In the comfortably furnished living room of Larry Manor, Larry the Cucumber sat in his dressing gown right in front of his big-screen TV. Normally, he enjoyed how much detail he could see when he watched action movies or cartoons, but today he could only cringe as he watched the latest news report. Even so, he could not tear his eyes away, no matter how much his insides twisted in shame.
Channel 1 News showed a crime scene which Larry recognized all too well; empty jewelry displays lined a large room with a high ceiling. Bumblyburg's blue-clad police force moved in the background of the shot, taking pictures and hunting for the most minute crumbs of evidence. In front of the camera stood Channel 1's best field reporter, a slim rhubarb with red hair and pretty eyes. Yellow tape prevented her from moving further into the room.
"This is Petunia Rhubarb coming to you live from the once prismatic exhibition hall, where this year's National Jewelers Exposition has become a depleted crime scene." She hopped closer to a glass display, where a velvet ring holder stood completely empty. "Police are puzzled once again by that pulchritudinous perpetrator purloining precious property and precipitating panic among the precipitous and profligate peers of Bumblyburg's high society, that rogue known only as Vogue."
"Hmph!" Larry exhaled, glaring at the television.
Petunia strolled as close as she could around the perimeter of the crime scene, and the camera followed her. A few feet away, an officer vainly dusted for fingerprints. Larry, meanwhile, begrudgingly acknowledged to himself that if Vogue had possessed fingers, she would have been too smart to leave any trace of her real identity.
"Security footage shows an intriguing encounter between Vogue and Bumblyburg's cucumber crusader, LarryBoy."
Larry sat up. "Please, no…"
Petunia smiled sweetly at the camera. "While we currently do not have access to this footage" — and here Larry sighed with relief — "authorities say Vogue escaped LarryBoy's attempts at capture and took with her nearly two million dollars worth of precious gems without a trace."
She paused by another display case, which had a brass plaque which read PUMPKIN PIE DIAMOND. A plush green cushion sat, empty, beneath the glass.
"This is just the third burglary Vogue is suspected to have performed in Bumblyburg this year, according to our sources." Petunia seemed to pause for dramatic effect. "Will anyone be able to capture such a cunning cat burglar?"
"Give me time!" Larry snapped at the television screen, plopping back in his chair with a pout.
While a police officer tried to shoo Petunia away, demanding to know who had let her inside the building, the gentle rattle of a tea cart announced the entrance of his asparagus butler and best friend, Alfred. He peered sympathetically through his monocle at the fuming cucumber and brought the cart by his armchair.
"Nothing helps me think like a cup of tea," he said kindly as steaming liquid splashed into Aunt Ruth's old porcelain cup painted with pink petunias. After adding creamer and two cubes of sugar, he handed it over on its floral saucer, along with a cloth napkin.
Sighing, Larry stirred a silver spoon through the lightened tea, watching a miniature maelstrom form in the center.
"I almost had her, Alfred," he complained for the hundred-and-ninth time since the previous evening.
Alfred prepared a plate of tea sandwiches and tarts as he spoke. "She is a most competent adversary, but she is not unbeatable, Master Larry."
Laying his teacup down, Larry grabbed the armchair's throw pillow and covered his face, groaning. "That's what you said this morning."
"And it's still true," Alfred said kindly. "As the Bible says, 'A righteous man falls seven times, and rises up again.' You just have to keep getting up, and you'll beat this Vogue."
Larry grumbled something that was unintelligible even to his own ears. Alfred laid the plate of goodies on the end table on Larry's right.
"Mayor Blueberry sent us (through the Larry-PO Box) copies of the security tapes from last night," Alfred continued, lifting a VHS tape from a shelf on the tea cart. "We ought to go over them together."
Larry groaned again, lowering the pillow to look miserably at Alfred. "Do we have to?"
"It might help if we were both to look at it," Alfred answered encouragingly. "We might spot something new."
Larry reluctantly acquiesced to the plan. Alfred popped in the first VHS, which began playing automatically, and he settled on the nearby sofa with the remote. The familiar sight of the exhibition hall, albeit in black and white, appeared, and Larry glumly watched the footage, remembering…
With the National Jewelers Exposition held in Bumblyburg this year, security was tighter than normal at the exhibition hall. Even the mayor got involved, knowing the good impression this would make on the declining tourist industry. Said decline was inversely proportional to the rise of crime which necessitated Bumblyburg to have its own superhero, and Mayor Blueberry was ready to incorporate said superhero in her strategies.
