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The World's Greatest Superheroes.....
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| JLI: The Return of BWA-HAH-HA! #13 - June, Year 2 | by Bertram Gibbs |
Martian Manhunter |
Blue Beetle |
Booster Gold |
Plastic Man |
WEDNESDAY – 6:29 AM
Lex Luthor was a creature of habit. Though his clock was set for seven AM, he
always woke up, at least, five minutes earlier. Because the building was fully
automated, his alarm, which was a soft electronic voice, called out, ‘Seven
O’clock, Mr. Luthor’, with ‘The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies’ playing softly
in the background. This message was repeated several times until the sensors
read he had left the warm confines of his bed. The room was as equally as warm
as his bed, being climate controlled. With seemingly boundless energy, he went
to his personal gymnasium, worked out strenuously for an hour, each weight
machine set for the proper weight per exercise, showered, its temperature
electronically regulated, and dressed for the day. He then had a light breakfast
of imported quail eggs, lightly buttered toast, and a pot of coffee. While he
ate, he scanned the newswires to see what had occurred as he slept.
This was his morning ritual, and regardless of where he was, either in the
LexCorp building, or in one of his many mansions, also electronically
controlled, it never varied.
The only reason why Luthor woke so early was because he leaned heavily on his
damaged eye. He winced and frowned, staring at the alarm clock on his night
table. His fingers gingerly touched his face, feeling the swollen flesh beneath
his fingers. He swore and rolled over on his side.
As the LED numerals changed from 6:29 to 6:30, Luthor was propelled out of his
bed and onto the floor by a recording of John Phillip Sousa’s ‘Stars and Stripes
Forever’ played at such a volume, it would rival a Who concert.
He slammed his skinless pate against the carpeted floor hard enough to cause
stars to float in front of his eyes. He held his hands to his ears and slammed
his fist on the SLEEP button.
The music increased in volume.
He also felt goose pimples rise on his skin. He exhaled and saw the steam of his
breath in front of him. His eyes went to the room’s thermometer and saw the
temperature reading at twenty-six degrees.
He howled like a wounded T-Rex.
Hope and Mercy burst into his sleeping quarters, weapons held in front of them,
their eyes scanning the room for intruders.
“WILL YOU TURN THAT DAMN THING OFF?!?!?!” Luthor screamed above the music.
As both women dived for the control panel on the wall, the blaring music stopped
and was replaced by Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.
Luthor glared at the women, who, for probably the first time in their lives,
looked helpless.
Luthor grabbed his robe and wrapped it around his naked form. He stopped in
front of the mirrored wall and stared at his flushed face, trying to calm
himself down. That calm he was trying to reach ended quickly when he took a good
look at his face.
His eye was almost swollen shut, his cheek was red and the skin around the eye
was a dark purple.
In short, he wore a nasty looking black eye.
A harsh growl began in his chest and fought its way out of his mouth. He spun on
his heel and grabbed a waiting towel.
“I’m going to exercise!” he barked and left the bedroom, leaving the women
trembling in the cold.
Luthor, still grumbling and muttering, entered a weight of one hundred and fifty
pounds on the bench press machine and lay on the flat surface of the bench. He
took a few breaths, wrapped his hands around the bar and pushed upward. He did
five easy reps, feeling the tension drain from him.
When he performed his sixth rep, the weight of one-fifty suddenly increased by
two hundred pounds, forcing the bar down to his chest, pinning his hands against
his chest.
“Mercy!” he croaked. “Hope!”
Normally, they would have heard his cries for assistance through the well-microphoned
gym, but at the same time the weight increased, Benny Goodman’s ‘Sing! Sing!
Sing!’ blasted through the speakers, drowning out his cries.
Luthor pushed at the bar, with no avail. His eyes went to the readout of the
weight machine, now showing the weight to be three hundred pounds, and
increasing steadily. A wave of anger filled him and he took a staggered breath
and pushed up as hard as he could.
At the same time the weight dropped to fifty pounds.
“ARRGGGGGHHHH!” he screamed as he felt his shoulder wrench in its socket.
Luthor slid off the machine, holding his wounded shoulder and stared insanely at
the machine. He stood, grabbed a dumbbell with his functional arm and began to
smash the weight control panel repeatedly. He then threw the dumbbell across the
room, where it hit the wall, cracking the plaster, and dropped to the floor,
making a noticeable dent in the parquet surface.
