King Of Bad [Super Villian Academy Book 1]

  KING OF BAD (SUPER VILLAIN ACADEMY SERIES)

  by

  KAI STRAND

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Published by

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  Whiskey Creek Press

  PO Box 51052 Casper, WY 82605-1052

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright Ó 2013 by Kai Strand

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-61160-665-2

  Cover Artist: Angela Archer

  Editor: Marsha Briscoe

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my super hero son. Anchors Aweigh, my boy, Anchors Aweigh. To my very own Superman. Thanks for being an amazing husband and father and thanks for believing in me.

  Thank you to all who helped shape this book along the way. Some in big measures, some in small, but each suggestion had an impact and I am so grateful for your time and knowledge. This story is for my kids, whose unending enthusiasm for it kept me striving toward this day, when it can be shared with everyone keen for a fun story about good villains.

  Chapter 1

  Jeff admired the growth of the flames as they devoured wads of paper and fast food wrappers in the wire mesh trashcan. He slipped the book of matches into his pocket and sat back on his heels to admire his work. One side of the can merely smoldered so he blew gently to fan the guttering flame. It reminded him of how blowing on Jasmine’s neck the night before had resulted in a lovely arch of her back. He growled a throaty sigh, remembering Jasmine’s blissful distraction as he’d nibbled her earlobe.

  “Hey!”

  Jeff glanced over his shoulder. A man, who looked like he belonged behind a desk in a downtown high rise, jogged toward him.

  “Ah, the sweet sounds of discipline.” Jeff stood, stuffed his fists in the front pockets of his jeans and shook the long bangs out of his eyes. He half expected the guy’s slick-soled business shoes to slip as he jogged across visitor parking. This was Jeff’s favorite part. Almost getting caught. When the guy was a baseball’s toss away, Jeff turned. He walked a couple steps then skipped up into a jog.

  “Kid, stop!”

  Jeff chuckled to himself and said, “Yeah, sure,” and loped across the soccer field.

  “Wait a minute.”

  Jeff stole a look over his shoulder. The guy was close even though he didn’t seem to be running very fast. Jeff grinned at him and increased his pace. A seven-foot tall chain link fence ringed in the far side of the field to prevent stray soccer balls from breaking the windows of passing cars on the street below. Jeff leaped onto the fence without slowing down and in two cat-like movements, launched himself over the top. He dropped to the ground, landing on a hill pocked with gopher holes, as easily as if he were jumping around in a bounce house. He smoothly transitioned back into a sprint and dashed across the street, startling a lady driving an SUV.

  “Kid, hold up.”

  Jeff almost tripped; the guy was half way across the street already. He smirked, finally a decent chase, but not for long. With little effort, Jeff stepped up to a blurring speed. He dashed up a peaceful street that ran perpendicular to the school, where kids rode bikes and ran through sprinklers. Jeff recognized one of the “good” kids from school, washing a ’57 step-side Chevy.

  “Sweet ride,” Jeff called out. The kid looked up at him, but then snapped his head to the left. That guy cannot be that close! Jeff looked over his shoulder to find the guy was only a house length behind him. Holy crap, Batman. No one ever keeps up with me!

  For the first time in a long time, Jeff worried. But only a little. With a deep, fortifying breath he pumped his thigh muscles harder. He whizzed past houses so fast he doubted anyone would be able to describe him if they were asked to later. Tears streamed sideways from the force of the wind his speed created. He’d only started to breathe a bit more heavily than normal. Jeff was built to run.

  “Kid, hold on just a second.”

  Jeff stumbled, but regained his footing again before becoming road rash. The guy sounded as if he was only a bus length away. How can that be? No one runs as fast as I do. Jeff’s lungs constricted. An alien emotion, panic, budded in his chest. Stay focused. Controlled, deep breaths allowed calming oxygen into his lungs and up to his brain and Jeff’s airways opened fully again.

  Real speed required concentration. Jeff concentrated on his thigh muscles. Usually he only bothered to think about the front muscles in order to ignite his unusual speed, but this time he thought about the sinewy, sleek muscles that wrapped gracefully around the larger front muscles. He envisioned how the smaller muscles provided strength and support to the larger working muscle. He pictured that strength extending into his gluteus maximus to sustain a strong stride. The resulting speed was completely inhuman.

  The world became a blur of color. Luckily he’d run this route so many times that he knew it by rote. He turned up a street and ran a block before darting onto a trail that paralleled an irrigation canal. He hurdled the canal and then dashed off the trail, stirring up the scent of sage as he ran through the underbrush. In one fluid movement, Jeff vaulted over a cedar fence into a cul de sac. A block up was an old barn, incongruous in the modern suburban neighborhood, left by the original owners of the land after they’d sold the surrounding farmland.

  Jeff dashed into the cool shadows of the dilapidated barn. Immediately he ran to the front corner of the building and pressed his eye to a knothole. Jeff sucked in his breath in surprise when he saw the guy jogging up the street toward the barn. The guy’s head cocked slightly as though he’d heard Jeff’s intake of air. Jeff slowly pulled enough air to fill his lungs and then held his breath.