No one could approach the jewels without clearance, and even reporters needed to present background checks with their press badges. Petunia Rhubarb did a full segment with Chief Scooter of the police force, showcasing the advanced infrared lasers, voice recognition software, and other measures taken (all donated by Larry the Cucumber, local billionaire). The plucky, pleasant Petunia even managed to snag an impromptu interview with LarryBoy, who had been passing by on his way to the vending machine to grab some M&Ms.
"When Bumblyburg needs a hero, I — am — that — hero!" he assured viewers, speaking into the microphone which Petunia held eagerly up to his lips.
Petunia called him dashing and brave, and LarryBoy certainly felt it when he went on patrol that night in the Larry-Plane. He wasn't expected to start his shift at the museum until closer to midnight, but around 9:30, Alfred suddenly called him.
"Not to alarm you, Master Larry..." he began slowly.
"That's usually enough to alarm me," LarryBoy half-joked back.
"But I just attempted to make my hourly call to the exhibition hall's security office, per the mayor's orders," Alfred continued, "but no one picked up."
LarryBoy immediately shifted the controls, turning his plane around. "I'm on it."
Mere minutes brought him onto the roof of the hall, right on a flat stretch beside the domed rotunda of the lobby. LarryBoy attempted his own call to the security office, just to make sure, but like with Alfred, there was no answer. He jumped out of the plane and hurried to the roof's only door and spoke into the voice-recognition microphone.
"I am that hero!"
The red light on the device turned green, and LarryBoy promptly yanked the door open, descending as quickly and as quietly as he could.
In little time, he made his way to the security office, and the sight alarmed him. Five guards — some of the biggest gourds and zucchinis he had ever seen and who had boasted they could each single handedly take down a small army — were all slumped in their seats, fast asleep.
"Hey!" LarryBoy cried, jumping into the room. "How could you all fall asleep at your post?"
None of them stirred. Concerned, LarryBoy grabbed the collar of the nearest guard and gave him a vigorous shake.
"Wakey, wakey! Eggs and bakey!"
The guard let out a loud snore in response.
"Alfred, I think somebody slipped them something," LarryBoy said, surveying the snoozing figures. Cups of vending machine coffee and half-eaten donuts laid across the desk.
"Oh, dear. ...But we'll have to analyze that later. Can you see anything on the security monitors?"
LarryBoy scanned the black-and-white screens, squinting at the shadowy images of halls and corners. For several moments, everything was still. Then—
"Something just moved on the first floor!" LarryBoy cried.
"Something?"
"A person," he clarified, watching a slim, dark figure flit past the camera. "Either that, or a robotic noodle," he added, noting the lithe form. "I'm gonna check it out."
"Be careful, Master Larry."
LarryBoy sneaked off into the half darkness, making his way down to the main exhibit hall. Just as he was about to turn the last corner, he heard his own voice cry out, "I — am — that — hero!"
Huh?
LarryBoy peeked around the corner just in time to see a thin, black-clad figure holding a recording device to a voice-recognition microphone. Immediately, the figure opened the door and slipped inside.
Alert, LarryBoy hurried as stealthily as he could to the door and repeated the passcode, albeit softer. Again, the green light flashed, and LarryBoy crept in after the intruder.
The intruder was at least ten feet inside the room, poised just beneath the moonlit skylight like a mountain lion studying the terrain in order to best nab prey. Closer now, LarryBoy could tell the intruder was a woman. She seemed like a rhubarb or a green onion, but it was hard to tell in the dim light; however, she evidently wore some kind of black suit, accented with gray and a rather fashionable utility belt. A black half-mask concealed the top of her green face, and a black hair ribbon ran over the top of her red hair like a tiara.
From the utility belt, she pulled out a makeup compact and blew upon the green foundation. A small dust cloud rose up and snowed over the space in front of her. Immediately, lines of red appeared, criss-crossing her path: the advanced infrared lasers which Chief Scooter had boasted about on the TV report.
The stranger paused, turning her head side to side as if calculating her obstacles. Then she moved. Like a shuttle through threads on a loom, she dived and weaved over and under the lasers, with the agility of an Olympic gymnast experiencing a sugar rush.
Wow, LarryBoy thought in spite of himself. He had to give credit where credit was due, even to a mysterious vegetable who obviously wasn't in a gem-filled room after hours in order to take photos for her scrapbook.
But, of course, she was here after hours, and it was LarryBoy's duty to get her away from private property.
Like a cat, he leapt forward into a shaft of moonlight, posing dramatically.
