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J. Jonah Jerkson
Thu Nov 18, 2004 at 10:35:37 pm EST
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The Baroness, Part 13. Romance is in the air, but Kerry's in the cellar. And who said castle-hunting is easy?
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The Baroness, Part 13
Romance is in the air, but Kerry's in the cellar. And who said castle-hunting is easy?

Elizabeth Zemo parked her rented Toyota Camry by the seawall in Shelton, just before the corner of the Parody Island Causeway. A cool evening breeze blew from Parodiopolis Sound, ruffling her blonde ringlets. She glanced out to sea, regarding the Lair Legion headquarters with some envy. At least they had a decent, safe place to hang out, she mused.

Suddenly, the breeze shifted behind her back, followed by what sounded like a crack of thunder. Her hair blew into her face, tangling and disorienting her for a moment. Her hands flailed, trying to clear her vision, when she heard a deep, calm voice address her.

“You’re even more beautiful than I thought you were,” said De Brown Streak.

“You’re late,” she said, regaining her composure. “Did you have to hurry to get here?”

“No, I didn’t want to frighten too many people. High speed entrances make too much of a statement, you know? Anyway, I thought you might like this.” He handed her a blue, purple and white orchid corsage.

“It’s lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it. And so fresh.”

“Straight from the garden. It’s a rare Trinidadian variety.”

“Like you?” Elizabeth gave him a flirting look.

“You might say that. Why don’t you find out over some fine wine and an excellent meal?”

“Mmm, sounds yummy. So you’re taking me to the Blue Lime?”

“For starters. Now, just jump into my arms here, and away we’ll go.”

“What?”

“Well, you know I’m a mutant master of speed. Let me carry you, and we’ll be at the restaurant before you can blink your eyes twice.”

“Do you have any idea what that will do to my hair?”

“But that’s the way all the heroes are supposed to transport their lady loves.”

“Maybe in the comics, but in real life, supersonic travel in your arms is just going to wreck my hair. Not to mention my makeup. And what about wrinkles?”

“I don’t see any wrinkles on your face.”

“Thank you, but I’m talking about my clothes. I’m going to scrunch up in your arms, and this dress is going to look like it’s been run over by a tank. Tell me, have you ever carried your date to a restaurant before?

“Well, err . . . .”

“So, let’s have some additional time to talk, and you’ll come along in my car.”

“That’s fine with me, and I don’t mind your doing the driving, but there is a small problem.”

“Yes?”

“The reservation’s in five minutes, the restaurant’s in Mosman Park by the water, and they cancel no-shows very quickly.”

“Then let’s get going.” Elizabeth walked quickly to her nearby car, DBS following in some confusion. After starting the car, she tore off a long strip of tire doing a screeching U-turn and the Camry tore down Liefeld Boulevard at 75 miles per hour.

“Hey, woman, aren’t you going to get pulled over driving like this?”

“No problem,” she replied. “They seem to have trouble fixing on this car.” Elizabeth tactfully refrained from mentioning Great-uncle Heinrich’s “Zemo Portable Anti-Detection Ray” installed under the rear seats. She swerved around a sluggish Chevy, sped through a horseshoe curve on two wheels, and zoomed between two large tractor-trailers at top speed, jamming on the brakes as a light turned red in front of her. Her companion seemed utterly at ease, not even whimpering or grasping the arm rests until his knuckles turned white. The Baroness approved.

“Where’d you learn to drive so well?” DBS was always tactful with his female companions.

“I spent a couple of summers commuting by car to Boston,” Elizabeth replied. “It was good for the reflexes. Yours don’t seem so slow, either.”

“It comes with being a hyper-quick mutate fighter for justice,” DBS preened.

“I sort of figured that. But what do your friends call you when you aren’t being a crusader for justice?”

“Josh. Josh Cl . . . .” He hesitated. As well as this date was going, so far, it wasn’t time to reveal his identity. Besides, all he knew was her first name, also.

