King Of Bad [Super Villian Academy Book 1] (2 page)

“Hey, son,”
Frank said as Jeff entered. “How’ve you been?”

Jeff nodded and
smiled. Jeff liked his dad despite the dorky, low-key approach to life. It
wasn’t as if Jeff were high strung and driven like Mother, but his dad was like
an
über
-dork. He wore knock-off Hawaiian shirts, the
too-loud kind, baggy shorts and Birkenstocks. His graying blond hair was long
and shaggy and a gold chain always hung around his neck. They lived in
landlocked Ransom, Idaho and his dad looked like a surfer all year, even in the
snow and cold. He owned a successful bike shop downtown and was a favorite
personality among the locals. There was something compelling about a man who
refused to wear pants in winter.

“You heard us,
of course,” Frank said.

Jeff repeated
the nod and smiled.

“Sorry, son.
But don’t
worry,
I got
your back, man.”

Jeff smiled, shrugged, and walked into the kitchen.
He dug through the pantry, pulled out a bag of chips and shoved a handful into
his mouth. “Is Mother cooking tonight?” Jeff always stressed the “m” of mother
when he talked about his own. Her seriousness and conformity demanded a capital
M, like their last name, Mean.

“Doubt it, kid.
You’re on your own.”

Frank went out
into the garage where he had a small bike shop set up. Jeff shook his head.
They wouldn’t see Dad again until he came in for bed.

Sandra, Jeff’s
little sister by only 11 months, trotted down the stairs. She patted Jeff’s
cheek as she passed him. He snapped his face away. It annoyed the crap out of
him that she always had to touch him whenever she passed. She pulled a
highly-caffeinated soda out of the refrigerator.

“Dressed up,”
Jeff observed. “Going somewhere?”

“I’ve got a
date,” she said and grinned at him as she popped the top of the soda open. She
had the same crooked grin as Jeff. While his grin melted the hearts of other parents,
her grin worked at home. She also had the same moss-green eyes and the same
brown hair as Jeff, but her hair was currently dyed black to match her thick
eyeliner.

Jeff lifted an
eyebrow. “Right, you’ve got a date.”

“I do!” Sandra
picked up an empty bread wrapper from the counter, wadded it up and threw it at
him. Jeff let it fall to the floor.

“Mother would love to hear that. Let me get her.”
Jeff smirked as he pictured Sandra on the receiving end of a Mother tirade.

“What Mom
doesn’t know…
”
Sandra shrugged and walked to the door.
“See ya, bro.”

Jeff watched
the door close behind his sister. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Sandra
was every bit as much trouble as he was, but his parents were so focused on him
they didn’t notice the delinquent direction their precious Sandy-girl was
headed.

Jeff looked in
the fridge for a quick, easy meal and found nothing. Back to the pantry again,
he shoved another handful of chips into his mouth, ignoring the crumbs that
fell to the floor. He grabbed an individual serving of applesauce and a cereal
bar. “Dinner is served.”

He fell onto
the couch, pulled the foil off the top of the applesauce and poured it into his
mouth. He turned on the television and flicked through the channels. A picture
of the front of Ransom High caught his attention and he stopped on that
channel.

“Fire officials
responded to a call at Ransom High at 5:05 this evening. There were reports of
a trash container in front of the school fully engulfed in flames. We are
sending a reporter to the scene and will bring you more information on our 11
o’clock broadcast.”

Jeff grimaced.
That guy would probably give a good description to the cops. At least of Jeff’s
backside, he’d followed him long enough. Wait a minute. Why did the guy chase
him instead of stopping to put the fire out or call the fire department? 5:05?
Jeff would guess that was about the time he’d dashed into the barn. So the guy
didn’t make the call. It was as if the guy didn’t care about the fire at all.
Who was that guy? What was that guy? Jeff shivered.

Mother walked
into the room looking severe and stormy. Jeff shivered again.

“Have you done
your dishes?” she snapped.

“Geez, I just
got home,” he said.

“Look at this
place. The health department is going to come down on us soon. I work all day;
I am not coming home to clean up after your lazy butt at night. I want you to
clean the kitchen and that includes sweeping and mopping.”