"Sorry, ma'am, but the store's closed," he said.
The intruder had just reached her first display case. Starting, she whirled around, gawking through her black mask at him. For a tense moment, she remained still, but then the woman did the last thing LarryBoy expected.
She giggled.
"Third time's the charm," she declared, shaking her head with a smile.
LarryBoy blinked, taken aback. "Uh, what?"
"This is my third burglary in Bumblyburg," the woman clarified. "I was wondering when you'd show up, and here you are, LarryBoy."
LarryBoy gave her a sweeping look. "Usually, criminals aren't… trying to run into me."
"How unsociable!" she exclaimed, taking an amiable step toward him as if she wanted to shake hands (had they both owned one). "What's the point of putting on a costume and committing over-top acts of supervillainy if you don't have a superhero to spice things up?"
LarryBoy frowned. "A life of villainy is no game, ma'am."
"It's Vogue, actually," she quipped, fluttering her masked eyes. "I'm the Prima Donna of Pilferage."
"And I'm the Leading Man of Justice," he retorted. "You'll have to come with me."
With that he took aim and shot his plunger straight at her, but before the red suction cup could strike its target, Vogue dodged, and — LarryBoy's eyes widened — around the end of her stalk materialized a single, black (and trendy) incline skate. She rolled to the other side of the display aisle, sprinkling more foundation to avoid lasers, then braked beside a case with bracelets. She pivoted on the front wheel like a ballerina, and the skate disappeared.
LarryBoy felt amazed in spite of himself. "That is some super suit."
"Thanks," she grinned. "It has pockets."
Before LarryBoy's eyes, a cape appeared around her shoulders, and she lifted one side as though modeling it. As she said, there was a pocket on the interior side, and she reached within, pulling out a large object — and LarryBoy realized it was a gun, with a barrel almost the size of a French pea. Before he could react, she fired, and a net burst out, hitting LarryBoy right in the face.
He yelped, struggling to escape, but the net tangled around him, and he tripped, falling hard on his side.
Vogue chuckled, turning back to the glass display. "Now, you stay there like a good boy while I do a little shopping, sweetie."
LarryBoy struggled to free himself from the net, but she seemed to have coated the interconnecting ropes with some kind of sticky substance that clung to him like a frightened child. He continued to thrash about on the floor while Vogue calmly went from case to case, avoiding the lasers and looting the glittering contents, which all disappeared comfortably into her seemingly small pocket.
"Do you think this brings out my eyes?" she asked, holding up a pair of pink opal earrings against her face. She batted her eyes at LarryBoy.
"The only fashion you'll have to worry about is a prison uniform once I get out of this net," LarryBoy retorted.
"Hmm, orange isn't really my color," she said, "although I'll make an exception for that beauty."
With that, she made her way over to the case that held the orange gem known as the Pumpkin Pie Diamond. It was shaped like a slice of pie, and although smaller than some of the other diamonds, it was an anticipated highlight of the exposition.
LarryBoy clenched his jaw, redoubling his efforts to escape. He was just about to scream for Alfred to send reinforcements, when a soft ri-i-i-ip arose near his super-suction ear. His eyes darted toward the noise — there! A small hole had formed in the net. Grabbing hold of two sides with his invisible touch, he pulled.
Vogue, meanwhile, had carefully lifted the glass top off the display and plucked the large orange diamond from its velvet cushion. She held it up, admiring its glint in the dim light.
"Diamonds really are a girl's best friend," she chuckled playfully. It went into her super-tech pocket with the rest of her plunder, and she returned the glass case, as if it were a cheeky kindness to the CSI crew which would be combing the room hours later.
She started toward a long case with bracelets, but a plunger whipped past her, lodging right on the base. She gasped but quickly recovered, turning to smile at LarryBoy's stern expression.
"Guess I have to cut my shopping spree short," she quipped. "We must do this again sometime. Ta-ta!"
She turned and zipped for the exit opposite of her pursuer, skidding beneath the lasers.
"Not so fast, Vogue!" LarryBoy cried, shooting a plunger up at the ceiling. With a jerk of his head, the cord retracted, and he swung his way like Tarzan after her.
He landed at the threshold just as she darted into the hall, and he made a quick grab for her. She spun toward him, smacking him with her braid, right against his nose. It surprised more than hurt, but in that single moment of reaction, Vogue lunged forward, shoving him back as hard as she could. She did not weigh much, but her super suit expanded, growing heavier, and LarryBoy found himself knocked off his feet and falling right into a laser.
