Chapter 1: Mister Meet Master
"Do you have a death wish?" Nathan Lemon asks the man sitting across from him.
"Yes, I do have a death wish. I want Iron Fist dead," the man replies, sipping beer smugly.
Nathan is shocked, "Do you know how many tough guys died the last time that we tried killing Iron Fist? El Aguila, Crossbow, Montenegro, Skullcrusher, Pavane, two Kingorian savages, two attack panthers, and the infamous Scarecrow, for Christ's sake!"
"Amen," the fair-haired, dark-suited man uplifts his hands.
Nathan Lemon exclaims, "I almost died myself several times! So did Colleen Wing and Shanna the She-Devil, and their friends did not like that occurrence a bit."
"Are you sour on the assignment, Mr. Lemon?" whiskey flows down a gullet.
"I would like to be hired, Mr. Beliar," David Cannon states beside Nathan. The two villains sit side-by-side in a booth. Across from them, Mr. Beliar sits with pre-meal refreshments.
"Whirlwind, don't barrel into a bad deal," Lemon cautions Cannon.
"Spymaster," Cannon calls Lemon, "Let's hear Mr. Beliar out here." Spymaster and Whirlwind sit here listening to a possible employer. The three sit in a Bar with No Name in Springdale, Connecticut. Besides them, Nathan espies a server at the bar and a cook in the kitchen. Mr. Beliar has managed to get the bar all to himself, somehow. Of course, Springdale is somewhat out-of-the-way, and it is home to the rogues gallery of Speedball, local hero. So, it is not where the happening villains, the New York elite, hang out much.
Behind the bartender, the blonde cook brings a clam appetizer to the order window. The steward turns to get it. At the table, Mr. Beliar dumps peanuts and beer into his mouth, and he gulps and crunches like a goddam beast. Spymaster is not sure what he is seeing. Whirlwind is amused and continues enjoying his screwdriver. The food arrives, and the barkeep places it down before Beliar. He brings his master another beer stein promptly.
"Thank you, Tommy," Beliar tells the barkeep.
"That is Thomas Arn, an old Iron Fist foe," Spymaster notes, "He took over the nefarious identity of Chaka Khan after a man named Robert Hao was imprisoned."
The potential employer is impressed, "You know your stuff, Nate."
"Nathan," Mr. Lemon corrects him, "I know also that Roger Joliet, a.k.a. Jolly Roger, old Speedball foe, operates this particular Bar with No Name. Usually, he greets guests, sometimes jollily. Where is ol' Roger today?"
Beliar scarfs fried clam. He takes a moment to chew it over. Anon, he answers, "He is in back assisting the cook."
"We can see the jolly old fellow later," Whirlwind tells Spymaster, "Right now, I want to hear a business offer."
Beliar points a sharp finger at Arn, and the bartender prepares more drink for Cannon. Spymaster studies Beliar's dirty, under-trimmed nail. There is a reason that Nathan did not touch the peanuts in the snackbowl. Also, Mr. Beliar smells a bit, three-piece suit or not.
The suit swigs suds, "As stated, I want Iron Fist murdered. You, Spymaster, were involved in a past plot to kill him. You, Whirlwind, were involved in Spymaster's plot marginally, and you have fought Iron Fist before [see Power Man and Iron Fist #106]. You both might appreciate another crack at him—for riches."
Mr. Lemon considers, "I would not mind paying him back for past troubles. Three buddies and he actually tracked me down after I escaped following the last plot's failure."
Mr. Cannon chuckles insensitively, "Yeah, I heard about that. Iron Fist, Ka-Zar, and two MI-6 guys gave you a beat-down after Misty Knight and the NYPD had already given you a beat-down." Tommy brings guffawing Whirlwind another vodka and OJ. Beliar sits there smirking.
Their companion stares daggers back at them. He gets them back on point, "So anyway, I have a reason to destroy Iron Fist. Obviously, you must want the death of Iron Fist too, Mr. Beliar."
Beer foam forms a goatee upon Beliar's handsome face. "Truthfully, I bear Iron Fist no malice," replies the curious contract client.
"Get f***ed!" Spymaster expresses his surprise.
"You're a little weird, man," Whirlwind comments, "Why do you want Iron Fist dead then?" Sometimes, buzzed people are readier to just go with the flow.
Mr. Beliar delicately takes a pocketsquare from his suitjacket. He swipes the dripping dunkel from his maw. "I have a condition," Beliar states.
"What is your condition? Are you infatuated with Daniel Rand like I am with Janet Van Dyne?" Cannon queries.
"No, I do not suffer from lust. I shall not be stuffing my trophy once you deliver him. That would be psycho," Beliar references a book.
"Are you some bored rich guy?" Spymaster inquires, "Do you want Iron Fist hunted to vicariously sate your own pride and envy?"
"No," Beliar pats his belly, "My condition is that I need to eat a lot. I, dare I say, have a stomach like a bottomless pit."
