Chapter 7: The Free
Baron Zemo is baffled, "I don't believe it. I am out on bail?! What the . . . ?!"
"Welcome to Pres. Rex Carpenter's America," remarks Mark Crane, his counsel at the federal courthouse.
Concurrently confused and curious, amused and amazed, the Master of Evil questions, "I am almost public enemy number one. (Granted, I am no Red Skull). So, how can I be f* fleeing free from federal custody?" The consummate supervillain shakes his surprised head.
"Well now, don't use the diction 'flee'. I promised the judge that you were not a flight risk," the sneaky shyster simpers, "I may have fibbed."
"Tee-hee, I see," says Helmut.
Judge J. Judge (see Captain America/Iron Man #1) proposed purloining Zemo's passport, but the oft itinerant terrorist did not possess an authentic one anyway. The Judge also instructed that the Master of Evil remain in the Minneapolis area, almost on the honor system. However, the Baron may easily just ignore such "bunk" and bail jump. The judge, Judge, and the judicial system be damned.
The devious duo dash down the main corridor of the Flour Exchange Building, which houses the U.S. District Court. They hurry as though to make a clean getaway.
They go along a gauntlet of blue guardians glaring bullets. A company of cops line the hall around this aristocrat above the law, as anyone—from the common criminal to the killer elite—is in the current country. Traditional constables aren't keen on crumbs, creeps, and degenerates escaping detention and correction. The officers' cold stares are the only thing capturing this colossal costumed villain—in full purple pageantry—who contemptuous contemporary law can't keep. It is incredible how well-intended compassion has paved a road to Hell and a path for criminals to promptly reoffend. Proud policemen cannot comprehend or cotton crook Zemo cruising out of the courthouse, and they have the courage to condemn him with their pissed presence. But, the group of aggrieved guardians is but limited, and most of their colleagues cower like chastised children, concealed and confined to their quarters. Since 2020 chaos, citizens and the people's servants have arrested law enforcement's enforcement.
Still, Zemo cautiously canvasses the small, spread-out crowd. Certainly, he is not safe. Both a super-thug and a Thunderbolt, a heavy and a hero, Baron Helmut has copious enemies across the spectrum. He is conscientious that some party could bide clandestinely to draw the dagger from a cloak. Any Midwest "hick" in this hallway could be an undercover assassin inclined to empty a customized clip and cry "justice is served". Any actual clodhopper could be crazy enough to take a crack at Zemo for being a carbuncle on society's keister.
From a corner, someone coughs. The leaving lout looks. Curiously, a female cop gives him the Paul Kersey wink and finger-gun: "shoot ya". But, the Baron keeps moving; he doesn't know Lynn Michaels.
Baron Zemo and attorney Crane quietly converse. Mark Crane comments, "Herr Helmut, you have a car outside the egress ahead. A chauffeur sits on 4th Street. And, he will convey you wherever you need go."
"Is he double-parked? I don't want to break any laws," the hell-mutt makes a s*-eating grin under his mask.
"Normally, all visiting vehicles use the courthouse's nice parking garage," notes Crane, "However, you are a VIP today. You can claim certain privilege and clout."
The Baron of Zeulniz strokes his shiny crown like the Prince of Darkness on parade. He states, "It is kooky how cordially the state treats me considering my recent and renowned record."
"I cannot completely contradict you," communicates Crane, "You combatted three Avengers up north, and the hamlet of Hackensack suffered seventeen million dollars in damages. That is at least a disorderly conduct."
"By Crom, 'twas Quicksilver who caused most of the calamity," claims Zemo jocosely, "That klutzy speedster is a regular David Cannon 'Whirlwind' when he wants to be. A natural disaster."
Mark Crane chuckles. Cheerfully, he claps the bad baron a good one on the back.
Immediately, the evil, arrogant aristocrat clenches in ire. He wags an index, and the other hand cinches into a fist.
Crane cants his head and considers the hefty cutlery on his companion's hip. The honed longsword could cleave the lawyer's head from his shoulders quickly and make Crane like the Headless Horseman for the coming Halloween. The blade bounces ominously with the Baron's each crisp stride. Perhaps, the shyster should not have successfully excepted the sword from courthouse confiscation. Fiend Zemo could fillet a man like a Mississippi crappie. Herr Helmut also has, like a privileged and puckish perpetrator of the present, a powerful pistol proudly and publicly on his other hip.
