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killer shrike
Sat Feb 07, 2004 at 02:00:17 am EST
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Mr. Epitome #23
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Mr. Epitome # 23


“Tilting At Windmills”


Mayor Mark Hopkins stared unhappily at the picture. It was off; he could tell, being intimately familiar with the subject.

“You don’t think it makes me look a bit witchy eyed?” he asked his aide, Doug Brenton.

Brenton, a squat, pear-shaped man with a little too much hair, lied helpfully, “No, sir. It’s just a trick of the light.”

“I don’t know….” spiffy’s voice trailed off. He kept looking in hopes his concentrative efforts would be rewarded by the picture suddenly sprouting a cleft chin and perfect white teeth, “I guess we could go with it. It’s probably going to get vandalized ten minutes after the unveiling in the rotunda anyway,” he muttered.

“Very good, sir,” Benton picked up the framed portrait and set it behind the office’s couch, “Now, we can get on with your next appointment.”

“I have an appointment? Really?” spiffy brightened, then asked, “Are you sure they don’t want to see the Deputy Mayor?”

“I’m sure. But, before she comes in here, I want to see if you remember our little talk.”

“About?”

“About not being swayed by the qualities of any female visitors to the office, especially if they are here to lobby you.”

“So you’re saying she’s a babe, huh?” spiffy instinctively spruced his symbiotic fern.

“Very much so, but please don’t let that distract you.”

“Hey, you don’t need to talk to me like I’m a kid. I can keep my mind on business even if there’s a pretty girl in the room. Send her in.”

The young woman was very pretty, with fine red hair that touched lightly at the base of her neck and expressive green eyes. She wore an off the rack jacket and skirt combination that did not hide her figure.

“Mayor Hopkins,” she smiled, “I’m Mallory Bell. It’s an honor to meet you.”

The mayor blushed and took her extended hand, “Call me spiffy.”

There was an awkward pause. Benton cleared his throat to get his employer back on track.

“So, what can I do for you, Miss Bell?” spiffy asked.

Mallory sat in the chair opposite the Omni-Mayor’s desk and smoothed her skirt, “I wanted to come and talk to you about Aeolus’s offer.”

“Ah, yes, Aeolus’s offer,” spiffy nodded. He picked up a pencil and began fiddling with it, “Mr. Benton, Miss Bell is here to talk to us about Aeolus’s offer.”

“About their request to lease land off of Gothametropolis York to construct and operate a wind farm?” Benton filled him in.

“Yes. This deal could mean over two hundred jobs for the people of GMY, plus a new source of power for the city’s infrastructure,” Mallory continued, handing a pamphlet to the mayor. It was the official bio of the energy supply company.

“Hey, that would help out a lot. So they need me to approve the deal?”

“Right,” Mallory told him what the young man probably should have already known, “The area in question is actually part of the incorporation of the city. Some weird quirk in maritime law. Since it’s city property you need to sign off on any agreement.”

“Well, I certainly will do that. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Bell-“

“Don’t do it, Mister Mayor!” a wild haired man in cammos bolted in to the room. His demeanor and the fact he was carrying a large parcel caused spiffy’s fern to bloom out and form a protective barrier around its host. Mallory sighed.

“Werner, what are you doing here?”

“Stopping you and Aeolus from committing ecological genocide,” the intruder said, “Mayor spiffy, you can’t let them build those death-traps off of GMY’s coast. The location in question is in a flight path for several migratory sea birds, including the endangered bearded plover!”

“And you are?!” Benton asked incredulously.

“Werner Tork, founder of BPPS.”

spiffy pondered for a moment, “Bearded Plover Preservation Society?” he guessed.

“Protection, actually. Sir, please, you can’t agree to this,” he whipped the wrap off of what he was carrying, exposing a cage and the gangly, twitchy bird within.

“The plover isn’t on the endangered species list,” Mallory objected.

