Ha!Ha!Ha! Read online

  10:00

  What I really like best is the popping.

  You know when you get that bubble wrap and squeeze those little cushion things? How good that feels? It’s like that.

  No, I’m not talking about eyeballs. Why would you think that? Those are more like grapes. Olives, maybe.

  I’m talking about windpipes.

  I’m sorry, is that a little too much? Maybe you better get off this ride here, then. It’s only going to get juicier.

  Must be this tall to ride.

  No participation trophies here, folks. You have to be in it to win it.

  Where was I? Oh, yes, the windpipe thing. It’s always a difficult decision for me. It’s my favorite way to do it—because, y’know, the tingles—but it’s a little too quick for my taste. There are so many other ways to snuff out a candle that’ll really last.

  So I try to be a good boy and not always go for the speedy, intense burst of joy. Let it sort of marinate, as it were.

  That’s how it is with my “friend.” See what I did there? I put “friend” in quotations because, if I’m being completely honest, we aren’t all that friendly. I mean, I am always trying to kill him, after all.

  Of course, I’ve had my chances to do it quickly. But where’s the fun in that?

  Torture? Sure. That’s a given. When the time comes. But that’s going to be the...the…what do you call it? Amuse bouche.

  No, no, no. That’s not it, dadburnit.

  Pre-dessert. Ha. How could I forget something that simple? Yes, the torture, when the time comes, will be like a brown sugar panna cotta with grapefruit espuma and cranberry gel, topped off with some crunchy dark chocolate crumble.

  Mmmmm. Yummy.

  Then—and only then—will we move on to the best part. The actual dessert.

  NO. Not some tiramisu, you hillbilly. I’m talking about roasted pears with espresso mascarpone cream. Or rhubarb and pistachio pavlova.

  WAIT! Wait. Hold on. No, that’s not it.

  Strawberry, currant and mint tart with mascarpone.

  Yes, that’s the ticket.

  Remember that? I used to love that guy. Why doesn’t he ever work anymore?

  That’s the ticket. Still makes me giggle.

  7:57

  But I’m getting way ahead of myself here. It’ll be years before I’m ready for that. Right now I’m somewhere in the middle, perhaps the removes or sorbet of my wicked menu. Kidnapping of a loved one. Yes, indeed.

  One of the classics, to be sure. All the worry, the hand wringing, the popping of the acid-reducers that can be milked out of that one. It’s just such a satisfying feeling to know the person you despise with every fiber of your being is going through the worst personal hell you can put them through.

  The problem is, my friend (I’m not going to keep putting it in quotes, as I’m fully aware that will become tedious) has no loved ones. Awww. Yes, it’s all so very sad.

  Mother died in childbirth. Father died—was murdered—sometime later by…oh no, I mustn’t give that away. That would be so very spoilery of me.

  No siblings. Nary an uncle, aunt or cousin to his name. What to do, what to do?

  Oh my, but the answer was quite simple, really. No, it couldn’t be children, since he didn’t have any—or DID he?—so it would have to be the next best thing.

  A ward.

  Ha! Now I have you thinking, “What the devil is he talking about? Does this story take place in the nineteen-aughts or some such? Pierrot, that’s so very Edwardian of you. Who has a ward nowadays?”

  Don’t worry, I’m going to answer that question, and you’re bound to smack yourself silly when you realize it: A hero. A masked crimefighter. A person who runs around in a ridiculous costume (oh, but I’m one to talk, am I right?) and beats up people like…well, moi.

  Yes, yes, now it’s dawning on you, isn’t it? They call them sidekicks. I’m not certain, but I believe the word comes from the ancient Greek word for “human meat shield.”

  What? You never realized it? They take some poor kid, dress him (or her, mustn’t be misogynist) up in spandex and bright, colorful tights, and train them to jump straight into the fray spouting loud insults at the poor supervillain or bank robber. What’s a criminal to do, just sit idly by and take it? Of course not.

