Crossover Earth '98
Guess Who's Coming To Dinner? Logan Abbitt
Small bells chimed as the tall thin man sauntered into the shop. A hand carved wooden sign on the door announced that this was Ye Old Toy Shoppe. It was little more than a hole in the wall of a dingy Chicago suburb. An old black man with bushy white eyebrows sat came eagerly out of the back room. His workshop was in the back, and he prided himself on being one of the few men left that still carved his toys by hand. He was hunched over, frail, balding. Long fingers ran over each other as a friendly smile greeted his customer. "Can I help you?" The voice shook with age in high, whispery tones.
The tall man in the Armani suit surveyed the small store casually. Dolls of the finest quality rested upon antique shelves. "You’re a hard man to find," noted the well-manicured man. Long gray hair swept back over his shoulders. "Very hard to find indeed."
"I’m always right here. Been in this same shop for forty years now." The old man smiled, showing a gold tooth. "Something of an institution."
The man in the suit arched an eyebrow. "Forty years? Quite impressive. That must have been most hectic during your days as one of the most feared villains in this nation’s history. Hmm?"
There was an almost imperceptible twitch in the old man’s eyes. The man in the suit didn’t need to see it. "I’m sure you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m simply an old toymaker, and I always have been."
"Really, this denial is completely inappropriate for a man of your stature, Houngan." He fingered a wooden soldier as he spoke. The smile left the old man’s face as he shuffled slowly to the door. With one swift movement the door was locked and the sign signaled that they were closed. Shuffling toward the back, he motioned for the tall thin man to follow.
Once in the workshop the old man stood powerfully erect. A serious frown came over his face and in a booming baritone he demanded "Who are you, and what do you want?" No longer an old frail toymaker, here was an imposing figure of a man, confident, strong.
The tall thin man grinned in satisfaction. He placed the wooden soldier on a table, and it sprang to life, marching over the surface with ease. "Impressive. Most impressive."
"Thank you," said the toymaker, with some hint of pride. "But I know that you didn’t hunt me down for my wooden soldiers."
"Of course not. I have need of your skills, sir." He sat down on a high workman’s stool. "I’m going to throw a party, and only you can provide the sort of entertainment I want."
"I’m retired. I don’t play that game anymore."
The tall man stifled a laugh. "Oh come come. I have spent a great deal of money to locate you. I’m not about to leave without you."
The toymaker waved a powerful hand. "You’ve wasted your money then. I don’t do it anymore. Not even sure that I can."
"I can force you to do it, but I prefer not to."
The black man with the gold tooth leaned forward. He now appeared almost as tall as the man with the expensive suit did. "Are you threatening me? You obviously know who I am. Don’t threaten me. I am not some stupid modern thug. I will not be intimidated by some damn yuppie with too much money and too little sense. Don’t you dare threaten me." His breath was low, his tone was ominous. His eyes were coal black, and they sparkled with fire.
Steel blue eyes reflected the dark gaze. "I wasn’t threatening you. I was informing you of the situation," grinned the tall man. "I can’t tell you how pleased I am to discover that you have not become a tired old relic. I was afraid that you would be of no use to me for a moment there."
The old man frowned and sat down. The wooden soldier marched up behind the tall man and fired his mock rifle. "You have one chance to convince me to help you. Then you will leave my store forever."
"Mardi Gras is coming, my friend. I want to celebrate in style. You and I are going to paint the town red. No one knows how to throw a party like I do. Perhaps you’ll remember the little soirée I threw for Halloween two years ago in LA?"
The old man was retired, not ignorant. "The Goblin’s Feast. That was you?" The tall man bowed. "You killed a lot of people."
The tall man’s face took on a bored look. "I did no such thing. I threw a party. Some of my goblins may have become a bit over zealous, but I promise you that no one died by my hand. Death is not my objective. If I wished those people dead, there would have been no survivors. I promise you that."
"Then why did you do it? Why did so many die?"
"Why? Why, because it was fun! What other reason is there? You should have been there! The fear in the air was delicious! Such sheer terror-what Halloween was meant to be!" His cold eyes danced as he spoke. Electricity seemed to come from him. The old man remembered the days of his prime. He could inspire such fear with his creations. There was a wonderful, addictive, rush that came with his time as a super villain. Sometimes he missed it. The tall man was continuing. "You should have seen my last effort, in King’s Gardens Williamsburg. That was exhilarating! I’m almost sad that it didn’t make the papers. They must have paid out millions in hush money on that one."
The man had captured his curiosity. "What happened there?"
"I hijacked their roller coaster, the Vulcangeist! What fun!" He sounded like an excited child telling the story of his new bicycle. An insane child. "Their ads claimed that it was the scariest coaster in the world. I decided to make it true. I took over the coaster, and ran those people through for hours!" Now it was the old man who stifled a laugh. Part of him thought that was beautiful. Hijacking a roller coaster. It sounded like something the Idiot would have pulled off, if he were still alive. He sighed. Just when he began to wonder why he left that life behind, reality forced him to remember. "…I got rid of the brakes, then I undid their safety harnesses! You should have heard the screams as they raced around the rails out of control. It was simply marvelous. I could have done that all day.
"And I would have, if it weren’t for some pajama-boy fool flying in. I barely had a chance to set off the charges on the track when he charged in, spoiling my day. I had to cut my trip to the park short. Still, it was fun for a while." The tall thin man shook his head with a grin. "When was the last time you had that kind of fun?"
The retired villain shrugged uneasily. "How many died in Williamsburg?"
"Oh, no one died, that wasn’t the point. The point is the number of newly employed therapists!" The tall thin man burst into insane laughter. The toymaker felt uneasy, but somewhere deep inside of him he laughed.
"I know what you’re thinking, my friend. Consider my proposal carefully. You come out of retirement, for this one event, a few nights of your life, and we will make history. Your name will be feared once again, and for all time. This is your chance to ensure that the name of the Zombie Master is never forgotten!"
The old villain considered. One last hurrah, one last shot at history, then he could retire a success instead of a joke. One last chance to redeem his villainous career. "What if we’re caught?"
"We won’t be caught. I guarantee it. I’ve planned this too well. I just need you to join me on this."
"There will be supers there. There always are."
"Oh, I’m counting on it! That’s part of the fun. The city will be virtually crawling with them, and they won’t be able to do a thing!" He laughed.
He couldn’t honestly be considering a partnership with this madman. "I won’t kill anyone."
"You won’t be asked to. Cross my heart and hope to die. In fact, I don’t think killing will be necessary at all." He licked his lips.
"And what do I get out of this? There has to be a point to this."
"There does?" The tall man seemed disappointed. "Oh, very well. Name your price. Money is really no object."
A panel in the wall of the tiny workshop slid aside, revealing a small alcove. The toymaker pulled a chain hanging from the ceiling and a single light bulb swung awkwardly about. In the alcove was a mannequin dressed in a long black cloak. The tall man recognized the outfit from his photographs. The old toymaker stared at the cloak for a long time.
He turned and straightened his shoulders. He gestured with his right hand, and the mannequin walked forward. "Very well. The Zombie Master shall make one last appearance."
The expensive suit shot straight up and laughed triumphantly. "Fantastic! I’m so glad that you have decided to join me! Just think-The Goblin King and the Zombie Master in New Orleans for Mardi Gras! It’s simply wonderful!" His laughter was maniacal, evil. "You won’t regret this, ZM!"
The former super-villain sighed. I already do.