats trusted you the moment you first put on the outfit and mask?” asked Plas, morphing his head into Batman’s cowl. “And did Bats send you because he didn’t feel we were important to personally keep an eye on?”

Grayson was not going to respond to the second question, but to the first, he was going to say ‘yes’, and knew it to be the truth, but not the whole one. Plastic Man had no idea that he was the original Boy Wonder and had steadily developed the trust – the bond between he and Bruce. His mind flashed to the day he became Robin, the Batman’s partner. How he had proudly held up his hand and swore allegiance to the cause, and how he believed that Bruce finally trusted him. He knew he cared for him, due to the similar circumstances that occurred in both their lives. From that moment on, Dick Grayson felt that every time they went on patrol together, Bruce was watching him; waiting for him to make that grievous error he always knew he would. It wasn’t until several years later did he stop feeling those dark burning eyes drilling into the back of his head. He understood.

But that was not the point right now.

Or was it?

In a twisted way, Grayson was very much like Plastic Man. Both loved the practical jokes, and the quips, and gags. But the difference was he did it when he was a kid – P.M. was doing it as an adult, as if he never grew up.

And  that was the point.

“Look, P.M.,” Grayson said. “If you have a problem with the way the JLA is treating you, talk to them; don’t dump it on me. I’m here to . . . “

“Baby-sit?” asked Plas. “Take over the mission?”

The pounding increased. “Monitor your progress,” he finished. He glanced over to Beetle, who had his back to him, happily tapping away on Luthor’s personal computer. Every other second, he released a short burst of a giggle. Grayson took a step around the sullen Plas and stifled a groan when he saw the building’s schematics on the monitor’s screen.

“Beetle?” Grayson said moving slowly around Kord to face him. “What are you . . .?” His eyes widened behind his mask when he saw a cable leading from the rear of the computer and into the device strapped to Ted’s chest. Nightwing’s hand shot out and grasped Beetle’s wrist. Kord looked up at the young man.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“What are you doing?”

“I believe the term is sabatoogy,” he replied.

“Not to be confused with Paginini,” mentioned Gold.

Plas morphed his head to resemble the scowling visage of the Three Stooges’ Moe Howard.

“Paginini?” he growled. “That’s ‘page nine’!” he exclaimed, slapping Booster across the head, making the slapping sound by striking his butt with an oversized hand.

“Before I kill the three of you,” Grayson said softly, “please tell me what you’re doing.”

So Beetle, Gold and Plas told Grayson exactly what they were doing.

Grayson smiled, thinking of the things Wally West, Roy Harper and he did when they were still in sidekick tights. His smile widened when Luthor’s sourpuss appeared in his head. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the desk.

“Don’t forget his private gym,” he offered.

Beetle and Booster grinned and high-fived each other.

“You know,” said Grayson, “This reminds me of the time I was with the original Titans. But we were known as the Teen Titans then. Here,” he said, moving behind Beetle, “Scooch over a bit.”

And as the three heroes raided Luthor’s database, Plas stood off to one side, contemplating Nightwing’s back, knives, and the strategic placement of same.

“So, Lex,” Gardner said, placing a strong hand on the man’s shoulder. “Waddya you and the ladies drinking?”

Guy had sat the three at a table that was close to the bar; what he considered the best in the place, for it gave ample view to all the super-hero displays that covered Warriors. Guy himself had turned a chair backwards and had propped his elbows on the back. Luthor, who was inspecting the monogrammed napkin in his hand, stopped and stared down at Gardner, even though the man was an inch taller, and was sitting.

“What do you have, Mr. Gardner?” he asked.

“You name it,” Guy said proudly. “Rums. Bourbons. Whiskies. Gins. Cordials. Wines. Champagnes. Cognacs. Every thing for every occasion. I personally supervised the stocking of the bar. And call me Guy.”

A cruel smile slid to Luthor’s lips. “The ladies and I will have a Haut-Brion, 1931. Guy.”

Guy stood there, his face frozen in an expression of good nature, his eyes fixed on Luthor’s. Then he blinked.