“It should be,” Werner snapped before looking at the mayor with pleading eyes, “Please sir. Think of the plovers.”

spiffy did. He thought the example in front of him looked like a half-starved chicken caked in dryer lint. But still, “Well, Mr. Tork, my administration has a very strong pro-environmental stance. Why one of my key advisers is a bit of an endangered species himself. You’ve heard of Banjooooo!, right? I’ll be more than happy to confer with him about your concerns-“

Again the Omni-Mayor was interrupted, but at least this time by someone he knew: the aforementioned King of the Sea Monkeys.

“spiff,” the salmon tinted monarch walked in, “We need to talk about the Aeolus Wind Farm deal.”

“You know about this?” Mark asked.

“Of course I do. You can’t give them permission to build there.”

“Because of the bearded plover?”

“What?” Banjoooo! looked confused, then he saw Werner, “No. This is important.”

“Hey!” Tork took offense.

“Aeolus wants to build on a site that is where my people fought a key battle in our Second Civil War. Over 25,000 Sea Monkeys died there. You can’t let that happen.”

The Omni-Mayor grew serious, “Wow. I had no idea.”

“There are several historians who dispute that the territory in question was part of the Battle of Quiltikkonan,” Benton said.

“What makes you such an authority on Sea Monkey culture?” Banjoooo! said, eyeing the assistant suspiciously.

“I try to keep informed,” Doug Benton turned to his boss, “Just as I want you to be informed of all the facts before you make your decision.”

Five sets of eyes looked expectantly to Mark.

“Well-“ he began.

“Don’t do it,” came a gravelly voice from behind him.

Everyone jumped, even spiffy, who after all these years really shouldn’t have been too surprised. He shouldn’t have been able to do it, get into a room with only one entrance without being spotted. Still, performing the impossible was something the Dark Knight did so well.

The black clad vigilante seemed to repel light as he watched the fracas from the corner.

“You. What do you want?” spiffy demanded.

“I’m here to let you know who really owns Aeolus, and why it’s a mistake to give them anything,” he dropped a file onto the mayor’s desk, “It belongs to the Lynchpin.”

“What?” Mallory seemed surprised.

“Yes,” DK said without making eye contact with the young woman. “One of his many dummy corporations may be on the letterhead, but it’s the fat man who really runs things there.”

“I thought the Lynchpin was an urban legend,” Werner said.

“He is,” Benton said authoritatively, “Dark Knight must be talking about Harry Flask.”

“Any one who believes Flask isn’t the Lynchpin of Crime is either stupid or corrupt,” DK answered, “Or are you a little of both, Dougie?”

Doug Benton blanched, “I’ll call the police. You’re a wanted man.”

The Dark Knight did not reply.

“He’s right. You need to go,” spiffy said, “All of you. I have to think about this.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Hey, man, ease off!” spiffy shouted to the vigilante, “I appreciate what you told me, DK, but there are other factors here. I have a responsibility to look at them all. And I’m not going to be bullied by you or anyone. So save the Dark Avenger act for someone who’s impressed by it, OK?”

The room collectively held its breath, waiting for a storm that never came.

“This room is bugged, and I don’t mean by aphids,” the world’s most dangerous detective dropped a half dozen listening devices on the table before striding out.

“Wow,” Banjoooo said after DK left, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You too, big guy. I need to figure this out.”

After everyone left spiffy sighed and scratched his head. He went over to the couch and pulled out his portrait and studied it some more.

“I think this job was easier when everyone was just trying to assassinate me,” he told it.

*****


The Imperial Hotel, 13th Floor

The man known as Jay Aaron walked into the lounge and impassively watched the revels before him. The party was in full swing. He recognized several city employees, a Circuit Court judge, two Fortune 500 CEOs and one Congresswoman frolicking with the help. Women, all beautiful, kept them entertained. It was a Venetian Court diorama brought to life, but with a hip-hop soundtrack.

One girl caught his eye. She still had the corn fed baby fat on her that she was probably desperately (and foolishly, in Jay’s opinion) trying to get rid of. He watched her saunter about the room in her lilac chemise and clunky shoes and felt something he hadn’t in a while.

“That’s Vanessa,” his escort told him, “She’s new here.”

On cue, the young woman, looked over to Jay and smiled demurely.

