text: Flyguy landed squarely on the sidewalk in front of Dave’s Midtown Bar & Grill. He smiled and held the door for an exiting patron then entered. Yacht rock filled the room signaling that ladies night was well underway. Flyguy waved off the dining hostess and made his way to the bar where Jamie, an ex-marine with extraordinary biceps and a dimpled chin was serving up drinks. There were no empty bar seats. Flyguy turned sideways and squeezed his otherworldly physique between two cute thirty-somethings - Gloria and Sheila, who were watching Jamie perform “The Bar Rag Trick.” They giggled as the rag stiffened and curved upward, magically elevating itself above the drink rail. Jamie looked up with a big smile to find himself nose to nose with Flyguy. Flyguy, Jamie said, and released his grip on the rag causing it to slowly go limp. The ladies let out a sad sigh and giggled as Jamie looked at them and shrugged his shoulders. ”What’ll you have?” Jamie asked Flyguy. “Martini on the rocks, shaken - not stirred,” Flyguy said. Jamie gave Gloria a look - as if to say - I'll be right back after I get rid of this schmuck. Jamie left and Flyguy moved in. “Good Evening ladies,” Flyguy said to Gloria and Sheila. They gave him an awkward smirk and turned their attention to the television above the bar. Undeterred, Flyguy stretched his long arms above his head flexing his muscular guns into a tight pose. “I just got back from a long trip, and boy, are my arms tired!” Flyguy said, holding his pose for effect, then, slowly he lowered his arms along the ladies backside - letting out a short guffaw as his hands made purchase along their lower waist and side. Drink shot from Sheila's mouth as his as his fingers tighten against her ribs. She let out a small snort. Flyguy smiled and thought to himself, "that never gets old." “Consider yourself safe tonight, ladies,” he said. “You’re with me! What could possibly go wrong?” He smiled, pulled them in tight against his waist and delivered the finale of his three part pick up routine. “What do you say I buy you ladies a drink?” And gave them both a million dollar smile. Gloria, to his left, gave him a slow down-up look over - meeting his steel blue eyes a full foot above her own. Then, in her most sensuous voice said, “Where do you keep your wallet - Mr. Flyguy?” Giving him a big smile, she slapped her right hand down between his legs. Flyguy shot up on his toes like a rocket. The girls chuckled and reached in front of him for a high five. He tried to speak, but Gloria had already pushed herself backward, dislodging his arm from her waist and giggling as she left the bar. Undeterred, Flyguy turned to Sheila on his right and gave her his best smolder. His head dipped slightly traveling left to right while his eyebrows moved like rollercoasters across his head. His mouth formed a slow-subtle smile which he held for effect. Sheila gave a disgusted grunt and said “whatever!” Then, like a villain with an escape plan, rolled in circular motion out of Flyguy's grip. As she walked away, she spun around and shot little gun fingers at him. “Okay, I see how it is,” said Flyguy with a forced smile. “I'll remember this next time I find you in a falling elevator or out of control train!” Sheila shot him a smile and met up with Gloria a few steps away. They leaned into each other and giggled as they headed towards an open booth across the room. “Nice touch,” said Jamie, as he returned with Flyguy’s martini. “Thanks," said Flyguy, and lifted the drink from Jamie’s hand before he could set it down. He gave it a dainty sniff. Then, with his right pinky fully extended, took a delicate sip. Jamie watched intently as he repeated this routine several times. Jamie interjected. “I saw you on the 6 o'clock last night.” Jamie paused as Flyguy sniffed and then sipped of his drink. Then on cue, Jamie said, “Good work saving that treed cat on Lexington, I see my tax dollars are hard at work.” Flyguy gave a little choke and a stream of martini flew from his mouth back into his glass. He thought to himself, "I can’t even enjoy a drink without some cutesy bartender making a joke at my expense." Flyguy looked up from his drink and said, “Ha, ha, ha - everyone's a comedian,” and pushed his drink across the bar towards Jamie. “Maybe I should take my business somewhere else!” Jamie apologized, then left to serve another customer, saying under his breath as he went - “You'd think a guy who runs around in tights and a cape would have a better sense of humor.” “You would think,” Flyguy shouted down the bar at Jamie. “I don’t just have x-ray vision, you know; I can hear everyone in this room.” Jamie took the gals cash, dropped a drink in front of her and beat it back down the bar where Flyguy sat. He gave Flyguy his best sympathetic bartender face and said, “so you had a bad day, big deal. Everyone has a bad day once in a while. Why should you be any different?” The tension released in Flyguy’s shoulders and he let his body relax into his seat. Then with a very un-Flyguy like vulnerability in his voice said, “it hasn’t just been a bad day, Jamie, it's been a bad month!” He paused for a moment, gathered his thoughts, then went on. “Ever since the mayor worked out his 'Power Sharing Peace Agreement' between supervillains and superheroes, I’ve found myself out of work.” Jamie lifted a glass and towel and dried it as Flyguy vented. “And to top it