Roxanne expected her sleep that night to be haunted by frightened girls and shadowy figures, but, perhaps thanks to Megamind's expert (and rather exhausting) ministrations, what came to her instead was a surprisingly pleasant dream. She was riding the carousel at the shabby little amusement park her mother had occasionally taken her to when she was young, and Margaret Ritchi herself was there, alive and smiling. As the colors of the park swirled around them to the accompaniment of bell-like music, Roxanne told her mother all about the wonderful, unique blue man with whom she'd found unexpected love. Suddenly, the music changed from a merry carillon tune to a strident beeping.
The dream shattered and Roxanne jerked awake. Beside her, Megamind was already sitting up, reaching for his watch on the nightstand.
"Sorry, alert from surveillance," he said, examining the small, curved display hidden in the otherwise classy, old-fashioned watch face. (Megamind's holowatch looked for all the world like an expensive mechanical Swiss timepiece, and he had assured her that despite all of the technological goodies on-board, the timing mechanism itself was, indeed, made from springs and gears.)
"I'm guessing this means we have to get up," she yawned, rubbing her eyes.
"I do, at least. You should stay here and rest," he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I don't need as much sleep as you do."
"What's happening?"
"It looks like the brainbots may have found a lead on Ares!" he said, leaping with sudden energy from the bed and pulling on his pajama bottoms. (Roxanne loved that the man who'd once been the city's most feared villain wore blue fleece pajamas featuring hazard symbols. It was just so… him.)
"What have they found, exactly?" she asked. Ignoring her lover's protest, she scrambled out from the covers and began searching for her own satin nightdress. Megamind had thrown it someone around the foot of the bed.
"The Stay Suite Motel near the dockyards," Megamind responded, shoving his feet into evil-eyed bat slippers. "Single male occupant, suspicious behavior. The brainbots spotted him first making contact with an unknown party in a new model luxury sedan— the windows were too darkly tinted to get a good image— then later with Slim Sandbergen— he's an information broker, and I don't mean legitimate data. Whoever the man at the Stay Suite is, he doesn't match the facial recognition scan for any of the criminals in my database. It's not much, but it could be something, and I'd have to check it out anyway. If he's not in the database it means he didn't register with me when he came into town."
"Register? Wait, criminals have to register?"
"Well, professional ones and chronic offenders do." He blinked at her. "Roxanne, I'm the Mastermind, and believe me, Master of All Villainy isn't just an empty title. I rule the underbelly of this city. So, yes, just as they would need permission to engage in illicit business on a Mafia don's territory, they have to register with me and pay me the proper respect. My turf, my rules."
"I thought you just meant that you'd mastered every type of villainous act," she'd slipped on her gown, and was securing her silk robe around her waist. "Doesn't that cause a conflict of interest? I mean, you're a hero now!"
"By controlling the criminal world I can keep a cap on crime. There's no other effective way to manage the matter. It's impossible to keep things in check from the outside. The legal system may punish crimes, but I stop most of the worst ones from happening in the first place. I maintain restrictions on thieves, limit violent crime," he began quickly buttoning his pajama top. "I regulate narcotics to ensure nothing is being laced with other substances, and to keep the supplies purposefully low— low enough to minimize the damage, but not so low that it skyrockets prices and induces people to buy uncontrolled goods in Detroit. I regulate the sex trade so that there's no abuse and no underage workers." he frowned slightly. "It's not a perfect system, I admit that, but it's the best I've got."
"That's not the work of a few months."
"I've been the Mastermind since I was nineteen."
That bit of news stunned her. She did a quick mental calculation. The crime rates in Metro City had begun sharply declining when she was fifteen, around two decades ago. Poor Megamind. At the age most kids' biggest worries were college classes and part-time jobs, he'd had to create a criminal empire so that he could keep people safe. He'd probably had to play dangerous games for years before that just to survive.
"What does everyone else think you've been getting out of it all this time if they didn't know you were trying to minimize crime?" she asked. "Are you telling me no one ever found that the least bit suspicious?"
His expression was fond. "Of course you would figure me out. Naturally, I had to be seen to get something out of it. The arrangement is little different from that with any other organized crime boss, really. Above a certain amount, I get a cut of all profits from illegal activity."
"And what do you do with it? I can't imagine you keeping it," she lowered her voice to a whisper as followed him out of her bedroom. No sense in waking Minion.
"A large portion of it goes back to the community. I wouldn't feel right otherwise. That's where all those big donations come from. Nobody but Minion and I— and now you— know it, but the criminal underworld of this city unwittingly helps fund a lot of social programs."
"Such as?"
He smirked. "Nosy reporter."
"Old habits die hard. Besides, I really want to know about this part of your life."
"That money built and supports organizations helping everyone from adult learners who want to fix their lives to people who need hospital care and can't afford insurance, from small business startups to families in need. Then there's all the money I donate— anonymously, of course— to a couple of no-kill animal rescues and extracurricular education programs."
