by Lucas Flint
“Were you talking to us?” said Debra, gesturing at herself and me.
“Yes, yes, senorita,” said the man in the most exaggerated Mexican accent I’d ever heard in my life. “You two young people look like discerning customers, the kind who would love to own an authentic piece of superhero history!”
I looked around. Pretty much everyone else in the Mall was giving this particular kiosk a wide berth. I honestly could not blame them, because this guy struck me as being too friendly. Maybe he was just trying to get us to buy stuff, but I still didn’t trust him.
“An authentic piece of superhero history?” said Debra, who sounded genuinely interested. She walked over to the kiosk. “What do you mean?”
“Deb, we’re going to be late for lunch,” I said as I walked after her. “We can come back and look at his stuff later.”
“But you can’t,” said the man, shaking his head. “I’m only open until one, after which time I close up shop and go home for the day. And because tomorrow is Saturday, I won’t be back until Monday, so if you would like to see what I have to sell, then right now is the best chance to look.”
“Yeah, you heard him, Jack,” said Debra as she stopped in front of the kiosk. “He’s not going to be here forever. It won’t hurt to take a look.”
“But you just said you were starving,” I said as I stopped beside her. I glanced in the direction of Ronny’s. “And Ronny’s is starting to fill up …”
Debra, however, seemed to be ignoring me. She looked at the kiosk’s sign again and said, “Exactly what do you sell here, Mr. …?”
“Del Sal,” said the man. “Pepe del Sal, though you can call me Mr. Salt if you want.”
“Mr. Salt,” I repeated. “That’s an … interesting name.”
Mr. Salt shrugged. “It’s easier for people to say, so I just go with it.”
I nodded, but again didn’t quite trust him for some reason. It was probably just my inherent distrust of salesmen, a trait I had inherited from Dad, who also distrusted salesmen. But I didn’t walk away, because I didn’t want to leave Debra alone with this guy.
“Anyway,” said Mr. Salt, putting his hands on the table, “in this little kiosk, I sell authentic pieces of superhero history, as I just said. Have you ever wanted to own a piece of New York City street asphalt from Baron Glory’s epic showdown with Titan King? Or one of Mech Master’s used up batteries that he discarded during his battle with Queen Bee in Las Vegas? If so, this is the place to get it. Every piece is on sale for an amazingly affordable price.”
Mr. Salt reached under his desk and pulled out a chunk of asphalt and a battery, which he placed on the table before us. “See? Authentic pieces of superhero history, just like I said.”
I looked at the two objects on the table, which had their prices labeled on them, and blanched. “Fifteen dollars for a chunk of asphalt and thirty for a depleted battery?”
“These aren’t ordinary asphalt chunks or batteries, though,” said Mr. Salt, sweeping his hand across them. “They are from famous and well-known moments in superhero history, acquired through great effort by yours truly. It is only reasonable that I charge a premium for them. True superhero fans will pay good money to own a piece of history.”
To me, they looked just like a couple of pieces of overpriced junk, but Debra seemed completely sold on Mr. Salt’s rhetoric. She picked up the battery and turned it over in her hands, an awed look on her face. “This belonged to Mech Master?”
“Correct, senorita,” said Mr. Salt. “As I said, it was retrieved from the debris left over from his battle with Queen Bee in Las Vegas five years ago. Mech Master used up over one hundred batteries in that fight alone to take down Queen Bee before she could destroy the city of Las Vegas. There are many depleted batteries on the market that you can find online which their sellers claim belonged to Mech Master, but only this one is the real deal.”
“I wonder if there is a way to verify that claim,” said TW in my head. “It sounds like sales talk to me. Make him prove it’s real.”
“I’m not getting into an argument with a salesman in the middle of my first date,” I shot back, “though I think I’m going to get out of here anyway. I’m getting hungry and want to keep Debra from convincing me to buy her something.”
