Bad Penny

Straight in from Bermuda,” I said, thunking the box down on the table and grinning.

“Christ!” The boss jumped and put a hand to her chest, scooting her chair away from the box. “Are you bloody jokin’?”

“Well, I mean, what else did you expect Miss Penny, Ma’am? You told me to get you a hundred spiders.” I waved a hand to the plastic crate that whispered with the low but persistent scuttle of 800 tiny legs.

“Yeah, right,” she said, eyeing the box with disgust and mistrust. “I just didn’t expect them to be so… big.”

“Well… I can return them if you like,” I said, reaching for the crate. The plastic was a mesh, allowing air to circulate and allowing the tips of the creatures’ furry legs to poke through as they desperately searched for an escape.

“No, no,” she reached to pull it back, but stopped, shuddering with disgust. “God, why are they so fuzzy?”

I let go of the box and looked at it. “It’s,” I said, “just the breed, ma’am. I guess. Or species, I don’t know. I’m more of a marine biology man. They really are rather normal size, Miss Penny. No larger than an average house spider.”

“Ugh,” she shuddered. “Don’t talk about house spiders.” She glanced around the room as if one might descend right in front of her. “I don’t even want to think about them.”

I hesitated as she turned around in her swivel chair, rubbing her gloved hands on her pants as if to wipe off some horrid contaminant. “Do you… want me to put them in the vault, ma’am?”

“God,” she said, turning over her shoulder and immediately standing from her seat and walking a few paces away. “Why did you have to get so many?”

“That’s how many you told me to get, Miss!” I said, waving an exasperated hand at the toaster-sized crate. “You said ‘order 100 banded flag spiders. We’re branching out,’ and I said, ‘but Miss, you hate spiders,’ and you said”--I swapped into a harsh, cold brogue–”’silence Cretin, if I wanted your input, I would have asked,’ and I said, ‘but Miss, what are we going to do with them?’ and you said, ‘the same thing we always do, lackey, try to take over–”

Miss Penny flapped a hand at me and I snapped my mouth shut. “Yes, yes, alright, put them in the vault. Just make sure that they’re not going to get out! If I get bitten by one of those shites, I’m taking the bill out of your paycheck.”

“Yes ma’am, yes, ma’am.” I bowed, took the crate gingerly in both hands, and scuttled out of the room. “What paycheck?” I mumbled after the door was closed, remembering the gift card to Big Sean’s that was my last Christmas bonus. It was mostly used when I got it.

“I heard that,” Miss Penny snarled, and I straightened and hurried to the vault.

