The Mad Waxxer tried to maintain his calm. He’d faced police and guards before, right? He got a bad feeling about this one. He, and the Brazilian, were going into some warehouse. Theodora said the ones outside had handguns, but what about inside? He didn’t much care for going into it with his rival at his back, either. It was entirely that he didn’t trust the man.
It wasn’t like he gave a sly smile or told him to wear a red shirt. The Brazilian acted as near to normal as he knew of the man. The problem being, his normal behavior meant invading the Waxxer’s territory, kidnapping his victims, and ratting out his holding sites to the cops. It would be to his benefit if the Waxxer was injured or worse.
The pair rode along in the Waxxer’s van, which the Brazilian had dubbed “The Waxmobile.” He’d laughed at it when the Waxxer picked him up, and said it a couple more times while he drove there. The Waxxer didn’t care for the name, and got his revenge by offering the man some fruit from a bowl sitting up front. The Brazilian tossed a grape in his mouth, bit down, then spat it out. “Wax fruit? You really play up a theme.”
“I really don’t,” he responded.
“How do you make that wax work, anyway? I’ve seen waxxing done. You heat it up, drip it where it goes, and rip it off once it cools and solidifies. What you do shouldn’t be possible,” said the man who can stick to anything he touches and crawl on ceilings and walls.
“It’s a formula developed by the CIA. How I came by it is my own business,” the Waxxer answered.
“The feds made wax?” the other villain queried.
“No, they were making chemical weapons in the Cold War and someone discovered a formula for wax with special properties. I found it later,” he said. There was more to the story, involving the CIA, rumors of the chemicl being based on Dr. Resolute’s old formula, and the need to vibrate it at certain frequencies to detach it prematurely. He felt no need to explain everything to the first person to ask, however.
“They did a lot of crazy stuff. I wonder if we’ll ever find out everything they were up to,” the Brazilian mused.
The Waxxer shrugged, “I’d rather focus on the guys we have to deal with. Are you any good at fighting?”
The Brazilian turned to look at him. “I used to get beat up a lot as a kid.”
“Great,” the Waxxer said. The Brazilian’s powers needed him to put his hands on people, but he was a bad fighter. “Did you bring any sort of weapon?” He eyed the Brazilian, who once again wore nothing put a pair of shorts. The other man’s chest and arms glistened; the Waxxer wasn’t sure if that was due to sweat or oil. He hoped it was the former for the sake of his seats.
The Brazilian shook his head. “No. I thought I would improvise when we got there. Perhaps I can find something heavy, hide on a ceiling, and drop it on someone’s head.”
“Improvise? That sounds like a terrible plan,” the Waxxer said.
“I understand why your girlfriend didn’t go inside, I do. But she couldn’t send us a picture?” the Brazilian asked.
“That wouldn’t look suspicious,” the Waxxer responded.
“Fuck, it would be something,” Brazilian said. They drove past the warehouse on purpose, not turning in or slowing down. They waited until they were down the street, in front of the next one, before the Waxxer stopped and the Brazilian spoke again, a smirk adding to the sarcasm of the statement. “It looked normal. Have you thought of a plan already?”
The Waxxer took his hands off the wheel and steepled his fingers. “Yes, I have. It requires cunning, skill, trust, and my van. It probably won’t work.”
When he finished telling the Brazilian, the bronze Adonis smiled. “It’s missing one thing.” He pulled out his phone and pushed a few buttons. “Get what you need. I need to make a stop, but I will be back with everything you need of me.”
The Waxxer swung over the fence and landed on the inside perimeter of the warehouse, completely unharmed by the barbed wire topping the obstruction. He’d had to break out some spare wax, but it was easy enough to coat the barbs with it and clamber over. He checked again to make sure there were no obvious cameras or patrols he missed, then jogged to the warehouse. Wary of the sound of his soles, he stopped at the wall to make sure nobody was scrambling, then pulled out his whip. He took aim, hit his mark on the edge of the roof, and set about climbing the structure.
Having done everything as stealthily as he could up to that point, the Waxxer made his way past solar panels to the center of the roof. It seemed the best place to start without knowing where to look. He’d prefer a corner to be inconspicuous, but that was where the Brazilian came in. If the Brazilian came in. The Waxxer stopped laying out wax on the roof and glanced around for the distraction.
Squealing tires alerted him to it. He saw his van doing donuts in front of the gate to the warehouse. If he was’t trying to be stealthy while wearing a smoking jacket on the roof of a warehouse at midday, he’d have yelled at the man. He told him to get a car. Steal one, borrow one, call a taxi. His van wasn’t part of the plan!