Luthor stood there breathing heavily, his eyes darting from one end of the room
to the other, searching for something, anything, or someone he could blame for
this.
He stalked into the shower and turned on the hot water tap, full blast.
Then screamed again when the water came out ice cold.
He backed heavily into the stall wall, shivering. He took a ragged breath and
dove into the stream of ice water and began to punch the temperature control,
opening the knuckles on his hand.
The water temperature increased to the hot setting it should have been.
He felt the cold leave him and felt his muscles relax underneath the pulsating
stream. He leaned his head against the tile wall and closed his eyes just as the
temperature returned to arctic blast.
He propelled himself backwards, his heel striking the edge of the stall and fell
out of the shower, landing hard on his rear end.
The big band music was suddenly replaced by braying laughter.
His scowl deepened as the sound of ‘BWAH-HA-HA!’ rang in his ears.
Luthor strode into his office, wearing a pearl gray suit, with matching shoes
and lilac tie, his injured arm hanging limp at his side. His hands were bandaged
and the mouse under his eye had darkened considerably. Mercy and Hope backed
away a safe distance from their employer.
“I want a full diagnostic performed on the system!” he ordered.
“Yes, Mr. Luthor!” they snapped in unison.
His eyes shot in their direction. “NOW!” he bellowed.
They ran out of the office.
He went to his desk, snatched a piece of toast from the tray and began munching.
He poured a cup of coffee from the pot and took a sip from the LexCorp mug, then
spit out the brew across the desk. The normally strong Brazilian blend tasted
like someone had tripled the amount of beans per pot.
Luthor threw the pot and the mug across the room, where both shattered against
the floor.
His hands were trembling. With considerable effort, he raised his right arm to
the computer and turned it on.
The speakers blasted the theme song from the Three Stooges shorts. Not the
‘Three Blind Mice’ music, but the high pitched ‘NAA-NAA-NAAH, NA NA NA-NA
NANA’, then stopped. His eyes, which were shut, opened on the monitor.
Instead of the home page for Associated Press, it showed a tri-colored
test pattern of red, blue and gold. After a few seconds, the AP page showed.
“WHO IS DOING THIS?!?!?!” Luthor screamed, raising both hands above his head and
quickly regretting the action, not only opening a seam in the armpit of his
jacket, but also increasing the pain in his shoulder.
The double doors to his office opened slightly as Mercy peered around the
opening.
“Mr. Luthor?” she asked hesitantly.
“WHAT?”
“That, uh, music?”
His eyes burned into the woman’s.
“It’s playing through the building’s speakers,” she said, quickly closing the
door.
As Luthor raged in his office, Mercy sat at her station, whipping the
perspiration from her face with a handkerchief. She glanced over to Hope, who
was staring slack-jawed at her monitor. Mercy came up behind her and saw a naked
man on the woman’s screen.
A well endowed naked man.
“The boss’ll flip if he catches you,” she whispered.
“I didn’t turn it on!” the woman whispered back. “It . . . just came on!”
The red head pushed the woman aside with her hip and began to rapidly enter
commands. The screen did not change. She turned off the monitor and sat back in
her chair.
“The boss will have our heads if we don’t find out who’s behind this!” Mercy
whispered.
“Well, we better find out quick,” Hope said, a nervous tic forming in the corner
of her eye. “Mr. L has that ten-thirty with that Cuban ambassador.”
“Lovely,” sighed Mercy. “I forgot about that. Better make sure those brains in
the computer lab are working on solving this . . . problem.” She pressed a
button on her telephone and listened, then hung up.
Hope looked at her partner.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Taco Gringo’s take out answered,” she said, burying her face in her hands.
“WILL SOMEONE ANSWER ME WHY BUGS BUNNY IS ON MY COMPUTER SCREEN!??!!” screamed
Luthor from behind the door.
As if the fates chose to answer his question, the speakers blared,
‘NAA-NAA-NAAH, NA NA NA NA NANA’, then stopped.
Hope checked her watch. She groaned and shook her head.
“Ten o’clock,” she muttered. She looked at Mercy, whose normally neat and pulled
back hair was in disarray. “It’s happening on the hour.”