Damn super hearing.

~~~~~~

“Miss Penny,” I said.

“What.” She was struggling to pull on her villain suit over her clothes. The sleeves kept bunching as she pushed her arms through, and she was getting more and more frustrated. She had been wearing long gloves, tall socks, and her super-boots ever since I’d brought in the crate of spiders.

“You know, I can get rid of the spiders, if you want.”

“Why the hell would I want that? God dammit!” She yanked her arm out of the suit and began unbuttoning the front of her shirt with little frustrated, fumbling yanks, shucking out of it down to the tank-top beneath. “Stupid bloody shirt.”

“Well,” I said, “you haven’t even been down to the vault since they came in and…”

“And what, Cretin?”

“Well,” I wrung my hands. “You don’t seem like you’ve been sleeping much”

She paused in pulling on the suit and glowered at me. “You know, you’re awfully chatty for an evil henchman. You’re starting to step out of line.”

I stared at my feet and handed her the helmet. “Sorry ma’am. I just thought I’d offer.”

“Well don’t dammit, it’s weird. You’re like a feckin’ sidekick. What did you say you went to school for again?”

“Biology, ma’am.”

She scoffed and took the helmet, polishing the spotless dome of it with a cuff before jamming it onto her head. “Biology. What sort of useless major is that for a henchman?”

“Well I wasn’t planning on being a henchman, ma’am. I was going to be a biologist.”

She stared at me, eyes narrowed. “A biologist?”

“Yes. Marine, ma’am.”

“Then what the bloody hell are you henching for? Did you even take a henching minor?”

I mumbled.

“Speak up, Cretin. And anyway what kind of name is Cretin for a biologist. A bloody stupid one, I’d say.”

“Oceanography, ma’am.”

“What?”

“I had an oceanography minor. And communications, but I didn’t finish it. And I changed my name.”

“Changed your name? Why?” She marched over to her desk and began flipping through the pages of a dossier.

“Well, I needed a job, and I thought it would help.”

“Mmhmm,” she muttered. “You didn’t want to go into biology?”

I shrugged. “Well, I did, but I couldn’t get a job. And my dad was a henchman, and my brothers are all henchmen, so I just figured I’d do the same thing. Changed my name to seem more… henchy.”

“Right, well,” she said, shutting the dossier and sticking it in a bag. “I don’t care what you majored in–I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s stupid as hell–as long as you do your job. And questioning whether or not I’m getting enough sleep, isn’t doing your job. Got that?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

Stupid major. Not as stupid as ‘Villainy.’ What sort of major is villainy. She couldn’t even afford more than one underqualified henchman on the miser’s salary she pulled in. She wasn’t even a proper villain. She could have majored in business or political science and been more of a villain than whatever this was, and made more money doing it. Oh lord, she was putting on a cape.

“Go be a sidekick, if you want to get into all that warm and fuzzy shite.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She fastened her green cape with a round, copper fastener stamped with the head of the queen.

Bad Penny my ass, I thought. She’s just misfortunate.

“Christ,” she sighed, “Go get the…” she shuddered, blanching.

“The spiders?”

Miss Penny nodded with her eyes shut. “Yes, fetch the damn things.”

~~~~~~

Thirty minutes later, we were on the tube to Westminster, trying not to bump into anybody as we held the overhead straps and swayed with the movement of the train. I held the spider crate under an arm and Miss Penny, in her green and umber costume, copper helmet jammed down over her straight red hair, pointedly did not look in my direction the entire way.

“We really need to get some sort of transportation,” I moaned, not for the first time.

“Hells bells, I’ve told you a hundred time, Cretin, I’m not getting a car in London. We’d never bloody get anywhere.”

“Doesn’t have to be a car, I mumbled.”

“What?”

“I said it doesn’t have to be a car.”

“Well what the hell else would it be?” she asked, rubbing her eyes in exasperation.

I shifted my weight.

“Christ!” she shouted, jolting away from me. “Keep that thing away from me!”

“Sorry,” I said, scowling. I leaned away, putting pressure back on my right leg, which was already falling asleep. “Kingsman has a horse,” I said.

She gave a cynical laugh. “I’m not riding a fecking horse.”

“The Black Knight has a horse too,” I mumbled, still scowling at my toes and trying to shake out my leg without leaning toward the jumpy super villain. The train gave a sudden jolt, and everybody in the compartment staggered to keep their footing.

“Feckin’ hell, Cretin, I said keep that damn thing away from me!”

“I’m sorry! I shouted. “Jesus.”

She gave me a sidelong look of contempt and shuffled over a step as the elderly woman next to her moved up to the next strap, evidently in a futile attempt to escape the row.

“And I’m not riding a bloody horse. How does that make sense? I’m Bad Penny, not the fecking–” she waved a hand in the air, desperately searching for the words. “Not bad… Knight, I don’t bloody know.”

It was my turn to shoot her a contemptuous glance. “Bad Knight?”

“I DON’T BLOODY KNOW, ALRIGHT? Can you drop it? Christ you’re annoying.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “Whatever. It doesn’t have to be a horse. What about a motorcycle? Robin the Hood has one of them and it’s–”

“Too dangerous.” She waved a dismissive hand.

“What about a jetpack? You wouldn’t even have to deal with traff–”

“Hah!” she interrupted, staring stolidly ahead, “No”

“Fine! We’ll take the tube every day!”

