REPOST: Gary's Case of the Clueless Mystery
Martin Phipps
Starring POCKET MAN
with special guest-villain: CLUELESSMASTER!
The morning paper flew to the curb outside "Musty's Newsstand."
Across the front page read a huge, blatantly oversized headline; "Noted
Comic Artist Slain! Police at loss for clues"
Musty, a gibbering old ex-showgirl, chomped on his cigar and
mumbled about the world's state of affairs.
"Lousy Liefield-haters!" he said. "They're everywhere! `Sgettin so
a body can't make a grossly over-inflated living widdout them bums gettin'
riled and killin' sumbuddy. Wonder who this "McFarlane" kid wuz?"
"Hiya Musty," came a voice approaching from the sidewalk. "What's
the news today?"
Pocket Man relied on Musty for the latest news, and his subscription
to "Popular Pockets" and "Modern Cargo" magazines.
"Hey there Mr. Pockets," Musty barked in his cigar-roughened, gravelly
voice. "What's news is what you heroes do."
Musty grinned, patted Pocket Man on the back and handed him his
paper and magazines. "Terrible news about the smelly kid hero getting
killed t'other week, huh? Shame. Terrible shame. All the good ones go
early." Pcoket Man smiled to himself, pleased at the crotchety old
news dealers nickname for him.
"Well, I didn't know Flatulence Lad that well," Pocket Man said.
"And I've only met his mentor, Sarcastic Lad a couple of times.* So I
really couldn't comment on the kid's death. But I hear Sarcastic Lad
took it pretty hard and that there are some hard feelings because
most of the LNH just ignored the kid's passing. Seems he had only been
a fledgling member and nobody really knew him that well. Still, they
should have at least recognized that a fellow hero had died - even if
he was a smelly sort."
"Yeah. Still. It's a shame. Good heroes are hard ta find these
days, y'know? Whataya think a dis? Says here some fancy-schmancy comic
book ingenue went and got hisself killed and nobody knows how it
happened. Cops're at a loss cuz there ain't no clues at da moider scene."
"Hmmm," Pocket Man said, resting his hand on his hip in typically
heroic fashion. "That is a puzzler alright. Maybe I'd better check into
this myself."
"Yeah, sure thing Mr. Pockets," Musty said. "Jus' lemme get ya
yer change."
Musty went to ring up the sale and when he pressed the key on
his 247-year-old Mercantile-Singer cash register, the key broke and the
drawer stuck closed. Frustrated, Musty began to curse the machine and
apologize to Pocket Man for the delay.
"Not to worry, Musty," Pocket Man said, reaching into the rather
large, oval-shaped pocket that covered his left thigh. "Why don't you
try using this one instead?"
Pocket Man produced a shining, chrome digital machine, the
Cash-O-Matic 3000 - the very best in modern cash registers. "I just happen
to have this on me and would like you to have it," he said.
"Sheesh, yer amazing Mr. Pockets," Musty said gratefully. "Ya
must have one a' everything in them pockets o' yours!"
"Of some things, I have more than one, Musty," Pocket Man said
grinning. "You never can be too prepared. That's my motto."
"I thought yer motto was `Everything in its proper place, Mr.
Pockets?" Musty asked quizzically.
"Oh, a good hero can never have too many mottos, Musty. Just
look here in "Websters Nearly Abridged Dictionary of Net.Hero Mottos,"
he said, pulling the 31-volume set of books from his sleeve pocket.
"Heh heh heh! Yer one inna million, Mr. Pockets!"
With that, Pocket Man walked toward police headquarters to see
if he could find any information on the comic book artist's demise.
At the precinct desk was Sgt. Paddy O'Furniture, a typical
good old Irish cop from a long line of Irish cops, who sat reading the
racing news and munching on leftover Halloween mini-donuts. O'Furniture
was a good cop, one of the best until the tragic accident which robbed
him of his ability to pronounce the letter "S". It was a terribly
embarrassing moment in his life when, while attempting to prevent
the burglary of the mayor's house, O'Furniture encountered the felons
and hollered, "Top or I'll hoot!" At that moment, with the felons
laughing heartily while making their escape, that O'Furniture knew he was
no longer capable of performing his duties as a street cop and was
placed on desk duty at the precinct.
"Good morning, Sergeant," Pocket Man said. "I'd like to speak
with whomever is handling the comic artist murders. I'm Pocket Man
of the ..."