“How’s that again?”

Luthor’s smile widened. “I said the ladies and I will have a Haut-Brion, 1931.”

Though Guy’s eyes were locked on Luthor’s, his head tilted back on his neck, almost as far as it could go, then came back quickly. “Right,” he said. He leaned across the bar and caught a passing bartender by the sleeve. The man’s feet continued moving forward for two more steps until Guy’s iron grip stopped the man in his tracks.

“Get Mr. Luthor and his two friends here a couple of glasses of Haut-Brion, 1931.” He looked back at Luthor and the ladies with a self-assured expression.

“We don’t have it, Mr. Gardner,” the bartender calmly replied.

Gardner’s face didn’t just drop; it plummeted.

“Waddya mean we don’t have it?” Gardner said, his voice coming out an octave higher than usual. “You didn’t even look!”

“I would have noticed it, Mr. Gardner,” the bartender said.

“Well, look anyway!” Gardner growled in a whisper.

“Yes, Mr. Gardner,” the waiter said in a bored tone.

Guy turned back to Luthor and his bodyguards, a look of you-know-how-hard-it-is-to-get-good-help-these-days on his face. The bartender returned.

“We don’t have it, Mr. Gardner,” the bartended said again.

Guy was about to explode when Luthor cut in.

“That’s no problem,” he said with a modicum of disappointment in his voice. “How about a Lafitte-Rothschild, 1949?”

“No, Mr. Luthor,” the bartender replied.

Luthor frowned.

“Guy,” Luthor began a condescending expression on his face. “Do you by chance have anything where the date is not printed on a screw cap?”

Gardener chuckled, trying to laugh off the insult, turned to consult the bartender. As he turned, he caught Luthor winking and grinning at his sexy bodyguards. He swallowed back a flush of rage and felt his Vuldarian DNA go into overdrive. His eyes caught his reflection in the bar’s wall length mirror and saw his skin redden, and a shadow of his facial tattoos form above his eyebrows, under his eyes, and on his chin. He managed to regain control just as he heard a seam in the armpit of his jacket pop. He watched his arms, chest and shoulders deflate under his jacket.

“Ninety-three percent,” he whispered to himself. “Ninety-three percent.”

He turned and flashed a wide grin at Luthor and his associates.

“Look at it this way, Lex,” he said, slapping a firm hand on the bald man’s shoulder. “You’re always hanging around with the upper-crusty mugs you know. Now you can experience how the regular people live!”

Guy’s smile wavered when he saw Luthor’s did not match his.

Luthor stared at Gardner. His sixth sense told him that the people standing and sitting within earshot were waiting for his response. After a few seconds, he beamed at Guy.

“You’re absolutely correct, Guy,” he said. “Let me have a beer!”

“Now you’re talkin’!” exclaimed Gardner. “What’s your poison?”

“Hmmm,” thought Luthor. “Let me have a bottle of Pharaoh’s Gold.”

“I’d like one too!” chimed in Mercy.

“Me too!” said Hope.
Guy, who had already turned back to the waiting bartender swallowed deeply. A few years back, around the time he opened the original Warriors, he was playing poker with John Stewart, Alan Scott, and Carter Hall, the first Hawkman. Because Hall and Scott were big on Egyptian culture, they mentioned that archaeologists discovered a still in a tomb, found what could have been the first known beer made. They sold the ancient distilling process to a British brewery and created a beer they called Pharaoh’s Gold.

The first 12-ounce bottle was auctioned off at a cool $7,200.00.

Gardner’s eyes rose to the bartender’s, who stared back with a you-must-be-kidding look on his face.

Guy sighed. It was going to be a long night.

“Wait a minute!” said Plas, elongating his finger and tapping Beetle on the shoulder. “Let me check something!”

“Like what?” asked Nightwing.

Plas glared at the young crimefighter, but only for a second. He hoped that the lack of illumination in the room covered his expression, not necessarily from Gold and Kord, but from the Bat’s youthful protégé.

