Rob Roy O'Keefe's Blog: Green eggs and spam, page 2
September 4, 2023
Short Story Serial: Sixth Installment
In the month that followed, Leonard kept to himself, only going out to work his night job at the warehouse. Prankster, Skipper, Scratch, and the mysterious fourth member of their team had gone on to win the tournament. The city immediately awarded them with a contract to reduce ability-related crime.
“I was wondering what happened to you,” remarked Chance. “You dropped out of sight after the tournament.”
Leonard was back at the agency. He wasn’t looking for an assignment or anything else really. He stopped by because it felt like the only place he could go to, other than home or work.
“Feeling sorry for yourself?” Chance asked, without any sympathy.
“At first, yeah,” Leonard admitted. “But not now. Anyway, I brought you something.”
Leonard put a bag on Chance’s desk.
Chance was quiet for a moment. “You brought me –“
“Lunch,” confirmed Leonard. “I remembered how you always seemed to be trying to eat whenever I came in. It’s no big deal. I just wanted to say thanks.”
“You were humiliated at the tournament – the tournament I suggested you sign up for – and you want to thank me?” It had been a while since someone surprised Chance, but today he found himself unprepared for Leonard’s gesture.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Leonard said thoughtfully. “The truth is I wasn’t ready to lead a team. Especially under those circumstances.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” consoled Chance. “It works both ways. People also have to be open to being led. Those two you teamed up with weren’t ready for that. Hey, is this a Reuben sandwich? With extra dressing?”
“Maybe,” said Leonard, referring to Chance’s comments about leading, not the contents of the sandwich. “Again, I just wanted to say thanks. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“What work? You may not have noticed, but my waiting room is empty today. Just like yesterday, the day before, and the day before that.”
Leonard didn’t understand. “Why? What happened?”
“Prankster and his friends happened,” Chance explained. “Sure, they reduced the abilities-related crime wave like they were asked to. Except then they went on a spree of their own. The only way to avoid them is to stay home. And I’m not sure how much longer that’s going to be true.”
“Can’t the city find someone to help?” Leonard wondered.
“Who do you suggest?” countered Chance. “None of the first-tiers can be bothered. Not enough public relations potential. Most second-tiers can’t afford to walk away from their current gigs. And the scrubs who were my usual clients? They won’t cut it. No offense.”
Leonard wasn’t offended. He knew Chance was right. His performance in the tournament had proven it. Nothing confusing about that.
“So, how about it?” asked Chance, smiling wickedly.
Now Leonard was confused. “How about what?”
“I was wondering what happened to you,” remarked Chance. “You dropped out of sight after the tournament.”
Leonard was back at the agency. He wasn’t looking for an assignment or anything else really. He stopped by because it felt like the only place he could go to, other than home or work.
“Feeling sorry for yourself?” Chance asked, without any sympathy.
“At first, yeah,” Leonard admitted. “But not now. Anyway, I brought you something.”
Leonard put a bag on Chance’s desk.
Chance was quiet for a moment. “You brought me –“
“Lunch,” confirmed Leonard. “I remembered how you always seemed to be trying to eat whenever I came in. It’s no big deal. I just wanted to say thanks.”
“You were humiliated at the tournament – the tournament I suggested you sign up for – and you want to thank me?” It had been a while since someone surprised Chance, but today he found himself unprepared for Leonard’s gesture.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Leonard said thoughtfully. “The truth is I wasn’t ready to lead a team. Especially under those circumstances.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” consoled Chance. “It works both ways. People also have to be open to being led. Those two you teamed up with weren’t ready for that. Hey, is this a Reuben sandwich? With extra dressing?”
“Maybe,” said Leonard, referring to Chance’s comments about leading, not the contents of the sandwich. “Again, I just wanted to say thanks. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“What work? You may not have noticed, but my waiting room is empty today. Just like yesterday, the day before, and the day before that.”
Leonard didn’t understand. “Why? What happened?”
“Prankster and his friends happened,” Chance explained. “Sure, they reduced the abilities-related crime wave like they were asked to. Except then they went on a spree of their own. The only way to avoid them is to stay home. And I’m not sure how much longer that’s going to be true.”
“Can’t the city find someone to help?” Leonard wondered.
“Who do you suggest?” countered Chance. “None of the first-tiers can be bothered. Not enough public relations potential. Most second-tiers can’t afford to walk away from their current gigs. And the scrubs who were my usual clients? They won’t cut it. No offense.”
Leonard wasn’t offended. He knew Chance was right. His performance in the tournament had proven it. Nothing confusing about that.
“So, how about it?” asked Chance, smiling wickedly.
Now Leonard was confused. “How about what?”
August 20, 2023
Short Story Serial: Fifth Installment
The opening ceremonies were complete. The head of the city’s Special Crimes Unit wished good luck to all the participants and then ran off the field as fast as he could. No sense in risking any collateral damage.
The early rounds of the tournament were underway. Leonard, Bouncer, and Stampede managed to get through the first round of the competition thanks to a forfeit. Turns out the scheduled competition, all of whom were long past retirement age, didn’t realize the tournament was the same evening as Movie Night. And Movie Night always had free popcorn, which was more than could be said for the tournament.
Their second opponents never made it into the stadium. In their excitement, one of the competitors activated her power of disorientation, which resulted in the other team members wandering off despite her efforts to round them up in time to compete.