  The guy slowed to a walk. A vacant expression made Jeff think the guy concentrated more with his ears than his eyes. The guy came to a stop in the middle of an intersection. A maze of streets stretched out in all directions, some ending in cul de sacs that led back to the walking trail. Jeff smirked at the frustration on the guy’s face as he realized Jeff could have run in any direction.

  Just then, the guy zeroed in on the barn. Jeff’s heart raced from the extra effort he’d put into the run and the adrenaline rush of hiding. He thought his chest might burst so he let his breath seep from his lungs. Slowly and quietly, he sipped in more and then held still. The guy must know this is the only place to hide. He’s gonna search the barn. Jeff didn’t much care if he got caught. No, that wasn’t right because he was never “caught” in the act; he was usually only observed. Then it became a matter of finding him later and providing witnesses. What would happen if this guy found him? Would he go straight to jail? The guy still gazed intently at the barn. Jeff wondered why he stood there instead of walking over to search it.

  Something entered the barn then. The dog that lived at the house padded over to Jeff, wagging his tail. Jeff automatically rubbed the top of the dog’s head and sc
ratched the side of its face, but never took his eye off the guy.

  The guy watched and waited. Thirty seconds later, he furrowed his brow, pursed his lips and cursed. He turned and jogged back to the fence. With barely a squat, he leapt straight over, his feet just touching down on the top as he cleared the six-foot height with room to spare. Then he dropped out of sight on the other side.

  Jeff’s jaw dropped and the breath he’d been holding whooshed out. If he hadn’t seen it, even he wouldn’t have believed it. Jeff had to vault over, yet that guy cleared it in one jump like he was a white tail deer. Who was that guy? What was that guy?

  Jeff looked down at the smiling shepherd. “Hey thanks for hiding me again, buddy.”

  Chapter 2

  Jeff lived less than a block from the barn. He sauntered down the winding street, kicking a pinecone in front of him. A little dog yipped and Jeff looked up expectantly. There she was. Tammy Jenner. Jeff swore he heard the angels exalt each time he saw her. Copper highlights sparked in her shoulder length brown hair, creating a halo around her head. She bent her swimsuit model body, scooped up the yipping dog and tucked it under her arm.

  Tipping her nose to the air, she did an impressive speed-walk up the driveway into the shadowed garage.

  Jeff whistled quietly as he watched her swaying rear-end disappear into the shadows. He knew every 16-year-old boy at Ransom High turned to jelly around Tammy, but he really wished he, Jeff, would get over it. She was his only weakness in life. Nothing else got to him. Except maybe Mother. But that was different.

  Case in point: he heard his parents’ shouting as he walked up the front walk so he leaned against the house and waited.

  “He needs something constructive to do!” Mother yelled.

  “He only has a couple summers of leisure left. Why take his childhood away from him?” Dad reasoned.

  Jeff smirked and whispered, “Go Dad!”

  “Because, he’s not using his time wisely; come on, Frank, we’ve had the cops at our door three times this summer.”

  “School’s going to start soon,” Frank soothed.

  “That doesn’t help! He cuts classes! He defaces the bathroom! Face it, Frank, Jeff is not a good kid,” his mother said.

  “Sarah, relax. Jeff is just experiencing teen angst. He’ll find an interest that will set him back on the straight and narrow soon.”

  “Frank, you are…ahhh!”

  Jeff heard Mother stomp up the stairs. Someday, she would win that argument and Jeff would find himself volunteering at the humane society shoveling dog shit. He waited a bit before he walked inside, hoping his dad wouldn’t know he’d been listening.

  “Hey, son,” Frank said as Jeff entered. “How’ve you been?”

  Jeff nodded and smiled. Jeff liked his dad despite the dorky, low-key approach to life. It wasn’t as if Jeff were high strung and driven like Mother, but his dad was like an über-dork. He wore knock-off Hawaiian shirts, the too-loud kind, baggy shorts and Birkenstocks. His graying blond hair was long and shaggy and a gold chain always hung around his neck. They lived in landlocked Ransom, Idaho and his dad looked like a surfer all year, even in the snow and cold. He owned a successful bike shop downtown and was a favorite personality among the locals. There was something compelling about a man who refused to wear pants in winter.

  “You heard us, of course,” Frank said.

  Jeff repeated the nod and smiled.

  “Sorry, son. But don’t worry, I got your back, man.”

  Jeff smiled, shrugged, and walked into the kitchen. He dug through the pantry, pulled out a bag of chips and shoved a handful into his mouth. “Is Mother cooking tonight?” Jeff always stressed the “m” of mother when he talked about his own. Her seriousness and conformity demanded a capital M, like their last name, Mean.

  “Doubt it, kid. You’re on your own.”

  Frank went out into the garage where he had a small bike shop set up. Jeff shook his head. They wouldn’t see Dad again until he came in for bed.

  Sandra, Jeff’s little sister by only 11 months, trotted down the stairs. She patted Jeff’s cheek as she passed him. He snapped his face away. It annoyed the crap out of him that she always had to touch him whenever she passed. She pulled a highly-caffeinated soda out of the refrigerator.