The apprehensive attorney croaks, "Okay. Let us get you to your carriage for Katmandu or wherever." Rapid wingtips abruptly advance along the echoic corridor.
The nefarious nobleman nears Crane and nudges him. Then, he knocks him across the back, "Say, not that I'm complaining, but, where the f* are the press? I see no news crews in the hall as a big bad guy gets away."
The sly attorney wryly grins, "Many Americans have the same question these days. Where the hell is the fourth estate? The mainstream media either imitates on-line amateurs or abdicates its duties to late-night entertainment shows. Current journalists sure don't chronicle current events conscientiously."
"Hmph. I cannot completely denigrate the dysfunction," Zemo compliments the Zeitgeist, "I prefer to make the news more than make the news, and other powerful men are the same way. Simply consider Presidents Wind and Carpenter. Each has his de facto propaganda channels. Those owned by the Tinlaw Company and other leftists compliment Carpenter and make old Rex look like a king. Other outlets crown Ken Wind wonderful—despite any crimes that he commits: from storming the U.S. Capitol with Hand ninjas and Watchdogs to storing SHIELD secrets at his Shangri-La."
"Stand by, Sons of the Serpent," Crane cites Wind from back when.
Zemo nods and acknowledges, "Obviously, the opposite faction has its phalanx of flunkies too. Just as Republican Wind has his fine people, Carpenter and company have the Bombshells, BLM, Soviet sentimentalists, Sabalian sympathizers, and the like."
Mark Crane mentions, "Some Bombshells are gathered outside the exit, in fact." He points ahead.
Hamming, Helmut holds his heart, "Was? Cranks came for me? I am flattered. University Jugend can be such useful idiots."
"Oh, I know," Crane confirms, "I used to lead my own death cult in Colorado. Kids do all sorts of crazy crap if you corrupt and coax them correctly. I almost got Sen. Arthur Sterling's son to slaughter his sire and sister [see Ghost Rider #39]."
"You don't say," Zemo is duly impressed with his attorney.
"Yeah, Ghost Rider got involved and everything," remarks Crane, "Afterward, I moved here to Minnesota."
The Baron is curious, "How were you not imprisoned indefinitely? I imagine that your death cult committed some murders."
Crane confirms, "Yeah, they did [see Ghost Rider #38-39]. However, I never got my hands dirty beyond brainwashing them in the first place. Conspiracy to commit murder is not the same as conflagrating c* alive. And, the Centennial State courts mirror Minnesota's for namby-pamby-ism. I damn near got only probation. The Sterlings nigh s* over my short sentence. Afterward, this Manson motored for Minnesota, passed the bar, and became a mouthpiece here."
"And, I appreciate how your mouth liberated me," grateful Zemo gives a great back slap.
The jostled jurist rejoins, "No problem. Remember, in modern America, he who plays the victim is the victor, whether in the courts or the general culture. You could be an evil mutant or a mad villain, and you're still underprivileged."
"I am underprivileged," states Baron Zemo, "You argued that well in court."
"Well sure," states Crane, "For example, you have a documented psychiatric disability. You're an infamous madman. You shouldn't be committed to a holding facility, whether penal or psychiatric."
"I should be out on the streets," says Helmut.
"Sure, you should be free." says sleazy shyster, "Furthermore, as an international terrorist, your assets are frozen, so Baron Zemo is the poor man for which bail reform was invented and intended."
"Jawohl!" the villain yawps, "Furthermore, who are supervillains but individuals selectively prosecuted for breaking the same laws that so-called superheroes do? America's incarcerated are like me. They are from populations perpetually persecuted for pursuing equity and the American Dream by any means necessary (personally deemed necessary)."
"Preach it," pronounces the past peccant priest, "I argued the same on your behalf. Black Widow—a government agent of SHIELD—resorted to state violence to bring you in. And, she is not charged. With utmost irony, Captain America—symbol of our oppressive state—accompanies her in this egregious effort. It appalls any aware, real, woke American."
An ersatz Citizen V affirms, "Indeed, things have been unfair and terrible for a long term in the U.S. I have fought the Land of the Free for many years so that all factions—whether 'criminal' and felonious or not—may be enfranchised and free. In a functional society, all folks are free to do whatever the f* that they see fit.
"I, Zemo, the 13th Baron of Zeulniz, represent the underprivileged rabble inevitably oppressed more for their identities than their individual actions. They are unequivocally correct that they are always victims of the unchecked oligarchies of Anglos (such as myself), men, heterosexuals, the abled, and the affluent. And, they are never alienated by their own agency, only by unjust laws and enforcement.