  So they send them into danger like a canary in a coal mine, scoping out what kinds of traps lie in wait, or how many henchmen may be hiding on the mezzanine above with machine guns, or what have you. Meanwhile, the “hero” (there I go using quotes again) skulks in the shadows in his (or her, yes, yes) dark-hued body armor, waiting for an opportune moment to strike.

  No wonder they tend to go through them like a snack bar goes through fried butter sticks at a county fair.

  Say what you will about those of us on the wrong side of the law, at least we hire minions of their own free will. And pay them, for Pete’s sake. We don’t bring in some poor orphan off the street and turn him into a little punchy-kicky machine.

  They think they’re the good guys, but I’m telling you, they’re on the dark side of the game when it comes to that.

  5:42

  You were thinking that was a clock, weren’t you? It’s quite all right, no need to be embarrassed. But you’re a smart one, and now you’ve figured it out. It’s a timer. And it’s counting down. And when it—

  Oh! There you go trying to get me to reveal spoilers again, you cad.

  So, my friend’s sidekick is a young man—let’s call him Toby (because his name is Toby)—who dresses up in red, black and white and uses the same code name as his predecessor, who left some time ago for personal reasons I don’t have time to go into at the moment (you can see the time ticking away, after all). It is—get this—Red Kite. Kite. Isn’t that a gas? And it had to be red. Because just plain Kite was taken, maybe? I don’t know how these things work.

  And you may be thinking, “Why would a hero name his human meat shield after a children’s toy?” Or maybe it makes sense to you. I don’t know, we’ve never met. I have no idea where your head is at.

  See, the thing is, you’re wrong whether you’re asking the question, or whether you think you know the answer. Because a kite is not just a children’s toy. It’s also a fabulous bird. Go do a search on it, I’ll wait.

  Whoops. I just told you we didn’t have time, and now I’m putting things on pause so you can type away on your typie-thingie and look at pictures. Shame on me.

  But see? Fabulous, just as advertised. And, if you’re really smart, you looked up “red kite,” species name milvus milvus, and were treated to something extra, extra fabulous. Because those little hawks are quite lovely indeed.

  As is Toby. By all accounts, the nicest young man you could ever meet. Of course, I’ve only met him when he was trying to shove his fist down my throat and his foot into my sensitive squishy parts. But even I am quite enamored of the boy.

  I have, after all, been watching him for quite some time now. Not in a creepy way.

  Well, okay, it’s obviously creepy, but you know what I mean. It’s not like I’m trying to do anything naughty to the tyke. Well, not like you might be thinking, anyway.

  I’ve just been trying to figure out the best way and the best time to kidnap him so that I can tie him up and use him as bait.

  3:31

  Goodness, I just realized I’m almost out of time, and I haven’t even told you who my friend is. He didn’t just randomly choose the name Red Kite for his meat shield. He appears to have some sort of fetish for birds of prey.

  He goes by Black Harrier. Or The Black Harrier. It’s not very consistent, to be honest, and that bothers me quite a bit.

  I’m not going to tell you to do a search to look up what a Black Harrier looks like because we’re almost out of time, so you’ll probably have to just wait until we’re done here. But let me assure you, it’s quite a beautiful, and formidable, creature.

  I’m ignoring the fact that you may be, instead, thinking about a fighter plane,
because the United States military decided to use that name for a jump jet. But I do want you to understand there’s a reason they’d name a powerful fighter jet after such a bird. It really is quite magnificent.

  (If, instead, you’re thinking about a cute hound, then I can’t even right now. Shame on you.)

  Anyway, you may have already guessed that I have a somewhat complicated relationship with my friend. Perhaps even an unhealthy obsession with him. After all, the bird he’s named after has the classification Circus maurus. How funny is that? I dress up like a clown and…oh, you get it. Yes, I know circus has a different meaning here, but let’s be honest: we both know I’m not all that concerned about that sort of thing.