Now Leonard found himself standing in the center of the arena flanked by his new partners. The crowd cheered raucously, although whether it was for their victory, or their defeat, was hard to tell. Either way, it was still intimidating, and Leonard found himself more than a little nervous.
Abruptly, the crowd became even louder. Leonard understood why: their opponents for this round, four in total, were entering the arena from the far end. As they got closer, he saw Bouncer grimace.
“What is it?” Leonard asked.
“I know those guys,” he replied.
“So do I,” Stampede volunteered. “Except for the one in the cloak. Anyway, it’s not good.”
“Hey, look,” shouted one of them. “It’s Beach Ball.”
“And Dr. Moolittle,” laughed another.
Leonard turned to his partners, perplexed. “I thought you said –“
Bouncer answered. “Yeah, we have history.”
The two groups walked towards each other, one with confidence and the other with something that would never be confused with confidence. They met in the center of the grounds.
Leonard had no idea what the protocol was. Do I shake hands? Start battling? Scratch my nose? Wait. Why is my nose so itchy? It’s really, really itchy. In fact, it’s maddening.
As Leonard desperately tried to relieve the itch, he noticed that his partners were having the same issue.
“Not so fast, Scratch,” said one of Leonard’s soon-to-be opponents to another. “Let’s get acquainted, first.”
Just like that, Leonard’s nose stopped itching.
The leader, looking ordinary in jeans and a faded t-shirt, addressed Leonard directly. “I’m called Prankster. You’ll find out why soon enough. The guy on my right is Scratch. You already had a sample of what he does. And this is Skipper,” he said, gesturing to a young woman who was hopping around while whirling a jump rope impossibly fast.
“We already know these two clowns,” Prankster continued, acknowledging Bouncer and Stampede. “Who are you?”
Leonard tried to appear confident as he announced himself. He had come up with a new name for the occasion. “I’m Combine.”
“Combine?” laughed Prankster. “Like farm equipment? What do you do? Make hay? This is too perfect.”
Another failed attempt to come up with an appropriate alias, Leonard thought. Why is it so hard?
“Who’s that?” Leonard asked, pointing towards a smallish figure standing off to the side in a dark, full-length cloak with hood. It was unusual to see anyone other than a first-tier in anything resembling a costume. Second-tiers and scrubs couldn’t afford them.
“You don’t want to meet her,” Prankster cautioned with a slight shiver. “Anyway, we’re going to be more than enough for you, Farm Boy. Don’t worry, though. This should be quick.”
And quick it was.
When the scoreboard clock signified ten seconds before the match was to start, Pranskter and his team began to step back, apparently getting into a predetermined formation. Except for their cloaked accomplice, who simply stood still.
For their part, Leonard and his team looked blankly at each other right up until the bellow of the crowd signified that the match was on. Leonard called to Stampede and Bouncer to move closer together.
“We’ll have a better chance if we’re close enough for me to reach both of you. Otherwise, I can’t merge your abilities.”
He was promptly ignored.
Stampede was rolling on the ground, having succumbed to an itching frenzy instigated by Scratch. Bouncer, on the other hand, launched himself towards a stadium wall, and to his credit, caromed with significant velocity towards Prankster. Before he could make impact, Skipper effortlessly capered between them and struck Bouncer with the wooden handle of her jump rope, knocking him to the pitch, where he lay stunned.
“Stampede!” Leonard didn’t know what to do, so he shouted hazy, unhelpful instructions instead. “Move! Do something! Cows!”
Stampede only looked back helplessly, later explaining that even if he could overcome Scratch’s onslaught, there was only one dairy cow in the area, and it was locked in a cage at a petting zoo on the other side of the city.
Reacting more than thinking, Leonard made a run towards Bouncer, but immediately fell flat on his face. Somehow his shoelaces had been tied together. He looked up to see Pranskter laughing at him.
“I told you it would be quick.”
Throughout the entire affair, which according to the stadium clock, lasted less than a minute, the figure in the cloak never even moved.
The early rounds of the tournament were underway. Leonard, Bouncer, and Stampede managed to get through the first round of the competition thanks to a forfeit. Turns out the scheduled competition, all of whom were long past retirement age, didn’t realize the tournament was the same evening as Movie Night. And Movie Night always had free popcorn, which was more than could be said for the tournament.
Their second opponents never made it into the stadium. In their excitement, one of the competitors activated her power of disorientation, which resulted in the other team members wandering off despite her efforts to round them up in time to compete.
Now Leonard found himself standing in the center of the arena flanked by his new partners. The crowd cheered raucously, although whether it was for their victory, or their defeat, was hard to tell. Either way, it was still intimidating, and Leonard found himself more than a little nervous.
Abruptly, the crowd became even louder. Leonard understood why: their opponents for this round, four in total, were entering the arena from the far end. As they got closer, he saw Bouncer grimace.
“What is it?” Leonard asked.
“I know those guys,” he replied.
“So do I,” Stampede volunteered. “Except for the one in the cloak. Anyway, it’s not good.”
“Hey, look,” shouted one of them. “It’s Beach Ball.”
“And Dr. Moolittle,” laughed another.
Leonard turned to his partners, perplexed. “I thought you said –“
Bouncer answered. “Yeah, we have history.”
The two groups walked towards each other, one with confidence and the other with something that would never be confused with confidence. They met in the center of the grounds.