“Just a hunch,” Plas said with a forced grin, puffing out his left shoulder and upper back to create a lump. “Humor me.” He stretched his head between the shoulders of Grayson and Kord and stared at the screen. His finger stretched around and ran across the words on the screen. “Now I’m figuring that Mount Baldy has just about everything in this joint mechanized. And . . . here it is!”

“Okay,” said Grayson. “You’re in the vehicle maintenance area. Now what?”

Plas gave him an evil smile, then turned his head to Beetle. “Can you re-route this,” he said pointing to one area of the screen, “to this?” he asked.

The three men stared at the monitor for a second before they also wore a similar smirk. Beetle turned to the monitor, his eyes scanning the schematics before him and frowned. “Not without . . . “

“We can’t,” interrupted Gold. “But Skeets can.”

All eyes turned to the droid.

“May I remind you that, as of this moment, we can be charged for breaking and entering, assault, and corporate sabotage? Not counting probably a dozen or more legal infractions I’ve yet to calculate based on the laws of this particular century? If we venture down this . . . ”

“You want me to make you into a planter?” asked Plas.

Skeets began to calculate how long a stun blast would incapacitate the Stretchable Sleuth when, for lack of a better word, a ‘feeling’ came over it. It was a feeling of lightness and euphoria, which it understood to be human emotions; something it should not be ‘feeling’. Instead of performing an emergency self-diagnostic, or calculating the possibilities of being infected by a powerful virus it picked up from the LexCorp download, it began to determine the reaction of Luthor, based on what these ‘heroes’ had already done to the man’s system. The ‘feeling’ of euphoria increased and its speech sectors began to form an insidious chuckle, which it was unable to halt before its release.

The four men stared at the floating cyborg.

“Has it ever done that before?” Beetle whispered to Booster.

“Uh, no,” Booster said wide-eyed behind his goggles.

“Aren’t you a little concerned?”

“Uh, yes.”

Skeets moved across the room to an air vent grating. Three ‘arms’ came out of its sides and while two unscrewed the bolts, one held the grating, preventing it from clattering to the ground. Once the screws were loosened enough, the third arm lowered the grating to the carpeted floor. The cyborg turned to face the men.

“I shall return in a few minutes, Gentlemen,” it said, then went into the duct and disappeared from view.

A look of concern filled the faces of the costumed men when they could hear a soft ‘BWAH-HA-HA!’ echoing in the room.

Luthor scanned the Warriors menu, a soft scowl spreading across his face. He shook his head and passed the menu to Mercy and Hope. Holding the menu between them, their eyes slid from line to line. They shook their heads, replacing the menu in front of their employer, and looked up at Gardner with stern expressions.

“And that’s it, is it?” asked Luthor.

“That’s what?” asked Guy hesitantly.

“I mean that’s all you have to offer?” Luthor asked. His scowl was gone and replaced by a look of mock sympathy.

“You lost me, Lex,” Guy replied.

Luthor lowered his head and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, causing Gardner to lean in close to hear every word.

“Hamburgers,” Luthor said. “Steaks. Chicken. Ribs. Assorted seafood. Pasta. That’s all you have?”

Before he answered, Guy picked up a menu and ran his fingers across the items. “Yeah,” Guy said slowly. “That’s . . . all we have. You got a problem with it?”

“Guy, Guy, Guy,” Luthor said with the utmost patience. “No venison? No dolphin? Nothing less . . . mundane?”

Guy felt his blood pressure begin to rise, seeing where this was going.

“I thought we understood that this was what the real people would go for,” Gardner said.

Luthor waved his hand. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I know. But don’t you have something for the patrons with more . . . delicate palates?”

“Just what you see there, Lex,” Guy said in a flat tone.

They both stared at each other. Luthor sighed.

“In that case,” he said, his eyes dropping to the menu, “I’ll have the . . . “ his face scrunched up, “Blackened swordfish.” He held the menu absently to the women. They looked over the choices and whispered between them. They looked up at Gardner with a sour expression.

“What is a ‘Warriors Nacho Grande’?” Mercy asked.

