Imagine that you are taking a stroll in the park and see two parents pushing their baby in the carriage.
Imagine that you bend over the carriage, coo to the baby, and tell the parents what a sweet angel of a girl they have. Naturally they beam with pride from your compliment.
Now imagine that you tell them that their baby will become one of the most notorious criminal masterminds in the world.
The parents look at you as if you are deranged. The father takes a forward step and glares at you while the mother shields her baby from your words. They fetch a police officer who promptly arrests you.
So whatever you do, don't come to conclusions.
Even if she was a cute baby.
And even if the facts remain the truth.
A-A-A
The truth is that Mary Martha Lawrence was a pretty baby. She had silky black hair that covered her tiny head like a crown and huge liquid green eyes. Her cheeks were plump as apples and pink as roses. But even as an infant, people had an inkling of a suspicion that she knew more than she let on.
She was born in the year 1940. The world had just announced a party that would make the Great War look like a tidy nap in comparison. And every hero, villain, crusader, and criminal was invited to partake in the fight of the century.
The world was about to go screw itself again. With bells on.
Mary Martha hadn't been invited.
Instead she slept, ate, and whined like an ordinary baby. All this time bombs fell, bullets flew, and footsteps tiptoed around in fear of what was to come. Though her parents' home was warm and safe away from the danger, she could feel the world shaking around her. Mary Martha soaked it up along with her mother's milk and slept of greatness and power and being in the center of all of the attention.
She smiled in her sleep.
A-A-A
Hurrah, it's 1945! The war is over! We're alive and life is hunky dory again!
Mary Martha Lawrence knows exactly what hell is: a pile of starched petticoats so itchy that it feels like she's gotten chicken pox (again).
She fidgets in her seat as the disgusting fabric grates against her thighs.
Her mother hushes her and tells Mary Martha to listen to the sermon. She bites her lip in frustration. She feels a bead of sweat run down the small of her back.
She could tear off the petticoat and throw a tantrum like that crybaby Molly Henderson. Or she could release a cricket into the aisle like the stupid snot-nosed boys. But Mary Martha knows how that would end: a smack on her bottom and no trip to the movies that night.
No.
If she's going to rebel, Mary Martha will do something properly. So she sits in her seat and lets her little mind slowly work out the details while her mother presumes Mary Martha has decided to behave herself for a change.
That night, Mary Martha treads softly past her parent's room. Her father's snores covers up any little creaks and groans in the floorboards. Good thing Mary Martha is so light. She skims into the kitchen, balances one chair on top of another, and carefully lifts a cookie from the jar on the high shelf.
It's her first burglary. It tastes of molasses and raisins and is a trifle dusty from sitting on top of the shelf for so long.
It's the most delicious thing she's eaten yet.
The chair wobbles and Mary Martha goes flying off, landed hard on her rump on the kitchen floor.
Her parents dash into the kitchen to see her sobbing next to a broken cookie jar.
The spanking is quick and done with. They think she's learned her lesson. So they wipe away her tears and tell her how good little girls don't steal snacks in the middle of the night. She's sent off to bed with a glass of water.
Mary Martha doesn't fall asleep promptly. She tosses and turns around in bed and mentally goes over her botched plan. Oh yes, she's learned her lesson.
Never ever get caught.
A-A-A
1951
The pride and joy of every girl in school is to own a Glory Sparkles pencil case. Mary Martha has painstakingly waited until recess and then light-fingered her way in and out of four desks. Four gorgeous red-and-silver metallic boxes go home in her backpack and get tucked away under her bed.
During the weekend she takes out the pencil cases and lines them up on the carpet. She strokes their smooth covers and velvet-lined casings, laughing softly to herself. Mary Martha congratulates herself on her cleverness.
But the thrill wears off in a week. What good is stealing something that you can get in a dime store with a few weeks of allowance money?
By next Monday, the four victims find their pencil cases returned safely to their desks while Mary Martha mentally checks off another accomplishment in her head. She turns her attention to future missions.
The teacher babbles on about literature while Mary Martha plots away.
It has to be big. It has to be thrilling. It has to be spectacular.
She doodles herself sitting on a throne and wearing a large crown.
Betty O'Toole with her smug face and pretty blonde curls is jabbing her with a pencil again. Mary Martha wants to crack her ruler over Betty's head. No, that's how a lady would do it. Mary Martha could do better than that. She wants to roll up her sleeves and punish Betty with her own hands. For now she glares venomously at Betty, who looks startled for a moment before her upper lip curls with disdain.
Finally, she puts the pencil down.
The teacher waves a thick book in the air. Everyone groans, especially the boys.
"Now, class. Gone with the Wind is an excellent work of fiction. I expect a full book report from each of you by the end of the month."
The second groan is so loud that the FBI can hear them.
But Mary Martha locks herself in her room and doesn't come out until she finishes reading the novel. Betty O'Toole must have cheated and seen the movie because of her overwhelming crush on Clark Gable. "Scarlet O'Hara is a dirty little scamp," she concludes.
Mary Martha disagrees one hundred percent. Scarlet O'Hara is cunning. Scarlet O'Hara is wily. She's a vicious scheming beautiful woman who comes out on top and rolling in piles of money. Let the other girls enjoy Elizabeth Bennet and Jane Eyre but Mary Martha has found her idol.
"Scarlet," she whispers. It's the perfect name. She brings the novel to her lips and kisses the dusty cover passionately. Then she places it under her pillow before falling asleep.
A-A-A
1952
"Absolutely not," her mother declares. She clasps a string of pearls around her neck while Mary Martha continues to whine.
"But it's so good for stamina! You're always telling me to take a class that improves balance and composure."
"Yes, dear. But you should pick a class that is more appropriate for young ladies. Why not ballet or tap dance? And the waltz is so elegant to learn nowadays—"
"I don't WANT TO!" Mary Martha screams with rage. They've been over this spat a dozen times already.
"Young lady, don't raise your tone to your mother." Her father looks up from fumbling with his tie. "Now what's this all about?"
"John, our sweet little girl wants to take karate lessons!" her mother exclaims. She clutches her hands to her chest in horror. "Imagine that! Our wonderful twelve-year-old daughter learning to brawl!"
Actually, the thought of breaking Betty's perfect nose is Mary Martha's ideal imagination. But seeing her father's puzzled face, she decides to try a new tactic.
Batting her eyelashes and glancing down at the floor, Mary Martha puts on her most innocent expression. "I just thought it would be a good idea in the long-term," she admits slowly.
"Long term?" her parents ask in unison.
Mary Martha nods gravely and continues, knowing very well how attentive they are to the radio news and how the word "red" makes them nervous. It has to do with the Russians and politics, they say. Mary Martha could care less. Red is a smashing color on her and she wishes she could wear it all day instead of the silly pinks, the dull blues, or the happy-go-lucky yellows of dresses in department store.
But her mother says that bright colors are for "strumpets". Mary Martha mentally adds that word to her growing vocabulary of terms to explore in the future.
"I mean, the world isn't a safe place anymore. You said so yourself the other day. What with the rockets going up and the bombs coming down... I, I thought a class in self-protection would be good for these troubled times."
