Villain Seeking Hero • Kristin Jacques

Not for the first time, Dr. Plox realized his current arch nemesis was little more than a well trained slab of muscles and nice hair. He sighed, fiddling with the trigger of his latest device, making the room of hostages flinch. They always did get rather twitchy when he tossed it between his hands like a tennis ball.

He watched the newest hero monologue at him, appealing to his better nature, his humanity, blah blah, blah, he'd stopped paying attention when his gaze fell on the man's chin. They always had a cleft chin. Was there a check box on the application for Hero of the City for cleft chins? Cleft chin, chiseled good looks, and abysmal I.Q. Did someone write this speech for him? He squinted beyond the bullet proof glass at the city councilmen and the mayor who all quickly averted their eyes.

"You really are nothing more than a glorified meat shield in spandex." He arched an eyebrow at the hero. "Yellow really isn't your color."

The man's speech faltered, his features settling in a blank expression Dr. Plox assumed was the norm.

He set the trigger device on the table with an audible clunk, ignoring the gasps of the hostages as he reached for the small pistol in his pocket. "It's not really fair, to either of us, is it? You, shoved into those tights, thrust into the arena with a psychopath for your first day on the job. Me, a psychopath, bored and unstable, searching for a decent rival with a handful of brain cells. What do they call you anyway, kiddo?" The 'kiddo' comment was a little much, the hero couldn't have been more than a couple years younger than Plox himself but he had the lost lamb look of a fresh out of school teenager getting their first taste of real world problems.

"Uh–Sargent Power?"

"Was that a question?" Plox waved the hand now holding the gun. "No matter, it's not important. Those esteemed gentlemen always dredge up one of you, usually a Captain Muscles or General Fantastic something or other. Always pitting brawn against brain. Tell me Sargent Power, are you bullet proof?"

"Uhhh, no."

Dr. Plox fired, hitting the newbie right between the eyes. "Whew, that's a relief. The last one was bulletproof. Big waste of time and resources," he told the lifeless body of Sargent Power as it slid lifeless to the floor. There were a few stifled shrieks from the hostages but the city council looked mostly resigned. He slid back into his seat and crooked a finger, beckoning the mayor forward. He even put the gun on the table since he was a gentleman.

When the nervous little man sat across from him, Dr. Plox leaned forward, confiding in the pasty faced mayor something that had been weighing on him for months.

"Look, Mayor Winsome, let's be honest with each other for a moment. I don't really want to blow these people up," said Plox, tapping his fingertips together. The mayor stopped looking down at the fallen Sargent Power to focus on Dr. Plox.

"You–you don't?"

"No," snapped Plox, "What would be the point in wasting this lot of nobodies? I just want to be paid. How about this. I'll cut you a deal, Mayor. Let's settle this as a business arrangement. Pay me at least half of the ransom I have demanded for the hostages, and I shall pack up and be on my merry way."

"Just–just like that?" The mayor's voice cracked as he spoke. He winced, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he frowned. "Why only half?"

Dr. Plox rolled his eyes. "Come on now, I know that amount is exceedingly high for the city to cobble together in the time frame I asked. Did none of you city officials ever learn to haggle? No, instead you throw ill suited heroes at me, hoping one would stick. How many times have we gone through this? It always ends the same."

"It's just," the little man hesitated, looking slightly green. "Between paying past ransom demands and funding the Hero projects, our coffers are nearly run dry. We could maybe pay you a fourth of what you've asked for..." He trailed off at the muted expression on Dr. Plox's face.

Great, just great. All that time, planning, the effort of setting it all up, and they were going to offer him a measly five million dollars? The nerve. Still, he was bored, oh so bored with this city. Bored with the endless stream of brawny heroes he'd dispatched with little to no effort, just costly resources. Nothing about the game excited him anymore. Was this what a mid life crisis felt like?

He slammed his hands down on the table, causing the hostages and mayor to yelp in unison. "Fine, on one condition. The hostages exit the building first. You and your motley crew of merry politicians will wait exactly two minutes and follow them out. Stebbins!" He shouted the last word over his shoulder. A lean man in a suit detached himself from the cluster of hostages, so unassuming none of them had noticed him until he moved.

"Yes sir?" He spoke in a toneless voice. The mayor wondered if he was a robot.

