NOT The World's Greatest Superheroes.....
JLI: The Return of BWA-HAH-HA! #12 - May, Year 2	by Bertram Gibbs

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Martian Manhunter

Blue Beetle

Booster Gold

Plastic Man

WEDNESDAY – 12:01 AM

“Wally? Arthur here,” Aquaman said over the transmitter in the JLA Watchtower.

“Your night to pull duty, Artie?” West asked from the comforts of his living room.

“Yes,” the King of the Atlantis replied. “But please, stop calling me ‘Artie’. You know that irritates me.”

“Just being sociable,” he said.

“Let’s not get that familiar, if you would?” said Artie. “Your old friend, Captain Cold has surfaced in Los Angeles.”

“Not him again,” moaned West. “What’s his harebrained caper now?”

“It pains me to say this,” said Aquaman, squeezing the tender spot on the bridge of his nose, between his eyes. “But he is in the middle of robbing ‘The Iceman Cometh’ box office.”

A small hiss of white noise came through the Watchtower speakers.

“You’re kidding me, right?” asked West.

“Wallace,” began Arthur in a tone regulated for the mental deficient. “Have I ever been known to ‘kid’?”

An audible sigh came from the speakers. “I’m on my way.”

“Be quick,” Arthur said. “Pardon the unintentional pun. The actor, Kenneth Spaced, . . . “

“Kevin Spacey,” Wally corrected.

“Whatever,” sighed his Highness. “The actor is presently detaining the Captain.”

“He’s not trying to play ‘hero’, is he?”

“From what I hear, he is interviewing him.”

“ . . . ”

“Yes,” he sighed. “This Spacey actor seems to feel that Cold’s personality is the fodder for a role he’s working on.”

“Well, knowing Chilly’s ego, he’ll be eating it up,” said West. “That tightwad might even spring for beers.”

“I do not suspect this actor could detain him for too long.”

“I’m on it,” he said and the line disconnected.

A blinking red light appeared on the communications console. A curved golden hook tapped the button underneath it.

“Watchtower,” he said. “Aquaman here.”

“Hello, Aquaman,” said Grayson. “This is Night . . . “

Aquaman’s bearded visage scowled and his upper body shot forward, as if he could confront the young man by doing so.

“Where are they?” he hissed.

“I just left them,” Grayson said, his headache becoming worse.

“What do you mean, you ‘just left them’? Why are they not here?”

“Well, . . . “

“You are familiar with the state J’onn is in?”

“Very.”

“You do understand the level of shame and responsibility, in that order, J’onn feels?”

“Yes, I d . . . “

“Then, I will ask again, why are they not here!?!?”

“They’re still working on the case,” Grayson replied, searching his pockets for the extra-strength aspirin he picked up.

“I see,” Aquaman said after a beat. “Are you familiar with that comic book company, . . . “

“Which one?” interrupted Grayson.

“Let me finish,” Arthur said. “The one with the action figure recreations of the character’s drawn form.”

“Which one?” he repeated.

Arthur’s jaw clenched.

“The one who produces melodramatic pap based on actual cases of true crimefighters.”

“Which one?” Nightwing repeated a third time.

Arthur eyed the curved point of his harpoon hand. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Continue.”

“On J’onn’s request, Wally had to run across the entire United States this afternoon,” said Aquaman, “picking up plastic replicas of Plastic Man, the Blue Beetle and Booster Gold.”

“Am I going to really hate myself for asking why?” Grayson asked quietly.

“I would,” answered Arthur. “Understand me when I say the situation here is moving towards critical.”

“What did he need the dolls for?”

“Actually,” said Arthur, one eyebrow quizzically raised, “The carton they came in stated they were Action Figures?”

Grayson sighed. “Why did J’onn want the action figures?”

“He has adorned his room with its heads,” Aquaman replied.

“Say . . . again?”

“You know of those hanging beads that are used to cover open doorframes?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Heads.”

“Heads?”

“Heads. He has even made a necklace and bracelets out of them.”

“Why?” Grayson asked, dreading the answer.

“J’onn sits for hours in his Martian form, hovering above the ground, chanting and shaking a box with filled with do . . . action figure heads.”

“Did he happen to say why he was doing this?”

“Hmmm,” Arthur hummed. “He called it; now let me get this right, ‘The Incredibly Savage and Brutal Martian Death Prayer’.”

“Oh, God!” Grayson said in a weak voice. “Call it masochism, but how many of these heads does J’onn have?”

“Three gross.”

“Oh, God!” Grayson repeated.

“Of each figure,” Arthur added.

“Oh, God!” he said a third time.

“You do know where they are, don’t you?”

“Well, . . . “

“I really do not like the direction this answer is going, Nightwing.”