She looks up, making sure to have tears in her eyes, and gives them the sweetest smile that she can muster. "I wish I was strong enough to protect you both. Even if I'm not, I'm sure that karate could make me feel that way."
Mary Martha has her parents in the palm of her hand. They swoon, they caress her head, they say how brave, how noble of their little girl to want to take karate.
"Well, if that's the case," her mother concludes. She dabs her eyes with a handkerchief. "I suppose a few lessons wouldn't do any harm."
"Oh thank you! Thank you!" Mary Martha throws her arms around her mother and kisses her on the cheek. "I promise I'll behave like a lady!"
"My darling girl," her father adds proudly.
He enrolls her in karate the next day.
By the end of the school year she has a black belt.
By the end of summer Betty O'Toole has a black eye.
A-A-A
At thirteen years old Mary Martha has the makings of a raven-haired beauty. She has spent her free time researching fashion magazines and now knows how to do her hair up in a coif and walk around the block in high heels. She is passing herself off as a sweet sixteen woman interested in her first car and it is going swimmingly well.
"Yes, ma'am. The 1954 Cadillac Coupe de Ville? Right this way, ma'am."
Mary Martha follows the clerk. He's a small skinny man who barely looks 21 and has red hair shaven closely against his pale scalp. He wears pressed pants and a thin black tie with a white collared shirt. She could break him like a toothpick but he knows the latest models and is clearly well-versed in automobiles so she holds her tongue and follows him along.
He leads her to a pleasant-looking beige Studebaker lined with brown leather. "Now this one is fresh off our line in Detroit and should give you smooth cruising at about forty miles an hour…."
Mary Martha's eyes drift away and then land upon another car. It's love at first sight.
It's a glorious sleek animal sporting pointed tailfins and twin round taillights. Golden crests gleam alongside the fenders and the interior snow-white leather shines beneath the lights. She floats towards it as if in a dream while the salesman goes on.
"Ah, yes. The El Dorado. Designed by Harley Earl, the transmission has a 4-speed Hydra-Matic and the detachable rooftop is ideal for country driving…"
She let him ramble one while one gloved finger skims across the top of the steering wheel approvingly. Her skin already tingles at the thought of being cushioned inside El Dorado and roaring down the highway with her hair whipping freely in her face.
"Does it come in red?" she asks the salesman.
"Sorry to disappoint you ma'am but they were discontinued. But this blue one should suit you fine if-"
Blue. Pink. Blue. She wants to snap the man's kneecaps.
"Surely a little lady like you would want something safer for your first car?" he asks.
"Mmmm," she responds neutrally.
A-A-A
24 hours later:
"Now let me get this straight. The silent alarm wire was cut clean in two, the guard was knocked unconscious, and the main auto exit was opened from the inside?"
The policeman taps his pencil against a pad of paper. The guard just nods and continues to nurse an ice pack on the back of his neck.
"Just like I said, officer. The lights went out and then I felt something hard hit me in the back of the head. Next thing I knew it, I was waking up with a splitting headache and El Dorado was gone!"
"Hey, chief?" Charlie Dunham, private investigator, produces a rolling pin from behind a desk. "Looks like we found a weapon."
The showroom manager and the headache guard look at one another in disbelief.
"Preposterous," the manager splutters. "All it took to make El Dorado vanish was a rolling pin!? I refuse to believe that!"
Charlie Dunham clears his throat and pushes a desk back to reveal a pair of rubber gloves and pliers.
The manager blushes in response. "Ah, yes well….whoever did this was quite devious to sabotage the circuit panel."
"Come to think of it, there was a pretty dame in the store yesterday asking a lot of questions about our alarm system," the guard murmurs. His boss whirls on him at once.
"Are you suggesting that a woman did this? It must have been a car burglar who wanted us to think that a woman was responsible for stealing a car," the manager rattles on. "Perhaps a gang of thieves took El Dorado along with a hostage."
Detective Dunham and the guard exchange glances. The guard shrugs at Dunham in disbelief. The policeman writes down a few notes.
"All right. So we're looking for either a single male criminal of great intelligence and agility or a gang of five or six people with at least one female in their league."
"Don't forget that tip we got an hour ago," Dunham adds quietly. "The Beeline Cosmetic Company was raided."
"So?!" snaps the manager.
"The stolen case contained four hundred bottles of Atomic Red nail polish. I don't find that a coincidence."
"Well, I don't think a single person, let alone a little lady, could pull off stealing an El Dorado from under our very noses and make off with an entire case of cosmetics without being caught," the manager retorts.
"I have to agree with Mr. Freston," concludes Dunham's colleague. And though his brow creases in disagreement, Detective Dunham is forced to nod his head and follow the policeman on a wild goose chase north.
Meanwhile, El Dorado sleeps under the starry sky of a motel sixty miles southwest of the car dealership. For nine days Mary Martha lies low. She lives off of cheeseburgers and milkshakes and painstakingly paints the Cadillac a dashing shade of red. When the transformation is complete she goes into the bathroom, takes a long hot shower, and puts on clean clothes. She walks out of the motel feeling refreshed and satisfied.
Once behind the steering wheel, the young woman flips open the overhead mirror. She looks at the reflection and proceeds to line her mouth in bright red lipstick. Her lips purse up together for a moment before parting into a lively smile.
"Hello, I'm Scarlet," she says aloud.
Her voice is startlingly sweet, sultry, and sharp all at once. It's a voice that she has has been searching for her entire life and now that voice tells Mary Martha Lawrence that her days of bobby socks and canned Carnation milk are over. Mary Martha no longer exists. She's been discarded alongside the piles of empty nail polish bottles on the ground.
The wickedest grin comes over the young woman's reflection.
"Scarlet Overkill. Delighted to meet you."
She ties a black and white polka-dot scarf around her head and carefully knots it under her chin. Then she turns the keys in the ignition and carefully drives El Dorado onto the open road. Just as the car flares up to sixty miles an hour she tosses the lipstick out and over her left shoulder.
A-A-A
1960
"Countess Claw was given an 'Honorable Mention' at Villain-Con this year. How utterly thrilling."
Scarlet's sarcasm is not missed by the other two ladies. They watch her crumple up the newspaper in frustration and then kick it into the fireplace. The flames singe the paper ball into ashes within seconds. Somewhat satisfied, Scarlet leans back and stretches herself across the leopard skin rug.
"Come away from the fire and have some tea dear," urges Black Mamba.
Though her name implies a deathly reputation, Black Mamba is a tiny woman with wavy silvery-white hair and has such rosy red cheeks that Scarlet wants to pinch them. She's so cute! It's difficult to imagine she has fifty years of professional poisons in her resume. And Black Mamba is such a pleasant hostess that Scarlet is thrilled to be in presence.
It is a pity that Black Mamba had to retire because of a slipped disc. "It is not the police who will be the end of us but the chiropractors," she frets as she massages her lower spine.
Now sitting comfortably upon an orthopedic chair, Black Mamba holds up an elegant gold-rimmed teapot decorated with pink spirals.
"One lump or two, dear?"
"One, please."
Black Mamba pours Scarlet out a cup of tea and adds a lump of sugar before handing it to her. Several tiered plates are piled high with tasty little treats: fresh hot croissants, tartlets, biscuits with pink icing, buttery crescent rolls, and bite-sized egg salad sandwiches.