“Fine! I like the tube!”

“You like the tube?!”

“Yes,” she said, crossing her arms as well as she could while still holding onto the strap.

“How could you possibly like the tube? It’s always crowded, it smells like wee, and you have to wait on the schedule any time you need to get anywhere! What sort of super villain waits on the tube schedule?”

“This one does, alright? I’m not buying a car, I’m not riding a horse, I’m not riding a motorcycle, and I’m most certainly not flying a jetpack!”

I said nothing–just fumed silently. Bad Penny. Right, because at least a penny is worth something. “What does that mean, a ‘horse doesn’t make sense?’” I exploded, unable to contain myself. “How do spiders make sense?”

“The Piper has rats, and The Count has bats,” she said flatly, not looking at me.

“Yeah,” I said, “because they can talk to rats and bats.”

“So?”

“So,” I said, dragging out the word, “of course they have rats and bats. Why would you need spiders.”

“Spiders are scary.”

I laughed in disbelief. “Yeah they’re scary,” I said, hoisting the crate higher under my arm. “You won’t even go near the damn things. They don’t even go with your theme!”

“Well,” she said, pointedly looking away from me, “maybe I’m changing my theme.”

“To what, Little Miss Muffet?”

She turned scarlet and didn’t respond.

“Right, because you can’t stand the things!” I took the crate in both hands and shoved it toward her. She shrieked and leapt away, helmet clanging on a pole.”

“Bloody hell, lady!” a man shouted angrily as she shoved into him. “Keep it to yourself, won’t you? Jesus, you’re in bloody public.”

“Hah,” I laughed, re-tucking the crate under my arm and smiling in petty victory.

Miss Penny stood up, furiously brushing herself off and gave the man who had yelled a viscous shove. The doors slid open and a pleasant, automated voice said, “Westminster Station.” Miss Penny stormed off of the car and turned around, jabbing a finger at me. “You’re fired, Cretin!”

“Right,” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “I’ll just leave this with you, then?” I offered the crate in her direction and she cringed away from it, looking physically ill. Then she forced a frustrated, snorting scream and turned to march up the stairs.

“I can’t bloody stand you!”

