by Lucas Flint
That thought compelled Dennis to step forward, even though he didn’t know what to do, but before he could do anything else, he heard a voice scream, “Dennis! Get back in the house!” and he looked up to see Dad peering over the side of the roof at him, an urgency on his face that Dennis had never seen before in his life.
“But Dad, Iron Angel is going to get killed!” Dennis called back.
“I don’t care!” Dad shouted. “Get back in the house now before you get yourself killed!”
Dennis hesitated. He knew that Dad was probably right, but at the same time, he couldn’t stand the thought of letting Iron Angel die. Iron Angel had no friends or allies. It would be a while before his sidekick or the police showed up to help, and by the time they did, Iron Angel would probably be dead and Killer would be long gone. Yet what could Dennis, a ten-year-old boy, do against a supervillain like Killer or any of his Tree Golems?
That was when Dennis noticed the spade in Mom’s flower garden next to the house. He looked from the spade to Killer—who seemed to have forgotten all about him in his zeal to kill Iron Angel—and made his decision.
With Dad still screaming at him to come back, Dennis yanked the spade out of the dirt and ran at Killer. Being part of his school’s track team, Dennis was able to cross the backyard in less than five seconds. Again, Killer did not seem to notice him, because the supervillain’s eyes were focused solely on his Tree Golems, who were punching a largely defenseless Iron Angel like a punching bag. Killer was actually smiling, like he was watching an entertaining movie.
Seeing Killer smile filled Dennis with so much rage that he didn’t even think about his next move. With a roar of rage, Dennis stabbed his spade into Killer’s right thigh, burying it as deeply as he could into Killer’s wood-like flesh.
Killer suddenly screamed in pain and backhanded Dennis so hard that Dennis was briefly knocked unconscious. When he came back to consciousness, he saw Killer yank the spade out of his thigh and toss it away before turning to focus on Dennis, his eyes burning with hatred. Some strange green liquid was seeping out of Killer’s thigh, though whether it was blood or something else, Dennis didn’t know.
“You dumb brat,” Killer hissed. “Trying to play the hero when your balls haven’t even dropped yet. I only intended to kill Iron Angel tonight, but I’ve never been one to turn the other cheek. Die with your hero, brat.”
Killer took a step toward Denis, but before he could get close enough to harm Dennis, the sound of metal boots clanking against the earth made Dennis look over to see Iron Angel running toward them. Iron Angel’s right wing was missing; as for the Tree Golems, they lay on the ground as still as Dennis’ toys. Dennis realized, in a vague sort of way, that his stabbing Killer must have broken Killer’s connection with the Tree Golems, thus allowing Iron Angel to come to his rescue.
Killer must have realized the same thing, because he looked at Dennis again and snarled, “Die!”
He lunged toward Dennis. There was no time for Dennis to dodge. Paralyzed by fear, he could only watch as Killer’s outstretched hands drew closer and closer to him.
But Killer never reached him, because in the the next instant, Iron Angel’s good left wing came out of nowhere and slashed straight through Killer’s waist like a sword. Killer didn’t even get a chance to scream. Both halves of his body just fell onto the ground, leaking that same strange, disgusting green blood that had come from his thigh wound.
Dennis realized he had been holding in his breath. Letting out his breath, he looked up at Iron Angel, who stood over him like a guardian spirit. Iron Angel was panting, yet he still stood, his wing dripping that Killer’s green blood, while his chest heaved in and out heavily.
“Dennis!” screamed a voice from behind him. A second later, Dad appeared out of nowhere and took Dennis into his arms, hugging him so tightly that Dennis thought he was going to die anyway. “Oh, Dennis, I thought you were going to die! I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Y-Yeah,” said Dennis, his voice tight. “Thanks, Dad. Could you let me down, please? You’re squeezing me too much.”
Dad stopped hugging him as hard, but he didn’t let go of Dennis. He just flashed him an embarrassed grin. “Sorry, Dennis. Everything just happened so fast that I was worried you might have somehow gotten hurt and I didn’t see it. Especially when that monster slapped you in the face.”
