Podcast of a Teenage Super-Villian

Chapter Eleven: Payphone

I hate secret organizations, I hate illegal operations, and I hate illegal anythings with an 'o' in the name. I hate them because their members think they're so damned cool, with their leather jackets and engraved guns. They do all these things, and it's like they forget their meetings are made up of five guys named Earl in basements under circus tents and shit.

At least, those are my experiences with secret organizations so far, and I suppose that 's' on the end of 'organizations' is misleading. I've had one experience with one secret organization, a secret organization that wanted a particular ice sculpture Black Ice kept in his freezer. Ever since that run-in, the words 'secret,' 'organization' and 'Earl' put a bitter taste in the back of my mouth.

But I don't expect much different from the Everyman guys. And I'm only made more uncomfortable by  Starlight City's labyrinth streets and that its strangely starry sky.

After leaving Gideon, I weave out of alleys, walking down hills that lead to low plateaus, and then walking farther down to flat, cratered places until I'm sure this city is all descent.  An hour of stumbling in Chip's platforms,  and I finally find something that makes me a pause. A payphone booth at the corner of one unknown street and another. I've never seen an operational payphone first hand before, with the swinging glass doors and the flickering 'PHONE' sign in all caps. A way out. I push apart the doors, pick the phone off the hook, and slide two quarters into the coin slot. 

My fingertips linger on the numbers Galaxy left on my shoulder, as if they'll flutter away if I don't hold them against my skin. I unravel the bandages, causing globs of dried blood to run down my arm. They're soaked through, the deepest shade of brown I've seen. I have to squint to read the numbers underneath the stains.

"Gal, here," a voice answers on the other end. I can hear pages flipping and static. "Where are you and what do you need?"

"I'm the guy who you bandaged in the back alley. Twice."

"Ah! Right, right. You actually shattered that guy's sternum, you know?"

It takes me a second of furrow-browed concentration to remember who she's talking about. "So he's dead?"

"No. A coma." Her voice lowers. "Do you understand how lucky you are?"

The phone shakes in my fingers, and when I glance down, I realize my hand is trembling. She's on to me, I think, and I'm about to slam the phone back on the hook when I remember that would make me seem even more shifty and suspicious than I already do. I swallow. This place is suddenly confining, like a cage. Like the walls are closing in on me. "Yeah. Having trouble sleeping at night, what with him trying to stab me and kidnap Gideon. I hope he dies."

Galaxy sighs. "You didn't call me to discuss the moral implications of your actions." The words sound too large and too snobbish for someone who flies around punching people. I stifle a snort. "You didn't answer me.  Where are you? What do you want?"

"Phonebooth. Running out of minutes, I think. Not sure how this thing works." I push another bloody coin in the slot for good measure. The old phone sputters, and the static grows louder. "You're the only person in this city I know besides Gideon, and I don't want to ask him this because, uh, reasons?" My voice is surprisingly squeaky. To get it low and gravelly like a supervillain's takes practice. There's a science to it, and I haven't tried my hand at it in so long mine has begun to fall apart. "I just don't want to."

"I'm not a phone book," Gal says, and then sighs. I can hear more jostling, more pages, and the low moan of wind. "You totally ruined my descent into The Heart of Darkness while staring down at all the sad souls in my broken city." She's being full of herself again, but I can hear her chuckle. Every super has to have a thing outside heroing, and if her thing is about big words and classic literature, that won't kill me. "I'll help you, but next time, please only call me in an emergency, okay?"