Leonard had no idea what the protocol was. Do I shake hands? Start battling? Scratch my nose? Wait. Why is my nose so itchy? It’s really, really itchy. In fact, it’s maddening.
As Leonard desperately tried to relieve the itch, he noticed that his partners were having the same issue.
“Not so fast, Scratch,” said one of Leonard’s soon-to-be opponents to another. “Let’s get acquainted, first.”
Just like that, Leonard’s nose stopped itching.
The leader, looking ordinary in jeans and a faded t-shirt, addressed Leonard directly. “I’m called Prankster. You’ll find out why soon enough. The guy on my right is Scratch. You already had a sample of what he does. And this is Skipper,” he said, gesturing to a young woman who was hopping around while whirling a jump rope impossibly fast.
“We already know these two clowns,” Prankster continued, acknowledging Bouncer and Stampede. “Who are you?”
Leonard tried to appear confident as he announced himself. He had come up with a new name for the occasion. “I’m Combine.”
“Combine?” laughed Prankster. “Like farm equipment? What do you do? Make hay? This is too perfect.”
Another failed attempt to come up with an appropriate alias, Leonard thought. Why is it so hard?
“Who’s that?” Leonard asked, pointing towards a smallish figure standing off to the side in a dark, full-length cloak with hood. It was unusual to see anyone other than a first-tier in anything resembling a costume. Second-tiers and scrubs couldn’t afford them.
“You don’t want to meet her,” Prankster cautioned with a slight shiver. “Anyway, we’re going to be more than enough for you, Farm Boy. Don’t worry, though. This should be quick.”
And quick it was.
When the scoreboard clock signified ten seconds before the match was to start, Pranskter and his team began to step back, apparently getting into a predetermined formation. Except for their cloaked accomplice, who simply stood still.
For their part, Leonard and his team looked blankly at each other right up until the bellow of the crowd signified that the match was on. Leonard called to Stampede and Bouncer to move closer together.
“We’ll have a better chance if we’re close enough for me to reach both of you. Otherwise, I can’t merge your abilities.”
He was promptly ignored.
Stampede was rolling on the ground, having succumbed to an itching frenzy instigated by Scratch. Bouncer, on the other hand, launched himself towards a stadium wall, and to his credit, caromed with significant velocity towards Prankster. Before he could make impact, Skipper effortlessly capered between them and struck Bouncer with the wooden handle of her jump rope, knocking him to the pitch, where he lay stunned.
“Stampede!” Leonard didn’t know what to do, so he shouted hazy, unhelpful instructions instead. “Move! Do something! Cows!”
Stampede only looked back helplessly, later explaining that even if he could overcome Scratch’s onslaught, there was only one dairy cow in the area, and it was locked in a cage at a petting zoo on the other side of the city.
Reacting more than thinking, Leonard made a run towards Bouncer, but immediately fell flat on his face. Somehow his shoelaces had been tied together. He looked up to see Pranskter laughing at him.
“I told you it would be quick.”
Throughout the entire affair, which according to the stadium clock, lasted less than a minute, the figure in the cloak never even moved.
August 17, 2023
Short Story Serial: Fourth Installment
It was opening night of the big contest – “Tournament of Heroes,” to be precise. Kicks would have laughed at that, Leonard thought. She would have called it “Auditions for Underpaid, Sacrificial Lambs.”
Leonard had found two willing partners in Chance’s waiting room. One said he was a bouncer and the other was pretty vague, mumbling something about animal control. Since they were the only two willing to team up, Leonard didn’t press for more information. He also didn’t think to arrange any practice time, so here they were, standing outside the entrance to the stadium that would serve as the contest grounds, and he had no idea how this new team was going to work.
“Um, I’m thinking we should at least know about each other’s abilities before we go in there,” suggested Leonard as crowds of excited spectators filed into the arena. It looked like it was going to be a packed venue.
“Yeah, sure. I’m Bouncer,” offered the shorter and rounder of Leonard’s new partners. “And I, well, I bounce.”
“You mean like those guys who keep people in line at bars and nightclubs?” Leonard asked, hoping that was the case. They needed a little muscle, he thought, although Bouncer didn’t look particularly strong.
“No,” Bouncer paused long enough for it to be uncomfortable. “More like a basketball.”
“Ah,” was all Leonard could muster. “Well, I imagine that could be disruptive.”
“What about you?” Leonard inquired of the other member of the band. “I remember you mentioning animal control. Does that mean wild animals do what you tell them? Like lions? We could use something like that.”
“Not exactly,” said the tall and lanky third member of the group, which was followed by another uncomfortable pause.
“Then, what? Exactly?” pressed Bouncer.
“It’s only one kind of animal, and they’re not really wild.”
“Go on,” encouraged Leonard.
“Cows.”
“Cows?”
“Dairy cows, actually. That’s why I’m called Stampede.”
It seemed like there was going to be no end to uncomfortable pauses this night.
Leonard felt compelled to point out the obvious. “Dairy cows don’t stampede.”
“They just kind of meander,” added Bouncer.
Leonard was beginning to understand why Chance told him it was going to be hard to cash in on his abilities, especially since it was also apparent that this team, himself included, fit the classic description of a scrub.
Stampede was starting to feel defensive, so he put the spotlight on Leonard. “Remind us of what you do again?”
