Adam Graham's Blog: Christians and Superheroes - Posts Tagged "sample-saturday"

In Fly Another Day, I introduce Mitch Farrow who'll become the main supervillain in The Adventures of Powerhouse  This is his first scene in which we see him and get a hint at his motivations:

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Mitch Farrow slouched in a green metal office chair held together by duct tape as he viewed his eBay auction on his bulky, third-hand computer monitor. A fast food bag and an empty paper cola cup littered the buckled plywood desk that also served as a kitchenette table. The green linoleum floor had missing patches. On his right, four days’ worth of dirty dishes were piled in the sink and it smelled of putrid water. The electric stove and refrigerator were cracked with paint peeling, as was the cabinets’ frou-frou blue paint.

He refreshed the Ebay auction. Thirty-five seconds left to go. Come on, a few bucks more.

The auction ended at $315. He made a note in his ledger.

Not bad. This sale would put him at ninety bucks for the month once he paid his bills. He smirked and hummed “If I Were a Rich Man.”

He turned off the monitor, grabbed his newspaper from the kitchen counter, and strode to the eight foot square patch of carpet that passed for a living room. The taupe carpet was blackened from foot traffic and riddled with rats’ teeth marks. He rearranged two red afghans over his gray recliner, covering where the stuffing was coming out while protecting his sensitive skin from the irritants ground hopelessly into it.

He settled into his chair and took a sniff of the newspaper. “Good old newsprint.” The only clean smelling thing in this dump. He smiled. Why sit there and read a bunch of lies and fabrications on the internet when he could read lies and fabrications in a good old American newspaper? He reached into the cigarette pack in his pocket, withdrew one of his blissful cancer sticks, and slipped it in his mouth.

No, Rosie needed him. Even with his life insurance, she and her mom wouldn’t make it without his alimony checks. He put the cigarette back in his pack. On the bright side, he was still worth more alive at the moment, he was down to two packs a week, and he’d be dead before he could get lung cancer from smoking anyway.

“Razzle Dazzle” played on the lace-covered cardboard box serving as an end table. He picked up his cell phone. “Farrow speaking.”

“Hi, this is Anne Falkenberg. The FDA just voted.”

Mitch held the phone tight. It was his attorney.

“They decided the drug needed more testing.”

Mitch dropped the phone. A stream of curse words left his mouth. He grabbed the phone. “It’s been used in Europe for five years.”

“I know this is disheartening. Understand, though, they’re just wanting to make sure that the drugs are safe and people are healthy.”

Mitch huffed a shallow breath. “None of them have AIDS. None of them have an ex-wife and daughter who have AIDS. This is what 235 years of democracy has produced in this country, a bureaucracy that fiddles while people waste away and die.”

“I know it’s frustrating.”

Mitch laughed. “Frustrating is when your DSL won’t work. Seeing your daughter suffer and knowing she and her mom are going to die like you are isn’t frustrating.”

Tears welled in his eyes. He clutched the receiver with a death grip.

“Mitch?”

“Anne, I’m hanging up. I know you did all you can, but I’ve got a lot of vinegar to spew.” He punched the red end call button, hurled his cell phone across the room, and let out a primal scream.

He stared at the ceiling. “Why, God? If you’re there, why didn’t you let me die in the accident rather than get that accursed transfusion?”

What was he doing? That was silly and pathetic.

Time for some meaningful, purposeful venting to the folks who read his website. No question he was going to blog about the FDA Nazis.

Still, he should check what else was going on. He flipped through the classifieds and spotted:

Help Wanted: Cynic
Change the World
Great pay and benefits.
Send application to Box C, Seattle Guardian

He chuckled. If you need a cynic, I’m the man for the job.

---

Fly Another Day is available in Paperback, Kindle, and Audiobook formats.

[Note: In this scene from the new book, [book:Powerhouse: Hard Pressed|17853010], Powerhouse needs to obtain the help of a detective to locate the missing Major Speed and he consults Portland's Neil Worthington, who in many ways is Powerhouse's detective counterpart.]

Powerhouse rang the doorbell as he stood on a brownstone mansion’s steps in the suburbs of Portland. His heart thudded as he waited.

The heavy door opened. A Latino with a Caesar hair cut, thin arms, and a slight paunch stood on the threshold in a green T-shirt and jeans. “Señor, your name?”

“Um, I’m Powerhouse.”

“Gracias, Señor Powerhouse. I am Gaston Perez. Señor Worthington will be down at eleven. He’s in the plant room tending his orchids, which he does every day from nine to eleven. Please come in.” The man in a green shirt led Powerhouse into an office and flopped onto a cream-colored couch.

