Previously: Digger and Twain were making their getaway after robbing the Kessler Museum, when they heard a mysterious voice in alley. And now…
When Everett Cornwall sat down that morning with his cup of chamomile tea for his morning meditation, he wasnâ€™t expecting anything exciting. Maybe if he was lucky, heâ€™d get an advance vision of any nasty surprises his clientâ€™s wife might spring. Divorce was often a nasty business, and it could be even worse when one or both clients had secret identities to protect. Being able to anticipate what the other side would do was one reason Cornwall could charge the substantial fees he did.
But instead of damaging revelations during a deposition, what he got were confusing flashes: Digger (in a T-shirt, no less) standing next to a blonde cowgirl, clashing bodies and pummelling fists, screams and blood. A lot of blood.
Cornwall opened his eyes and dialed a number on his cell phone. â€œRon, I need you to gather the team,â€ he said. â€œDiggerâ€™s in town, and something bad is going to happen. I donâ€™t know exactly what, but with those damned Drillers of his… Exactly. We musnâ€™t let him hurt anybody. Iâ€™ll pinpoint a location and get back to you.â€
He hung up the phone and headed toward his secret closet, the cup of tea forgotten on his desk. Digger had to be stopped before disaster struck!
Twain looked up to see a woman in a tight-fitting red leather jumpsuit hovering several feet above them. He recognized her as a member of the Big Apple Corps, but before he could say anything, she said, â€œLong time, Digger. Whoâ€™s your girlfriend?â€
Digger smiled. â€œThis is Calamity…â€
â€œ…Bellicose Jane,â€ Digger said.
â€œAnd my legs are killing me!â€ Twain added.
â€œJane, this is Fish Girl,â€ Digger said.
â€œMy name is not…â€
â€œSorry, I meant Night Fish,â€ Digger said.
â€œItâ€™s Carpe Noctem, damn it!â€
â€œYeah,â€ Digger said. â€œCarp of the Night. I could never tell, does that mean like Vampire Fish or Fish Prostitute? Because the outfit could go either way.â€
â€œIt means â€˜Seize the night,â€™ moron!â€ she shouted. â€œItâ€™s Latin.â€
â€œItâ€™s Latin,â€ Digger muttered to Twain.
Twain had never seen this side of Digger. He had always been careful to keep Digger off balance, and he seemed awfully easy to rattle. But around other superhumans, first Thompson and now Carpe Noctem, he seemed to change. He was suddenly confident, in control. That was bad. Twain needed Digger to not be in control. â€œDigger, we need to, uh…â€
â€œThe only thing you need to do…â€ said a voice from behind them, â€œis go to jail.â€
Twain turned and saw a battle-scarred man in padded black leather. Twain recognized him, as well: Caveat Maledictor, the Scourge of Crime.
â€œBut not necessarily in one piece,â€ said another man, over six feet tall and wearing a sleeveless black T-shirt. He rested a baseball bat on one shoulder. He was Biggus Stickus, the Heavy Hitter.
Twain looked at Digger and was amazed to see a smile on his face. The worse the odds against them, the happier he got. Digger really was a moron.
What will happen next? Find out tomorrow in the next exciting episode!
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