“Well, Josh, we’re here,” said Elizabeth, as the car skidded up to the front door of the Blue Lime. “Why don’t you . . . .” Josh Clement, however, was already out of the door and chatting with the receptionist; he was back before Elizabeth had given the keys to the valet parker.

“I couldn’t leave such an attractive woman alone for very long,” he explained. Elizabeth beamed.

. . . .

Meanwhile, back in Dullard’s Corner, four figures dressed in black cat-burglar costumes approached the Baroness’s townhouse. Glory, the Mutt of Might, took point position, Samantha Bonnington and Kerry Shephardson followed behind, with Fred Harris covering the rear. Yes, the Junior Lair Legion was on a mission – a mission of revenge.

“You’re sure she’s gone?” whispered Kerry.

“I don’t hear or smell a thing,” Glory woofed back.

“Ham-sense doesn’t indicate anything except some low-fat hot dogs in a freezer,” Ham-Boy confirmed.

“Always with the food,” Kerry carped. “Well, here’s the basement window, let’s get in.”

“Good question. How do we get in? Anyone know how to jimmy a window lock?” Ham-Boy asked.

“I must have missed that lesson,” complained the Fashion Accessory. “Did it happen while I was in Aruba?”

“Don’t you ever bother to show up for class?” Kerry snarled.

“Look, Kerry, I’m missing dinner with Anna Tourwin and the entire editorial board of Varied Magazine to help you out on this revenge mission of yours. You don’t need to get snippy on top of that.”

“Mr. Epitome usually carries a glass cutter,” Glory barked.

“Do you have one?” Fred Harris asked.

“No.”

“Great, we’re four heroes who can defeat science villains in Badripoor but can’t get into a basement window. I’ll just have to blow it open,” Kerry said.

“Wait a moment,” Glory objected. “Should we be doing this? I mean, if we find anything, the authorities won’t be able to use it as evidence. ‘Fruit of the poisonous tree’ and all that.”

“I told you, Glory, this is righteous retaliation, not playing detective. It’s time for this woman to go down, way down.” Kerry was in no mood for second thoughts. “And leave your poisoned apple stuff for Snow White.” Closing her eyes in concentration, the Probability Arsonist attempted to blow the window open. A small ball of orange fire lifted from the ground in front of her and smashed near, but not against the window and dissipated.

“It looks like a force field,” murmured Ham-Boy. “Can we go home now? ‘Reality Bites’ will be on in ten minutes on WPDT.”

“Not on your life, pork-breath. If there’s a force field, there’s a generator, and generators have a tendency to blow up when I’m around. Let me see . . . .” A few moments later, a whine emerged from the basement, rapidly running up the frequency scale until it became inaudible. A moment later, a loud “snap, crackle, pop” signaled the demise of the force field. Quickly, the Junior Lair Legionnaires slipped through the window and into Elizabeth Zemo’s main basement.

“Bunch of empty crates,” reported Ham-Boy.

“Some scents heading toward that blank wall. Possibly a secret door over there,” Glory deduced.

“It’s icky down here. I’m going up to see if she has anything more interesting to wear than those dowdy outfits and those shapeless running clothes.” Samantha avoided damp, dirty cellars on principle.

“I’m with you, Samantha,” Kerry concurred. “We’ll torch anything evil that’s down here before we leave. Let’s see how we can make her life miserable upstairs.”

“Do I have to stay?” Fred really liked “Reality Bites.”

“Nope,” Kerry smirked. “But if you leave me here, you can expect your next six weeks of meat products to be charcoaled.”

“Figures,” he muttered.

. . . .

“Do you know what a ‘lime’ is?”

“A fruit, of course,” Elizabeth Zemo replied. “Is that their specialty dessert here or something?”

“No, Liz, a ‘lime’ is a party, a celebration. It’s what folks do in Trinidad when they let their hair down, so to speak.” DBS was feeling open and expansive after his delicious coconut-ackee shrimp.

“Oh. So that explains the ‘Lime’ in the restaurant’s name. What makes it blue?” Elizabeth was feeling warm and loose also, thanks to some excellent beer and Afro-Caribbean food.