Scarlet heaps several goodies onto a plate and then throws herself into a plush velvet chair.
"Do not stuff your face like a chipmunk," warns Madame Guillotine. "It isn't good for the digestive system."
Scarlet would admonish her but one does not behave rudely in the presence of Madame Guillotine. Besides, her own reputation as an up-and-coming criminal is coming along nicely and Scarlet wouldn't want to do anything to tarnish it.
For the past few years she has patiently worked her way up from small local banks to gold deposits and a handful of good-quality gems. The modest but growing pile of plunder has enabled Scarlet to learn Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Wing Chun, a wise precaution against jealous rivals who might try to harm a "defenseless" woman.
Four victorious bar fights have proven otherwise.
"Aren't you even a little bit concerned over the Countess' lack of attention?" demands Scarlet. She brandishes a spoon in the air.
Madame Guillotine shrugs her shoulders carelessly. Black Mamba pours more tea and addresses her peer.
"Scarlet does have a point, Florence. It is rather frustrating to receive just one small notice compared to the popularity of other panels. Why, the convention has been going on for fifty three years and only now have they bothered to notice Countess Claw's stunning reputation!"
"It was hardly a mild gesture," remarks Madame Guillotine. "Countess Claw had a private interview with several distinguished members of the underworld organizations. She's not the sort to crave the spotlight so I fail to see what you two are huffing on about."
Scarlet rolls her eyes and slathers butter on a croissant. Black Mama notices this.
"I think I understand what Florence is trying to say. Sometimes discretion is necessary no matter how much we dislike it. Why, if all crimes were fueled by passion for attention then there would be no time on the news for things like weather and sports!" exclaims Black Mamba.
"Or those horrendous rockets they keep hurling up into space," Madame Guillotine shudders. "What on earth is this world coming to? Some days I wonder if the entire planet has gone mad."
"That still doesn't make it right," Scarlet insisted. She bites into her croissant. It's flaky and tender and carbohydrate heaven. "You and Madame Guillotine could easily share your experience with the next generation. If only you would present yourselves to the convention staff…."
"And grovel before those rabble rousers? Certainly not!" insists Madame Guillotine.
"But nobody else could have whisked away all those heads from Toussad's Wax Museum," Scarlet persists. "Don't you want to be remembered as the only person who was able to successfully steal the identical busts of the Royal Family? An icon in modern criminal history!"
Madame Guillotine will not budge an inch on the subject.
"What Florence is trying to say is that you must continue to persist in your career, of course. But do so in a way that respects the legacy of female outlaws that preceded you." Always the diplomat is Black Mamba.
Her tactful gesture is effective and Madame Guillotine nods her head in agreement. "I agree with Black Mamba. Continue your sterling reputation as Scarlet Overkill. Rob banks. Collect jewels. Break hearts and bones. Make love to great men. But do so with grace and dignity. Remember, Scarlet: any woman can be a thief but it takes a great lady to become a great criminal."
Scarlet thinks this over as they sip their tea.
A-A-A
Two year have passed.
Through a series of researched heists and investments in technological gadgets, Scarlet Overkill has worked her way up to plundering art galleries, yachts, and several rare engines. She has also taken a budding interest in rockets for domestic use.
The criminal underworld is certainly taking notice about a new player in town. A woman is doing things all on her own.
Some old-timers poo-poo the very notion of a female criminal genius. Better stick to polishing the guns and leave robbing banks to the men. Quite a few of woman of the caliber of Black Mamba and Madame Guillotine smack them over the heads for those snide remarks. After all, a girl just can't stay home all day counting the loot! These are the days of the Space Race, the retro era, and rock and roll galore. Hemlines are getting shorter and hairstyles are getting bigger. It's only natural that the criminal element should adapt to the times.
Scarlet Overkill is ready for her first kidnapping. But she must select her target with great consideration.
Babies are small but smelly. Old people are cranky and tiresome. She needs someone that she can knock over the head, haul off, and remain the ideal hostage until the ransom is paid.
A young robust healthy person. Yes, that'll do nicely. Scarlet sips her martini and eyes the tourists over her newspaper. Monte Carlo is brimming with silly airheaded students, fresh on break from their prestigious universities and colleges. They're lazily drifting around the lobby like ripe fruit fresh for the picking.
"Herbert Schubermeister!"
She glances to see a short stout woman in a lime-green suit and matching pillbox hat enter the room. She waddles like a duck in black wedge shoes that miraculously hold up all of her plumpness. The woman is followed by six feet and two inches of lankiness. Scarlet can barely see a face beneath the mountain of luggage that he's trying to carry. She lowers her white-framed glasses down a few inches to get a better look.
"Herbert, see to it that I get some coffee sent to my room."
"Yes, mother." His tone is one note away from a funeral dirge. The suitcases land on the ground with an audible BANG. The other tourists snicker as one lands on Herbert's foot. He yelps and clutches it in pain.
"Oh, honestly!" his mother huffs with a roll of the eyes. She makes her way to the front desk and raps sharply upon the bell.
"May I help you?" the clerk asks in an oily voice.
She puffs out her chest and a brooch of immense sapphires flashes in the morning light. Scarlet eyes the woman's brooch, her tiered pearl earrings, and the tiny dog with a silver collar whining in her arms.
"I am Leticia Schubermeister of the Schubermeister Iron and Steel Manufacturing Company," she announces. She waves a hand through the air causing several gold bangles on her arm to sound like wind chimes.
"This is my son, Herbert Fritzwilliam Schubermeister the Third. We have reservations for your premium luxury suite and will be inspecting the rooms promptly. Goodness knows what wretched hospitality we endured in Paris."
"Yes, madame. Of course. This way, madame."
He motions to the bellhop who tells Mrs. Schubermeister to follow him. Herbert follows his mother as he staggers under the weight of the luggage.
And Scarlet follows him.
A-A-A
One day later:
"Woah."
Herbert hasn't felt this woozy since he sat down to a hippie brunch in Berkley. Whatever was in those pancakes sure knocked him out.
This time it feels a little different. Whatever hit him left a sharp little sting in the side of his neck. Tranquilizer. Professional.
He knows his chemistry. He should, after all those years at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Mom wanted him to be an engineer. But he liked to make things go "BOOM" too often. Now she's dragged him halfway across Europe for "recreational stimulation" when he just wants to be left alone in the garage to tinker with his-
Herbert's train of thought is derailed by the attention of the woman standing in front of him. Silver teardrop earrings sparkle in the late afternoon sun. She's got thick dark hair cut into a sharp bob and wears a full black skirt with a white blouse. A red leather belt is cinched in at the waist. She is tapping the empty tranquilizer gun against her thigh while a red purse dangles from one elbow.
This is definitely better than the time the poodles chased Mom into the pool.
"Woah," he repeated. He's sure his tongue is hanging out of his mouth but he can't stop starring at her.
The woman gives him a sleepy smile out of half-lidded green eyes.
"So you're Herbert Schubermeister the Third." Her voice is soft and purring. It oozes with confidence. She continues to talk while examining her gloved fingers. "Don't bother trying to get out of those ropes. I was a Girl Scout for eight years and—"
"Okay," he pipes up.
