23 The Right Man for the Job #23

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, and it felt like I'd just dunked my head in a kiddie pool. Ted was relentless today. I dodged another one of his punches, and I swear I felt the whoosh of air as it passed by, whispering, "You lucky son of a bitch...."

"Keep those hands up, kiddo!" Ted barked, a grin on his face that said he was enjoying this more than I was. And trust me, that's what's happening here exactly. 

Sure, I had this invisible barrier that would block the punches and stop me from getting hurt, but that doesn't extend to exerted muscles, you know? The exhaustion was one thing, but pulling the occasional muscle while trying to keep up with friggen Wilcat, of all people, was my primary source of anguish. 

"Hands up, dodge left, not right! Are you trying to get a free nose job from the wall?" Ted's coaching came with a touch of sarcasm. Sure, Ted, let me just ask the wall for their finest rhinoplasty.

I tried to maintain my composure, but Ted was making it as easy as herding cats. "You know, I think I preferred getting mugged in the alley. Less cardio."

Ted chuckled, and I swear the gym lights flickered. Was that him, or just the gym's questionable wiring? Who knows?

As I stumbled out of the ring, Ted clapped me on the back, a bit too hard, maybe. "You survived another day, kiddo. Maybe one day, you'll even throw a punch that doesn't scream, 'I hope you're insured!'"

"That's the dream..." I grumbled, wiping away the sweat that had declared my face its new home. "Maybe I'll even achieve it once you get around to teaching me how, you know, instead of just throwing punches my way and telling me to dodge..." I shot Ted a bemused look, hoping for a hint of sympathy in that demonic boxing coach excuse of a face.

Ted, the eternal optimist, grinned broadly. "What good would that do, kiddo?" he said, his tone carrying the wisdom of a thousand boxing matches. 

I just stared at him, a mixture of resignation and exasperation painted across my face. 

"Build up some stamina, then strength, and maybe, just maybe, we'll delve into the secrets of the mighty jab," he said, waving away my aspirations like they were pesky mosquitoes.

As much as it hurt my pride to admit it, my years chained to the corporate desk had left me, well, not in peak superhero shape. I wasn't overweight or anything, but I wasn't rocking a six-pack either. 

In other words, I was your garden-variety, unremarkable guy – not too skinny, not too fat, and with the stamina of a snail on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Ted had his work cut out for him, and so did I. 

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I muttered, swiping the gym towel across my face. Ted's definition of a workout seemed to be more about enhancing my endurance than refining my technique.

"You're a work in progress, kiddo," Ted chimed in, reading the frustration on my face. "Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is a knockout punch." His sage advice was accompanied by a pat on my shoulder, which felt more like a hammer swing. 

Thanks for the wisdom and the fractured shoulder bone, Captain Obvious.

With a half-smile, I gathered whatever was left of my dignity and trudged towards the lockers to get changed. Rattigan, who was watching me get my ass handed to me from the sidelines made a series of amused chitters before scurrying over and climbing into my back. 

"Well, as long as your royal highness was amused by the spectacle, then I suppose enduring the ordeal was worth it..." I quipped, casting a sidelong glance at the little rodent. 

Rattigan, my ever-arrogant furry companion, nodded as if my suffering had finally gained his approval. Uninterested in a verbal skirmish with the pesky pest, I simply rolled my eyes and sauntered over to my locker to check on my phone.

Lo and behold, a missed call notification from an unknown number graced my screen. Given that I'd only shared my number with one person, it could only be Azrael, Gotham City's most underwhelming genius. Taking a brief moment to ponder, I decided to return the call and see what was on his mind. 

Azrael picked up promptly.

"Hello, Mr. Valley..." I greeted him, my words hanging momentarily as he briskly reciprocated the salutation, launching into an extensive monologue about his current location and activities.

"Oh? You're visiting Livewire, I see..." I responded with a nod. "So, what's your initial impression?" I inquired, strategically tuning out Livewire's colorful language as she threatened to unleash a lightning storm on me for making her wait so long. 

Azrael continued his enthusiastic chatter, explaining how he had delved into the extensive list of crimes Livewire had faced. Apparently, he'd also taken the liberty of gauging the ever-fickle public opinion, particularly after her dramatic actions during the Metropolis attack. His optimism radiated through the phone as he detailed the meticulous inspection of the situation.

"I must say, we're in a much more favorable position than anticipated," Azrael declared confidently, his tone resonating with newfound optimism. "The public's perception is malleable, especially after recent events. If Superman holds up his end of the bargain and vouches for Livewire, as promised, securing her parole is practically a done deal."

I listened attentively, the wheels in my mind turning as I processed Azrael's assessment. Livewire's predicament seemed to have taken a turn for the better, at least from Azrael's calculated perspective.

"Sounds like a plan. And trust me, Superman's word is as solid as his chin," I assured Azrael with a nod. "Now, pass the phone over to Livewire, would ya?"

Azrael complied, and soon Livewire's snarky voice buzzed through the phone. "What does the 'too-knowing' brick want now?" she grumbled. 

I couldn't help but snicker at that one. "Just a few pearls of wisdom for ya, sparky," I replied. "Mr. Valley's gonna give you a golden ticket out of the slammer, so try not to turn it into a disaster before you even step out. Capisce?"

Livewire, true to her electrifying nature, scoffed on the other end. "Back off, pal. I don't need a babysitter," she retorted. "This is my gig, remember?"

I raised an eyebrow, laying down the law. "This is as much my gig as it is yours. I'm the one making happen, Remember?" I said with an exasperated sigh. 

"I'm placing a lot of trust in you, and so is Superman. So, I need you not to turn the city into a friggen light show the moment you walk out of jail-- easy enough, right?" I tossed out the reminder like a warning shot.

I could practically sense Livewire's irritation even before she uttered a word. "Yeah, yeah, I've got it drilled into my skull. We're on the same page that I'd need your help once I'm out," she grumbled, letting her sentence hang for a dramatic pause. 

"And I'm not spelling out the consequences if you decide to pull a fast one on me..."The threat lingered in her words, as clear as a neon sign. 

I just scoffed. "We've indeed covered that ground. Something about me getting a zappy makeover if I drop the ball," I retorted. "You can rest easy; if you keep your end of the bargain, I'll uphold mine. So, how about you dial down the voltage and behave yourself in the meantime?" I tagged on, throwing in a light chuckle to take the edge off.

After a barrage of thinly veiled threats and an abundance of Livewire's signature sass, I finally managed to shoo her off the line. The real struggle, however, began as Azrael delved into the riveting world of parole appeal procedures. 

It was like listening to a lecture on paint drying.

He painstakingly elaborated on the bureaucratic hoops we needed to jump through, the anticipated duration of the entire process, and his master plan to cozy up to a sympathetic judge.

 Apparently, said judge's daughter had been coincidentally saved by Livewire during the Metropolis attack. 

Azrael, with his wrecked emotional state and genius-level intellect, was an odd mix, but damn, he knew his way around the legal labyrinth. Trusting him with Livewire's case seemed like the most logical move.

As he droned on, I couldn't help but marvel at how he smoothly maneuvered through the intricacies of the law, seamlessly integrating his expertise in private investigations and computer wizardry. 

There was no denying he was the right man for the job.

Yet, a lingering concern persisted – Livewire's penchant for chaos. I really hoped she wouldn't topple the painstaking scaffolding Azrael was bulding once she tasted freedom.

It would be a colossal shame, especially considering I had plans of my own for her. 

...

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