“Well, a ‘blue lime’ is sort of a special one. Not noisy, not much dancing, just people grooving with one another and enjoying their company.”

“That’s a nice thought, Josh.” Elizabeth extended her hand toward his. “It’s a perfect name for this place.”

DBS caught the body language and covered her hand with his, stroking gently. “Shall we stay here for a while longer?”

“That’d be fine with me. Besides, you still haven’t told me much about yourself.”

Josh Clement smiled and leaned closer to his date.

. . . .

“How disappointing,” complained Samantha. “She dresses like a grad student, except for a couple of boring ‘dress for success’ suits and those awful sweats.”

“Forget the closets,” Kerry chided. “See if there’s anything really incriminating around.” She was sitting next to Elizabeth’s PC, tapping at the keyboard and scowling at the monitor.

“So, have you found anything?” Fred Harris mumbled. He was still hoping to catch the ending of ‘Reality Bites,’ but there was no hope of that unless Kerry could be satisfied quickly.

“Nah, just some stupid e-mails to her real estate broker –‘brandiballerina@avis.com’ – and a bunch of files that look like psychology research. Lots of rats. There must be something hidden here. Why did El-Dweebo have to drag Zach along with him?”

“Uh, oh,” remarked Fred. “My Ham-sense is kicking in, but strange. Like the world’s most processed lunch meat is coming up the stairs.”

“Come on, Kerry, let’s bail.” Samantha was even more impatient than before.

“Just give me another couple of minutes to e-mail this stuff next door. Zach’ll find her secrets in about 30 seconds.”

“Not so fast,” came a lugubrious voice. “What are you doing in my granddaughter’s house?”

“Buzz off, you mouldy old sod, and let me finish what I’m doing,” Kerry snapped.

“I think not,” the sepulchral voice grated, and the computer clicked off.

“Hey, who are you?” Ham-boy decided to intervene.

“A nobleman does not introduce himself to commoners, especially children who have broken into one of his family’s homes,” was the reply. “And you are?”

“Fred Ha, ha, harris,” Ham-boy stumbled.

“Er, Samantha Bonnington. Did you say you were a member of the nobility?”

“And you, young lady with the foul mouth?”

Kerry rose from her chair and turned to face her questioner. She saw a fuzzy curtain of light, crowned by an angular face with dark, sunken eyes. “So you’re a ghost,” she sneered, keeping careful control of herself. “That doesn’t scare us.”

“I would not expect it to terrify the Probability Arsonist. And now that you are all properly introduced to me, I am His Excellency, Baron Ottokar Attila Kublai Tamerlane Zemo von Saxe-Lurkburg-Schreckhausen. And you are going to leave these premises, immediately.”

“Only a baron?” Samantha was disappointed. Zemo ignored her but made a mental note for future mayhem.

“Do not threaten us,” Glory growled.

“Ach, a talking dog. How perfect. A pity I have no snacks. A talking dog, a scruffy teenaged boy, and two teenaged girls, one of whom is a fashion expert. It’s just as well young Zelnitz is away. He could not possibly take the part of the natural leader, the young, blond Aryan sports hero.”

“You know, aside from being arrogant, condescending and dead, you’re a sick racist also,” Kerry snapped.

“Thank you. I would hate to think that 80 years of membership in the Nazi party had gone to waste. Ah, ah, do not attempt anything. Your powers are useless against me, just as I cannot harm you.”

“So what’s going to make us leave?” asked the Fashion Accessory.

“I can use the telephones, and if you do not leave, your leader Mr. Visionary will be called to the house, along with that nice woman from Juvenile Protective Services for the Irish girl there, the police, and possibly some friends of mine.”

“We’re the Junior Lair Legion,” bluffed Fred Harris. “We’re just doing our job. We’ll get a commendation for this.”

“You have found nothing illegal, immoral or even fattening in this house. Hidden cameras will confirm your illegal activities – especially those of Miss Shephardson there. Your next visit to Juvenile Hall will likely be much longer than your last.”