However, he was a professional. He finished affixing part of the roof to itself. When he saw a gang of men and women heading out to the front gates of the warehouse compound, he used his tools to noisily remove the roof. Just the part that was inconvenient. The wax prevented it from falling inward. Lifting a paper strip off, he set his makeshift trapdoor on the roof.
The Mad Waxxer noticed two things while climbing his strip whip down. The first was that he, van or no van, he owed his life to the Brazilian’s distraction. He was painfully exposed to sight, but nobody was around to see his budget Spider-Man impression. The second thing he noticed was that the only thing big enough to hold a person who hadn’t mastered yoga was a large shipping container. Once he’d made it to the floor, he rushed over, hoping nobody had left it locked. In this, he was lucky as well.
The reason became apparent when he opened the door. Chief Johannsen was tied to a cot in filthy conditions, a gash on his head that was swollen and red with infection. The Waxxer winced and set about undoing the straps. The groan from the first one alerted him that the man was actually conscious. “Easy there. You’re not well.”
“Who… the Mad Waxxer?” asked Johanssen.
The Mad Waxxer shot him a roguish grin. “The very same. I’m here to kidnap you.”
“Don’t you mean rescue me?” asked the captured Chief of Police.
“Whatever helps you feel better. Now, up you go. Easy.” The Mad Waxxer helped the man up and they began to hobble out. He grabbed his phone and texted the Brazilian that they needed a way out. The plan called for setting the stolen car to ram through the gate, driving the van in, and piling into it to try and escape without getting shot. That would never be an option if only his van was involved. At least the Chief could still walk on his own after he got him outside the container.
“Get to the roof,” was the Brazilian’s advice. The Mad Waxxer looked at Chief Johanssen and marveled at it.
The Waxxer pulled out a long wax strip . “I’ll need you to be calm and not choke me for this next part. We’re going to have to climb.” He looked up to find the Chief, who he suddenly realized wasn’t beside him. The swaying of his strip whip alerted him to the other man trying to limb it. “Oh. Good then. This works, too.”
The Waxxer walked over, grabbed the handle, and pressed the button to reel it in. As the other end of it was firmly stuck to the roof of warehouse, it instead reeled him in. He grabbed the Chief as it got to him, Johanssen being fully cooperative in the escape. Once they got to the roof, the Waxxer realized the air was alight with the booming sound of gangster rap. And it was coming from his van. “My speakers!”
Furious, he pulled out his phone and texted to the Brazilian that they were out, they heard the music, and they needed to get out right that instant! The Mad Waxxer looked up with dawning horror as his van stopped racing up and down the street and turned down a road to drive away. His stream of expletives could have alerted the guards standing around at the perimeter of the fence, and went on long enough that he was surprised when the van came hurtling back toward the gate. It crashed through, and kept on going.
“Look to the sky,” the Brazilian responded via text message. The Waxxer looked up quizzically, and so almost missed when the Brazilian landed on the edge of the roof. “Hey, man. I got your escape right here.”
Rather than the crude gesture he expected to accompany that statement, the Brazilian had a couple of bags with him. He opened them up and performed a quick setup on a pair of hang gliders. “See? You can’t spell ‘improvise’ without ‘improve’,” he said with a grin.
The Waxxer rolled his eyes, but listened intently as the Brazilian gave them the basics so they didn’t crash and die. That the alternative was sticking around and probably dying made the risk easier to cope with, though that didn’t help the Waxxer any as he ran off the roof of the warehouse after the Brazilian.
The three men landed near each other, which in this context means the Waxxer almost smacked into a bus, the Brazilian touched down perfectly on a roof, and the Chief hurt his tailbone after after falling out of the tree he smacked into.
He groaned, but laughed as he stood up with the aid of the Waxxer. “I can brush off a few hurt bones. I owe you boys a lot for what you’ve done today. I won’t soon forget it,” he said. He turned to offer a handshake to the Brazilian, who hopped down from the roof.
The two kidnappers looked at each other, then at the Chief. The Brazilian covered the Chief’s mouth with his hand while the Waxxer pulled out wax strips to bind the man’s hands.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have you back to your family and job in no time. You just have to help us rectify this whole horrid situation, first,” said the Mad Waxxer.
The Brazilian whipped out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. “Our Uber will be here in minutes. Don’t worry, those guys will take extra cash for anything as little as they get paid.”
“When’s my new van getting here?” the Waxxer asked.
“I don’t know,” the Brazilian responded. “Have all my hostages drive it back.”
“This is going to be a great partnership, I can tell,” the Waxxer grumbled.
“Stop being so stuck up,” the Brazilian said before nodding and waving to a woman walking by who oggled him.
“I’ll tell you where you can stick something up,” Waxxer responded.