Tulip Bubble Trouble: A Funny Amsterdam Superhero Adventure

The Misfire: International Man of Mischief — Chapter 5

Max Mercer had twenty-three minutes to return a rental bicycle. That should have ruled out another funny Amsterdam superhero adventure. Unfortunately, a criminal mastermind, twelve robotic cargo bikes, and a goose with no respect for traffic signals had other plans.

His phone vibrated.

RETURN REMINDER: Additional charges may apply.

Max studied the message with the expression usually reserved for bomb countdowns.

“Not this time,” he whispered.

After Scotland, his travel insurance company had added a question specifically about bagpipes. He could not afford another financial setback.

He tightened his borrowed rain poncho over his scorched utility vest. Then he checked his supplies: one broken signal detector, half a cheese sandwich, and a bicycle lock thick enough to restrain a small submarine.

All he needed was the rental office.

Across the street, a banner read:

VAN BLOOM INTERNATIONAL FLOWER AUCTION — RETURNS AND DELIVERIES AT REAR.

“Finally,” Max said. “Clear instructions.”

Baron Bulb Plants a Very Expensive Scheme

Inside the auction hall, Anika Van Bloom raised her gavel over a room full of wealthy collectors.

“Our next lot is the Midnight Empress collection. Six exceptionally rare tulip bulbs.”

At the back, Baron Bulb adjusted his purple velvet jacket. His lapel held a fresh tulip. His expression suggested he charged admission to smell it.

“Begin the bidding,” he murmured into his cuff.

Three hired bidders raised their paddles. Fake overseas accounts joined them on the screen, pushing the price higher. Across the room, an unsuspecting collector leaned forward.

The Baron smiled. By closing time, genuine buyers would have paid enormous sums for ordinary bulbs in impressive boxes. The rare originals already sat inside his cargo fleet behind the building.

False bottoms concealed a second prize: stolen hardware wallets and recovery records belonging to the auction’s international clients.

His autonomous bicycles would carry everything to a canal warehouse. From there, a private boat would take him away.

“Quiet transport,” he told his assistant. “No getaway drivers. No witnesses who demand a percentage.”

Outside, Max looped his rental lock around the nearest sturdy metal rail.

The rail belonged to the lead cargo bicycle.

Its screen lit up.

TRAILER ATTACHMENT DETECTED.

“Very welcoming,” Max said.

He went inside to find someone who could process his return.

Meanwhile, a goose crossed against a red light. Bicycle officer Bram Bell stopped and pointed at the signal.

The goose stared at him, then entered a one-way lane going the wrong way.

Bram opened his notebook.

“You again.”

The Wrong Desk and the Wrong Destination

Max reached the auction floor just as Anika announced, “Do I have ninety thousand?”

He raised his rental receipt.

“Ninety thousand to the gentleman in the emergency poncho.”

Max lowered his hand so quickly that he punched himself in the sandwich.

“No. Sorry. Bicycle return.”

Every head turned.

Baron Bulb noticed the ski goggles, mismatched gloves, and duct tape. He recognized Max from a security briefing titled UNPREDICTABLE INTERFERENCE: DO NOT PROVIDE MACHINERY.

The Baron immediately spoke into his cuff.

“Move the fleet. The Misfire is here.”

Anika leaned toward Max.

“Sir, this is a flower auction.”

“That explains the prices. I thought your late fees were ambitious.”

An assistant hurried toward the rear exit. Max followed, assuming someone had finally found the bicycle department.

Outside, the lead cargo bike rolled forward. His rental bicycle lurched after it, still chained to the rail.

“Oh, good. Automated returns.”

Max jumped onto his saddle before it could scrape along the ground. The cargo bike stopped at the loading gate, its navigation screen asking for confirmation.

He leaned across and entered the address from his receipt.

Unfortunately, he typed 18 Bell Yard instead of 81 Bell Yard.

The screen offered BELL YARD — SERVICE ENTRANCE.

Max tapped it.

CONVOY DESTINATION UPDATED.

Behind him, eleven cargo bicycles rang their bells in perfect unison.

“Lovely,” he said. “They’ve accepted the return.”

Baron Bulb burst through the loading doors.

“Stop those bicycles!”

Max glanced back.

“I’m trying to! That’s the whole transaction!”

The loading gate opened. The fleet accelerated.

The Baron lunged for the final bicycle, landed across its cargo box, and departed with his expensive shoes pointing at the sky.

A Funny Amsterdam Superhero Adventure Takes a Wrong Turn

The convoy followed a route through the auction’s canal-side demonstration grounds. Ahead stood a restored windmill beside a new automated delivery checkpoint.

A sign read:

SMART LOGISTICS FOR A GREENER TOMORROW.

Max’s tomorrow was already looking expensive.

His rental bicycle wobbled beside the leader, tethered by the heavy lock. He rang his bell politely.

“Excuse me. Could we downgrade to a less urgent return?”

At the checkpoint, a waist-high sensor arm reached toward the convoy. A yellow device clipped to the lead bike blinked in response.

Max ducked beneath the arm.

His poncho did not.

The fabric caught on the sensor housing, stretched tight, and pulled Max backward. He grabbed the yellow device for balance. Its clip snapped.

The poncho tore free with a noise like an angry parachute.

Max shot forward clutching the device. Meanwhile, the trailing fabric slapped the checkpoint’s large demonstration button.

FOLLOW-BEACON MODE ENABLED.

Every cargo bike turned toward him.

