Continued from Part Eight At eleven, Night Lord watched Reverend Jones bed down through a telescope. Powerhouse got a glass of milk and a plate of Oreo cookies from the kitchen then settled in front of the living room TV. Night Lord clucked his tongue. Time to see how well Powerhouse handled bullets. A chopping…
Continued from Part Seven Powerhouse walked beside Jones, carrying a box of groceries. Jones knocked on an apartment door. An elderly man opened it. “Come on in, Reverend.” Powerhouse followed Jones into a living room that opened into the kitchen, where Jones put away the groceries. Powerhouse approached the table where the old man was…
Continued from Part Six In Jones’ study, the officer read over the report and grimaced. “Powerfreak was right. This is poison. It would have killed you if it’d hit you.” Jones smiled. God was so awesome. “Praise the Lord, Powerhouse was there.” “Yeah, but somebody wants you to go to your reward early.” Powerhouse burst…
Continued from Part Four At the service that night, Powerhouse followed the teens pouring out of the gym up the stairs. At the top, the pastor approached and shook his hand. “Good to have you. We’re about to get started.” The pastor led him into the meeting room. A boy about the same age as…
Continued from Part Three At the church, Powerhouse found a work group pounding at a half-finished roof for the youth center, with the pastor right in their midst. Powerhouse landed behind him on the roof. “I can help.” The pastor wiped his brow. “That’s good. We need all the help we can get.” Powerhouse grabbed…
Continued from Part Two At around eleven, the Seattle chief of police sat at his desk, going through some paperwork. Powerhouse climbed in the window he’d left open since the AC was out. Who did this guy think he was? Batman? “What do you want?” “Who’s Frank Ross?” The chief took a sip of coffee….
Continued from Part One Night Lord took a sip of his black coffee, feet up on his desk. A small drop spilled on his shirt. He wiped it off. He never had to worry about stains. He always wore midnight black, the same color as everything in his lair, though some of the furnishings had…
Powerhouse flew above a housing project in Seattle. Below, a young black man shoved a gun at another near a run-down warehouse that had graffiti spray painted in layers. “You do it.” A second youth slipped the gun inside his Mariners jacket. “Fine, foo’, I’m a real man. I ain’t afraid to waste no preacher.”…
Continued from Part Four Flying over downtown Seattle the next morning, Powerhouse spotted the man in the Italian suit from the previous evening entering an office building. Powerhouse hovered near a brown stucco building and changed color to match. Another familiar face arrived. The reporter who’d written an editorial attacking him, Frank Leonard. Powerhouse waited…
Continued from Part Three On the flight home, an artillery shell whirred upwards towards Powerhouse. He dodged it and landed onto a roof top a few blocks from where it was fired. He zoomed in on the artillery launcher. A man with a nose ring stood beside it with a tall Asian man, gawking at…