I smiled and hurried after her.

~~~~~~

It was colder than a witch’s tit, crouched atop the l’Assiette d’Or bistro, even under my thick jacket and wool socks. Miss Penny had not said a word to me the entire march to the cathedral or the arduous climb up the grappling hook to get on top of the restaurant, and that was just fine by me. The spiders had slowed down from the cold, and the box barely scuttled anymore. Miss Penny was looking through a pair of binoculars, keeping watch on the street below. I flipped through the dossier that she had brought in her bag. Black Friar was supposed to show up at 10 o’clock.

“Black Friar,” the transcript inside read, “Miles, how’s it going, mate?”

“Green Knight: John, hey hey, long time no see!”

The Black Friar and the Green Knight’s names were Miles and John? I shook my head and continued reading.

“G.K.: How’s Liz?”

“B.F.: Don’t ask me [laughs], she’s hardly been home all week.”

“G.K.: Still shirty about last week?”

“B.F.: she’ll get over it soon enough. How’re the kids?”

I flipped forward through more-of-the-same for four pages, just scanning. Why did she feel the need to record all of this?

“G.K.,” the last page read, near the bottom. “You have plans for Saturday?”

“B.F.: Just the usual.”

“G.K.: I hear that. Want to grab a bite at Asset Dor?”

“B.F.: [pause, probably for shrug] Why not? I’ve got some good stories to tell.

“G.K.: [laughs] Whoever’s got a better one buys.”

“B.F.: You’re on. Ten o’clock?”

I shut the dossier, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Miss?” She ignored me and continued watching the street. “Do you even know what the Black Friar looks like?”

She spoke mockingly, without turning. “What do you think? It’s in the name.”

I sighed and walked over next to her at the wall at the edge of the roof. “Yeah, it is in the name. In his superhero name. He’s meeting a friend for dinner. He’s not going to be in costume.”

She took her eyes from the binoculars and gave me a haughty look. “I know what he looks like, alright? Now just bugger off somewhere. You’re distracting me.”

“Miss, look, I know that you are trying to break into the business, but is this really the right time or place? He’s just going to look like any other bloke walking in here! His name is John for Christ’s sake.”

“I thought I fired you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got the spiders, so…” I gave the box a shake.

She grimaced and scooted away from me.

“Whatever,” I said, turning away. “But I’m freezing my arse off up here.”

I walked away, blowing on my fingers, and huddling as best as I could away from the wind. Christ, but it was cold. I did some jumping jacks as quietly as I could, and then jogged in place until Miss Penny said, in a quiet and self-conscious voice, “I didn’t want to do this either, alright?”

“What?” I asked, stopping my warmups.

“I said I didn’t want to do this either,” she snapped.

“Then why are we up here?”

“I didn’t…” she said, mumbling and growing quieter, “want to be a super villain, I mean.”

“Oh. Well…” I said, not sure how to proceed. “What did you want to be?” I set down the box of spiders and crouched back over to her, sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall next to where she knelt.

“I…” she said, putting down the binoculars, face reddening. “Never mind. Shut up.”

She put the binoculars back to her eyes, mouth pressed in a firm line.

“No,” I laughed. “What did you want to be?”

She sighed and lowered her hands again, turning and sitting next to me. “You’re going to laugh.”

“No I won’t; promise.” I held out a pinky, and she looked at it dubiously but didn’t take it.

“I wanted…” she rubbed her face with her hands. “I wanted to open a bakery.” She looked away, cheeks and neck fully red now.

I did laugh. Well, I chuckled.

“Dammit,” she spat, rising back to her feet. “I told you not to–”

“No, no no!” I interrupted, holding up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “That sounds wonderful! Honest!” I leaned my head back against the wall and, as an afterthought, nudged the spiders further away with a toe. Neither one of us spoke for a pregnant moment, then I asked, “Why didn’t you?”

She shrugged. “I have super powers.”

“You have super power,” I corrected, smiling at her scowl. “And so what?”

“So I didn’t want to be a hero! That’s fecking lame!”

“Yeah, but… why not open a bakery?”

“What?” She asked, looking back to me, scratching her arms self-consciously and glaring at the faintly scuttling box with a wary frown.

“You know that there are lots of people walking around with super powers who don’t become heroes or villains, right?”

She shrugged again, dropping her arms and leaning her head back against the wall. “My da always said that wasting a talent is an insult to God.”

“Penny…” I said after a moment of consideration, and her head spun around to me. “Miss Penny,” I amended. “You don’t even believe in God.”

