By John Leatherman
The best way to stop a museum heist is to get stolen yourself.
In the darkness of the shipping crate, I wait amid packing peanuts and the four-by-six oaken-framed masterpiece that da Vinci painted with his left hand while using his right for a certain other work.
A shaft of light pierces the gloom as a crowbar pries off one of the top slats, and Fisteria snickers. “We finally have it—Mona Lisa’s long-lost sister, Bologna.”
“Actually, it’s more mine than yours,” Heelraiser corrects her. “Your share is only forty.”
Fisteria removes more planks. “When did you decide that?”
“When I found the buyer. First, we have to get paid.” Heelraiser clears the last of the lid. “Right now, let’s get this beautiful treasure out.”
“If you insist.” Bursting from the crate, I somersault into the sinister sisters’ lair, a spacious sanctum flanked with computer consoles and a panoramic world map speckled with blinking lights. “Don’t make a fuss; it’s Super Gus!” I unfurl my purple cape from my orange bodysuit, now speckled with Styro.
My startled captors leap back—redheaded Heelraiser, clad in pith helmet, yellow Spandex, and iron high heels; and brunette Fisteria, clad in Viking horns, maroon Spandex, and iron gloves.
Fisteria gasps. “Super Gus! I thought we defeated you in Paris!”
“You should check what you’re stealing before you start sealing. Now you have crated an opening for me—exactly as I planned.” Actually, it wasn’t so much a plan as a consequence of my teaming with Zoomer-Bang and Whipsaw to thwart the Louvre heist. As the only normal-speed member of the trio, I got… tired, and a huge crate full of packing peanuts, vaguely resembling a double-thick king-size mattress, looked like a good place to take a nap. I woke up in the dark beneath the painting, pressure-sealed in the hull of Fisteria’s jet as it streaked over the French Alps.
Folding my arms and thrusting out my chest, I assume the most authoritative stance possible with polystyrene protruding from my hair. “Ladies, I’m flattered you invited me to your place. But I don’t see this relationship going anywhere. You’ve both got a date with justice, and it’ll be a long-term engagement!”
“You couldn’t afford a ring that’d fit me anyway!” Fisteria bangs her fists together, and the gloves swell to size sixty-six. With a powerful punch, she propels me across the room. I smash against the wall and slump to the floor in the corner next to a control panel. Though indestructible, I am extremely pervious to pain.
Heelraiser frowns at Fisteria. “I knew you’d mis-hand-le this, fist-face. Maybe if you didn’t keep those goofy gloves in mega-muscle mode, you’d have noticed the extra weight of that caped cream puff. Now, finish him off!”
Fisteria lumbers across the lair and proceeds to pummel me.
Though the pain intensifies with every blow, I force a grin. “For what it’s—ow—worth, I think you’re doing—ouch—a great job. You loaded the crate—arggh—and a hostage, too. To me—oof—that’s worth at least—erk—an equal share.”
I’m about to pass out, but she paused her pelting and glances toward Heelraiser. “He’s got a point. Why isn’t it fifty-fifty?”
“Oh, I get it. Two votes against one. Except this isn’t a democracy.” Heelraiser clicks her heels together, and her shoes expand to size thirty-four. “It’s a kick-tatorship!” She kicks Fisteria into the bookshelf on the opposite wall. “One more word out of you, and I’m cutting your share to thirty-five!”
Fisteria rises from the reading wreckage and raises her robust right hook. “If you want another five…” She socks Heelraiser to the floor.
Heelraiser rises and hoists a huge-ified heel. “Oh, you are glomping for a stomping now…”
With the pugilistic princesses preoccupied, I recover enough to crawl from the corner and creep onto the console. I switch on the transponder, set it to Zoomer-Bang’s frequency, and send the Gus Signal. Which is pretty much just a signal, except I named it.
A bluish blur smashes through the six-foot concrete wall and solidifies into Zoomer-Bang’s cornflower-caped, sapphire-suited form, a Z-shaped lightning bolt across her chest. “Here comes the Zoom! I got here as fast as I could.”
Whipsaw zips through the resulting hole. “Whip’s all right now!” She brushes rubble from her curly raven hair, her signature silver whip coiled on the golden belt of her sheer platinum-toned bodysuit, and poses beside ZB.
Fisteria swings both fists at Zoomer-Bang, who grabs each giant glove by the thumb. “It looks like you’re big into fashion.” She smashes them together, and the devices spark and fizzle. “Hope they didn’t overcharge you!”
Fisteria writhes from the shock and pulls her hands from the gloves. “Oh, hangnails!”
Whipsaw slings her whip, wrapping the free end around Heelraiser’s right ankle. “Nice pumps there.” She cyclones around Heelraiser at hyper speed, lashing the legs together. “But I prefer to tie my shoes.” Whipsaw gives the whip a hearty tug.
As the shoes rip off, Heelraiser flops to the floor. “Baleful bunions, blistered again!”
While my cohorts constrain the crooks with cords, I cheer. “Gus-tastic! Teamwork works, team!” I rush to them. “Too bad there’s only two of them. If they had a third person, I’d have been all over ’em.”
Whipsaw sneers. “I think you were all over, period, until we showed up.”
Zoomer-Bang pats her shoulder. “Now, Whipsaw. Super Gus served a very important purpose. Without him, we’d never have found their hideout. I think he should inform the European Continental Constabulary Hegemony.”
Whipsaw contacts ECCH on her videophone and aims the camera at me as I stride to the crate.
Honored, I address the packed assembly. “Greetings. Our team has recovered this priceless purloined painting.” Brushing aside the peanuts, I pull out the legendary canvas—and recoil to find it smeared with my vomit.
Did I mention I sometimes get airsick?
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