“WHERE’S THAT DIAGNOSTIC REPORT???” bellowed Luthor.
“Coming soon, Sir!” Hope said into the intercom.
“WHY DOESN’T YOUR DEFINITION OF SOON MATCH MY DEFINITION OF THE WORD???”
Hope came close to screaming back to at man, foregoing the intercom, then chose
to remain silent.
The elevator pinged and two harried looking men literally fell out of the car.
Minus any random thought of coming to the aid of the two men, both women
groaned.
“You’re late,” groused Mercy.
“You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!” snapped Hope.
“Yeah?” snarled Loren Rasmussen, pulling himself to a standing position. “No
ca-ca!” The man was bespectacled, rail thin and reeked of geek.
“We have been riding up and down in that car for the last thirty minutes!” cried
Jason Miller, his sweating balding pate reflecting the light, the hair of his
cheesy goatee sticking in several directions. He stood and unconsciously
attempted to pull in his ample gut.
“And the last fifteen minutes were random freefall!” added Loren.
Hope stood and crossed her arms across her chest. “Look,” she said in a deadly
tone. “Things have been going screwy since six this morning, with apparently no
explanation.”
“Mr. Luthor is not happy about this,” added Mercy, copying her partner’s stance.
“It is our job to keep Mr. Luthor happy.”
“Well, he ain’t gonna love this,” Rasmussen said.
“We found nothing,” stated Miller.
“What do you mean you found nothing?” snarled Mercy.
“We mean,” began Miller, “was that we performed a full diagnostic on the entire
system . . . “
“Three times,” mentioned Rasmussen.
“. . . and we found nothing wrong! Anywhere!”
“Zip,” said Rasmussen, wiping a smudge from his glasses with his tie. “Nada.
Bupkiss. Zilch. Zero.”
“Not one area of the entire system is malfunctioning in any way,” said Miller.
“We can’t explain it,” said Rasmussen, staring at a scuff on the toe of his
loafer.
“Then what do we tell . . . “ Mercy said, tilting her head to the mercifully
closed door.
“Gremlins!” cried Miller.
“Poltergeists!” said Rasmussen.
“Little green men from Mars!” snapped Miller. “Tell him anything you want!”
“It’ll be a far cry better explanation than what we have!” whined Rasmussen.
“Which, if you haven’t grasped it yet, is nothing!” added Miller.
Mercy stepped around her station and walked in front of Miller, hoisting him up
by his tie and forcing the man to stand on his toes.
“Suppose you go and find something,” she hissed. “Quickly!”
“But we . . . “ cried Rasmussen.
“Don’t make me come around this desk, boy!” Hope warned the taller man.
Rasmussen backed away a step.
Mercy tapped the elevator button.
Both men recoiled like they were shot with a mega volt of electricity.
“NOT THE ELEVATOR!” they screamed.
“WHAT IN NAME OF ALL THAT’S HOLY IS GOING ON OUT THERE?!?!?!” bellowed Luthor
from the office.
“Nothing, Mr. Luthor!” the women cried.
Mercy released her hold on Miller’s tie. He backed away, leaning against the
wall, trying to recall the function of breathing.
“Now you two whiz kids get back downstairs and find an explanation for this!”
she rasped.
“Or else we’ll come down there and help you find it,” added Hope.
“Starting with an open cavity search!” sneered Mercy, adding a dark grin to her
statement.
Both men scampered to the stair exit and ran out.
Both women looked at each other, then to the large double doors and sighed. They
had no sooner sat at their stations and had pulled back their hair, when the
elevator door slid open. A swarthy looking man in an expensive suit stood in the
opening. The light glinted off his high-gloss expensive shoes as he walked out.
“Greetings,” he said with a slight bow. “I am Ambassador Maceo. I have an
appointment with Mr. Luthor. I apologize for being a bit early.”
“No problem, Sir,” said Hope. “One second.”
Versus buzzing the intercom and waiting for Luthor’s response, before advising
him of his visitor, Hope pressed the intercom button and quickly said,
“Ambassador Maceo is here to see you, Mr. Luthor,” then removed her finger and
waited.
A few tense seconds flew by. The ready smile of the ambassador faltered slightly
as he noticed the muscles under the ladies’ shoulders appeared bunched and as
hard as a rock.