Gardner’s eyes narrowed. “Depends,” he said.

“On what?” asked Hope.

“If you want ‘em regular, or Gardner-style.”

“What’s ‘regular’?” asked Mercy.

Gardner picked up the menu and ran his fingers across the words as he read them, his eyes slits. “’Taco chips, covered in a ground beef spicy salsa sauce, with shredded sharp cheddar cheese and guacamole’,” he said. “Gardner-style has ground habanera and jalapeno peppers,” he added.

The women looked at each other and shrugged. “Gardner-style,” said Mercy.

“That’s very hot,” mentioned Guy.

“You ever have shredded pork marinated in Chinese peanut oil?” asked Hope.

Gardner shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Then let us worry about it,” shot back Mercy.

Guy swallowed back a retort. “I’ll put your order in,” he muttered and turned to talk to a waiter. He heard soft giggles from behind. He turned to see the two women speaking in soft tones to Luthor, and the three stifle a burst of laughter. Luthor looked up and grinned at Gardner, giving him a thumbs up.

As he gave the waiter the order, and contemplated how much rat poison could be placed in the salsa without the women noticing, a hard hand slapped his back. He spun to see Ted Grant standing there, a concerned look on his face.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” muttered Gardner. “Wonderful.”

Grant pointed at the table with his chin. “They givin’ you a hard time?”

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, Ted,” Guy said.

“If you need me, . . . “

Guy forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me, Teddy,” he said. “The day I can’t handle a stuffed shirt like Luthor, . . . “

“And that’s another thing,” said Grant, looking around to see if anyone could hear him. “Do you really want to be associated with that crumb?”

“Not you, too?” groaned Gardner. “Look, I had this out with Johnny . . . “

“And obviously you didn’t take him to heart,” muttered Grant.

“Look, Ted,” whispered Gardner. “You weren’t clued into the financial possibilities like I was.”

“Possibilities?” Grant said with a skeptical look. “What possibilities?”

Gardner grabbed Ted by his shoulder and dragged him off to a corner, waving and greeting people along the way. When they were finally in a private corner of the club, Guy told him of the ninety-three percent success rate detailed by Skeets. Guy finished and positively beamed at the older man. Grant stared back at Guy, his face expressionless.

“And you bought this?” he asked.

“Waddya mean?” asked Guy. “This came from Skeets, not one of those bozos!”

“I’m not debatin’ who gave you the lowdown, Guy,” Grant said. “I’m just looking at the skunk angle,” he said, tilting his head back at the table in the corner.

“Ya stupe!” whispered Gardner hoarsely. “Don’cha think Skeets took that into the calculation? Ninety-three percent, Ted! Ninety-three!”

“I hear ya!” the man said. “I ain’t deaf ya know! I just don’t trust that louse, and neither should you. And from the way I see it, Baldy’s gonna bust your ‘nads every step of the way.”

“Ain’t gonna happen, Ted.”

“Yeah?” asked the aged mystery man. “If he gives Blue-Boy a headache, why don’t you think Luthor’s gonna give you a similar brain-pain?”

Gardner grinned. “Because I got one thing Supes don’t have.”

Grant’s eyebrows rose, questioningly.

“I got street smarts,” replied Gardner. “I can handle Luthor.”

Grant stared at Gardner and began to chuckle.

“What’s the funny, Ted?” Guy asked.

“The fact that you actually said that!” exclaimed Grant.

“You’re as funny as a stroke, Grant,” Guy groused.

“Yet another of my charming character traits,” he replied.

“Is everything okay?” a soft purr came from behind. Guy and Grant turned and saw Selina Kyle staring at them, a small smile on her face.

“Everything’s okay, Selina,” Grant said, placing an arm around her waist.

“Couldn’t be better,” added Guy.

She stared at the two men for a few silent seconds and nodded. “Great place you have here, Guy,” she said, her hand rising and her fingertips sliding across his cheek. Automatically, Gardner flushed. He pulled at his suddenly too-tight collar.

