"Farewells and Ne'er-Do-Wells"







For Amy Aston, it was quite unexpected to find visitors to the upstairs of her place of business, the super science delivery service known as Extraordinary Endeavour Enterprises. But there she was, a trim young brunette who, having found a folding chair somewhere in the refurbished firehouse, was sitting in the hallway perusing a magazine.



"Uh, have you been helped? And if not, what the h*** are you doing here?" Amy demanded, reaching into her coveralls pocket to ascertain that she had indeed brought her choice whacking spanner with her.



The familiar looking woman smiled, "Hi. Amy, right? I'm Sarah Shepherdson. I work, make that used to work, at the Bean and Donut."



"Yeah.... I thought I recognized you. Wait: you're a waitress?" the girl cast a glance at the closed door Sarah was sitting sentry at, "You wouldn't happen to be the infamous 'accursed waitress', would you? The one he keeps griping about?"



"Probably so."



Amy clasped her hands together in an approximation of prayer, "Please say you're here to take Shrike away from us."



"Yes, but... just for the day though. I have an errand to run and since Al B said the twins are off school Simon is free to help," a puzzled look crossed her face, "Only he isn't answering when I knock."



"Just barge in. That's what I do, except when he's watching The Girls Next Door. Then things get dicey. But its early, so we should be safe."



Shep frowned, "I tried the door; it was locked."



"The doors don't have-" the oil-stained mechanic paused upon revelation, "Hold on."



She departed to her room to search for the appropriate tool for the situation, and returned when she had found it.





BRRZZZACKT!! the cattle prod filled the hallway with metallic tang of ozone when Amy pressed it against the knob. The lights flickered briefly, and a string of profanities came from the other side of the door. With her Timberlands she kicked it open and hollered at the big man sucking on his fingers on the other side.



"Hey, Maddicks, you have a visitor!"



Amy handed the bovine behavior modification device over to Sarah before walking off, "You may need this."



*****





"No! Nononononono. I'm not doing it and you can't make me," Simon Maddicks protested while fumbling with his breakfast with his remaining good hand.



Sarah watched the Butcher Bird shovel another gob of scrambled eggs into his mouth, "Why?"



"Why?! Because I don't have to anymore, you crazy broad. I'm done with you. I'm free. Emancipation proclaimed. Honorably discharged. I've cast off my bonds and am on my way to the Promised Land. Hallelujah!"



"I see," Shep thought a moment, "So what are you going to do with your new found liberty?"



Simon tore away a burnt corner of toast and chewed, "Oh, I got plans, Legs. I got plans. Big ones."



"What?! Are you still here?! I thought she was taking you to get your shots or something?" Amy Aston stomped into the kitchenette and cast a withering glance at the big man gnawing on his sourdough.



"I'll give you a shot- right in your mush!" the Butcher Bird snarled back at the woman refilling her coffee mug. Shep looked from one to the other before her face split into a knowing grin.



"So that's what you're up to. Understood."



The ex-villain scowled, "Huh? Wait- no. That's not right."



"Sure it isn't," Sarah reached over and gave Simon's arm a reassuring pat, "Mister Smooth."



Now it was Amy's turn to become ornery and confused, "What are you girls blathering about?"



"Nothing!" the big man abruptly rose and untucked the napkin from his tee shirt. Grabbing Sarah by the wrist he hoisted her from her stool and began trudging towards the exit, "Let's go run that d*** errand!"



*****



From the back seat of Al Harper's borrowed Bentley Sarah Shepherdson rubbed her forearm, "You know, Simon, you shouldn't be so rough with the fairer sex."



"Noted."



"I mean, for some women that's their thing, but you should be careful."



"Hrn."



"You want me to ask Amy about her particular predilections for you?"



"No. I don't know what you're talking about. Shut up."



Shep grinned. It was a pity she had so many loose ends to tie up before her trip to Europe keeping her from taking on additional responsibilities. As it was she was looking for ways to unload some of the more important ones, "OK, Simon, turn into the S-Mart here. We've got shopping to do."



"You've got shopping, Legs. I ain't leaving this car," the Avian Assassin put the Bentley in park and picked up the racing form folded on the dashboard.



"You mean you're going to make me lug all the groceries myself?" she pouted, "It's all sold in bulk, you know."



"Yup," Simon turned so he could look at the woman over his shoulder, "You keep thinking I'm one of those dork heroes you hang out with. I'm not. I'm the bad guy, remember. E-V-I-L. My job's had me kill more people than you've probably served coffee too. And once I get my suit back from the guy fixing it for me, that's the job I'm going back to.



He turned around and opened his paper with a flourish, "So go schlep your own f****** groceries."





*****





As it turned out, the groceries in question were not for Sarah, but for the occupants in one of the bungalows making up the August Elms Retirement Community. Even so, Simon would not help the young woman unload their sundries until he was promised a tip. Only then was the big burly man willing to hoist a load of supplies and take them inside the small, ramshackle flat.



"You can't leave your stuff here!" the man meeting Simon in the mud room warned. He was short and stooped, and peered out at the world through thick, clunky spectacles.



"Listen, Gramps, this case of adult-size diapers ain't for me. I'm guessin' they're for you or the Living Mummy over there," Maddicks pointed further into the home, at a figure swaddled in a pile of blankets, rocking in its chair.



"C-close the door," the man wheezed, wisps of smoke drifting out from his mouth and in between the bundles of quilting.



Sarah complied, apologizing, "Sorry, Mister Hawthump, it won't happen again."



"Fool!" the hunchback shrieked, "Do not reveal our secret identities to the public!"



"Of course, my mistake, Professor," the young woman made her way to the living room where Mister Hawthump sat and kneeled beside him, "How are you feeling, Creeping Fog?"



