Project Northwoods (7 page)

He shook his head and laughed, turning away only to drink from the milk jug. As his eyes focused in front of him, he almost gagged, pulling the container away and splattering milk down his chin. In permanent marker, the words ‘
Please use a cup
’ were emblazoned – upside-down in anticipation of his less-than-considerate habit – on the plastic with impossibly neat writing. Gingerly, he set it down, cast a look over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being watched, then slowly brought the jug up to drink again.

The message stared at him as he hesitated, silently judging him with its all too clear angles and curves. Sighing, he set it down, then turned to the cabinet behind him. Arthur shouldn’t have been too surprised to see that it was devoid of glasses, mugs, and plates, but did have a three-by-five note card folded into an inverted ‘v’ with the phrase ‘
Please do the dishes
’ in the same teacher-pleasing handwriting as the first note.

Arthur cast a glance at the loaded sink. It was fitting that all the glasses were buried at the bottom, under the plates and bowls, if only because he thought that he might have been able to clean one and delay the rest of the dishes for later. With a shake of his head, he grabbed the cap and twisted it back into place, resigning himself to buying something on the way to the Super Villains’ Guild or going without refreshment. He crammed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, returned the milk to its home in the fridge, and made his way into the bathroom.

Preparing for the meeting was simple enough: a shave and shower before brushing his teeth. As he set the toothbrush in the holder alongside its two cohorts, Arthur stared up at the mirror. He cocked an eyebrow. “Why, Talia, I’d be happy to answer,” he cooed in response to a question no one asked. “The design came to me in a dream… a dream about you, actually.” He chuckled, convinced of his own suavity. “But I can get to that part later… maybe over dinner. I’m free once I annihilate Queens.” With a smirk, he gave a dismissive wave. “I kid. I’m sure they’ll come up with the money in time.”

“Arthur Lovelass, it is now 10:45 AM. Your meeting is in forty-five minutes,” Mollie’s voice rang out.

“Thanks!” he shouted back. Arthur looked at himself dead in the eyes and leaned in toward the mirror. “You can do this.”

Soon, he was adjusting the skinny black tie under his collar. His one white shirt with long sleeves had been stained a laundry detergent blue by a failed super-soldier serum he was testing on his roommate, so he had to opt for the less professional, short-sleeved variant. Once the tie was situated just right, he looked at his choices in pants. His cleanest pair, an old pair of pale blue jeans, did not seem like an automatic win. On the other hand, the black dress pants had the same stain as his long-sleeved shirt, just better hidden due to the fabric’s darker color… provided direct sunlight didn’t hit the long-dried splotch. With a nod of contemplation, he threw the black pants on, stain be damned. He wasn’t going to look like an ill-prepared first-timer… at least, not again.

Tightening his belt, he stood up and preened in front of the computer. “So… what do you think?”

Mollie didn’t immediately respond. “Considering your options, you have dressed yourself quite well.” Arthur smiled and turned to the window. The sudden light lit up the blue stain on his pants like a flare as he moved toward his work bench. “Oh, yes, now I remember those pants.”

Arthur looked down, then back at his computer. “Do you think that’ll be an issue?” He grabbed the projector-like object from the work bench and placed it on his bed.

“Just the part on your fat ass.” Arthur shot a look at Mollie as he knelt down to retrieve a metal briefcase from below the workbench. “Ha ha. Ha.” Her soft, stilted, and moderately pitched laughter made Arthur shake his head as he stuffed the device in the case. “Did you like the joke?”

“It was much better than your last one,” Arthur muttered, growing more aware of his time constraint.

“That one was perfectly legitimate,” Mollie sighed. “It had a reversal of expectations, which, I remind you, is all it really needs.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes as he half-jumped, half-lurched toward the printer and gathered up the freshly-minted blueprints and corresponding text. “‘Once, there was a cow, a cat, and a car’ is not a joke.”

Mollie didn’t respond immediately. “Until you can explain why, I will have to disagree.”

Arthur stood up as he rolled the papers, a self-assured smile on his face. “Think what you want, Mol.”

