Kim Possible and all related characters and indicia are owned by the Disney Corporation. Supergirl and all related characters and indicia are owned by DC Comics/Warner Bros. This work of fan fiction is written for pleasure, not profit.
Kim woke up to sunlight streaming in her window and the sound of people moving. For a moment she wondered where she was, then remembered she was in one of the Kent's guest bedrooms. A glance at the alarm clock showed it was seven thirty. Kim lingered briefly in the soft warmth of the bed, then rolled out of it and headed for the guest bath.
Delicious smells were wafting from the kitchen when she came downstairs. Mrs. Kent greeted her with a cheery smile and bustled her to a seat at the kitchen table. As if by magic a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs and pancakes appeared in front of her.
"There's real maple syrup in the pitcher, Kimberly. Would you like milk or orange juice, and do you care for coffee?"
"Yes to all three, please and thank you, Mrs. Kent," Kim smiled gratefully as her stomach rumbled. She tucked in and was pouring syrup over everything on the plate when Ron stumbled into the kitchen. Kim stifled a laugh. Ron was almost sleepwalking, but his nose was leading him unerringly to food. At least he had been awake enough to shower and put on clean clothes. He hadn't shaved though, she noted with a slight frown of disapproval. She'd have to remind him before they left.
After his first plate of food and second cup of coffee Ron had perked up to his normal cheery self. Kara came in from doing her chores and took a seat. She smiled at Kim and Ron, though the smile she favored Ron with was quite different from the one she offered Kim. Kim hid a knowing smile behind her coffee cup. When Ron got up to fetch some more pancakes Kim leaned over to Kara. "So how was it?" she asked quietly. Kara gave her a blank look.
"How was what?"
Kim nodded toward Ron. "See that expression on Ron's face?"
"Yeah," Kara said warily.
"That's Ron's 'I got laid last night' look." Kara turned pink, and Kim giggled in spite of herself.
"I didn't know he was so easy to read," Kara faltered.
"I've know him a long, long time," Kim said. "So how was it?" she repeated.
"You mean you don't know?" Kara replied archly.
"Not from personal experience, no, but my girlfriends give me detailed reports."
"Really? You're interested?" Kara inquired.
"I get the reports whether I want them or not," Kim explained dryly, "But I suppose I can't deny a certain curiosity. Purely intellectual of course," she added hastily.
"Of course," Kara agreed with a sly smile.
"Of course what?" Ron asked, setting an overflowing plate in front of himself as he retook his seat.
"Oh, we were just talking about today's schedule, that's all."
"So what did you decide?" Ron asked through a mouthful of pancakes.
"Ron! Don't talk with your mouth full," Kim scolded. "And don't forget to shave before we leave." Ron nodded, then gave Kim a questioning look.
"We'll scout around until Kara's done with school, then meet her here and go out together. Hopefully we'll turn up a lead of some sort, or Wade and Chloe will find something."
"They'd better," Ron said after swallowing another mouthful of pancakes, "The odds of us just stumbling across Monkey-boy are about slim to none."
It proved less difficult than that. Just after ten o'clock, when Ron was guiding the Team Possible van through one of Smallville's industrial parks, the Kimmunicator beeped urgently. There was no video, just Kara's voice whispering, "I have something. One of the boys in tenth grade just told me about something going on near his home."
"Why are you whispering?" Ron asked.
"Shhh! I'm in the library, and I'm not supposed to be using my cell phone!" Kara hissed.
"Give us a name and location then, Kara," Kim said.
"Steve Wright is the boy. His father works at a machine shop that got broken into last month. I don't know how Steve thinks it's connected, he wouldn't tell me, but he says his dad wants to talk to you."
"What's his name, and where can we find him ?" Kim asked.
"John Wright. His lunch break is from eleven to noon, and he'll be at Hank's Tap. That's a tavern on North Monroe Avenue, right across from where he works."
"Ok, we'll check it out. Thanks for the tip Kara," Kim congratulated her. "And thank your friend for us, too."
"Will do," Kara pledged. "Let me know what you find out."
"Will do," Kim said and hung up.
Hank's Tap was in a rundown white clapboard building with a vacant lot on one side and the gutted shell of what might have been a store on the other. Across the street was a fenced in area overgrown with weeds, piled high with rusty junk of every sort, and dotted with buildings of various sizes. The largest was three stories tall, with a gently rounded roof. Lights could be seen through some of the windows, and there were perhaps two dozen cars and trucks parked in front of it. The other buildings were deserted, if the broken windows were any sign. A gate in the chain link fence had a sign on it: Healey Labs.
Kim glanced at her watch. "Not quite ten thirty," she said quietly. "Well," Ron rejoined, "The place seems to be open. We may as well wait inside." Kim couldn't think of any reason not too, so they went inside.
The place was as run down on the inside as it was on the outside. A hodge-podge of cheap wooden paneling and unfinished sheetrock covered the walls. The floor was uneven concrete, much though not well patched. An ancient, oil fired heater stood in one corner of the main room. Posters featuring scantily clad women promoting either beer or sports competed for wall space with mirrors doing the same; photographs of people posing with fish, dead animals, and motorcycles; and neon signs featuring various brewery logos. A few pool tables were visible in a back room, and the air was tinged with cigarette smoke. Somewhat to Kim's surprise, that was the only unpleasant odor. There was no reek of stale beer, vomit, and/or urine. In fact, her nose detected a light pine scent under the smoke 'At least the owner keeps the place clean,' she noted approvingly. She turned her attention to the man behind the bar. He reminded her of an elderly Mr. Barkin, still big as an ox, but worn with age. He wore a blue apron over a red Kansas City Chiefs football jersey, with an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. He was polishing a glass mug and regarding them with a dispassionate stare. Kim smiled at him winsomely. The man's expression didn't change, but he did speak, his voice deep and rough. "C'n I help you kids?"