“Yeah, well, thanks Selina,” he grinned stupidly.

“Don’t get any ideas, Gardner,” Grant warned. “She’s with me.”

“Now would I try to step on your toes, Teddy?” Guy said, his face displaying innocence.

“In a New York second, ya bum,” Grant grinned.

“Maybe, when you’re back in the Big Apple, we could go out?” Kyle said, flashing her pearly whites and purple eyes. “Just the three of us. I’d love to hear your stories of when you were in action.”

“Hey,” Gardner said, feeling himself falling into the purple orbs again. “Don’t make it sound like Teddy and I are out of the picture. Yeah, I have Warriors to run, and true, Grant here is a little past his prime . . . “

“I can still kick your red-headed butt, you know,” Grant playfully snarled.

“Only if I give you a handicap, Teddy,” Guy said with a smile. “Anyway, he’s with the JSA, and I get called from time to time for those ‘special cases’.”

“Like changing bed pans at old folk’s homes,” muttered Grant.

“I heard that,” snapped Guy.

“You were meant to, Red.”

“I would still like to go out with the two of you,” Kyle purred. “You know; pull an all-nighter.”

There was something in her eyes that made Gardner’s pulse race. He caught a look from Grant and forced himself to wink.

“Yeah, well, let me get back to my guests,” Guy said, tilting his head in the direction of Luthor and the women. “We’ll talk more about that a little later.”

“Don’t rush on our account,” Grant muttered.

“You getting’ jealous, Ted?” Guy grinned.

Grant looked at Kyle. “Do I have any reason to be?” he asked her.

Kyle smiled and wrapped her arms around Grant’s neck and pulled herself in close. “What do you think, Ted?” she asked and kissed him deeply.

“I think that’s my cue,” Guy muttered.

From a distance, he saw a waiter bring his guests their dinner and returned to the table in time to watch Luthor, Hope and Mercy take their first taste of their order. Luthor took one bite and pushed the plate away.

“Problem?” asked Guy.

Luthor looked up. “First, the temperature is approximately six degrees colder than I like. Second, it is more charred than blackened. Third, the flavor has almost been cooked out of the fish, and lastly, I’m not entirely sure this is swordfish.”

Before Guy could respond, Mercy piped up.

“And the peppers on this Nacho-Grungy . . . “

“Grande,” Gardner corrected.

“Whatever,” Hope said.

“The peppers,” Mercy continued, “are bottled, not fresh.”

Guy looked at them one at a time.

“And you figured that out from one bite?” he asked.

Luthor sighed. “The downfall of having an educated palate.”

Guy tried to push the pain from behind his eyes to a further corner of his skull. “I’ll get you another plate,” he said reaching for their dinner.

“Don’t bother,” said Luthor.

Guy froze in mid-reach.

“Guy,” Luthor said, again with infinite patience. “You know what they say about first impressions? You don’t really think that a second chance will be any better, do you?”

“Well . . . “ Gardner began.

“I mean,” continued Luthor, “your cook is obviously sub-par in talent . . . “

“Probably minimum wage,” added Mercy.

“Most likely,” agreed Luthor. He returned his attention to Gardner. “Now I’m not saying that the food and drink your . . . club serves is not acceptable, but not to people who know better.”

“Is there anything I can get you?” he asked.

“Let’s try cognacs,” he said. “Pierre Ferrand Ancestrale?”

Guy winced and looked over to where the bartender stood, shaking his head sadly.

Luthor’s eyes slid to where Gardner was standing.

“Guy? We’ll be leaving now,” Luthor said.

He stood and his bodyguards stood with him.

For a few seconds, Gardener watched Luthor and the women walk around him and move through the crowd towards the exit. As he stared at their backs, he could see the ninety-three-percentage figure dwindle to the single digits. He moved forward and placed a firm hand on the financier’s shoulder. He could feel Luthor’s muscles stiffen under his hand. The man slowly turned around to face him. His smile was still in place, but the humor in it did not reach his eyes.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Look, Lex,” Guy began.