“I’m fine, Dad,” said Dennis. “Really. I don’t need to go to the doctor or anything like that.”
“Actually, I think you should take your son to the doctor,” said Iron Angel, folding his good wing behind his back. “Killer was a very strong supervillain. He could have easily broken something in your face without you knowing or realizing it. Also, his body is usually covered with a lot of different spores, so it’s possible he could have poisoned you without you even being aware.”
Dad looked at Iron Angel with new found respect in his eyes. “Yes, yes, of course. But first, thank you for saving my son, Iron Angel. If you hadn’t killed that beast, I would have … I don’t know what I would have done.”
“It’s fine, sir,” said Iron Angel in a modest voice. “I should be thanking your son, Dennis, because if he hadn’t distracted Killer like that, the Tree Golems would never have deactivated and I would never have gotten a chance to take him out for good.” He looked at Dennis. “Your son has the makings of a true hero, I think.”
Dennis beamed. Even though he was tired and hurting, he forgot all about that in order to say to Iron Angel, “Really? Do you think so?”
“Of course,” said Iron Angel. He rubbed his back. “Most kids your age would never have even thought about trying to distract such a dangerous villain. It was a stupid, reckless move, but superheroes have to make stupid, reckless moves all the time.” He grimaced. “Like patrolling the city alone at night. I should have brought Winged Gal with me. She’s never going to let me forget this.”
Dennis, however, had stopped listening to Iron Angel after that. He was too busy thinking about what Iron Angel had told him, about him having the potential to be a real hero. No one had ever told Dennis that before, not even his parents.
“In any case, I will call the police and let them know about Killer,” said Iron Angel. “You two should go back into your house. It’s possible that Killer might have some allies hiding nearby and I don’t want them to have any easy targets.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Dad, nodding. “Come along, Dennis. We’re going back inside.”
Dad put Dennis back on the ground and walked back to the back door. Dennis followed, but before he got very far, he heard Iron Angel say, “Dennis?” causing him to stop and look over his shoulder at him.
“Yeah?” said Dennis. “What is it?”
Iron Angel pulled a card out of a compartment in his armor and handed it to Dennis. “Take this.”
Curious, Dennis took the card and looked at it. It had Iron Angel’s name and phone number on it. It even had Iron Angel’s website address, which was cool because Dennis didn’t know of very many people with their own website.
He looked up at Iron Angel again. “What’s this?”
“My business card,” Iron Angel replied. “I want you to have it so you can call me when you’re old enough to apply for a sidekick license.”
Dennis gasped. “Wait, you mean you want me to become your sidekick?”
Iron Angel nodded. “Sure. Like I said, you have the potential to become a true superhero someday, although you’ll need plenty of training before then, like I got. Besides, my current sidekick, Winged Gal, won’t be my sidekick forever, so I’ll need a replacement at some point and you’d fit in my business perfectly.”
Dennis trembled. He almost couldn’t speak, but he finally said, “Thank you, Mr. Iron Angel. I will keep this business card in a special place forever.”
“Call me by my real name” said Iron Angel. “Luke, Luke Hat. Or just Mr. Hat. Mr. Iron Angel sounds too strange.”
“Yes, Mr. Hat,” said D
ennis, nodding.
“Good,” said Iron Angel. “Now go and join your parents in the house. Tomorrow is a school day, so you should want to get as much sleep as you can so you won’t fall asleep in the middle of class.”
Once again, Dennis nodded. Then he turned and ran toward the back door, clutching the business card in his hands as if it was the most valuable jewel in the whole world. It would be several years before he could apply for a sidekick license, he knew, but he would make sure to keep this card where he could find it.
Because, more than anything else in the whole wide world, Dennis wanted to be a hero, a true hero like Iron Angel, and he would become a true hero, no matter how long it took or what he had to do to get there. One day, he would fight crime alongside Iron Angel and keep the city safe from all danger. He knew that as certainly as he knew his own name.
