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When I regained my senses, I was in a small room, looking at a man I knew I should recognize, but didn’t. He was middle-aged, but older than Jeff Kane, maybe in his sixties? I wasn’t so good at guessing ages. Why did he look familiar? Clean-shaven, and wearing chinos and a short-sleeved shirt that buttoned. He had a laptop with many wires going to something that looked like an ordinary timer you’d use to turn on your lights before you got home from work.
“Who are you?” We both asked it at the same moment.
“Ladies first,” he said, with a twist to his lips.
“Where am I?” I asked instead. I looked around the room. It was far from luxurious, but it had a window with a view of the field. A bank of television monitors showed people racing down the causeways and ramps, leaving the ballpark. A security monitoring station, then. Signs that he’d been here for a while included an open water bottle and a half-eaten sandwich casually sitting on the counter that held the monitors and his laptop.
“Who are you?” he asked again.
From his blank expression when I said my name, it meant nothing to him.
“I draw a webcomic called ‘Average Chloe,’ and also Swoonie for FC,” I added, in case that rang a bell.
Recognition hit him. “You’re the one Ray told me about, who tried to stop the pedal aircraft.”
“You know Ray Herriman?”
“He’s my cousin. Quite the blabbermouth.”
“If Ray is your cousin, you’re related to Jean Westover, right? Do you work in comics also?”
“You’re asking if I’m famous?” He made a disgusted sound. “If that isn’t comics myopia all over. Because my name wasn’t on a comic book as a creator, no one noticed that I spent thirty years turning CP into a licensing juggernaut.”
“Uh, I take it you were in the licensing department at CP?”
“I built it back from nothing.” He snarled. “It was in total disarray when I took over. I made sure every character was on some product a child or a collector could buy. I got the best deals. I wiped up the floor with FC and their puny licensing division.”
“You’ve been impersonating Jean Westover’s voice, sending it on the PA systems and pretending she’s causing all the trouble?”
He nodded. “Clever, huh? I even made up a female supervillain name, to confuse everyone.”
“You’re saying there is no Mistress Miraculous?”
“Of course not. I’m the genius behind everything.” He looked angry again.
“How are you related to Jean?”
“Charles was my cousin. The bitch divorced him after her comics career tanked. Broke his heart.”
Which explained why he’d implicated Jean by faking her voice.
“No one told me about you,” I said.
“Of course not. Nobody makes up a Wikipedia page about people like me, yet I single-handedly kept CP Comics from bankruptcy with my brilliant licensing deals. What was my reward? I was shoved out the door in the prime of my life by that upstart Jeff Kane.”
“When did that happen?”
“That idiot Kane dumped me a year ago. As if the nonperformance of his movies was my fault. I’d gotten us plenty of licensing and ink.”
“You don’t have a grudge against the media fans who show up at comicons like this?”
“I got them here, with my genius for licensing tie-ins. I can make them go away again.”
I nodded. “I see. The plan is to deter fans from supporting CP Comics.”
I eyed him with care. He wasn’t exactly a supervillain, but he seemed a little unhinged. Maybe a lot unhinged. Right now, my best move was to keep him talking, until I could figure out what to do next. I fingered the pouches on my utility belt nervously. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Since the day Kane showed me the door. After all my years, all my efforts, all my greatness.”
The big egos of comics weren’t confined to the creators after all. “What did you say your name was?” I asked.
“I didn’t. You’ve never heard of me. You’re just another ignorant hanger-on who thinks she knows something about this business, but doesn’t.”
I kind of nodded my head in agreement. He wasn’t far wrong. Given what had happened with Swoonie, I was a naïve idiot.
“I’m impressed,” I said. I meant it. Licensing was one of the key elements that drove the enormous number of fans who showed up at the comicons today. People wore the shirts and bought the toys after they saw the movies. Possibly, they also read the comic books, but far more of them bought t-shirts and toys.
I continued, “Even though I don’t know anyone at FC Comics in the licensing department, I’d be happy to tell someone there that I met you. There could be a place for you at the competing company. Have you ever considered asking Eric Wood for a job?”
“Why should I, when what’s important is taking Jeff Kane and his enormous ego down a peg? He’s a latecomer to this business, yet he acts as if he owns the company. I built it into what it is today.”
Join the club. With Eric working on the business end and Nameless Guy here going for violence, Jeff Kane’s heyday as head of CP Comics might soon draw to a close.
Wait a minute, though. According to Roland, superheroes built the comic book business. Everything else, from movies and television to licensing, revolved around the popularity of the characters. This man might have been treated badly, but he was hardly the sole architect of CP Comics’ enormous success. It had started before he was born.
“What’s your name? How long ago did you retire?” I asked.
“Retire? They kicked me to the curb,” he shouted. “Jeff Kane thought my ideas were old-fashioned, that I didn’t move fast enough to command the newly opening markets.”
“That’s a very interesting angle,” I said, doing my best to act calm and respectful. “You mean, like tablets and phone apps?”
“Of course. I had a plan for everything, but I never got the chance to bring it to fruition. Now FC Comics is on top. All because Kane threw me out instead of listening to me.”
Having gotten that off his chest, he looked at his computer. “Time for the coup de grace,” he said.
“Wait. Why are you trying to hurt all these innocent people?”
“They’re mindless sheep. What do I care about them?”
