Dr. Havoc enjoyed his trip to Sydney, Australia. He liked meeting people and shaking their hands. With a delighted smile he’d say, “Lovely city! Too bad it’ll be destroyed.” In New Zealand he’d say, “Beautiful countryside! A shame it’ll all be melted away.”
No one was quite sure how to take the curious man wearing a jumpsuit and carrying a chinchilla.
Back at his secret Pacific island fortress, Havoc stepped away from his beautifully maintained Chrysler Airflow. The sleek lines of the antique car appealed to him. Even as he walked away from it, the driver began waxing it again. His predecessor had missed a spot once, and was later fed to laser-armed sharks.
Dr. Havoc sat in a brightly-colored cafe drinking Turkish coffee in the picturesque village he designed. His tablet bleeped. He wondered if it was his engineer, Klipsch offering an update on Havoc’s microwave battlestation. Havoc already knew it was operational. The destruction of all civilization was on schedule. Tired of the tedious man, Havoc had ignored Klipsch’s calls for days. He flipped open the cover and found that it wasn’t Klipsch at all, but Interpol. He smirked. It was curious that they had acquired his number, but no matter. Interpol wouldn’t exist in a few days.
He answered the video call with a smirk, expecting some Head of State to beg for his life. “It is too late to plead for mercy!” he crowed.
The rather plain woman on the screen look bored. She said, “Certainly not, sir.”
Havoc was perplexed. “I don’t recognize you. What president of what country are you?”
The woman snorted. “I don’t represent any country. I’m Katya, Mr. Bloom’s personal assistant.”
“Who is Mr. Bloom?”
“Oh, he is Interpol’s Assistant Deputy Undersecretary number thirty-seven to personal assistant thirteen of the Vice-Director of Interpol.”
Havoc could feel a rage purpling his face. “I demand to speak to the Director!”
Katya began painting her nails. “‘Fraid not. He’s very busy, as am I. This call is merely a formality to advise you, your life is forfeit.”
“WHAT? Do you know who I am?” raged Havoc.
“Ah, that would be Whitney Small-Pittling, correct?”
Havoc hadn’t heard that awful name in ages. He could feel that one blood vessel throbbing. “I’ll be certain that Interpol Headquarters is the first target of my Battlestation before I destroy Civilization! You shall pay for your insolence!”
The image of Katya was replaced by a scene of shattered debris. The words “Emperor Havoc” appeared often on the large chunks. Katya reappeared. “Yours, I should think?”
Havoc roared, “I’ll not be treated like this. I am a Super-Villain!”
Katya winced. “That’s rather passe, isn’t it? Terrorism is the real concern these days. You lot are old hat anymore.”
“Know this. I WILL escape and I will RETURN!”
“I shouldn’t think so. The sixty-inch ion cannon in orbit, the one pointed at your hideout,” Katya rolled her eyes. “…Will destroy the entire island in…oh…thirty seconds. But don’t be dismayed. Your Turkish coffee will be nice and hot. Have a nice day!”
Havoc dashed for his car, but Katya’s word was good. The last thing the eminent super-villain saw, was an eye-searing flash in the perfectly waxed shine of his car.
Written for Matthew Wright’s weekly Short Story Challenge. Look here for the original post: https://mjwrightnz.wordpress.com/2016/03/22/this-weeks-short-story-challenge-16/