"No kidding. I have observed that you eat like a fiend," Lemon puckers.
Beliar chuckles. Astute Spymaster suspects something about Beliar, but it can't be the case. Another order arrives from the kitchen. Tommy Arn delivers it. With relish, Beliar bites into a breaded meat sandwich that dribbles pinkish grease.
"Is that a pork sandwich?" Cannon asks.
"Long pork," Beliar answers.
"Baloney," Lemon declares, "Long pork is what cannibals call human flesh."
"How did you know that?" Beliar asks.
"I read a lot of crap on the internet," Spymaster loves information.
"I too love reading. In fact, because of something I read, I want you two to kill Iron Fist and to deliver his carcass to me," Beliar consumes some flesh.
Spymaster wearies of inquest, "What in hell's name motivates you, Mr. Beliar? Spill your guts, please."
The eater smirks, "Iron Fist has a dragon branded upon his chest, and that same powerful dragon is part of him. The creature's name is Shou-Lao the Undying. And, I wish to ritually consume the great beast and the great warrior. I wish to absorb their spirits and energy into myself. I shall butcher and eat Iron Fist's body if you gentlemen but kindly deliver it."
Beliar's chops bite and grind the long pork grinder. Two other jaws drop.
"Get f***ed! I'm done," Nathan Lemon rises abruptly to leave. Spymaster is an occasional assassin, but he is no sicko.
Beliar and Cannon watch Lemon depart for the sidewalk outside of the bar. The petitioner returns to the possible peon. From his suitcoat, Beliar produces a cigar, and he places the "dogturd" before David.
"May I tempt you into a smoke?" Beliar asks.
"I can smoke in here?" Cannon asks back.
"Yes. The Bar with No Name is a den of free spirits, for a Bar with No Name is a bar with no limits. Freedom prevails," Beliar beguiles.
"God bless the outlaws," Cannon comments. Then, he startles. Bartender Arn is suddenly beside him. The sneak snips the cigar and strikes a match. He lights Whirlwind.
"Xiexie," David thanks the Chinese-American.
"You are welcome," Thomas replies, "But I am from New York, not Nanking. "
"New York City is a lovely place. I have often acted there," Beliar bites his sandwich, and it bleeds a little. He chews flesh and considers the felon across from him.
Whirlwind puffs his cigar. The smoke gets into his head and obscures his vision. Through the haze, Mr. Beliar looks into his eyes, and Beliar's burning eyes are gradually the only thing that Cannon sees. A voice intones "David, my boy, we need to get Nathan back to the table." Whirlwind rises. He drops the cigar. It really is a dogturd. Perhaps, it is what has attracted so many flies to Beliar's booth.
Outside, Nathan Lemon awaits his companion. Perhaps, he would smoke 'em if he had 'em, but he does not smoke. Spymaster has other vices, but an elite espionage agent cannot afford bad lungs. Nathan gasps when David inexplicably sneaks-up on him from behind. Normally, a spymaster is more alert.
"Sinclair Abbott," Cannon utters in Lemon's ear.
Nate faces him, "What about him? He was an arrogant industrialist who tried to take me out recently. He even stole my Spymaster identity."
"I heard that he had killed you," (see Iron Man: The Inevitable #2) David replies.
"Dave, in this business, we are all experts at faking our own deaths," the master elucidates, "I faked mine for two reasons. One, I was beneath the radar when people believed that I was six feet under. Two, my 'death' allowed Abbot to bring all of the heat on himself by pretending to be Spymaster. And, you know what? The cops capped him eventually [see Invincible Iron Man #519]. It wasn't even Iron Man, Ghost, I, or anyone cool who liquidated the loser. A herd of pigs did. Do you understand? That loser the Living Laser killed Abbott's wife Greta [see Iron Man: The Inevitable #6], but Sinclair himself did not die in such a cool and dignified manner."
Cannon takes Lemon's arm, "Mr. Beliar is someone 'cool', to use your term. He could do a lot for you. You should return inside and do business with him. He could make you less of a mockery to Iron Man, She-Hulk [see Sensational She-Hulk #59], Ka-Zar, and such. Beliar could buoy your bad reputation. He could make you cool—and dignified."
Offended, Lemon pulls free his arm. He is unconvinced, "Mr. Beliar is an aspiring madman madder than most. Let's get back to the Big Apple where there are fewer crazy Connecticut cannibals."
Spymaster moves toward the sedan that brought the dastardly duo north. Whirlwind cuts off his path, "Mr. Beliar could do a lot for you. You should see who and what is in this bar's kitchen. It is true. Some of us are experts at cheating death in this business."
"What in hell's name is that supposed to mean?" Spymaster grows irritated. Whirlwind is being pushy. Spymaster knows better than to push back against such a powerful mutant. He does not need to be embarrassed. However, Whirlwind might be flying home instead of riding.