"Sure'n I'm knowing who ye be, laddie," O'Furniture said. "Ye'll
be one o' them Net.Heroes who're always smitin' the villians o' this
world. Ye'll be wantin' t' talk to Lt. Headed. He's leadin' the
investergation inta that there case, me boyo."
Sgt. O'Furniture fumbled though his desk drawer for a lighter
for his pipe, a decades-old Meerschaum given to him by his first
Captain Miles O'Tubing after cracking that Zamfir album bootlegging
operation out of South Philly.
Pulling a Pyro-Tech Flame-O-Matic 300 flamethrower from his
hip pocket, Pocket Man set the nozzle at its lowest setting: "small
school building". He primed the firing spray and lit the flamethrower,
emitting a pencil thin stream of white-hot fire toward the upper tip
of Sgt. O'Furniture's pipe, lighting it gently but effectively, and
releasing the trigger to retrieve the flame safely back into its
housing. His task complete, Pocket Man placed the device back into
his hip pocket. Sgt. O'Furniture noticed that the huge weapon slipped
with ease into the small, seemingly tight pocket, but with his years
of experience around net.heroes, he'd learned not to ask questions
anymore.
"Lt. Headed will be out t' ye in a minute, laddie," O'Furniture
said. "That's sure'n a wonderous set o' pockets yer havin' there. You
remind me of this cat me dear ol' gran'mother used ta tell me about
when I was but a wee boyo back in Minsk ... er, I mean ... Doo-blin.
Seems this cat wuz forever takin' things out o' this bag he had ...
a bag o' tricks I believe he called it then. Pretty amazin` stuff,
that cat did. I remember one time ..."
"Pocket Man?" asked Lt. Headed. "Nice to meet you. My sergeant
said you wanted to speak to me about the comic artist murders."
"Yes, lieutenant," Pocket Man said. "I understand there doesn't
seem to be a single clue as to the killer's identity. That's quite
unusual, isn't it?"
"Why don't we talk about this in my office? Coffee?"
"Why yes, thank you," Pocket Man said, amazed at how non-
characteristically cooperative and pleasant all the police and officials
in Net.ropolis seemed to be around the LNH. "These guys are terrific,"
he thought to himself, squeezing a minute and 37 seconds of thought-
time into the space of two footsteps. "I wonder what the LNH did to
win their favor."
Lt. Headed led Pocket Man into a large glass-encased conference
room, in which about a dozen officers and detectives stood amid a
myriad of photographs, maps, reports and samples of terribly overdrawn
and over-muscled superhero figures, all of which had white hair with
a curly tuft in the center of the forehead, had extraordinarily large
thighs - the kind Jimmy Greek would bet on, and wore costumes that
were direct ripoffs of several independent comic book characters
whose costume colors had been changed.
The detectives were perusing
the art (for lack of a better word) hoping to find some hidden clue
or indication to develop a motive for the flash-in-the-pan's murder.
But none were to be found, for all the samples were strikingly similar,
centering on steroid-induced mega-macho male characters flaunting
impossibly large weapons, and huge-breasted, Sports Illustrated model
women in the skimpiest possible outfits, brandishing glowing swords
and beams of light from their long-fingernailed hands.
"Lookit THIS one, lootenant!" said Det. Sgt. Lovell Cruller,
a fat, slovenly man in his late 30s, wearing a standard issue wrinkled
and stained overcoat with a pair of Twinkies peeking from the side
pocket. The stench-ridden cigar hanging loosely from his inflated
lip threatened to drop into the large thermo-cup of coffee he held.
"This guy looks jus' like that superhero Victor from The
Hero Alliance them Innovation guys useta put out," Cruller said. "The
costume's identical, `cept the kid made it silver and gold insteada
green, red an' yellow. Whatta hack? For all the money this kid wuz makin
and all the stinkin' hoopla about how good he wuz, he couldn't even
come up widda original character!"
"At ease, Sergeant," Headed said. "The kid's dead, for Pete's
sake. How about a little decorum around here?"
"What's wrong wit da way da place looks now?" Cruller asked,
once again misunderstanding his commander. "Since when wuz you an
interior decorator, lootenant?"
"Cruller ... shut up!" Headed snapped.
"Uh lieutenant?" Pocket Man said, noticing a particular piece
of art on the table. "Perhaps this is the key to this case?"