She glances up from her fingers to eye Herbert. "Okay?"
"Okay," he repeats. "I won't try to get out of the ropes. But y'know," he adds with a gleam in his eye. "These are some sweet square knots you've tied." He tests the ropes by rubbing his fingers over them.
Yup, she's a professional. A beautiful one too. Hebert is one lucky bastard. None of his Ivy League classmates have ever been abducted by the big leagues.
Scarlet realizes that he's grinning at her with this silly catnip expression on his face. If he wasn't so nonchalant, she might actually admit to herself that she thinks he's kind of cute. In that string-bean-long-nosed-lazy-drawl kind of cuteness.
Not that she's into that sort of thing. Goodness, no. Scarlet prides herself on impeccable taste.
She clears her throat and quickly pulls out another tranquilizer from her purse. Scarlet reloads the gun and then aims it at his chest.
"Keep your mouth shut unless you want to be out another six hours."
He complies, much to her relief.
Scarlet lifts up the phone and dials a number. There are two short rings before someone answers on the other line.
"Hello?" The bossy tone of Leticia Schubermeister comes through loud and clear.
"Hello Mrs. Schubermeister. I suppose by now you are wondering where your son Herbert is, hmmm?" Scarlet begins.
"Oh, I know where he is! Probably flouncing about without a hat or suntan lotion. How on earth am I going to keep track of that boy unless he does exactly as I say?"
From behind her, Herbert giggles. He giggles in her presence. Scarlet chooses to ignore him. She clears her throat and proceeds in a light airy voice.
"Rest assured, Mrs. Schubermister. Your son is alive and well. In fact, he is here right now. And if you want to see him again then all you have to do is one quick tiny errand for me. Simply go to the nearest bank and make a modest withdrawal of—"
"Herbert, is that you?!" his mother shrills into the phone. "I won't fall for another one your lame excuses to get out of your duties. Now stop fooling around with this silly little floozy and come down to the lobby at once. You have a tennis match with the princess of Monaco in an hour. And for heaven's sake, make sure your shirt is pressed!"
A silly little floozy?! Scarlet Overkill? How dare she!
Scarlet slams down the phone in rage. Herbert is still chuckling. "Man, you are one cool cat. I thought Mom was going to roast you alive."
She relaxes her shoulders. Scarlet Overkill may have underestimated Leticia Schubermeister. But she did capture her son which means the day hasn't been a total loss. "Well, at least I can get a souvenir."
She bends down to untie him but Herbert suddenly stands up. The ropes fall to the floor around him.
Scarlet feels her jaw hit the floor. "How-did-you—" she sputters.
"Eagle Scout for ten years." He calmly dusts himself off.
Her eyes narrow at him. "How long ago did you untie those?"
"Uh, since I woke up?"
Scarlet can feel a temple throbbing in her head. She should be impressed because let's face it, this guy has a brain in his head. But things are getting messy.
"So, what's the next slice of the plan, princess?" Herbert rubs his hands together happily. "What do we do next?"
"We do nothing," Scarlet concludes. "You are going back to your mother."
His face suddenly sags like melted ice cream. And before Scarlet knows it, he's fallen to his knees in front of her.
"Please let me stay!" Herbert begs. He clasps his hands together and shakes them before Scarlet. "C'mon, princess. You can't let a cool cat like me keep cruising around the globe with my mother. I'll go nuttier than a peanut butter factory."
She takes a step back but he throws his arms around her ankle and gives a squeeze. "I'll do whatever you want if you let me stay. Shine your shoes? Fix your coffee?"
"Get off!" she snaps, trying to shake him off. "I don't want anything from you!" He's got surprisingly strong muscles for a twig. Scarlet clumps around the room in an attempt to loosen his grip but Herbert has the strength of a suction cup.
"Caviar! Champagne! Roulette!" He's nearly sobbing in despair. "Man, all I wanna do is chill out with some hot instant soup and wear swanky PJs on a Sunday. Is that so much to ask for?"
"Yes!" Scarlet shouts. She finally gives a frustrated kick causing Herbert, and her left boot, to go flying through the air. The boot bounces off the wall and lands on the carpet. Herbert tumbles into a corner before landing upside down in a tangle of arms and legs.
"I'm not giving up on this, baby!" he exclaims. "We've got too much at stake."
"How many times must I get this through your thick skull!?" she roars. "THERE IS NO WE!"
Once she's had a good scream Scarlet feels much better. Recalling her sensei's teachings, she closes her eyes and carefully performs a breathing technique. Still upside down, Herbert watches in awe as she walks across the room, picks up her boot, and carefully laces it back up. When she speaks again her voice has become smooth and silky once more.
"Don't think I don't know what it's like to have someone else lace up your corset strings. But I can't help you with your problems."
She manages a half-smile at Herbert and hums as she reloads her tranquilizer gun.
"But…but…." he sputters.
"Good night, Herb."
She fires the gun at him.
Herbert wakes up bound and gagged in a hotel bathroom. He's been stripped down to his shirt and underwear. He could have made noise to call for help but he's so relieved to be resting quietly in one place that he just stays in the bathtub for four hours until the maid finds him.
He misses his tennis lesson. His mother is furious but he couldn't care less. A beautiful woman got him away from his mother for a full day and he had a relaxing nap. That's more than what any other girl has had to offer him.
And she called him Herb.
A-A-A
One year later:
Scarlet adjusts her rhinestone cat-eye glasses as she examines the fine print of the contract. Pa Ovaltine, leader of the notorious Ovaltine Gang, twiddles his thumbs nervously from across the table.
"It's a sweet deal, Ms. Overkill. We cut you in for twenty five percent of the job. Fat wallets, sports cars, rare breed pets, designer sweaters and scarves. I tell you, this wedding is one of the best in the decade. And with your-ahem-expertise it will make everyone run much smoother."
Scarlet rocks back in her chair for a moment. Then she shakes her head and tosses the contract back onto the table. "It won't do."
"But it's twenty five percent!" Pa Ovaltine demands.
"Leave her behind, Pa. She'll just get in the way," insists Junior Ovaltine.
Scarlet gives him an icy glare that makes Junior gulp and hold his tongue. She turns her attention back to Pa Ovaltine.
"If I am reading this correctly then the contract states I get twenty five percent but I have to reimburse you for any long-term damages that occur during the job. I noticed your modified Rolls Royce with the engine thrusters and know it'll have at least a few scratches by the time we make the getaway."
Scarlet props her high heels upon the table. "I'm not signing myself away to pay for your car damages."
Pa Ovaltine clears his throat. "All right, you have a point. But I'm sure we can work this out. How about I cut you in for twenty percent and clear you of all damage-prone problems?"
Scarlet shakes her head. "Twenty five percent and no liabilities on my head."
He frowns at her. "That's steep."
"I have bills to pay, Pa Ovaltine."
"And I have a family of mouths to feed."
"Then it seems like you'll have to find someone else to do the job, hmm?"
Two machine guns click and Scarlet notices Junior and Mini Junior have aimed their weapons at her head. She merely yawns aloud. The Ovaltine Gang wouldn't have contacted her unless they needed Scarlet Overkill.