“And if we bug out of here?”

“That is up to my granddaughter. I suspect she will prefer to keep things nice with the neighbors, as long as you do not do something silly like filling the closets with rotten salami, Mr. Harris, or shrinking her clothing, Miss Bonnington, or igniting the bed, Miss Shephardson.”

“Why don’t you get on our dog’s case?”

“I know Miss Glory from . . . earlier times. She is, in her way, a noble beas . . . being.”

Glory growled, exposing her fangs. Praise from a Baron Zemo was faint praise indeed.

. . . .

Elizabeth and Josh were sitting in the front seat of her Camry, or rather, Elizabeth was curled up against Josh, talking softly to him while he stroked her hair. “Have you ever thought of getting out of the mutants’ rights gig? There are so many other things you could be doing, and getting paid for.”

“I’ve thought about it, but there’s nothing out there that would let me keep my self-respect as a mutant, let alone the other thing,” Josh responded.

“Maybe you need to make a big change. Try something with some earning potential. Try for some of the bling-bling and fine living,” Elizabeth wheedled.

“You mean like that henchperson job you were applying for? Why would I want to become some evil lackey?”

“You’re not the lackey type, that’s right. But there might be something new going on where you could come in at the top. Like be the number two man in the organization.”

“It still sounds creepy. But there’s no reason why I couldn’t check it out, especially if it were here in Parodiopolis.”

“That would be really good news for me . . . .” Elizabeth was interrupted by her cellphone’s buzz. Looking at the screen, she straightened up and opened it. “Sorry, Josh, the call’s coming from my house. Something must be wrong.” She listened, and then replied, “I’ll be there in about a half-hour,” and closed the cellphone.

“What happened?”

“It was my grandfather. There was a break-in at my house, and I have to go back and check things out.”

“Let me take you. We can be there in two minutes, I can check the place out in a few seconds, and we can spend some more time together. Maybe all night?”

“That would be really fine, Josh. But my grandfather is going to be staying, and he’s very old-fashioned about guests, let alone overnight stays.”

“One of those, huh?”

“I guess so. But I had a lovely time with you, and I’d like to do it again some time.”

“Yeah, next time perhaps we can go dancing at The Willow or do something else like that.”

“I’d like that.” Elizabeth leaned over to DBS, and he accepted the invitation for a long, loving kiss.

. . . .

“So, you are back from your date with that brown untermensch? Do I have to explain how you are dishonoring the family?

“Knock it off, Grandfather Baron Otto. You were the one who was lecturing me about how I had to learn about seduction and betrayal. Am I doing it too well for you?”

“As long as that is all you are doing. But if you must do this thing, couldn’t you have at least found a Pole or a Ukrainian to practice on?”

“And what was this about the Junior Lair Legion breaking in?”

Baron Otto explained, running footage from a few of the hidden cameras to illustrate. “The Arsonist did knock out one of the force fields, but only to an ordinary region of the basement.”

“Well, I’m going public in a few days, anyway, as soon as I find a better excuse for a castle. Which reminds me, I have an early morning with Brandi tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll stay around for the night. Who knows what those verdammete kids might try next. And by the way, my friends in Moscow send their regards, and want to assure you that they will be sending Miss Sally Rezilyant back to you very soon.”

“Thanks for having them keep an eye on her,” Beth said, climbing the steps toward her bedroom.

“I wouldn’t call it an eye,” muttered Baron Otto in reply.

. . . .

“And here we are!” Brandi bubbled as her car pulled up under a crumbling porte cochere the next morning. Her client, Baroness Elizabeth Zemo, was much less enthusiastic. On close inspection, what had appeared to be imposing charcoal-gray stone walls were actually cracked and peeling stucco. The triumphal balcony was sagging. The great oaken front door was askew on its hinges.

“And look at the view! All that land! Total privacy only ten miles from the Twin Parody Towers!” urged Brandi. The land in question was a large, fetid chunk of the Guernsey Morass, and because the building was on a hillock barely five feet higher than the rest of the swamp, the view was mostly of rotting rushes and stagnant puddles. Elizabeth could only guess at how damp the dungeons would be, but she’d bet right now that only amphibians could stand to be in them for long.