Pocket Man held up one of the sheets of original (and ghastily
valuable) artwork. "Has anyone noticed that this page is the only
one out of all of these that has a panel with BACKGROUND in it? I think
if we find out what this building is that this kid copied from, we'll
have our clue."
"Nix on dat, Mr. Goodwrench," Cruller quipped. "We checked on
dat already. Seems it's just a repro of a background piece some guy
named Byrne did for some Sensational She-Hulk annual a few years back.
He just lifted it, reversed it and put his guy over it."
Pocket Man noted Cruller's obvious tone and realized that perhaps
not all the police in the Net City were so fond of the Net.Hero genre.
"Well, what HAVE we got then, men? Is there ANYTHING we can
follow up on?" Headed asked, with a note of impatience. "There has to
be SOMETHING that will lead us to this kid's killer! We can't let this
case go on being clueless ...."
Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing, like a scene
from a cheap tax company commercial. Pocket Man looked at Cruller, who
looked at Headed, crumpling a Twinkie wrapper in his hand.
Simultaneously, all three uttered the same dreaded name ....
"CLUELESSMASTER!!*" (tm)(r)(c) (and lots of other legal symbols)
"Of course!" exclaimed Pocket Man. "Who else by the CluelessMaster
could murder someone and not leave a single evidentiary trace to show that
he did it?"
"Uhhh, anyone within the first 15 minutes of a Father Dowling
episode?" asked Cruller, wiping artificial creme filling from his bloated
lip.
"Cruller ... shut up!" said Lt. Headed, who was musing on when the
CluelessMaster had last been jailed. "We sent CluelessMaster up the river
two years ago after breaking up that black market beef jerky operation he
had going in Net.Texas. Officer Atfoot, get me CluelessMaster's file.
The officer, Franklin Lincoln Atfoot, F.L. to his friends, had
been with the Net.ropolis Police for five months, having transferred in
from a 19-month surveillance detail at a prestigious women's college in
upstate Net.York. (*See the now-late-great "Police Action Stories Comics,"
from June 1947, in a story called "Crisis Through A Keyhole."*) Officer
Atfoot went across the hall to records and returned with the requested
file, reading the summary sheet as he re-entered the conference room.
"CluelessMaster, a.k.a. Frank Lee Lusive, 31 years old," Atfoot
read. "First arrested at 19, when he was thugging for a riddle-bearing
villain at a cheesy, non-descript alternate reality. Seems his ringleader
at the time couldn't abide by Lusive's lack of creativity in creating
clues to lead his bat-garbed adversary to solve his crimes and used some
kind of inter-dimensional slingshot to sent Lusive here. Seems our boy
didn't take too well to being bandied about the multi-verses and swore
revenge on the Riddle-guy by becoming CluelessMaster, the bane of riddles,
games and puzzles everywhere. Last known whereabouts; Arkhamencheze
Asylum, arrested by the Golden Age Typical Super-Guy before he retired."
"I worked with ol` GATS-G on that case," Pocket Man said. "We
caught Lusive selling artificial beef jerky at an artificial cheese
convention and making millions. I thought we'd seen the last of that
master of misdirection."
"Yeah? Well, if I'd been on dat case, this clueless clown wouldn'ta
got outta that looney bin in da foist place," Cruller said, in a challenge to
Pocket Man's effectiveness as a crimefighter. "I never needed no fancy
schmancy sooper powers to put the crud away ...":
"Yeah," Atfoot jumped in, "he'd put bad guys away faster than he
could down a dozen burritos, right Cruller?"
"Uh ... yeah, kid," Cruller said, missing the insult. "What you said."
"Alright lieutenant," Pocket Man said. "What's our next move?
We've got to find this villain before he ... well ... villains, again."
Headed gave Pocket Man a curious look, and then looked at Cruller.
"See? I told you you rub off on people, Cruller!" he said. "Why don't you
go downstairs and clean yourself up before we take this info to the
captain."
"Uh, lieutenant. What are we going to the captain *with*?" asked
Atfoot. "All's we got is the guy's name and a suspicion that he's the
murderer."
"Atfoot, when you've been around as long as I have, you learn to
trust your instincts," Headed said. "You learn to believe and act on
those beliefs. You come to realize that since this is a comic-book
oriented story, the reader, accustomed to lame leaps of logic, will buy
into the premise that the villain is who we think it is before we have
any evidence proving that it is. What, you think the *reader* knows any
more about what's going on than *we* do? You got a lot to learn, kid."