“But why not go after Jeff Kane directly?”
“Didn’t you notice that he got shot last night?” He sneered at my delaying tactics.
“You shot him?”
“My silly young cousin did, not knowing the weapon was loaded. All I had to do was tell Ray to aim my substitute rocket at Kane and shoot. Ray did as he was told, for once.”
“That explains why Ray looked so guilty afterwards,” I said, finally seeing where Ray fit into the picture. “Ray works for—I mean, he worked for you in licensing?” I kept the questions coming and he kept answering. Nameless Guy wanted an audience badly.
“The kid still works for CP Comics, so he gave me information I needed to make my mark on this comicon—and on that rat bastard Kane.”
“Kane was in the sky box with the other executives a few minutes ago,” I said, “sporting a small bandage on his head. Maybe you should go punch him out, the way Norman Krigstein punched out Charles Westover years ago?”
“Oh, you heard about that? I was there when it happened.”
Of course. The unidentified man in the fracas. Now I recognized him.
He peered at me. “So were you, and you look the same as if it was yesterday. You’re even wearing the same silly costume.”
“My mom used to work for FC Comics. I look a lot like her.” No, I didn’t, plus she always had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, but he seemed to buy it. For him, the memory was decades old. Not as sparkling clear as mine from three hours ago.
Before he moved to activate his computer to wreak more havoc, I tried again, “Why don’t you sue CP Comics for age discrimination instead of causing trouble for innocent people, and implicating an innocent woman at the same time?”
His expression soured. “She ruined his life. She deserves to suffer.”
“Oh-kay,” I replied, thinking fast. “You faked Jean’s voice because you don’t like her?”
He sneered at me. “That should be obvious.” He puffed up his chest. “I’m enjoying myself. No one knows it’s me. They think I’m rotting in a retirement community. Ha! This nobody isn’t done yet. I can cause plenty of damage to all of them.”
“Not if I stop you,” I said, as I threw down my cherry bomb, which made a nice explosion. What Damien had given me was actually a bang snap, and didn’t need a fuse. It shocked Nameless Guy enough that I had time to lunge over and squirt the contents of the water bottle into his computer.
It wasn’t a PC, so it died instantly. Smoke shot up from the keyboard. I shoved it, sending it crashing to the floor. For good measure, I yanked at the cables connecting the laptop to the monitor console.
“Damn you!” he cried.
“You’re done,” I said. I used the Dimensional Diamond to send him to the limbo zone.
He didn’t go.
Uh-oh.
“How dare you try to stop me!” He charged at me.
Nameless Guy was a grown man, and he didn’t move like a codger, either. He came at me and I backed away, dancing out of his reach, but it was a small room. I couldn’t escape him. He grasped my wrist hard and swung his fist at me.
I’m a superheroine in this universe only when I have weapons. If they don’t work, I’m in trouble. I have no hand-to-hand combat training.
I ducked. That kind of took the wind out of his sails. Maybe hitting people wasn’t his usual thing. He was still angry, so he tried again. I dodged to the right even though he still had my wrist, and he missed me again.
He wasn’t big or athletic, but he had plenty of strength. Although I struggled in his grip, I couldn’t break free.
“You’ve ruined my plans, you interfering snip,” he said.
We wrestled. “Let go of me!” I cried.
I banged up against the monitor console, and somehow that wrenched his grip off me. I ran for the door, hoping it didn’t lead to a broom closet. As I wrenched it open, my opponent grabbed me by the neck of my costume.
The door opened to a corridor. Sarah stood in the doorway, holding her gun.
“Back off, buddy,” she said, pointing it at him. The effect might have been spoiled a little by the amazing display of breasts her costume gave. Our villain goggled at her. I slipped out of his grasp and moved away.
“She’s a cop,” I said, breathing heavily. “Do what she says and she might not hurt you.”
Behind Sarah trailed Roland with four of his security staff.
“Thank God,” he said. “You’re okay? We got your signal, but it was a mess fighting the crowds.”
I stripped off my glove, revealing the signal watch Roland had begged me to wear.
“It came in handy after all,” I said.
“What th—?” our antagonist said, outrage in his voice. “That’s my licensed product. I put together the deal to manufacture the signal watch.”
“You should be pleased that it works,” Roland said, “especially after I modified it to send an actual radio signal. Who are you, anyway?”
He still didn’t tell us.
My hand ached, where I’d held the jewel. That meant something. I examined my skin, but thanks to the silicone gloves I’d cut up and fit into the glove as liners, there was no new burned area. Still, something nagged at my hand, and at my whole body. “I think I have to go back to where I was,” I announced. “The Dimensional Diamond likes unity of time and place.”
“You were in the luxury suite?” Roland asked.
I nodded. “Is it a pile of rubble by now?”
Sarah said, “No, but be careful. The Home Plate Club area is a mess. Took a direct hit.”
I walked out of the little room and down the corridor. As soon as I was out of sight, I hauled out the jewel and rubbed it. I was back in the luxury suite a second later. Now the jewel was quiet, and my hand no longer ached.
The crowd’s screams alerted me that I hadn’t merely returned to the physical place, but also to the time I had left it. The exit door slammed and I heard running feet outside. My companions in the luxury suite had escaped mere seconds ago. Explosions sounded from several parts of the ballpark. As I turned to run, something exploded directly behind me. I fell, and knew no more.