by Lucas Flint
As I flew toward the stage, I kept glancing at the gun, which was being moved slightly, no doubt the sniper aiming it just right. And none of the hundreds of people assembled in front of the stage below seemed to notice. Even Mayor Adams, who was giving a speech, paid no attention to the gun in the second story of the bakery that was aimed at his head. The mayor’s eyes were fixed solely on the crowd assembled before him as he spoke about how glad he was that this great statue was finished and what a wonderful addition it would be to the Rumsfeld City Park. Maybe it would or maybe it wouldn’t, but I knew that Mayor Adams’ death would not be a wonderful addition to anything.
I suddenly noticed people starting to look and point up at me, but I didn’t pay them any attention. With a final burst of speed, I tackled Mayor Adams to the stage. Just as I tackled Mayor Adams down, a gunshot suddenly rang out and people started screaming and shouting. The assembled crowd began to riot, with people running this way and that trying to find their way to safety. On the edges of the crowd, I saw police officers simultaneously trying to calm everyone down while also trying to get to the stage where the Mayor was.
Looking down, I said, “Mayor Adams, are you all right?”
Mayor Adams, who lay stunned with shock, nonetheless shook his head and said, “What happened? I thought I heard a gunshot.”
“You did,” I said, getting off of Mayor Adams. “An assassin tried to kill you in order to frame me. It’s a long story and I don’t have time to explain, but—”
“Wait,” Mayor Adams interrupted as he sat up. He looked at me in fear. “Oh my God, you’re Trickshot!”
“Yeah, I am,” I said. “You—”
“Help!” Mayor Adams shouted suddenly, throwing his arms into the air. “Please, someone save me! I’m being held hostage by Trickshot! Help!”
Unfortunately for the Mayor, no one in the crowd paid him any attention. Even the cops who were still trying their hardest to get to the stage did not seem to hear what he just said.
“You idiot, I just saved you,” I said, grabbing Mayor Adams’ collar and forcing him to look at me. “You nearly got shot.”
“Shot?” Mayor Adams said, who sounded like he was in a daze now. “Shot by who?”
“An assassin,” I said. I pointed up at the second floor of the bakery. “See the gun poking out of that window?”
Mayor Adams looked at the bakery and frowned. “I don’t see any gun.”
I whipped my head toward the bakery. Though the window was still open, the gun was no longer sticking out of it. I immediately realized that that was because the sniper had decided to run away. No way was I going to let him escape.
I shot toward the bakery, ignoring the startled cry of Mayor Adams or the screams and shouts from the people below me. I smashed through the window on the second floor of the bakery and landed on the floor just in time to see the nearest door slam shut as if someone had just escaped.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I said. “Get back here!”
I punched the door hard enough to send it flying off its hinges and into the wall on the opposite side of the hall. Stepping out of the room, I saw the sniper was already halfway down the stairs heading toward what appeared to be a back door, taking the steps two at a time in an effort to escape as quickly as possible.
“Hey, you!” I shouted. “You’re not getting away this time!”
I pulled three disks out of my pouch and hurled all three of them directly at the sniper. But the sniper jumped the last few steps and, kicking open the back door, rushed through it without hesitation. My disks hit the floor uselessly, making me curse and fly down the steps toward the back door of the bakery, which I smashed through without hesitation.
There he was. The sniper was running toward a yellow car parked about a dozen feet away from the back door, carrying his guitar case with him. Actually, his sniper rifle wasn’t even in its case. He was in such hurry to get away that he was just holding the sniper rifle in his right hand, gripping it with such intensity that his knuckles were white as snow.
I flew over the sniper and landed on top of his car hard enough to make the car buckle under my weight. The sniper skidded to a stop and turned to run in another direction, but I flew toward him, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and spun around and slammed him as hard as I could against the door of his car. The sniper dropped his case and rifle and grabbed my arm, but his grip was weak and he was clearly too dazed from being slammed against the car to fight against me effectively.