Alarms screamed above their heads, deafening. Red lights flashed. LarryBoy saw more than heard Vogue begin to giggle, as if this was all part of some game. Scowling, he leapt to his feet and charged for her again.
Vogue dodged, jumping back, and her cape fanned out behind her like a pair of wings. Before LarryBoy could make another grab, she leapt into the air — and went higher, higher, until she almost touched the ceiling. To LarryBoy's amazement, she spun and soared down the hall like a chic raven.
"Whoa," he murmured, before he recovered and shot his plungers at the ceiling, swinging after her.
Sirens rang around them, but no one else was awake in the building to help LarryBoy apprehend Vogue. They ducked through rooms, plunged down hallways, and crisscrossed around the domed rotunda of the front lobby. Vogue managed to evade his plungers whenever he could spare one to shoot at her.
"Miss me, miss me, now you gotta kiss me," she snickered.
"You won't be able to escape justice, Vogue," he threw back, ignoring her taunts as he glided through open space. "Those jewelers put a lotta hard work into cutting those gems, and you're taking away their opportunities to show off their talents to potential buyers."
"So a few rich people won't be able to buy another beach house," she sneered, zooming around a pillar just in the nick of time to avoid a plunger. "Big deal."
"Stealing is wrong, no matter how rich or poor somebody is," LarryBoy retorted. "It's the Eighth Commandment, not the Eighth Suggestion."
Vogue peeked around the pillar. "But doesn't the Bible say, 'Men do not despise a thief, if he steal to satisfy his soul when he is hungry'?"
LarryBoy zipped after her, but just as he aimed his plunger, he held his fire.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, uncomfortably noting her slender figure as she dived behind a second pillar.
Vogue's head appeared again, and a smirk now widened her red mouth. "Why? Are you asking me to dinner, sweetie?"
"What— I—" LarryBoy jolted, forgot to aim his plunger to make his next swing, and reached the maximum point of his trajectory. With a yelp, he started to hurtle backwards like a spandex-clad pendulum.
Vogue shook her head, smiling. "Really, LarryBoy, you're always helping those in need, so why don't you help a girl who needs these gems? The Bible says—"
"Ahem," came Alfred's dry voice from the Larry-belt radio while LarryBoy attempted to regain control of his movements. "The Bible goes on to say about that thief, 'But if he be found, he shall restore sevenfold; he shall give all the substance of his house.'"
Vogue pursed her lips, shaking her head.
"Oooh, I don't think that right fits me, luv," she said, slipping into a Cockney accent which she must have found comical. "Me 'ouse is a smidge on the lean side, as it were. Cheerio!"
She feinted to the left before rolling and zipping right, pummeling for a quick landing. LarryBoy saw how close she was to the exit and allowed himself to land with a skid. He sprinted after her, his pounding hops echoing through the shadowed rotunda.
Through the glass doors of the entrance, LarryBoy caught a glimpse of headlights from some getaway vehicle, which strangely resembled a high-heel shoe. He made another aim with his plunger, gaining on her, but just as he was about to fire, she suddenly stopped, whirling about face. The utility belt shifted on her hip, and the compact rose via her invisible grasp.
She's fixing her makeup now? LarryBoy thought, but just as he neared her, she lifted the discoid puff, brought the base of the compact to her pursed lips, and blew, sending up a cloud of green foundation into the air.
And right into his eyes.
"Ow! Hey!" Blinded and smarting, LarryBoy stumbled and crashed into a wall.
Laughter accompanied Vogue's escaping footsteps.
"See ya, handsome," she called back to him before she slammed a door somewhere, leaving him alone.
The tape paused, and Alfred lowered the remote, thinning his lips. Larry wanted to hide his face again.
"Is there any way to keep that from being released to the public?" Larry asked, wincing. "Bumblyburg doesn't need to see LarryBoy get humiliated by a super criminal."
"I am sure the BPD and the mayor are of a similar mind," Alfred assured him. "Master Larry, did you happen to notice the things which Vogue's suit is able to do?"
"Really cool stuff?" Larry guessed, hugging the throw pillow.
"Really fashionable stuff," Alfred supplied. "Apparently, that is her M.O., changing her suit to follow current trends."
Larry frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I did a little digging before breakfast this morning," Alfred explained. "Bumblyburg isn't Vogue's first victim. She used to steal from jewelry stores and expensive clothing stores out in Puggslyville."
Larry sat up. "Why would she terrorize Puggslyville? The people there are so nice!"
