PULP: TMFP #1, chapter 1
Sue D'Nimme
And now ... the first chapter of THE MAN FROM P.U.L.P.
I. Nickolas Orville Naime
Death was eighty pounds overweight and smelled of stale coffee. His
hands sweated as they gripped the steering wheel. Nervously, Death looked
in his rearview mirror. What he saw made his eyes bug. His foot stomped
the accelerator. Death's sedan leapt forward, careened crazily amongst the
slower moving rush-hour vehicles, and nearly sideswiped a traffic cop. The
cop's shrill whistle was lost in the roar of Death's engine. The traffic cop
was lucky. Death had another appointment and could not afford to tarry with
him.
* * * * *
"Thank you Daddy!" the little girl cried. Momentarily torn between hug-
ging her father and clutching her new rabbit, she compromised and hugged her
bunny. "His name is Humbug!" she proclaimed proudly.
"Careful, Honey," her father warned. "Just because PT Barnum's 48 years
dead that doesn't mean his circus won't try to get little Humbug. They paid
$176,675 to Jenny Lind, and $30,000 for Jumbo, and that was more than 50 years
ago. They might give me a couple hundred for the "World's Largest Hare."
The father laughed at the look of horror that crossed his daughter's
face. It was a deep laugh, one that threatened to reveal the exceptional na-
ture of its author, though one glimpse at the man surely suggested such a
quality. He was of average build, but carried himself with the confidence and
economy of motion of a trained athlete. His powerful gait was enhanced by a
face that appeared cut from granite with a chipped chisel. Handsome in a rough-
hewn sense, the father's expression was one of familiarity with command, and
competence in that role. By far his most striking feature, however, were his
eyebrows. Pure black, bushy, and nearly the same color as his pupils they com-
manded attention and awe from all those around him. More than one foe had found
himself drawn to those dark bushes with hypnotic effect!
The father's offhand reference to Barnum's finances was also a clue that
the man was more than he appeared. An astute reader of The Net.York Times might
have recalled that a complete expose of Barnum's finances had been printed as a
minor story four weeks ago on the death of his last granddaughter. A man
gifted with extraordinary memory might even recall that the numbers were in the
ballpark. But only Nickolas Orville Naime could have recalled so accurately a
fact so obscure. Fate had granted a great boon to Nick Naime. Though intellec-
tually unremakable, his was the gift of Superior Short-Term Memory. Such was
the nature of his mind that any fact, opinion or diagram that he so much as
glimpsed would leave a perfect impression on his brain for upwards of six weeks,
after which it was crowded out by more recent data.
Nick's gift had manifested itself early in life. He excelled in school
through a pragmatic perusal of exactly the facts necessary. With educational
endeavors presenting no challenge, Nick devoted a disproportionate amount of
time perfecting himself in the only arena that presented a challenge -- ath-
letics. By the time he was ten, he could whip boys twice his age in nearly any
sport.
When the Great War broke out, young Nick knew his talents were vital to
the War effort. Though only eleven, he tricked the Army with forged papers and
was immediately put to work in Intelligence. Applied use of his Appearance of
Knowledge led to quick promotions in the Army -- and dangerous behind-the-lines
missions for the Man of Yesterday. When captured on one such mission, Nick man-
aged a glimpse at a Hun codebook. Engineering his escape was difficult, but
thanks to a hastily scanned phrasebook, a current joke involving the Kaiser's
dog, and the technical manual for the latest Fokker tri-plane, Nick saved
countless Allied lives.
Decorated and released, Colonel Naime's life continued along its amazing
path. He parlayed his gift into great wealth on the stock market through shrewd
interpretation of current events. He was one of the few to get out just before
the Stock Market Crash in 1929, thanks to the writings of a mostly-ignored doom
crier. Though depleted, his post-Depression fortune quickly trebled beyond its
pre-Crash size as he rode the wave of recovery. He remained undefeated in
amateur boxing competition thanks to a gruelling regimen of martial arts
readings. Nick was credited with realizing many new inventions of latest
design by synthesizing popular scientific writings and basic fabrication
principles. His ability to cobble others' state-of-the-art theories into nifty
devices led to a peerless reputation as a practical engineer.
Yes, Fate had been kind to Nick Naime. Careful application of his Hind-
sight left Nick possessed of great wealth, near superhuman physical abilities,
and great cocktail party conversation. But Fate, ever cruel, would exact a
terrible payment for so magnificent a boon.
* * * * *
Death belched loudly, but it did not lessen the pressure of fear in his
guts. Risking another quick glimpse in his mirror only revealed what he knew
too well. His pursuers were gaining. His sedan had reached its limits, and was
beginning to shudder from its efforts. The powerful machine following Death had
horses to spare. Wildly, Death swung his complaining automobile into a hard
left, causing commmuters to collide with a crunch of metal and a blaring of
horns. The commuters, though bruised and angry, were spared an encounter with
Death. Fate was a stickler for punctuality, and Death was determined to arrive
on time.