The double doors swung open to reveal a beaming Lex Luthor, now wearing a
white-on-white suit and a rose colored shirt. A diamond stickpin held his black
tie in place.
“Ambassador!” Luthor cried. “Please! Come in!”
The ambassador shook hands with Luthor and walked in the office. Before he
closed the door behind him, Luthor’s smiling face fell to a deep scowl. “I will
not be interrupted by that insane caterwauling when the clock strikes eleven,
will I?” he growled.
“We’re still looking into the matter, Mr. Luthor,” Mercy said.
Luthor released a harsh expulsion of air. “Then I will endeavor to complete my
meeting before that time,” he said slamming the door behind him.
“Are you sure there is nothing the matter, Mr. Luthor?” asked Maceo. “This is
the third time you seemed to hesitate when you checked your computer for
comparative data.”
Luthor grinned at the man. “It was not hesitation, Mr. Ambassador,” Luthor
replied. “I had injured my shoulder this morning and it stings a bit when I lift
both hands to the keyboard.”
“I see,” replied Maceo watching Luthor’s face tighten as he tapped out
information on the keyboard. “To say nothing for your eye.”
Luthor gave the man a weak grin.
“If it pains you, Mr. Luthor,’ the man said after a few seconds, “We can
continue this later in the week. Say, Friday?”
“Nonsense,” scoffed Luthor. “There’s no time like the present. And a little pain
is just a reminder that we are mortal, is it not?”
“Yes, Mr. Luthor,’ Maceo agreed with a understanding smile. “The spirit, it may
be willing, while our bodies are rendered weak.”
“Never weak, Mr. Ambassador,” corrected Luthor. “Temporarily indisposed, maybe,
but never weak. It would do you good to remember that. Besides, I already have
Friday booked solid.”
The ambassador was about to correct Luthor on social protocols, but quickly
remembered the five million dollar deposit that was confirmed that morning,
lying comfortably in an anonymous European bank account.
“Everything is in order, Mr. Ambassador,” Luthor said with a satisfied grin. “We
can officially state off the record that we have concluded our business
transaction!”
“Fantastic!” cried Maceo, standing up and shaking the man’s undamaged hand. “I
suggest we smoke on it!” he exclaimed, removing two long cigars from his pocket.
He handed one to Luthor. “It is a tradition in my family.”
“It would be a sin not to follow tradition,” replied Luthor, taking one from the
Ambassador’s hand. His eyes slid to the glowing red readout on the LED clock and
saw it was 9:49 AM. With ten minutes to spare, Luthor commended himself.
The ambassador first lit Luthor’s cigar, then his own, and sat back in the
comfortable chair. Luthor went as far as placing his heels on the edge of his
desk.
“Did you happen to see the polo match two nights ago?” the ambassador asked.
Luthor frowned. “Was it on?” he asked. “I’m sorry to say I missed it.”
“You missed it?” exclaimed Maceo. “It the most incredible game I have ever seen
in my life!”
“Non-stop action, from both teams?” asked Luthor, leaning forward like a
fishwife hungry for the latest gossip.
“Oh, to say the least!” replied the ambassador. “There was this one play by
DeVries that . . . “
The sudden silence by the ambassador allowed Luthor to hear a soft beeping sound
coming from the computer.
“What is that sound?” he asked.
Luthor frowned and glanced at the monitor. He shook his head. “Seems our smoke
has set off the fire alarm.”
“What shall we do?” asked Maceo.
Luthor tapped a few buttons and turned back to the ambassador. “Not a thing,” he
replied, exhaling a thick plume of smoke. “I’ve shut it down. Nothing to concern
yourself with.”
The ambassador smoked in silence for a few puffs, his eyes absently
contemplating the gray rings that floated in front of him. “Call it childish
curiosity, Mr. Luthor,” he said.
“’Lex’,” Luthor corrected.
The ambassador grinned. “Yes, Lex. Of course. But what would have happened if
you failed to shut off your fire alarm?”
What Lex Luthor would have said if given the chance, was that a similar alarm
would ring in the fire station about six blocks away and an emergency crew would
arrive in three minutes flat to put out the damage to the central office of the
LexCorp Building (such was the luxury of having certain revealing photographs of
the Mayor’s brother, the Fire Chief, four prostitutes and a twelve gallon pot of
vermicelli).