"As a master of 'evil', I advance their equity. That is what terrorists do better than the temperate."
"Amen," comments the cult leader and corrupt lawyer.
"It's not wrong when I do it," Zemo asserts, "I am just building a better world."
"The Bombshells outside would say the same thing, And, on the other end of the spectrum, the Sons of the Serpent would say the same," a candid Crane states.
Zemo comments candidly, "In Carpenter's politically-corrected America, if the social system understands your motives, then, your actions are acceptable—whether a robber, rioter, rapist, or ruthless revolutionary. There ain't exactly law and order, just a ludicrous liberalism. Any outrageous outlaw, such as myself, loves it, for the U.S. finally loves us."
"Bring on the bad guys!" Crane crows.
The attorney and outlaw reach the edifice's exit. At it, an old woman crochets almost like Madame Defarge in A Tale of Two Cities. A Cass County Roxxon station is the last place that mystery men met this smirking crone resembling a witch's cat. The grinner called herself Granny, and that is (oddly) the name on her state badge if barrister and bad guy but look. She smiles shiny, sharp teeth, robust for her age, at the two fleeing enfants terribles, as though she would play cat and mouse.
However, New Man Shadra, Knight of Wundagore, but motions them through the egress area and out the door. The police impersonator purls and purrs placidly, knowing a panther paladin can pursue prey at her pleasing.
Outside, Baron Zemo clops confidently forward across the cobbled plaza. Federal Courthouse Plaza has grassy hills hardily twelve hands high between which brick walkways wend. On those hills, squat conifers stand by short cartoonish statues, symbolizing something. Beyond the berms, Bombshells bustle and blow hard on the 4th Street sidewalk.
A hotheaded horde of leftist agitators hold up signs saying "hooray for our side". Along the sidewalk, they howl, hoot, holler in the hopes of winning hearts and heads. They harangue passersby. A hearty few head into heavy downtown traffic and hold up maddened motorists who honk horns. The humanist herd hectors humanity so that they are heard.
Kooky, clamoring Bombshells chant "f* Captain America!" by which they mean the whole f* country. Approaching Zemo chuckles at their enchanting chant. Before each blurt, the Bombshells clap-clap-clap-clap in cadence and then contribute "courageously" and "constructively" to the national conversation, from which they might cancel or kill others.
These conscientious collegians, assembled by suspect social media, celebrate upon seeing Baron Zemo coming toward them like a Christ, for they want to see all victims of the establishment's systemic inequity emancipated. Certainly, Baron Zemo, unfairly-maligned Master of Evil, inspires them. But, likewise, the zany zealots cherish Arnim Zola's career and canon, his writings. The uncritical iconoclasts elevate him, and they too want to recreate the world and make man a new creature. Likewise, with crude comprehension, the choleric crowd commemorate fondly the compositions of Kommandant Shmidt and Communist Malik, both Red Skulls, for the Bombshells are mayhap uncritical, incompletely educated, crazed by crises (e.g. COVID and the culture wars), irascibly quarrelsome, youthfully crass, callowly recalcitrant, and kind of clean of conscience for conveniently never having had to make difficult life decisions. Thus, the Bombshell kids condemn and combat the status quo and command the collapse of their country's customs so that a supposedly cleansed America, under their politically progressive creed, can emerge.
"Keep the faith!" calls Zemo to his "kind" supporters who will consciously commit mass censorship, McCarthyistic cancellation, unchecked kleptomania, other crimes, and all manner coercive method if one does not comply and conform to them. The supervillain unsheathes and shakes his sword high at churlish kin who get the message.
Big blade high, Baron Zemo is consistently the quick and not the dead. He has only been a carcass once in his entire comic book life (see Thunderbolts #39). So, he sheathes his sword and sprints to his awaiting limo like a celebrity, a king, or today's common criminal, free of consequences, thanks to well-meaning courts. Happy, Helmut is heading to Tinlawland and Tinlaw Studios in Hollywood, California. His getaway car flits down 4th Street toward the freeway and his private flight.
Baron Zemo still wants his family heirloom back and Trapster's downfall. But, he would visit entertainment exec Vermin first. The mutate magnate may help him with several causes. For example, Zemo and Whelan could produce a new Tinlaw movie to stoke and affirm Bombshell rage.