Summary: Even a supervillain, who's skipped worlds and retired to a universe that your enemies can't reach, should be careful not to underestimate people. Especially policeman.
(Written for Gray Cardinal in the Crossworks 2022 Crossover Exchange)
Yes, it's a crossover between Defenders of the Earth and Columbo. Why? That's a good question... It was a Pinch Hit for Crossworks 2022, and all I can say is that it seemed like a good idea at the time. And it was very, very good fun to write!
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The First Rule of Supervillainy
'Mr Mer-sel-lis,' the scruffy little human mumbled, writing it down in his notebook. 'Say, that's quite an unusual name.'
Ming watched him, mildly amused. Silence stretched through the reception room of his downtown penthouse while the man in front of him frowned and continued to scribble awkwardly, unable to keep his writing implement straight due to the stub of smouldering cigar he held in the same hand.
Quite why this person had insisted on seeing him, Ming wasn't sure. But apparently it was part of the man's job to ask questions, or so Octon's analysis had indicated. And as Ming had a free slot in his afternoon schedule, he'd agreed to see this "police-officer". Of course, Octon had been wrong before but, in general, the computer had provided sufficient information to make his stay in this world comfortable and he wasn't about to second guess the machine. What was the point in bringing it and Garax along with him if he didn't use them?
'And it's pronounced Mer-cil-es,' Ming corrected when his visitor finally looked up.
'Oh. Oh, I'm sorry for the mistake, sir,' the man scribbled something else then added: 'It's not a name you hear very often, not around here.'
He gestured towards the window, and Ming decided he meant around this city, rather than this entire world.
With a low grunt that he hoped was interpreted as agreement, Ming gave a thin, disinterested smile that hid most of his glee at the way that the man had utterly missed the joke in his name. These humans, it was so simple as they were all idiots. They were blind and easy to manipulate.
It was the little things that mattered here: A confident smile; the correct use of proper naming conventions; a sincere-sounding lie. Use these, along with some of those funny, little, green pieces of paper… and humans would do nearly anything for him. Who'd have thought, after all his years of scheming and fighting, that some little, green pieces of paper would give him so much leverage?
The man finished writing again, then fished around in his pockets for something that turned out to be a wallet of some sort. He flipped it open and held it out, so Ming took it, and looked, assuming that it was important for some reason.
It had a metal star on one side, and some sort of identification slip on the other, that proclaimed this odd, short, awkward man as a "Lieutenant-Columbo" who worked for something called the "Los Angeles Police Department". That fitted with what Octon had told him, and certainly sounded impressive, even if the person who it identified was rather underwhelming. Back in the other world, he might have had the man executed for his sartorial inadequacies; none of the Defenders would have dared to show up at Ming's door dressed like that. Mandrake might have been his arch-enemy, but at least he had an admirable sense of style.
He handed the wallet back without saying the disparaging comment that he had been thinking.
Observing the niceties of this place was the hardest part of living here, which included not simply removing anyone who you found disagreeable. Being polite and patient was also a difficult skill to master, but he usually kept himself calm by imagining the looks on his enemy's faces when they discovered he had vanished from their universe for good. And, as he always reminded himself, there were obvious advantages in this world; no Flash Gordon, no The Phantom and all the "magicians" here were frauds. All of which made his retirement all the less stressful, even if it was occasionally a touch dull.
There were other advantages. This was such a rich and bountiful planet, so under-exploited and ripe for someone with the relevant skillset (and the appropriate state-of-mind) to redress that balance. Recently he had wondered why he hadn't thought of this before, just leaving Prince Kro-Tan to his flawed inheritance and retiring to somewhere with fewer angry, super-powered men with a revenge complex and a low boredom threshold.
He blinked, realising that the Lieutenant was watching him, waiting for him to say something.
'Is there a reason for your visit Mr Lieutenant-Columbo?' he asked, because he couldn't begin to guess what had happened to cause this interruption to his day.
In front of him, the human seemed a little startled at the use of his full honorific, but Ming knew that using the proper mode of address in this world was a vital part of being taken seriously, and to avoiding prying eyes.
'My assistant told me this was urgent.' Ming prompted.
'Oh, yes,' Lieutenant-Columbo replied. 'Of course. I don't want to take up more of your valuable time than I have to, Mr Merculis,
'Mer-cil-es,' Ming corrected again. Didn't the man listen?
'Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry, sir.'
'And?'
'Well, you see, it's about the incident the other night. One of your workmen, Mr Lester. At your house, your other house, of course, the one across town. And I'm working on his case.' Lieutenant-Columbo waited for him to say something. When he didn't, he added: 'The man who died in your basement the night before last.'
Oh.
That.
That was just a minor inconvenience. He hadn't expected anyone to take much notice as, around here, people seemed to die all the time.
It wasn't Ming's fault that a nosey and persistent human had discovered the secret lair (although it had been more of a failure of security than the human's own initiative, a fact he'd been sure to impress upon both Octon and Garax later that evening). But at least he'd had the foresight to ensure that the cause of death could not be traced back to him.
Garax had suggested burying the body in the grounds, but that sounded a lot like hard work and would have taken too much time. Then Octon had suggested that they use The Machine to push the body to a different universe and get rid of the evidence completely, but he disliked using his precious creation for something so mundane. The Machine had given him all of this, it had opened up a whole new world to him, filled with exciting and amazing possibilities. And besides, shoving a dead body into it would just get blood all over the delicate mechanism.
In the end, he told Garax to move the body to the basement and make it look as if the victim had fallen on one of his implements while working. It wasn't even that difficult. However, Garax should have remembered to take the keys back from the man's pocket before closing the doors, but it was such a small detail that he found it hard to be annoyed about it for long.
After all, who was there in this world that could match wits with Ming the Merciless?
No one was going to figure out about those keys.
Ming almost smiled at the policeman standing in front of him, looking small and pathetic and utterly out of his depth, waiting for him to respond. It took a moment for him to remember what Lieutenant-Columbo had been talking about.
'And what about him?' Ming said as the intent-but-clueless look on the human's face began to get irritating.
'Well, I was at your house, sir. After they found Mr Lester's body in the basement. It's normal for us to come and take a look at this sort of thing, when someone dies, in those sorts of circumstances. I'm sure you understand we need to look into it, and get all our facts straight, get everything cleared up so I can close the case without any loose ends, because my boss, the Chief, boy does he hate loose ends, sir.'
Ming shrugged his agreement, even if he hated the idea that grubby little humans like this one were shuffling around in his home. But, after the lecture on security he'd given Garax, he was certain no one else would find the secret door.
'I spoke to a-' the man flicked back and forward through his notebook '-a Mr Garax. Said he was your assistant.'
'Assistant? Well-' Ming paused. Assistant was more acceptable in this world than servant or minion, so he supposed it was close enough. 'Yes. My assistant.'
Lieutenant-Columbo made a note of something in his book before continuing.
'Yes, so Mr Garax, he was very helpful, I have to say sir. Very helpful. Put my mind at ease right away about it. I'll get the case closed up in no time, don't you worry, and then I'll get out of your way. He told me everything I needed to know.'
Garax was supposed to be helpful, but the turn of phrase sounded vaguely ominous.
'Everything?'
'Oh yes, sir. And he was telling me all about your business.'
'Was he?'
'Oh, yes, he was very clear about your business, and how you made your money. And your retirement plans.'
The Lieutenant sounded a little awed by what he'd heard and that made Ming smile a little more warmly. Finally, Garax had managed to do something right.
'So, about the case, Mr Merselus,'
'Mer-cil-ess,' Ming corrected again, making sure to emphasise the 's' at the end.
'Oh, of course, yes, of course,' he added something to his notebook, 'so, I spoke to Mr Garax about the case, and asked him some questions, and he was very helpful, as I said. And he gave me a lot of the information I needed about the death of Mr Lester. But, well, there are just a few little details that I need to check, because my boss, you know, he likes everything checked out, and this way I can make sure I have all we need and I won't have to come back.'
Now that was an appealing prospect. Ming nodded.
'Then let's get this over with,' he said.
'Of course, sir. Now, let me see if I have this correct-'
The little man flicked back a few pages, paused then flicked back a few more. He scratched the side of his head, and read in silence for a while. Inwardly Ming sighed. Humans!