“It’s over, sniper,” I said, my voice full of anger. “Soon, everyone is going to know the truth: That you killed Baron Glory and framed me for it. And you’ll probably spend the rest of your sorry little life behind bars for it, too.”
The sniper’s eyes were full of fear, like he thought I was going to snap his neck and end his life here and now. Given all of the trouble this guy had given me over the week, I was tempted to do just that, but I knew it would be better to hand him over to the police and let justice be served.
“Trickshot!” a familiar voice above me shouted. “Let go of the man and step back!”
I looked up at the roof of the bakery and felt my heart sink. Bug Bite was flying above me, riding on his giant wasp, whose buzzing was so loud that I wondered how I had not noticed it.
“Bug Bite?” I said in surprise. “What are you doing here? And why did you tell me to let go of this guy? He’s the killer!”
Once Bug Bite’s wasp was close enough, Bug Bite jumped down and landed on the street with a three-point landing. His giant wasp, on the other hand, continued to hover above us like some kind of watchful guardian, its buzzing so loud that it was a miracle any of us could hear at all.
Rising to his feet, Bug Bite pointed at me again and said, “I’ll just say this one more time: Let him go.”
“But he tried to kill Mayor Adams,” I said. “He’s also the same guy who killed Baron Glory. You’ve got to believe me.”
“All I see is a known criminal assaulting someone who may be innocent,” said Bug Bite. He glanced at the sniper rifle on the street. “Though I must say, the sniper rifle doesn’t help his case.”
“It’s not mine,” said the sniper hurriedly. He nodded at me. “It’s Trickshot’s. He was trying to flee after shooting the mayor and—”
“He’s lying,” I interrupted. “Don’t believe a word that comes out of this guy’s mouth. He’d kill you just as quickly as he’d kill me. He’s a paid killer. You can’t trust anything he says.”
Bug Bite folded his arms across his chest, like he was trying to decide who to believe. “I will let the courts decide who is the actual killer and who isn’t. For now, I will bring both of you into the police, per my job as the superhero of Rumsfeld. If either of you resist, I will use the minimum force needed to take both of you down.”
“Come on, Buggy,” I said. “I know you don’t like me, but this ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” said Bug Bite. “It’s the law. Now either come quietly or I’ll be forced to get violent.”
Bug Bite gestured at his giant wasp above. The wasp’s buzzing grew even louder, though whether it was out of excitement at the thought of attacking criminals or because it was angry, I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that there was no way I was going to jail, though I had to admit that I wasn’t fond of the idea of fighting Bug Bite’s pet wasp, either.
But it was clear to me that there was nothing I could do to convince Bug Bite to let me go. I decided I would just comply with Bug Bite’s request, at least insofar as he needed me to let go of the sniper. Then I would fly away and leave the sniper in Bug Bite’s hands.
So I let go of the sniper’s collar and stepped away from him, holding my hands up and saying, “All right, Buggy, I’m letting go of the guy. See? He’s perfectly safe.”
Bug Bite nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation, Trickshot. Now I need both of you to stand still and let me put on these handcuffs so I can take you to the—”
Bug Bite
didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, because the sniper pulled a handgun out of his pocket suddenly and aimed it at Bug Bite. Before I could do anything, the sniper pulled the trigger and a deafeningly loud blam echoed through the alleyway.
Bug Bite fell to the ground, shouting in pain, while the sniper turned his gun on me next. But I had already recovered from my shock and, without hesitation, slapped the gun out of the sniper’s hands and punched him directly in the face. The sniper collapsed onto the street next to his fallen sniper rifle, blood leaking out of his forehead where my fist struck his head.
I would have checked to see if he was dead, but I was more concerned about Bug Bite, so I ran over to Bug Bite and bent over him, saying, “Bug Bite, are you all right? Can you hear me? Bug Bite?”