"Yessir," Atfoot said ashamedly. "You're right, of course, sir."
"Don't worry about it, Officer," Pocket Man said. "I've got the
feeling that you're going to be an outstanding cop. Just walk in the
lieutenant's shoes for awhile and you'll learn the ropes."
"Okay," said Atfoot. "But I don't think we wear the same size."
_______________________________________________
| |
| Meanwhile ... at the CluelessMaster's |
| secret hideout ... | /
| | /_______ nifty segue box
| | \
|_______________________________________________| \
"Geez boss, offin' that MacLiefield kid was sheer jeen-yus!" said
generic thug #2938-349 from the "Hollywood Thugs' Guild, Local 417. "But
how did youse manage not ta leave any clues for the cops or them LNH guys
to follow?"
"Well thug," CluelessMaster said, taking advantage of the prelude,
"It was devastatingly simple, but far more complex an undertaking than
someone with your limited intellect could ever hope to fathom. So, I'm
not going to waste the readers' time by trying to explain it to you."
"Geez boos, you think a' everything!" the thug said.
"No thug," said the CluelessMaster, "Quite the contrary, I think
of nothing! For I ... {heinously ominous music inserted here} ...
am the CLUELESSMASTER!" (kudos to Jim Starlin for the splash page that
accompanied this dialogue.)
_______________________________________________
| |
| Meanwhile ... | /
| back at the Police Station ... | /_______ yet another, even
| | \ niftier segue box
|_______________________________________________| \
"Well, I'm off," said Pocket Man, annoucning his departure quite
redundantly, as all the officers could see him pulling his flight thingie
from a small shoulder pocket and standing on the sill of an open window.
"I'm going to find the CluelessMaster and vanquish him!"
"Gosh, I love that kind of talk," said Atfoot. "I wish I could be
a Net.Hero!"
"Ferget it kid," Cruller said. "You'd look stoopid in tights."
"I'd look better than you, Cruller!" Atfoot snapped.
"Oh yeah?" Cruller said accusingly. "Well I got pictures ta prove it!
Here, lookit dese!"
Atfoot looked at the readers (or the camera for you TV-oriented fans)
and grimmaced at the thought of the prurelent Cruller in form-fitting attire.
* * * * * * * * * *
Pocket Man soared over the skies of Net.ropolis, searching for
any indication of the CluelessMaster's presence. As people on the streets
stood pointing at the sight of a man flying overhead, Pocket Man head odd
references to birds, aircraft and amphibious creatures, but nary a word
about the Nefarious Non-Tell-Taler.
Activating the communication device he installed on his flight
thingie, Pocket Man called into the LNH HQ to check with whomever was on
monitor duty and found Super-Apathy Lad at the board.
"Yo App! It's Pocket Man," the King of Cargo said into his
communicator.
"Yeah? So?" said the terrific tel-apathetic.
"Well, I just wanted to check in and let you know that I'm on
the CluelessMaster's trail," Pocket Man said.
"Again, so?" SAL said.
"Well, I was kind of hoping that since you're on the monitors,
you could tell me if he's shown up anywhere in the city," Pocket Man
said, beginning to lose patience.
"Well, I could check," SAL said. "But I don't really feel like it."
"Come on App," Pocket Man pleaded, "I need some help here."
"Call me back later, will ya?" SAL said. "There's a good episode
of Bosom Buddies on right now."
"App! I need this information NOW!" Pocket Man roared, looking up
from the communicator's vid-screen just in time to avoid flying into a huge
floating hamburger advertisement. "There's a murderer loose in this city
and I've got to find him before he kills again!"
"Who'd he kill?" App asked with the most minimal of interest.
"A comic book artist ... Fraud MacLiefield," Pocket Man explained.
"You bothered me because some hack like MacLiefield got offed?"
SAL said, slamming his fist down on the button marked "disconnect com-
munication" on the monitor control panel.
"Jeez, that guy really *doesn't* care too much, does he?" Pocket
Man thought to himself, as he adjusted the scanners on his flight thingie
to look more closely for the CluelessMaster.
* * * * * * * * * *
Noticing the complete lack of clues to CluelessMaster's whereabouts,
Pocket Man flew in straight lines, gridding all of Net.ropolis, in hopes of
something turning up. While flying above Dick Giordano Avenue, he spotted
Mainstream Man, one LNHer that hadn't been seen in action for quite awhile.