“’Mr. Luthor’,” Hope and Mercy said in unison.

Guy ignored them. “Lex, I’m really sorry about all this, but I promise you that the next time you . . . “

Luthor released a dark chuckle. The sound was soft and didn’t carry far, but it was loud enough to halt any further words from Gardner.

“Next time?” Luthor sneered. “And when, may I ask, did I give you the impression there was going to be a next time?”

Gardner’s mouth moved for a second, but no words came out. “But I thought . . . “

“And there is your problem, Gardner,” the man said, moving in close enough for only Guy to hear, “You attempted something you should never do. You thought.”

Guy’s eyes narrowed. “Now wait a minute,” he hissed.

“No, Gardner,” Luthor whispered, “You wait a minute.” He rolled his broad shoulders and regarded Guy as one would an insect. “I came here tonight not because of your invitation, but for public relations. Based on my position in Metropolis, it behooves me to make these ‘appearances’. If it wasn’t for that, I would avoid this place like the Ebola virus.”

Guy felt his blood pressure rise.

“Gardner, I look at you as one would look at an ex-policeman, past his prime. As I see it, ex-members of law enforcement do one of three things. They enter the entertainment field as actors, true crime and mystery writers, or consultants on TV crime shows. They become rent-a-cops, so they can delude themselves into feeling they are contributing something to society in the law enforcement arena. Or they open bars, so they can invite other ex-cops and drink the night away, sharing stories of their ‘glory days’.

“Since Hollywood isn’t tying up your telephone lines; since your history prevents you from becoming a rent-a-cop, and because you are too egotistical to do the only intelligent thing and take your own life, there was only one thing left for you to do. And that was open a bar.”

Gardener’s eyes bulged in their sockets. “Waddya mean, my history?”

“Let’s see,” Luthor said, the smile now reaching his eyes. “You were once part of the Justice League of America. Versus save the proverbial day, like your other spandex-clad cronies, you felt you had to compete with Hal Jordan, the original Green Lantern, because you felt that you should have been the original, not a third runner-up. The fact that he was better than you made you erratic and unpredictable. And that costume you wore was ridiculous! From the bulging leggings to that bastardized Moe Howard haircut right down to your overtly right wing attitude, you were a joke. Then you lost the ring – the only power you had. So what did you do? You went on a search for a ring that could beat Jordan’s; one with a yellow ray that would show the flaw in Jordan’s green bauble. Then you lost that as well. So instead of just hanging up the spandex, like any person with sense would, you adopted this leather-suited rough-boy persona of ‘Guy Gardner: Warrior’! Not just the simple ‘Warrior’ – your raging ego made you place your name in front of your super-hero nom de plume, so no one would forget who you thought you were. Even then, you failed miserably at that. Then you found you had alien DNA spliced with your human DNA, giving you unworldly powers, and you still couldn’t find steady work with your peers. And do you know why? Because they all felt, as I do, that you were nothing but a joke. So you did what someone of your class would do. You opened a bar. Yes, your establishment, which isn’t better than a third rate theme park, did obtain a little notoriety but not enough to justify your ego. So you moved your failing act into Metropolis. And why here? So you could compete with Superman. Another alien.”

When he mentioned the Man of Steel’s name, his mouth twisted like he bit into a very sour lemon.

“Now I’m sure that there was property in Gotham City for the taking, but after the Batman humiliated you, you did not have the intestinal fortitude to take the chance of locking horns with him again.” Luthor paused and smiled broadly. He placed his arm around Gardner’s shoulder, like they were old friends, because a few of the guests had their eyes on them. “Would it surprise you to know that I fought your opening this . . . dive? If it wasn’t for White and the Daily Planet board of directors outvoting me, this place would have never opened.”

Gardner began to tremble.

Luthor’s smile widened even more and threatened to split his face in twain.

“And I suspect that the only reason you invited me here was to make yourself look important, and to build this . . . establishment on my influence. Let me tell you something, Gardner; starting tomorrow morning, I intend to close this place down and open up something with far more class. Like a video arcade. Or a full-service laundromat. Have I made my point? Or would you like me to repeat it in single syllables?”