There was a bloody bullet hole in Bug Bite’s chest, pretty close to where his heart was, but then I heard Bug Bite gasp and say, “I’m … in pain. The bullet …”
“I know,” I said. “Don’t talk or move. I’ll get—”
I was interrupted by the sound of dozens of footsteps coming from around the corner. In the next moment, half a dozen police officers rounded the corner of the bakery and came to a halt when they saw the scene before them.
“What’s going on here?” said one of the officers, looking from the giant wasp to the unconscious sniper and back again. “What happened to Bug Bite?”
“Hey, isn’t that Trickshot?” said another officer, pointing at me. “What’s he doing here?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said the first officer. He pointed his gun at me and snapped, “Move away from Bug Bite with your hands up or we’ll shoot!”
Uh oh. I looked down at Bug Bite, who still seemed barely conscious, and realized just how bad this situation looked. I probably looked like the bad guy here, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong. Great. It looked like my reputation was going to go down the drain no matter what. Might as well get out while I could.
Before any of the police officers could stop me, I launched into the air and flew away as fast as I could, ignoring their shouts for me to come back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
One week later …
I sat alone in my favorite booth in Rumsfeld Coffee, sipping my coffee as I scrolled through my phone’s news feed. Every now and then I’d look around to see if Uncle Josh was here yet, but so far I had seen neither hide nor hair of him, despite the fact that he told me that he was going to be here to have breakfast with me. Then again, I had gotten here five minutes early and I understood that Uncle Josh was not a particularly punctual man, from what Mom told me. I gotta admit, though, I was a little annoyed about him being late, because as much as I enjoyed Rumsfeld Coffee and the coffee they served, I felt awkward sitting here by myself in a booth that was designed for more than just one person.
“But you’re not alone,” said TW in my head suddenly. “I’m here if you’re bored.”
“I mean physically alone,” I said. “And I’d rather not talk to you right now, because that would just make the workers think I’m crazy, especially the cute waitress who served me my coffee.”
“Very well,” said TW. “I’ll continue to keep an eye out for Uncle Josh, then, and let you know if I see him approaching.”
I nodded briefly before returning my attention to my phone. My eyes were drawn to a particular headline from the Rumsfeld Journal, which read thus:
ALLEGED ASSASSIN OF BARON GLORY SENTENCED TO LIFE IN PRISON FOR MURDER
I couldn’t help but smile at that, but I didn’t bother to read the article, because it probably didn’t have any new information in it that I didn’t already know.
After I defeated the sniper and saved Bug Bite, I learned via the news that the police had arrested the sniper—whose real name was Damian Jamie, an infamous assassin wanted in over 20 countries for the murders he had committed—and got a confession from him regarding his involvement in the murder of Baron Glory. It helped that the police searched Damian’s clothes and car and found evidence that basically confirmed that he was the sniper. As a result, I wasn’t surprised to see a headline that confirmed that Damian was going to prison for a very, very long time. Personally, I thought he deserved the death penalty for everything he did, but I guess a life sentence is the next best thing for a scumbag like him.
What really surprised me about all of this, though, was Bug Bite holding a press conference a couple of days after Damian’s arrest in which he told the police and the media that he did not think that I was the assassin. I mean, now that the police had the actual assassin and all, it was inevitable that they would stop accusing me of killing Baron Glory, but I didn’t expect Bug Bite to actively come to my defense. I had avoided Bug Bite this week by not wearing my costume at all, mostly because I was afraid that he still hated me and wanted to arrest me, but I guess Bug Bite must have changed his opinion of me for some reason.
I wished I could talk to him and find out for certain what made him change his view on me, but maybe it was for the best, because even if the police didn’t want me for the murder of Baron Glory, I was still an illegal superhero. That was a crime in itself, which would definitely make Bug Bite hunt me down one of these days. Regardless, my respect for Bug Bite went way up when I saw that press conference. It also made me sad, because the way I saw it, in another life, Bug Bite and I could have worked together to defend Rumsfeld, but I guessed that was never going to happen. Ah, well. At least no one thought I was a murderer anymore, anyway.