off, Doomsday just bought himself a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park. Which, I might add, he is paying for with the forward on his new book, Chillin with the Villains . Then there's his little Netflix series, nearing the end of its second season - Villains vs Superheroes; The Murders; The Mysteries; The Series. Flyguy let out a sigh so heavy it sounded like a death rattle. Jamie took a quick step back. Flyguy reached for his martini and slammed it back - pushing down the boulder size rock stuck in his craw. Then, defeated, dropped the glass and his head on the bar and lay there. Jamie reached a hand over the bar and timidly patted Flyguy on the shoulder. “Let me get you another drink, big guy,” and left him face down on the bar. After a moment, Flyguy lifted his head slightly and said, “You know Jamie, my agent says I should consider retirement.” Jamie returned working the Boston shaker in one hand. He smiled and said, “sunny days at the beach... supermodels in the sand.” Then with his free hand, Jamie launched into his drink performance. He flipped a fresh cocktail glass from the rack above the bar catching it mid air between his fingers before it touched ground. He gave the shaker a crack against the edge of the bar, letting the top drop into the sink below. Then, without missing a beat, poured the drink, dropped the shaker and slid the martini glass across the bar with his right hand as he dropped an olive in it with his left. Flyguy gave a short chuckle, pointed his finger at Jamie and smiled. "Supermodels, Ha! I like what you did there!” Flyguy put out his right hand for the high five - and slap! Jamie pulled his back, wincing at the pain forming in his wrist. “We should never do that again,” he said, and Flyguy gave him another smile. “Maybe your agent is right,” Jamie said, as he rubbed his wrist. Flyguy pushed himself upright in his seat. “You mean the guy who insisted that I would become a household name if I wore this costume to work? Yeah - like he really knows what he's talking about. Now I'm stuck with this thing. Sure, it looks great from the sky, but I'm just out of place when I'm on down time.” Jamie had another customer, but shouted back at Flyguy as he crossed the bar to take her order, saying, “ever think of keeping a change of clothes somewhere?” Two martinis deep and Flyguy was beginning to feel his inhibitions fade away. He stood, leaned a bit over the bar and yelled back, “where do you think I should keep it - behind the bar? Or maybe in the bathroom, even better, how about in a phone booth. I certainly don't have room in my back pocket,” and dropped himself back into his seat. “Point Taken,” Jamie said, as he mixed up a mojito for a lady a few seats down; a redhead with peach skin and a southern accent. When Jamie didn’t show signs of returning Flyguy finished his drink and excused himself to the restroom. “Another drink?” Jamie shouted over the bar to Flyguy as he slipped away. “Yeah, sure, why not,” said Flyguy. “Make it a martini on the rocks.” Jamie smiled and finished his sentence for him. Flyguy gave him a side arm wave and crossed the dining area toward the bathrooms grumbling under his breath about having to take off the entire suit just to take a wiz. The front door opened and in strode Fledermaus. He surveyed the clientele. He knew his presence was unwelcome, but "mission first", he thought. Not seeing Flyguy, he figured he might check a few more bars before he gave up. Then he saw Linda. A 34 year old divorcee with long dark hair and pale complexion. She sat alone facing the door, an empty seat opposite her. She held a piña colada in one hand and hardback of Dr. Zhivag o with a short stem rose laying across the page in the other. Fledermaus thought to himself, "classic blind date giveaway." He cleared his throat and crossed to her table. “Hello there gorgeous,” he said, gently sliding the book from her hand. He closed it on the rose and dropped it on the table. Linda looked up at the eyes behind the mask as Fledermaus spoke. “I bet you’ve never seen a tool belt like this before,” and gave a little prance to show off his waist. Linda, un-phased, watched for a moment, then picked up her book and reopened it. “Keep walking Fledermaus,” she said, gently pulling at a thorn which had pierced her page. "I don’t want to be seen with you after that stunt you pulled yesterday. Channel 25 played it at six and eleven. Why don’t you go back to your cave - you animal!” Fledermaus slid into the empty seat across from her. “It wasn't my fault," he pleaded. "That little joker called me some pretty hurtful names. I mean, here I am trying to capture ‘Two Face’ for the umpteenth time, and this comedian is cracking stupid bat jokes like - there were these two bats in a cave and one said to the other...,” Fledermaus produced a few high pitch squeaking sounds to finish the joke. He let out a groan and reached for Linda’s piña colada. Linda was quicker and gave the back of his hand a good slap. Fledermaus withdrew it and continued his thought. “The kid threw me off my game and ‘Two Face’ gave me the slip.” Linda wasn’t buying Fledermaus’ personal pity party. She leaned over the table and put her fists in front of her eyes and said, “Oh, boohoo, Fledermaus. He was ten years old and you hit him with your Mausarang. I hope he sues!" Then she jerked her book up in front of her face and pretended he wasn’t