Sidekicks (5 page)

I walk past the costume room and the armory, past the revolving platform that the Stealth Phantom is parked on, and there he is—Trent Clancy, aka Phantom
Justice, standing with his back to me, staring up at the giant, wall-size monitor. Even in civilian clothes, he's impressive. Six feet three inches, 220 pounds of solid muscle, Trent is plus/plus, speed and strength, like me. Even just standing there in civilian clothes, looking up at the giant monitor, I could feel his intensity. His posture is intense. His hair is intense. If I could see his face, I bet it would have an intense look on it. And when he speaks, his voice is intense.

“Dr. Chaotic escaped from prison this morning.”

Several pictures of Dr. Chaotic pop up on the monitor, in various forms of dress and disguises.

“Dr. Chaotic. Real name: unknown. Known Aliases: Richard Fairweather, Harold Riesling, James Conant. Former Location: San Raphael Maximum Security Prison. Current location: unknown. Attributes: plus intelligence. Dr. Chaotic is quite possibly the most intelligent human on the planet. Although lacking plus speed or strength, Chaotic has the ability to create and implement an unlimited amount of armor and weaponry. These devices are highly sophisticated. They enhance his physical attributes to near plus capacities, and are often capable of massive destruction. Threat level: highest.” Trent recites the
information from memory, as if he's reading from a case file. Unfortunately, he talks like this a lot.

“How did this happen?” I ask.

“They're not sure. They're still piecing together the details, but it appears that he constructed a small laser out of wood, a battery pack, and circuitry from an old television.”

“You're kidding.”

Trent turns and gives me an intense look. “No. I'm not.”

I sigh. “No, I know … it's just an expression.”

Trent continues to stare at me for a couple of uncomfortable beats, then finally turns back to the monitor.

“It took him a little more than three weeks,” he says.

“That's it? Holy crud.”

Trent turns again, this time with a stern look. He doesn't like it when I use words like
crud
, even though it's not a swear word, and even when it's in response to news that our most dangerous foe escaped from prison.

“Sorry.”

Trent glares at me for a moment too long again, then turns back to the monitor. “He's been in prison for five years. The method of his escape suggests that he could
have left whenever he wanted. So why now?” Trent asks.

He's not necessarily asking me; he's asking the room, and himself. My job is to answer, so he can get the answers that are obviously wrong out of the way. “Because he had the opportunity?”

“Someone who can make a laser out of wood and an old TV is going to have a lot of opportunities,” he responds.

“Good point. It could be anything.”

“Yes. Looks like we're going to have to wait until he makes the first move,” he says, like he's not happy about it. “He had a sidekick, correct? Plus/plus, speed and strength, like us. Code-named—”

“Monkeywrench,” I say, and shudder. I hadn't thought of him in years, and not because he wasn't memorable. I had purposely blocked him. What a weasel. Unfortunately, when we caught Dr. Chaotic, Monkeywrench had gotten away. I would've loved to see that little jerk go to jail, too.

“Monkeywrench. Right.” Trent quietly looks at the monitors. His shoulders sag a bit, something I've never seen before.

“Are you OK?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“You don't seem OK.”

Trent takes a deep breath. “Dr. Chaotic almost killed me last time.”

“Yeah, but he didn't.”

“Because I got lucky.”

I nodded. Trent wasn't trying to be modest. The last time we faced off against Dr. Chaotic, Trent got destroyed.

Five years ago, Champion Motor Company was working on a project code-named Destiny. They had developed a car with a special motor that could get eighty miles per gallon, without using hybrid technology. Pretty cool, right? It got even cooler. Destiny was also capable of going zero-to-sixty in under four seconds. The thing hauled. Other companies were developing similar cars, but Champion was poised to get there first. That's when Dr. Chaotic and Monkeywrench tried to step in.

Dr. Chaotic knew that all the companies competing for the pole position in the fuel economy race would do whatever they needed to do to get those plans. So, his plan was pretty straightforward: Steal the plans and sell them to the highest bidder.

Their first crime was at Champion's headquarters. Chaotic and Monkeywrench managed to get the plans
out of the building, but Champion had just installed a state-of-the-art security system, which managed to stall Chaotic and Monkeywrench long enough for Phantom and me to get there. We battled them on the roof of the Champion building for half an hour before they escaped … without the plans. That's because as they were making their escape in Dr. Chaotic's helicopter, I managed to snag the plans away from Monkeywrench. Sure, I almost plummeted 1,500 feet to my death, but seeing the look on that little weasel's face after snatching those plans from him was totally worth it.

After that, Champion split the Destiny plans up, and hid parts of them all over the city. Dr. Chaotic and Monkeywrench spent the whole rest of the summer searching for them. They managed to snag a few, but more often than not, Phantom Justice and I were able to thwart them. They did, however, always manage to escape capture. I guess the frustration was getting to them, because by the end of August, their robbery attempts were getting more reckless, more dangerous. Then, in the last week of August, things came to a head.

Dr. Chaotic decided to stop looking for the plans and start looking for the one working prototype of the car. He figured that if he could get his hands on the prototype,
he'd be able to auction that instead of the plans. He and Monkeywrench found it in a warehouse on the docks, hidden in a large crate marked Coffeemakers.

By the time we arrived, Monkeywrench had already hooked up the prototype to Dr. Chaotic's helicopter (which, even I'll admit, is pretty impressive for an eight-year-old). Monkey-boy and I started fighting as Phantom Justice tried to pull the helicopter down all by himself. Chaotic had modded the copter with some jet turbines, so it almost ripped Phantom's arms out of their sockets. Phantom then switched to Plan B, which was to lodge the car in the doorway of the warehouse. Chaotic's copter couldn't take off with the car anchoring it to the ground, but he was too stubborn to leave without it. He gunned the engines, hoping he had enough juice to break the car free. He didn't. His helicopter slammed into the ground, exploding on impact.