“I merge abilities. So, in our case the result would be –”
“Bouncing cows?” Stampede guessed. “Seriously?”
“That’s one possibility,” acknowledged Leonard. “The other would be that Bouncer would, umm, how do I put this?”
“I’d what?” demanded Bouncer, who didn’t think he was going to like the answer.
“You might develop a taste for alfalfa,” admitted Leonard. “I can never be sure which way it’s going to go.”
Leonard had found two willing partners in Chance’s waiting room. One said he was a bouncer and the other was pretty vague, mumbling something about animal control. Since they were the only two willing to team up, Leonard didn’t press for more information. He also didn’t think to arrange any practice time, so here they were, standing outside the entrance to the stadium that would serve as the contest grounds, and he had no idea how this new team was going to work.
“Um, I’m thinking we should at least know about each other’s abilities before we go in there,” suggested Leonard as crowds of excited spectators filed into the arena. It looked like it was going to be a packed venue.
“Yeah, sure. I’m Bouncer,” offered the shorter and rounder of Leonard’s new partners. “And I, well, I bounce.”
“You mean like those guys who keep people in line at bars and nightclubs?” Leonard asked, hoping that was the case. They needed a little muscle, he thought, although Bouncer didn’t look particularly strong.
“No,” Bouncer paused long enough for it to be uncomfortable. “More like a basketball.”
“Ah,” was all Leonard could muster. “Well, I imagine that could be disruptive.”
“What about you?” Leonard inquired of the other member of the band. “I remember you mentioning animal control. Does that mean wild animals do what you tell them? Like lions? We could use something like that.”
“Not exactly,” said the tall and lanky third member of the group, which was followed by another uncomfortable pause.
“Then, what? Exactly?” pressed Bouncer.
“It’s only one kind of animal, and they’re not really wild.”
“Go on,” encouraged Leonard.
“Cows.”
“Cows?”
“Dairy cows, actually. That’s why I’m called Stampede.”
It seemed like there was going to be no end to uncomfortable pauses this night.
Leonard felt compelled to point out the obvious. “Dairy cows don’t stampede.”
“They just kind of meander,” added Bouncer.
Leonard was beginning to understand why Chance told him it was going to be hard to cash in on his abilities, especially since it was also apparent that this team, himself included, fit the classic description of a scrub.
Stampede was starting to feel defensive, so he put the spotlight on Leonard. “Remind us of what you do again?”
“I merge abilities. So, in our case the result would be –”
“Bouncing cows?” Stampede guessed. “Seriously?”
“That’s one possibility,” acknowledged Leonard. “The other would be that Bouncer would, umm, how do I put this?”
“I’d what?” demanded Bouncer, who didn’t think he was going to like the answer.
“You might develop a taste for alfalfa,” admitted Leonard. “I can never be sure which way it’s going to go.”
July 31, 2023
Short Story Serial: Third Installment
“Well, you’re alive and seem to be walking on your own,” observed Chance. “That counts for something. What can I do for you?”
Leonard was back at the Last Chance Agency, hoping to land more work.
“Well, I learned a lot from Kicks, but I was wondering if you could help me get a job that lets me use my own abilities.”
Leonard looked expectantly at Chance. Chance looked expectantly at the pizza box on his desk. Why does everybody show up at lunchtime, he wondered.
“Your merging talent means I not only have to find something for you, but at least two others with abilities that work together. That’s not easy, kid.”
Chance quickly continued before Leonard could unleash his sad puppy look, which was turning out to be a power in itself. “But I do know about something that could work in your favor.”
Just like that, Chance saw that the puppy – Leonard – was at attention. “The city is sponsoring a tournament for people with abilities. Turns out that the amount of abilities-related crime is getting out of control and working with independent contractors to manage it is costing the city too much. So, the city is hoping to identify cheaper, home-grown talent, meaning whoever wins the tournament will be on the city payroll along with full benefits and a pretty nice retirement package.”
Leonard’s expression quickly shifted to excited puppy. “There are a couple of prerequisites, Chance explained. “It’s only open to teams of three to five. No individual contestants. And it’s only open to new teams – probably to keep the salaries as low as possible.”
“Where am I going to find anyone to team up with?” Leonard asked.
Chance raised his eyebrows. “Have you seen my waiting room?”
Leonard was back at the Last Chance Agency, hoping to land more work.
“Well, I learned a lot from Kicks, but I was wondering if you could help me get a job that lets me use my own abilities.”
Leonard looked expectantly at Chance. Chance looked expectantly at the pizza box on his desk. Why does everybody show up at lunchtime, he wondered.
“Your merging talent means I not only have to find something for you, but at least two others with abilities that work together. That’s not easy, kid.”
Chance quickly continued before Leonard could unleash his sad puppy look, which was turning out to be a power in itself. “But I do know about something that could work in your favor.”
Just like that, Chance saw that the puppy – Leonard – was at attention. “The city is sponsoring a tournament for people with abilities. Turns out that the amount of abilities-related crime is getting out of control and working with independent contractors to manage it is costing the city too much. So, the city is hoping to identify cheaper, home-grown talent, meaning whoever wins the tournament will be on the city payroll along with full benefits and a pretty nice retirement package.”
Leonard’s expression quickly shifted to excited puppy. “There are a couple of prerequisites, Chance explained. “It’s only open to teams of three to five. No individual contestants. And it’s only open to new teams – probably to keep the salaries as low as possible.”