Swooping down to land next to the buyer-of-anything-but-independents, Pocket
Man asked MM if he'd be willing to help find CluelessMaster.
"Naaah," said Mainstream Man. "What do I care about that bum? I've
never seen him in anything by DC or Marvel."
"But," Pocket Man interjected, "he comes from a direct rip-off of
a long-established DC villain AND he just murdered one of the Image
Comics artists!"
"Oh yeah?" the traditional comics marvel asked. "Which one?"
"Uhh, it was that Fraud McLiefield kid," Pocket Man explained. "You
know, the original Mr. Let-Me-Clone-My-Only-Original-Creation-To-The-Point
of-Nausea-So-I-Can-Hype-Sales-By-Putting-Him-On-Everything-I-Touch?"
"Oh yeah," Mainstream Man said. "I hated that kid's work. All his
characters looked like they had Neuro-Fibromatosis in their legs! But,
a murder is a murder and murder is a crime and I'm sworn to fight crime.
So let's go get this CluelessMaster punk!"
"Alright!" Pocket Man exclaimed. "Let's get him!"
Flying directly to the CluelessMaster's hideout, Pocket Man and
Mainstream Man burst through a wall in typical Chris Claremont fashion,
sending shards of broken glass and shattered timbers everywhere, with none
of the debris hitting any of the thugs in the room.
Startled, the CluelessMaster leaped behind a large stack of cardboard
comic book boxes, filled with stolen Image Comics back issues. But unknown
to the CluelessMaster, a September issue of the Comic Price Guide was in his
path, over which he tripped and stumbled. Righting himself, he took a
defensive position behind the boxes, CluelessMaster shouted, "How? How could
you POSSIBLY find me?!?!?"
"Oh that,' said Pocket Man matter-of-factly, and punching thug #17
in the mouth, flattening him. "Well, as Mainstream Man here and I were
criss-crossing the city, we found clues to every other hideout of every
other villain in the Net.city. But we didn't see ANY clues as to the
location of YOUR hideout. So, using our tracking skills, we carefully
disregarded all the clues to the other villains' hideouts and follwed the
distinct lack of clues to your. That lack of clues formed a pattern that
led us right to your doorstep! Now CluelessMaster, prepare to get clued in
to what pain feels like ..."
"A LOT of pain," chimed in Mainstream Man.
Fearing a severe thrashing by the LNHers, generic thug #418-32922345
began to flee, crossing between the heroes and the CluelessMaster. Tripping
over a very fine condition copy of Y**ngb**od #2, priced at $15, the thug
tumbled into the CluelessMaster and striking his gadget belt. The collision
activated the CluelessMaster's teleportation device accidentally and sent
the CluelessMaster and the thug to an undetermined set of coordinates,
leaving the pair of Net.heroes without a clue as to where the arch-villain
went, or where he'd strike next ...!
The splash page shows Pocket Man, Mainstream Man, Sarcastic Lad and
Panta standing on a flying platform disc, hovering above a foreboding
building. The sign on the building reads "Absolutely Harmless Warehouses, Inc."
In the window of the warehouse, The CluelessMaster is aghast as he sees the
LNHers closing in on him fast.
Last issue, the CluelessMaster escaped from Pocket Man and Mainstream
Man when one of his generic thugs bumped into him and activated his teleport-
ation device, sending him where the heroes had little hope of following.
"Oh terrific!" shouted Mainstream Man. "Where the hell did he go now?"
"I don't know," Pocket Man said perplexedly. "He was here and then
there
was a flash of light and ... then ..."
"TELEPORTER!" The two heroes exclaimed simultaneously.
"Since when does CluelessMaster have a teleporter?" Pocket Man asked
rhetorically.
"Oh, you know these super net.villains, Pok," Mainstream Man said.
"They're always coming up with new devious gadgets and such. I wouldn't
worry about it. We're heroes .. and you know how heroes always come out on
top."
"Yeah, I guess ... provided they don't have a nitwit writing them,"
Pocket Man said, looking at directly out of the panel. "I suppose we should
check out this place for clues and traps before we head back to the LNHQ."
"Yeah, I'll take this side," Mainstream Man said.