In the meantime, to curb any extensive damage to the office, a thin mist of fire
retardant chemicals would spray the room from the overhead sprinklers.
Before Luthor could answer, his eyes saw the financial information on the
monitor change to the tri-color test pattern. His eyes went to the clock. It was
only 10:55, he thought. Five minutes before . . .
A thick gelatinous liquid shot out of the ceiling with the force of a fire hose
set to the saturate level. Instead of the fire retardant chemical being sprayed,
it was a mixture of motor oil, gelatin and whipped cream.
The ambassador shot out of his seat, trying to dodge the sticky spray, slipped
on a congealing puddle and slid butt-first across the moist carpet and into the
double doors with a loud thud. The man tried to stand in the muck, only to fall
flat on his face, severing the cigar with his teeth. As he tried to stand again,
both doors opened quickly, slamming him in the keister, sending him into the
carpet. Mercy and Hope burst in, weapons at the ready, slid on the drenched
carpet and went down in a heap on top of the ambassador. What made matters worse
was that the backs of their heads rammed into the doors hard enough to close
them.
Luthor had calmly stood behind the desk, murky black sludge sliding off the top
of his bald head and down his cheeks, walked over the heap and leaned over his
assistants.
“I want answers, ladies,” he whispered. “I want them . . . “
The doors once again burst open. As Luthor spun in that direction, twin streams
of fire foam struck him in the face and chest. The two firemen holding the
extinguishers stood in shock, their fingers still on the triggers, emptying the
contents on the billionaire. When both extinguishers dripped empty, Luthor
calmly lifted both hands to his eyes and wiped away the goo, revealing two
burning green eyes.
“Out,” he whispered. The firemen looked at each other then back to the foamed
form. “Out,” Luthor repeated, a little louder. Then men turned tail and ran down
the fire exit.
Luthor turned to the pile of bodies, still trying to come to a standing
position.
“Out,” he said, his voice raising in volume.
Mercy and Hope helped the ambassador to his feet.
“OUT!” Luthor screamed. “OUT! OUT! OUT!!!”
As the ambassador staggered out of the room, Luthor grabbed the women by their
arms, pulling them viciously back.
“If you do not want to be working in the LexCorp – Anchorage by the close of
business today, I had better get some answers quickly,” he hissed.
“Yes, Mr. Luthor!” they answered.
“Am I understood?”
“YES, MR. LUTHOR!”
He released them and watched them scamper away. He turned and walked to the
computer, seeing the blue, gold and red test pattern pulsating on the screen. He
picked up a paperweight and was about to destroy the monitor when his private
line rang. He inhaled deeply and brought himself back in control. He walked
around the desk, almost slipping once, and plopped in his chair. He inhaled,
exhaled and leaned back in his chair. He opened his desk and took out a ringing
cell phone, pressed a button on the chair arm, tilting the chair back further.
“Luthor, here,” he said in a calm, relaxed voice.
“You got Prince Albert in a can?” asked a voice in a purely business-like
manner.
Luthor’s eyes widened. “What?” he whispered.
“Well, ya better let ‘em out, Baldy, before the mug suffocates!”
Luthor wiped his face with his hand. “Who is this?” he demanded.
“Pull,” replied the voice.
Luthor held the instrument at arms length and looked at it like it was alive. He
brought it back to his ear. “[i]Pull[/i]?” he asked.
The chair suddenly leaned back even further, sending Luthor off balance, then
snapped forward, catapulting him over the desk, across the room and into the
floor where he slid several feet, his open mouth scooping foam until he came to
a stop.
He slowly lifted his dripping face from the carpet. He could hear that braying ‘BWAH-HA-HA!’
coming from the cell phone still gripped tightly in his hand. He pulled himself
to his feet and bent forward, his hands on his knees for support. He looked up
in time to see the shiny chrome doorknob barreling towards him. When he opened
his eyes again, he found himself looking at the ceiling and the bruise to his
eye and cheek throbbing madly. He sat up in time to see the door close.
His head lolled back on his shoulders and slammed against the floor,
‘NAA-NAA-NAAH, NA NA NA NA NANA’ echoing in the background.
“Someone is going to pay for this,” he said just before he passed out…
To Be Continued...