"I want you to time the seconds between the hostages departure and the politicians." He turned to the baffled mayor. "Are we clear?"

"Uh, uh, yes?"

'Very good, you know the account number by now. Let's get this show on the road."

Dr. Plox stood, allowing Stebbins to help him into his coat as he brought up the account on his cell, foot tapping as the mayor signaled the others to go through with the transfer. The number ticked over. A pitiful amount, truly.

"Well, I can't say this has been a pleasure, as it hasn't. Good day, Mayor Winsome," he said, stepping over the body of Sargent Power as he left. Stebbins kept pace with him, the others dodging out of his way as he marched from the building. Once they were a good distance, he turned, calling to tell the mayor to release the hostages. He watched them flee from the building, wondering what his next move would be when he saw the Mayor and his men begin to creep from the building.

"Stebbins, what's the count?"

"One minute and forty six seconds sir."

"Tsk, cheaters," said Dr. Plox, pressing the trigger of his device. From a distance they watched the building come down in a rumble of stone and billowing smoke. He had a reputation to uphold after all, not his fault the mayor was an impatient putz.

"Come along, Stebbins, we must find a new city to terrorize."

****

Bored, bored, bored. He was so bloody bored.

Three weeks, he'd been holed up in his lair, attempting to come up with a new scheme. He'd run the gamete of a long list of ideas, plotting them through to their inevitable conclusion, too disappointed by the expected results to move forward. What was the point when they would just throw another useless hero at him? More canon fodder and they ate into his resources. He'd wasted two lasers and a death ray on that blasted bullet proof roid rager they threw at him prior to the late Sarge something or other. The names blurred together now. He wouldn't mind the muscles if they had a mind behind them. What he wouldn't give for a decent nemesis.

Three weeks! Boredom had destroyed several rooms already and he'd gone through half a dozen Stebbins. The latest edition was busy serving him tea. Dr. Plox took the cup, emptying the contents of a cyanide pill into the steaming liquid as he read the computer screen, combing the tabloids for something to pique his interest.

That was were the real stories were, not regular boring news, or the usual Elvis/Alien sighting garbage, but the stories they buried in the back pages, too strange for the respectable news cites, but not wacky enough for the tabloid to bother promoting. Usually they were completely true, but don't believe everything you read.

"Stebbins, does this taste off to you?" He offered the cyanide laced tea which the man took and sipped dutifully until it was gone.

"It tastes a bit bitter sir," he said.

"Bitter? Will have to compensate for that then, eh? Oh, would you look at this," said Dr. Plox, focusing on an article. 'The Enigma Reported to be Sighted at the Harmony Bed & Breakfast.' The Enigma was a figure from his childhood, a hero so brilliant, they'd never lost to a villain during their long illustrious career. Dr. Plox had idolized the Enigma growing up, dreaming of one day testing his mental chops against the living legend, except the Enigma had one day abruptly retired. Vanished without a trace. No one could figure out why. Or find the true identity of the hero to track them down. Brilliant to the last, the Enigma remained a mystery years later. To meet the true Enigma...

"Stebbins! This is it! This is the sign we've been looking for. Time to go on vacation!" He jumped to his feet, looking around for the man. Stebbins was prostrate on the floor, quietly gagging as the cyanide took effect. Dr Plox frowned, glancing down at his watch. "Five minutes. Clearly I need to up the potency quite a bit as well."

****

Traveling was hell. In his impatience to get on the road, he'd accidentally locked another Stebbins in the lair, which would definitely stink on return as there was no oxygen in the lair when it was locked down. Without Stebbins he had to deal with people, people at the train station, people in security, people on the train. It was a miracle he'd gotten through the ordeal with only a few minor maiming incidents and healthy use of the mind control device. He'd used it on the utterly obnoxious Bob, a fellow passenger who would not stop talking about his riveting job in sales and marketing. The man sounded like a strangled weasel, the thought of him selling anything to Plox made him feel rather ill. An hour of that droning squeaky nasally voice would drive anyone mad.

Bob stumbled behind him, doing a poor job of balancing Dr. Plox's luggage. Next time, he would hold the damn door for Stebbins. He offered a pleasant smile to the old woman behind the desk, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"Welcome to the Harmony Bed & Breakfast. Reservation?"

"Ah, yes, under Tennessee Smith," said Dr. Plox. The old woman's other eyebrow shot up as she pulled a mint from her pocket, studying him as she unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth.

