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  Women of Power

  By Wesley Allison

  Women of Power

  Copyright © 2011 by Wesley M. Allison

  Smashwords Edition

  Revision 7-23-12

  All Rights Reserved. This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If sold, shared, or given away it is a violation of the copyright of this work. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Wesley Allison

  Cover Image Copyright © 2012 by Vladmirs Poplavskis | Dreamstime.com

  ISBN: 978-1-4661-1943-7

  For Vicki, as they all are.

  Women of Power

  By Wesley Allison

  Chapter One

  Night-time in Chicago;

  Just south of O’Hare, off Franklin;

  The two black Ford Expeditions sat side by side in the darkness on the broad expanse of concrete. The chemical plant had been closed for years now, and this huge cement bowl that had once been a settling pool had been empty, except for a thin layer of probably carcinogeous chemicals, for just as long. It was the perfect place for the meeting. Badi looked out of his window. He could see the headlights from the silver panel van approaching. He gave Mudar, in the other SUV a wave then turned back to Fariq and found him punching numbers into his cell phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Dancing with the Supers was on last night. I’m voting for Airstream.”

  “Put that away, you idiot.”

  “I’m serious. He deserves to win. The judges are fools.”

  “Put it away. The Armenian is here.”

  Fariq stuffed his phone back into his pocket as the panel van came to a stop forty feet away. Badi got out and Fariq followed him. Mudar and the others climbed out of the other Expedition, all carrying Uzis. The Armenian, Tufenkian, got out of the driver’s side of the van and stepped over.

  “He says your deposit is in the bank. The goods are in the back. Trade me keys.”

  Mudar started to hand over the keys to his Ford, but Badi held up a hand to stop him.

  “I want to look at the goods first,” he said. “Then you can leave.”

  Tufenkian nodded his head toward the back of the van. Badi walked around and opened the silver double doors. Sitting inside were six large metal boxes labeled General Dynamics. Climbing up next to them, Badi flipped the six latches to open the first box and looked inside. There it was—a Red Eye IV Anti Aircraft Missile. And he was now the proud owner of six of them.

  Leaning out of the van he called to Mudar. “Trade keys with him. We’ve got what we want.”

  “Good,” said Tufenkian, heading for the SUV. “I’m out of here.”

  “Don’t go too far,” said a female voice. “I’m going to want to talk to you about your boss, after I finish with these guys.”

  Badi and the others all turned toward the voice. The compact figure of a twenty year old blond girl stepped into the beam of one of the Ford headlights. She was practically naked, wearing only a tiny pair of shorts and a crop top, both blue with white stars. She could have been a college student who got lost on the way to spring break, except for the white boots and gloves. They were straight out of the superhero catalog.

  “A super!” shouted Badi.

  “It’s All American Girl,” said Fariq.

  “I don’t care who she is; shoot her.”

  Mudar was the quickest, bringing his Uzi to bear and spitting out lead at full auto. The girl was quicker though, leaping into the air and flipping over his head to land just behind him. She kicked Mudar in the back and sent him flying face first into the Ford’s windshield. As Siraj fired at her, she ducked, and the bullets instead hit the other ford, killing the Armenian, who had gotten halfway into the driver’s side door.

  The girl flipped around like a top and hit first Siraj and then two of the others, knocking them out. It was the kind of move that would have gone over big on Dancing with the Supers. But she stopped right in front of Fariq, with her back to him. He pulled the trigger and hit her in the back with twenty or so 7.62mm Teflon coated rounds. Most of them bounced directly back at him. She winced in mild discomfort and turned around to look down at his bullet-ridden body.

  Badi didn’t wait to watch her kick the crap out of the others. He ducked back in the van, opened the crate and pulled out the Red Eye IV. Jumping to the pavement, he found her looking right at him, standing with the limp form of Sajit in her right hand.

  “Die!” he shouted and pulled the trigger.

  The really humiliating thing about it was that he would have missed. The rocket would have gone right past the left side of her head and continued on until it hit one of the skyscrapers rising up in the distance. But she reached up and grabbed it right out of the air and looked at it, still spraying out rocket propellant. Then it exploded. Badi threw up his hands to protect his face from the blast, but he was knocked down onto his back. He jumped up, his ears ringing, to see the girl standing right where she had been, apparently unharmed.

  Suddenly Badi and the super were bathed in a circle of light from a news helicopter drawn to the sounds of gunfire and explosions.

  “It’s all over,” said the blonde, tossing aside what was left of Sajit like a ragdoll. “The only question is whether I turn you over to the cops or deal with you myself.”

  “Go to hell, All American bitch!” he shouted.

  “Fine,” she said, and reaching behind her, she ripped off the front end of the closest Expedition.

  The last thing Badi saw was the oval Ford symbol, along with the rest of the fender, part of the engine, and the front drive train flying at him, along with that stupid personalized license plate—FARIQ31.