Jeff groaned.

Chapter 3

“What were you
doing at the high school during summer vacation, Mr. Sims?”

Mr. Sims squirmed
in his chair. The office was too brightly lit. The walls were stark. “Well, I
had stopped there to eat. I figured since
it’s
summer
vacation, it would be a quiet place to sit and read while I ate.”

“Then you
noticed the boy,” said Tubs, his interrogator, whose black, beady eyes stared
at Mr. Sims without blinking.

“Yes, sir, I
noticed him all right. He was like a beacon of energy!”

“What did you
do then, Mr. Sims?” Tubs asked. His meaty hand curled around a pencil as he
noted Mr. Sims responses.

“Well, I got
out of my car and jogged over. I called to him and he stood up.”

“What was he
doing, Mr. Sims?”

The scratching
of the pencil made Mr. Sims nervous. “He was starting a fire in the waste can.”

“How did he
start the fire?”

“The
traditional way, with paper and matches,” Mr. Sims said.

“Then what made
you notice him, Mr. Sims?”

“When he blew on the fire, sir.
That’s when I noticed him.”

Tubs stared at
Mr. Sims at length, considering his answer.
“Hmm.
What
happened then, Mr. Sims?”

“Well, at first
I thought he was just going to wait for me. He stood there very relaxed as I
approached. But then he turned and ran. He climbed over a fence and ran into a
neighborhood.”

“You followed,
of course,” Tubs clarified.

“Yes, sir.
I stayed with him for a while. He seemed surprised
that I was able to. He moved real fast, sir.
Almost like he
knew how to do it.
But his jumping wasn’t very developed.”

“How did you
lose him, Mr. Sims?”

Tub’s pencil
paused while he waited for the answer. Somehow the intense attention made Mr. Sims
more nervous, like he might give the wrong answer. “Well, sir, I suspect it was
because he knew the neighborhood better than me.”

“Did you look
for him, Mr. Sims? Listen for him?”

“Yes, sir, of
course I did. I thought he was hiding in an old barn, but a dog wandered into
the barn and didn’t bark so I figured he wasn’t there. By that time he could
have been blocks away if he was still running.”

“I see, Mr.
Sims. Well, thank you for your report. I’ll get it typed up and on file.
Someone may contact you for more details.”

“Um, sir?”

“Yes, Mr.
Sims?” Tubs made a great show of gathering his meager belongings. It was
obvious he wanted to leave.

“Sir, I think
he may have known I was listening.”

Tubs stopped
his obsessive piling and straightening and stared at Mr. Sims. “How do you
mean?”

“Well, I
thought I heard him breathing, but a bird flew by me. As soon as the bird
passed it was completely quiet. Too quiet, you know? If he’d still been running
I think I would have heard it. If he’d been hiding I’d definitely have heard
him.”

“Was the boy
hiding
himself?” Tubs asked, leaning forward with interest.

“I’m not sure.
But I wonder.”
Mr
Sims hesitated and chewed his
thumbnail.

Tubs blinked at Mr. Sims. “What, Mr. Sims, what do
you wonder?”

“Well, I wonder if he was…um…cloaking his breathing.
Instinctively, maybe.”

Tubs scowled. “That’s not an instinctive skill, Mr.
Sims.”

Mr. Sims
sputtered. “Well, it is only a
su
…sups…an observation,
sir!”

“Hmmm.”
Tubs picked up his small stack of belongings and
walked out of the stark interrogation room. The hollow metal door banged closed
behind him.

Chapter 4

Jeff kept a low
profile that week, hanging out at a buddy’s house most of the time. He hoped
not to be home when the cops paid a visit. But with no sign of them by the end
of the week he started to suspect that the guy hadn’t reported the incident
after all.
Strange, but good.

He chided
himself for his growing paranoia. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought
he was the star of a new reality
t.v
. show. Yet when he
tried to find the cameras or a director, there was never anyone around. Feeling
scrutinized successfully dissuaded him from causing any trouble all week. But
the itch burned in his fingers. He chuckled to himself. Burned was an
appropriate description.