"You don't say," she said, not looking at the register.

"Yes, Indiana Jones is rather trademarked isn't it?"

A smile twitched the old woman's lips. For a woman of her apparent age her blue eyes were clear and sharp as they flickered between Bob and Plox. "Will the gentleman be staying on with you?"

"No, Bob shall be departing shortly," Dr. Plox assured her, signing his name in the old fashioned paper bound registry as she passed it over to him. He took a long time about it, memorizing the recent names, seeing if any rang out as the identity of Enigma. Bright red nails tapped the counter, and he could hear her sucking on the mint tucked against her inner cheek. He didn't mind it. This close all he could smell of her was peppermint and baby powder. She took the registry back from him, handing over an old fashioned room key.

"You're by the back garden. The flowers are lovely, though I suggest you keep your windows closed this time of year to avoid the fertilizer smell. Enjoy your stay Mr. Smith."

He didn't miss the emphasis she put on his fake name, or the raised eyebrow. Clearly she knew it was a fake. He decided he liked the old broad.

"If you need anything, ring the front desk and ask for Ruthie," she said, dismissing him as she went back to a book of Suduko puzzles, completing two before he and the fumbling Bob were even out of the room.

Plox led Bob to his room, knowing the effects of his mind control device were beginning to wear off as the man began to stumble into walls. Plox sighed through his nose, hoping the contents of his bags weren't too jostled. Some were a tad explosive.

Herding Bob into the room, he took the bags off him in the nick of time as the odious man sank on his pristine bed and put his head in his hands, groaning loudly. Annoying.

"My head. What–what happened? Where am I? I was supposed to be getting off in Denver?"

Dr. Plox grit his teeth, the sound of the man's voice grating on him.

"Good gracious, my head is pounding. Hey, mister, do you know where I am, or happen to have an aspirin?"

"You are at the Harmony Bed & Breakfast in Sescatchewan, Missouri," said Dr. Plox reaching for the tablets in his jacket. He'd tweaked the bitter taste out of the cyanide.

"Missouri!" Bob exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He immediately sat down again groaning. That voice! How did the man sell anything with a voice like that. Dr. Plox suspected people paid him just to go away.

"Here, take this," said Plox, getting him a glass of water from the bathroom tap.

Bob gratefully accepted, downing the pill and chugging the water. He licked his lips. "Tastes like grape."

"Grape?" Dr. Plox frowned, retrieving the tablets from his pocket. "Ah. You know what will help that head ache? Some fresh air. Come on, I hear the garden view is to die for."

"My stomach is starting to feel a little funny. What did you give me?"

"Well I thought it was cyanide," said Dr. Plox, his hand firmly steering the startled Bob to the garden patio.

"What-" the man squawked.

"But apparently it was a Stebbins tablet. I really should delegate pockets for these things.

"What the hell is a Stebbins-"

Dr. Plox shoved Bob outside and slammed the patio doors shut. He locked them, listening as the pounding hand on the glass gave way to screams. He walked away when the screaming broke to gurgles. He knew what came next and started spreading out a couple of towels no one would miss as the sounds outside turned grisly. After a moment of quiet there was a polite knock on the door.

He opened the unfortunately coated patio door to admit an even more unfortunately coated Stebbins. The man's pale face was bone white. It was the most startled expression Dr. Plox had seen on him since his second incarnation.

"I do apologize, Stebbins. Do come inside. Go shower off. I'll get a hose for the patio. I don't think the B & B will take kindly to viscera on their windows."

"Very good sir," said the shaken Stebbins, walking with a squelch in his step to the bathroom. Dr. Plox didn't even hold it against him for slamming the door and the subsequent shriek of dismay.

He wouldn't want to come into this world covered in Bob either.

****

It had been a week and he'd had no luck deducing the identity of Enigma among the B & B guests. He'd even begun to scrutinize the staff members. As a consequence, the B & B was down one bellhop thanks to his poison laced chess game. He really thought the old chap would catch on but no such luck.