  To be fair, I feel like the preoccupation is mutual, but I suppose I’ve never really asked him. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

  So we go round and round playing this game of hawk and mouse (because why would I say cat when this analogy makes so much more sense?) and having a great deal of fun. Okay, I have a great deal of fun, and he gets very angry and assaults me to within an inch of my life.

  But my point is, we have this thing going on, and I’m trying to keep it interesting by upping the ante. Pushing the envelope.

  2:20

  Why use Toby as bait? Because I know that it will drive my friend quite mad. He will be searching for him, and I will leave clues, and some of those clues will make no sense whatsoever. Why should I make it easy on the man? He’s trying to put me away, after all.

  Wait. Did I say will? I’m having trouble with my tenses here. Actually, I already did capture young Toby and tied him to a chair. I didn’t just use rope, either. I’ve seen all those old films and television shows where the hero cuts through the rope, and so have you.

  What do I look like, a silent movie villain, twirling my moustache? I tied him up with rope, zip ties, titanium-alloy cable, and duct tape (you know, I used to think it was called “duck” tape, then only later realized you’re not supposed to use it on water fowl—but not until it was too late).

  You may think this sounds like overkill, but believe me, this kid is resourceful and if I didn’t go to such great lengths, he’d find some way out. So I made sure he was really secure.

  And I set the timer.

  I know you want to ask me why I need a timer, but I’m sure you’ve already figured it out, and are just hoping that you’re wrong about the answer. I assure you, you’re not.

  Most supervillains only have one reason for setting a timer, and it’s not like I’m trying to be extra creative here. What’s the best way to wound a superhero without physically harming him?

  You already know.

  1:06

  At the risk of sounding foolish, I’m going to be candid with you and admit that I’m getting a bit worried here. You see, I didn’t believe for a second that Harrier would be cutting it this close, and I did set quite the pile of explosives to detonate when the timer was done.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have left such random clues, or so many red herrings. Now it appears my entire plan is crumbling before my eyes. Dissolving. I may never get my dessert. Or my pre-dessert even.

  I fortified this place so well to make it difficult for him to get in, and let my henchmen go home early so they wouldn’t mess anything up.

  I’m not sure this is going to work out at all.

  Are you getting worried? You should. There’s a young boy here about to be turned into hamburger and there’s no way anyone is going to save him in time.

  Me? Of course I don’t care about that. That was my plan. But Harrier was supposed to show up, and we were going to fight, and he’d realize it was too late to save Toby without everyone blowing up and dying, and he’d have to say goodbye and be wracked by guilt forever.

  Well, not forever forever. Just until I made him dessert.

  0:24

  You see, unfortunately, he was supposed to find a way into this impenetrable room here and then I would escape while he agonized over the fact that there was no way to get through the rope, the zip ties, the titanium-alloy cord, and the duct tape and then get out at the last second, as he is so famously wont to do.

  Problem is, my henchmen aren’t too bright, and they locked the door on the way out. But my copy of the key is out there. And, while I’ve been telling you this story, I’ve also been trying to open this—

  A Word from Christopher J. Valin

  When I wrote Sidekick, the first book in the Red Raptor Files series, I mentioned in passing that the Black Harrier’s previous sidekick had been killed by his arch-nemesis, Pierrot. That was a story I’ve wanted to go back and tell ever since then, but I never planned on telling it from Pierrot’s point of view. Now that I’ve written it, I’m glad I did.

  If you enjoyed my story in this book, as well as It’s a Bird! It’s a Plane! and World Domination, please check out Sidekick: The Red Raptor Files – Part 1, and Superteam: The Red Raptor Files – Part 2, which take place in the same universe (called the “Raptorverse” after its central character). You can also find my other books and short stories at my Amazon author’s page and more about me at my website, ChristopherValin.com. Finally, if you’d like to keep up with my new releases, as well as giveaways and other fun stuff, please subscribe to my newsletter. Thanks for reading!