"Wait, you're behind the Families First Foundation? And the Health Assistance Fund?"
"Along with the teaching hospital, yes. The idea is that regular doctors visits and some minor operations can be performed by new graduates working their residencies, while more involved medical problems… Well, with the help of other donors, I provide medical school scholarships every year, but in exchange those who take advantage of them sign a contract agreeing that a certain percentage of their patients will be probono for a set number of years— usually five to ten. Years I mean. It depends on whether they take a partial or full scholarship. By the time the term is up, there are new graduates taking their place. Although some agree to continue seeing established patients for free. I ensure there are… certain benefits."
"And what's the percentage?"
"Generally fifteen to twenty percent— enough to make a real difference but not enough to discourage students from entering into the agreement. Between that and the Health Assistance Fund, over five-thousand struggling patients get free medical care in this system every year. Thousands more pay less than a penny on the dollar. Ten thousand, roughly, receive free standard medical treatment at the teaching hospital on top of that. Add what few state and federal programs exist, as well as the local health clinics, and, well, in a city of only a little over twenty-thousand, it makes a significant impact. More than half of residents get some sort of free or low-cost health care. And of course, that's based not only on income but on medical needs as well. Long-term disabilities, things like that. And being in the adult learning program guarantees healthcare for low-income individuals. We even help some people from Detroit. That encourages more people to take the first steps toward building a better future. Because that's important; otherwise too many people remain in low-wage dead-end jobs for fear of losing what little stability and insurance they have. Or they end up trapped in homelessness because businesses don't want to hire what they think of as 'bums.' It's all one system, really, like components in a machine built to improve life in this city overall. It's not perfect, far from what it should be, but," he shrugged. "I'm one person. I do what I can."
"You do more than anyone else I can think of," she assured him. "Do you help fund the health clinics, too?"
"They get sizable donations every year."
"What if someone tries to back out of the contract after they graduate? Or tries to fudge the numbers?"
He gave her a darkly significant look. "Roxanne, I'm Megamind. What do you think happens?"
"Right. I'm guessing nothing pleasant."
"I've always been very good at being bad. Thankfully only two have ever been stupid enough to try it."
"So you ensure that unemployed, low-income, and even lower-middle-class people have access to medical care… Then that sort of interfaces with the Safe Harbor Shelter and the New Horizons Learning Center?"
"Not exclusively, but yes."
"Everyone thinks Metro Man and his parents did all that!"
"Yes, well, they've been given credit for several of my more altruistic projects. Not that that bothers me; it's always made it easier to hide my involvement, and thus my real motives," he shrugged. "And of course I don't do it alone— there are a lot of fundraisers and wealthy donors too— but I started and largely pay for those organizations." He said it like it was nothing, as a matter of fact as if he was discussing paying bills rather than changing lives. That was something Roxanne had noticed about her lover: he could be vaunting nearly to the point of megalomania about some things— his looks, his mind, his inventions— but other more charitable things he played down. She wondered if it was a force of habit after years of keeping his supervillain reputation intact, or if his life as an outsider had made him shy of praise. Looking at him, she suspected the latter. That might explain why he took his occasional boasting to nearly comical extremes; no one would be likely to take those sorts of proclamations seriously.
No one, that was, except the one woman who knew and loved him enough to see right through him. "You're amazing," she tugged his arm to slow him long enough to kiss his cheek. "Is that why you don't want to stop? The community would suffer?"
"In more ways than one. I've been pulling the strings of Metrocity's criminal organizations for over two decades, Sweetheart. If I suddenly stopped, do you have any idea how much bloodshed there would be? Think about it: every gang leader fighting to be on top, not to mention the likelihood of other crime bosses making a move on the territory. It would tear apart the whole city. And even when it was over, do you think whoever won would care about keeping ordinary people safe? No. Local powers have tried to overthrow me in the past, and they have already shown they're willing to let violent crime run rampant as long as the dollars keep flowing in."
"Who's tried to overthrow you?" she asked as they made their way to the bottom of the stairs. "I mean, I know about the confrontation with the Peretti Family years ago, but I didn't know there were others."
"Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes' oh-so-perfect parents are the worst offenders. What?" he added at her shocked expression. "You didn't really think they made all those billions legally, did you? Their business interests don't pay that well."
"I… never thought about it. Does Wayne know?"
"He doesn't seem to, although I'm shocked the fact they call themselves Lord and Lady Smith didn't give something away."
"I always thought it was just, you know, an ancestral title."
He scoffed. "In the United States?"
"Okay, yeah, probably a stupid assumption. So Metro City's favorite power couple are really crime bosses? Now there's a story!"
