Gary felt nervous as he pulled the purple car into the handicap spot of Michael’s parking lot. He was only waiting a minute, when a pudgy man in cargo pants opened the passenger door, sat down, and rested a shopping bag on his lap. The man pointed a thumb toward himself and said, “I’m Harold. Go and take this right at the light.”
“Sure thing, sir. So, uh, how long you been henching?” Gary asked Harold.
“Oh, god, don’t make me do that math. Long time,” Harold replied. “Is this your first day of training?”
“Third.”
“Oh, good.”
“I’m just ready to learn, man,” Gary proclaimed. “I got my crossbow in the trunk in case shit goes down!”
“Cool. Today should be nice and calm, though. It’s back-of-the-house stuff, not front-of-house. Hence, Michael’s.”
“Yeah. Why?”
“They had a sale on face paint, and I got all these coupons.”
“Huh?”
“The boss likes the goons to have face paint for the bigger jobs, kinda edgy and punk-rock. I got all this Snazaroo for half off,” Harold said shaking his bag.
“So, are we doing anything, like, villain-y today?”
“Sure. We’re replacing some of the city’s banners with our own thing. Those are gonna get unfurled tomorrow at the big show. We’re also setting up some anti-vigilante rooftop traps for that. Big thing today, though, is we gotta kidnap a drunk and sew a bomb into his stomach without him remembering.”
“Thank god for that. Where are we going now?”
“Party City.”