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J. Jonah Jerkson
Sat Nov 13, 2004 at 01:12:12 am EST
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The Baroness, Part 12
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The Baroness, Part 12

[We now come to the morning of the Transworld Challenge parade, UT #186, and the formidable challenge of maintaining continuity with HH, Killer Shrike, DBS, CFSB! and Visionary, all of whom have written about the events at Visionary’s condo this morning.]

Early the next morning, Elizabeth Zemo was nibbling on toast and scanning the pages of the Parodiopolis Times when the police escort pulled up next door. A man in a yellow trenchcoat alighted from the center car, shook Commissioner Don Graham’s hand and walked to the steps leading down into the semi-underground condo next door. Smiling, Elizabeth strolled outside, taking care to keep as much of the charred grass and cinders off her shoes as possible, and arrived at Visionary’s door just in time to hear him scream.

“They did WHAT? A complaint? ‘Abandoning a minor? Endangering her life? Manifestly unfit to be entrusted with any ward!’ Where are those keys?”

This one sounded as inept as the one who blew himself up, noted Elizabeth with a trace of regret. It would have been nice to have a neighbor worth talking to. She rang the bell, and a few moments later heard rapid stumbling toward the door. As it opened, she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m your new neighbor, Elizabeth. Somebody said last night that you’d been out of town, and I thought I’d fill you in on what happened while you were away.”

“That’s very nice of you, Elizabeth, but I’ve got some really urgent business – perhaps later.”

“Oh yes, I know. I met Kerry.”

Visionary shuddered. “Look, I’m sure that we can work it all out later, but I really have to go . . . .”

“I understand. I just wanted you to know that the caseworker who took Kerry away, Velma Robinson she said her name was, told me to tell you that Kerry’s at the Juvenile Shelter in Hell’s Bathroom and that you were in a lot of trouble.”

“I could have guessed that.”

“She thinks she saw you on the tv two nights ago and that you’ve been out of town leaving Kerry alone. But I saw you – or somebody like you – around here last week.”

“Someone like me?”

“Don’t you remember sitting down with me and talking after our clothes caught fire?”

“Caught fire?”

“Then it had to be someone like you.”

“I’m real, dammit!”

“What does that mean?”

“Er, nothing really. Just force of habit.”

“And you don’t know anything about the gasoline yesterday?” Elizabeth pressed on.

“Of course I know about that . . . well, not really.”

Elizabeth could hardly restrain a grin. “Well, it all started yesterday afternoon about 4 p.m. when Kerry and her friend came here, opened your door, and smelled gasoline all over your condo. Fortunately the fire department was right outside, evacuated the area and cleaned up while the police, homeland security and disaster control investigated. I guess one of them contacted the Juvenile Protective Services.”

Visionary groaned. “I get the picture. Anything else I should know before I go after Kerry?”

“I think you need to get over to Hell’s Bathroom and straighten things out. Then I’ll come over and we can talk about my issues.”

“Oh, er. You have some problems already?”

“You’d better get going.”

Visionary took the cue, excused himself, and sprinted for the garage. Elizabeth returned carefully to her own townhouse, shaking her head in amazement. Good-looking guy, rated a police escort from Commissioner Graham, no less, but just so overwhelmed. By the time she had finished her breakfast coffee, the delivery truck had arrived, and she spent the next hour and a half supervising the unloading of about five tons of electronic equipment (in crates and cartons ostentatiously marked “Weightlifting equipment -- Fragile” and “Wallpaper – keep away from magnets”) in her basement. That kept Elizabeth Zemo from witnessing Visionary’s return with Kerry and a very peeved Velma Robertson. As Ms. Robinson left the condo, she made sure to warn Visionary in a voice that carried down the block that any further problems with Kerry would cause her to come down on him “like a duck on a junebug.” She also made sure to recite her telephone number so that everyone could hear – twice. With most of the neighborhood already outdoors and preparing the enormous block party to celebrate the LL’s victory, she had plenty of listeners.

Elizabeth’s work with her new toys also caused her to miss the arrival of Mr. Epitome and nine green-skinned Caphean slave girls. (Despite Mr. Epitome’s best efforts and the natural inclination of the neighbors to absent themselves when Kerry Shephardson came out to assist the Star-Spangled Splendor, far too many of Visionary’s neighbors were treated to extensive glimpses of his instant harem.) Great-uncle Heinrich had been blessed with an amazingly inventive mind, so much so that she would have to put together his neural enhancer to be able to understand more than a tenth of what she had already found in his archives. Finally, though, she left the basement to prepare lunch.

Elizabeth was standing at the stove preparing an omelet when the first sonic boom struck, startling her and propelling the cheese and eggs to the ceiling. The next sound was that of a brown-clad mutant avenger pounding on Visionary’s condo door, but Elizabeth was too occupied removing melted cheddar and partially scrambled eggs from her face and hair to notice. By the time she had cleaned herself and the kitchen up, she was just in time to step outside and observe De Brown Streak’s exit, complete with sonic boom. This time, a fire-charred cornice on the neighboring condo building gave way, falling to the driveway and overturning a container of gasoline left over from the previous evening, which ruptured and flowed down the driveway towards Elizabeth. With a loud pupph! it ignited, swiftly setting some nearby hanging decorations on fire. Kerry must be back, Elizabeth pondered. In moments, the banners and crepe paper decorations overhead were burning merrily.