  VYING FOR POWER

  BY GREG WILKEY

  VYING FOR POWER

  BY GREG WILKEY

  SHE WAS THE LAST ONE TO ARRIVE, and that was no accident. Standing out was her specialty. She tilted her body upright and let her bright red leather boots touch down on the sidewalk. The high heels clicked on the paved surface as she made her way toward the line of police officers standing at the entrance to the stadium. The crowds of chanting protesters fell silent when she passed them. Her dark auburn hair flowed in waves from the crown of her head. She made no eye contact with the faces in the crowd. That was a good thing, for them.

  She was simply known as the Rose. She needed no other handle, no fancy title. Her strength and her malice were infamous. Her abilities, undeniable. She was feared by thousands and her thirst for power was second only to the man she was here to see for the last time. After today, she would be the highest-ranking villain in the city.

  She’d flown from her secret lair on the other side of the town to attend the services for the Sinister Scientist. News of his death sent shockwaves throughout the city, causing chaos among the other villains, all of who now clamored for the number one spot. Rose was calm. She had no doubt the reins to the underworld would fall into her willing and capable hands. She was prepared to fight for it, if necessary.

  No one truly believed he’d died, especially since he’d announced his big discovery, claiming far and wide that he’d figured out a way to cheat death and live forever. He boasted how his immortality would secure his place as the undoubted overlord of the city’s criminal underbelly.

  Then, suddenly, he was gone. Dead. The incredible news spread like wildfire. Rumors and hints of allegations ran rampant. His contemporaries were stunned and unsure if they should laugh or cry. Rose chose to laugh.

  When she approached the row of tense officers, she allowed a grin to spread across her ruby lips. The man standing in front of her had his hand positioned firmly on the gun in his hip holster. He tightened his grip the closer she got. “Now, now, Captain,” she spoke, and her voice was soft and smooth like her appearance. “There’s no need to draw your weapon. I know the terms of the ceasefire.” She lifted her right hand into the air. “I swear to be on my best behavior if you do.”

  The police captain never moved his hand, but his eyes drifted up to the rooftops lining the side of the street opposite the arena. Rose shook her head disapprovingly.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m aware of the Heroes stationed everywhere. I saw them dotting the rooftops and alleyways as I flew in.” She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s one of the advantages of flying. You get a bird’s-eye view of everything. I trust the
y will also honor the ceasefire.”

  “We all agreed to give you and your colleagues this one day,” the captain finally spoke, but the way he said the word colleague didn’t set well with her.

  “I don’t think I like your tone,” she said, letting her hands drop and rest on her hips.

  “We will follow the rules. It’s you and your friends inside who can’t be trusted.” The protesters began to chant, and soon their voices filled the air. Rose spun around and prepared to unleash on them. “No,” the police captain said, grabbing her by the shoulder. “Leave them be.”

  “But the ceasefire only applies to the Heroes and Villains.” She looked back at him with fiery eyes. “And of course to all the upstanding law enforcement agents gathered here.” She pointed to the loud, sign-waving mob on the other side of the street. “But I never agreed to that.”

  The captain tightened his grip on her shoulder. He knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t. Externally, Rose was nearly invincible. Nothing short of a bullet to her heart could kill her, which is why she wore a dark red metal breastplate at all times. The rest of her unmistakable costume consisted of bright red tights that disappeared into shiny red boots. A long crimson cape hung down her back. On her hands, she wore gloves the same shade and hue as her boots. No mask hid her face. No hood covered her head. Despite her vicious nature and horrendous crimes against the city, she was stunning, and that made her all the more treacherous.

  “You and your boys here just make sure to keep those idiots under control,” Rose said. The grin had returned to her face. “It’d be a shame for something tragic to happen on such a solemn occasion.” She winked at him and began to climb the steps to the main entrance of the arena.

  The stadium usually served as home for the city’s official sports teams. On most days and nights, the stands would be filled with screaming and cheering fans decked out in their favorite team’s colors. During the late spring, high schools and colleges used this space for graduation ceremonies. This venue was, for the most part, a joyous place.