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Funny how those things stay with you. But still, I believe in my da, and I felt like I should follow his advice. Just because I don’t believe in God doesn’t make the advice any less wise.”

“True,” I acquiesced. “So, are you a good baker?” asked after a moment of thought.

She shrugged again, “sure, I guess.”

“You guess, or you are?”

She eyed me critically, and I thought she was going to brush me off again, but her face softened and a hint of a smile showed through. It really was a very pretty smile. “Yeah, I am. Really good.”

“So,” I said, raising my palms like a pair of scales. “Aren’t you wasting that talent?”

She looked at me, and opened her mouth to argue, and then the roof access door opened and a furious Frenchman barged through onto the frigid rooftop.

“What do you think you are doing, euh?!” he shouted, brandishing a ladle. “You are trespassing on private property! How did you even get up ‘ere?”

I raised my hands in a warding motion. “We’re sorry, sir, it’s–it’s–we were just leaving.”

“Did you come up here to have ze sex? Euh? Are you some sorts of perverts?” He squinted with one eye, mouth screwed into a bulldog snarl.

“No!” Penny shouted.

“No!” I laughed, standing. “No. Jesus, we were just–”

The cook seemed to notice Miss Penny’s costume for the first time, then, and his eyes widened. “Are you…” he paused, searching the crevices of his mind.

“I am–” Penny drew herself up to her full height, chest out, hands on her hips, and then the Frenchman found the name he was looking for.

“Robin ze Hood?”

“What?” Penny deflated. “No! What? The Hood isn’t even a woman!”

“I don’t know!” the Frenchman countered defensively. “He wears tights!”

“And he’s a hero!” Penny said in disgust.

“You are not a hero?” the Frenchman asked, raising his ladle a little higher.

“No!”

“Zen what are you?”

“I am a villain!” Penny announced, raising herself up to her full height and puffing her chest out again.

“Hah!” the cook laughed. “A villain…” he shook his head, pityingly. “In zat outfit?”

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” Penny asked, a hurt look crossing her face.

“What, did you sew it yourself?”

“Yes!”

“Do you even own a sewing machine?”

“No, I don’t need one! I know how to sew by hand.”

“Hah,” he laughed again.”

“Miss Penny, ma’am,” I said, picking up the box of spiders. “Come on, “let’s go.”

“Yes,” the cook said, waving his ladle in circles at Penny’s outfit. “I can see that.”

“Come on, mate,” I said, stepping forward in Penny’s defense. “You’re not exactly living up to the Louis Vuitton standard either. I bet you couldn’t have even sewn what you’re wearing.”

“My apron?” He laughed. “Why would I make my own apron? I bet she doesn’t even know how to sew an overlock stitch!”

“A what?” Penny asked, stepping back in front of me, ignoring the spiders in her growing fury.

“Exactly. Zat is why all of your seams are eizer baggy or tight. You can’t sew stretch fabric wis a regular stitch.”

“You’d better shut your mouth real soon, frog-man, or I’m going to shut it for you,” Penny growled, stepping closer to the man.

“Penny,” I said in a loud whisper. “He’s just French.”

“Woah ho ho, ze big scary villain lady who doesn’t know how to sew an overlock stitch.

Miss Penny growled deep in her throat.

“And her… what… son?” he added gesturing to me with the ladle, grinning.

“I’m her henchman,” I said, stepping up next to Penny and growling the words myself.

“Alright, alright,” he said, conceding the point. He raised his hands in submission and then crossed his arms. “Zen what is your super villain name?”

“I,” Penny said, stepping up and glowering down at the man who was a good head shorter than her. “Am–”

A baritone voice shouted up from the street. “Is everything alright up there, Pierre?” and Penny jolted in recognition.

“No!” Pierre shouted back, still smiling. “Zis supervillain lady was just about to tell me her name!”

“Villainy?!” The voice exclaimed in an exaggeratedly grand tone. “Come out, fiend, and I will put an end to your reign of terror!’

Penny shot a panicked look at me, both giddy and terrified. “It’s him! It’s him; it’s the Friar!”

“Really?” asked, scurrying over to the edge, keeping my head low. An average looking man, dressed in a two-piece, black suit stood on the walk, doing his best to puff out his chest and suck in his gut, hands on his hips like Miss Penny’d had only moments before. I rolled my eyes. Of course he would. Of course he would have his mask on. Black brogues, black suit, black tie, white shirt, and a cowled mask that completely concealed his face and made him look like an off-the-rack Aragorn from Lord of the Rings in the light from the electric torch-lamp mounted above the door. I scurried back to Penny and Pierre.

“How do I look?” she asked, frantically running her fingers through her hair and straightening her helmet.

