Chapter 4: To Trapster's Digs We Go
"Who is this? And, how the f*** did you get this number?" Skeeter MacPherran snarls.
"You are an internationally-wanted criminal. And, you do not have caller ID?" Helmut Zemo has surprise on the other end of the phone.
"F*** no!" the supervillainess states, "This is a land line to an ancient rotary phone. Carl and I live off the grid. That way, we avoid a******* like you, Zemo!"
"Do you recognize my voice?" the master villain wonders.
"Ja, mein Herr," Titania huffs, "Absorbing Man and I were Masters of Evil long enough to know your verdammt voice."
"Oh. Well, I could do my all-American Citizen V voice if you wish," offers the Baron, "It is my mocking impression of the Star-Spangled Avenger."
Helmut can almost hear Titania shaking her head during brief dead air. Then, she asks, "Anyway, whaddaya want? To what do I owe the pleasure, Zemo?"
"I may have a job for you that could pay some pretty little pennies allowing lovebirds Carl and Skeeter to continue living off the grid," explains an oily aristocrat, "I believe that Trapster stole from me. I believe that he is near you in Minnesota."
"Hmph," Mary MacPherran exhales and then explains, "Absorbing Man and I moved to Minnesota to get far from the maddening crowd (to fudge Thomas Hardy). With dummy identities, we arranged a mortgage around Minneapolis near the Mall of America. We were happy. However, ceaseless hassle She-Hulk and her Skrull friend showed-up, and everything went to s*** [see She-Hulk v.2 #22-23]. Still, my sweetie and I loved this state and the state of peace it brought us. So, we moved back. But, this time, we outlaws reside about Thief River Falls and Crookston."
"I know where you are," Zemo says, "Spy satellites can still see you in your secluded shack, your little piece of Heaven. Thus, I can find you after hacking SHIELD, Stark Industries, or whoever."
"Well, I want to return to my f****** reclusion and repose," Mary grumbles, "You have called in the middle of the night, and I want to get back to bed. Bother someone else."
"Hmph," Helmut Zemo harumphs, "Should I bother the Bombshells of Bemidji instead? Those aspiring terrorists reside even closer to Trapster's current locale than you. Although, I do not especially trust those amateurs. Those ingenue idealists have apt anger, intolerance, and explosives. But, were brains dynamite, they couldn't blow their snot-noses. Their Empire State U chapter barely survived battling Falcon and Rage [see Captain America: Sam Wilson #17]."
"Yeah, those kids are silly. Silly and dangerous. But, they are ultimately progressives' self-parody," proposes Titania.
"Who should I solicit?" continues Zemo, "Shall I summon sap super-baddie 8-Ball from Duluth?"
"Sure," proposes Titania, "Just get the f*** off my phone."
"Well, I already rang him through the Lackey App [see Astonishing Ant-Man #2]," Zemo laments, "At first, lowly Jeff Hagees did not believe that it was I, the esteemed Baron Zemo, calling a stiff such as him. Then, after kind assurance from me, 8-Ball admitted his unavailability due to his ailing Oma, his granny [see Daughters of the Dragon #2]. He is only back in Duluth to help some deteriorated dame, not to do jobs"
""Deteriorated dame'? Well, aren't we all?" admits Mary wary of repetitious super-battles that leave one weary from whuppings received half of the time. Ever since Beyonder's Battleworld, where Doc Doom delivered her powers, Titania has had a love-hate relationship with the wild life of a rampaging hulk-foe.
Behind the pensive and pulchritudinous powerhouse, the Creels' bed creaks and squeaks. "We need the money, honey," mumbles sleepy Carl from the caving king-sized mattress under the ratty quilt-curtains in the cramped cabin.
Mary MacPherran-Creel, not her legal name, muses a moment. Within, she weighs her wishes.
On one hand, she refuses to be trapped by the life that she has stupidly constructed. As a kid, she just wanted out of poverty; she just wanted freedom from constant bullying (see She-Hulk #10). At twenty, she met Dr. Doom and made a deal with the devil so that she could be rich and humongous. However, after twenty times in and out of prison, she feels impotent to live freely as she sees fit, for her eminent infamy fetters Titania like Prometheus who stole the flame from the gods who govern. There is no future for the career criminal and astounding fiend who has incessantly harried Earth's Mightiest Heroes, has flattened famed urban areas, and has a record as long as her titanic arm. Such an unfit individual occupies a pit in everyone's psyche (including her own) and a pit of a shack among the pest-infested pines bordering the lonely Great Plains.