  * * * * *

  Chicago Apartment;

  West Madison Street;

  Stella O’Clare plopped down on the white sofa and put her feet up on the art deco coffee table. Taking a sip of the diet soda in her right hand, she lifted the folded-over copy of Modern Protector Magazine in her left. There it was, big as life, a full page spread on Neptune. How did Neptune rate a full page feature? He was a fish-man for God’s sake. So he rescued a family when their boat turned over. How often did that happen? What else had he done lately? Fighting corporate polluters; big deal. The phone rang. She tossed the magazine aside and carefully tapped the speaker button.

  “Hello?”

  “Stella, baby! How’s my All American Girl?”

  “And this is?”

  “Oh baby,” said the man on the other end of the line. “That hurts. That really hurts. You know Irving is your number one fan.”

  “Really? I thought you were supposed to be my agent.”

  “Come on baby. Give Irving some love.”

  “How about I fly over there and twist your head off like a bottle cap? You haven’t answered my calls in weeks, and then here you are, all ‘baby, baby’…”

  “Baby. Irving has been busy.”

  “I’ve been busy too.”

  “I know you have, my sweetness, but Irving has been really busy. He’s been busy working for you, my sassy spangled mega-babe.”

  “That’s it,” Stella sat the soda down and stood up. “I’m flying over there right now.”

  “Before you do, listen to these four words: All American Girl Magazine.”

  “A magazine deal? Where and who?”

  “National baby! Hatchet Media International!”

  “Hatchet?” Stella ran her fingers through her close-cropped blond hair. “They’re big right?”

  “The biggest magazine distributor in the world—forty eight hero magazines and all of those supers are in the top one hundred of the New York Times list! Captain Hero! U
ltrawoman!”

  “Vanguard?”

  “Vanguard!”

  “Dark Defender?”

  “Um, no… He’s published by somebody else.”

  “But Ultrawoman…”

  “Ultra-woman, baby!”

  “So what? They’re ready for magazine number forty nine?”

  “Well, no. They had an opening. Cosmic Man, well you know…”

  “Yeah, that was too bad. But you try to stop an asteroid; you’ve got to expect that kind of thing. This is big, Irving. This is big.”

  “Big baby.”

  “You did good Irving.”

  “Oh baby, you know Irving is always working for you. But this was all you, super friend. Kicking ass on terrorists. Terrorists with rockets. And doing it right while the traffic copter was there to film the whole thing. That was brilliant baby! You’re all over the news.”

  “Am I?”

  “You know it.”

  “That was a lucky break,” said Stella, more to herself than to Irving.

  “Luck is for suckers, baby. You got mad skills. And you know what a magazine deal means? Money. Advertising revenue, sponsors, money, collateral damage insurance, money. Did I mention money?”

  “That’s awesome Irving.”

  “There’s just one thing, baby.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They haven’t exactly made the final decision yet?”

  “What do you mean? Do I have a magazine or not?”

  “It’s down to either you or one other super.”

  “Who?”

  “Skygirl.”

  “Skygirl? That slut! Who’d want to read about her? She’s a total airhead! And have you seen her thighs? They’re like tree-trunks! And what’s the deal with her costume? Were they out of ass spandex that day?”

  “You don’t have to tell Irving baby. She is no match for you. You are totally out of her league, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Well… her dad…”

  “Yes, I know. Her dad was Skyman. Everybody loved Skyman. Skyman was America’s hero. He fought for truth, justice, and vanilla ice cream. We all cried our eyes out when Skyman died saving the Earth. But seriously. He was an alien, for crying out loud. Why does everyone keep forgetting that? He probably didn’t even have a green card. He was lucky they didn’t deport him back to that planet he was from.”

  “Um, that planet blew up, you know. He was rocketed here as a cute little baby.”

  “Whose side are you on, Irving?”

  “Irving is totally on your side, baby. But Irving is not important. All American Girl is important. You have got to get out there and make sure that luscious bod stays on TV. You’ve got to fight the good fight, rescue some orphans or old ladies, put the hurt on some bad guys—and not just regular bad guys. It would really help if you could slam on a supervillain.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Hold on. Let me see who’s at large.” Stella could hear Irving shuffling through papers even without super-hearing. “Plague-Drone, Magmaman, the Atomic Jack-o-Lantern, Behemoth… Oh, Professor Destruction is out. How about Dark Energy? He’s always good copy. The point is, get out there and get your groove on and it will be All American Girl Magazine, and everyone will forget about Skyslut.”

  “Who?”

  “Who is right baby,” said Irving. “Who is right.”

  Stella sat back down, retrieved her soda from the coffee table, and took another sip.

  “Also baby, Turvy wants you to model for new trading cards…”

  Stella absentmindedly punched the speaker button to hang up the phone, smashing the phone and sending the end table collapsing to the floor.

