Saturnday No. 16

Submitted by Scott Story on February 21, 2009 - 03:01

Death on the Docks by Scott Story - Part VIII - Copyright 2008 Story Studios LLC.  All rights reserved.

 

Dr. Horatio Synn climbed down from the semi truck’s cab, surveyed the scene, and clucked in disapproval—these meddlesome meta-heroes had made a real mess of things!  It had taken a mere forty-five seconds for the mercenaries, who had dominated the police, to fall before the two vigilantes.  This would not do.

 

“Bombastic,” said Dr. Synn.  “I believe it is time for you to earn your pay.  Remove the interlopers, if you would.”

 

Bombastic climbed down from the truck and grunted his acknowledgement.  He did not bother to unholster his guns, knives, or various bladed projectiles, because he had nursed a grudge against Shadowcowl for quite a while now. 

 

“My pleasure, boss,” said the brute, popping his knuckles in anticipation.

 

“Ha, Bombastard!” challenged Shadowcowl, meeting the huge brute’s uncannily swift charge.  “You got away last time, but—“

 

Bombastic was not unintelligent.  His previous encounter with the Shadowcowl had taught him that the way to hurt the hero was through his cowl.  Bombastic grabbed Shadowcowl by the cloak, and then swung him to and fro, smashing the young hero again and again against the docks. 

 

Shadowcowl was tougher than his age suggested, and he twisted each time to absorb and disperse much of the impact’s energy. He flew at Bombastic, and then Shadowcowl turned his gloved hand astral and thrust it again and again into the hulking villain’s chest, the icy ghost hand inflicting terrible agony with each penetrating strike.  That spectral grip had been sufficient to reduce the mercenaries to helplessness, but not Bombastic.  The monstrous villain was no stranger to pain—he had never met a torture he could not tame!  The two combatants struggled back and forth, neither gaining the upper hand or decisive blow.

 

Dr. Synn grew increasingly displeased.  This retrieval operation had turned sour, and he realized that he was not going to be able to collect his goods.  Furthermore, it was only a matter of time before the irritating Decorum noticed him and attempted to use the doctor’s own clothing against him.  Horatio considered pulling his pistol, a beautifully restored WWII era 9 MM Lugar, and simply shooting her in the back, but then he decided that a retreat would be more advantageous.  (The semi-automatic gun was not particularly powerful in its own right, but the custom ammunition Dr. Synn created for it was usually more than adequate for punching holes in meta-humans.)

 

Having chosen his course of action, Dr. Synn proceeded to cover his exit.  He calmly unscrewed and detached the silver sphere that topped his ebony walking stick.  He punched a hidden button, arming the sphere, and gently rolled it toward Shadowcowl and Bombastic.  The ball, an extremely powerful bomb, rolled toward the embattled warriors almost unnoticed.

 

Dr. Synn did not stay to watch.  He was confident in his aim and his custom munitions, so there was no reason to hang around and gloat.  Leave that for silly, attention-starved meta-villains, not brilliant scientists and businessmen such as he.  Bombastic had ably served Dr. Synn for eleven years, yet Nils Zilcher had now exceeded his usefulness, and Horatio Synn would never think of him again.  As with gloating, Synn had no use for sentimentality.  Dr. Synn was already exiting the scene at a comfortable pace when the explosion ripped apart the night.  He felt the heat on the back of his neck, and he held his fedora in place so that it would not get blown away. 

 

Dr. Synn would hail a cab, and then maybe he would dine in tonight.  He had a taste for fresh seafood.  He had no trouble flagging a cab down, because he did not look dangerous.  The sign on the cab’s side read “Spend a special evening with Persephone Helius, Nobel laureate, art collector, and philanthropist, May 11, hosted by Spire City Public Radio.”  This pleased the doctor, and then he thought of it no more.

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