In part, a contrary Mary refuses to proceed and participate further toward her pathetic fate.
On the other hand, she needs to get paid. Titania needs the legal tender. Her beloved husband and she need the money immediately, and money is a mutually immediate need, whether you be mean massive mutate MacPherran or a more munificent type. Maybe someday, ol' Skeeter's circumstances will be sunnier.
"We'll take the job," Titania tells Zemo who has been waiting on the line.
"Lovely, lady," states Baron, "The Bombshells and 8-Ball are boobs and nincompoops compared to two proper monkey paws. Thank you for shaking down Trapster in Hackensack—Minnesota."
"It's h'kay," affirms the iniquitous Amazon, "However, I have a question. If Paste-Pot pinched your stuff, why not go after him yourself? Where are you? Somewhere without a Hydra SST?"
"Somewhere sans safe passage," sighs Helmut, "This evening, my luxury sedan sped west from Nowhere, Wisconsin, toward that sonofab**** Pete Petruski. But, there is an I-94 accident outside Eau Claire! We are not moving even at 1 a.m. in the mucking morning!"
"Oh. Say 'hi' to Cassie Hack for me," one bad-ass babe shouts-out her sister.
"Was? I don't know who that. . . . ."
Titania hangs-up on Baron Zemo. Hackensack is hardly huge, so Trapster can hardly hide there. Hired muscle should suss him out swiftly. A strapping savage need only slip on her studded boots and have her stud shake the spiders from his. Then, they can stomp out to the swart SUV, both striking figures silhouetted in the silvery moonlight. Then, with a roar, their vehicle speeds them to their chore.
The powered couple cruises into Cass County long before dawn. And, they decide to ditch their ride deep in the woods fairly far from the Hideaway Inn of Hackensack. These highways are not Hennepin Avenue in the Twin Cities; there is a lot less traffic and likely disused law enforcement. Absorbing Man and Titania try not to tempt fate. They prefer slipping below sheriff department radar. So, like two moose, the man-monsters tramp along Tenmile Lake's south shore until they happen upon evidence of an auto accident. With fissured windshield, a pickup sits there with all four tires blown, awaiting tow service in the morning. That is an odd sight—made odder by no damage beyond the tires and windshield. The truck did not hit anything.
However, Creel and companion are each too cretinous to do good detective work. They are not about to accurately envision an exceptional adhesive arresting the truck's motion and destructively stopping it on a dime. Who do you think they are? Evil geniuses Helmut and Heinrich?
Still, Titania and Absorbing Man have good underhanded intuition and substantial sordid experience. As frequent fugitives, they know how to flee through the ferns, thicket, and forest. Hell, Crusher Creel has been doing it since before Loki laid on him powers. With neither fuss nor muss, Mary and Carl spot where an assailant, waiting in ambush, would have fled after any dirty deed. Even by Selene's dim light this morn, the degenerate duo can discern the trail that Trapster may have used—if he took out the truck. Like tracking fox terriers, the terrible two take the trail and traverse witching hour woods right to Hideaway Inn.
"Heh-heh-heh," Colorado native Mary MacPherran chuckles. In the lodge's lot, she swiftly notices something that Bronx native Crusher Creel does not.
"Shhh," streetwise Carl instructs. People are sleeping, and a wily skulk prefers they stay that way.
An Amazon's ample index points. Titania picks out a sedan sitting betwixt two papa pickups. It is not the only car without a crew cab. There are other "small" vehicles in the lot. But, the indicated auto is probably the lone one with a rental agency plate.
Yet, obtuse Absorbing Man still asks, "What?" And, his wife explains stuff to him.
No one takes a compact coupe to deer camp, and only a weenie hauls his walleye jon with one. Any angler, antler-ist, other outdoorsman, or agrarian around these parts is particularly partial to eight cylinders for road appeal and practical reasons. Also, he ain't gonna rent wheels from MSP International Airport (Minneapolis-St. Paul). The modest automobile would fit in quite fine elsewhere in Minnesota but not up-north in late October.
