Previous Post “The Order of the Red Velvet Masquerade” Part Three Previous parts can be found here. “You’re later, Mister Brewster.” Michael Wooster nodded at the woman who stood waiting for him outside one of the Lucien Hills Library study rooms, “My apologies, Mrs. Ramierez. There was a delay downtown.” “Yes, the alien invasion. But that was cleared up nearly an hour and a half ago, by that new Legionnaire the Alchemist.” “Alcheman, actually.” Mrs Ramierez seemed unconcerned with her misidentification, “Regardless, Mister Brewster, that doesn’t explain why you are so late yourself, or why you were unable to call.” “My cellphone was damaged in the panic,” the Molecular Marvel noted truthfully. He had returned to where his bike and carry all were stashed during his fight with Lichenius to find his belongings trampled, and was forced to lug the twisted remains of his ten speed the remaining twelve blocks to his appointment. “This is not the first time you have been late for one of Jeffrey’s tutoring sessions.” “I know ma’am, and I apologize to both you and Jeffrey,” Michael acknowledged the boy sitting in the study room intently focused on his PSP, “and as before, I will not charge for this session.” Mrs. Ramierez shifted the purse on her shoulder, “I spoke to one of the librarians here, and he was telling me his granddaughter had taken Algebra already, and passed.” Michael felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “And that she is looking for ways to earn some extra money for college.” Jeffrey looked up from his game, “Did the guy have a picture of her, Ma?” “Quiet, Jeffrey.” “Mrs. Ramierez, while I can totally understand you considering a change in who tutors your son, I hope you would reconsider. I am willing to renegotiate-” A loud buzzing sound began to emanate from Michael’s pants pocket. “I thought you said you lost your phone, Mister Brewster?” Mrs. Ramierez asked coldly. Michael had. The source of the noise was not his cell, but his official Lair Legion Communications Card, a detail he in no way could impart to the woman without revealing his own identity as Alcheman, “I, uh-” he fumbled as he jammed his hand in his pocket to try and mute the device. “Let’s go, Jeffrey, we’ve wasted enough time here,” Mrs. Ramierez sneered and gathered up her son and strode past Michael. Calling over to an elderly man pushing a book cart, she paused and said, “Thank you, Mister Taylor, for your granddaughter’s contact information. We will definitely be in touch.” Michael Wooster slash Brewster watched the pair go, then turned to the librarian with the now slightly smug look on his face, “Could you tell me where your restroom is, please?” ***** As soon as Michael closed and locked the restroom door he gripped the sink to rest his weight against it. The adrenaline rush from the fight with Lichenius and his subsequent mad dash across town was wearing off, and now the Elemental Adventurer could once again feel his bruised ribs. He removed the length of gauze from his scuffed up shoulder bag and let it unroll. Then he produced his Legion Comm Card and set it next to the faucet. Gingerly unknotting his tie and unbuttoning his shirt he took a moment to activate the device. “This is Alcheman, reporting in,” the Transmutative Titan said in his most professional voice possible as he slid off his overshirt and winced at the sight of his red and swollen midesection. “Hi, Alcheman. This is Hallie. We just wanted to contact you and see if you had any more information on the Lichenius thing.” “Hallie. Hello,” Michael began to clumsily wind the bandages around his torso, pausing in spots to grunt in pain from the effort, “No, I have not. When time allows I will turn in a report on the incident. I apologize for the delay.” “Don’t apologize. Besides I have a feeling CSFB! and Vizh won’t be as big sticklers when it comes t debriefings as Hatty or Sir Mumphrey were. Or Lisa for that matter, but as you could guess, hers went a bit differently.” “Of course. Heh heh. Urk.” “Is everything all right, Alcheman?” “Yes. No problems here,” Michael struggled to pin the gauze together to keep it tight around his ribs. “I see you’re at the Lucien Hills Library. You know, I have access to a vast research database so if-” “How do you see?” Alcheman interrupted. “I beg your pardon?” Michael slowly lowered himself onto the privy to rest, “Ow. How do you know where I am?” “Well, the sensors in the card allow me to determine the holder’s location. In fact, if needed I can project myself through its circuitry.” “That won’t be necessary,” by reflex Alcheman lunged and grabbed the card, “Thank you.” “Well, I wasn’t planning on-” “In fact, Hallie, would it be possible to, erm, deactivate those features on my communicator? I am working to maintain a secret identity, and having a tracking device on my person somewhat defeats the purpose of doing so.” “It’s not really a tracking device, Alcheman.” “Nevertheless, I wish you would. Such a gesture would be appreciated.” Before the AI could respond there was a knock at the door. Michael had enough time to snap the comm card an jam the pieces in his pockets before Mr. Taylor unlocked the door and glared at him accusingly, “Who are you talking to? And why are you undressed?” By the time Michael had come up with a plausible reply security had already gotten to the lavatory and ushered him out of the building. ***** Mister Bevo was displeased. “That metamorphic busybody Alcheman interferred with our arms deal. And given the circumstances I doubt we will be able to arrange another buy with BALD anytime soon.” “Does this mean we will have to push back the timetable on Operation Homecoming?” Mister Brutus wondered, “For it to properly work we need sufficient firepower.” “I know what is needed for Operation Homecoming! I planned Operation Homecoming!” the bovine suited member of the Alumniati brayed. “And I,” Handsome Dan strode into the inner sanctum of the clandestine crime cartel and tossed three sets of dossiers down on the table, “know where we can get it. Blott Munitions is having an exhibition of their new line of ordnance. Millions of dollars of high tech weaponry, ripe for the plunder.” Mister Hooter picked up a glossy brochure that spilled from the folder, “We’re going to steal what we need... from Obidiah Blott?!” The anthropomorphic bulldog nodded his jowly countenance, “Indeed we are, gentlemen. We all knew this day would come, when the Alumniati would cross swords with the old guard power brokers. For it to happen this way is only fitting.” “This will not be easy,” Mister Brutus noted, “Blott is a dangerous man to cross.” “That is why we will strike him where he is weakest,” Dan held up a picture of a wild eyed brunnette, “his daughter.” To be continued in “..... Is a Dangerous Thing.”

That is a really bad day.