“Where am I going to find anyone to team up with?” Leonard asked.
Chance raised his eyebrows. “Have you seen my waiting room?”
July 23, 2023
Short Story Serial: 2nd installment
Leonard knocked on the door of the studio apartment. He couldn’t believe his luck. He had a gig! Chance told him it wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t care.
Of course, it’s not how he envisioned his start. But a sparring partner was something. Even if it was for a declared villain. But Chance said she was second-tier. Second-tier!
“Come on in,” he heard in response to his knock. Well, at least she sounded nice, Leonard thought, becoming hopeful.
Until he opened the door. As it swung wide, something flashed by his head, missing him by only inches. Whatever it was embedded itself in the wall. It looked like – it looked like a woman’s dress shoe, but with a knife where the heel should have been. The knife itself was vibrating slightly while buried in the wall.
“Hey! What the –“
“Move fast!” came the warning, quickly followed by another knife/shoe hurtling towards his head.
Leonard dropped to the ground. The second shoe missile landed right next to the first one.
“Well, at least you’re quick,” said the barefoot woman at the far end of the sparsely furnished apartment. “I’ll give you that much.”
“What was that? What did you – how did you –” Leonard sputtered as he got up from the floor.
“Object-specific transmutation,” was the response. “In my case, I transform whatever I’m wearing on my feet – socks, sandals, slippers – into whatever kind of footwear I can imagine. In your case, I went with stiletto heels.”
“Yeah, but the heels are real stilettos – you know – knives!” Leonard protested.
The woman smiled, enjoying her Leonard’s discomfort. “It’s always important to create a great first impression. I’m Kicks. And you are?”
Leonard was about to say Crisscross, but then he remembered Chance’s reaction. “I’m working on that,” he said instead.
“Aren’t we all,” offered Kicks. “So, tell me about your ability. I’m really hoping for a challenge. Do you breathe fire? Or maybe you’re super-fast. But it would be great if you could breathe fire.”
Leonard explained what he did as enthusiastically as he could. He wanted to impress as well.
“Oh,” was Kicks’ response, making no effort to hide the disappointment. She then sat on the floor and put on a pair of no-slip, low-rise socks, the kind patients are given at hospitals.
“I have to have something on my feet to transform, otherwise I’m powerless,” Kicks explained. “Hospital socks are light, inexpensive, and easy to put on.”
She then stood up and looked at Leonard appraisingly. “Well, I need to practice and you’re here. So, let’s get started.”
Leonard nodded eagerly. “Okay, what do you want me to –“
“Run!”
For the next two weeks, Leonard put all his energy into being a sparring partner, which mostly entailed trying to stay alive while dodging a variety of deadly footwear including hobnail boots, steel-toed work shoes, sharply pointed oxfords, and the occasional wooden clog, which could really leave a mark.
He also got to know Kicks. Transmutation might have been her power, but what really made her formidable was her ability to launch her footwear with force and precision. It turned out she was a trained dancer and gymnast.
Leonard also didn’t think she was particularly villainous. Mischievous maybe, but that was all as far as he could tell. He asked her about it after one of their sparring sessions.
“It’s about independence. Have you ever noticed that villains seldom team up? And even when they do, it’s temporary. So, as a professional villain, I get to work by myself. The other thing is that heroes only work when there are villains to battle, so they have no control over their schedule. If a villain decides to work only after midnight, then the hero has no choice but to work the same hours. I, on the other hand, can work when I want. And heroes are entirely dependent on villains for job security. No villain, no work. It was an easy decision, really.”
“What about good and evil and all that?” asked Leonard.
“First of all, I’m not running around trying to hurt anyone or take over the world. I focus on high-end theft – jewels, art, rare coins, that sort of thing. And the people and institutions who have those things also have plenty of insurance, so the only hurt is to their egos. I can live with that.”
“Sounds like a rationalization,” commented Leonard.
Kicks thought about that for a moment. “Maybe it is. Now, are you going to start running or am I going to knock you out cold you with a pair of disco-era platform shoes?”
Leonard’s job as a moving target lasted for a couple of months, until one day Kicks announced she would be going out of town for a while. She thanked him for his enthusiasm, and even offered to let him stay at her studio apartment if he wanted, but he declined.
The truth was that he had been thinking about moving on. After all, he needed to find a way to work on his own abilities. It wasn’t that he hadn’t benefitted from his gig with Kicks. In fact, he was quicker than ever – much quicker – both on his feet and in his decision-making. He even had time to come up with a new name.
“’Mixmaster!’ What do you think?” he asked Kicks.
“Sounds like you’re a kitchen appliance,” she responded. “Keep trying. You’ll come up with something.”
After their last training session, Leonard walked to the door and turned to say goodbye. Surprisingly, he realized he was a little sad. He looked over to Kicks, who was putting on a pair of those low-rise hospital socks she always carried with her, but she didn’t seem to notice he was leaving.
As Leonard opened the door, he was startled by the sound of high-velocity footwear flying by his head and thumping against the wall. He looked down at the floor where he saw a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers.
He spun around to see Kicks laughing. “Something to remember me by.”
Of course, it’s not how he envisioned his start. But a sparring partner was something. Even if it was for a declared villain. But Chance said she was second-tier. Second-tier!