Brandi opened up the door for Elizabeth, who stepped out of the car directly into a deep pothole filled with dirty water. “Of course, it needs a little work,” she coaxed the Baroness, “but you’ll get that back and more in the price.” Elizabeth made a non-committal grunt and stepped toward the ancient oak portal, shaking her right leg dry as she went. She would have preferred to be shaking Brandi’s head from her neck, but that would probably result in an even less competent real estate broker.

Brandi scampered ahead to ring the bell, and when there was no answer, she inserted a key into the rusty old lock and heaved on it. The bolt actually slid back after some straining by her, but the door remained jammed shut. A moment later an old man’s voice could be heard. “Kommen Sie arount das Side, und I vill open zer oder door.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice! The owner’s here. He’s German too, you’ll get along fine.”

Elizabeth doubted it. She’d never set foot in Europe, let alone Germany, and the old codger’s accent was straight out of a Grade Z World War II movie.

“Komm in, komm in!” In addition to his Hollywood accent, the owner was dressed completely in stained black leather from his jackboots to his black leather cap, which had a vaguely disturbing bird of prey as a badge.

“This is . . .” Brandi chirped.

“I know who zis woman iss,” the man cut her off. “Hochwohlgeborene Freiin Elizabeth Zemo von Saxe-Lurkburg-Schreckhausen, I am Konrad Siegfried, at your zervice.” He actually clicked his heels, causing his long, sparse gray hair to bounce on his head.

“Oh, you know each other! That’s so great!”

“Zilence! I have never met zis woman in my life!”

“Herr Siegfried probably knew my grandfather and great-uncle,” Elizabeth interjected.

“Kwite korrect,” Siegfried replied. He motioned the Baroness over to a waiting sofa, and she sat. A puff of dust ascended into the air as she sank into the cushions. Then, the ancient malefactor himself tottered to a rickety chair and sat himself. Another puff of dust rose into the air. “After His Excellency, the Baron Otto, had his unfortunate accident, ve vere most anxious to have your uncle Heinrich join us. A pity he never accepted our offers.”

Brandi coughed, and then interrupted again. “Is there somewhere for me to sit down? She looked anxiously around for a piece of furniture that didn’t appear to be a retirement home for lint and dirt. Herr Siegfried gave her an icy look; Elizabeth ignored her. Getting the hint, Brandi minced over to the nearest wall and remained there, careful not to lean on it and stain her outfit.

“And you were representing . . . .” Elizabeth continued.

“KAOS! The international organization of evil and no-good-ness!” Siegfried braced in his chair as if he were about to snap to attention.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of them.”

“Ach, vell, ve haff had some bad times recently. The Cold War ended, most of our agents, er, friends in Argentina have died, East Germany is gone, gone, and even CONTROL has been defunded. But zat is vhy you are getting zuch a gut preis on zis headquarters!”

“You’re selling your headquarters?”

“Ja, ve haffen’t used it in a while. Vould you belief five yearz already?”

“I’d find that very hard to believe.”

“Vould you belief ten yearz, except ve used it fuer evil nurzzery schule?”

“No.”

“How about 30 yearz, and ve’ve been renting it out to zer Carpathian Flapjacks for birthday parties?

“I might believe that. But what have you been doing all that time?”

“Vell, I had all zis practical knowledge of anatomy, zo I got a job as a doktor on zis zilly cruise schip . . . . But ennyvayz, I am talking fuer zu lonk. As ve zay in KAOS, der zeeing is der beliefing – ve hope. Zer Schloss hier ist completely ekvipped. Double dungeons in the basement with backup pumps, snake pit, evil laboratory wiz shark tank and high capacity electric sparking maschines, full eat-in kitchen wiz zecret poizon pantry and giant size walk-in good-guy freezers, throne room wiz trap door guest chairs, dining room wiz table-mounted additive projectors, rat-infested closets, hallways wiz authentic hole-in-ze-eyes portraits for lurking, eight en-suite bedrooms wiz zecret panels, passageways, and assassins’ hideavays, a high-tech communications zentrale mit full 300 baud telex service und our bizarre belltower wiz lightning rod and hunchbacked bellringer. Not to mention the convenient, obvious zelf-destruct zystem in effery room!"