"We're meeting someone here at eleven o'clock, sir," Kim said, still smiling. The man just grunted, then jerked a thumb at a sign on the wall behind him. 'One drink minimum,' it read. Kim stepped up to the bar, "What have you got," she asked, trying to sound confident. The barkeep peered at her. "You of age, missy?" Kim bit her tongue. 'At least it wasn't 'Little Missy'', she told herself. She shook her head, "Not for alcohol, sir." "I got Pepsi and RC, plus what's in the cooler," he said, pointing at a glass fronted case. Besides soda, the case held various juices, energy drinks, and even milk. "I'll, uh, have a V8," Kim said. She turned toward the end of the bar, where Ron was examining a table top video game of some sort. "Ron?" Ron looked up. "Pepsi for me, KP," he said. "Oh," he added suddenly, laying a five dollar bill on the bar. "And some quarters."
People began to filter in shortly before eleven, and the fellow behind the bar was soon busy serving drinks and making snacks and sandwiches. Ron and Kim had passed the time playing the various games available on the video machine. They were all adult themed games that involved nude photographs in some way, but Ron had graciously alternated between naked women and naked men without even being asked. They were playing hangman when a man approached them. He was thin, with shaggy, graying brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a long sleeved flannel shirt over a tee shirt and blue jeans. His clothes were smudged with oil and grime, but his hands were freshly scrubbed. His handlebar moustache was 'complimented' by two or three days growth of beard, and a battered seed corn cap perched on his head. He held a beer bottle in his left hand and extended his right. "Kim Possible?"
"That's me," Kim said, smiling, as she took his hand. He squeezed gently and smiled back. "I'm John Wright, pleased to meet you." "The pleasure is mine," Kim replied, then indicated Ron. "My partner, Ron Stoppable." The two men shook hands, then Wright cocked his head and said, "Come with me." He led them to a corner table out of sight of the front door, and most of the bar. Wright took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and tapped a few out. Taking one for himself he held the pack out to Ron and Kim. "Smoke?"
"No thank you," Kim declined politely. Ron just shook his head. Wright shrugged, lit up, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly through his nose. He seemed to relax visibly.
"We heard through the grapevine that you have something you want to tell us," Kim lead off. John Wright apparently had an agenda though, and getting right to the point wasn't the first thing on it. He smiled thinly and took a sip from his bottle. "So, you two are friends of Kara Kent's?"
Kim's gaze flicked briefly to Ron, then back to Wright. "We're acquainted," she clarified. "Ron and I met her in Metropolis last year. And to be frank we didn't know she lived here." Wright nodded silently and leaned back. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he regarded Kim. For her part, Kim said nothing, just met Wright's gaze. She knew he was sizing her up, deciding whether or not he could trust her. At last he seemed to come to a decision. He leaned forward again and began to speak, but was interrupted by a someone sliding a tray in front of him. It was the big man from behind the bar, who actually had a friendly grin on his face. "There ya go, Jack." Wright grinned back. "Thanks Benny," then the big man was gone again. Kim saw that Ron's eyes were focused on the tray, or rather, on the basket on the tray. Said basket contained a large hamburger with what looked like the works, and was piled high with onion rings. Ron's mouth was already starting to water. Kim jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. "We'll get lunch later, Ron," she said sternly. Ron sat back, arms folded across his chest, scowling in disappointment.
Between bites of food, sips of beer, and drags on his cigarette, Wright told he tale. "A few weeks ago me and a few of the guys were working late, trying to get caught up on a project. When we finished up for the night the others went out one of the side doors, and I headed up front to turn off the lights and set the alarm system. As I got up toward the office area I heard someone talking. It was Mr. Healey. At first I thought he was on his cell phone, but then I saw that there were people with him. It looked like a man with four small kids, but the man was all hunched over, and the 'kids' were sitting on their haunches like dogs. I could hear the fellow talking, and he had one of those English-type accents. I didn't hear exactly what they were saying, but I did make out the words 'Project Atlas'. I ducked back the way I'd come, then went forward again, making a lot of noise. When I got to the front Mr. Healey was alone and acting all surprised to see me. I told him about staying late to get caught up, we made some small talk, and I left."
"Why didn't you tell the police about this?" Kim asked quietly, trying hard to make herself sound merely curious, not judgmental. Wright looked away for a moment. "I have a wife and three kids to support, Ms. Possible, and this is the best paying job I've ever had," he said when he looked back. "Good benefits, too. I didn't want to rock the boat." He looked down at the table. "And I was scared," he added softly, shame in his voice. "I may be a small town hick with a high school education, but I know who Monkey Fist is, and his reputation." He paused. "Then there's Mr. Healey. He's generous, but he has a temper." Wright grinned humorlessly. "They say there's a fine line between eccentricity and madness. I've always given Mr. Healey the benefit of the doubt, but now I'm not sure anymore."
"I understand," Kim said gently. "Do you know what Project Atlas might involve?"
Wright shook his head. "No clue. I haven't seen anything unusual in the shop, but there might be something in Mr. Healey's lab."
"Where is that?"
Wright stabbed the cigarette burn scarred tabletop with one finger. "We're here. The shop is here," he said, sketching a long rectangle with his fingertip. The lab is in a big shed on the far side." He looked up at Kim. "Whatever you plan to do now, if anything, I don't want to know about it," he said firmly. He rose to his feet. "And you didn't hear anything from me." Kim nodded silently, then Wright turned and walked out of the bar without looking back.
"What do we do now, K.P?" Ron asked.
"First, we find out what we can about this Mr. Healey, and second, tonight we pay his lab a visit."
