Chapter Ten

Hero's Call: Chapter Ten

New York City smelled like it always had, a nauseating mixture of pollution, old garbage, BO, homeless people urine, and dead fish with a faint tinge of bagels that made it almost, but not quite bearable. Czar Destructo strolled down the sidewalk of 5^th Avenue with his suitcase hanging lifelessly in his left hand. He was on his way downtown for a meeting that would once again get the ball rolling on his master plan for world domination. He was still wearing the suit he’d found in the old apartment. A new wardrobe wasn’t very high on his current list of priorities. His Destructo suit was underneath his normal suit. It was an older model, yes, but it would suffice while he got his operation underway and could make a new, better suit.

Czar Destructo had always despised New York City, Manhattan in particular. There were too many people in too small of a space. Personal space was almost a foreign concept on the tiny little island. Everyone bumped into everyone, and nobody seemed to care unless they weren’t actually from the city. The only thing worse than one person getting so close that you could smell what they had for lunch was eight million people doing the same thing and accepting it as the norm. Destructo had a difficult time seeing what appeal the city had for anyone, but there was a countless horde that had grown up with it and knew no different or were starry eyed enough to believe that the city was where their dreams would come true.

Destructo stopped at the bus stop near Rockefeller Center. There was already a group of people waiting for the downtown bus. None of them looked to be too out of the ordinary, but it was New York and everyone had skeletons in their closest. Some of those skeletons might be wearing a panda costume that meant sexual gratification. Some of them may be other people’s literal skeletons. No matter what the dirty little secret was, it had a profound effect on the mind of whoever was keeping it whether they knew it or not. It was easy to get lost in the sea of people that inhabited the city, to live your darkest secrets and have no one notice. It was yet another reason Destructo hated the city.

While Czar Destructo was standing a good four feet apart from the rest of the group waiting for the bus, a homeless man that smelled worse than the city itself �" if that was possible �" approached him. He did his best to ignore the man, but after several minutes of blank staring from the hobo without a word, he decided he should say something. “Can I help you with something?” he asked the man.

“Tangent,” the homeless man screamed. “Equilateral triangle.”

“Yes,” Destructo said with a nod. He pulled out a five from his wallet and handed it to the man. The homeless man walked away without saying anything just as the bus pulled up.

Everyone began pushing and shoving, as if the bus doors opening was the signal to start a mosh pit. Some were coming off the bus, some getting on. Destructo was the last to get on. The driver didn’t bother looking at him as he dropped the exact fair in quarters into the slot. Destructo could tell that the driver was on the verge of suicide. There wasn’t anything specific about him. He just gave off that air. He couldn’t blame the guy. If Destructo had been stuck driving a city bus in the smelliest city on Earth, Destructo would probably want to end his life as well.

There were no empty seats on the bus, not that he’d expected one. Destructo walked towards the back of the bus knowing most people wouldn’t bother him as they got off since he was going pretty far downtown. For some reason, the air conditioning on the bus was running at full blast. As autumn set in on the city, the temperature outside had begun to drop and riding an ice cold bus was doing anyone any good. Oddly enough, no one else seemed perturbed by it.

His destination was several blocks away from where he’d gotten on the bus so tried to settle in and make himself comfortable. It took him about thirty minutes to reach the South Street Seaport. It wasn’t a completely terrible little spot, all things considered. Somewhat of a haven from the smelly, run-down craphole that was New York. Destructo walked along the cobblestone path toward the nearby river. South Street Seaport was teeming with life. Several restaurants were serving lunch to patrons sitting and enjoying the day in their patio seating. A pair of children were chasing each other in circles screaming at the top of their lungs in what seemed to Destructo to be Spanish, but could just as easily have been English or French from the poor enunciation. A mime sidled up to Destructo and acted as if he’d been stuck in a box. Instead of a tip, Destructo reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pressed a small red button. The mime was instant trapped in a real invisible box. Destructo watched as the mime slowly came to the realization that he was, indeed, trapped. It was sound proof. He kicked, screamed, and began to weep. He’d be there until Destructo had decided to let him out. On the upside, his mimickery had gotten astonishingly better.

Destructo entered the mall along with the throng of New York residents and tourists. He walked up the nearby stairs to the third floor to the food court and ordered a six-inch sub from a sub shop he’d never heard of. He sat down at a nearby table, setting the heavy suitcase next to the table. He ate the meatball sandwich slowly, enjoying every last bite. It had been a long time since he’d had food that was worthy of being called such. When he finished, he folded up the wrapper neatly and placed it back into the plastic bag, checking his watch. He was growing impatient. His appointment was now twenty minutes late. It was a bad sign to clients for a realtor to be late. There was a piece of riverside property he wished to purchase, and the man was delaying his plans. Destructo made a mental note to destroy the man personally when he had taken over the world.