“And there’s a hot tub out on the deck,” Brandi piped up.

“I vould avoid der hot tub. Die Flapjacken used it frequently.” Elizabeth shuddered. She had met a Flapjack only a week ago.

“Ennyvays, you should zee der platz fuer yourzelves. Starker! STARKER!”

“I’m . . . comink.” About 30 seconds later a beefy thug in a black shirt and pants hobbled into the room. He too was grayhaired, with an appearance of feebleness that his bulky form could not hide.

“Starker, zis is Die hochwohlgeborene Freiin Elizabeth Zemo von Saxe-Lurkburg-Schreckhausen, who iz hier to look around ze platz.” Starker attempted a heel-click also but failed; his thighs contacted each other first. Trying to cover up his embarassment, he addressed Elizabeth: “Excellency, I, I’m zo happy . . . I mean, vould you like to go pony riding from zer stables?”

“Starker, zis is schtill KAOS! Ve do not do ze pony-riding here!” He continued in an undertone. “Bezides vich, zer nurzurry schule pony is already 26 years alt, and can hardly valk.”

“Nobody told me about the pony!” Brandi exclaimed. “I used to work with one when I was the Bubblegum Ballerina. Can I see the pony, please?”

“Brandi, why don’t you go with Mr. Starker there, and see the pony. Maybe you can show him part of your act.” Starker nodded his head, leering vigorously, and then tentatively stepped forward to grasp the blonde former ballerina’s hand. They left, or rather, he gently towed her from the room.

“Don’t get Starker wronk,” Siegfried advised. “Behind that mercenary façade of killing, sadism and brutality, he’s really afraid of nice girlz.”

“What a pity. I was hoping for at least severe rope burns and massive contusions.”

“Zee, you are a Zemo!” Siegfried exulted. “I vill schow you ze place by myzelf.”


Playing the part of Baroness Elizabeth Zemo von Saxe-Lurkburg-Schreckhausen:

J. Jonah Jerkson
VOICE OF THE PEOPLE

Notes:

1. Fruit of the poisonous tree. A reference to the U.S. legal doctrine that an illegal search makes otherwise-legal evidence derived from the search’s results invalid.


2. The Guernsey Morass. A large, fetid swampland southwest of Parodiopolis on Interstate 888, separating the city from the state of New Guernsey. (It lies beyond the left lower corner of the map at “The Where’s Where of the Parodyverse.” Americans may recognize the reference to the “Jersey Meadows,” which lie between New York City and most of New Jersey and which are renowned as the final resting place of many mob figures.

3. Siegfried. Konrad Siegfried was a recurring parodic villain on the U.S. 1960’s era television show, “Get Smart,” itself a parody of spy dramas. I have borrowed schtick liberally from the show. He was played by Bernie Kopell, who went on to television success playing “Doc” on “The Love Boat.”

Siegfried was a high-ranking executive of KAOS, a parody evil world-domination cabal. For copyright and creative reasons, we will not be seeing substantially more of Konrad Siegfried or KAOS.

4. Hochwohlgeborene Freiin Elizabeth Zemo von Saxe-Lurkburg-Schreckhausen. Elizabeth’s proper (courtesy) title; literally translated as “Highly well born Baroness Elizabeth Zemo of Saxe-Lurkburg-Schreckhausen.” Some episodes into the story, I was advised that Baron Heinrich was the ninth baron of Saxe-Lurkburg, which would have made the original name I used, Elizabeth von Zemo, incorrect. I proceeded with a corrected name and will revise earlier episodes when they are archived, assuming this does not poach on the Hooded Hood’s jurisdiction. The “Schreckhausen” is a plot point for the future.


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