Gardner’s green eyes were cold and dead.

“No, Lex,” he said softly. “You’ve made your point.”

Luthor gave Guy a firm hug and pulled away, making no attempt to hide the wiping of his hand against his pant leg.

“Very good,” Luthor said, still smiling. “Then I will say goodnight.”

Luthor turned to the door.

“Oh, Lex?” Gardner called from over his shoulder.

Luthor turned back.

“A little advice from one businessman to another?”

Luthor grinned.

“And what, based on your in-depth command of the business world, would you have to offer me?” Luthor asked.

“Never, ever, slam a man in his own home.”

Before Luthor could respond, Guy rammed a fist into the man’s midsection, folding him in half, then followed with an uppercut to the jaw and a right cross that opened the flesh under Luthor’s eye. The final blow sent Luthor toppling backwards, landing on his Armani covered posterior.

Both Hope and Mercy’s eyes followed Lex’s descent, then turned towards Gardner. They took a step forward, suddenly found their mouths full of expensive shoe leather and found themselves on the floor next to their employer.

Landing on her toes in between Guy and the women was Selina Kyle. She smiled and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. She turned to Guy, who stared back, slack-jawed.

“I suspected that you were too much of a gentleman to strike a woman,” she said. “So I did it for you.”

Still stunned, Guy stared back at the beautiful brunette.

“Any comment?” she asked.

“I gotta put this in my calendar,” chuckled Grant, taking a pull from a fresh bottle of beer. “The day Guy Gardner was left speechless!”

“I’M GOING TO SUE YOU, GARDNER!” screamed Luthor. “I’LL HAVE YOU ARRESTED, AND I’M GOING TO SUE YOU! I’m going to take you for every last dime you have! Every last dime you think you’ll ever make!”

“I strongly doubt that, Luthor,” came a voice from behind the forming crowd. The crowd separated and John Stewart rolled forward in his motorized wheelchair.

“You keep out of this Stewart!” roared Luthor. “This is between me and this . . . this buffoon!”

Stewart smiled smugly. “All right, Luthor,” he said. “I’ll play straight-man. Why don’t you tell everyone why you intend to press charges against my friend?”

“He struck me!” he cried incredulously. “I told him I was leaving and he struck me! It was totally unprovoked!”

“Ohhhhhhh, really?” Stewart replied tilting his head forward, staring at Luthor over an invisible pair of glasses. Stewart rolled back a bit and held a mini-tape player in his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury!” he cried for all to hear. “I would like to submit Exhibit Number One into evidence!” He pressed a button on the side of the machine.

‘And  that costume you wore was ridiculous!’ Luthor’s voice said from the tape player. Luthor’s face fell and flushed. ‘From the bulging leggings to that bastardized Moe Howard haircut right down to your overtly right wing attitude, you were a joke.’

Stewart snapped off the player. “You want more?” he asked. “I’m sure the public would like to hear what else you had to say.”

“Now look, you . . . “

“Apparently, you intentionally provoked Mr. Gardner,” said Stewart, who rolled closer to Luthor. “Who unfortunately responded in the only way he could. Force. So don’t tell me his actions were unprovoked.”

Stewart pressed the button on the instrument again.

‘So instead of just hanging up the spandex, like any person with sense would, you adopted this leather-suited rough-boy persona of ‘Guy Gardner: Warrior’! Not just the simple ‘Warrior’ – your raging ego made you place your name in front of your super-hero nom de plume, so no one would forget who you thought you were. Even then, you failed miserably at that.’

“That’s not my voice, Stewart!” Luthor announced with a malicious grin. “In order to protect your friend . . . “

Stewart leaned back casually in his chair and pressed a button on the chair’s arm.

“ . . . you manufactured my voice!” Luthor’s voice echoed throughout the club. The pupils in his eyes dilated and all the whites showed. “How?” his voice rang through the speakers. “How?” he repeated.