Another good thing to come out of this mess was Mayor Adams. Apparently, the footage of me saving him from being sniped went viral, to the point where the initial video had more likes than dislikes on YouTube by several orders of magnitude. There were a ton of positive comments about that ‘cool guy who saved the Mayor,’ helped especially by Mayor Adams publicly acknowledging that I had saved his life in an interview he did with the Rumsfeld Journal. I wondered if that was why Bug Bite changed his opinion on me. After all, Mayor Adams is his brother and I saved his life.
In any case, things were finally starting to look up for me, which was great, because I had been worried that things would just get worse and worse. For a while, there was a very real chance there that I would go down in history as the murderer of Baron Glory, but maybe now I would be remembered for something else. It was nice to think about, at least.
“Your uncle is coming,” said TW suddenly. “Look.”
I looked toward the door just as Uncle Josh pushed it open and stepped inside, his arrival announced by the tinkling of the doorbell. He wore a simple black button down shirt and jeans today, which made him look like an ordinary office worker coming in to get his morning coffee, but I still remembered how tough he looked when he barged into Marge’s basement with the Atlas Glove and took out Mohammad. It was an image that was hard to forget.
I waved at Uncle Josh as he walked over to my booth. “Hey, Uncle, what’s up? Haven’t seen you in a week.”
Uncle Josh slid into the seat opposite me smoothly and shrugged. “Eh, not much. I’m just staying in a hotel outside of Rumsfeld right now, though I’m checking out later at lunch so I can go back to Pinnacle headquarters.”
“You mean you’re actually leaving this time?” I said suspiciously. “Not going to come back and save my life at the last minute? Not that I minded that, but you did say you were going to go away the first time and didn’t.”
“This time for real,” said Uncle Josh with a chuckle. “My boss is expecting me to bring back the Atlas Glove fairly soon, and the longer I’m away, the more annoyed he’s going to get. And trust me, you don’t want to see my boss when he gets angry.”
I would have asked Uncle Josh who his boss is, but I knew that Uncle Josh probably wouldn’t tell me anything about Pinnacle, because as far as I could tell, Pinnacle was just as secretive as Icon, if less overtly malicious and evil. Besides, it’s not like that kind of information would be particularly helpful for me to know anyway.
“Right
,” I said. I sipped my coffee again and said, “Should I tell Mom and Dad about this or—?”
“No,” said Uncle Josh, shaking his head. “Not yet. No one is supposed to know I’m an agent of Pinnacle. Even you aren’t supposed to know. Agents who reveal their affiliation are usually punished—harshly—for their disobedience.”
I gulped. “Does that mean you are going to be punished?”
“Only if I tell my superiors that someone outside of Pinnacle knows my identity,” said Uncle Josh. “But I won’t. I’ll come up with some other excuse for why I was late and won’t mention you even once. Just like how I won’t mention your secret identity to anyone else, either.”
I nodded. “Makes sense. I hate all this secret-keeping, though, even if it is necessary.”
“Can’t say I’m too thrilled about it, either, but that’s the life we’ve chosen,” said Uncle Josh, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “Or the life I chose, anyway. The one you chose, maybe not so much.”
“No, I chose it,” I insisted. I glanced at the Trickshot Watch on my wrist. “Maybe I didn’t plan for it, but I did choose it. And I’m determined to follow through with it to the bitter end.”
“Yeah, I could tell that back in Marge’s house,” said Uncle Josh, nodding. “You have the look of a real superhero in your eyes. I can see why Gregory sent you the Watch.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Speaking of Marge’s house, I haven’t gone back since you rescued me from Mohammad there last week. How are things there?”
Uncle Josh shrugged. “As well as ever, I guess. Mohammad got away when I wasn’t looking, unfortunately. I tried to track him down, but he managed to lose me in the countryside, so I have no idea where he is. I imagine he’s probably already back at Icon’s base, no doubt reporting back to Chaser on the failure of his mission. I would love to be the fly on the wall for that conversation, because Chaser is even less forgiving of failure than my own boss.”