He tossed a poisoned rook between his gloved hands, thinking about his next move. He couldn't be entirely certain the Enigma was here. "Maybe I am going about this all wrong Stebbins, perhaps I need to draw out our recalcitrant hero from retirement. I could plant an explosive somewhere in the building. Take hostages and the like. Though I wish to do something with flair. I bet the Enigma would appreciate flair–"

A firm knock on the door interrupted his plotting. "Shall I answer it, sir?" Stebbins set down the tea service he'd been preparing to open the door, revealing Ruthie, the matron from the front desk, a rolled up book of Suduko puzzles tucked under one arm. She wore a faded shirt with a picture of cuddling kittens on the front and a frayed skirt. A scarf wrapped around neck, intertwining with the thick white braid of hair that hung to her waist. She was in the process of unwrapping a mint, studying Stebbins with those clear blue eyes.

"You didn't come in with him."

Dr. Plox blinked at her. It wasn't so much a surprise she would notice his companion was not the same one he'd entered the B &B with, but that she would notice Stebbins at all. Nobody noticed Stebbins. The man blended into the background until it was too late for anyone to stop him.

"Oh, I promise he was with me, carried him right in my pocket," said Dr. Plox. His smile was less than sincere though that changed when she arched a brow at him.

"Don't suppose you've seen Bernie, my bellhop," said Ruthie. Her eyes slid around the room, pausing on the chess board for a long moment before settling on the faintly stained patio. "What happened to that other fella you arrived with? The unfortunate looking one?"

Dr. Plox laced his hands behind his head. "'Fraid he had some stomach issues and decided to depart."

Ruthie sucked on her mint. "Right." She nodded to the chess board. "Do you play often?"

Plox dropped his hands, placing the rook back on the board. "As often as I can, though I prefer to play with a decent opponent. No fun if it isn't a challenge."

A gleam winked deep from within those blue eyes. "Indeed. Not worth playing if it's too easy. Fancy a game, lad?"

"With you?"

"Do you see anyone standing here other than your nondescript friend? Come on, I'll even let you be black."

A true smile tugged at the corner of Plox's mouth. Why not humor the old broad for a few seconds before the poison took her out. Shame though, he had a feeling she might be quite the chess player with those sharp eyes of hers.

"Have a seat," he said gesturing to the board.

"I prefer to use one of the house boards if you don't mind. We place a game or two in the closet of every room, part of the B & B experience." She moved past him with confidence, shooing Stebbins out of her path as she opened the closet to fetch the game. She didn't even blink at the various explosive equipment within.

"I suppose we could," said Plox slowly, watching her with interest, "though my board is just fine."

Ruthie paused, setting the game on the table. She waited until he looked up to meet her gaze. "Not when the pieces are laced with toxins."

Dr. Plox studied her, from the kitten shirt to the peppermints. It was a perfect disguise for its authenticity, so easy to believe Ruthie was a nosy old lady, but for the nails. Those hot rod red painted nails drumming on the table, so out of sync with the rest of her look, carefully manicured. When he looked closely he saw they were painted like red flames. He smiled.

"You're Enigma? For some reason I always thought you were a man," he said.

Ruthie snorted, tapping those nails on the table. "The mistake they always make, lad, now we going to play or not?"

His smile widened. "Oh, oh we are. Stebbins, tea please. Sugar?"

She pulled a couple packets from an unseen pocket on her person. "I've brought my own. Can't do real sugars anymore. Plus not a fan of cyanide in my Earl Grey. I fear my immunity isn't what it used to be."

He raised a brow at that, slipping the capsules back in his pocket as he slid a pawn forward, opening himself to more aggressive moves with the next turn. Ruthie did the same, mirroring his move on the opposite side of the board. Interesting, he wondered how close their play styles would be.

"So, Ruthie, what made you retire from the hero business?" He moved out the knight, hovering between the desire to savor the game and see how good his opponent truly was.

"Getting old sucks," she said, matching him move for move. "Though if you attempt to blow up my B &B, I will take you down."

"Heard that part of my plan did you?" A rook followed.

"I might be old, but my senses are sharp. And you are loud. I'm certain the guests in the surrounding rooms will be checking out this evening."

Plox gave her a chagrined look. "My apologies."

She rolled her eyes. "No you're not. What is the great Dr. Plox doing in the middle of nowhere if not to rattle my chains?"

That made Plox pause with his hand on a bishop, glancing at her over the board. "You've heard of me?"

She shrugged. "I read the tabloids like any self respecting person in our line of work. Though you've made a name for yourself even in the 'legit' papers, specially after that episode with the late Mayor Winsome."