“Carl! Roscoe!” shouted Elizabeth instinctively, but today the fire trucks were at the parade route downtown. In horror, she realized that the wind was blowing sparks and flame toward her townhouse’s roof, and already some shingles were smoldering.

By now, though, the neighbors had noticed the conflagration and their reaction was almost instinctive. While Elizabeth ran into the house for a fire extinguisher, her neighbors were already hooking up high capacity garden hoses and bringing them into her front yard. In minutes, the fires had been quelled, and the residents were already making jokes about how it couldn’t be a good day in this part of Dullard’s Corner without a little fire or two.

Too impatient for small talk, Elizabeth disengaged herself as soon as she could and ran into the house. Snatching her keys, cellphone and purse, she flew out the garage door and jumped into her rented Camry. Soon she was leaning on the horn, trying with minimal success to urge the happy crowds blocking the streets of Parodiopolis to let her through, and completely missing even radio coverage of the parade. Lord, how do villains keep up with it all? she mused at a particularly long traffic light at the ramp onto Interstate 888. Besides my plan, I’ve got to keep ahead of Monty Hole, recruit more henchmen, find a better lair – and find a better real estate agent than that airhead Brandi Bubblegum Ballerina, find out what Akiko Masamune has in mind for her revenge, decrypt, translate and try to comprehend Great-Uncle Heinrich’s notes, build some of his inventions, and execute my necessary revenges on Kerry Shephardson and that moron Harsch at the hospital before I get a reputation as a softy. And prepare for my first visit from the Lair Legion, or SPUD, or Garrick’s bozoes, or the plain old cops. Oh yes, and have a social life and clean the house too. And who knows when Grandpa Otto will drop by to cheer me up. My God, am I going to get as overwhelmed as Visionary?

Elizabeth was still pondering these problems when she arrived at Teeteringborough Executive Airport, just across the Guernsey Morasses from Parodiopolis. Pulling up by the apron, she waited a few moments for a rented execujet to complete its landing. As soon as the door opened, Sally Rezilyant bounced out of the plane and across the tarmac to meet her employer.

“Well, boss, I mean, Your Excellency, it went like clockwork, just as you said. Knock out an employee, steal his uniform and ID, do a little field reformation, and stroll right in.”

“Did you get to the crude tanks, Sally?”

“Of course, Baroness. I poured your little bottle into the inspection port, and by now they’re probably refining 100% pure water. So who’s my next target?”

“Well, you said you had a date this weekend in Moscow?”

“Not so much a date as a visit with a couple of mafiya types to one of those 24/7 dens of debauchery I keep seeing on the Discovery Channel. I mean, now that I can let myself go and just bounce back from anything, it’s sort of hard to find anything really extreme around here.”

Elizabeth Zemo forced all thoughts from her mind about what a rubber woman could do or be done to in a Moscow dive and managed to pass on instructions and formula for her next strike. As she prepared to leave, a thought struck her.
“Sally, what do I do if Lance calls me to ask about you?”

“Oh, just tell him I’m out of town. Poor dear, he’s still learning that I decide whether the relationship’s exclusive, and he has a long way to go to get there.”

“Well, I was just thinking that he might appreciate a quiet dinner or drinks while you’re away, and this way no one else would be getting in your way.”

A perfect pink arm SNAPPED out from 10 feet away and its fingers encircled Elizabeth’s neck -- twice. “Listen, sister,” Silicone Sally snarled, “I spent 25 years in social purgatory before I got the chance to become a stud magnet, and nobody plays with my toy boys unless I want them to. Got that, Your Excellency?”

“Urkkk,” Elizabeth strangled.

“Right. O.K. then, Beth, I’ll visit those Russian facilities – there should be time before the first orgy – and see you Monday night. And if Lance calls, drop him a few hints that he should clean up his condo over the weekend and buy some new satin sheets – the Porthault type. Ciao.”

The prospect of a lonely Friday evening was somewhat eased by the radio news on the way back to Parodiopolis. Among the long feature reports about the end of the Transworld Challenge and the parade that afternoon was the following announcement:

“And this just in from WPDT newswires – Royal Friesland-Conch Oil Company reported that its largest refinery has just been shut down for ‘unforeseen preventative maintenance.’ Company sources are unable to estimate the duration of the outage, and in late trading, spot gasoline prices increased by over 30 cents per gallon.”

Well, by Monday I should be about $150 million richer, Elizabeth Zemo thought. It would be nice to celebrate a little. Suddenly, she pulled the sedan to the side of the road and opened her purse, extracting a dark tan business card. She quickly dialed her cell phone and smiled when a deep male voice answered.

“DBS?”

“This is Elizabeth. We met in Parodiopolis a couple of afternoons ago?”

“Well, you mentioned about getting together, and I find I don’t have any good plans for dinner. Since I’m new in Parodiopolis, could you suggest someplace – and possibly join me for dinner?

“Seafood sounds lovely. And I enjoy spicy food, so a Caribbean place would be fine for me.”

“Meet you by the Twin Parody Tower? Too crowded. How about the mainland end of the Parody Island bridge?”

Fifteen minutes? Could you make it a half-hour? The traffic’s awful tonight.”

Elizabeth Zemo hung up with a smile on her face. Good male company, and the possibility of suborning De Brown Streak to boot. Maybe she was getting the hang of the villainy biz.


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

J. Jonah Jerkson
VOICE OF THE PEOPLE


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