Jeff looked up
at the sliver of night sky visible between the two buildings. Completely black,
no stars, no moon. Large floodlights lit the alley, which ran between the grocery
store and the oversized frou-frou store that sold bedding and bath accessories.
Jeff knew from experience that he could dart out of the alley and disappear
into the apartment complex across the street—quick, like a bunny.

Holding his
breath against the stink, Jeff lifted the lid of the dumpster. He tossed his
head to flip the shock of hair that always fell forward out of his face. He
froze and peered around the alley. He thought he heard a foot scuff along the
ground.
Nothing.
He drew a packet of matches out of
his pocket. His heart raced with the thrill of knowing a fire was coming. His
fingertips tingled with excitement. So much so that the book of matches fumbled
out of his grip and fell to the ground. He squatted to pick it up just as the
back door of the grocery store opened. Jeff wedged himself between the dumpster
and the wall, annoyed at the interruption.

The person
tossed a couple bags of trash into the dumpster and then closed the lid. To
Jeff’s dismay, he lit a cigarette. Jeff rolled his eyes and stifled a moan. His
fingers tingled; he thought he saw them spark. He turned his palms up and
frowned at his fingertips. Even in the shadowy light he could see the tips were
red and swollen and splotched with angry white spots. He touched a fingertip to
the inside of his arm and hissed in surprise at the red-welted burn mark left
behind.

The heavy metal
door of the grocery store banged shut. Leveraging himself between the wall and
the dumpster, Jeff pushed the dumpster away enough to stand. In the better
lighting he studied his fingertips. Was he imagining the pulsating? He raised
his hand level to his eyes. Sure enough, the tips of his fingers throbbed
gently. But that wasn’t all. A thin wisp of smoke rose from each one. Jeff’s
heart skipped a beat and his breath tripped around, trying to escape his lungs.

“I’m
gonna
combust!” Jeff’s voice bounced around the empty alley
reminding him how very alone he was. “What the hell am I supposed to do with
this?”

He stared at
his smoking, pulsating fingers. The distended tips ached and smoldered.

“Just let it
out, kid.”

Jeff gasped as
the woman who’d spoken appeared out of nowhere in the alley. The petite woman
dressed in slacks and a polo shirt approached Jeff. She didn’t look threatening,
but he’d seen her appear out of thin air so he suspected there was more to her
than her small stature indicated.

“Just let it
out,” she repeated. She stared at his fingers still held out in front of him.
“Or you’ll end up scorching yourself.”

She grabbed the
lid of the dumpster and flung it upward. Jeff winced when it banged against the
wall. “This is what you wanted to do anyway, right? Just do it.”

She stepped
away from the open dumpster and looked between him and it expectantly.

Jeff’s fingers
ached more. It was as if there was some sort of homing signal drawing the heat
from his fingers to the piles of trash inside the dumpster.

“Turn your
palms toward the trash can or you’ll end up raining fire all over yourself,”
the lady said.

“What?” Jeff
looked at her in amazement. How did she know what he’d been planning?

“Hurry!”
She leapt at him and fumbled with his wrists,
trying to force his palms toward the dumpsters.

Jeff’s
resistance was natural, but the result was to his detriment. She’d succeeded in
turning the palm of his left hand toward the dumpster. Unfortunately his right
hand was only half turned when flame erupted from his hands.

Jeff watched
the light show in awe. He’d seen fire emit from his very own fingers. Flames
showered onto the dumpster, setting the contents ablaze. Had he fallen asleep
behind the dumpster? Was this all only a dream? The woman seemed real. As a
matter of fact, she was still trying to force his right hand around enough so
that the inferno was no longer directed toward his left hand.

“Holy
ssssmokes
!”
Jeff said. The
fire went out.

He gawked at
his left hand in disbelief. What should have been a charred stump now glowed
red. A burning, blistering feeling erupted under the skin. The pain
intensified. His face contorted and a couple nasty words escaped his mouth. The
woman stepped back from him, a sympathetic look on her face. Jeff doubled over
as the pain seared his hand.