“This is cool and all, but my date and I have to go,” I said. “We’re not really interested in purchasing anything at the moment and—”
“Speak for yourself,” said Debra. She put the battery down and looked at Mr. Salt. “I love superheroes and think this is the coolest little kiosk you’ve got here. But I have to ask: Do you have anything that belonged to Trickshot?”
I nearly started when she mentioned my alter ego and looked at Debra in surprise. “Why do you want something that belonged to Trickshot?”
Debra looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. “Didn’t I tell you that I’m a huge Trickshot fan? I think he’s awesome.”
“You are?” I said, starting to feel a little hot under the collar. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I guess I don’t talk about it much,” said Debra. “It’s a little embarrassing, honestly, but Trickshot is just so cool. I’d love to own something that belonged to him.”
I was at a loss for words. It had never occurred to me that Debra might like Trickshot. And from the sound of it, she liked Trickshot a whole lot more than she liked me. I wondered if Grandfather ever had to deal with this. It was a weird feeling, because I was torn between telling Debra outright that I was Trickshot and actually feeling jealous of my alter ego, even though he was technically me.
“Trickshot, eh?” said Mr. Salt, stroking his chin. “Let me check under my table and see what I have. I think I may have something, but I am not sure.”
Mr. Salt knelt below the table and began rummaging through what sounded like a ton of garbage. I wished I could see what Mr. Salt had, but the tablecloth was thick, so all I could do was wait for him to reemerge with whatever he had under there.
“Ah, here we go,” said Mr. Salt, standing up with a box in his hands. “This is something I got a while ago, which I usually don’t offer to customers due to how rare it is. But since you are such a charming young lady, I think it would be acceptable to show it to you and your date.”
Mr. Salt put the box on the table and popped open the box’s lid. “Here you go. Look inside and tell me if you are not impressed.”
Debra leaned forward eagerly, while I leaned forward cautiously and skeptically. I doubted this Salt guy had anything that belonged to Grandfather, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.
My eyes widened when I saw what was in the box. I instinctively glanced at the Trickshot Watch on my wrist, just to make sure it was still there, but I quickly returned my attention to the object in the box.
“Oh, cool, what is it?” said Debra.
Mr. Salt smiled. “It is the original Trickshot Watch, owned by the original Trickshot. And it can be yours … if you’re willing to pay the price, that is.”
CHAPTER FIVE
As much as I didn’t want to believe it, I felt that Mr. Salt might be telling the truth. The watch that lay inside the wooden box, sitting on top of a red silk pillow, looked almost identical to the Trickshot Watch I wore (at least whenever my Watch wasn’t disguised as a normal watch, anyway). There was the familiar TS symbol under the arms. It was even the same colors, though the red and blue were faded like they had been exposed to the air for years. It resembled an exact replica of the Watch on my wrist, but it couldn’t be, because there was only one Trickshot Watch.
Wasn’t there?
I looked up at Mr. Salt. “Where did you get this?”
Mr. Salt folded his arms in front of his chest. “Why do you want to know? I never reveal the names of my business partners to anyone. My suppliers are a trade secret and the key to the success of my humble business.”
Trying to act as casual as possible, I said, “Well, it’s because the original Trickshot Watch is a pretty rare item,
rarer than a battery or a piece of concrete at any rate. When the original Trickshot disappeared a decade ago, you would think that the Watch would have disappeared with him.”
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Salt. “I see your point. But I don’t know what happened to the original Trickshot. I can confirm that I did not receive this watch from Gregory McDonald. That is all I am willing to tell you on the matter.”
“McDonald?” said Debra. She looked at me curiously. “Jack, isn’t that your last name? Are you related to the original Trickshot?”
Knowing how much Debra liked Trickshot, this would have been a great opportunity for me to puff out my chest and brag a little. Maybe I could even convince her that I had inherited some Trickshot paraphernalia from Grandfather before he disappeared, which I kept in my room where I could close the door for a little ‘privacy’ between us.