there. Fledermaus' attention was suddenly diverted when he caught the sight of Flyguy returning from the bathroom struggling to get his cape to set right. Tightening his teeth, the gravel in his throat ground as he spoke. “Flyguy!” Flyguy felt a sudden darkness permeate the atmosphere of the room. He stopped and gave his cape a final flick. As if under a spell, it floated up behind him, straightened itself, then settled down along his back. Flyguy expected to find Fledermaus swinging from a ceiling rafter or perhaps above a wall sconce over a booth; not crossing the dining area towards the waiters station where he now stood. Seeing Fledermaus in Metropolis caused Flyguy's blood pressure and body to slowly elevate above the floor. Flyguy spoke first as Fledermaus approached. “We agreed after the 'bridge incident,” he said, giving finger quotes to emphasize his point, “that you would stay in your city and I would stay in mine.” “You agreed,” replied Fledermaus. “I just nodded my head until you shut up.” Infuriated, Flyguy's voice raged. “I was doing just fine talking that guy down, until you decided to use your grappling hook on him.” “At least I was trying to save him - you were just boring him to death! Besides, the body never turned up. ‘No harm no foul, I say!’” Fledermaus added his own finger quotes for effect. Then he reached up, grabbed Flyguy by the cape and yanked him down. “Hey”, barked Flyguy. “Don’t EVER tug on Flyguy's cape!” Cape peeled itself from Fledermaus’ grip, drew itself back and released a whip snap which exploded square in the middle of Fledermaus’ chest armor. Fledermaus stumbled backwards and re-established his balance. There had never been any love loss between the two supers and Fledermaus’ attempt to patch things up wasn't exactly going to plan. Flyguy didn’t know it yet, but trouble was brewing in the villain world and Fledermaus needed to convince Flyguy to form an alliance. Fledermaus took a deep breath and spoke in a more conciliatory tone. “Listen, Flyguy,” he said. “I’m sorry about the cape. I didn’t come here to start a fight." Fledermaus went on to explain that he occasionally bought certain antiquities from an old Greek trader to dress out his bat cave. And that recently he had learned of his dealers connections to the Greek Mafia. Flyguy had heard enough. At the words “Greek Mafia”, he held his hand up, excused himself and turned to leave. Fledermaus quickly cut him off at the dining entrance, knocking a server's tray as he headed to the dish room. Dirty plates and silverware clanged and broke against the tile floor. A light applause drifted in from the dining area. Flyguy said. “I don’t see my motivation to help you with your problem,” and told him to go back to his cave and leave superhero work to those with higher moral integrity. Then threatened to make a call to a friend down at the precinct and let him know about Fledermaus' mafia connections. “You wouldn't dare,” said Fledermaus. “Hey,” said Flyguy. “What's the difference between a cave and a jail cell? They're both small, dimly lit, and crawling with vermin. As far as I'm concerned you'll be right at home. At least you'll be out of my life.” Fledermaus pulled a small box from his tool belt and said, "I'm not going to jail. I'm the good guy! I came here to ask a fellow super for a little help catching some crooks. Sounds like a no-brainer right. Well I'm done being Mr. Nice Guy." Fledermaus opened the box. A warm green glow quickly surrounded them. Flyguy could feel his strength leaving him as the radioactive light source enveloped his body. He managed to say, “Jadarite! How?” then dropped his head and fell to one knee. Fledermaus closed the box and Flyguy began to recover. Fledermaus explained that a lithium mine operation in Serbia with connections to the Greek Mafia had dug up a whole vein of the stuff and were, at this moment, shipping it all here to metropolis. And that by chance, his antiquities dealer had learned of it and alerted him to the plot. “It's not real Jadarite,” said Fledermaus, but it's close enough to do the job. “What Job?” Asked Flyguy. Fledermaus leaned into Flyguy and in a low graveled voice whispered - “To catch a super!” Flyguy raised his head and pointed his gloved finger at himself. Fledermaus nodded. Flyguy seemed to be regaining the color in his face, but his eyes were now glowing embers. Doomsday, he said, and went into a motionless trance. Fledermaus noted his sudden abatement from their conversation and raised his hand, snapping his gloved fingers to get his attention. “Hey, what's going on in there Flyguy?” Said Fledermaus. Flyguy's mind returned. “I was just thinking of something I saw on T.V.,” he said, and explained that the second season finale of Doomsday’s Villains vs Hero's was due to start filming and that Doomsday was promising a real cliff hanger. “No doubt they are planning to paint me as the villain, turn the city against me, and run me off the planet,” Flyguy said. “And with you out of the way,” said Fledermaus, “they can take over the city.” A sudden feeling of danger and excitement began to well up in Flyguy. Something he felt had been missing for a while. “Come on Fledermaus!” Flyguy shouted. “We’ve got a city to save!” There was a sudden crack of thunder followed by a bright light and when the patrons regained their senses neither Flyguy nor Fledermaus were anywhere to be found. THE END