The Best of Praxus II

By David L. Forand

More comical adventures of America's only Super-Super Hero.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David L. Forand
• Release date: Jul 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301731299

David L. Forand

David L. Forand has authored more than thirty books. He loves to make people of all ages laugh with comical adventures. Born and raised in a small New England town, he moved around, seeking new adventures. David loves nature, wildlife, any all that God has to offer. David also writes romantic greetings cards. He now lives in Asheville, NC.

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The Best of Praxus II

By

David L Forand

This book is dedicated to Terry Elizabeth Homan-Adams

The Best Of Praxus II

 Copyrighted 2012 by David L Forand

This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved.

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All names are fictional and do not represent actual people; any name or representation of a name is merely a coincidence.

Check out all the books in the Praxus Series

The Best Of Praxus

Chapter One: My First Caper

My first caper, the Bradford Warehouse Incident, took place just off Route Five. I left Condor parked in the woods and stalked a suspicious looking character. The night was dark with no moon and oncoming rain clouds.

Suddenly, my night vision died. However, it was not the time to repair them; the goggles would have to wait. The door opened easily as my lock picks worked their magic. I spent a few seconds listening to footsteps grow louder and then more distant as someone entered the warehouse.

Without the proper lighting, finding my way around the room was difficult. A small wastebasket stood guard. It saw me coming and planned a sneak attack. My left foot found the deadly trap. While battling the evil beast, a scatter rug grabbed my right foot. Together, they threw me against the wall. Five minutes passed before they surrendered.

It never dawned on me to carry a flashlight. By placing one hand over the other, I worked my way around the room in search of an overhead light switch. For me, there was no such luck. Every other office had an overhead light, and this one was no exception.

Without warning, an obnoxious coat stand attacked. The battle raged for two minutes. By smashing its head against a mirror, I finally knocked it out. Although the coat rack lay unconscious, it managed to deliver a final blow and knocked me to the floor.

While rising, my hand came across an umbrella. I picked it up and waved it gently in the air. Bang! Guess which Super Hero found the overhead light fixture. So much for that idea, although it did prove my theory correct. They definitely had an overhead light in the room.

This left the lamp on the desk as my last chance for light. If my guess proved right, there was one in the middle of the room. Making my way toward the center was easy. Suddenly, the desk attacked my right shin. While groping around for the desk lamp, the telephone committed suicide by jumping to its death.

My right hand swept along the edge of the desk and guided me to my destiny. This act led to the letter basket following the same path of its lover, the telephone. It was my belief they had made a suicide pact.

By adding all these clues together, the identity of the desk became clear. The desk belonged to a receptionist. When the chair offered no resistance, I became leery. While pulling myself closer, the chair caught on a rag. The rag would work well to tone down the glare of the light.

From memory, the objects of other secretary's desks played in my mind. The typewriter was on the left, just where it should be. The lamp should be close by. It was! By placing the rag over the top of the lamp, it gave off just enough light.

Three file cabinets were against the furthest wall. Directly above them was a ventilation shaft, where mumbled words echoed the voices of two men. The opening was large enough to enter, with a little room to spare. My plan was to follow the faint voices and learn the scoundrels’ plan.

Using my trusty screwdriver, the screws holding the panel on came under attack. About then, the smoke alarm sounded. The rag on top of the lamp had caught fire. Suddenly, my keen ears picked up the distinct sound of a key entering the lock. Someone was at the door.

It took three seconds to tie a string to the panel and climb into the shaft. Once inside, I pulled the string tight and the panel rose to the shaft. Using my left foot, I guided it into place and tied the string to a screw. There was much commotion in the office. Someone yelled, Get the fire extinguisher. They knew someone had entered the room, but seemed more concerned about getting back to the meeting. After a quick and meaningless search, they left.

The shaft led to empty rooms. Upon reaching the first intersection, mumbled words entered my ears. The monster, that had swallowed me whole, had arms casting off in six directions. Four arms lead north, east, west, and south. Another shaft went up ten feet to the next level. The remaining shaft fell at a sharp angle toward the air-conditioning unit. The shaft leading up to the next level looked like my best choice.

The shaft split in two directions and ran the entire length of the warehouse. Every twenty feet, light found its way in through a vent. Upon checking the shaft furthest away, I saw one light turn off, then another, and then another. It was the night watchman making his rounds.

Retracing my way back to the other tunnel was easy. An hour had gone by since entering the great unknown. By the time the last opening came into sight, two people began squabbling over the amount of money owed. The shaft was approximately twelve feet straight down.