And they need her badly.
"Boys, put those damn sticks away!" their father barks. Pa Ovaltine wipes his brow with a handkerchief for a moment. He takes a deep breath and ponders for a minute. Finally, after some careful deliberation, he makes his decision.
"All right, Ms. Overkill. Twenty five percent and no liabilities. However," he waves a finger in the air, "My boys get first dibs on the guests' cars."
"That's fine with me," Scarlet smiles. She's had El Dorado remolded last year and wouldn't trade her car for all the gold in the world.
She extends a black-gloved hand and shakes hands with Pa Ovaltine. Mini Junior breaks out the mugs and they toast with cups brimming with sweet hot cocoa.
"To the lucky bride and groom!" announces Pa Ovaltine.
"To us!" Junior and Mini Junior guffaw aloud.
"To me," Scarlet smirks over her cup.
A-A-A
There are dozens of red roses blooming in the hedges beneath a hot California sun. Guests are sprawled across the grand ranch-styled estate and sipping champagne while white swans flap and koi fish swim in a customized pond built around black marble steps.
Scarlet has arrayed herself in a green silk chiffon dress which is deliciously cool in the midday heat and camouflages her nicely behind the hedges. She melds into the leaves and carefully adjusts her earpiece.
"Scarlet to Pa Ovaltine. I am in position."
"Roger that, Scarlet. Are the security guards taken care of?"
She confirms it by describing the knockout powder in her makeup compact.
"Well done, Scarlet. Now the key prize in this deal is the bride's stuff but you'll see her bridesmaids are wearing some nice rocks too."
"I saw them all right. And don't forget Paul Bacell is one of the invited guests."
"Bacell? Of the Bacell Investment Company?" Pa Ovaltine is excited.
"Mmm-hmmm," Scarlet hums happily. "I believe he brought himself and his big fat checkbook with him today right after a fancy charity event this morning."
"All right. Me and the boys are in position. We'll wait for your cue."
Scarlet can peep through the leaves just to get a glimpse of the bride walking down the aisle. A ten-piece orchestra is playing the wedding march. The bride's face is cloaked in so much lace that Scarlet can barely see her face. But she's more interested in the sparkling diamond tiara on top of the bride's head.
The music has stopped and the minister is about to begin. Scarlet takes out a hand mirror and flashes it back and force across the top of the hedge. None of the guests notice the tiny winking gesture as they are all focused on the bride and groom. Since the star attractions have their backs to Scarlet she takes advantage of the moment to reload her weapons and adjust her shoe straps.
The minister proceeds to speak with a beaming smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to unite these two young people in holy matri-"
There's a sound like a rocket colliding with a marble statue and that's exactly what it is. Junior Ovaltine's blaster goes smashing through a replica of Venus with a delightful BOOM and then a CRASH.
Everyone gasps with horror. Several women scream. Scarlet grins with glee.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt this program to announce that you have the privilege of being robbed by the renowned Ovaltine gang!" Pa Ovaltine's voice thunders loud and clear through a megaphone.
"We are accompanied by the lovely Scarlet Overkill who is supervising this charming operation. My dear Ms. Overkill, would you kindly introduce yourself to everyone?"
She steps out from behind the hedges and spreads out her skirts in a sweeping curtsy. "Hello!" she sings out cheerily. "So nice to meet you all. And thank you so much for the complimentary favors. I just adore lilac soap."
A woman faints in the audience. A slim man with a gray mustache, likely her husband, scrambles over a few chairs and makes his way towards Scarlet.
"Now see here young lady," he begins. "You can't just come blundering in here and making a big ruckus…"
She aims a drum-like contraption at his chest. "Actually, I'd rather keep things nice and simple. So if you don't want to end up in a tremendous mess, I suggest you do as Pa Ovaltine says and hand over your things."
He ignores her and takes two steps forward. Scarlet releases a mechanism and a web of sticky film shoots out of the drum, wrapping itself around the man. His ankles are stuck together and he falls down in front of Scarlet.
"Aww," she coos. Scarlet bends over him. "Did the widdle man take a tumbly wumbly?"
"YAAAAAY!"
She glances up to see Junior and Mini Junior are doing their usually "free-for-all" heist by chasing the guests around the lawn like two hungry foxes after chickens. Pa Ovaltine has made more sense by getting a few guests lined up and extending a drawstring bag as they drop in their valuables.
He's holding a blaster in the other hand but gestures for Scarlet to make her move. She advances towards the center of the ceremony, dodging the tackle of one guest and twisting the arm of another. She jumps upon a cushioned chair and goes flying through the air. Scarlet tucks her knees into her chin to create a perfect summersault in midair before landing gracefully in front of the bride.
"Hi."
"Eeeeeh!" shrieks the bride.
In one quick swipe Scarlet has snatched the veil and tiara off the bride's head. She's about to go for the pearl necklace when the bride stops wailing long enough to close her mouth and lean towards Scarlet.
She stares the criminal in the face. Her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. So does Scarlet Overkill.
"MARY MARTHA LAWRENCE!" Betty O'Toole screams at the top of her lungs. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT MY WEDDING?!"
Damn.
Scarlet swiftly swipes her leg across the ground, causing Betty O'Toole to go toppling down a few stairs and land in a pile of silk and lace. Scarlet nimbly steps on her back and tiptoes across the rocks rising up from the center of the pond.
She glances over her shoulder to see Betty sitting back on her haunches and bawling her eyes out. "STOOOOP HEEEEEER!" sobs Betty. She points an accusing finger at Scarlet.
"Oh for heaven's sake," mutters Scarlet. She bends her arm inward and sends the tiara soaring through the air like a Frisbee. It hit Betty squarely between the eyes, causing her to fall backwards and pass out.
It was a nice tiara. But Scarlet would prefer never to hear Betty O'Toole's voice again. With a wiggle of her fingers, she turns around and picking up her skirts, skips across the rest of the pond.
By the time she's reached the getaway point Scarlet has managed to pilfer the wallet of Mr. Bacell and some delightful bracelets. It's not as much as she'd like but the serendipitous defeat of Betty O'Toole has been worth it.
A Mercedes-Benz screeches to a halt mere inches from her shoes, sending gravel splattering across Scarlet's dress. She eyes Junior Ovaltine peevishly.
"I'm sorry, okay?" he mutters. "Can we go?"
She climbs into the back seat just as the security guards stagger groggily to their feet. Scarlet watches a few cars following them in the chase.
"Dad will pick 'em off," says Junior. "You got your honey drum ready?"
"Good and," grins Scarlet. She aims the drum at an oncoming car and fires. Sticky webs hit the windshield, causing the car to go spiraling off the road. The second car has a lower windshield and this time the driver gets goo in his nicely-gelled hair.
Scarlet giggles to herself. Serves him right for those dreadful sideburns. She picks off incomers one-by-one while Pa Ovaltine fires the mini-rockets at the tires. When everyone is dealt with, the Rolls Royce and the Mercedes-Benz are traveling side-by-side.
"Nice job, boys! Well done, Ms. Overkill!" Pa Ovaltine beams. "We couldn't have done it without your help.
"I know," she smiles. She leafs through the stolen wallet for a moment and then adds, "Thanks for inviting me. It's been fun."
