Read Sidekicks Online

Authors: Jack D. Ferraiolo

Sidekicks (19 page)

BOOK: Sidekicks
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“Do you want him?” I ask Allison.

“Shouldn't you, as my boyfriend, be defending me?”

“Uh, he's almost here,” I say.

“Answer the question.”

“Do you want him or not?”

“Answer the question.”

“Do … you … want … him … or … not?” I ask, enunciating each word.

She smiles wide. “Of course, I want him. Just testing to see if you were ‘that' kind of guy.”

“Nope. I'm not. He's all yours.”

“You always know just what to get me,” she says.

I slide out of the path of the charging idiot. She slides into the space I just left, sidesteps his clumsy punch, and with just her thumb and forefinger grabs his wrist and pulls it down in an arc underneath him. With his momentum, he flips completely over onto his back. He immediately flicks himself back up with one of those kung-fu moves that looks so impressive when you're eight years old.

“Oooo,” Allison purrs. “You've got a little fight in you. Let's see how much.”

Although it is a lot of fun to watch Alison work (it must be … Captain Dress Pants's friends haven't moved yet … they're all just standing around, stunned), I realize I should probably check in on the victims.

“Are you OK?” I ask the woman and the man who is now just coming to.

“Yeah,” he says. He's groggy and his pupils are dilated.

“They were bothering me,” the woman says. “Sean told them to leave us alone. They did but then waited until we got out here and jumped us.” Her breathing is shallow. She's trying not to cry. “They hit Sean from behind with the tire iron.”

“It's all right now,” I say. “As soon as we're done here, I'll call an ambulance.”

“Is that a girl fighting him?” Sean says.

“You have a minor concussion, sir,” I say, “but yes, that is a girl fighting him, and no, you're not imagining this.”

“Who are you?” the woman asks.

“No one,” I say, smiling. “Hey, A.M.!” I yell.

“Yeah?” she says.

“You just about finished with Captain Dress Pants?”

“Yeah, I think so. You're not getting tired on me, are you, big boy?” She gives him a casual pat on the face. He tries to knock her head off. She ducks and laughs. “Yup. Almost done.”

“Great!” I say. Captain Dress Pants's idiot friends have finally realized that their buddy might not win the fight.

They turn to me.

“Hey! Kid! You're dead meat!”

“Pff … OK,” I laugh. “Let's party.”

“Dead meat!!”

They all let out a yell and start to rush me. I get into my fighting stance, and am about to kick into one of my more impressive moves (if I do say so myself) when all of a sudden, Captain Dress Pants comes flying in like a wrecking ball (back-first) and knocks his friends flat. They fall face-first into the pavement.
Whap! Whap! Whap!

“Hey!” I say.

“What?” Allison says as she comes walking over. “Oh, look … perfect strike.”

“Did you throw your opponent into my opponents?”

“Uhh … yeah. I thought that was obvious.”

“I was … I had a … I was just about to take care of this.”

“Well, now you don't have to.”

“That's not the point. I …” I exhale. “I wanted to impress you, OK?”

“Oh, but you did! You were fantas—oh, look who's up again.”

Captain Dress Pants is now slowly trying to stand back
up, as if he's not quite sure what happened, but he … has … to … keep … fighting!

“That's beautiful,” I say, then tap my chest twice. “He has a warrior's heart.”

Just as he moves his fists up to a fighting stance, Allison zips over and punches him out.
Wham!
And down he goes.

“And a ballet dancer's jaw,” Allison says. “Jeez!”

“Wha—” I sputter. “You could've at
least
let me do THAT one.”

“Oh, I'm sorry!” she says, then looks at me disapprovingly. “Looks like someone needs to be a little quicker on the draw.”

“Won't even let me pretend to protect her …” I mutter.

She gives me a big kiss on the cheek. “I thought you were
very
impressive. Dashing, even.”

“Thank you,” I say begrudgingly. “But I didn't get to hit anybody.”

“Next time. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Just then, we start to hear the sirens approaching from several blocks away.

“Well,” I say, “there's our cue. Sean, take care of that noggin, buddy, OK?” Sean and his wife nod as if they're certain they're dreaming this.

“Gentlemen,” Allison says, “it's been a pleasure … kind of … not really … but whatever … Say good night, Scotty.”

“Good night, Scotty,” I say.

And with that, we bow our heads, tip invisible hats, and then slip off into the shadows.

is dark … but this is more of a “no light can escape” dark than a “it's kind of hard to see” dark. It's the kind of alley where a body might lie for a couple of days before anyone finds it. The guy standing in the alley isn't worried about this. Why should he be? He's huge. Six feet five inches, more than three hundred pounds of solid muscle. He's the kind of guy who makes dead bodies in random alleys, not becomes one.

The name he's using at the moment is Justin Wheeler, but sometimes he goes by another one: Rogue Warrior. He checks his watch again. He's early.

“You're early,” says a voice from the darkness behind him.

“So are you,” Justin replies.

“I guess so,” says the voice. Trent Clancy steps out of the shadows.

Justin smiles. “Whew … for a minute, I thought you were going to be in costume, and that I forgot to wear mine or something.”

Trent laughs. “Nope … just a casual meeting.”

Justin laughs in relief. “Oh, before I forget, thanks for what you did to the witness.”

