Patreon or PayPal Me keeps this site and its author alive. Thank you. |
Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 99: Cooper 32
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Brown 316
There were apparently two villains in the building. That they had ridiculous comic book names--Major Pain and Private Problem--told him that they were in some sense empowered, supervillains. On the other hand, robbing a bank was in some sense ordinary criminal activity, not the usual work of supervillains, which suggested that these two were not particularly powerful villains. At the same time, the relationship between the names might tell him something about that between the people. The Major outranked the Private, and it would be a very peculiar team if Private Problem isn’t the sidekick.
It would be nice to see into the building, and he realized that he had eschewed suggestions that he learn mental powers when he was in a place that had them. Still, his reasons were sound then, and despite the fact that having such powers would be convenient in the present, that didn’t justify them. He could do what he could do.
He did know a fair amount about the situation, or at least could extrapolate it. Banks--those that used the name ‘bank’ as opposed to savings and loan associations and credit unions--built large, strong, impressive buildings to convey the feeling that the customer’s money was safe. Before there were laws about having fire exits, they usually had only the one entrance/exit as a security measure, and although large windows gave the buildings a grand appearance, they were usually not easily breached. He was not sure when drive-through banking was initiated, but did not expect that would be found here.
Thus prepared, he reached the front of the building. There was a police cordon keeping watch on the exit and discouraging anyone from trying to enter. Scanning the scene he identified the probable head of the operation, and walked over to him. He was seen approaching.
“Thank heaven you’re here,” the officer said.
Yes, he thought, heaven apparently has a lot to do with it. “What can you tell me, sir?” he asked.
“It seems to be just the two of them--Major Pain seems to be the only one who can work with Private Problem. They disabled the guard on the door and are apparently demanding money, but we don’t know much more than that.”
Security cameras? Even if they existed at this point, they wouldn’t be accessible through an outside line.
“Have they made any demands, or threatened the hostages?”
“Not as far as we know at this point.”
In hostage situations he had seen in movies, the police always phoned the bank, or wherever, to talk to the criminals; but they did it from the scene, with cell phones. He was probably thirty years too early for that. He was about to ask if they had guns, but then, supervillains never used guns, or at least, not ordinary guns. Scratch that--there could be a supervillain whose schtick was that he was really good with a gun. However, that probably was not one of these.
Not sure what else to say, he nodded, and walked to the double doors.
They were locked.
He thought for a moment, and decided that although he didn’t know it would work, he didn’t know it wouldn’t. He drew the Sword of Justice, with which he was becoming more facile thanks to his training, raised it above his head, and on a smooth controlled motion sliced directly down the gap between the doors. He was greatly pleased to see that he had guessed right, that the relatively thick blade passed through the narrow space. He heard a clack as he reached the level of the bolt, finished the stroke, and sheathed the sword. Then he pulled the door open and stepped inside.
Directly ahead across the large atrium were the tellers, and a man in a military officer’s uniform was standing in front of a teller’s window, already with several heavy military duffel bags at his feet. He could hear groans coming from the other side of the room, beyond the windows, and deduced that Pain had struck them somehow. Right next to the door was a man in a security guard uniform with a gun on his hip, who was bent over a trashcan heaving. On a guess, that must be the work of Private Problem. Glancing around the room he spied the sidekick wearing military fatigues, over to the right side sitting casually on a desk whose occupant was similarly utilizing a wastebasket. Patrons of the bank were all lying facedown on the floor, creating something of an obstacle course for him; he was not going to be able easily to keep his eyes on both villains and avoid stepping on anyone.
On the other hand, he thought he could make the shot.
He drew the dart gun, aimed with both hands, and fired at Problem. The villain apparently had not realized the danger, and collapsed as soon as the dart hit him. So much for the sidekick, he thought. However, as the criminal slid to the floor the noise alerted his partner, or superior, or whatever was the proper term for the guy who wasn’t the sidekick. He spun around and quite adeptly grabbed a woman, lifting her from the floor. This one was strong and agile. He would be a problem. Already he was using a human shield.
Remembering the vocal fiasco at the rail station, he was hesitant to speak. He might have to work on moderating that power. Thus it was the villain who spoke first.
“Ah, Justice! I wondered who might come. I would have liked to have tested my skill against Sensei Sam, but I don’t think you’ll risk me hurting this pretty lady. I think you should help me get out of here.”
Trying to keep his voice quiet, moderated, he replied, “Give it up, Pain. You can’t get out of here; the police have the exit blocked, and even if you could maneuver with your hostage you would have to leave the money behind. If you surrender now we can talk about reduced charges, some kind of plea bargain. If you keep it up, you will be spending time in prison.”
O.K., it was lame. But it seemed the sort of thing he should say as a superhero.
“I don’t know,” Pain mocked. “After all, I have you, and I hear you’re new to this whole superhero thing. I don’t believe you know what you’re doing, or that you could stop me. I think I’m going to leave you on the floor writhing while I walk out the door with the girl and the money. Come closer, and we’ll see.”
Barrelmaster hesitated. Pain was right, of course. He was still new at this. On the other hand, he was learning. He drew the Sword, held it in front of him, and was gratified to see it burst into flame.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