“Can I meet her?”

The security agent was surprised. Jay Aaron’s file had marked him as one who kept clear of the operation’s more carnal side. But if a rendezvous could result in some more information on the mysterious courier, they would certainly arrange one.

“Of course, Mr. Aaron. I’m sure we can accommodate you.”

*****


Haley Morningway (aka “Vanessa”) took her suitemate’s measure as best she could. The operators had filled her in on Jay Aaron through the micro-transmitter in her jewelry, but in her few moments with him she could tell more about him than any Think Tank file. He was one of those types who saw her as the Farmer’s Daughter, the innocent yet to be deflowered. She decided to play up that angle.

“You know, you look a little like my high school principal,” she told the broad shouldered man as he fixed her a drink.

“Really? What a coincidence. Where in Oklahoma did you go to school?”

Vanessa blushed, “I’m trying to hide my accent,” she lied, though usually it was true, “You have a good ear.”

Jay sat on the divan next to her and removed his wingtips, “Thank you. What brings you to Gothametropolis and to the Imperial Hotel?”

“The first Greyhound bus I could catch on my eighteenth birthday,” she sipped her drink, “Hey, there’s no tequila in this.”

The man ignored her, “And your family? There was trouble there?”

“If we’re going to talk about my folks, I definitely need a drink,” she joked and started to stand.

Jay stopped her by resting a hand on her knee, “Why don’t you take your shoes off? It’s more comfortable.”

Great, a fetishist, Haley thought, “Sure thing, handsome, and maybe later we can…”

But Jay wasn’t interested in later; once her pumps were off he bent down and gently but firmly took hold of her ankle and lifted her foot for inspection.

“Needle tracks,” he said in a clinical tone as he checked between her toes. The man counted six marks before Haley was able to wiggle free.

“Hey!”

“How long have you been shooting, Vanessa? I hope you haven’t started on your eyes yet.”

“Fuck you!” she threw the drink in his face.

The door to the suite flew open and a pair of plainclothes security walked in, “Vanessa, report to Ciara’s office. Now,” Jay’s original escort told her the woman.

Haley looked terrified, “It’s not like he says. They’re from shots for allergies.”

“Right. Go see Ciara.”

The blonde, nearly in tears, snatched up her pump and limped out.

“Thank you, Mr. Aaron. Testing usually weeds out the junkies, but she must have slipped passed the lab.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Jay surreptitiously pocketed the stirrer from “Vanessa’s” drink. He could probably get a good print off of it. If not, finding her again may prove a bit more difficult, but not impossible.

“Do you want to clean up before you meet Mr. Baptiste?” the escort asked.

Jay Aaron dabbed himself with a proffered towel, “No. I have kept him waiting long enough.”

It was time to get down to business.

*****


“Come on, ferny, pay attention,” Kerry Sheperdson ordered, “I’m kind of kicking your arse here.”

Mark watched the screen as his pixilated ninja had his spine removed by Kerry’s pixilated ninja. The green clad figure waved it over her head before moon-walking off to victory. spiff1 is a loser appeared on the TV. He snorted and put the joystick aside.

“I get enough of that at work,” he complained.

The two sat in the League of Regulars’s rumpus room, ‘doing homework’. spiffy continued his lament.

“I mean, you should have seen what happened today…”

“Another firebombing of your office?” Kerry asked hopefully.

“No, just mayoral stuff. There’s this business that wants to set up shop in GMY, something that could boost the local economy.”

“This sounds boring.”

“And then I get all these people in my face about it, telling me what to do.”

“I would think you’d be used to it by now.”

“Banjoooo! and the Dark Knight and this guy that brought a bird with him that looks as fragile as Moby’s ego, all saying it’s bad. Then I get the Deputy Mayor and the Council President calling me shilling for the deal, and Benton, as usual, was no help…”

Kerry impatiently punched his arm, “Shut up!”

“Ow! What’s your problem?” spiffy checked for a bruise.