Plox rolled a shoulder, setting the bishop in play. "I have a reputation to uphold. Check." Color me flattered, he thought, drinking his tea to hide the blush tinging his cheeks. The Enigma had noticed him.

"Check mate,' said Ruthie, popping another mint into her mouth.

"What?" He blinked at the board, where he was indeed in check mate. Somehow he'd completely missed her surrounding him with pawns amid her aggressive play style. A truly sneaky gamble.

Dr. Plox gave a happy sigh. "I think I'm in love."

"I'm far too old for you, lad. Limber as I may be," said Ruthie, stretching her arms over her head.

Plox tilted his head at her. "Just how old are you, there were no records." Her age was impossible to determine. Her face bore the wrinkles, but those sharp eyes, that sharp mind, she could be anywhere from sixty to–

"Ninety two last month," said Ruthie, raising her eyebrows at him as if daring to say something.

Ninety two! That was much older than he'd counted on. He was hoping to get a few years of interaction with the old gal before she passed on from this world. The reality of his current situation deflated his mood. He'd been having such fun, and he liked Ruthie. Age aside, she was everything he'd been looking for in a nemesis. Someone who'd make this gig fun again.

"I am afraid a consequence of old age is early evenings." Ruthie got to her feet, revealing the first hint of her age with a soft groan as she straightened her limbs. She nodded to Stebbins. "I have to ask. How did you sneak your man in here? I must admit, I usually notice everyone coming and going but he appeared out of nowhere."

Dr. Plox debated answering, but she had beaten him at Chess. He placed the box of capsules on the table. She stared at it.

"Are those what I think they are?"

"Clone capsules, just add water. Quite handy if you are short a henchman in a pinch."

"Well you are an inventive one, I shall give you that Dr. Plox," she grinned, revealing strong white teeth. "Have a good evening."

"Join me for morning coffee and another game?"

She hesitated, though she seemed at ease in his presence. "Certainly. Though why don't we take it in my room, it's the first door at the beginning of the hall."

Breakfast in the Enigma's room. Plox could barely contain his excitement.

****

Plox stood outside her door at seven sharp, waiting for her to answer after a polite knock. He had a few tricks and toys tucked in his pockets to test her with this morning, anticipation thrumming through his veins. Perhaps he could talk her in a game of backgammon. He had a couple poisonous needles he could hide in the pieces...

He frowned at the door, glancing at his watch. He'd knocked several minutes ago. Perhaps she was a heavy sleeper? Odd for someone like the Enigma. "Stebbins try the door," he said.

To his surprise, Stebbins wasn't electrocuted and the knob turned with ease. Though, what reason would Ruthie have to booby trap her room, it's not like super villains sought her out on a regular basis.

"Ruthie?" Plox trod lightly on the carpet, walking through the sun light rooms of his new nemesis. There were an awful lot of cat statues, but no actual live cats, as if she preferred to think of herself as a crazy cat lady in theory only. He continued walking through the rooms. There were no plaques of service to one city or another, no keys to the city hanging from a hooks on the wall, no photos of herself as the Enigma, nothing to signal her time as a hero except for a worn scrap book spread on the nearby table, stuffed with faded newspaper articles of the Enigma's great deeds. The sight made him smile. Heroes always had a tiny bit of pride in their work. He flipped through a few pages, admiring her all over again.

"Sir," said Stebbins, sounding grave.

Plox frowned, joining him at the entrance to Ruthie's bedroom. The woman lay in bed, looking small and frail....and quite dead.

"Bother," said Dr. Plox entering to stand next to the bed. He touched her cool cheek to be certain she wasn't having him on, but no, the Enigma had passed on. Frustration and a hint of sadness warred within him. He'd come so close to finding a truly worthy nemesis. Only to be snatched away by the bothers of biology. "Hmmm." He took the case of Stebbins capsules from his pocket, tapping his fingers against the top. It certainly wouldn't be perfect, but then so few things in this world rarely were. And he had made several advancements to the technology....

Dr. Plox opened the case, taking out the sampling syringe. He leaned over the deceased Ruthie, acquiring a sample with reverent care.

"I look forward to our next Chess game," he whispered to her, before kissing her cheek. Pocketing the kit and syringe he turned to go. "Come along Stebbins, it's time to check out. We have to get home to the lab."

The End?

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