“Guy?” John said. Gardner moved closer to his friend. Without shifting his gaze from Luthor’s, Stewart reached up and plucked the ruby Warrior pin from his lapel. He held it in front of his mouth.

“A transmitter,” Stewart said in a good-naturedly tone, his voice now coming through the speakers. “A gift from me to Guy. Call it a little insurance.”

“Stewart,” Luthor began, then winced when the sound of his voice hit his ears. “Turn that off.”

“Excuse me?” Stewart asked, tilting his head.

“I said, turn that damn thing off!” he bellowed, then realized that Stewart had already turned it off.

A young red-headed man, camera in hand, pushed his way through the crowd, saw Luthor and Gardner standing before one another and stared crestfallen.

“Darn!” he cried. “I missed all the fun!”

Gardner glanced at Luthor, who was gingerly touching the gash under his eye, then at the kid with the camera.

“Hey, Red,” Gardner said. “Here. Take another whack at it.” He turned to Luthor. “Hey, Lex!” Gardner called. “I admit I sucker punched you, so you deserve to take a shot at me. You get off a clean one, and we’re even. Guy Gardner always fights fair. Ready, Red?”

Without a moment of hesitation, Luthor fired a haymaker at Gardner’s jaw.

Who caught the oncoming fist in his hand.

“Awww,” Gardner said, “Too slow, Lexy.” He shot a hard jab to the bald man’s eye, rocking his head back on his neck. As Luthor’s knees turned to over cooked pasta, Guy held him upright by his fist. “Ladies?” he said to Mercy and Hope. “Please take the trash out.” He released Luthor’s fist and sent him wobbling backwards into the women’s waiting arms.

“You haven’t heard the last of this!” cried Mercy.

“Oh, please, Miss Henna-Rinse,” purred Kyle, “Tell me more.”

Mercy shot a dirty look at Selina and helped Hope drag Luthor out of the club.

“Got it, Red?” asked Gardner.

“You bet, Mr. Gardner!” he cried.

“Call me, Guy,” Gardner said with a grin. “Us redheads gotta stick together!”

“Uh, yeah!” the young man said. “And you can call me, Jimmy!”

“Gee,” Guy said, “I would have never guessed.”

As the young man retreated into the crowd, Guy turned to Stewart.

“I owe ya big time, Johnny,” he said.

“And this is news?” Stewart replied with a grin.

“Well, Guy,” Grant said, his arms folded across his chest, “There goes your ninety-three percent!”

“Ah, who needs it, Grant?” Guy beamed. “The people who come to Warriors have always been good enough for me, so why add mugs like Luthor and his crowd? We may not have quail eggs, or some other Yuppie stuff like that, but we sure have the best steaks around!”

“I’ll second that, Red!” agreed Grant.

Gardner looked at Stewart. “Switch that thing on again, willya, Johnny?”

Stewart winked at Guy, who held the ruby W to his mouth.

“It’s opening night at Warriors, folks!” he yelled. “Drinks are on the house!”

The crowd roared and stormed the bar. Grant saddled up to Guy and slapped him on the back. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all night, Red! Don’t know why everyone says you’re dumb!”

Gardner grinned and watched the sea of smiling faces. He leaned against the doorframe and sighed a contented smile. He looked at Stewart.

“You drinkin’, Johnny?”

“Don’t know if I should,” he said. “This little act of generosity is going to lower tonight’s profits.”

Gardner waved at him. “Aw, go on, Johnny!” he said. “Couldn’t do this if it wasn’t for you. Drink up!”

Stewart held his arms out and both men gave each other a strong hug. Guy bussed the man’s cheek.

“Thanks for being my friend, Johnny,” he said quietly.

“You’ve always been mine, Guy,” he replied and rolled off towards the bar.

Guy sighed a deeper sigh and ambled behind the crowd. His footsteps slowed and came to a stop, his eyes narrowing.

“Who says I’m dumb?” he snarled. “Grant! You miserable sack of dog poop!” he screamed. “WHO SAYS I’M DUMB?!?!”

 

To Be Continued...