How rude. Powerhouse eyed the bright red and yellow leather chairs. They matched the extra couch in the corner. A giant globe was wider around than Powerhouse was. Behind it sat two bookcases. One had a pine “Poirot” sign nailed over it and the other had a “Holmes” sign nailed over it.

The Poirot bookcase was well-organized with hardcover volumes and case files arranged by height, but the Holmes bookcase boasted papers strewn haphazardly. On its top shelf sat a copy of the South China Post from 1978, a bloodstained cloth, an unloaded revolver, and a bologna sandwich.

Powerhouse glanced at the man on the couch. “Who are you?”

“I’m the, um, personal trainer. I only answer the door while the butler and his assistant are out. It’s one of the burdens of working here.”

Powerhouse eyed the rather out-of-shape Latino. “You don’t look like a personal trainer.”

“I train his mustache.” The mustache trainer shrugged. “You should see it before you judge my services of keeping it in good shape. I’m an expert.”

Powerhouse blinked. “But you don’t even have a mustache yourself.”

Mustache Trainer sat up. “I had to sacrifice my own. Maintaining one superb mustache is a challenge for any man, let alone two. It would be like trying to maintain two wives.”

Behind his helmet, Powerhouse raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

Floorboards creaked as a man almost as rotund as the globe sauntered in carrying three orchids that looked like props. He did have a rather unique mustache, but he’d ripped off Sherlock Holmes’ clothes, the hat in particular. The newcomer put the fake flowers in the vase on his big oak desk and sat in a king-sized, orange desk chair that looked like it’d been salvaged from a thrift store and reupholstered to look new again.

The detective spread his hands on his desk. “Hello, Powerhouse. You have come to consult me.”

“If you’re Neil Worthington.” Powerhouse glanced at the orchids. “Am I mistaken, or are those plastic?”

“Yes, I’m the proud owner of ten thousand artificial orchids.”

“But you spent two hours up there.”

“I must have my hobby, if I am to emulate Nero Wolfe. His orchids are organic, but I’ve not had much luck with organic orchids, though my assistant and new butler have started some, and they left me instructions.”

The mustache trainer said, “Wasn’t that to leave them alone?”

Worthington glowered. “You can go back upstairs.”

“I could comb your mustache.”

Worthington shook his head. “Not in front of a potential client.”

This is weird. Powerhouse coughed. “Are you sure you’re a detective?”

Worthington glanced over Powerhouse. “You are in your mid-thirties, a white male American. You are not a white collar worker and you came to this address after going to the wrong address on the other side of town.”

Powerhouse blinked. “How did you know that?”

“Your costume’s design is more consistent with the design of popular superhero costumes from the 1990s than with the current styling, therefore the age. Your voice was suggestive as well. You’re obviously not comfortable in an office environment, thus the guess you’re not a white collar worker. As for going to the other side of town, the sediment on your suit contains dust found only in that part of Portland.”

“Wow, that’s amazing. You must be fun at parties.”

“I don’t go to parties. Now, sir, your problem.” Worthington pulled out a pipe from his jacket’s inner pocket.

Powerhouse winced. “You smoke?”

“No, tobacco is distasteful and deadly, but I must have a pipe. Sherlock Holmes had a pipe.”

So did Bruce Wayne and Captain America in their early comics. Doesn’t mean I’ll go and buy one.

Worthington reached into his desk, removed an unlabeled black bottle, and poured a clear liquid into the pipe. He put the bottle back. “Proceed.”

“It all began in 1937—”

A stream of bubbles flew out of Worthington’s pipe.

Seriously? Powerhouse chortled.

Worthington waved. “My eccentricities are calculated into my fee. Pray continue.”

----

Powerhouse Hard Pressed is now available in Paperback or for the Kindle

How does a mighty hero spend time with his kids? It's usually fairly typical for Dave Johnson, but there are a few extra special times as shown in Fly Another Day:

Powerhouse dashed toward the tank barreling at him. He grabbed it by its big gun, flung it around the Nevada dessert, and smashed it on the ground repeatedly.


The immobile tank lay upside down, and it’s wheels slowed. It looked a like an oversized tortoise that had fallen on its back. Powerhouse grabbed the machine in the middle and tore it apart like it was Reynolds rap.


Powerhouse super-imagined his armor contracting into a metal square on his chest. He stood in blue tights with the gold Powerhouse lightening bolt on the metal plate on his chest. His helmet remained and continued to blow cool air into his face. Powerhouse dashed across the desert.


A low-orbiting, rectangular spaceship swooped after him. He spun and fled the other way as fast as he could run. The sand, hills, and cacti blended into a big blur. He was nowhere near as fast as the Flash, but he was surely breaking a world record ten times over. Good enough.
His lungs started to burn. Powerhouse panted. He had to stop.