Directly below me was a man sitting in a chair. On his lap was a briefcase containing many bags of white powder. It was a drug deal going down and the event was almost over. My plan: shimmy down the shaft, lay down a barrage of sleeping pellets, jump onto the table, take out anybody entering the room, tie them up, and call the police.

The rectangular form was two and a half-feet by three feet wide. I positioned myself over the narrow opening and lowered my body. There was less than an inch clearance and was a very tight fit, but I planned to spend little time in the shaft.

With my back pressed against the shaft, I made my way down by pushing my legs out first, then lowering my arms, and then lowering my torso. I repeated this process many times and must have resembled an inchworm traveling down a straw. My plan worked out nicely and in a matter of minutes my feet almost touched the shaft opening.

Their meeting was about to break up. This called for fast action, and with a little adjustment, the assault would begin. From here, the sleeping pellets would shoot out in a circular motion and spread evenly into the room. Moving my left leg to the right, I tried to push my left arm through the opening. Unfortunately, the fit was too tight. With no other choice available, I had to force my hand between my left leg and the shaft wall.

While straining to get more distance, my knees made contact and set off the flotation device. The air bags filled and my body was stuck. There was no getting around it. All I could do was wait fifteen minutes for the airbags to deflate. How embarrassing! What else could go wrong?

My answer wasn't far behind. The man lit a cheap cigar and sucked down cheap wine. He commanded his henchmen to bring another suitcase, as the next buyer would arrive in ten minutes.

Hanging there, unable to reach any button, my only hope was to drop onto the man and recover the best way possible. Ten minutes went by, and still the bags did not deflate. Another few minutes passed, as the wait continued. Finally, the bags deflated and my body fell through the panel and onto the man sitting below. My feet drove his head into the table. While tumbling to the floor, the amber button struck the edge of the table. The net shot outward and wrapped around his henchmen.

It didn't take long to gather my wits. My first order of business was to tie the boss to his chair. He decided not to struggle, being knocked out the way he was. His henchman was a different story. But, my special pellets put him right to sleep. He ended up tied in the chair opposite his boss. Each man received a note. The one on the boss read:

I drove up from Dover,

So I could take over.

I sell drugs,

along with my thugs.

If you don't believe,

just come and see.

You can bring your honey,

we'll take her money.

So take me in,

for all my sin.

It won't take long,

to sing my song.

Just hear my tale,

on the way to jail.

On his henchman was this note:

I am a thug,

just look at my mug.

I couldn't stop,

till I was on top.

I needed the bread,

so I took it from Fred.

And if I talk,

maybe I'll walk.

If that don't work,

I'll go berserk.

After placing a call to the police, this Super Hero opened the gates and left a trail of money for them to follow. My job was complete.

Chapter Two: The Artful Dodger

With Church Street clear of scoundrels, it was time to cover the next section of town. I saved five minutes by cutting across a back alley that served as a delivery spot for our museum. Parked in the loading zone was a white van, and at first glance, there was nothing unusual about the vehicle. The van had Bob's Cleaning Service painted on the side.

It wasn't strange to see different cleaning vans parked outside this building. Even though a different logo appeared on the other side, it did not arouse my suspicions. A police cruiser would surely pass this way and make note of the vehicle. It seemed best to leave it at that and continue my journey toward the high school.

While passing the museum, all the lights suddenly went off. After checking the entire building, I knew why the emergency lighting system hadn't kicked in? The only reason the lights remained off was: someone had cut the cables coming off the generators. Nor were there any flashlights scouring the rooms as the guards made their rounds. Now, there was enough evidence to inspect the building.

Unfortunately, the best way to gain entrance meant climbing the large elm tree and entering through the attic. That way, a certain someone could silently approach the thieves in a direction they least suspected. I knew the thieves wanted to steal the world-renowned Leonid De Vantage paintings, worth a cool half a million dollars.

Two security guards watched over the paintings located on the first floor. Our museum also had video cameras watching the guards watch the paintings. The last time anyone tried to steal the paintings, they ended up getting ten years in prison.

My climb took ten minutes. I entered the attic and made my way down to the third floor. No sounds came from the rooms below, as this skilled secret agent slipped from one to the next. It didn't take long to cover the entire third and second floor. By then, it was three o'clock; and still the guards had not yet made their rounds. Something was wrong, as they never neglected their duties.

In order to prepare a proper plan, I had to obtain a view of the first floor. My night vision operated at peak performance, but no villain showed his ugly face. The plan: hit the thief with strobe lights and send the net out to wrap around him.

Unless there wasn’t any another way, it would be best to wait until he wasn't carrying any of the valuable paintings. The