After about an hour of searching the warehouse, the heroes found little
in the way of clues. This *was* the CluelessMaster they were up against after
all. But Mainstream Man had found a stash of junk food and several boxes of
instant cheesecake mixes in a cabinet. The heroes decided to take the supplies
and stock the LNH cupboards, since nobody ever mentions going grocery shopping
for the net.heroes.
"Man, Cheesecake-Eater Lad's gonna have a field day with this stuff,"
Mainstream Man said as he and Pocket Man flew back to the LNHQ via their
flight thingies. Mainstream Man noticed an intense scowl on Pocket Man's face,
indicating that the Sultan of Storage was deep in thought. "Hey, Net.Earth
to Pocket Man! What's up?"
"Huh? Oh, sorry MM," Pocket Man said. "I was just thinking about
that thug who bumped into CluelessMaster just before they disappeared. Did
you notice anything ... strange ... about him?"
"No. Nothing out of the ordinary," Mainstream Man said, thinking
recursively about the incident. "He was average height and olympic-class
musculature, blonde hair, blue eyes, standard Byrne-face wearing a brown
windbreaker and cabbie's cap ... Waitaminit!!! A cabbie's cap? You don't
think ..."
"That's *exactly* what I think!" Pocket Man said grinning. "Come on.
Let's get back to the HQ and run this through Multi-Tasking Man and the
computer."
The two heroes sped off into the distance, leaving the two-line arc
in their wake showing their flight path. Approaching the HQ, Pocket Man
saw Panta entering the building, loaded down with a stack of school text
books. Flying to her side, he scooped the books from her and stored them
in his left shoulder pocket.
"I'll get these, Panta," Pocket Man said, opening the door for the
lovely cat-girl. "How's school?"
"Oh, it's okay Mr. Pocket Man," she said. "But I hate that I'm the only
one at Professor Xavier's who has to really do any schoolwork. All the other
students, most of whom I've never even laid eyes on, spend all day in some
vault in one of the sub-basements. They go in and come out, but they're
usually all beat up and tired when they come out. It's weird."
"Well, Professor Xavier's is a fine school Panta," Pocket Man said.
"I'm sure you'll get a lot out of your time there. How'd that Organic
Chemistry test come out?"
"Oh it was great!" the cat-girl exclaimed. "Organic Lass gave me
*so much* help. There was no way I could've failed it. She's really
great."
"That she is, little one .... that ... she ... is," Pocket Man
said, again getting that glazed look in his eye whenever he thought of
the Maid of Molecules.
Panta's smile turned to a slight frown as she recognized Pocket
Man's affections for Organic Lass again. Arriving at the library, Panta
said, "Well, thanks for carrying my books for me Mr. Pocket Man. See you
later." The cat-girl scurried into the library, saying nothing more.
"Better watch yourself there buddy," advised Sarcastic Lad,
suddenly emerging from beside the dented Coke machine outside the LNH
library.
"Watch what?" Pocket Man said, turning to greet his friend.
"That there little piece o' catnip wants your ball of yarn,"
Sarcastic Lad said, grinning and puffing on a cigarillo.
"Cut that out!" Pok exclaimed. "Don't talk about her like that.
Panta's a sweet little kid and I'm just looking out for her in this
bin of super-powered nutcases. That's all!"
"Yeah, well, just by lookin' at her, I can tell she's got more
than her well-being in mind when it comes to you, buddy boy," Sarc said.
"Just ... drop it, okay?" Pok said. "Listen, I've got a problem
with this CluelessMaster case. You want in?"
"CluelessMaster? You bet! Nuthin' I like better than trouncin'
a two-bit punk like him." Sarc sneered. "What's the skinny?"
Pocket Man filled in his friend and ally as Mainstream Man joined
them in the conference room. He explained the lack of clues to the villain`s
whereabouts and the sudden use of a teleporter. Sarcastic Lad listened,
only occasionally making a snide remark.
A knock came at the door. It was Panta. Mainstream Man opened the
door and Panta said, "Oh, sorry guys, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just
wanted to take a break from homework and needed to talk to Mr. Pocket Man."
"Come on in Panta," Pocket Man said, dismissing the crude grin on
Sarcastic Lad's face. "What do you need?"
"Oh ... nothing. It can wait," the leopard girl said. "Whatchu guys
doing in here anyway?"
Pocket Man explained that the heroic trio were discussing battle plans
against the CluelessMaster, which brought out a surprising response from
Panta.