* * * * *
Nick and his daughter joined his wife, aunt and sister outside the pet
shop. Mary Denise Naime, Nick's wife, was a handsome woman. Her sweet face
had never been marred by the slightest duplicity. She was well-rounded in all
the right places and still received catcalls from construction workers, though
she was pregnant with her second daughter and just beginning to show. "Nick,
Have you been teasing Lil?" she asked playfully. She brushed her long hair out
of her face to show Nick a mock pout that would have caused most men to curl
their toes. The premature grey streaks in her hair were the only evidence of a
life with the Master of Minutiae.
Lil rushed to her aunt, Nick's sister. "Daddy said he would sell Humbug
to Barnum and Bailey for $100, Aunt Maddie!" Maddie Naomi Naime was Nick's
little sister, just entering the flower of womanhood. Her young, 18-year old
body had caused many a wreck from appreciative truck drivers. As the young
woman bent to console the child, Nick's Aunt reproached him.
"Shame on you Nickolas! Of course you will do no such thing!" Auntie
Naime was a fearsome woman: heavy and fiesty after a life of hard labor provid-
ing for her family. The scolding was not real though, and Auntie Naime's gruff
exterior was precisely opposite to her true nature. Auntie Naime could not
summon up real anger at anyone, least of all her favorite nephew. A golden
heart beat beneath that shop-worn exterior.
Nick's granite face flowed into a rare and surprisingly warm smile at
his family's antics. "Did you get my magazines?" he asked.
Auntie Naime thrust a burgeoning sack into his arms in response to his
question. "Here's this months gross." The Saturday Eve.net Review, Popular
Mecha.Nets and Net.ional Geographic topped the tremendous pile of popular
magazines. "Though why you pollute your mind with this stuff when you could
be reading technical journals, I'll never know."
Nick didn't bother to answer his Aunt's familiar jibe. He felt that
a talent such as his was better suited to broad sweeping gestures, than
to the limited expansion of a solitary scientific field. Specialty knowledge
required more effort with fewer global rewards, so he eschewed wordy journals
in favor of pictorial magazines with their finger on the pulse of the world.
His Aunt's jibe was in any case a teasing one. Hand in hand, the Naimes
walked down the street towards their parked car, eager to conclude the day's
shopping and return to their offshore mansion.
From behind them, the scream of tires torn from the pavement broke the
revery. The sudden sound startled Humbug the rabbit, and he leapt in panic from
Lil's tiny hands. "Humbug!" she cried loudly.
Nick was already in motion. He dropped his heavy bag of magazines and
darted towards the flying grey shape. His taut, athletic body intercepted the
fleeing rabbit in a motion that a Brooklyn shortstop would be hard-pressed to
match. The motion carried Nick several paces behind his family who would have
cheered the action had not something far more formidable commanded their atten-
tion.
Death's sedan fishtailed wildly out of its turn. The pudgy driver
struggled in vain against the heavy vehicle's motion. Too late Nick turned to
spot the Chariot of Doom as it bore down on all he held dear. The car thumped
heavily over the curb, just missing Nick. His family went down screaming before
the great metal monster like pins in an alley. The metal behemoth rolled unper-
turbed over the women in Nick's life, mercilessly crushing the life from them.
A crunching impact with the pet store sent the metal beast careening back into
the road where it sped out of sight, pursued closely by a powerful black machine
that bristled with guns.
* * * * *
During the weeks that followed, Nick only left his mansion for the
triple funeral, and to replenish his stocks of food. Most men would have had
the protection of a psychological cloud between their fragile minds and the
images of the horror they had witnessed. Nick's hyper-retentive mind offered
no such psychological comforts. The awful images replayed themselves in excru-
tiating detail over the weeks of his seclusion. Slowly, whatever was warm and
forgiving in Nick burned away before those charnal images. He was left an
emotionless shell, only comforted the by waning memories of his family in life.
Throughout Nick's life, his Hindsight had brought great fortunes. All
the more ironic that Fate now used his gift for one last cruel joke. As the
weeks marched on, Nick found the memories of his happy life with his family
growing fainter and fainter -- flooded out by the mundane details of his mour-
ning. Finally, the horrific accident became the only memory he could conjure
with any detail. This was Fate's last prank. While the transience of Nick's
mind denied him the comfort of his family's living memory, it retained the image
of their tragedy as if seared forever on his neurons. This final injustice
cooled what was left of Nick's soul was to absolute zero. Under the weight of
the knowledge that Fate, once his strongest Ally, had turned against him, a
terrible transformation occurred. Where once stood a loving family man and
benefactor to society, now there stood only a grim automaton, an Engine of Ven-
geance. The fearsome eyebrows of Nick Naime promised dread retribution for
those responsible.
Like a terrible baker Fate had created a cake of from the batter of
Nick's life, iced it with horror, and decorated it with bile. Searing it in the
oven of wrenching loss, Fate's concoction was not consumed but firmed. And it
would soon become the just desserts for criminals everywhere.
Ray J Cornwall
The Punisher meets Good Omens.
If my own story wasn't so bad/late...
Ray
U of D