The Return of Fritz Krieg
Something isn’t right.
Angela Zaftig looked up from her paperback. She felt as if… Well, she didn’t know quite what she felt. Had she forgotten something? Left the car door unlocked? No. Not that. Had she forgotten to take that ground beef from the freezer for tomorrow’s supper? No, that wasn’t it. Everything on her to do list was done. Mostly. The laundry could wait ’til tomorrow. And she could vacuum some other day. Right now she wanted to relax. She may have been the Blonde Marvel but no one said she had to be a superwoman.
She returned to her novel. The swashbuckling pirate was in the midst of seducing the fair haired maiden. Captain Fairbanks’ broad chest glistened by the light of the flickering lamp. Miranda’s bosom heaved with anticipation….Angela imagined herself in Miranda’s shoes, imagined herself in the pungent bowels of a pirate schooner, about to lose her maidenhood to a rakish scoundrel. She’d read the book a half dozen times already and this, her favorite scene, never failed to stir her passion. Still…
Something isn’t right.
Angela left the couch, cursing. What was eating her? She didn’t have any sort of extraordinary intuition. Not that she knew of. No “spider-sense” or anything like that. Still, she couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that something was wrong. “I’ll just check on the kids,” she said aloud.
Her boy Nick was asleep. Little angel. Cassandra, her oldest, slept soundly, worn out from soccer trials. Angela shrugged her shoulders. What was she worried about?
She returned to the couch. Putting her feet up, she read for another three, maybe four minutes. But that nagging feeling soon returned.
She folded the page where she had stopped and chucked the paperback aside. Maybe she needed to go out on patrol. Perhaps there was trouble brewing in Municipal City. She fingered the slight, jeweled ring she wore as religiously as her own wedding band. It was more than just an ordinary piece of jewelry, of course. All she had to do was press the ring’s blue gem and wham, her robe and slippers and panties would vanish, replaced instantly by the iconic blue and red uniform of the Blonde Marvel.
But it was late. Almost one in the morning. The last thing she wanted to do was go zooming about Municipal City looking for criminals. The idea itself made her want to laugh. In comic books, the hero would always stumble upon some gang activity or arrive just in the nick of time to foil a bank heist. In reality, going on patrol was the least efficient way of fighting crime. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times she actually stumbled upon a crime-in-progress. That’s why she started using a police scanner instead. And why, two years ago, she had been given a mobile communication device linking her with the desk sergeant at One Police Plaza. Better that the police call her in the event of an emergency. Much better than flying around town all willy nilly. She put the idea of going on patrol out of her head.
Besides, she wanted to be home—and awake—when her husband returned from work. With Harold working nights and her working days, they barely saw each other anymore. Good lord, she couldn’t remember when they last had a proper conversation. Or when they last made love.
She picked up her cell phone and dialed his work number. Maybe she’d feel better knowing he was okay. Not that there was much danger stocking shelves at All-Mart. He’d be mad but she had to check on him.
“What’s wrong?” he answered. He was tired.
“Nothing,” she said. “How are you?”
“Fine. Nothing’s wrong is it?”
“No,” she said. “Just wondering will you be working late.”
“Fuck no. I’m out of here in an hour. Hour fifteen, tops.”
“I’ll be up.”
“Yeah?” he said with some enthusiasm. He guessed what that meant.
“Uh huh. You’re gonna get laid, mister.”
They said their goodbyes and Angela felt a little more relieved. Son, daughter and husband were all fine. No calls from One Police Plaza. No alien invasion or killer robots on the loose. What was there to worry about? She yawned. Could she stay awake another hour, she wondered?
A shower was just the thing to wake her up. It was her second one of the evening, but so what? She wanted to smell nice for him. Afterwards, she toweled herself dry and put on one of his white cotton tee shirts. She loved to tease him like that. The shirt barely covered her hips. He loved the way her braless boobs swayed against the plain white fabric. It was only a five dollar shirt from Fruit of the Loom but it was more of a turn on than any expensive piece of lingerie.
Her perfume, on the other hand, was quite dear. So expensive she had to lie to Harold about how much it cost. If he knew, there would have been an argument for sure. She looked in the full body mirror behind the bedroom door. Her hair wasn’t too bad. She shaped it with her fingers. Why comb it? It was only going to get messed up in bed. She looked presentable enough, although she wouldn’t consider herself a beauty queen. Her boobs were big and saggy. Her hips were too wide. Her ass was fat and dimpled with cellulite. She had good cheek bones but other than that she had a rather ordinary face. She didn’t know what Harold saw in her but he seemed to like every inch of her. He didn’t often have a chance to make love to her but when he did, he did so ravenously.
She frowned, thinking of how he labored so desperately to please her. He was a normal man after all. With normal parts and normal stamina. She had stopped being normal long ago. She didn’t like to think of herself as different from any other wife and mother. But she was, in fact, superhuman. Bullets ricocheted off her chest. If the heavyweight champion of the world walked up and punched her in the gut, she’d barely feel it. And when it came to sex, Harold’s heroic attempts to satisfy her often left her… frustrated.
But that was in no way his fault. If anything it was hers. When she was normal, plain as day Angela Zaftig, Harold satisfied her completely in bed. She could not ask for a more attentive, exciting lover. But things changed suddenly. Overnight, you might say. The night she became bulletproof and shrapnel resistant. The night she became the Blonde Marvel.