“Come on in,” he heard in response to his knock. Well, at least she sounded nice, Leonard thought, becoming hopeful.
Until he opened the door. As it swung wide, something flashed by his head, missing him by only inches. Whatever it was embedded itself in the wall. It looked like – it looked like a woman’s dress shoe, but with a knife where the heel should have been. The knife itself was vibrating slightly while buried in the wall.
“Hey! What the –“
“Move fast!” came the warning, quickly followed by another knife/shoe hurtling towards his head.
Leonard dropped to the ground. The second shoe missile landed right next to the first one.
“Well, at least you’re quick,” said the barefoot woman at the far end of the sparsely furnished apartment. “I’ll give you that much.”
“What was that? What did you – how did you –” Leonard sputtered as he got up from the floor.
“Object-specific transmutation,” was the response. “In my case, I transform whatever I’m wearing on my feet – socks, sandals, slippers – into whatever kind of footwear I can imagine. In your case, I went with stiletto heels.”
“Yeah, but the heels are real stilettos – you know – knives!” Leonard protested.
The woman smiled, enjoying her Leonard’s discomfort. “It’s always important to create a great first impression. I’m Kicks. And you are?”
Leonard was about to say Crisscross, but then he remembered Chance’s reaction. “I’m working on that,” he said instead.
“Aren’t we all,” offered Kicks. “So, tell me about your ability. I’m really hoping for a challenge. Do you breathe fire? Or maybe you’re super-fast. But it would be great if you could breathe fire.”
Leonard explained what he did as enthusiastically as he could. He wanted to impress as well.
“Oh,” was Kicks’ response, making no effort to hide the disappointment. She then sat on the floor and put on a pair of no-slip, low-rise socks, the kind patients are given at hospitals.
“I have to have something on my feet to transform, otherwise I’m powerless,” Kicks explained. “Hospital socks are light, inexpensive, and easy to put on.”
She then stood up and looked at Leonard appraisingly. “Well, I need to practice and you’re here. So, let’s get started.”
Leonard nodded eagerly. “Okay, what do you want me to –“
“Run!”
For the next two weeks, Leonard put all his energy into being a sparring partner, which mostly entailed trying to stay alive while dodging a variety of deadly footwear including hobnail boots, steel-toed work shoes, sharply pointed oxfords, and the occasional wooden clog, which could really leave a mark.
He also got to know Kicks. Transmutation might have been her power, but what really made her formidable was her ability to launch her footwear with force and precision. It turned out she was a trained dancer and gymnast.
Leonard also didn’t think she was particularly villainous. Mischievous maybe, but that was all as far as he could tell. He asked her about it after one of their sparring sessions.
“It’s about independence. Have you ever noticed that villains seldom team up? And even when they do, it’s temporary. So, as a professional villain, I get to work by myself. The other thing is that heroes only work when there are villains to battle, so they have no control over their schedule. If a villain decides to work only after midnight, then the hero has no choice but to work the same hours. I, on the other hand, can work when I want. And heroes are entirely dependent on villains for job security. No villain, no work. It was an easy decision, really.”
“What about good and evil and all that?” asked Leonard.
“First of all, I’m not running around trying to hurt anyone or take over the world. I focus on high-end theft – jewels, art, rare coins, that sort of thing. And the people and institutions who have those things also have plenty of insurance, so the only hurt is to their egos. I can live with that.”
“Sounds like a rationalization,” commented Leonard.
Kicks thought about that for a moment. “Maybe it is. Now, are you going to start running or am I going to knock you out cold you with a pair of disco-era platform shoes?”
Leonard’s job as a moving target lasted for a couple of months, until one day Kicks announced she would be going out of town for a while. She thanked him for his enthusiasm, and even offered to let him stay at her studio apartment if he wanted, but he declined.
The truth was that he had been thinking about moving on. After all, he needed to find a way to work on his own abilities. It wasn’t that he hadn’t benefitted from his gig with Kicks. In fact, he was quicker than ever – much quicker – both on his feet and in his decision-making. He even had time to come up with a new name.
“’Mixmaster!’ What do you think?” he asked Kicks.
“Sounds like you’re a kitchen appliance,” she responded. “Keep trying. You’ll come up with something.”
After their last training session, Leonard walked to the door and turned to say goodbye. Surprisingly, he realized he was a little sad. He looked over to Kicks, who was putting on a pair of those low-rise hospital socks she always carried with her, but she didn’t seem to notice he was leaving.
As Leonard opened the door, he was startled by the sound of high-velocity footwear flying by his head and thumping against the wall. He looked down at the floor where he saw a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers.
He spun around to see Kicks laughing. “Something to remember me by.”
July 16, 2023
Short Story Serial
Over the next 8 weeks, I'll be posting installments of Third Person, Unlikely or the Not-So-Super Adventures of Leonard the Scrub.
Here's the first one:
“Next.”
Finally.
Leonard had been waiting for hours, but he knew that’s just how it was when you’re trying to get an agency to represent you. Truth is, he’d been waiting for more than hours. He’d been waiting for years. He had been seen and rejected by more agencies than he could remember.
This one, The Last Chance Agency, was the first to agree to see him. Of course, the name said it all. It wasn’t known for top talent, high standards, or great gigs, but what else could he do? He’d been working the night shift at a local warehouse since he dropped out of college. That’s not how he wanted to spend the rest of his life.