Cannon closes space on Lemon. Leaning in, he speaks, "Mr. Beliar could do a lot for you, Nate. He might be a devil with a deal worth your making. Besides, who is craftier? Him or you, Spymaster? You can always double-cross the crazy later. We can just take Beliar's money, kill Iron Fist, and not deliver the body, or something!"
During conversation, Spymaster notices Whirlwind's body twitch and his eyes flutter in a certain way. The espionage elite knows hypnosis or mind control when he sees it. This Mr. Beliar seems like a capable puppet master indeed. He is capable of mind control and, apparently, even greater things. Spymaster is intrigued and curious. He might as well gather information on Beliar and his plan. Information is safety. Information is power. And, Spymaster need not fear Beliar. After all, as Whirlwind rhetorically wondered, who is wilier? Nate walks back into his fate. He wants to encounter the full deal and master plan of boss Beliar.
Entering the bar, Spymaster immediately controls the conversation, "You know, 'Beliar' is a form of 'Belial', a devil. Is that what you have to offer—a deal with the devil?"
"I certainly do know who I am," Beliar eats apple pie, "And, I know who you are too. Mammon and pride are friends of yours."
"No one quite knows Spymaster. I make sure of that," Spymaster states with some hubris.
Mr. Beliar nods knowingly, "I tell you what. Let's you make a deal with me. Let me give you Iron Fist's current location, and let me tell you that Misty Knight is with him. You remember Ms. Knight, correct?"
"Yeah," Spymaster answers curtly. Wrath swells in his chest, and vengeance enters his mind. Misty Knight messed him up once. The villain fantasizes of disassembling the bionic woman.
"You could easily have revenge upon both of them. You could kill the Living Weapon and slay the Daughter of the Dragon. And, you could get paid well for doing so. How satisfying would that be?" Beliar continues his pitch, "Let me be your patron and father just as Justin Hammer was, God—or whoever—keep his soul."
Nathan Lemon is a highly capable thug. It is true. He is a crafty mastermind and a badass commando capable of challenging even Iron Man and Iron Fist. But, Spytmaster is a thug at heart. Senseless violence speaks to him. Riches, rapaciously gained, feed his essence. In the end, he is a henchman and monkey's paw. Still, something in his psyche—conscience or otherwise—gives him pause before contracting with Beliar.
Nate murmurs. He asserts, "I am not comfortable with the cannibalism thing."
"Mr. Lemon, you desecrate a human body every time that you murder one," Mr. Beliar shrugs, "However, I am a fair and honest master. I give you my word, for all that it is worth, that we shall negotiate the fate of Iron Fist's corpse once you deliver it." Flies buzz around the empty dishes and the glutton in the booth.
Spymaster scrutinizes Beliar and considers his character. The man is fop with his fair coiffed hair, silk shirt, and gold rings. Pride tells Spymaster that he is tougher and worldlier than this man. Beliar is a kook whom Spymaster can certainly control and con. Spymaster figures that he knows who is the real master and devil here.
"All right," Spymaster agrees to the job, "You said that you have resources to offer."
"I have him," Beliar points to the bar. There, Thomas Arn has donned a garish orange mask that looks a little like a tiger. Later, team-leader Lemon will learn that this funny, fearsome face belongs to Chaka, an old Iron Fist enemy.
Nate manages to not roll his orbs contemptuously. "Who else you got?" he asks.
"Well, in this business, we are all experts at faking our own deaths," Beliar quotes Lemon. Lemon wonders how Beliar possibly does so. Beliar sat here eating while Whirlwind and Spymaster were outside. But, Lemon does know that there are 101 ways to spy on people.
"Okay, you apparently heard me discuss cheating death with Whirlwind. You know that stupid Sinclair Abbott didn't successfully whack me," Spymaster remarks, "Now, don't let me die of boredom. Who else have you got for our awesome assassination operation?"
Without a word, Beliar looks toward the kitchen and points a nail. With a flick, his finger beckons someone from within. In the kitchen's freezer, the cook turns her ponytailed head as though toward a voice. Then, she turns her body away from two human carcasses hanging from meathooks. One is Jolly Roger, the man who owns this bar. His leg lacks a chunk that was served breaded on a bran bun earlier. The other hanging stiff is the real Thomas Arn. Like panthers' paws, her boots travel the kitchen's hard floor and rubber mats sans sound. From a cupboard, the cook grabs a bullwhip and places it upon her hip behind her apron.
She emerges from the swinging kitchen doors. Spymaster and Whirlwind see her. Duel jaws drop. It is Pavane! She lets loose her hair. And, her golden tresses and glinting eyes tell the two men that the terminated temptress is very much alive. Spymaster and Whirlwind remember when Colleen Wing gutted her. The men are tempted to rip open her shirt and to find the evisceration scar. But, that action might be a little offbeat. She smiles and winks. Spymaster wonders where in Hell she came from.