He glanced back behind him at the ship overhead, right on his tail. Gotta keep running.


Powerhouse sped up. He passed miles of desert. His legs ached. His throat matched his surroundings. He peered at his watch. He’d been going half an hour. It had to be enough. He slowed and came to a gradual stop. He breathed in, out, nice and slow.


The spaceship landed and Derrick and James got out.


James eyes’ were wide. “That was so c-cool.”


Derrick nodded. “Yeah, Dad. I timed it. For the first five minutes, you were going 1500 miles an hour. I could barely keep up in the spaceship. Then you slowed down to 800 miles an hour."


Powerhouse nodded. “I could practice so I don’t slow down so much, but I don’t know how I’d use it practically. I have my rocketpack.”


Derrick shook his head. “Dad, your rocketpack only goes 250 miles an hour. You’re way faster when running on the ground.”


“Too many obstacles on the ground in the city. I’ll keep working on it.”


Derrick waved back at the spaceship. “Come inside and rest.”


“Right away, son.” Powerhouse yawned.


Showing off for the kids was harder than fighting crime. Still, it was worth it to spend time with them.


Powerhouse plodded into the ship and plopped in a plush captain’s chair on the bridge of the stealth spaceship.


Derrick settled into the navigator’s chair. “One more thing, Dad.”


That was it. “One more thing, Derrick Johnson. Who am I?”


“I mean Powerhouse. Zolgron gave me some information that he said you need to memorize. He wanted to be that sure you got it because he’s in Tahiti.” Derrick reached into a bag and pulled out a folded document of some kind. “City of Seattle Map.”


Powerhouse touched the map and his head was filled with a complete scale map of the city. “Very cool.”


Derrick tossed him another map. “City of Seattle sewer map.”


Powerhouse touched it. His mind filled with the layout of the Seattle sewer system. “Always handy to have.”


Derrick reached into the satchel. “Greater Seattle area phone book.”


“That’s good.” Powerhouse touched it. His body jolted and numbers zipped through his head. It figured. That always happened with big books.


Derrick reached in and pulled out half a dozen books. “And here are some martial arts books we got from the library.”


“Super!” Powerhouse grabbed them. Karate instructions and illustrations wrote themselves onto his brain’s hard drive.


He added Judo, Akido, and then Kung Fu. He grabbed the fifth book.


Pictures of delicious pastries filled his mind.


Huh?


Powerhouse gaped at the cover. “The Betty Crocker Desert Cookbook.”


“Oops.” Derrick flinched. “That must have been on the wrong shelf.”


Powerhouse grabbed the last book and acquired knowledge of Tae Kwon Do.


His head throbbed. Rubbing it, he moaned.


“W-what’s wrong?” James asked.


“Information overload. It’s like an ice cream headache, only worse and without getting to eat the yummy ice cream.”


Powerhouse closed his eyes and imagined one of the confections in Betty Crocker’s book. A peach cobbler with ice cream, plates and a knife appeared on his lap. Powerhouse cut off a slice and lifted it toward his mouth.


He waved at the kids and the cobbler. “Have some.”


Derrick took a place, cut off a piece of the cobbler, and put it on his plate. He pressed a button on the spaceship’s control panel. “I’ll get us back to camp.”


James snatched up the remaining plate and sliced himself a piece of the cobbler, too. “D-dad, you okay?”


“Yes, son.”


Derrick glanced at his brother and slipped sound-proof earphones on.


James sighed and swallowed. “D-dad, you’re not a d-dork. I’m s-sorry.”


“You’re forgiven, son.” Powerhouse smiled. “From what I’ve heard, most sons your age think their dads are dorks.”


“Heard? Didn’t you?”

“My father died when I was four.”

“Oh.” James blinked. “Y-you never mentioned it.”

“Not a happy memory.” Powerhouse’s chest constricted.

“Well, y-you’re cool.”
That alone made the whole trip worth it. “Son, have another piece of cobbler.”

Fly Another Day is available free today for the Kindle and also available in Paperback or as an Audible download.

Because of the deletion of multiple point of views, this scene from Tales of the Dim Knight is not the paperback book and wasn't in the original Kindle Edition but is in the new second Kindle Edition:

“Why do they not recognize the flag?”
Miss Invisible glanced over the muscles bulging from Captain France’s costume. Maybe a beret would help. “People do think you’re patriotic in those colors.”
Captain France leaned against an overturned trashcan in the alley. “They think I’m American until I speak. Why can’t they tell the difference between red, white, and blue and blue, white, and red?”


Miss Invisible shook her head. Days like this, she wondered why she ever let that man in her bed. “It’s beyond me.”
Blue food coloring fell from a window and splashed all over them.


Captain France wiped at his suit. “What is this?”


