Sidekicks

by Jack D. Ferraiolo

  “What? I’ve never done this before.”

  “Yeah … no kidding.”

  “Hey!” Captain Dress Pants yells, all slurry. “What’s goin’ on here?”

  “Oh well, that’s easy,” Allison says, “You and your idiot friends are about to win an all-expenses-paid trip to the hospital of your choice.”

  “You better watch it, honey … or after I smash up your boyfriend here, you’ll be next. Hate to mess up that pretty face of yours,” he says while laughing.

  I’m about to break his neck when Allison holds her hand up to me. She smiles slyly. “Ooooo … such tough talk! How tough do you think your talk’s going to be after this pretty-faced little honey humiliates you in front of your friends? Hm?”

  Captain Dress Pants’s friends all cry “OHHHH!” The laughter is now directed at him, and he doesn’t like it one bit. “Listen,” he snarls, “I don’t care if you are a little girl. I’m going to rip your little head off your little neck.”

  Allison starts laughing, then turns to me. “What do you think, tae kwon do?” she asks, then gets into a tae kwon do pose. “Ooo! Or how about hapkido?” She shifts her stance.

  “You know, I don’t think he deserves a fight pose,” I say.

  “You know, I think you’re right,” Allison says.

  Allison and I just stand there with our arms crossed, not moving. Captain Dress Pants looks at us funny, as if he has a moment of awareness … as if something in the back of his Cro-Magnon brain is alerting him that maybe he’s misread the situation, and that maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Just as I think he’s about to make some lame excuse and put the crowbar down, he does the stupid thing and charges.

  I have to hand it to him … for a guy who isn’t plus/plus, his charge isn’t half-bad. Unfortunately for him, it isn’t half-good, either. He leads with the crowbar (of course), swinging it directly at my head. I put my hand up and catch the crowbar. I hold on to it, pivot in my crouch, then snap the bar forward. The guy goes flying. I’m holding the crowbar. The guy has some training, because he somersaults up and is ready to go again. Any doubts he might have had are gone now; he’s in attack mode. He comes sprinting back at me.

  “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.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “Can I really? Because here you are, getting all bent out of shape over Rogue Warrior, a big, dumb screwup that you barely knew. What are you going to say if we need to use this on your ‘daughter’? Huh?”

  “Nothing. I’ll say nothing”

  “Really? Why do I find that so hard to believe?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you? Maybe it’s because you don’t want to acknowledge the REAL problem I have with what you just did, because it makes you look like an idiot! You just made a body… and that body can be studied, and if a smart enough investigator is the one doing the studying, they might be able to trace it back to us.”

  “Nobody’s going to be able to trace it back to us.”

  “How do you know?” Edward yells at him. “There are other plus intelligences out there, you know! Look, you just made a loose end. And that loose end can lead to others.”

  Trent starts laughing. “You’re so dramatic! Do you know how many loose ends there are on a daily basis in a city this big? Hm? Trust me. I speak from experience.”

  “Experience as a witness … or experience as someone who makes loose ends?”

  Trent smiles. “Well, let’s just say I like to dabble. Lots of murders go unsolved in this city.”

  “It was risky … and pointless … that’s all.”

  “You’re wrong, Doc. It was neither. We needed to know if the dart penetrated the skin, and whether it would dissolve without leaving a trace … but we also needed to know if it would put our targets down per
manently, or just for a little while. And now we know.”

  “Yes … great … and maybe the police will know, too.”

  “There’s no way … and even if there was, so what?”

  “You’re not the one who’ll be up for murder charges!” Edward yells.

  “And neither will you, if you stay calm and stick to the plan,” Trent says. “What is your problem?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Was I wrong about you?” Trent asks. His mouth is curled in an ugly sneer. “You’re trying to get out of it, aren’t you? You actually feel something for your little sidekick? I thought your cold, calculating plus intellect had kicked in. I thought she was just a pawn to you.”

  “She is.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “I don’t know, Trent. Maybe because you don’t want to,” Edward says.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve heard rumors, too … about strength and speed pluses like you … about the possible side effects of that little ‘gift’ as you get older … about why right now you might be a little desperate. This all might be coming to an en—”

  Trent places his hand over Edward’s mouth. “Ssshhhhh,” he says, moving in until he and Edward are nose-to-nose. “You don’t want to say that,” he whispers. “That’ll just hurt my feelings.”

  Trent’s eyes look black … opaque … drained of any significant human emotion. Edward tries not to shiver, but a little one sneaks out.

  “Listen, Edward,” Trent says, his voice lowering to a tone that sounds almost sane, “I know this is going to be a bit of a change, and you’re not all that thrilled about change, in any form … but what choice do we have? IGO is getting restless. You know, they threatened to pull out of the deal?”

  “When?”

  “This morning. They’re upset, Edward. They put millions on the table, and they want us to deliver, and if we don’t, well … they mentioned that they might have to do something drastic. Now, I can’t say I blame them … they spent a lot of money, and they want results, and well, we’re just not getting them. And why aren’t we getting them, Edward?”

  Edward doesn’t say anything.

  “That’s right,” Trent continues, “Because we’ve managed to lose the key young demographic. And why do you think that is? Hm? Because it’s been stolen from us, by our sidekicks. The stupid public and their stupid love of stupid romance. ‘Ohhhh, they’re on different sides of the law!’ ‘Ohhh, it’s just so ro-freakin’-mantic!’ Morons.” His face breaks into an easy, relaxed smile. “But what can you do, right? The public wants what it wants, right? And you know what’s even more romantic than two little tweety birds from opposite sides of the tracks falling in love? Two little tweety birds from opposite sides of the tracks falling in love and dying.