"Where to next, Pa?"
"I called Flatfoot Charlie ahead of time and he's got a swank little resort in Seattle where we can unwind."
"Pa, Seattle is so dreary this time of the year!" complains Mini Junior.
"Your Pa is right M.J.," Scarlet intervenes. "You'll have to get the license plates on that car changed anyway so make the most of this. And Seattle has some very nice coffee places I've—"
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Scarlet nearly jumps out of her skin. She thinks it's the brass and their bullets but then realizes the sound is coming from the back of the car.
Her eyes narrow at Mini Junior. So do the eyes of Pa Ovaltine.
"Mini Junior Ovaltine, is there a person in the trunk of your car?" he demands.
Mini Junior blanches and gulps. Junior smacks him over the head.
"Idiot! This wasn't supposed to turn into a hostage situation!" his brother exclaims.
"Pull over NOW!" his father thunders. Both cars squeal across the pavement before stopping. Dust clouds swirl around the tires. Pa Ovaltine gets out of his car and walks around to the rear of the Mercedes.
"I'm awfully sorry about this, Ms. Overkill," he apologizes. "Seems like Mini Junior bit off more than he could chew."
"At least he can get all of his mistakes out of the way," she says, waving a Japanese paper fan across her face. "Don't be too hard on him."
"Yeah! Don't be too hard on me, Pop!" chimes in Mini Junior.
"Young man, hold your tongue." Pa Ovaltine pops the back of the Mercedes trunk and flips it open.
He pauses. He scratches his head. Then he walks around the car to where Mini Junior is sweating beads.
"And just what exactly did you plan to do with the groom?" he asks tensely.
"I figured they wouldn't chase us if we had him!"
His father sighs. "Mini Junior, how many times have I had to tell you the premise of a perfectly planned heist is…."
"Groovy!"
Wait a minute. Scarlet knows that voice. It's her turn to get out of the car and walk around to the trunk. When she sees who is inside of it she drops the fan.
"Herb!" she exclaims.
"Hey, princess!" He's squinting from the dazzling sunlight but still beaming away. Herbert places both hands on the bottom of the trunk and hoists himself out on wobbly legs.
"Woah. Got pins and needles to pull out of there." He bumps against Scarlet and his arms flail around her neck. Herb looks her in the eye and instantly blushes.
"Uh-huh. Sorry about that."
Maybe she's just too thrilled to foil Mary O'Toole once and for all. Maybe it's even sweeter that she's stolen Mary's groom away. Or the fact that she and the Ovaltine gang got away in one piece.
Or it could be just that sweet smile he has on his face when he's looking at her.
But Scarlet is in a good mood today. She carefully unwinds his arms and helps him stand up.
"Are you all right?" she asks.
"Yeah, fine as flapjacks." He dusts off the sleeves of his tuxedo.
Pa Ovaltine rubs his brow with his handkerchief. "Looks like Seattle and Flat-Foot Charlie will have to wait, Ms. Overkill. I can take him back if you go on north with the boys. Or if you want to do it yourself I'll reimburse you with thirty percent."
Thirty percent is a very generous offer. One that Scarlet has never been offered before. She glances at the guilty faces of the Ovaltine boys, the sunburned cheeks of Pa Ovaltine, and Herb, who is digging a foot into the gravel and giving Scarlet the expression of a lost puppy.
"You don't seem in a hurry to go back to your bride," she says to Herb.
"She's not really my bride so much as her daddy's little girl trying to find a man to fit on her leash," he states back quietly.
Scarlet folds her arms across her chest. "What will you do now?"
He shrugs. "Enlist. Go underground. Hike to the North Pole."
Herb notices her honey drum and picks it up. He turns it over in his hands and the familiar sparkle of energy comes back to him. "Sweet funnel design. If you treat the rubber with heated metalloid then it'll stay sticky without melting."
Scarlet is impressed. "Really? I didn't know that." She takes out a red enamel lock picker for him to see. "Do you know a way that I can make this more durable?"
He studies it carefully. "Titanium."
Scarlet shakes her head. "I'll have to start from scratch. Three month is too long."
"I can do it in four weeks. Do you have locks you want replaced too?"
Her eyebrows turn up. "Funny you should ask."
They stare at each other as the sun crawls down into the dunes. For the first time in her life Scarlet is face-to-face with someone who finally understands and encourages her. She feels a leap of excitement in her heart.
And she's sure that she's got a silly grinning expression on her face too.
Pa Ovaltine clears his throat. "Ahem! Sorry to interrupt but time's burning out, Ms. Overkill. Do you want to go on ahead or take the thirty percent?"
She glances from the steamy shimmering asphalt road to Pa Ovaltine and then finally to Herb.
"You can keep the thirty percent and go on ahead." She keeps smiling at Herb. "I've got everything I want right here."
TELECOM AIR SKY TELEGRAM
FROM: LOS ANGELES
SENT: SEPTEMBER 15 1964
TO: MRS. LETICIA SCHUBERMEISTER
CROWN PLAZA HOTEL
MIAMI BEACH, FLORIDA
HELLO MOTHER (STOP) WAS JILTED AT ALTER (STOP) AM FINE (STOP) JOB PROMOTION VIA GOVERNMENT (STOP) SPECIAL SECRET SERVICE WORK (STOP) NO DETAILS ONLY FINE GOOD CAREER AHEAD (STOP)
AM TAKING VITAMINS AND IRONING SHIRTS (STOP)
LOVE YOU (STOP) HERBERT F.S. III
A-A-A
Five months later:
"Don't be cruel to a heart that's true…I don't want no other love…."
Elvis Presley croons from the record player while Scarlet and Herb dance together across their newly-built private ballroom.
Thing have been cool. So cool, in fact, that things are downright wonderful. Scarlet Overkill has begun on her central hideout just overlooking London and thanks to Herb's experience and insight, she now has some of the finest state-of-the-art equipment available. Everything he creates is original which means no other two-bit crook can copy Scarlet's work.
As for Herb, he's a gem. The guy really wants nothing more than to do what he likes and what he likes is what Scarlet likes. In gratitude, Scarlet makes sure to build an enormous bunker that doubles up as a private laboratory. Herb throws himself into his work and tinkers away for months while Scarlet tells him what she wants.
High heels that don't make noise? Check. Buttons that hide secret compartments? Bingo. A dress that includes a parachute for jumping out of windows? No sweat.
There are piles of invitations on Scarlet's desk but she leaves them discarded and focuses on Herb's fancy footwork. For a string bean, he is remarkably graceful on his feet.
"Has anyone ever told you what a superb dancer you are?" Scarlet purrs happily.
"I could stand to hear it more often. All those boarding school lessons finally piled up to something good." He lets go of her right hand and twirls her around, causing her skirts to swirl up and around. Scarlet spins twice before landing in front of him, one hand landing upon Herb's shoulder. He leans forward and she dips back into his left arm.
"Well, I'll make sure to mention it often.
"Has anyone ever told you what an amazing woman you are?" Herb asks.
"Yes. But I could stand to hear it more often."
Scarlet bends back upwards and they dance together across the floor in blissful silence for another five minutes.
"Don't stop thinking of me, don't make me feel this way…."