“So, what’s your – mmph, mmph – ability?” asked the disheveled, middle-aged man between mammoth bites of whatever kind of sandwich he was stuffing in his mouth.
Leonard had been rehearsing his pitch ever since his appointment was confirmed. He practiced eye contact, posture, tone, gestures, and pace. Naturally, he froze. Not the kind of freezing that looks like you momentarily lost your place – more like the kind where you run into a grizzly bear and you suddenly recall that your nickname in High School was Salmon, which you also had for breakfast.
“You okay, kid?” asked the sandwich eater.
The question shook Leonard out of his catatonic state. In his rush to compensate for this disastrous first impression, he abandoned everything he practiced and started to randomly mash words together.
“First no one, I mean, first, no one, at least I don’t think anyone –” Leonard blurted. “It’s unique and, and –“
“Stop. Just stop,” the man behind the desk pleaded, reluctantly putting his lunch aside. “You’re obviously not a first-tier, and I doubt you’re even a second-tier, which means whatever it is you can do isn’t really that special or someone else would have signed you by now, so don’t try to make your power out to be anything more than it is, okay?”
Leonard hesitated, then nodded. No sense in denying the obvious. The agent was right. He was a scrub, someone with minimal abilities.
He looked around the office. It was mostly barren, just like the waiting room he had been in all morning. There was a dying houseplant by the window, a generic abstract picture hanging from the wall, and not much else. The only thing that stood out was the name plate on the desk: Last Chance, Agent.
“Your name is actually ‘Last Chance?’” Leonard asked, incredulous. Okay, maybe not incredulous, but in-something.
“Yeah, it is,” Last Chance sighed, an indication that this wasn’t the first time the subject came up. “My parents were a bit different. I was the youngest of seven. The oldest was named First, then came Second, and on it went until me. What a riot, huh?”
Not wanting to spend any more time on the subject, Chance turned the conversation back to the business at hand.
“Look, kid. Unless you have first-tier super-strength, telekinesis, command of a primary element, can fly, or teleport, you’re going to have a hard time cashing in on your abilities. Even second-tiers struggle to maintain a steady income.” Chance paused to make sure what he said was sinking in.
“So, let’s start with something simple. Tell me your name.”
“Um, Leonard.”
Chance rolled his eyes. “Not your given name – your moniker. You know, the name that informs friend and foe alike that you’re not someone to be trifled with. You have one, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, I do,” Leonard replied enthusiastically. “It’s Crisscross.”
Chance laughed before he could catch himself. “Like the pop singer from the 80s? Or was it the 70s? What were his hits? Oh yeah, Sailing, Ride Like the Wind, probably some others. Why would you choose that for your name? What’s your ability, fading into the background on an elevator?”
“What? No.” This was not how Leonard imagined his first real meeting would go. “It’s kind of hard to explain. When I make physical contact with two people who have abilities, I merge what they do together.”
“So, if one of those people has impenetrable skin,” Chance hypothesized. “And the other can make trees grow spontaneously –“
“Well, in that case, the end result would be trees that can’t be cut, I guess,” Leonard concluded.
Chance thought for a moment. “Not sure how useful that is. What’s more of a problem is you’re dependent on having two other powers with you. Otherwise, zip, right?”
“Please,” Leonard implored. “I just want to be –“
Chance cut him off. Why did he ever get in this business, he wondered. “Let me guess. Special? Appreciated? Noticed?”
Leonard was feeling stupid. He was also thinking he would be working at the warehouse for the rest of his life.
“If this were fifty years ago, you probably would have gotten all the attention you wanted.” Chance explained. “Hell, three hundred years ago, you would have been declared a witch. But it’s different today. Everyone is screened at a young age for ability genes. And over 80% of the population has them. Most don’t bother trying to develop their abilities because they’re generally unremarkable.”
“Take all of those others out in my waiting room,” he continued. “There’s one kid whose amazing power is making things warm. Not scorching. Not even hot. Just warm. He calls himself Heater. Can you imagine that? His name should be Toaster Oven. I’ve got another hopeful out there who changes the color of everything around her to magenta. That’s it. Talk about one-dimensional.”
“Now, in your case,” Chance went on, turning his attention back to Leonard. “I’d not only have to find a gig for you, but I’d have to find two other clients to work with you who had complementary skills.”
That’s it, Leonard thought. It’s over. No agent. No opportunity. Nothing.
Chance watched Leonard. He was just sitting there. It was like watching a sad puppy. No, it was worse. At least you could give a puppy a treat and it would instantly be happy. He had no treats for this kid. Unless, of course, he sent him to her. Sure, it might be nasty, but the kid – Leonard – could try it out and decide for himself. And if he survived, well then, who knows? If nothing else, at least Chance could finish his lunch.
Here's the first one:
“Next.”
Finally.
Leonard had been waiting for hours, but he knew that’s just how it was when you’re trying to get an agency to represent you. Truth is, he’d been waiting for more than hours. He’d been waiting for years. He had been seen and rejected by more agencies than he could remember.
This one, The Last Chance Agency, was the first to agree to see him. Of course, the name said it all. It wasn’t known for top talent, high standards, or great gigs, but what else could he do? He’d been working the night shift at a local warehouse since he dropped out of college. That’s not how he wanted to spend the rest of his life.