"That geek? I was reading about him in the paper this morning,"
Panta said. "What a loser! His main gimmick is to not leave clues to his
crimes? Ooooh, that's a master stroke."
Pocket Man turned to Sarcastic Lad, "You're having a really bad
influence on this girl ..." Sarc just grinned.
Just then, Cheesecake-Eater Lad burst into the room, his cheeks stuffed
with several flavors of the instant cheesecake mix he'd thrown together in
the kitchen. "Hoov keevkick wuv diff?" he asked with his mouth full of
artifical chocolate flavoring. "Hoovever it wuv ... fankff!!!" Then the
Dessert Destroyer ambled back into the kitchen, gorging more cheesecake into
his mouth as he walked.
Mainstream Man and Pocket Man just shook their heads, when Panta said,
"If I were fighting this guy, it'd be almost a textbook superheroing case,"
the leopard-girl said. "He'd be so easy to beat!"
The three elder heroes looked skeptically at the young girl in
jeans and a sweatshirt bearing huge "X" on it. "Oh REALLY!" snapped
Sarcastic Lad. "And just how would you beat this guy sweetfur? Giggle
him into submission? Lick a bowl of milk until he surrendured?"
Panta growled at Sarc and bared the claws of her right paw. Sarcastic
Lad saw this and sat back down. "Ummmm, uh heh heh, ... I mean, pray,
tell us what you'd do Panta?" He gulped loudly and Pocket Man and
Mainstream Man smirked.
Panta walked purposefully over to Pocket Man and began reaching into
his right hip pocket.
"Oooooh, this might be good afterall," Sarcastic Lad leered happily.
"Sarc ... shut the hell up!" Mainstream Man snapped.
From the pocket, with her arm buried in to the shoulder, Panta
produced a large bound set of papers. "You beat the guy .... with *THIS*!"
She tossed the book on the table(not tm). On the cover it read,
"Script -- The Case of the Clueless Mystery. Warbler Bros. Productions,
copyright 1993. All rights reserved." Panta stood back, crossing her arms
and looking proudfully triumphant.
"POK!!! Why didn't you tell me you had this thing," Mainstream Man
screamed. "We could have nailed that creep before he teleported out of
the warehouse! This is something one of those bonehead Image thigh-boys
would do!"
"I didn't know I had this!" Pocket Man exclaimed. "This is a strange
effect of my power I've never encountered before -- having things on me but
not *knowing* I have them. I'm going to do an inventory as soon as I have
a spare 71 weeks in which I'm not doing anything."
"....." the room was silent. Then Mainstream Man grabbed the book
and began ushering Panta out the door, scooting her along with the book.
Panta grabbed Mainstream Man's collar and leapt backwards, smacking him on
the buttocks with her tail as she landed. "I'm not going anywhere!" she
exclaimed adamantly.
"The little .... ummm ... the kid's got nice moves," Sarc said.
"Let her stay, MM. Hey, she was smarter than we were. She knew where the
book was in the first place."
"Yeah ... how did you know I had that, Panta?" Pocket Man asked.
"I read it in the book," she said plainly. "Page 104."
"But how did you know the book was there to read if you hadn't
read it to know it was there to ... read ... it ...?" Pocket Man said,
confusing himself.
"Look," Panta said, "Do we wanna go trounce the CluelessMaster or
sit here and discuss Doctor Emmet Brown's theories of space-time continuum
disruptions?"
The four heroes looked at on another and leapt to their feet, as
Sarcastic Lad yelled, "YEAH! Let's go kick the ... ummm ... STUFF ... outta
this punk!" Mainstream Man leaped into the air, striking a perfect Dick
Giordano flying pose, with his right hand extended out flat and his left
in a fist curled into his abdomen. Panta bounded over the table, a broad
smile curling her face as she hurtled past Self-Righteous Preacher in the
hallway. The preacher scowled and stormed down to the hall to the rectory,
muttering something about "order and discipline" and "over his dead body."
The CluelessMaster strutted about his new hideout, a run down former
shoe factory on the West side of Net.ropolis.
"So whatawee gonna do next boss," asked generic(un-tm [Un-tm! Un-tm!
The twister's coming! Where'e Toto?] ... sorry.) thug #98723948790011.
"Silence fool! Can't you see I'm thinking?" the CluelessMaster
shrieked, visibly shaken by Pocket Man's detection of his earlier hideout.