Herb sudden stops in the middle of the music and pulls his hands away.
Scarlet looks on with concern. And until now they were doing swimmingly well.
"I'm sorry baby," he confesses with a forlorn expression. "I did my best."
Oh no. Is he leaving? Did someone else offer him more money?
"What is, Herb?" Scarlet asks softly.
He slips his hands into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders. "I'd do anything for you, baby. You know that. Nobody else saves my life twice like you did."
She nods woodenly. Herb heaves a sigh. "I searched in every single museum in Washington D.C. and man, I know I covered every inch of the town!"
Scarlet is burning to know where this is leading. Before she can open her mouth, Herb pulls a box out of his pocket. "I know how much you love rubies but…."
He pops the box open. "I hope you'll still be cool enough with a blue diamond."
Scarlet gasps loudly when she sees the enormous ocean-blue gem sparkling in front of her. It's the size of a walnut and surrounded by a wreath of exquisite white diamonds.
"The Hope Diamond!?" she shrieks, clasping her hands to her chest. She is sure that her heart is racing like a comet as Herb gets down on one knee.
"Scarlet Overkill, would you do me the most honorable of all honors by becoming my wife?"
She responds by pouncing on Herb and smothering his face with kisses.
"Take that as a yes."
"C'mere, baby."
A-A-A
Five months later:
It's a lovely cool autumn day in Tarrytown, New York. From the view of the pink stone mansion, one can see trees of yellow and gold cascading up and down the valley. The Hudson River is a winding blue ribbon sparkling in the sunlight.
Scarlet almost can't see the view because her tears have been clogging up her vision. She's reapplied her mascara three times already and will likely have to do it again.
"This will not do," declares Madame Guillotine. She wipes Scarlet's damp face with a lace cloth.
"I can't help it!" Scarlet bawls. "I'm so happeeeeee!"
"Have some dignity, child!"
"No!" Scarlet snaps. She snatches the handkerchief and blows her nose into it. "This is MY wedding day and I will cry as much as I want to!"
"There, there dear." Black Mamba smooths out Scarlet's veil. "Everything will be all right."
Scarlet stops crying long enough to look her in the face. "A-are you sure?" Scarlet gulps.
"Madame Guillotine and I have made sure that everything in the ceremony will take place properly," Black Mamba soothes her gently. "All you have to do is walk down the aisle and say 'I do'. You see? There's nothing to worry about."
Scarlet responds by hiccuping twice. Madame Guillotine hovers nearby with a fresh case of makeup in her hand.
"Providing you can walk and speak coherently for the next twenty minutes, you and Herbert have no need to fear."
"What if I get jilted?" Scarlet gasps. "I can't live without Herb!"
Madame Guillotine examines a jewel-encrusted pocket watch. "The last time Pa Ovaltine checked on him, which was precisely thirty seconds ago, Herbert was just as avid as you about this ceremony. At least he isn't watering the grass with his tears."
"Florence Amalthea Gustav, hold your tongue!" Black Mamba finally snaps. "For twenty five years I have tolerated your pessimistic attitude for the sake of our friendship but today you will let Scarlet have her day to shine in the sun or so help me God I will cause all your teeth to rot in your mouth."
"You wouldn't dare!" Madame Guillotine bellows.
"Oh yes I would!" Black Mamba shouts.
"Ladies, ladies," Scarlet pleads. She brandishes a huge bouquet of pink and white hydrangeas between them. "Please don't fight today of all days."
Madame Guillotine clears her throat. "Very well, Scarlet. I will compose myself for the remainder of the day."
"As will I", declares Black Mamba. She adjusts Scarlet's veil one more time and then takes a step back to admire her handiwork.
It's a dazzling white dress that swooshes and swirls with every step that Scarlet takes and has been gorgeously embroidered in white and gold brocade along the arms and waistline. The Hope Diamond sparkles around her neck and a wreath of pink blossoms has been woven into her dark hair. Scarlet's veil is made of delicate gauze and decorated with tiny rhinestones in a rose-like pattern.
Black Mamba takes a step back and sighs deeply. "You look wonderful, Scarlet."
The wedding music beings and Scarlet proceeds to walk down the aisle. She and Herb agreed to a small but intimate wedding so the only other guests present besides Black Mamba and Madame Guillotine are the Ovaltine Gang. Junior Ovaltine has his tommy gun poised a few inches from the back of the minister who is gulping but nevertheless poised as Scarlet advances towards Herb at the end of the carpet.
"Woah," he murmurs as she stands next to him. Scarlet blushes and looks down.
"D-Dearly beloved," stammers the minister. "W-we are here to unify these two in…."
The rest of the ceremony goes by in a blur. Scarlet vaguely remembers hearing Herb and herself saying "I do" and then watching as he slips the ring onto her finger. Right on cue, Mini Junior opens up a cage and dozens of doves go flying into the air.
"Then Mr. and Mrs. Schuber—I mean, Mr. and Mrs. Overkill, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Herb pulls the veil back from Scarlet's face and instantly she throws her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his mouth. He swings her around in a full circle and that is just perfect because Scarlet can hear helicopters humming overhead.
"Scarlet Overkill, this is Detective Dunham and the police!" someone shouts from a megaphone. "You have three minutes to surrender or else we will be forced to descend and arrest you."
"Honey?" Herb is still holding Scarlet lovingly in her arms. "You wanna get out of here?"
"Sure, baby. Let me just thank our host."
"We can handle this," declares Pa Ovaltine. He's had his hat placed over his heart this entire time. Now he puts the fedora back on his head and picks up his gun. "You go thank them and make your getaway."
"Are you sure?"
Pa Ovaltine smirks at Scarlet. "Go on, you two crazy lovebirds."
Scarlet seizes Herb by the hand and they rush into the mansion and down the basement steps. Scarlet flips on a switch to see the Rockefellers, their staff, and several bodyguards are still all bound and gagged.
"I just wanted to say thank you so much for letting us use your lovely home of Kykuit for my wedding," Scarlet beams. "I have had a wonderful time."
"Yeah, its' been jammin' jacks today." Herb winks at them. He glances at his watch. "Honey, we gotta go."
Scarlet blows a kiss to the Rockefellers, gathers up her veil, and follows Herb back outside. Pa Ovaltine has taken out two of the four helicopters but one of them is getting closer to the ground.
"What do you suggest?" Scarlet asks Herb.
"Just click your heels three times, baby." He's giving her that I've-got-a-surprise-for-you expression that he saves for special occasions.
She does as he says and hears a tiny sound of "sproing!" Mini-rockets have burst out of the heels of her shoes. Herb nimbly steps on her shoes and wraps his arms around her waist.
"Houston, we have contact!" he shouts. The shoes ignite, causing Scarlet and Herb to lift off the ground and go flying through the air. They shoot past the helicopters and go sailing alongside the Hudson River, soaring so fast that Kykuit, the police, and the Rockefellers are gone in the blink of an eye.
Scarlet's veil is loosened by a pin and ten goes flying off her head. Herb tries to snatch it back but it flies into the sky and vanishes into a cloud.
"Oops."
"Never mind that!" Scarlet laughs loud and clear. The wind wipes her hair and it goes tumbling around her face in a blur. "What next?"