“So, what’s your – mmph, mmph – ability?” asked the disheveled, middle-aged man between mammoth bites of whatever kind of sandwich he was stuffing in his mouth.
Leonard had been rehearsing his pitch ever since his appointment was confirmed. He practiced eye contact, posture, tone, gestures, and pace. Naturally, he froze. Not the kind of freezing that looks like you momentarily lost your place – more like the kind where you run into a grizzly bear and you suddenly recall that your nickname in High School was Salmon, which you also had for breakfast.
“You okay, kid?” asked the sandwich eater.
The question shook Leonard out of his catatonic state. In his rush to compensate for this disastrous first impression, he abandoned everything he practiced and started to randomly mash words together.
“First no one, I mean, first, no one, at least I don’t think anyone –” Leonard blurted. “It’s unique and, and –“
“Stop. Just stop,” the man behind the desk pleaded, reluctantly putting his lunch aside. “You’re obviously not a first-tier, and I doubt you’re even a second-tier, which means whatever it is you can do isn’t really that special or someone else would have signed you by now, so don’t try to make your power out to be anything more than it is, okay?”
Leonard hesitated, then nodded. No sense in denying the obvious. The agent was right. He was a scrub, someone with minimal abilities.
He looked around the office. It was mostly barren, just like the waiting room he had been in all morning. There was a dying houseplant by the window, a generic abstract picture hanging from the wall, and not much else. The only thing that stood out was the name plate on the desk: Last Chance, Agent.
“Your name is actually ‘Last Chance?’” Leonard asked, incredulous. Okay, maybe not incredulous, but in-something.
“Yeah, it is,” Last Chance sighed, an indication that this wasn’t the first time the subject came up. “My parents were a bit different. I was the youngest of seven. The oldest was named First, then came Second, and on it went until me. What a riot, huh?”
Not wanting to spend any more time on the subject, Chance turned the conversation back to the business at hand.
“Look, kid. Unless you have first-tier super-strength, telekinesis, command of a primary element, can fly, or teleport, you’re going to have a hard time cashing in on your abilities. Even second-tiers struggle to maintain a steady income.” Chance paused to make sure what he said was sinking in.
“So, let’s start with something simple. Tell me your name.”
“Um, Leonard.”
Chance rolled his eyes. “Not your given name – your moniker. You know, the name that informs friend and foe alike that you’re not someone to be trifled with. You have one, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, I do,” Leonard replied enthusiastically. “It’s Crisscross.”
Chance laughed before he could catch himself. “Like the pop singer from the 80s? Or was it the 70s? What were his hits? Oh yeah, Sailing, Ride Like the Wind, probably some others. Why would you choose that for your name? What’s your ability, fading into the background on an elevator?”
“What? No.” This was not how Leonard imagined his first real meeting would go. “It’s kind of hard to explain. When I make physical contact with two people who have abilities, I merge what they do together.”
“So, if one of those people has impenetrable skin,” Chance hypothesized. “And the other can make trees grow spontaneously –“
“Well, in that case, the end result would be trees that can’t be cut, I guess,” Leonard concluded.
Chance thought for a moment. “Not sure how useful that is. What’s more of a problem is you’re dependent on having two other powers with you. Otherwise, zip, right?”
“Please,” Leonard implored. “I just want to be –“
Chance cut him off. Why did he ever get in this business, he wondered. “Let me guess. Special? Appreciated? Noticed?”
Leonard was feeling stupid. He was also thinking he would be working at the warehouse for the rest of his life.
“If this were fifty years ago, you probably would have gotten all the attention you wanted.” Chance explained. “Hell, three hundred years ago, you would have been declared a witch. But it’s different today. Everyone is screened at a young age for ability genes. And over 80% of the population has them. Most don’t bother trying to develop their abilities because they’re generally unremarkable.”
“Take all of those others out in my waiting room,” he continued. “There’s one kid whose amazing power is making things warm. Not scorching. Not even hot. Just warm. He calls himself Heater. Can you imagine that? His name should be Toaster Oven. I’ve got another hopeful out there who changes the color of everything around her to magenta. That’s it. Talk about one-dimensional.”
“Now, in your case,” Chance went on, turning his attention back to Leonard. “I’d not only have to find a gig for you, but I’d have to find two other clients to work with you who had complementary skills.”
That’s it, Leonard thought. It’s over. No agent. No opportunity. Nothing.
Chance watched Leonard. He was just sitting there. It was like watching a sad puppy. No, it was worse. At least you could give a puppy a treat and it would instantly be happy. He had no treats for this kid. Unless, of course, he sent him to her. Sure, it might be nasty, but the kid – Leonard – could try it out and decide for himself. And if he survived, well then, who knows? If nothing else, at least Chance could finish his lunch.
April 20, 2023
New flash fiction
Looks like the editors of Literally Stories have been generous once again, accepting my latest story, The Returning, for publication on June 26, 2023.
https://literallystories2014.com/
https://literallystories2014.com/
April 12, 2023
April 4, 2023
Blog koan
If I post an acknowledge that I haven't posted in a while, I wonder if that counts as a post?
February 13, 2023
Gravity Hill revised
After revising the original version of Gravity Hill, the short story has been accepted by Literally Stories, and will be published on April 12, 2023.
https://literallystories2014.com/
https://literallystories2014.com/
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