"Nice enough to be an easy target, I suppose," Alfred replied. "She had been eluding their police force for months, but, of course, Puggslyville doesn't have a superhero because" — he cleared his throat — "they lack a plunger factory."
Larry felt a stab of guilt. A few years ago, Puggslyville had sent him an envoy, asking for him to be their official superhero. While Larry had liked the city, he had stayed true to his hometown, both out of fond loyalty and frugality. Bumblyburg had a sizable plunger factory that gave him a great discount when he bought in bulk. Now, however, he wondered how the Puggslyville public had felt when they learned the Prima Donna of Pilferage had decided to treat their city like her private shopping mall where she didn't have to pay.
"Well, she picked the wrong town this time!" Larry declared stoutly.
"I concur." Alfred formed a lopsided smile. "She has evaded justice for so long, she's grown cocky and thinks she can waltz into a protected city."
His eyes grew serious. "That said, she has a reputation for presenting herself as a fashionable cat burglar. Her suit can morph any way she pleases, as long as it's in season. Now, we must ask ourselves an important question: where did she get a super suit of that quality?"
Larry knitted his hairless brow. "Yeah, I guess you can't just pick one of those up at Stuff Mart."
"Option the First, Vogue stole it," Alfred went in. "We then must ask, where and how? Option the Second, she made the suit herself—"
"Or she also has a super genius for a butler," Larry interpolated.
"Yes, we'll mark that 'Option the Second B.' Either way, if the suit is homemade, where did the maker learn the skills necessary to create it? Option the Third, she (or an accomplice) made part of the suit and combined it with stolen technology. Option the Fourth, which I personally find most concerning, someone gave her the suit, and Vogue is merely the tip of an insidious iceberg for a criminal cabal."
"Oh, wow." Larry whistled. "But why give someone a super suit and tell them to steal fashionable stuff? Why not rob a bank? Or Fort Knox?"
"More questions to ponder."
Larry leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the immaculate ceiling of the den.
"As supervillains go, though, Vogue's pretty… pretty…" Larry trailed off, trying to find a single word that could accurately describe a woman who broke the law with abandon but with competence, who planned but could improvise, who could be careful one moment and daring the next, who had a lot to offer but gave so little back to society. Whatever that word was, it described Vogue to a T.
"She's pretty T," he decided, settling upon that placeholder until he could flip through the dictionary in his manor's library later.
Alfred raised an eye ridge. "You think she's pretty?"
Larry started in his seat.
"No! I mean, she is — but that's not what I'm talking about right now!" he exclaimed, flushing. "It's just… frustrating that someone who is that smart, and that quick, and that… that able-to-escape-a-superhero-istic should be a bad guy and not a good guy."
"Indeed," Alfred concurred, leaning back. "God gives everyone special talents, but He also gives everyone free will. Some choose to use their gifts for their own selfish ends, even at the cost of hurting others."
"What's her deal anyway?" Larry wondered. "There's a million other things she could do with a supersuit than steal diamonds if she just wants to get rich quick. Like… giving superhero piggyback rides to kids, or… washing windows of re-e-e-eally tall skyscrapers… or changing the lightbulbs on those big towers so that airplanes don't hit them…"
"Whatever her endgame, we can make a few assumptions as to her immediate goals," Alfred mused. "With that much jewelry, she may be busy for a time trying to get it to a fence."
Larry blinked at him. "Picket? Rail? Electric?"
"No, in criminal terms, a fence is a person who is in the business of buying and selling stolen goods," Alfred explained. "Vogue can't just stroll into Stuff Mart with the Pumpkin Pie Diamond and use it to buy a new big-screen TV. She has to sell it to someone. If she doesn't already have a buyer lined up, she may be 'shopping around,' as it were, for a fence to take her ill-gained goods off her hands. As such, she may lay low until she has disposed of all evidence."
"Unless she keeps them for herself," Larry countered. "She seems pretty fashionable."
"Yes," Alfred said slowly, and Larry could see an idea dawning on his narrow, green face. "That's a good point, Master Larry. Perhaps we can use that to our advantage…"
Larry sat up, starting to smile. "You know what to do next, Alfred?"
"I think so," Alfred smiled back. "If Vogue wants fashionable and expensive items, then we have the perfect bait among your family's heirlooms, with your permission, Master Larry," he added.
Larry was happy to comply. He could not stand aside and let a supervillain treat his city like her personal jewelry box, and anything that brought him closer to nabbing Vogue was worth considering.
With permission granted, Alfred jumped to his proverbial feet. "To the Larry-Safe!"