“They know where I am?” he offered in a small voice. He hadn’t felt this vulnerable since the first six months of being Robin.

“And they promised to call you?” Arthur asked after a pause.

“Uh, yes?”

“And am I to understand you believed them?”

“LOOK!” yelled Grayson. “I’M TIRED, ALL RIGHT???”

“You. Are raising. Your voice,” Aquaman said in a dangerous tone.

“I’m sorry . . . “

“To a KING!”

“Yes, yes,” said Grayson quickly. “I am truly sorry!”

”I assume you do not wish me to disclose the levels of your exhaustion to
J’onn?”

“I would rather you didn’t,” Grayson said softly.

“Or to a member of your immediate family?”

“I would really rather you didn’t!”

“Then you will find them and bring them here so J’onn may have words with them?”

“I guarantee it!”

There was a sinister pause in communication.

“Wallace did inform me that there was a Nightwing doll,” Arthur said darkly.

“A Nightwing . “ Grayson said softly.

“From what Wallace mentioned, it did not seem to be selling well, so there is an abundance.” Aquaman smiled a shark-like smile. “I suspect I’ve made myself clear?”

“Imported crystal,” muttered Grayson.

“Very good,” Aquaman replied in a satisfied voice. “When this is over, you must explain why these approximations of super-heroes exist.”

“Excuse me?” Grayson said hesitantly.

“I mean,” said Aquaman frowning, “What is the need? They barely resemble the individual. Most show a musculature that defies the boundaries of human development. And what is the meaning of these ‘weapons’ that accompany these figures. Weapons we have never used, much less heard of?”

“I don’t . . . “

“The Blue Beetle figure came with a Flying Beetle Disc!” he exclaimed. “It flies a total of three feet, courtesy of a blue plastic holder with a very cheap spring! I do not understand why anyone would want something so, so . . . kitschy.”

“I’ll be going now,” Grayson said in a vacant voice. “Nightwing out.”

Arthur closed his end of the transmission and frowned. He reached down and picked up an Aquaman action figure and held it in front of him.

“They got the hook all wrong,” he muttered.

WEDNESDAY – 12:17 AM

“Good night, Elsa,” Kingston said from the doorway of his condo, wearing a satin robe and leather slippers. He shot the attractive woman a smile and combed his thick brown hair back with his fingers. Truth be told, you would probably insult the woman by calling her by the over simplified term ‘attractive’.

“You’ll call me tomorrow, Henry?” she purred in a Swedish accent that was diluted by her living in America for more than a few years.

“If I have time, darling,” he said. “You know how busy my schedule is.”

She leaned forward and seductively ran her tongue across his lips, pulled back, winked and walked into the night.

Henry stood there watching her get in her car and drive off. He stretched, arching his back and went inside, closing the door behind him.

He padded though the expansive foyer, through the living room, which was littered with empty champagne bottles and a three-quarter empty dish of caviar, and into his dark cavernous bedroom.

Kingston sat on he edge of his king-sized bed, removed his slippers and lay back on his pillow. His hand reached up and he tapped the remote control that was built into the headboard, and turned down the soft classical music. He smiled deeply and closed his eyes.

A sudden gust of cool air blew across his face and he shivered. He frowned and got up, padded across the carpeted floor and shut the French doors that lead to the patio, then returned to the bed, snuggling under the covers.

His eyes shot open and his body tensed. I didn’t open the windows, the professor thought. He sighed and relaxed. Elsa probably did, he mused, a wicked smile stretching across his face. It was awfully warm in here. He grinned to himself and turned on his side.

“Evenin’, Prof,” said a voice.

Kingston yelped and sat up in the bed, reached to the control and illuminated the room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was Booster Gold, and the Blue Beetle. Skeets was hovering near Kingston’s computer on the other side of the room, its tendrils attaching itself to the computer’s hard drive.

Kingston was about to speak when the voice spoke again.

“Or should we say, ‘good morning’, since it is the start of a new day?” asked Plas, who was lying next to Kingston, his hand cradling his head as he leaned on his side; the rest of his body was the man’s pillow. Kingston yelped again and leaped out of the bed, his leg getting tangled in the sheets and fell on the floor.

“What do you want?” he exclaimed. “I can have you arrested for . . . “

“Breaking and entering?” finished Plas. “Right on one; wrong on the other. The doors were open, and since you were awake, we figured you wouldn’t mind if we had a chat.”

“I think you’ll thank us for not interrupting a . . . tender moment,” said Beetle.

“Or several ‘tender moments’,” amended Gold.

An electric hum brought Kingston’s attention across the room. “What is that thing doing?” he demanded.

