Now, in a Bar With No Name (much like this story):
“You’re not going? Why aren’t you going?” Armand Braithwaite, the Spring Loaded Man bleated.
Simon Maddicks took a long pull on his beer before answering, “Just ain’t.”
“Shrike,” Crabtaur placed his pincer on the bar table, “It’s because you don’t have the suit, isn’t it? Man, you don’t need to be in costume to hang with us.”
“It’s not about the suit.”
“We’ve had these tickets for the Villainy Expo for weeks!” Braithwaite went on, “You can’t back out now!”
The Avian Assassin glared at both men dourly, “I can, and I will.”
Spring Loaded Man blinked and sunk his coiled neck closer into his chest, “Yeah, well, you can kiss your deposit goodbye then.”
“You guys don’t know anybody who’d be interested in taking my spot?”
“Oh, so we’re not good enough to go Cabo Diablo with, but you’ll come to us looking for help unloading your tickets?” Braithwaite shook head dismissively, “A******.”
“Relax, man.”
“I’m totally calm. There’s nothing wrong with expressing my feelings. The whole reason I’m like this,” Armand waved his prosthetic spring arms in demonstration, “Is because I kept things bottled up, and let people take advantage of me.”
“This again,” Crabtaur rolled his eyestalks, “What about me? Imagine being the last of your kind, forced to live amongst the very people who destroyed your entire race!”
Killer Shrike grunted, “Look, you’re both equally hideous freaks who should have been strangled in the crib, but if we can stay on topic for just one moment-“
“Maddicks,” a funereal voice called from behind them. The trio turned to look to the figure with a skull mask and mortician’s clothes.
“Yeah,” Shrike answered brusquely as he gave the stranger the once over. His right arm was made of a glossy black metal that seemed to twist and stretch as if it possessed its own sentience. The man took note of the appraisal.
“Apocolyspian mnemo-metal,” he explained, holding up the arm. As they watched the onyx appendage distended into a long curved blade, “Enhanced with self-evolving transmutative cyberware grown in the Technoverse, allowing me to create any form of weapon I desire. My new arm is the ultimate killing machine, and I have you to thank for it.”
“Oh, it’s you,” Simon nodded in recognition before looking to his seat mates, “This is that guy.”
“The one who tried to take your place?” Crabtaur asked curiously.
“Yup. The Man Who Would Be Killer Shrike,” Simon snickered, “ ‘course, after I wuz done with him he has a new moniker: Lefty.”
“Actually, you worthless has-been, I am known now as the Grimmer Reaper.”
“Cool. At least you’re stealing the shtick of a guy who’s too dead to do anything about it.”
It was the Reaper’s turn to sneer, “You have no idea what you’re talking about. And you are afraid.”
“Of you? B****, please.”
The sepulchral villain drew himself up to his full height, “How else would you explain your running to the heroes for protection?”
“What’s this guy talking about, Simon?” Spring Loaded Man asked.
“Nothin’, he’s fulla it.”
“Didn’t he tell you? Killer Shrike is Legion now; running errands for that poorly groomed scientist Al B. Harper.”
Simon Maddicks wasn’t sure how the Reaper knew about his new arrangement, but didn’t want the man to see his concern, “Wrong as usual, Slappy. I’m doing wetwork for his company, not the Lair Legion.”
“Wetwork? Is that your term for the laundry?” The Grimmer Reaper leaned forward and began scraping his sickle across the tabletop, “You will find, Maddicks, that both my gaze and my reach to be very long. No matter where you try to hide I will find you and destroy you.”
“Why wait?” Shrike finished his last potato skin and stood, “Let’s go. Right now.”
“I believe this establishment has rules about demonstrations of power-“
Maddicks shrugged off his Army jacket, revealing a battleship grey tee shirt with a yellow insignia of a raptor in flight on its chest, “F*** the rules. You’re the big bad supervillain, you shouldn’t care about rules anyhow.”
“I have plans, Shrike, ones that involve you suffering before the killing blow is struck!”
“Uh-huh,” Simon smirked, “You come here, make your threats, out me in front of my friends, OK, not friends, but you know what I mean. You get into my business, into my face, in a place you know you’re not going to have to back your s*** up, and now you play the ‘vow of slow, tortuous vengeance’ card? Let me tell you what I see; a guy who’s lost his b****. That is, if he ever had them to begin with. I mean, kicking the snot out of hung-over Limey p***** and threatening goofball coffee shop waitresses is a far cry from throwing down with a man who’s killed more people than you’ve ever even met. Not smart, not smart at all. You may have a shiny new million dollar arm, Meat, but you still got a ten cent head.”
“I love ‘Bull Durham’,” Spring Loaded Man opined.
The Butcher Bird never looked away from his enemy, his own eyes glaring down into the empty sockets of the Reaper’s mask, “So are we doing this? No? Good call,” he fished the Expo tickets from his pants pocket and stuck them on the tip of the scythe.
“For you. Looks like you could use the sun,” he noted before leaving.
Spring Loaded Man and Crabtaur watched the still, but seething, Reaper for several moments.
“You know, you might want to take him up on that. We hear they’re flying in those shadow puppet guys who did the Oscars for entertainment,” Braithwaite commented.
The Grimmer Reaper gave a slight hiss and disintegrated the wadded up pamphlet that was jammed onto he end of his blade, then turned and stalked off.
“PATHETIC,” the voice in his mind boomed, “EVERYTHING MADDICKS SPOKE WAS TRUTH. YOU ARE A WEAK, ENFEEBLED SHELL OF A MAN, UNFIT FOR THE GREAT DESTINY I HAVE SET FOR YOU.”
“And yet you’re still here. Why is that?” Grimmer Reaper muttered.
“NEEDS MUST, WHEN I DRIVE. THERE IS STILL AWAY TO REDEEM YOURSELF. THERE IS A MAN, A COLLEAUGE, WHO CAN HELP YOU CONQUER YOUR FEARS.”
“I’m not afraid,” the villain lied. Still he asked, “Who’s your friend?”
“IT WOULD BE WRONG TO CALL HIM A FRIEND. HE IS AN INDIVIDUAL WITH WHOM I SHARE SIMILAR… PASSIONS. BUT, FOR A PRICE, HE SHOULD BE WILLING TO SHOW YOU WHAT IT IS YOU NEED TO SEE..”
“What I need to see? Is this guy some type of therapist?”
“TO A POINT, YES. WE SHOULD CONTACT HIM IMMEDIATELY, AS IN THESE TIMES HIS TALENTS ARE VERY MUCH IN DEMAND . HIS NAME IS WEXFORD.”
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