Dr. Chaotic managed to escape the wreckage but not without taking major damage. Phantom Justice had him cornered when Chaotic pulled out a new weapon, something he said he had been saving for just such an occasion. It was brand-new—so new that he didn't even have a name for it yet. Chaotic said it was supposed to target the unique biological makeup of a plus/plus,
and somehow short-circuit their nervous system … or something. We still don't know if it worked the way he intended, because the thing exploded.

Monkeywrench and I were fighting a short distance away. Dr. Chaotic had just cackled evilly and proclaimed himself the victor against Phantom Justice then he pulled the trigger. The weapon exploded. I knew it was a small-blast radius, because Monkeywrench and I were fighting about thirty yards away, and we only went into minor convulsions. Phantom Justice and Dr. Chaotic had been standing only a few feet away from each other, and they were having full-blown seizures.

After that point, the night got a little hazy for me. I remember abandoning my fight with Monkeywrench. I remember feeling a surge of adrenaline, grabbing both Dr. Chaotic and Phantom Justice, and just hauling to the hospital. I remember the doctors meeting me outside and taking over. I remember leaving the hospital and rocketing through the city, thinking that I HAD to find Monkeywrench and arrest him before Phantom woke up, or Phantom was going to be angry. I remember waking up on the fire escape of an abandoned building the next morning, not sure if the events from the night were real or just a vivid dream. I went to the hospital to find out.

Dr. Chaotic was there, dazed, but healthy. He was under heavy security, and heading to jail when he fully recovered. No one knew anything about Monkeywrench; it seemed that he had just cut and run. Phantom Justice had checked himself out. I went home and slept for the next thirty-six hours. Trent slept for three days. When he finally came out of his room, he looked shaken, a little weak, but pretty much OK. It took him a couple of days to get back up to full strength. Luckily for the city, and us, there wasn't a major crime for a week or so after that.

Trent hasn't talked about it again until today. He hasn't had to. Chaotic's been in prison.

“And now he's out,” Trent says. “The one man who made me feel fear, down to the core of my being.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He will not have that power over me. Justice has no weaknesses … I will not feel fear again.”

“OK … sure,” I say. “Listen, speaking of not wanting to feel certain … uhh … feelings, did Louis talk to you.”

He looks annoyed, as if I'm interrupting something. “About what?”

“About my uhh … costume?”

“Yes.” I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn't.

“Oh … well … have you seen the news?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“OK … uhh … well …” I stammer, trying to fill in the big, uncomfortable space. “I don't think my costume fits me anymore.”

“We'll get you a larger size.”

“That's not what I meant. Well, I mean, it's part of what I meant. But the other part is that I don't really like it anymore.”

“Oh.” He continues to stare at me.

“It's just REALLY bright.”

“Your name is Bright Boy.”

“No, I know … It's just, do we have to be so obvious about it? You did see the news, right?”

“Yes, and I wanted to talk to you about that. I know you're at ‘that age' …”

I take a deep breath, and ready myself for what kids at school always called “the talk.” Really, Trent should have given me “the talk” a couple of years ago, but he always found a way to put it off. Not like I really needed him to give it to me … I mean, I've had three classes on the subject, and whatever wasn't covered in there, Louis filled me in on. So, Trent's pretty late to the party.

“I know it can be … awkward,” Trent continues.
“But we are heroes … trying to uphold an image. And we just can't allow something like that to happen again. It's impure, and I won't allow it.”

“Uh, what?” I ask, not sure I heard him correctly.

“People are going to think you're one of those perverts if every time you save someone, you have a … reaction.”

“But … I couldn't … It's not like I meant to have an—!”

“That isn't the point, Scott. The point is that our job is to clean this city of the filth, not become dirty ourselves.”

“But—”

“We wear costumes as symbols of justice to the criminals who prey on the weak,” he says. “We don't wear costumes because it ‘turns us on.'”

“But … it doesn't! I just—”

“Look … you screwed up … I'm trying to be understanding about it. Just don't let it happen again.”

“Then get me another costume!”

“Scott, I don't think the costume is the problem. The problem is that you need to learn to control yourself.”

My mouth hangs open. I have no idea what to say. I can't decide if I want to yell at him, or curl up into a ball and hide under a table for the rest of my life. Before
I can make my choice, the computer starts beeping. Our computer is wired into every alarm system in the city (and some we installed ourselves), so when it starts beeping, something is going down.

“Alarm at 4357 West Salem Street,” Trent says. “Computer … Close-up.” The computer gives a close-up of the alarm site on the city map. “That's IGO Computer corporate headquarters!” Trent says. “Come on … let's suit up.”

He sprints off.

I stand there trying to process what happened. Did my mentor really just call me a pervert? And then ask me to dress the part? And still blame it all on me? And somehow leave me wondering if he's right?

“Come on, Scott,” he calls. “The city awaits …”

I stagger along behind him, feeling angry and confused and embarrassed and guilty all at the same time. I have no idea how I'm going to put that costume on now, let alone roam around the city in it. It's going to be hard to fight with my hands blocking “the view” the whole time.

in the car; he needs that time to get into character, to “purge himself of the light and whimsy of Trent Clancy … to become a creature of darkness that preys on the evil of man … the scourge of the wicked … Phantom Justice!” Trust me, those are his words, not mine.