“
Cogito ergo sum
, dear Arthur.” The blue iris dimmed before resuming its normal brightness, possibly in reflection of Arthur’s smugness. About six months after programming her, Arthur had sought to entertain Mollie by uploading a text file on philosophy through the ages. Reading the entire six thousand-odd page document in moments, she had picked up numerous irritating habits, such as lecturing him on philosophical tenants that he did not care to know. Although he doubted she sensed his irritation, eventually she learned to connect her own self-awareness with the phrase ‘
Cogito ergo sum
’, which she had to explain to Arthur as meaning ‘I think, therefore I am’.

“Latin won’t change the fact your joke sucked, and neither did flashing it in Morse code,” Arthur teased as he gently placed the now-rolled plans in the case. “So please don’t try at three a.m. again.”

“I thought the element of surprise would help,” she sighed in response.

He reached over and scooped up a black, slightly-larger-than-thumb-sized USB drive. It was a curious sight, a custom LED light resting above a tiny camera lens on one side while a metal clip resided on the other. A microphone jack rested in the top of it, while the bottom appeared to be standard plug for a device of its type. It was the ‘Home Drive’, Mollie’s access to the outside world when she grew bored being penned inside. Arthur wished he could have let her run free on the internet, but they both knew it wasn’t a risk worth taking.

Motioning the Home Drive toward the computer, he cocked his head and asked, “You want to come with me, Mollie?” Arthur strode toward her. “Moral support and all that?”

Mollie’s eye dimmed, and it looked like she wanted to avoid his gaze. Arthur felt silly for attributing any emotion to something which had stated rather coldly her desire to wipe out a good portion of humanity, but he couldn’t help it. “I am quite far in my book,” came the sighed reply. He suppressed an urge to roll his eyes and reached for the hardcover
Advanced Engineering Principles
that rested on the desk.

“Alright, I get the picture.” He grabbed the book-stand with his free hand and placed it in front of the monitor. “Which page?”

“Three-forty-seven.”

Arthur obliged and set up the stand, complete with page-turner, and connected it to the computer. He angled the webcam downward, more toward the book. “Is that good?” The blue eye winked at him. With a half-hearted smile, he turned to pick up his cell phone from the night stand.
Even the friends I build find excuses to stay away from me
, he thought resentfully as he checked the time and shoved the phone into his pocket.

“Do not forget, you have an appointment with Kirsten after the Super Villain Authorization Committee,” Mollie chimed as she watched Arthur turn toward his suitcase and shut it with a pair of metallic clicks.

Arthur swept through the room, the case in tow. “Thanks,” he muttered at the reminder of his girlfriend. It would be the first time he had seen her in two weeks, since he had spent the past fourteen days working out all the kinks of his proposal, prototype, and design. It was fairly customary by now, so there was almost no guilt in vanishing for a couple of weeks to work on his future. Of course, he had meant to say
their
future the last time they spoke… but his mind wasn’t really on the whole relationship thing at the time. She understood.

His corner apartment exited into a hallway facing an empty wall, sunlight streaming in from the window to his left. A plastic plant attempted to add some color to the gray bricks, but the direct light made it seem less green and more a wilty-black smudge. Arthur took a few steps down the hall before turning left down the main run of the apartment building. Rooms on either side were closed and silent save for the few villains whose jobs called upon them for later shifts. Most saw him coming and either diverted their attention or gave a cursory nod. They were neighbors, not friends.

As was typical, the elevator wasn’t working, necessitating a jarring descent of ten flights of stairs. Various tenants meandered the halls and stairs, casually indifferent to the overall griminess of the building. Arthur shared the same disregard: he lived in his flat, not the halls. This did make things like touching the handrails problematic if hygiene was one’s chief concern, but with rent and bills to worry about, a case of gum on the hand was hardly worth filing a complaint over.

“Arthur, hi!” A mousy, Irish-accented voice called out to him the moment he hit the ground floor. His pace quickened, fast enough to show he was in a hurry, but not quite quick enough to show that he very desperately wanted to escape. “Wait up a moment!” He was almost to freedom now, his hand reaching out to the door when he felt a hand grip his elbow. He whipped around at the touch.

Pale, freckled, and red haired, the green-eyed Stair McWethy looked for all the world like a mail-ordered Irish stereotype. She smiled widely, her large teeth glistening in the light and giving the impression that she may attempt to bite Arthur’s head off despite her tiny stature. Behind her, the four girls she always hung around with were giggling as they watched his face turn tomato-hued. “Hey, Stair.”