“Yes, well after her ‘ordeal,' I thought she could use a trip to Aruba. Too bad she missed the inquest.”

“Yeah. Thanks!”

“That's OK. I mean, all you did was waste three months of planning by taking a random bank teller hostage instead of a celebrity, like we talked about.”

“I couldn't … They're kinda hard to fi—”

“Then, to really screw it up, you chose a roof that was
eighty
stories high, instead of eight, so that no one could hear your demands.”

Justin looks worried. “Sorry.”

“It's OK. Really. We're all in this together, right?” Trent says with a reassuring smile. “I just had to get
those last, little passive-aggressive bits out, you know?”

Justin smiles back.

“So you said you had something you need help on,” Justin says. “Is it another gig?”

“Not quite. No. I mean it's no big deal, but you did screw up your last job, right?”

Justin looks at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“So, I think it may be a while before you get another one.”

“No! I'll do better next time! I swear!” Justin's eyes get a little moist with tears. His breathing is uneven.

“Stop,” Trent says in a soothing voice. “It's OK. It's only for a little while. Plus, there are lots of things you can do to still be helpful.”

“Anything! I'll do anything!”

“Good to know,” Trent says, “because there's actually something you can do right now.”

“Oh yeah? What?”

“Stand still,” Trent says, and pulls out a dart gun. It makes a small
foop
sound when it fires. The dart is tiny and looks absolutely ridiculous in Justin's enormous neck.

“Wha—” is all Justin is able to say before the convulsions start. His right hand clutches his chest over his heart.

“Chaotic and I have been working on it. Well, that's not entirely true. Chaotic has been the one working on it. I'm just the lucky guy who gets to test it.”

“H-h-h-h … h-h-h-h …” Justin is wheezing now, clutching his chest harder.

“Funny you should ask,” Trent says. “It's a special formula, designed for a plus/plus, speed and strength, such as yourself. You see, our bodies are different than normal people's. Sure, we have speed and strength. And our bodies have adapted to allow for this … muscles, tendons, and such are all stronger, because they have to be.”

“H-h-h-help … h-h-h-h …” Justin wheezes.

“And the heart … well, the heart is just another muscle … and our special abilities put quite a strain on the ol' ticker.” Trent taps his chest for emphasis. “Luckily, our hearts have adapted to that … somewhat. I mean, they're still not fully up to the job our bodies give them. In fact, I can't help but think of all the plus/plus souls who died young because they had no idea, and just pushed their poor little hearts too far.” Trent bows his head in mourning. It almost looks sincere.

Justin's wheezes are getting further apart … more strained. He falls on his back.

“And that's why all it takes is a strong shot of specialized adrenaline into the bloodstream, and BOOM
!
You go into cardiac arrest. Just … like … so …”

“H-h-h-h-help …”

“You are helping, Justin. A great deal, in fact. Probably in the only way a big, clumsy ox like yourself can help … by becoming a test case. A big, steroid-filled lab rat. Now we know it works … and when the time comes when we have to … tie up a couple of loose ends, well—”

Trent looks down at Justin, lying on his back in the dark and filthy alley. The big man's eyes are bulging out of his head. His wheezing is getting fainter and fainter. Trent holds Justin's wrist, monitoring his pulse. It weakens … slows … stops completely. The wheezing has stopped as well. Trent holds on for a minute longer, to see if his pulse comes back, but it doesn't. The dart in his neck has now completely dissolved, leaving nothing but a minuscule red dot. It's smaller than a mosquito bite, less noticeable than a shaving nick. If you weren't looking for it, you'd never notice it.

“Thank you for your service, Rogue Warrior. You will be forgotten.” Trent smiles, drops the big arm, and walks casually out of the alley. For some reason, he feels like whistling, so he does.

“Well?” Edward asks without turning around. “Did it work?”

“I really can't sneak up on you, can I?” Trent says, stepping out of the lab's shadows.

“No. But I fully expect you to keep trying. Eventually, I may lie to you, just so you can claim victory and stop trying.”

“And I may let you, just so I can claim victory and stop trying.”

“So, did it work?” Edward asks again.

“Perfectly.”

“I told you it would.”

“You tell me lots of things, but they're not always true. Do I have to remind you about that laser version of this?”

“The laser worked … maybe not exactly the way we planned it, but it worked.”

“Yes, well the dart may not be as cool as a laser, but it works much better.”

“And the antidote?” Edward asks.

“Whoops!” Trent says in mock surprise. “You know, I totally forgot to give him that.”

“What?!” Edward is up in a flash. “You killed him?”

“Killed him? Killed who? I have no idea what you're
talking about! I met up with a guy who suddenly went into cardiac arrest, and well … what can I say … I guess I just panicked.”

“You murdered him.”

“He was a complete screwup.”

“That means he deserved to die?” Edward asks.

“No. He deserved to be a test subject, because he proved that he couldn't do anything else well. Unfortunately for him, the test proved to be fatal.”

“That's quite a justification.”

“And that's quite a conscience you're growing there, Doc. I'm not sure I like what I'm hearing.”

“What are you hearing?” Edward asks.

“I'm hearing a guy who might decide not to do what he needs to do. I'm hearing a guy who might hang me out to dry.”

BOOK: Sidekicks
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