Unbeknownst to Titania, Trapster did not even rent the anomalous auto. Pete may have picked a more proper vehicle; he is a Hoosier originally. However, "Wizard" Wyatt Bentley—for all his brains—is a Brooklyn boy who rarely rolls in small-town America and, therefore, is accidentally ethnocentric.
But, Wingless should not feel bad for being witless like a comic-book cosmopolitan. Sometimes, Reed Richards cannot recognize the forest for the trees, and Victor von Doom resides in his own world(view). Mad Thinker thinks not much outside the box, and Mole Man, although Mensa material, can be myopic too. Prodigious intellect does not always propagate perfect wisdom when pride and provincialism inevitably pollute a psyche. Properly, everyone should learn that everyone is smart and dumb in certain ways. Nuff said.
Carl appraises, "We should demolish the door and question Pete now. He is probably asleep."
Skeeter asserts, "Nah, I want to speak to him civilly. Trapster and I have such nice chats when serving on the Frightful Four together, and I value our friendship. He can explain why he stole from Baron Zemo. If he stole from Zemo. Besides, you can bet your butt that Pete has his bedroom booby-trapped while he gets his beauty sleep. Let's not blunder into a sticky situation."
Absorbing Man shrugs. He has also been on the Frightful Four. But, strangely enough, he never has done so with regular member Trapster. The two have only jointly served in this and that supervillain army or spotted each other across a Bar With No Name or the yard at Ryker's.
"Okay," offers Carl, "Let's get pancakes and sausage before grilling Pete at dawn. I'm treating."
Scary, 6' 6" Skeeter smirks. The bad woman has a good mate. The couple creep back through the countryside to their conveyance and drive their shoddy SUV to a Bemidji truck stop for breakfast.
Having eaten, the bruisers bee-bop back by Birch Lake shores before eight. Sunrise occurs around 7:45 in this season. Dawn's early light gilds the aluminum screen door at the inn. Titania's heavy hand hammers the infirm frame. Concealed Crusher stands out-of-sight to the side, should a Paste-Gun come out shooting.
Pete Petruski promptly opens the door, "How . . . ? I saw through the peephole. . . . . How did you know . . . ? I was just about to contact you!"
"No s***?" Titania says, "We too were just about to contact you too—after Baron Zemo called us." Absorbing Man appears and crosses his arms to intimidate Trapster, maybe.
Petruski appears perplexed, "Why did Zemo call you? Does the trail lead to him too?"
"Nah," notes Creel, "He says that the trail leads to you. You stole his stuff, stupid."
"W-w-what?" Trapster stutters, "I've never burgled, bushwhacked, or bamboozled the Baron in my life. I barely know the g****** guy. I famously f***** over his father once [see Avengers #6], sure. But, beyond that, I have hardly met him or even his worst enemies Captain America and Red Skull."
"No s***?" says Titania, "Well, who have you robbed recently, sticky fingers? Nobody? Carl and I encountered a jacked truck over yon."
"That girl was some nobody named Dr. Victoria Nutley Starr," states Trapster, "But, yeah, I waylaid her. Wizard asked me to. I took this and wish I hadn't."
Pete pops a business envelope up at Titania, twenty centimeters taller. He shakes the sleeve and file, "You should look at this. Then, we can go off to see the Wizard!"
Elsewhere in the Hackensack area, Glori O'Breen arrives home after an early-morning discharge. Often, physicians do not spring patients at daybreak, but an Avenger's assist aids most any occasion. And, Black Widow would not leave a lass in a lurch. If bad luck visits gal pal O'Breen, and Glori calls, Avenger Romanova rushes for the Quinjet and jaunts quickly to anywhere in the contiguous United States. Natasha and Glori have a sufficiently established old acquaintance. And, Black Widow relates to the Irish army enabler a bit, for each is another one of Matt's dangerous women such as Elektra, Shanna the She-Devil, She-Hulk, or Echo.
Besides, recently waylaid O'Breen mentioned glancing Trapster before going unconscious. A good superheroine does not just ignore that occurrence. Gallantly, she comes running and brings an Avengers reinforcement with her in the Quinjet.