Vixxen had heard rumors through the underworld grapevine that there was a new superhero in town.  Well, no do-gooder was going to spoil her latest extortion scheme.  Not if she had anything to say about it.  The problem was going to be finding this so called hero.  She couldn't get any solid details about the new guy.  All the thugs and crooks who had run into him were unprecedentedly embarrassed about describing him.  Through general hemming and hawing, they routinely coughed up a very generic description that could apply to any super powered Boy Scout.  The most repeated attribute that caused the most hardened of criminals to blush was, "He was a young fella.  Yeah...really young guy."

    So, he was a newbie, was he?  Well, that only made her job more simple.  Vixxen found that new heroes on the job tended to be overly eager, making them very trappable.  Still, this one was proving to be most elusive.

    "He's clever," thought Vixxen to herself, "I'll give him that.  But, nobody can hide from Vixxen for long."

    As she flew across the cityscape,...scratch that.  Mifflinburg was not so much a city as a town with big dreams.  But it was a nice tax shelter for the larger banking corporations, and it was Vixxen's territory.  Something interesting caught Vixxen up short.  "A-ha!  I think I've found my pigeon."  With an evil cackle that she had been practicing all weekend, Vixxen swooped down toward a modest brownstone in a quite middle-class neighborhood.  A third story window was open.

    "A perfect roost for a superhero to zip in and out of unseen.  I think I shall get the drop on my really young adversary."

    As she dived into the window, she performed a well executed somersault to the far side of the room and landed on...a bean bag chair.  Bean bag chairs being notoriously unstable as landing platforms, Vixxen found herself slipping backwards and landing bottom first into a trash can.

    "Damn it," she growled.  "A perfectly executed sneak attack ruined by outdated furniture."

    "I dunno," piped up a small voice.  "I thought it went pretty smoothly.  Well, until that last part."

    Vixxen looked up into the face of a ten year old boy.  Her cheeks burned as she realized that she had made a colossal blunder and had chosen the wrong residence.  There was obviously no new super hero here.

    "Hey, kid, help me up here," snapped Vixxen.  She reached out a hand to the boy who very agreeably assisted her in standing up.  He was apparently stronger than he looked because he was able to pull her upright in one go.  Unfortunately, the trash can was well stuck to her rear and she ended standing in a crouched over position.  Vixxen sighed.

    "This can't be happening to me," she groused, "and in front of some strange kid, yet."

    "Hang on," offered the young boy, "I'll get it off."  He jogged around in back of Vixxen and carefully grabbed the trash can.

    "Hey!  Watch the hands!"

    "Sorry," came the reply, "Your butt's kinda big, though.  It's really stuck."

    Vixxen was fuming.  "He did not just say that to me," she thought to herself.

    "If you weren't a little kid, you'd be dead meat after a remark like that."

    The boy, who had been industriously pulling on the trash can at this point, suddenly stopped.  "Why?"

    "Because you don't say things like that to a lady!" snapped Vixxen.

    "Oh," came the response.  The boy began tugging again.

    "Geeze, didn't your momma teach you anything?" asked Vixxen.

    "My mom died when I was a baby," said the boy matter of factly.

    Vixxen felt the blood drain from her face.  "Oh, wow, I'm sorry, kid."

    "For what?" asked the boy.

    "For...yelling at you like that," said Vixxen sheepishly.

    "Haha, don't worry.  I'd be cross too if I was stuck in a trash can."  He paused a moment.  "But, I don't think this is coming off.  We need some grease."

    "Swell," moped Vixxen.

    "Not to worry," said the boy rather cheerfully, "I've got some lubricating oil right here."

    Bizarre thoughts began circling through Vixxen's mind.  "You've got what?" she squeaked.

    "I use it on the motors in my remote control airplanes," said the boy.  Vixxen could feel the cold, runny oil dripping on the skin of her exposed thighs.

    "Oh," Vixxen breathed out with relief, "I thought you were talking about...er...nevermind."

    "Okay, I'm gonna give it another go."

    With an obscene slurping noise and an audible pop, the trash can came free of Vixxen's posterior.  She stood up and stretched her back muscled which had begun to cramp from being in one uncomfortable position for so long.  She also heard the boy having a giggle fit.  "What's so funny?" asked Vixxen suspiciously.  She kept trying to look behind her to see if something was amiss with her costume.  There were a few grease stains, but she could easily get those out.

    "The sound the trash can made when it came off," laughed the boy.  He was on the floor still holding the errant trash can kicking his feet with laughter.  "It sounded just like in the cartoons."