"Your ring has a radar compass built into it," Herb says. "You just tell it where you want to go and the shoes will take you there."
Scarlet looks down at the river and then back up to the hills of upstate New York.
"I've always wanted to go to Paris for a honeymoon," she tells Herb.
"Paris would be rad," he agrees.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
A-A-A
They had a lovely time visiting the Louvre and the Palace of Versailles. The next few years passed by in a dream as Scarlet and Herb lived in her dazzling getaway on the outskirts of London while their piles of plunder continued to grow. The Andy Warhol painting made a lovely anniversary present.
Then came the day when the Villain Convention Committee came knocking at the door. Scarlet wanted to make them beg and plead (at least just a little bit) for her to attend as the star attraction but she was so happy to do it that she agreed at once. Herb went right to work on designing a rocket-inspired dress for the convention but asked to stay home. "Crowds give me the shakes," he shuddered.
Scarlet didn't like being away from him for so long but promised to leave Orlando straight away after the convention was done.
"And maybe I'll get some new ideas for stealing the crown," she added with a wink.
Scarlet prided herself upon thought-out-plans but those three tiny yellow billiard balls were constantly being far more trouble than she had anticipated.
So yes, Villain Con went off without a hitch. And yes, Scarlet drove the Minions home in her new jet ride. And yes, she asked them to steal the crown for her and lost her temper a few more times and forgot Sensei's teachings along the way. Years later she looked back on the botched plan and confessed her embarrassment to have risked an entire reputation because of those pint-sized walking time bombs of trouble.
But sometimes things have a way of working out after all.
For one thing, those annoying little henchmen finally left Scarlet Overkill alone and went after that little jerk with the big nose. Good for him. The despicable brat could take those babbling morons away; Scarlet had had enough of them to last a lifetime.
For another thing, though she and Herb had been encased in ice, her wonderful husband had made sure to pack thermal heaters in her dress. By the time Queen Elizabeth had pointed a finger at Scarlet and Herb Overkill and called out to Scotland Yard, "Throw those two into the Tower of London!" the thermal heaters had been activated.
For several months the criminal world was abuzz about the mysterious disappearance of the lovely and deadly Scarlet Overkill. Had she been killed in a freak accident? Had the United World Council finally captured her? Rumors swirled over time before finally dying away and giving up. It seemed that Scarlet Overkill had merely vanished into the wind.
Had someone dared to fly a plane low enough over a cluster of tropical mountains, they might have spotted a tiny island that was too peaceful and quiet to attract tourists who flocked nearby. It was in this place where Scarlet savored a bit of quiet pleasant time alone with Herb. And though she missed her mansion, the soft beach winds and the tickling white sand were delightfully peaceful.
Their bank accounts were safe and their greatest possessions were tucked away in various vaults around the world. Scarlet was in no hurry to get back to civilization right now. The next heist would turn up when she was good and ready. For now, she was content to rock back and forth in a hammock and sip mango juice while Herb put the finishing touches on their tree house. Complete with a leafy roof, running water, and bamboo steps, she couldn't ask for more.
Scarlet had sewn her coronation dress into a bathing suit and was admiring her tan when Herb approached her. "How's it going, baby?" he asked.
"Just rad," Scarlet declared. She raised her hands over her head and yawned deeply. "I'm glad life decided to take a turn for us. Are you?"
"Baby, I'd go to the moon and back for you."
"Aw, how sweet. C'mere." She tugged on his arm and pulled Herb into the hammock. He showed her something he had hidden behind his back.
"Sorry about the crown," he admitted. "But this one'll go with everything." Herb produced a wreath of light pink flowers with crimson trumpets in their center. He placed it on top of her head.
"Herb, it's wonderful!" she cooed happily. Scarlet glanced into a pool of water to admire her reflection. With her long dark hair falling freely around her shoulders, her handmade beach suit, and the crown of hibiscus blossoms on her head, she looked like a floral goddess. And this crown felt light and comfortable on her head too.
Scarlet slipped an arm around Herb's shoulders and kissed him gently. "I love it. Thank you, sweetie."
"Happy anniversary baby," he said.
"Hmm? Oh, that's right. I should give you a present too," Scarlet said. "But I've got a surprise instead."
"What is it?"
"Can you guess?"
Herb shook his head. Scarlet just flickered her attention downward and patted her stomach.
Wait for it, baby.
"OH MAN!" he shouted, smacking his forehead. "No way!? Way, baby? Way way?"
"Way."
"When?"
"A couple of months."
"Oh man, this is the grooviest thing that has ever happened to us! We're gonna be parents! I gotta make a cradle and a bed and a couple of criminal-stable toys and—"
"Herb, honey?"
"Yes?"
"We've got lots of time. Let's just enjoy the sunset."
She handed him a cup of juice and they clicked glasses together.
"Do you know how much I love you, Scarlet Overkill?"
"More than the number of molecules in the human body."
"Yeah! Right on!"
"I love you more than the number of drops in the ocean."
"Oh yeah? Well, I love you more than the number of stars in the galaxy…."
A-A-A
October 1st, 1971
WORLD WEEKLY NEWS
Sally Dunton, co-editor
ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE ANTI-VILLIAN LEAGUE ESTABLISHMENT
As of twenty four hours ago, the United World Council confirmed the validation of an international organization that will be known as the Anti-Villain League. The league's goals have been established by Detective Charles T. Dunham of the FBI who says, "We are dedicated to fighting criminals and members of the underworld who are responsible for the most notorious heists of the century".
Dunham confirms that the A.V.L. will be working with full cooperation and sharing intelligence with other organizations including the CIA, MI6, and Interpol.
The league's first director has been elected unanimously as Reginald Phineas Ramsbottom, former Commissioner of Restoration of Stolen Art for the British Museum. He is accompanied by his son Silas Ramsbottom, alumni of Cambridge University.
"It is our belief that in order to catch some of these high-ranking criminals, we must be on par with them as far as intelligence and technology is concerned," said Mr. Ramsbotton. "And therefore our equipment must be as good as theirs and our sources as clever as any criminal. Naturally the best way to catch a thief is to send one, which is why we will be offering negotiations to any criminals who are willing to cooperate with us."
Detective Dunham is equally committed to combating crime and has enlisted in several hand-picked A.V.L. members from America. He speaks highly of his newest recruit, Commissioner Alice Wilde of the Los Angeles Police Department. "Commissioner Wilde is the first female head of the police department in current history. Her council will be a tremendous asset to the A.V.L. and we expect positive results within the next few years."
Commissioner Wilde had this much to say about her involvement in the A.V.L. "People used to think that women weren't capable of committing crimes. If there's anything I've learned from infiltrating the infamous Villain Cons over the last five years, it's that women are capable of accomplishing tremendous feats when they put their minds to it.
"I am accepting Detective Dunham's offer to join the A.V.L. to prove that women can be just as good as fighting crime as causing it, if not better. As an officer of the law I declare that this our opportunity to become heroines of our own. As a mother I believe this world should be a better place for everyone, including my daughter Lucy. Our families and friends are counting on us to preserve justice for the next generation and that's exactly what the A.V. L. and I are setting out to do."
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