Dastard and the Tryouts

My friend Jon gave me the idea to give him a sidekick and reminded me about our friend Darin who had a very odd nickname. Never one to turn away a good idea, I wrote the following.

-------------------------------------------------------

Dastard walked across the front of the men standing at attention. They all looked mean and nasty and he was very pleased with himself over this crop. Maybe word was finally getting around that he was the man to work for, the man to get the job done and make them all rich.
“I am looking for some help. I am a demanding boss and am perfect in every way, so I seek perfection from my workers as well.” He measured up the men one at a time and looked over his clipboard.
“Tiger Styles? Is that your real name?” he asked the first one. The lean, cut muscles on the dangerous man rippled as he answered, “Uh, no. They call me that because of my fighting style.”
Dastard looked down the list. “Slugger Louis, Gator Jones. Dickhead. Man Mountain. I guess none of these are your real names?” he said apprehensively. “Pity,” he thought. Those names sounded cool. The giants looked around and smiled. A chorus of no’s and chuckles followed, but after a glare from Dastard they all quieted down. They actually looked a bit scared to him. “Perfect,” he thought.
“Let’s see,” he hummed and tapped the clipboard with a pen, “then there’s Calamity Carl, Moose, Phat Joe, and is this right? Which one of you is Dan Ger?” he looked down the row of monstrous men. At the end of the line, a scrawny arm went up. “Here um, sir,” the guy said in a wavering voice.

Dastard stomped down the row and stopped in front of the unassuming man. He took a deep breath and looked him over from bald head to scruffy combat boots. “This guy is a mess,” Dastard thought. He had a strange, twisted beard that dropped from his pointy chin, beady little eyes and a slanted nervous smile on his face. His clothes were old and dirty and hung loose on his wiry frame.
“Listen Dan,” he started but was cut off. “It’s Dan Ger sir, like danger, get it?” and he stuck out his hand to attempt a handshake, but when Dastard looked down he saw the most hideously sweaty palms he had ever seen. They were actually dripping on the floor! And he had just mopped before the guys arrived.
“Listen Dan,” he tried again, “I might have something for you some other time.” He put his arm around him and ushered him to the door, grabbing the mop on the way. “Why don’t you wait out here and my receptionist will get all your info. “
“Yeah, but,” Dan stuttered as he was shuffled out the door.
Dastard handed him the mop, “Thanks for coming,” he said as he gave him a final nudge and closed the door.

“OK boys, I think I’ve seen enough.” He clapped his gloved hands and rubbed them together then walked back around to the front of them. “I’m not one to jump the gun, but I gotta say you guys are in! Welcome to Dastard’s gang,” he beamed and put his fists on his hips, knowing the effect of his extra long cape resettling around him would give them a dramatic shot.

The entire group of men looked at each other, then as one, started laughing. “What?” Man Mountain said, “this is ridiculous.” Dastard blinked quickly, several times. “I thought this was a tryout for Dr. Robot’s Menace Squad,” Gator Jones said in between snorts of derision.
“My agent told me it was for a bank job for Evil-O,” Moose giggled.
“Wait..” Dastard mumbled as he dropped his arms to his side when the men started walking towards the door.
“But…but..” was all the saddened Dastard could say as they reached the door. “Fo real, yo,” Phat Joe called back, “we out. Peace!” More laughter turned to shouts and guffaws as they reached the door.
Dastard raised his arms and let loose, with both gloves, a massive array or lightning that struck the group and seized their bodies before going out. Most of the men were scattered, sent flying by the electrical charge. A couple, like Calamity Carl, dropped to the floor in convulsions. Maddened and haunted by echoes of laughter in his head, Dastard unleashed another barrage, ignoring the very real threat that the gloves could not take much of this and would most likely malfunction and hurt him as well.
More than one of the un-hired gang made quite a mess as their bodies ruptured under the assault. Dastard was very close to losing complete control and would have surely suffered his own wounds to the dangerous gloves if they hadn’t suddenly sparked, snapped and lost power. He thought he saw one of the dead men still moving and he attempted to fire the lightning gloves again, but they just popped and bits of smoke curled out of them.

He dragged in a deep breath and blew it out slowly as his therapist told him to do. He dropped his arms to his side, hung his head low and walked to the doorway, stepping over what he thought was Slugger Lois or maybe Dickhead. He opened the scorched door and called out for his receptionist, “Megan?”
“Yes sir?” she replied from down the hall.
Can you send Mr. Dan Ger back in. He got the job,” he then sighed and closed the door. Before it got halfway, he reopened it. “And Megan, make sure he brings the mop.”