    Vixxen wanted so much to be angry at the boy, but she had to admit it was kinda funny, even if it was at her own expense.  "Look, kid, it was nice meeting you and all, but I gotta get going."

    The boy stopped laughing and picked himself up off the floor.  "You're looking for the new superhero, right?"

    Vixxen froze in her tracks.

    "You're the regional supervillain, right?"

    "Regional?" shrieked Vixxen.

    The boy merely shrugged.  "You'd be surprised how many people haven't heard of you outside of the tri-county area.  I had to learn that the hard way"

    Like beads clicking in an abacus, the pieces were beginning to add up in Vixxen's mind.  He's a young fella...really young.  She pointed an accusing finger at the boy.  "You're the new superhero in town?"

    The boy sketched an awkward bow.  "Ultra Kidd at your service."

    The room seemed to be spinning about Vixxen's head.  As she started to fall backward, a rushing breeze blew past her.  Her downward progress toward the floor was hampered by a pair of small, but very strong arms.  "Whoa, hey!  You okay?"  He eased her down into the nefarious bean bag chair.

    "A kid," muttered Vixxen.  "My adversary is a kid.  A little boy.  Do you know how that's gonna make me look if I attack you?  I may be a villain, but I'm not a monster!  My reputation will be ruined.  I'm washed up."

    Just then, a man in a lead lined hazmat suit walked into the doorway.  "Uhm, sorry, sir, I didn't know you had company," said the stranger clearly thinking that he had walked in on something of a romantic nature.

    "How's it going?" asked the boy.

    "Well, we've cleared out all of the hazardous materials out of the basement, and the military has confiscated all the alien technology.  It's being shipped to Area 51."

    "Good, I am so glad to get rid of that stuff," said the boy.  "Thanks for all the help."

    "Sure, no problem," said the man.  He left the room, closing the door as an afterthought.

    "Hazardous material?  Alien technology?" asked Vixxen.

    The boy shrugged again.  "Villains are not well known for cleaning up after themselves.  So, I usually collect their crap and keep it in my basement.  But, I had to make room for more stuff, so I called in some help."

    "Wait, how long have you been fighting villains and aliens?" asked Vixxen.

    "Since I was five," said the boy.  "I developed real early.  I got my powers from my mom."

    "Your mom?"

    "WondraGal."

    Vixxen blinked.  "WondraGal?  The WondraGal?  Yeah, I remember her.  She got...I mean she saved the planet from that rogue asteroid and..."

    "Yup," said the boy rather proudly, "that was my mom.  I wish I could've met her, but I'm keeping the family business going."

    Vixxen was lost in thought when the boy's next question interrupted her.  "I'm sorry, what?"

    "I said, so what kind of villain are you?  I've been up against a number of mad scientists, dictators who want to rule the world, aliens who want to take over the planet, aliens who want to eat people.  Those were gross lemme tell you."

    "I...er...I'm kind of a crime boss.  You know, money laundering, extortion, racketeering, that kind of thing."

    "Oh yeah?  Hmm, I haven't been up against that kind before."

    "So, you've got a lot of experience as a hero, do you?"

    "Five years, so far," said the boy.  "Though the learning curve was seriously wicked.  You wouldn't believe the things I messed up at the beginning.  The world is a really complicated place."

    "Tell me about it," sighed Vixxen.  "So, now what?"

    "What do you mean?"

    "Well, haven't you, you know, captured me?"

    The boy blinked.  "I thought this was one of those, whatdoyoucallem, social calls?  I mean, other than breaking and entering, you haven't really done anything for me to arrest you for."

    It was Vixxen's turn to blink in surprise.  "Oh.  Right!  Okay!"  She scrambled up from the bean bag chair, full of renewed enthusiasm.  "Very well, then.  I am hereby informing you that you are not welcome in my town, and if you stick your nose into my affairs, then I shall have to see fit to dispose of you."  She paused.  "At least, I think that's how it goes.  We haven't had a hero around here in quite a while, so I'm a little rusty."

    "No, no," assured Ultra Kidd, "that was definitely one of the better 'greetings' I've heard."

    "Really?  Thanks," beamed Vixxen.

    "But don't forget the evil laugh."

    "Oh, right."  Vixxen let out with the cackle she had been practicing all weekend.

    "Oooh, nice one," said Ultra Kidd appreciatively.

    Vixxen fairly blushed.  "You know, I think it's gonna be nice having a hero around for a change."

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