“You and your whining. I spend all day in Dorkface’s stupid class listening about power and responsibility and now I got to hear it coming from you too? If you don’t want the job you should quit.”

spiffy was stunned, “When did I say I didn’t want the job?!”

Kerry hesitated in her answer, giving Lisa Waltz time to interrupt, “Hey, teenagers. How’re things?”

“Sucky, as usual,” Kerry stood and stormed off.

“Kerry!” spiffy called after her, but quickly gave up, “Man, this is not my day.”

“What did you do now?” the First Lady of the Lair Legion asked as she sorted through her mail.

“Not me…Hey, Lisa, maybe you can help me with something,” he unfolded a packet of papers from his back pocket and held it up, “This is a contract for a company called Aeolus. They want to build a wind farm on Gothametropolis property. You’re a lawyer. Could you look it over for me?”

“Doesn’t the city have people to do that?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not sure if I trust them and I, uh, trust you. Sort of.”

The amorous advoctrix looked amused. She gestured for the papers.

After a quick glance she handed it back to him, “You won’t be seeing many jobs from this.”

“What are talking about? It says they’re going to use local construction bids and that they’ll put up money to train locals how to maintain and operate the facility.”

“Right. Barring an act of God,” she quoted the document, “That’s kind of lawyer code for any event from beyond the pale that might slow down the project. A good lawyer can get the Yurt burping to be considered an act of God. Once that clause is invoked Aeolus can use whoever they want to build the wind farm. Also, I wouldn’t be too sure the power being produced will be for Gothametropolis. There’s a penalty for the city if it fails to meet the demand for the supply. If you don’t consume enough energy it can seek out other clients.”

“Nobody told me that,” spiffy said darkly.

“Well, we are talking about municipal employees here. Most of them didn’t graduate top of the class.”

The Omni-Mayor didn’t care if the reason for these oversights was incompetence or graft. He had made his decision. He flipped on his cell phone and made the call.

*****


Mr. Baptiste and Jay Aaron were discussing terms for their latest collaboration: a proposed federal bailout of faltering telecommunications giant Klarion and what it was worth to Mr. Baptiste’s employer. Jay needed Harry Flask’s clout in Latin America if he wanted to make sure the right people won the upcoming Venezuelan Presidential election. While they talked Jay’s rental car was being loaded with Flask’s contribution to the organization: ten million dollars to be deposited in a variety of accounts.

The phone rang. Baptiste knew immediately who it was.

“Yes, sir?” he said upon answering it. The voice told him to turn on the speaker phone, which he did.

“Mr. Aaron,” Harry Flask’s voice came through the speaker.

“Mr. Flask. Good evening.”

“No, its not. I’ve gotten word that Gothametropolis will not be leasing their property to me after all.”

“This is about Aeolus,” Jay guessed.

“Indeed. Mayor Hopkins had decided against it. Needless to say, this must be dealt with.”

Jay Aaron waited.

“And I want Mr. Epitome to be the one to see it’s done.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.”

“Oh, really? Tell me why I should care what you think, Mr. Aaron.”

“Well, because I know Mr. Epitome sees you as nothing more than a pimp and a pusher and he won’t take orders from you.”

Baptiste gasped.

There was a low chuckle at the other end of the line, “Does he now? That’s unfortunate. Because I know things too, Mr. Aaron. More than I should. Like the fact that the Grey Eminence plans on retiring soon and Epitome wants to be put in charge of the company once he’s gone. And there are quite a few of us who aren’t sure that’s the kind of leadership needed to see us through the twenty first century.”

Jay Aaron nodded. He understood exactly what Flask was telling him.

“I don’t care how it’s done, but I want Mayor Hopkins to pay for his decision. Pass that message on to Epitome next time you see him, won’t you?”

“I will,” he stood and walked out, leaving the smirking Baptiste behind him.


Next time: Sersi. Evil Monkey. Razor Ballerina. Pigeonman. Frightmare. Rodney the Patronizing Git. None of these people are in the next story, but everyone else is. At least it seems that way as I plot it in my head. Mr. Epitome #24, “You Can Fight City Hall if You Have Half the Power of Superman,” coming soon.




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