  “Dressed up,” Jeff observed. “Going somewhere?”

  “I’ve got a date,” she said and grinned at him as she popped the top of the soda open. She had the same crooked grin as Jeff. While his grin melted the hearts of other parents, her grin worked at home. She also had the same moss-green eyes and the same brown hair as Jeff, but her hair was currently dyed black to match her thick eyeliner.

  Jeff lifted an eyebrow. “Right, you’ve got a date.”

  “I do!” Sandra picked up an empty bread wrapper from the counter, wadded it up and threw it at him. Jeff let it fall to the floor.

  “Mother would love to hear that. Let me get her.” Jeff smirked as he pictured Sandra on the receiving end of a Mother tirade.

  “What Mom doesn’t know…” Sandra shrugged and walked to the door. “See ya, bro.”

  Jeff watched the door close behind his sister. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Sandra was every bit as much trouble as he was, but his parents were so focused on him they didn’t notice the delinquent direction their precious Sandy-girl was headed.

  Jeff looked in the fridge for a quick, easy meal and found nothing. Back to the pantry again, he shoved another handful of chips into his mouth, ignoring the crumbs that fell to the floor. He grabbed an individual serving of applesauce and a cereal bar. “Dinner is served.”

  He fell onto the couch, pulled the foil off the top of the applesauce and poured it into his mouth. He turned on the television and flicked through the channels. A picture of the front of Ransom High caught his attention and he stopped on that channel.

  “Fire officials responded to a call at Ransom High at 5:05 this evening. There were reports of a trash container in front of the school fully engulfed in flames. We are sending a reporter to the scene and will bring you more information on our 11 o’clock broadcast.”

  Jeff grimaced. That guy would probably give a good description to the cops. At least of Jeff’s backside, he’d followed him long enough. Wait a minute. Why did the guy chase him instead of stopping to put the fire out or call the fire department? 5:05? Jeff would guess that was about the time he’d dashed into the barn. So the guy didn’t make the call. It was as if the guy didn’t care about the fire at all. Who was that guy? What was that guy? Jeff shivered.

  Mother walked into the room looking severe and stormy. Jeff shivered again.

  “Have you done your dishes?” she snapped.

  “Geez, I just got home,” he said.

  “Look at this place. The health department is going to come down on us soon. I work all day; I am not coming home to clean up after your lazy butt at night. I want you to clean the kitchen and that includes sweeping and mopping.”

  Jeff groaned.

  Chapter 3

  “What were you doing at the high school during summer vacation, Mr. Sims?”

  Mr. Sims squirmed in his chair. The office was too brightly lit. The walls were stark. “Well, I had stopped there to eat. I figured since it’s summer vacation, it would be a quiet place to sit and read while I ate.”

  “Then you noticed the boy,” said Tubs, his interrogator, whose black, beady eyes stared at Mr. Sims without blinking.

  “Yes, sir, I noticed him all right. He was like a beacon of energy!”

  “What did you do then, Mr. Sims?” Tubs asked. His meaty hand curled around a pencil as he noted Mr. Sims responses.

  “Well, I got out of my car and jogged over. I called to him and he stood up.”

  “What was he doing, Mr. Sims?”

  The scratching of the pencil made Mr. Sims nervous. “He was starting a fire in the waste can.”

  “How did he start the fire?”

  “The traditional way, with paper and mat
ches,” Mr. Sims said.

  “Then what made you notice him, Mr. Sims?”

  “When he blew on the fire, sir. That’s when I noticed him.”

  Tubs stared at Mr. Sims at length, considering his answer. “Hmm. What happened then, Mr. Sims?”

  “Well, at first I thought he was just going to wait for me. He stood there very relaxed as I approached. But then he turned and ran. He climbed over a fence and ran into a neighborhood.”

  “You followed, of course,” Tubs clarified.

  “Yes, sir. I stayed with him for a while. He seemed surprised that I was able to. He moved real fast, sir. Almost like he knew how to do it. But his jumping wasn’t very developed.”

  “How did you lose him, Mr. Sims?”

  Tub’s pencil paused while he waited for the answer. Somehow the intense attention made Mr. Sims more nervous, like he might give the wrong answer. “Well, sir, I suspect it was because he knew the neighborhood better than me.”

  “Did you look for him, Mr. Sims? Listen for him?”

  “Yes, sir, of course I did. I thought he was hiding in an old barn, but a dog wandered into the barn and didn’t bark so I figured he wasn’t there. By that time he could have been blocks away if he was still running.”

  “I see, Mr. Sims. Well, thank you for your report. I’ll get it typed up and on file. Someone may contact you for more details.”

  “Um, sir?”

  “Yes, Mr. Sims?” Tubs made a great show of gathering his meager belongings. It was obvious he wanted to leave.

  “Sir, I think he may have known I was listening.”

  Tubs stopped his obsessive piling and straightening and stared at Mr. Sims. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I thought I heard him breathing, but a bird flew by me. As soon as the bird passed it was completely quiet. Too quiet, you know? If he’d still been running I think I would have heard it. If he’d been hiding I’d definitely have heard him.”