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J. Jonah Jerkson
Tue Oct 26, 2004 at 08:53:48 pm EDT
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The Baroness, Part 7. What is a Visionary?
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The Baroness, Part 7
"What is a Visionary?"

Elizabeth von Zemo glanced at her watch as she approached her rented townhouse in Dullard's Corner. Four p.m., just enough time for a shower before going through those resumes. Then she stopped short. Two large red fire trucks, emblazoned with the "F.D.P.P." insignia, were parked in front of her house and the condos next door. She gave a long, nervous look toward her house, but saw nothing amiss. Nothing appeared to be wrong nearby, either. Panting from her eight-mile run, she stumbled up to the nearest truck and spoke to the driver.

"(Huff, huff) Is anything wrong?"

The driver, a grizzled veteran of the Parodiopolis Fire Department, replied, "Hell, ma'am, there's always something going wrong in this burg. Just ask the Daily Trombone. But no, nothing special's happened here - yet."

"Then why (pant) are you blocking my curb?"

"You weren't listening. I said, 'yet.' Junior Lair Legion training gets out at 3:30 today, and Visionary and that kid should be back any minute. Then, the odds are you'll see some sort of weird explosion or flaming disaster. Doesn't happen every day, or anywhere that you'd expect it, but the odds are, something will go up in a blast around here sometime in the next 15 minutes."

"Could you (huh) give me . . . some examples? I just moved in yesterday evening."

The driver's companion in the cab broke in.

"You mean you saw all the f---ing soot, the melted patches of asphalt and the explosion debris and you moved in here anyway? Shee-it, what kind of foo - sorry, ma'am, how hard up were you to move in here? "

"Come on, Roscoe, give the woman a break. Can't you tell she's from outtatown? No wedding ring, either, he noted. Sorry ma'am, but Roscoe here is sort of opinionated. Anyhow, just yesterday we had the domino effect car explosions. Notice those black scorches on the pavement every 12 feet or so? I was sitting right here in the truck, when a Volvo down by the corner just exploded. Five seconds later, the Hummer next to it went up, and every five seconds another vehicle went up, right up the line, till we got to Visionary's old heap. It goes up in flames too - of course, by that time we're out of the trucks with the Class B extinguishers and the Jaws of Life going after the other cars -- except it doesn't catch on fire, just gets lightly scorched, as if someone had dunked it in rubbing alcohol and lit it. That kid who lives with him, Kerry's her name, comes out of the condos and watches."

"Yeah, Carl. A real f-----ing fire junkie. And you know, just when it looks like Visionary's car is a goner, and he comes running out of the condo foaming at the mouth, she shrugs, and the next second, all the motherf---ing fires go out. Now tell me that's a coincidence. You know what the Daily Trombone is saying? She's an arsonist, and god-damn, sorry ma'am, for once I think they're right."

"Don't mind me," said Elizabeth, "I'll hear worse at my next meeting with the girls." If Akiko doesn't perform involuntary seppuku [1] on me first.

"That's good of you, ma'am. You know, we'll probably be seeing more of each other, long as you're living here. I was wondering what your name was - I'm Carl Kerosyne, and this here is Roscoe Brown."

Beth was saved from answering by the arrival of a brown and black scorched sedan driven by a tall man of about her age in a Dick Tracy style trenchcoat. He was accompanied by a young brunette with wild hair and a clear penchant for anti-authoritarian style. She alighted from the car at the curb and walked over to the truck while the car's driver maneuvered it into the condo's parking lot.

"They're here," Carl spoke into a microphone. "Battalion 24, go to full alert," came back through the radio.

"Hi Carl. What's shakin', Roscoe? Who's your new girlfriend?"

"Hi there, Kerry. What should we be looking for today?"

"Oh, come on, Carl, how would I know?"

"Well, this here's your new neighbor, Miss . . . ."

"Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth, and I'm sure she'd like to know whether to get her valuables out of her house here. She hasn't been here long enough to know what this neighborhood's like, just moved in last night."

"Really? Wow, just what we need around here, another adult. Well, like, you know, I wouldn't have any inside information or anything, but I'd be surprised if anything were to happen to her place right now."

"You can fr---ing go to the bank with that," growled Roscoe.

"Thanks -- Kerry, is that your name? I hope we'll be seeing more of each other," said Elizabeth with complete insincerity.

"Same to you, Beth," sneered Kerry.

"That's Elizabeth, dear."

"Hello, guys. Has anything happened yet?" said the man in the trenchcoat, walking up to the small group by the fire engine.

"We have a new neighbor, Dorko. She calls herself Elizabeth. You two should get along like a house on fire. She's your age and is just as anal-retentive as you are."

Visionary shuddered. "House on fire?"

"Nothing right now. But do you smell smoke?" Kerry's face held a tentative smile.

The firefighters raised their heads, swiveling them to scan the neighborhood. A few wisps of smoke came to their nostrils, and they came to full alert.

"It smells like burning rubber," said Visionary.

"No, it smells like burning cloth," Elizabeth disagreed. "Ouch, what's that?

Visionary and Elizabeth screamed at the same moment. "My shoes are on fire!"
"My coat!"