Plas slid out of the bed and formed at the foot, his hands on his hips.

“Skeets, there is checking out the contents of your hard drive,” Plas answered.

“You can’t do that!” he protested. “That’s illegal!”

“And selling info to Lex Luthor is a symbol of honesty?” asked Gold, moving closer to Kingston, standing above him.

“I don’t know . . . “

“Cut the malarkey, Prof,” Plas said. “You have extensive gambling debts and a more expensive lifestyle to support. I suspect Hamilton would be surprised you live so well on what S.T.A.R. Labs is paying you.”

“I repeat, I don’t know . . . “

“What we’re talking about,” finished Plas again. “Skeets? Would you please enlighten the dear professor?”

Skeets detached itself from the computer and came over to the other side of the bedroom.

“Which would you like to see first, Professor Kingston?” it asked. “The oversea bank accounts? Your gambling debts? Your salary versus your spending habits? The deposits into said oversea bank accounts made by a hidden subsidiary of LexCorp?”

“We got you nailed, Prof,” Plas said. “I really do not think our informing Hamilton is going to increase your profit share.”

“Several years in the slammer are not going to make the leg breakers too happy,” said Beetle. “And we don’t mean those country club places, either.”

“You do owe them a nice bit of change,” Gold said glancing at the numbers on the screen.

“One point seven million,” Skeets said, “If you wish to round off the total.”

Kingston deflated considerably. Not having moved from the floor, he drew his knees up to his chest and let his head hang down, his thick hair covering his face.

“What do you want?” he muttered.

Plas stretched his upper torso to where the professor sat. “Now you’re talking, Kingy!” he exclaimed. “We want you to do nothing.”

Kingston raised his face to the Stretchable Sleuth’s. “N-nothing?”

Plas nodded his head. “That’s right, Prof,” he said. “Business as usual. We know you made the call to Hamilton from your cell phone and had your voice electronically altered. Why?” he asked. “A sudden feeling of guilt?”

“You’re a few hundred million behind, guilt-wise, to start feeling that emotion,” mentioned Beetle.

“Or did you suspect that should Mount Baldy’s plan actually work, you might take the fall for Big Blue’s death?” asked Plas.

“The GeneEx Device is supposed to rid the world of disease, not kill someone!” Kingston cried.

“But because the device can be altered to do so, that’s the reason why it’s being destroyed in a few days,” Gold said. “Right?”

Kingston nodded his head.

“So this is what you’re gonna do, Prof,” Plas said, scooping the man up in his arms and placing him back in his bed. “You’re not going to say a word to Chrome Dome that the jig is up. We’ll take care of the rest. Skeets here will be monitoring all incoming and outgoing calls between you and Luthor. Not that we don’t trust you, but, well, we don’t trust you.”

A glint of opportunity shone in the man’s eyes.

“And in return?” he asked.

“In return, we don’t inform S.T.A.R. Labs of your arrangements, past and present, with the Bald One,” Plas replied.

“Not a word?” Kingston asked hopefully.

“You have our JLA oath on it,” Plas replied.

Kingston looked up at the innocent expressions on the heroes’ faces.

“You have a deal!” he said relieved.

Plas changed into game show host Regis Philbin. “Is that your final answer?”

Kingston’s eyes widened at the change, but gave a smirk and held out his hand.

Plas, returning to his original form, stared at the outstretched hand and frowned.

“Rather not, Prof,” he said. “I don’t know where it’s been.”

“Though we have a pretty good idea,” Gold muttered.

The men moved to the French doors and Skeets opened them. Plas wrapped his arms around Booster’s neck and became a cape, while Beetle held Gold’s outstretched hand. They lifted up and off the balcony.

Kingston lay back in the bed, flop sweat pouring off of his face, breathing a sigh of relief. There were a few others he knew, ones with a great deal of ready cash, who he could call to support his habit. He soon drifted off to a restful sleep…

“You think that was wise, Plas?” asked Gold.

“What was, Boost?” he asked.

“Giving our JLA oath not to inform S-Labs about Kingston’s selling their technology?”

“Yeah,” said Beetle, forcing back a Double Baby Back Burritos burp. “What’s to stop the guy from doing it again, but maybe this time, with, say, the Joker?”

“Look, gents,” Plas said grinning. “We promised not to tell S.T.A.R. Labs, right?”

“Yeah,” both men replied.

“But we didn’t promise not to tell the FBI, or the IRS, now did we?” Plas asked with a wide grin. “We’re the good guys, remember!”

Beetle looked up at Plas, then at Gold. All three wore something-eating grins.

“BWAH-HA-HA!!! BWAH-HA-HA!!! BWAH-HA-HA!!!” they laughed into the night…
 

To Be Continued...