"No! Don't! Roxanne, they're dangerous." He flipped on the lights of the workroom. "Well, Lord Smith is, anyway. Lady Smith is just a fool from an old East Coast family who lends him respectability. Brainbots! Bring out Daddy's battle attire!" He disappeared behind the changing curtain and continued: "Honestly, I don't know whether she's really so oblivious that she doesn't see what's happening right under her nose, or if she just doesn't let herself see it."
It took Megamind less than a minute to suit up— it was impressive how quickly he could dress— and he stepped back into view, fastening on his cloak. He holstered the De-Gun and clipped a Knock-Out Grenade— one of his recent inventions— to his belt before giving Roxanne a deep kiss and swinging onto the hoverbike.
"I'll be home as soon as I can, Sweetheart," he said as he warmed the engine.
"Are you sure you don't want me with you?"
"You need rest, and honestly, I doubt I'll see any violence tonight. For all I know this man could be completely unrelated. Even if this is Ares, in his line of work only fools trust their clients and informants. If he had a meeting right outside this particular motel, he's probably staying somewhere else with the little girl, and I don't want to arrest him until I know where Olivia is."
"But you can't know that. It's only a guess."
"More than a guess, Love. Let's call it an educated hypothesis. The Stay Suite is the kind of place that asks no questions and rents rooms by the hour— perfect for setting up a clandestine meeting, but not somewhere you could safely sleep. I'm only hoping I'll find something we can use. If I'm very lucky and he hasn't left yet, I might even be able to tail Ares. But to do that, I'll need stealth, and that's easier with one person." Seeing the obstinate expression on her face, he smiled reassuringly. "I only take calculated risks, remember? I wouldn't go alone if I thought I would be in any danger. Keep your holowatch close. If, by some chance, Ares is still there, I'll signal for backup and limit myself to surveillance until you or Minion arrive. I won't engage him on my own unless I have to. I promise. Now," his smile grew gentle, and he brushed long, blue fingers against her cheek. "Please get some rest, Sweetheart. You can hardly help anyone if you're exhausted."
Roxanne sighed but relented. Sometimes his infallible logic could be incredibly inconvenient.
"Be careful," she said. "I love you." The woman tried to stretch far enough up to kiss him again, and he obliged her by leaning down and giving her a quick peck on the lips.
"I will," he promised. He pressed a button and the hoverbike slowly levitated from its stand "This really is likely just a reconnaissance mission. Try to get some sleep. I love you, too." Then he revved the small aircraft into gear and took off through the hologram wall. The metal door slammed down behind him.
Despite Megamind's words, Roxanne knew there was no way she would get back to sleep. Even before she'd officially moved in they had slept curled around each other every night for months. Back when they had not yet become lovers, Megamind had still spent many evenings winding her in his arms, whispering conversations and soothing her with gentle touches until she drifted off to sleep. True, the hero's duties too often called him away for a few hours, but he always returned. They stole every moment, every embrace and lingering caress, that they could, and Roxanne realized with a start that she couldn't clearly remember the last time she'd slept alone, couldn't even recall what it felt like. On the rare occasions crime-fighting kept her lover busy all night, she always tossed in sore-eyed wakefulness, cold and uncomfortable and agitated, until he crept into bed beside her during the dark hours before dawn. The silken touch and warm scent of his skin had become both her aphrodisiac and her sedative. Add to that the fact that she would do nothing but fret until she knew he was safe, and there was no way she would possibly find any rest.
She made some coffee in the pot on one of his work tables, and sat in his high-backed leather chair, trying not to worry. Desperate for a distraction, she examined the day's news for any signs of Ares they might have missed— not that it would matter much if the killer was caught tonight. She was still there over an hour later when her lover returned.
"Megamind? Did you find him? What happened?"
"I had to disable a bomb. Ares had been there, alright, but he was long gone before I arrived. I found this on the desk."
He handed her an old bit of newspaper— a minor article about a new educational facility— and she recognized the building in the grainy black and white photo.
"That's—"
"My old shool house, yes, and Metro Man's hideout."
"So you don't think Wayne could be the target?"
"Most people think he's already dead."
"Maybe he was planning to blow the school building up, just to send you another message?"
"I doubt it. He knows how much I hated the place; how I was bullied and beaten, ostracized by everyone, even the teacher."
"I remember you telling me, I still can't believe what a prick Wayne was to you. But if Ares thinks Wayne is dead and if you hated the school, then why would he have this?"
"He knew I'd be there. He's taunting me."
"How? How did he know you'd found him?"
"I don't know, but I don't like it."
Roxanne nodded mutely, studying the photo.
"Do you mind if I hold onto this?"
"Keep it, if you want it. I doubt it had any purpose beyond provoking me."
Roxanne remained silent. She couldn't agree. Something about the photo tugged at instincts honed by years of searching out buried truths. She might not know its significance yet, but she was an investigative reporter. One way or another, she'd find out.