As he waited, he thought back to the night in question, to killing the man. Back in his old world, in Central City, killing people had been unaccountably difficult. He'd tried, on a number of occasions, to ensure that Flash Gordon and at least some of his tedious entourage died slow and painful deaths, but somehow it had never worked out the way he'd hoped. Here it was different, death was different, and the man had died with barely a murmur of protest and had provided a surprising catharsis. True, Gordon was alive (somewhere in the multi-verse), and Ming would never see him again, but that workman had looked enough like his arch-nemesis to give a jolt of blood-ridden satisfaction to the act.
Of course, it should never have happened in the first place. And it was still a mystery as to how this "Lester" had managed to get through the security, but once he'd seen The Machine, and seen all the crystals they'd collected, there was no way he could be left free to blab about it to all his human friends. He'd briefly considered just giving the man handfuls of the green pieces of paper and letting him go, but the look of avarice in the human's eye had been enough to convince him that a more permanent solution was necessary.
'It's was about the money, sir,' Lieutenant-Columbo said, bringing Ming back to the current conversation with a bump.
'Money?' Money was- oh yes, those little green pieces of paper he seemed to have such an affinity for. 'Oh, yes. Money! What about money?'
'Mr Lester had a number of hundred dollar notes on him at the time he died, and that's odd sir, very odd.'
Was it? Weren't humans supposed to have lots of those papers on them at all times?
'Why?' he felt obliged to ask.
There was more flicking of pages and looking at the notebook and Ming found his patience beginning to wear thin.
'Why is the money important?' he asked, an edge to his voice.
'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you waiting, Mr Marsellees.'
'Mer-cil-es,' Ming muttered darkly, although he was sure Mr Lieutenant-Columbo was too busy to hear him.
'You see, Mr Lester, he didn't have a lot of money, according to his friends. And he certainly wouldn't have been taking it to work. Not in that quantity.'
'So?'
'So, we don't understand why he had so much on him when he died.'
'You don't?' Didn't this man have any imagination at all?
'Well, as he was on your premises-'
The word hung in the air and the silence quickly grew uncomfortable.
'Well, obviously I gave it to him,' Ming said. 'He was doing work for me.'
'Oh!' It was pitiful, the look of simple understanding that flicked over the human's face. 'Oh, so you gave it to him?'
The directness of the question made Ming hesitate, but he couldn't see any reason to deny it. He had tried to give the man money to make him go away.
'Yes,' he said.
'I see.'
There was another, just as awkward pause, and Ming felt he had to say something.
'Do you have another question?'
The man flicked through the notebook again, the sound now definitely getting on Ming's nerves.
'Well, it's not really an important question, but-'
He frowned and shook his head, as if he was thinking better of asking.
'But?' insisted Ming.
'But you don't usually pay the workmen by cash,' he replied. 'Mr Garax was quite clear about it. Oh, yes. He said that you never keep cash in your house because of the "habit those pieces of paper had of vanishing".'
The question took him by surprise, but the human didn't appear to notice, he was busy looking back at that damn notebook and fiddling with the cigar.
'That does sound like something Garax would say,' Ming admitted. Garax had never really understood the point of those pieces of paper, or the power they held over the humans. It had been easier to keep them locked away in the secret lair because otherwise Garax would leave them lying around. 'But I do have some of those papers kept close to me. Just in case. I just don't tell Garax.'
'Of course sir,' Lieutenant-Columbo said, his tone low and conspiratorial, as if they were sharing a secret. 'I'm sure Mr Garax does his best, but it's very wise to keep them secure.'
The simple fact he agreed made Ming smile.
'Well,' the man said, folding his notebook away, 'I think that's all I need to ask you about. I don't want to take up any more of your time, I understand how busy you must be.'
Ming smiled more widely. No questions about the night and what they'd been doing there. No questions about the slip up with the keys or what the man had been doing there in the first place. Humans were far too easy to manipulate.
'In that case, goodbye, Mr Lieutenant-Columbo,' Ming said formally.
A slight smile twitched at the corner of the man's mouth.
'And goodbye to you, Mr Merciless,' he said.
Finally, the man got his name correct, better late than never!
The human turned to the door, and Ming let out a long, silent sigh, relaxing. A second after he'd finished, Columbo jerked to a stop, his hand to his forehead, and turned to give Ming a cool, level gaze that was suddenly anything but dull and placid.
'I'm sorry, sir,' Lieutenant-Columbo said in a tone that sounded anything but sorry. 'There was just one more thing. About Mr Lester's keys…'
The End