He looked at the blinking gadget in his glove.

“Is this my receipt?”

The lead bike swung across his front wheel. His rental lock slid off its open-ended rail, freeing him with a metallic clank.

For one glorious second, Max thought the problem had solved itself.

Then twelve cargo bicycles pivoted together.

FOLLOWING LEADER.

“I’m fairly sure I’m the customer!”

At the rear, Baron Bulb hauled himself upright and stabbed at his remote.

MANUAL OVERRIDE REQUIRES STATIONARY VEHICLES.

“Then make them stationary!”

PLEASE STOP THE CONVOY TO CONTINUE.

The Baron made a sound normally associated with garden equipment swallowing a fork.

Max pedaled harder. Every cargo bicycle followed.

Above the checkpoint, one surviving scrap of poncho fluttered from the windmill sensor like a tiny flag of surrender.

The Goose Has Right of Way

Officer Bram Bell heard the bells before he saw the convoy.

Max rounded a corner with his torn poncho flapping behind him. Twelve cargo bicycles followed in a precise line. A purple-clad man clung to the last one.

Bram lifted his radio.

“Possible theft in progress. Multiple bicycles. One extremely distressed aristocrat.”

Before dispatch could answer, Anika called the police. She had opened a presentation box and found a supermarket bulb with its discount sticker attached.

“Baron Bulb has stolen the collection,” she said. “And something is wrong with our clients’ secure storage cabinet.”

Bram watched the Baron slap at a bicycle that refused to acknowledge his social standing.

“I believe I have your suspect.”

Ahead, Max approached an intersection. The light turned red.

He braked. So did the fleet.

The Baron finally raised his remote in triumph.

Then the goose stepped into the crossing against its signal and bit Max’s shoelace.

“We discussed boundaries!” Max shouted, kicking his foot free.

The light changed. He accelerated before the goose could renegotiate.

The fleet moved. The Baron’s override screen vanished.

He stared at the bird.

“You feathered administrative obstacle!”

The goose took this personally.

It ran after the last bicycle, briefly overtook it on the wrong side, and attacked the Baron’s dangling cravat.

Meanwhile, Max’s phone announced, “Your destination is ahead.”

A blue sign pointed toward a courtyard. Beyond the open gate stood bicycle racks, uniformed staff, and a service window.

At last. Professionals.

Bram rode alongside him.

“Sir, take the next entrance.”

“Is that the return desk?”

Bram looked at the stolen cargo, then at Max.

“Today it is.”

Special Delivery for the Amsterdam Police

Max coasted into the police courtyard and stopped beside the service window.

The lead cargo bicycle parked behind him. Eleven more arranged themselves in two neat rows, each keeping its sensor pointed at the beacon in his hand.

Officers closed the gate.

Baron Bulb dropped from the final cargo box, straightened his jacket, and tried to look like a man attending a charitable luncheon.

“I would like to report a kidnapping.”

The goose squeezed through the closing gate.

The Baron climbed back onto the box.

Bram approached Max.

“May I have that device?”

Max surrendered the beacon.

“Absolutely. I don’t want the premium package.”

The officers secured the bicycles and opened the cargo compartments. Inside sat labeled trays of rare tulip bulbs. Beneath them, the false bottoms held the missing digital valuables and the Baron’s auction records.

Anika arrived as an officer lifted out the Midnight Empress collection.

“They’re all here.”

She turned toward Max.

“You recovered the entire shipment.”

“I was told to use the rear entrance.”

Baron Bulb pointed an accusing finger at him.

“He sabotaged a transport network worth millions!”

Bram examined the open cargo box.

“And delivered the evidence in numbered containers. That was considerate.”

Anika folded her arms.

“You replaced my rare tulips with bargain bulbs?”

“The packaging was exceptional,” the Baron said.

Two officers led him away. He tried to maintain his dignity until the goose tugged his cravat through a gap between their legs.

Max winced.

“Sorry about your scarf.”

“It is a cravat!”

“Sorry about your cravat situation.”

Behind them, a cargo bike chimed.

DELIVERY COMPLETE.

The Most Expensive Free Bicycle Ride

An hour later, Max stood outside the correct rental office beside Anika and Officer Bell.

Anika had explained the recovered tulips. Bram had explained the arrests. Max had explained that the scratch on the bicycle was probably already there.

The clerk checked his screen.

“You’re late.”

Max closed his eyes.

“He brought an international criminal to justice,” Anika said.

“That’s very nice. Six euros.”

Bram cleared his throat.

The clerk sighed and waived the fee.

“But the promotional poncho was company property.”

Max looked down at the two strips of plastic hanging from his shoulders.

“How promotional was it?”

“Twelve euros.”

Anika paid before he could negotiate himself into a mortgage.

Outside, a local photographer asked how he had identified the Baron’s escape route.

Max considered the question.

“I entered the wrong address.”

The photographer nodded appreciatively.

“Misdirection.”

“Mostly direction problems.”

Bram handed him the heavy bicycle lock.

“You forgot this.”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Max said, looking back toward the police station. “But I’ll take it.”

Across the street, the goose stepped past a NO ENTRY sign and boarded a sightseeing boat.

Bram reached for his notebook.

Max gently lowered his hand.

“Let it go. That one has international connections.”

The Misfire — Every plan backfires… into success.

Missed Max’s previous disaster? Read Chapter 4, The Loch Ness Mess, then explore more International Man of Mischief adventures on The Misfire Comics.