I shot her the A-Okay sign. “You look fantastic.”

Pierre snorted, still standing with his arms crossed.

“Can it, Pierre,” I snarled, shooting him a deadly look. “Go on, go out there,” I urged, grinning, and Penny smiled back, hurrying to the edge of the roof and striking a pose.

“It is I!” she intoned, in her most dramatic voice, “The Bad Penny! I always turn–shit,” she muttered, and I peered over the wall at the Black Friar, who had slumped and was rubbing his eyes. She started over. “I always turn up, Black Friar, like a–”

“Yeah, yeah, the Friar said, waving a hand in the air. “Like a bad penny, I got it. Can we have this over with?”

“Maybe we will, Friar,” Penny shouted down to the street. “Or should I say, John.”

The Friar was silent for a moment, just stared up at the roof, then said, “Penny, everybody knows my name. It’s not a secret. It’s not like I need to hide my identity. I’m literally bulletproof.”

“What?!” I shouted, standing up next to Penny. “I didn’t know your name. Then why do you wear the costume?”

“Because it looks cool.” He flapped his arms in exasperation. “Look, Penny, do we have to do this again?”

Penny did her best to grin maniacally, gave a weak affectation of a rolling laugh, and said, “Oh yes, we have to do this again. It’s time for our rematch, Black Friar! And this time, you won’t see what I have coming.”

“Look, you petty Irish bint!” The Friar hurled, “What do you think you’re going to do to me? You don’t even have any powers!”

“She does too!” I shouted back.

“Yeah! She can hear really well!” The Friar rolled his eyes. “That’s why she always ‘turns up like a bad penny;’ because she eavesdrops on people’s conversations like some sort of subway pervert and then shows up when they're making plans. For dinner. With their friends.” He rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb. “Jesus,” he muttered. “I mean, can’t a man have just one night in peace?”

Miss Penny was audibly grinding her teeth, and the look in her eyes was murderous. She snatched the box from my hands before either one of us had time to think about what she was doing, shouted, “Hear this, you bleedin’ English wanker!” and tore the door to the box open. She moved to dump the box, and then froze as if her muscles had suddenly gone into rigor mortis. Her eyes went wide in horror, and her face deathly white in the streetlights.

“Shit,” I muttered, and then a single spider crawled lazily out onto her hand and she screamed like a damn bansidhe. The box flew from her hands as she leapt away from it, and it struck the edge of the wall first, then bounced onto the rooftop at her feet, smashing open and scattering its hundred furry-legged occupants everywhere. If I jumped, then Penny flew. How fast she moved, it was a miracle that she didn’t come right out of her suit.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” she screamed in a shrill, girlish voice that was almost sobs. “Get them off, get them off!” she spun around, not even daring to stomp on the things, leaping away in mortal horror as she continued to scream.

“Christ!” I shouted, and kicked the box, which still contained some of the arachnids, away like a football… straight towards Miss Penny, who shrieked all the louder, her mind completely taken by terror. “Sorry!” I said, reaching for her, but I was pushed back violently in her panic to get away. “Miss, stop!”

She stumbled back, away from me, and away from the spiders.

“Stop, Penny!” I lunged for her just as the backs of her knees met with the low wall. She tipped backwards, terror transforming to shock and pinwheeling her arms. My fingers only managed to graze her skin-tight costume before she plummeted backwards and disappeared over the edge.

The night was deathly silent.

“Miss!” I shouted in horror, and ran to the edge, peering over, expecting to see my boss sprawled on the ground with a broken neck. What I saw instead, was a young woman dangling by a cape that had snagged on the medieval-style electric wall torch, and whose face was going blue from asphyxiation. She managed to unclip the cloak fastener, and fell the remaining six feet to the ground, rolling and landing on her back, gulping in frenzied lungfuls of air.

“Shit,” I breathed, clutching my chest and breathing raggedly myself. A spider wobbled toward my foot, and I stepped on it in reflex. It crushed with a pop. The others weren’t moving. They lay on their backs with their legs curled on the cement roof, quite clearly dead.

They had been in the vault for a few days and, now that I considered it, what had they been eating? And anyway, It was a lot colder in London than in Bermuda.

Fucking spiders. And the fucking tube. I rubbed at my hip, which was still sore from the ride and the walk and the climb, and I swore under my breath.

“We’re getting a pair of sodding jetpacks.”