  * * * * *

  Launching herself up into the air, All American Girl spiraled up above the apartment building that had once been a historic hotel. She spun in the sky and reveled in the sunlight on her face. Flying was the best thing about having super powers. She wasn’t the fastest flier, but she had to enjoy it more than just about anybody else. Otherwise there wasn’t much point, right? Why fly if you weren’t going to have fun? She had watched a lot of other supers fly. Usually they used the Captain Hero pose—arms out-stretched as if they were trying to body surf. Or they went with the Skyman—left arm stretched out and right arm bent back, with both hands curled into fists, while the left leg was bent at the knee. They looked like they were posing for a neo-classical statue. All American Girl didn’t fly like that. She stretched her arms out to the right and left and flew like a three year old playing airplane. And she enjoyed it as much as she had when she was three years old too.

  Looking down at the front of her building she spotted a handful of paparazzi camped out. She dived down and buzzed over them as they hopped to attention and started snapping pictures. Doing a lazy loopty-loop, she flew back and stopped, standing in mid-air about ten feet off the ground. The paparazzi began shouting at her.

  “Turn this way!”

  “Give us a wave!”

  “What did you tell the police about last night?”

  “Give us an over the shoulder look!”

  “Did you have to kill that guy?”

  “Hey,” said All American Girl. “That guy shot me with a rocket.”

  “Blitz McCann says you’re a menace.”

  “Blitz McCann is an anti-super whack-job, and he can go to hell,” she replied.

  “Blow us a kiss A.G.!”

  “Who are you dating? Any new guy in your life?”

  “Nope. No new guy,” she said.

  “Any new girl?”

  “Get bent!” she said. “Seraph comes out of the closet and now you think we’re all lesbians? Keep dreaming.”

  “Perihelion says he dumped you ‘cause you were lousy in bed,” called another paparazzo.

  “He didn’t dump me. I dumped…” She stopped as she realized the photographer was baiting her. Perihelion hadn’t said anything. She squinted her eyes and pointed at the man. “I’m going to remember you. If I were you, I’d make sure I stayed out of any debris falling zones.”

  And with that, All American Girl shot back into the sky and headed west. She hadn’t gone very far, and was still feeling miffed, when she heard a tremendous crash. Looking down, she spotted a cloud of rising dust in the alleyway behind the Windy City Bank.

  “Bingo.”

  Stella spiraled down to land in the alley next to a gaping hole in the back of the bank building, just as a massive man stepped out, using one hand to balance a truck-sized safe on his shoulder. The other hand was filled with money bags. It was Behemoth. Covered in copper and gold megamesh, he was just about as wide as he was tall, and he looked to be all muscle. Across his chest was emblazoned…

  “What the hell is that? Is that a lion?” asked All American Girl.

  “No. It’s my new symbol. It’s a behemoth.”

  “I think it’s a lion. What did you do, buy the first costume you could find in the supervillain catalog?”

  “I didn’t have time for a special design, so shut up! I’m going to slam you!”

  “Did you forget who I am?” asked Stella.

  “No. You’re All American Girl. You caught me three times, plus I had your picture on the wall of my cell. I used to look at it every night…”

  “Eww. Too much information.” Stella stuck out her tongue. “But, so you remember I’m stronger than you are, right?”

  “No.”

  “Here. Toss me that safe.”

  Behemoth looked confused.

  “It’s alright,” she assured him. “Toss me the safe.”

  With a mighty heave, he tossed the massive steel box toward All American Girl. She caught it with one hand and lifted it up, balancing one corner in the palm of her hand.

  “You see? I’ll bet I can bench five or six times what you can.”

  “How’d you get so strong?” wondered the supervillain.

  “My mom was an immortal Amazon and my father was a demigod, so I have godlike st
rength and really cool fighting skills and stuff. Then they dipped me in the river Styx and made me invulnerable. You?”

  “Radioactive toxic waste.”

  “Oh.”

  “So if you’re so strong,” wondered Behemoth. “How come you don’t bust into a bank and take the money. You could get into any bank you wanted. I bet you could even break into that fort where the government has all that gold.”

  “Fort Knox?”

  “Yeah. So how come you don’t?”

  “Cause you always get caught. You were in jail this time for, what? Two years?”

  “Two years, one month, and three days.”

  “And that didn’t give you a clue? The criminals never get away with it. Why bother breaking into a bank, just to get caught?”

  “I’m going to get away this time, because I’m smart.”

  “No you’re not,” said Stella. “You’re about as bright as a broken turn signal.”

  Swinging back her right arm, she threw the safe directly at Behemoth. It hit him square in the chest, sending him flying back through the bank building, out through the bank’s front wall, across the street, and through the wall of the bar on the first floor of the building on the next block.

  “Another job well done,” she said to herself, but a second later she heard an awful gurgling yell.

  She turned to see Behemoth running at her like a freight train. He hit her head on, and they both went flying through the cinder block wall into the empty storefront behind her, crushing two trash dumpsters along the way. She landed on her back and a thousand pounds of Behemoth landed on top of her. Shoving him up and jumping to her feet, Stella found that he was already waiting for her. His massive fist smashed into the side of her head, sending her flying end over end through the plate glass window of the store and onto the blacktop outside.

  “Ow,” she said, rubbing her temple, as she got up.