But all thoughts of impressing pretty girls with my parentage were currently fighting for mind space with alarmed thoughts about this watch. If it was real, then that meant that there was another Trickshot Watch in the world, but it made no sense because there was only supposed to be one Trickshot Watch and I owned it.
“Yeah, he is,” I said distractedly. “I mean, I am related to the original Trickshot. He was my grandfather.”
“Really?” said Debra, who sounded interested. “I didn’t know that. Then again, I didn’t know your last name until you asked me out, so that’s probably why I didn’t realize that until now.”
“You mean to tell me, young man, that you are the grandson of the original Trickshot?” said Mr. Salt with a mixture of surprise and interest. “How very interesting. I assume, then, that you are very interested in this Watch, which must have belonged to your grandfather, correct?”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about the Watch, because just seeing it messed with my understanding of everything I’d been told about my own Watch.
“TW, is that Watch real?” I said in my mind. “TW? Hello?”
Disturbingly, TW didn’t answer. I couldn’t even feel him like I normally could. I glanced at my Watch again, wondering where TW was and why he wasn’t answering my questions.
“I’m … a little surprised, to be honest,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “When my old man disappeared ten years ago, he took the Watch with him. I thought for sure that I would never see it again.”
“Luckily, it appears that fate has decided to put it in your path again,” said Mr. Salt. “I’m not much of a believer in destiny, to be frank, but this certainly seems like a destined meeting to me.”
“Can I look at it?” I said. “I mean, can I hold it?”
“As long as you don’t run off with it without paying,” said Mr. Salt. “I don’t tolerate thieves and will do whatever I can to take you down if you try to steal it.”
“Don’t worry,” I said without missing a beat. “I have zero intention of going anywhere with this thing, believe me.”
I scooped up the Watch with one hand and looked at it. It looked almost exactly like the Trickshot Watch, down to the last detail. Turning it over, I saw three letters on the back:
G.M.M.
“G.M.M.?” Debra repeated. I hadn’t realized that she had gotten on her tiptoes to look at the Watch with me. “What does that mean?”
“Gregory Matthew McDonald,” Mr. Salt said promptly. “That was the full name of the original Trickshot. Right, young man?”
I nodded, though I was still too distracted by the Watch itself to pay very close attention to whatever he was saying. “Yeah, sure.”
“Proof of its authenticity,” said Mr. Salt, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Only the original Trickshot would carve his initials into the Watch to prove his ownership. I hope you have no more doubts about it authenticity now.”
I half-wondered how Mr. Salt knew that I doubted its authenticity, but maybe he was used to dealing with people who didn’t believe his sales pitches about the authenticity of the items he owned. I certainly thought there was a good chance that this was a fake meant to be sold to gullible Trickshot fans who didn’t know any better.
“But how can this be the real Watch if the new Trickshot is also using it?” said Debra, looking at Mr. Salt questioningly. “Every picture I’ve seen of the new Trickshot shows him wearing one on his wrist.”
“Clearly, the new Trickshot made his own, perhaps basing it off the original,” said Mr. Salt. “Believe me, I always make sure to confirm the authenticity of my wares before I sell them to the public. Indeed, I even refuse to sell items I obtain which I find out are fakes, even if I could make good money off them and throwing them out puts me back several hundred or even several thousand dollars. I would not be stating the genuineness of this watch if I had reason to believe otherwise.”
Gotta admit, Mr. Salt could sound very persuasive when he wanted to, but I could also tell that he was a salesman who was eager to sell merchandise to a couple of clueless (in his eyes, anyway) teenagers with more money than sense. I didn’t yet know how much this Watch cost, but I doubted it was cheap.
But at the same time, the Watch seemed one hundred percent genuine to me. It felt just like mine, identical in nearly every detail save for the initials carved on the bottom and the faded colors. Indeed, it looked more real than mine. It didn’t help that TW was still silent. I thought at first that he was glitching up again, but now I wondered if TW was hiding in order to avoid having to talk to me. It was a troubling thought.