It had been years since Harold had brought her to climax. He was a normal man and normal men get tired after awhile. Normal men can only do it once or twice. Maybe three if they’re young. What she needed was an extra-ordinary man, one who could stay hard as long as it took for her to get off.
No. Strike that from the record. The jury will disregard that last remark.
She did not—repeat—did not need or desire a super man. Harold was man enough for her. She may have fantasized on occasion. Who doesn’t? But sex with anyone other than Harold was not on her agenda. Besides, she had Black Beauty. Her vibrator. It was long, heavy and black, like a policeman’s flashlight. And took as many batteries. More importantly, it didn’t go limp after so many minutes.
Still, a vibrator can’t kiss you and cuddle you. Or whisper in your ear. At that she smiled again and felt particularly sexy.
Enough inner reflection, she thought, turning away from the mirror. She still had a few things she wanted to do before he got home. Her nails could use some fresh polish, for one. And although her legs weren’t in dire need of a shave, she wanted them baby smooth. When she turned away from the mirror she saw a man. She gasped. There in her bedroom, standing casually by the walk in closet. A man!
Catching her breath, her first instinct was to swing at him. Knock him out. This burglar picked the wrong house to rob. But she hesitated. He looked like… someone she’d met before. In fact, they’d met several times before. He was supposed to be dead.
“Yes,” said the man, nodding his head. “Your eyes do not deceive you. It is me.” He still spoke with a strong German accent. He had been an SS officer in the war. He was tall. Well past six feet. Handsome for a man closing in on a century.
“Are you not pleased to see me?” He spoke as if he were some kin to Angela, a dear uncle she hadn’t seen in ages. In fact, he was the last person on Earth she wanted to see.
“Krieg?” She could hardly believe it. It really was him. Fritz Wolfgang Krieg. Wanted by the FBI, Interpol, Scotland Yard, Mossad, and two dozen other law enforcement agencies for crimes too numerous to mention. The man who supposedly died two years ago in a chemical plant explosion in Prague.
“Yes,” he smiled, flashing his suspiciously white teeth. “I survived Prague.” As if she should be delighted! In fact, news of his death came as a relief. She had taken an oath not to kill. But if there was anyone she might have broken that oath for, it was Fritz Krieg.
“Right, and now you’re here. I hope you came to surrender!” She tried to sound brave but her voice almost cracked with fear. She was, after all, standing face to face with a man responsible for the deaths of thousands. Several of her super powered colleagues had perished at his hands.
“Oh come now. You know me better than this,” he said. “No, no. That is not the reason. To tell you the truth, I came to visit with you, Angela.”
She shuddered at the sound of her name. He knew. “How—?”
“How did I discover your civilian name? Please. It was like child’s play”
She cursed herself. Had she really been so careless? Had she let too many people in on her secret identity? Or rather, one person too many? It angered her that this piece of filth knew her real name, knew where she lived. Had come to her home of all places. And why? To exact revenge? To hatch some evil plot?
“Alright. You figured out my identity. Obviously. Hooray for you.” She tried to sound brave, as the fear swirled turbulently inside. “Now what the hell do want from me?”
Krieg’s smile grew long and sinister. He looked hungrily at Angela’s bosom. The villain had never hidden his lust for her large breasts. He had leered at them on several occasions. In fact, upon their first encounter, years ago, her tits enthralled Krieg so completely that her partner, Commander Marvel, was able to sneak up and knock him out cold. Krieg never made that mistake again.
Unconsciously she put her arms over her chest. He laughed. “It is too late for modesty. That garment leaves little to the imagination. Ah, and I see the drapes match the carpet, eh?” For a moment she didn’t understand the joke. Then it hit her. She yanked the shirt below her hips. The bastard had seen too much. She was about to press the jewel on her ring—change into her costume. It may have been too late to hide her identity but she could at least hide her privates.
“No,” he said, waving both hands. “Do not change into uniform. Yes, I know about the ring. I prefer you as Angela Zaftig. Zaftig. What a fitting name for you. It is a Yiddish word. It means—”
“I know what it means.”
“—plump. Voluptuous. Curvaceous. Which is what you are, my dear.”
“Keep talking,” she warned. “You won’t be so smug with a mouth full of broken teeth.”
“Please. You aren’t about to start a fight here,” he waved his hand, indicating the bedroom. “Not here in your own home. Not with your two babies sleeping down the hall.”
Nick and Cassandra. The bastard was right.
“Oh, we two could do battle if you like,” he continued. “And a glorious battle it would be, I’m sure. Perhaps I may win. Perhaps you may even win. But most assuredly the outcome will be the destruction of your home and the homes of your neighbors. Not to mention injury to dear Nicholas and Cassandra.”
Angela unclenched her fists. “What then. What do you want?”
Krieg took another step forward. Angela retreated until she stumbled over one of her husband’s tennis shoes. Damn him! Why didn’t he put those things away? She regained her composure quickly. Krieg scratched his angular chin. “I’m afraid it is no secret that I find you somewhat attractive. It isn’t just your teats, which I would give a fortune to caress. It is also perhaps those big peasant hips of yours. Good for making the babies, yes?”
Angela let out a disgusted gasp.
“Forgive my candor,” he said, bowing courteously. “But I have always had it in mind to make love to you.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh I am,” he said. “Quite. You and I are going to have sexual relations. Tonight. Otherwise, we will have that knock down drag out fight we spoke of earlier. The one that will end with many unfortunate circumstances.”
He looked at his watch. “I give you one minute to decide.”
END OF PART ONE