Two men carrying automatic weapons dropped down. The taller said, “Ahmed wants to see you.”


“Ahmed who?” asked Captain France.
“You’ll see. Come with us.”
Captain France stood, hands in the air. “But, of course.”


Miss Invisible disappeared, except for the sticky substance. One of the men slugged her with his rifle butt. She screamed at the pain throbbing in her side and re-appeared.'


“Ahmed knows your tricks. They’ll be quite useless. Come this way.”
The men led them to a car. Two feet short, their captors stopped, a blank, confused look coming over their faces.


Someone screamed, “Look up there!”


“Huh?” the men said and looked up even though if Miss Invisible didn’t know better, she’d think the voice came from the manhole leading to the sewer.


Miss Invisible and Captain France jump kicked the stupefied men.


The manhole cover lifted up. “Come this way, to safety.”


Captain France muttered, “There had better not be. alligators down there.”


The two heroes held their noses and followed their new friend.

There's even more available in Tales of the Dim Knight 2nd Kindle edition available for 99 cents through 7/8.

Some times there are ways to avoid a superhero battle when you're just not in the mood as we read in this excerpt from Tales of the Dim Knight:

A car engine roared outside. Dave peeked between the living room blinds. A guy in a black leather catsuit, carrying a laser rifle, climbed out of a washed-out, slate blue Toyota with a dented-in passenger side door.


Dude, he was really not up for a superhero battle today. Dave sighed, ran to the kitchen, changed into Powerhouse, and tore out the back door into the yard. He flew over the house to the front yard. Cat Guy fired a beam of energy at Powerhouse.


He dodged left and glared at Cat Guy. “What do you want?”


“I’m here to kill you.” Cat Guy fired continuous laser streams at him.


Powerhouse dodged. “Why?”


“Because someone’s paying me.”


“What will you do with the money?”


Cat Guy stopped firing and lowered his weapon. “I’d buy a sports car and go to Hawaii.”


Powerhouse landed. “Tell you what. How about you don’t kill me, and I give you a sports car and fly you to Hawaii?”


Cat Guy stared, gaping. “Are you serious?”


“Yeah, I just really don’t want to be bothered. I’m busy playing Legos.” Powerhouse super-imagined the Toyota turning into a red Lamborghini.


Cat Guy jumped in the car and whistled. “This is all right. How about Hawaii?”


A small jet engine winked into existence on the back of the car. Powerhouse pointed. “This will carry you all the way there.”


Cat Guy hesitated. “What’ll I tell the mob? I don’t want any cement shoes, man.”


Powerhouse transformed Cat Guy into Red Hawaiian Shirt Guy. “Tell them I took your clothes and car and threw you across the ocean.”


Red Hawaiian Shirt Guy waved. “Thanks, man.”


“Have a good trip.” Powerhouse activated the jet engine and the car soared into the sky. He flew back behind the house and changed into mild-mannered janitor Dave Johnson.

Read more exciting er-action in Tales of the Dim Knight available for 99 cents on the Kindle through Sunday.

From Powerhouse: Hard Pressed, Dave Johnson teaches a lesson about what superhero does and what all of our jobs are:

Dave Johnson slouched on his living room couch as he read from The Superman Chronicles Volume 10, a soft cover collection of comic books.
The door to Derrick’s and James’ room creaked open.
Dave called, “Is your homework done?”
“Not yet,” Derrick crept into the living room. “I promise I’ll get it done before bed. I need to talk to you before you go back to the city.”
Should he? The only way Naomi would let him play with the kids when they got home from school was if they got their homework done after dinner. If it was important, it’d be okay. Dave put away The Superman Chronicles. No need to rush. He’d have to wait years to read the next one. “What is it?”
“I have a job for Powerhouse.” Derrick massaged his neck. “There’s a kid at school, Joanie Burns. She’s always getting picked on by this jerk Jordan Reno and nobody does anything.”
“You want me to go beat up a fifth-grader?”
“A really big one! You’ve helped some kids in Seattle.”
“Son, this is the kind of thing where I only try to set a good example for others to follow. I don’t want everyone to become dependent on me to take care of things they should really be doing themselves.”
“What does that mean?”
“This isn’t a job for Powerhouse.” He patted his son’s back. “It’s a job for Derrick Johnson. It sounds like she needs a friend.”
“Not me! Everybody’d tease me and say I had a girlfriend.” Derrick shuddered.
Thank goodness his son wasn’t the sort of fifth grader already checking out girls and wanting to date. It couldn’t be healthy for kids to grow up so fast. “No one ever said being a hero was without its risk.”
“Guess so.” Derrick gave Dave a hug. “Thanks, Dad.”
“No problem, son, but you’d better go finish your homework.”

Read more in Powerhouse: Hard Pressed.