“How much does it cost?” said Debra.
“For an item as rare and valuable as this?” said Mr. Salt. He closed his eyes dramatically, like she had asked him to reveal the secrets of the universe. “Oh, I cannot say. Such an item should normally not be sold at all, because it is priceless in its unique nature. To put a price on it at all would be an insult to the original Trickshot and the ideals of justice and heroism which he stood for.”
“Uh huh,” said Debra. “So you’re not selling it or—?”
“Of course I’m selling it,” said Mr. Salt, opening his eyes and smiling. “And it can be all yours for the low price of three thousand dollars.”
My eyes practically popped out of their sockets. “Three thousand dollars? You’re not being serious, are you?”
“I’m being perfectly serious, young man,” said Mr. Salt, who sounded a bit offended by my surprise. “This isn’t the left tennis shoe of Miss Atom or the lost tweezer of Armor Man. This is one of the most valuable superhero objects I own and must therefore be priced accordingly. Trust me, this is actually a steal. Other superhero item dealers would charge at least ten times as much, given the importance of this item to history.”
Mr. Salt spoke as if I should be grateful he was only charging $3,000 for it, rather than the $30,000 other people apparently would. In either case, I did not have $3,000 dollars on me, not even in my bank account. And I was pretty sure that Debra didn’t, either, even though I knew that she came from a fairly well-to-do family.
“Gee, that’s a lot,” said Debra. She immediately shot me puppy dog eyes. “But you would be willing to get it for me as a gift, wouldn’t you? It would make this a really memorable first date if you did.”
Debra’s puppy dog eyes were almost too much for me to handle, but I knew that there was no way I could afford this Watch, and even if I could, I wouldn’t get it as a gift for her, even if she promised to marry me for it. If this thing was genuine—and I had the creeping feeling that it was—then I needed to have it in my possession, no matter what I had to do to get it.
“Three thousand dollars is an awful lot,” I said. “Do you think you could knock it down a few times to, say, thirty dollars? I’ve got that much on me.”
Mr. Salt leaned back as if I’d just spat in his face. “Thirty dollars? Young man, what do you take me for? A fool? I’ve been buying and selling superhero historical artifacts for over twenty years, well before you were born. Do not insult me with such a low ball offer, otherwise I will take back the Watch and ask both of you to le
ave.”
Dang it. I wasn’t very good at this negotiating stuff. I wished that TW would step in and lend me a hand, but he was being disturbingly quiet and I didn’t know when—or if—he would ever speak to me again. Yet I couldn’t just give the Watch back to Mr. Salt, because if it was real, then there were all sorts of questions I needed to have answered about it. A second Watch completely changed my understanding of Grandfather’s superhero career and what TW told me. Maybe that was why TW was being pointedly quiet about this.
“Sorry for insulting you,” I said, lowering the Watch, “but you know that my grandfather was the original Trickshot. When he disappeared, my family ended up with a lot of his stuff, including things he used during his superhero career. The only thing we didn’t get was the Watch, and now that I’ve finally found it, it would be nice if you could let me have it and return it to my family, where it rightfully belongs.”
Mr. Salt tapped his chin thoughtfully. “It would be very nice of me to do that, I agree. But it would also be very stupid and unprofitable, and if there is anything that Pepe del Sal is known for, it is not being stupid and unprofitable. So no. Either pay me the three thousand dollars or give me the Watch back and leave. Don’t kid me with that thirty dollars crud.”
I hesitated. For a moment, I was tempted to take the Watch and run away, even leaving Debra behind if I had to. The Watch was in my hands, after all, and I could run pretty fast, especially if I put on my suit.
But then I handed the Watch back to him and said, “All right. Here you go.”
Mr. Salt took the Watch and put it back in its box, which he closed quickly, resting his hand on its lid protectively. “I can’t say I am surprised. Teenagers like yourself usually don’t have three thousand dollars just lying around, even for items as important as this. I’m just glad you didn’t run off with it like a thief.”