After another ten minutes of waiting, a middle-aged man with thinning hair entered the food court. He was wearing a light blue button up shirt under a navy blue blazer and a pair of khaki slacks. He was carrying a manila folder; the papers inside were arrayed haphazardly. He was a walking cliché of realty. His entire ensemble was designed to designate power in a way that made you feel welcome; a way to say we’re friends, but I’m in charge. It was the kind of thing a sales person did to discourage overly ambitious hagglers. Destructo rolled his eyes mentally and waved the man down.

He approached the table and held out his hand for Destructo to shake. “Mr. Salazar?” Destructo nodded and shook the man’s hand. “I’m Frank Markson.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Markson,” Destructo said without standing. He was currently operating under the alias of David Salazar, wealthy industrialist.

“Sorry I’m late,” Markson said, “City traffic. You understand.”

“Unfortunately, I do,” Destructo said, affecting an air of sympathy.

“Shall we?” Frank said, and motioned to the stairs. Destructo picked up his suitcase and followed the realtor. They left the mall and walked a short way down the cobblestone streets to an abandoned warehouse near the river. Frank unlocked the front door, and let Destructo enter.

It was a small building, dimly lit and musty. There were cobwebs galore, and dust covering everything. The ground was littered with bric-a-brac that present some fairly hazardous obstacles for anyone who might have snuck into the building while it was abandoned. Once all the scattered junk was removed, there would be plenty of room for Destructo to build a cloning tank and still have left over space for a myriad of other experiments and projects that would help him on his way to world domination. He didn’t need a tour. He was satisfied.

“I know it’s a little dirty right now,” Frank said, brushing a cobweb out of his way, “but once it’s cleaned up, I’m sure it would fit your needs perfectly.”

“I think I’d have to agree with you, Mr. Markson,” Destructo said. He pulled out several stacks of hundred dollar bills. “I’ll give you the down payment now, and the rest in a week.”

“Well there’s paperwork that needs to be filled out, Mr. Salazar,” Frank said uncertainly, eyeing the money hungrily. “But I suppose we can take care of all of that later…when you make the rest of the payment.”

“You’ll get the rest of your money, Mr. Markson,” Destructo said, “but the paperwork is unnecessary.”

Destructo pulled out an extra stack of hundreds. Frank looked at it as if were an actual bar of gold. He took the money and slid it into the inside pocket of his blazer. “Right. Well, I’ll make sure that all the paperwork gets taken care of.”

He started to make his way out as Destructo turned his back on the man. Markson didn’t want his new client to change his mind. Just as he put his hand on the door to exit, Destructo cleared his throat audibly. Markson jumped as if zapped by a taser.

“The keys, Mr. Markson,” Destructo said without turning to look at the realtor. He held one hand out.

“Ah, yes,” Frank said. He crossed the room to where Destructo stood and dropped the keys to the building into the Evil genius’s hand. The realtor nodded a goodbye to his newest sale and exited the building. Once he was gone, Destructo set the suitcase down and opened it up. He pressed a few buttons and Number 1 beeped to life. The robot slowly stretched himself out of the suitcase with an unhealthy amount of grinding and creaking. The old boy would need a tune up. Destructo’s servant gave the new lair a once over.

“Where are we, master?” he asked, confused.

“We’re in our new base of operations, Number 1,” Destructo said. He pulled out a set of blueprints that he’d had folded up in his jacket pocket. He unfolded them and laid them on a nearby table, brushing some empty tin cans aside. “I need you to clean this place up for me. When you’re done with that, I need you to complete the plans I’ve drawn up here. The necessary equipment should be arriving anytime.”

“I will make it so, master,” Number 1 said cheerily. “I will be completed by tonight.”

“Good,” Destructo said with a smile. “I’ll be back later.”

“Where are you off to, master?” Number 1 asked. He was fiercely loyal to Destructo but he tended to act like a housewife with separation anxiety from time to time. Not all together annoying, but the robot’s neediness had a certain degree of feebleness to it as well.

“Now that we have a base of operations,” Destructo said as he made for the door, “we’re going to need henchmen. Any good world domination plan needs cannon fodder. I just hope they’re as easy to find as they used to be.”