"If that heroic U-Haul truck found me by the lack of clues, and I am the
undisputed master of the lack of clues ... how did he find me? The answer
must lie in the lack of clues, perhaps I unwittingly left a clue within
the absence of clues."
One of the thugs fainted from the mental strain of following the
CluelessMaster's logic. "Take him out and shoot him," the villain ordered.
"But boss," said a lackey (author's note: someone studying to be a thug),
"he's your own brother!"
"Okay," the CluelessMaster said. "Then use small caliber bullets!
Must I think of *everything* around here?!"
Suddenly the south wall of the building imploded as the four LNHers
burst in. Pocket Man led the fray, deflecting the bullet spray that was in
store for the villain's brother with a Strongstuffium shield he'd pulled from
his pen pocket moments before crashing through the wall. Bullets ricochetted
everywhere, felling several thugs and thugs-in-training.
"Give it up CluelessMaster! You're days of villainy are over! (We'd
like to thank Cliche Dude for the temporary use of this line of dialogue. We
now return you to our regularly scheduled comic book.)" Mainstream Man
shouted, pummeling a thug in the stomach with a classical Joe Kubert
crescent kick.
"Aaaaaaarrrgggggggghhhhhh! (on loan from Cliche Dude)" screamed the
CluelessMaster. "How did you find me again, you overgrown overnight bag?!?!"
"We just followed scene 14 in the script, you villain!" cried Panta.
"We had you nailed from the moment we opened the cover!"
"Curses! (thx CD) That cursed script again! I thought I ordered
that thing destroyed as part of the elimination of clues to our scheme!"
he shouted, back-fisting Thug-Prime in standard Manga-Khan fashion.
"You did! But there was a copy kept on file in the LNH Library
under in the "Ridiculously Simple and Reader-Insulting Plot Device" section,"
Pocket Man said. "I must have unwittingly gathered it and put it in one of
my pockets knowing I'd eventually fight you again CluelessMaster!"
"By the Moons of BleeJowel! Foiled by an overzealous part-time
librarian!" CluelessMaster said, reaching for his teleport device and
finding it missing. To his side, Panta was busy shredding the belt and
device with her clawed feet, pawing the remains through her legs behind
her.
Sarcastic Lad landed a smashing right hook on two thugs, felling
them both. He bounded forward into a group of the limitless number and
said, "So Cluey! Where'd ya get all the hired help -- Wal-Mart?" Sarc
cascaded through the thuggery like so many leaves off an autumn tree.
Pocket Man blasted into the CluelessMaster with his foot, sending
the villain hurtling to the floor. "Oh psshaw," CluelessMaster said.
"Why can't I ever be one of the really good villains? Like The Man Who Once
Had, But Then Had To Fight For, And Eventually Lost The Gauntlet Jewelled
With The Insanity Gems (*See Flame Wars and the soon-to-be-released
Flame Wars Epilogue for details on TMWOH,BTHTFF,AELTGJWTIG.) or
Magazine-Neato?"
Placing LNH-cuffs on CluelessMaster, Mainstream Man said, it
wouldn't have made any difference, you punk. We're heroes, and as you
know, heroes always .."
"Oh shut UP!" snapped the CluelessMaster. "Just take me to jail."
"Yeah, I hear it's meatloaf surprise night at the state pen," quipped
Sarcastic Lad. "If ya hurry, you can get an extra helping of sawdust!"
Mainstream Man, with the CluelessMaster in tow, flew into the sky,
enroute for Net.ropolis Prison. "Good job, heroes! Stan would be proud!"
"Who's Stan?" Panta asked, licking her paws clean.
"Never mind kid," Sarcastic Lad said. "You're too young to learn about
him! Maybe when you're oldoooooooowwwwouuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhwwwwwwww!"
Panta grinned at Pocket Man as she swiped her claw across Sarcastic
Lad's butt. Pocket Man winked and said, "Let's go home. Anybody for a
game of ... Clue?"
THE END -- FINALLY!
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--
CREDITS:
Pocket Man/Sarcastic Lad Gary St. Lawrence lawr...@express.ctron.com
Panta (no tm) Hubert Bartels h...@catalina.edu
Mainstream Man Non-WC (I think)
Cheesecake-Eater Lad Non-WC (I think)
Self-Righteous Preacher Non-WC (I think)
Flames, questions, comments and suggestions welcome at:
lawr...@express.ctron.com
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