CHAPTER TWO
Twenty years later …
Most people think that being a sidekick is all about fighting criminal and supervillains. They think you spend all your time patrolling the streets of whatever city or town you happen to be working in, like a police officer on duty, keeping an eye out for any nefarious individuals who are out to commit crimes and put the lives of innocent people in danger. They think you are constantly saving the world, thwarting the complex plots of Machiavellian supervillains, and rescuing cats from trees all day every day.
Or, if they’re a bit more realistic, they think you’re always going out making media appearances, appearing on talk shows, radio shows, podcasts, and real life conventions to talk about what it’s like being a sidekick. They think you have your own secretary who schedules your appearances in the media and that all you ever do is hang out with glitzy celebrities and powerful politicians to increase your brand. They think you travel all around the country, stopping by various conventions and conferences to speak to adoring fans or to fellow sidekicks on the current trends in the industry.
But what most people don’t know is that being a sidekick is about more than just fighting crime or doing media appearances. Sure, you do a lot of that stuff, but it takes up a lot less of your time than you’d think based on what the media says about the biz. You’ll never see anyone in the media talk about spring cleaning the entire base where you and your boss work, because that’s boring and tedious.
Of course, even though my boss, Dennis Pullman (AKA Rubberman), called it ‘spring cleaning,’ it was more like early winter cleaning, because it took place in early January, just after New Year’s. Rubberman had given me the whole week prior to New Year’s off, but when I came back to work on the day after New Year’s, Rubberman immediately handed me a pan and a broom and told me to start sweeping. That confused me at first because I thought that Adams, Rubberman’s assistant/butler, was supposed to clean the Elastic Cave and keep it in order, but Rubberman said that he did this type of base-wide cleaning twice a year and that it was usually too much work for Adams to do all by himself. Plus, the week after New Year’s was usually a slow time for crime in Golden City for some reason, which gave Rubberman plenty of time to focus on cleaning the Cave.
Thus, I found myself sweeping the floor of Rubberman’s office, dusting off his merchandise and posters, and cleaning the keyboard of his computer. It was pretty slow, boring work, but it was a lot safer, I suppose, than going out and fighting criminals on the streets of the city. But safer didn’t necessarily always mean better. In this case, I found myself losing my focus more often than not, because of how boring it was. I’ll admit, though, that it was kind of funny, because usually I disliked getting out on the streets and risking my life like that. Guess my views have really changed since I started working for Rubberman.
As a result, I didn’t pay much attention to my work aside from the bare minimum I needed to in order to make sure I didn’t knock anything over. As I wiped off Rubberman’s computer monitor, I accidentally bumped against his desk, sending a small pile of papers falling onto the floor in a scattered, random fashion. Alarmed, I dropped the washcloth and began scooping the papers back into my arms. I didn’t know what these papers were, but if Rubberman had left them on his desk, they were probably important. Besides, I didn’t want Rubberman to walk into here and see his office in more of a mess than when he left it.
As I picked up what looked like a contract with some company called Major T-Shirt Designs, I noticed a strange little business card lying on the floor on top of a few other papers. It looked really old; its white color was faded to a yellowish color, while its corners were bent and even bitten in a few spots, like a mouse had nibbled on it. The fact that Rubberman owned what looked like a really old business card made no sense to me, because Rubberman usually threw out most business cards he got unless they came from a person or company he wanted to follow up on at some point.
Picking up the card, I read what was written on it:
IRON ANGEL SUPERHEROES, LLC
ADDRESS: 123 North District, Golden City, Texas 78749
PHONE: 512-555-0161
WEBSITE: www.ironangel.com
“Justice never rests, and neither do I.”
Huh. I turned it over, but the back was blank, except for a copyright notice which indicated that it had been created back in the late nineties, which meant it was twenty-years-old, surprisingly enough. What was Rubberman doing with a twenty-year-old business card? The name ‘Iron Angel’ sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it before.