Flames licked upward from the bottom of Visionary's trenchcoat, while Elizabeth began stamping her running shoes in a vain effort to extinguish her hotfeet. Reacting quickly, Carl dove out of the fire truck, tackled Visionary to the ground, and began rolling him on the pavement to quell the flames. Right behind him, Roscoe grabbed a foam extinguisher and slorched Elizabeth's feet in a mound of firefighting foam, while two more firemen from the back of the truck sprinted toward Carl and Visionary. Moments later, they looked like a 1950's movie monster, a vast, crawling blob of white foam.

Kerry was doubled over in laughter as the ambulance on standby careened around the corner. By the time the paramedics had pronounced both Visionary and Elizabeth unharmed, except for bruises and Visionary's queasy stomach from foam ingestion, she had recovered enough to chat with Roscoe.

"Did you see those two losers? Eee-lizabeth was out there trying to tap dance and El Dweebo was just standing there like he couldn't believe he was on fire. I tell you, Roscoe, those two are just made for each other. That's why she's got to go, and soon."

"Now you aren't makin' any threats, are you, Kerry my girl? I mean, you wouldn't have any sh-t in mind for those two that we would have to clean up, would you?"

"Me? What could I possibly do?"

"Well, lady, we keep hearing these kicks-t rumors about this 'Probability Arsonist' and the Junior Lair Legion, you know, and you are in the f---ing Junior f---ing Lair Legion, and fires and explosions have a tendency to happen when you're in this p---ant neighborhood, you know. I'm surprised nobody else has any suspicions."

"Well, the odds are that at least one fireman would have suspicions that the rest wouldn't have. But that doesn't mean they're true, even if you are the coolest guy in the hook and ladder company."

Sitting on a nearby doorstep, wrapped in fire blankets, Visionary and Elizabeth sipped coffee from the ambulance driver's thermos. "Welcome to Dullard's Corner," he wheezed. “I'm Visionary."

"Elizabeth," she mumbled. "And, er, Kerry's your daughter?"

"No, no, no, she's a friend's . . . let's just say that I'm her temporary foster parent."

"You poor man."

"It's not so bad. Still, let me give you my number. It'll save you some time tomorrow when you have your first complaint." He withdrew a soggy scrap of paper from a pocket and scribbled a telephone number on it with an artist's pen.

"Isn't it more polite for you to wait until I ask you for your number?"

The possibly-fake man hesitated, and then explained, "Er, well, I really was serious. I get a LOT of complaints. It's not my fault," he hurried on, "but with all the strange goings on in this neighborhood, and my being associated with the Lair Legion, everybody tends to call me." Visionary actually contrived to look proud as he said this.

Humph, another name dropper, Elizabeth thought. He's probably their plumber or something. She took the scrap from his hands, saying nothing.

After a few awkward seconds, Visionary went for broke. “Of course, if you do feel like having coffee with someone who’s familiar with the neighborhood, I’d be happy to have you call me.”

Instead of answering, Elizabeth stood up, dropping the blanket beside her, and gave her neighbor a freezing look. Then, in a low voice, she hissed, “First, I’d want to know what a ‘Visionary’ is.” She then stalked into her townhouse, tossing her hair in contempt.

Kerry sidled over to her temporary guardian, well satisfied. “Having a bit of trouble, Mr. Smooth?” she sneered. Without a word, Visionary slowly unfolded himself and stumbled toward their condo.

Later that evening

The Baroness was seated at her personal computer, just delivered that afternoon, reviewing the replies to her employment ad on Monstrous.com, “the portal for those who do dirty deeds.” Although her ad had only been up for a few hours, she had already received hundreds of responses.

“Waxwoman. Capable of turning her entire body into soft wax and taking any form. Prior experience: currently temping at Madame Tussaud’s, free-lance jobs with HERPES. Tends to melt in summer. Nope.”

“Zombie Knight. Worked with Great-uncle Heinrich. Seven-foot-tall rotting-flesh undead-warrior-in-armor. Ecch.”

“Velcro Vixen. No powers, but excellent references. Worked most recently for Count Armageddon and the Hooded Hood, whoever he is. Yipes, look at that picture. She’d get all the attention, the slut. No.”

“The Inimitable Izba. Has all the powers and invulnerability of a Russian peasant’s hut. Sounds familiar. Says the Yurt is an imposter. Oops, glad I looked at the fine print. ‘Powers only work on St. Vladimir’s Day.’”

“The Late Great Donald Blake. Super-strong, bullet-proof. Carries an energy-bolt cane and can fly. Something about "Late Rays." Lots of experience with the family but hasn’t worked in years. Worth another look.”

“Silicone Sally. Bite from radioactive spider during lightning storm right after a boob job while working in a lab where an accident with ‘N-rays’ occurred converted her entire body into pure silicone rubber. Bounces a lot, but can change shape and stretch somewhat. Vulnerable to ultraviolet light and solvents. No prior experience. With some luck, I could mold her into the right kind of minion, ha ha.”

“Gromm, the Living Flatulence. Next!”

Footnote

[1] Seppuku - former Japanese ritual disembowelment to expiate extreme dishonor through suicide.


Playing the part of Elizabeth von Zemo

J. Jonah Jerkson
VOICE OF THE PEOPLE









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