"B-been better, Shep."



"Creeping Fog? What the h*** kind of name is that?" Shrike wondered aloud while shifting his cargo from arm to arm.



The first man straightened as much as his crooked spine would allow, "Cretin! Do you not recognize the name of the second most feared criminal in the Parodyverse? Second only to I, the Science Scourge, the Colossus of Criminal Knowledge, Professor Vulcan!!"



"No," the Butcher Bird handed off his bags to Vulcan, a transfer that caused the swaybacked old man to collapse under its weight.



"Ack! I am pinned! Doom Droids, attend me!"



"Compose yourself, Mortimer: the last of your Doom Droids were scrapped by Commander Action! back in 1947. Its just us now," a genteel voice wafted from upstairs. Moments later its owner, a silver-haired fellow in a deep purple track suit descended. He aided Sarah in freeing Professor Vulcan from the debris atop him.



"Lord Linus, how are you?" Shep asked as the man brushed his lips chastely against the back of her hand.



Linus Lynx, Gentleman Rogue, sighed, "As you can see, William is having difficulty maintaining his corporeality again. It always happens when the chill of autumn comes. And Mortimer is, well, Mortimer."



The two watched the aforementioned Professor Vulcan harangue Shrike as he dumped the groceries in the bungalow's kitchenette, "No luck getting help from the Social Security Office?"



"No. Sadly our chosen careers never allowed us the opportunities to pay into the system," the man's composure altered as he changed subjects, "But how are you? Ready for your adventure across the pond?"



"Oh, yes," she said, her own mood changing from sympathetic to enthused, "It really is a wonderful opportunity for me."



Before Linus could speak he was interrupted by his still fuming housemate, "Are you deaf as well as stupid? You've been told you can't leave your stuff here!"



Killer Shrike loomed over Sarah and Lord Linus. Jerking his thumb back towards Professor Vulcan, he announced, "If we don't leave RIGHT NOW I'm going to beat the liver spots off of that guy."



"All right," Shep said her goodbyes to the three men, giving quick but sincere embraces (and accepting a short stack of envelopes Lynx surreptitiously passed to her). Then they were off.



*****



As Shrike had been denied remuneration at August Elms, Sarah felt obligated to reward him through alternate means.



"Here's your appetizer," their slightly uncordial server proclaimed as she set down a plate of Heiney's Super Fiery Chicken Wings onto the table.



"Thanks, babe," Simon grabbed one of the deep fired morsels each hand, "Keep 'em coming."



The woman rolled her eyes and skated off, "She needs to work more on removing the 'wall' between her and the customers," Sarah noted, "Though I suppose given what she has to wear keeping up barricades isn't such a bad idea."



Simon snorted and gave an appreciative glance to the retreating woman's hot pants, which appeared sprayed on, "You know, you could probably get a job working here insted of that grubby little diner. You got the chops for it, or should I say the 'hams'. Heh Heh."



"The Bean and Donut is not a grubby little diner," Shep said defensively, "Anyways I have a new job. As an understudy in a musical."



Simon stuck his fingers in the bowl of ranch dressing to fish out a piece of skin that had been left behind from a previous dip, "Great. Break a leg. Seriously."



"The play's in Europe. We leave in a couple of weeks."



"Really?" the Butcher Bird brightened, "That is good news. Why are you just telling me this now? I would have been much better company knowing you're leaving."



The young woman smiled back, "You know, all these constant digs could start to hurt a girl's self esteem, if she didn't know you were joking."



"Hrn."



The two ate in silence for a while, until a growing curiosity and an empty plate finally compelled Simon to inquire about their earlier errand, "So the Sunshine Boys back there, they're like retired geezer super villains, huh?"



"Yes. I've been helping them for a while now, since I er, I mean Dancer, clued me in to the plight of villains for whom time has passed by. Its not like the bad guys bother to take care of each other."



"Hey, we do. I had partial dental when I worked for Akiko Masamune. And the Hooded Hood retconned me dying a couple of times. There is a Supervillain Code."



"Maybe so," Shep sighed, "Still, I worry about the old timers. Its going to be hard for them to cope without a link to the outside world."



"Pft: givin' yourself a bit too much credit, ain't ya, Legs?" the Avian Assassin used a straw poked at the mass of ice fused together at the bottom of his glass in hopes of freeing up some cola, "Nobody's going to up and die if you take off."



Sarah's brow creased, "I didn't say-"



Simon interrupted her, "Look, if it will get you on that plane and out of my hair, how about I promise to check up on 'The Legion of Grandpas' as needed?"



"Hm, that's an interesting idea. Why didn't I think of that?" the lithe young woman got up and kissed Simon on the cheek, "Thank you, Simon."



Simon Maddicks blinked, then reddened, then wiped his face, "Yeah, yeah: no touching."



"Of course," she caught her reflection in the glass above their booth, "Hm, it looks like I need a bit of a clean up myself. Be right back."



*****



The phone rang in Lord Linus's study. The retired sneak thief set aside his Chaucer and answered.



"Hello? Ah, Sarah. Yes? He did? Splendid. I'll tell the boys. Thank you so much. Goodbye."



Ignoring his aching joints and muscles he made his way to the living room, where Professor Vulcan and The Creeping Fog were watching television, "Good news, gents: Miss Shepherdson has found us a new custodian. That Killer Shrike fellow."



Vulcan grimaced, "Killer Shrike? He can't leave his stuff here."



"I think, old friend, after all Shep has done for us, we can allow this small imposition," Lynx's eyes unconsciously moved to the steamer trunk on which the telly rested, and the recently purloined armor of the Butcher Bird hidden within.



The End