At that moment, Rubberman poked his head through the open doorway and said, “Hey, Alex, how’s the sweeping coming along? Adams has already finished the Rubber Room and says he’s going to need help cleaning Level Two.”
I looked up at Rubberman. “What? Oh, yeah. It’s coming along fine. I just accidentally knocked over these papers and was trying to put them back on the desk. I cleaned the rest of the office, though, so after this I’ll be able to help Adams.”
Rubberman nodded, but then his eyes landed on the business card in my hand. “Hey, what’s that?”
“This?” I said. I held up the business card for him to see. “An old business card I found among your documents. It’s about twenty-years-old and is for some business called ‘Iron Angel Superheroes.’”
Rubberman’s eyes widened. He stretched out his arm across the room, grabbed the business card from my hand, and then snapped his arm back. He held the business card close to his chest like it was his firstborn child, although I didn’t understand what was so valuable about such an old piece of paper.
“I was wondering where I’d put this,” said Rubberman, glancing at the business card. “It’s been so many years since I last saw it that I was sure I’d accidentally thrown it out with the trash at some point. Thanks for finding it.”
“Uh, you’re welcome,” I said. “But what’s so special about it? It’s just a really old business card.”
“It’s not just any old business card,” Rubberman insisted as he stepped into the room. “This is the business card that the legendary superhero, Iron Angel, gave me when I was ten.”
“Iron Angel?” I repeated. “Sounds familiar, but I can’t remember where I’ve heard it before.”
“It’s familiar because I’ve told you that Iron Angel was my main inspiration for getting into this business in the first place,” said Rubberman. “He was one of the greatest superheroes ever, famous all throughout the world for his heroism. His business acumen was never very good, but he still made a really good living just by fighting supervillains and criminals. He used to be Golden City’s main superhero before his retirement.”
I nodded. “That’s right. You told me he retired from the business about ten years ago, right?”
“Right,” said Rubberman, nodding again. “No one knows where he is now, unfortunately, but I’m sure he’s enjoying his retirement, whatever he’s doing and wherever he is.”
“Why did he disappear?” I asked. “That seems kind of strange for someone as famous as him.”
“Fame isn’t
all it’s cracked up to be, Alex,” said Rubberman. “Not all superheroes enjoy being the center of attention. I know a few superheroes who deliberately avoid putting themselves in the spotlight because they don’t want to be hounded by the media or by their fans. They usually focus on low level crimes, the kind that the media doesn’t usually report on so they don’t get deluged with unwanted attention.”
“What about retired superheroes, though? Does the media pay attention to them?”
“Yep,” said Rubberman. “Though it depends on how popular they were when they were active. I could easily see someone like Iron Angel going into hiding after retirement, if only to escape the media and fans who would never leave him alone. It’s still disappointing, though, because I hoped to become his sidekick when I got old enough.”
“Really?” I said. “Is that why you have his business card?”
“Yeah. He gave it to me when I was ten. Told me that I had the potential to become a great superhero someday and to call him when I became old enough to get a sidekick license.” Rubberman looked down at the card in his hands wistfully. “This card brings back so many memories. It’s like going back in time.”
“How come you never became his sidekick?” I asked. “Is it because he already had one?”
“He did have one, a girl named Winged Gal, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have worked for him,” said Rubberman. “Perhaps you don’t know this, but because sidekicks count as employees under federal law, it is possible to hire as many sidekicks as you can afford. Most superheroes only have one because it’s easier and cheaper that way, but I’ve known a few superheroes with as much as five and, in at least one case, ten sidekicks. It just depends on what you can afford or are willing to deal with.”
I had never known that, but it made sense. After all, there was no limit to how many employees other businesses could hire. Why would superhero businesses be any different? I suppose I had never thought about it that way because I always called myself a ‘sidekick’ and never an employee, even though that term was just as accurate as calling myself a sidekick.