“I heard that you were off to SVAC today. So I thought I’d wish you luck.” She clasped her hands around her back, pushing herself closer to him. “Luck!” she chirped before giggling nervously. Arthur uncomfortably shifted as he scanned the lobby for her father.

“Thanks,” he said half-heartedly. “Don’t you have school or something?”

“Summer vacation, silly.” She gave him a whack on his arm. “I have oodles of free time.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow, more worried about the ‘chance’ encounters which would follow from now until September. “Oodles? That’s…” He struggled to think of a word. “Great.” He checked his wrist, an entirely useless action since he didn’t wear a watch. “I, unfortunately, don’t. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m running a bit behind.” He gestured outside with his thumb and pushed his way out the door, smiling apologetically.

Once on the street, Arthur breathed in relief as he descended a few steps to the sidewalk. Casting a quick glance at the apartment to make sure Stair hadn’t decided to follow him, he nonetheless sped up to a casual jog. She and her father had moved in three years ago, and she had dogged Arthur relentlessly ever since. Which normally would be flattering if she wasn’t ten years younger and in high school. Added to the equation was the fact that, without any provocation he could remember, Arthur had once been slammed against a wall by her very protective father, a man he knew only as ‘Dervish’. Being threatened with a beating that would render him unconscious, dead, or on fire made Stair’s sweet-but-misguided approach about as welcome as a birthday party hosted by friendly neighborhood party clown and part time serial killer John Wayne Gacy.

Despite the fact that the side of the city Arthur called home was significantly less densely populated than others, the streets teemed with throngs of people. Traffic beside him moved along haltingly as bicyclists wove their ways between cars. Occasionally, a casually-dressed villain darted through the streets, ignoring safety conventions such as crosswalks or looking both ways. Cafés catered to diners enjoying the warm weather, serving the gaudily costumed or conventionally clothed clientele on sidewalk patios. Occasionally, figures would dart by overhead, most certainly on their way to a heist, meeting, or beat down. Although the city was not nearly as tall as it was in the days before Desecrator’s rampage, the buildings could still be imposing to tourists and newcomers. It was a world of nine-to-fives mixed with moments of action for a few, but drudgery for most.

Arthur loved it.

Everyone on the street, on some level or another, belonged to the understood extended family of villainy. At some point, they had decided with a casual shrug that the law, in all fairness, sucked. That whole ‘order’ thing that society had touted since time immemorial just served to stifle good times and shenanigans.

Being antisocial certainly did have its drawbacks: neutrals typically wanted little if anything to do with a villain. A registered villain would have more luck applying for a job as an unquestioned Sex Officer of planet Earth than a shipping clerk in a neutral field. It was all well and good for the rare villain who landed a decent hero and could pull a check from the government. But for most, the registration process meant very little in the way of solid work. Usually, one received a name descriptive of their Bestowed ability or, for those not so endowed, preferred theme and was put on a wait list for a hero suited to besting them. Because of this, most registered and proceeded to get a job in one of the villain versions of neutral companies.

Nine-to-five isn’t my style
, thought Arthur as he hopped up the steps of the Super Villains’ Guild.
Gonna have a fortress and henchmen… tons of henchmen
. A smile wove its way onto his features, and he couldn’t help but feel ridiculously giddy. He had worked so hard on his proposal that even that crazy, good-for-nothing committee chief would be begging him to take on the mantle of villain.

Arthur shoved his way through the revolving doors and ran into a wall of air-conditioning. It was surprisingly refreshing, as he hadn’t realized he had been sweating during his journey down the street. The front hall was large, one of those old time buildings that seemed like a cross between a bank and a hospital. Behind the reception desk, a large, bronze statue of a female villain holding a fallen male cohort looked skyward defiantly. Flanking the sides were the stairs, joining behind the statue and rising to the second floor. On the ground level, halls stretched in many directions, each splitting off further into various offices and meeting rooms. The business-suited government workers milled around him, paying him no heed. The murmur of voices discussed various planned conflicts between heroes and villains, approval of heists, ramifications of potential tax cuts, and lunch.