Sidekicks (18 page)

Allison finagled another “independent study” for us, so now we're sitting on the roof of the school. I have to remember to actually do all this “independent study” work … eventually. But for now, I'm happy just to be up here … with Allison … even if I'm not feeling all that cheerful at the moment.

“I'm on probation,” I say, trying not to reveal how upset I am about it.

She starts laughing, spitting out pieces of chewed-up apple. “Probation? What does that even
mean?
”

“Super-classy with the food spitting,” I say.

“I still have some left … see?” She opens her mouth wide to show me. “Aaaaaaahhhh.”

I smile at her, but my heart's not in it.

“Seriously, though,” she says, “what does he mean you're ‘on probation'?”

“I guess that I can't go out as Bright Boy for a while.”

“That's ridiculous!”

“He's pretty upset.”

“So? Putting you ‘on probation' seems a little harsh to me.”

“Yeah … but to tell you the truth, I expected that from Phantom. It was Louis's reaction that really got to me.”

“Who's Louis?'

“Technically, he's my butler … but really, he's the only person who's ever looked out for me.” I slap my forehead in disgust. “Annnnd I probably shouldn't have given you his name.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “OK, first of all … hellooo … trust issues … and second of all, if I
really
wanted to find where you lived, knowing the name of your butler doesn't exactly help me out.”

“No, I guess not.”

“I'd just follow you home one day,” she says with a shrug.

I look at her suspiciously. “But you didn't.”

She smiles. “No, of course not, Trusty McTrusterson,” she says. “Now tell me about Louis. Is he a plus?”

“No. He's just an ex-con, ex–mixed martial arts fighter from Brooklyn. Phantom found him a couple of years before he found me. Apparently, Louis was a fight trainer at a local gym when Phantom went in for a sparring session … not as Phantom … as his alter—”

“—ego. Yeah, I got that.”

“The sparring session was supposed to be a test run,” I say, “to see if Phantom's training was complete. It wasn't. Louis gave him the beating of his life … up to that point.”

“Wow. Seriously? You sure he's not a plus?” she asks.

“As sure as I can be. We've sparred a ton of times. If Louis is a plus/plus, I would've seen something.”

“OK, so Louis kicked Phantom's butt, right? How?”

“Well, Louis's whole thing is that technique trumps speed and strength nine times out of ten, and his technique is amazing. The guy studies his opponents, figures out their moves and habits, and then figures out a way to take them down as quickly as possible. It's crazy.”

“So Phantom hired him as what … A personal trainer or something?”

“Yeah, more like a personal trainer, bodyguard, caretaker kind of thing. It helps that Louis is a neat freak and an amazing cook, so he kind of covers all our bases.”

I pause for a second.

“It's weird,” I say. “Sometimes I kinda feel like Phantom's more concerned about how I fit into his crusade then with me personally. But Louis … in a lot of ways, he's my lifeline.”

Allison gives me an understanding nod. I laugh.

“What?” she asks.

“Louis is a total tough guy, right? But you know what he wears around the house?”

She shakes her head.

“When I was six, I used to call him Bear, because that's what I thought he looked like the first time I saw him … this hairy giant who came running at me, arms wide, scooping me up off the ground and squeezing me so tight even I had trouble breathing. So, for his birthday that year, I got him a pair of teddy bear slippers.”

Allison laughs. “Teddy bear slippers?”

“Yeah. They're these big, fuzzy slippers with a smiley bear face on the front of each one. I told him that I
wanted his feet to get hugged like he hugs me … corny, I know. What do you want? I was six.”

“That's not corny at all.” She stops to think about it. “OK, maybe a little. So he still wears them?”

I nod. “I mean, they're a little beat-up after seven years, but he refuses to get rid of them. Imagine this big, burly guy who looks like he just stepped off a Harley, with what look like the happiest bears in the world wrapped around his feet.”

She laughs. “OK, it's official … you need to cheer up, because there is absolutely no way a guy like that is going to stay mad at you. It's just not possible”

“No, I guess not. It just hurts knowing I disappointed him.”

“He'll get over it. Trust me.”

“Why, what'd your dad do?”

“Nothing, really,” she says. Her legs are dangling over the side, and I swear I'm hypnotized. I could watch them all day. “He was a little weird to me this morning, but really, what's he going to do? I mean, we steal stuff. How's he going to punish me for breaking the ‘rules'?”

“Aha! So, you admit you're a criminal!” I say, pointing at her.

She smiles. “Only to snap you out of your funk.
I'm not up for the whole moody-mopey thing today. In fact …”

“Why do I get nervous whenever you say ‘in fact,' and then stop?”

“Come on,” she says. She leaps off the building onto the roof next door.

“Hey!”

She turns back to me. “Sssshhh!” She gives me a wide-eyed look and points down to the street. I look over the edge and see a bunch of our classmates gathered below. The classes are over, so now kids are breaking off into their various groups: Members of sports teams start heading for practice, club members go back inside for their meetings, and a bunch of other kids just splinter off and go to Java Joe's to drink coffee and goof off. I look at Allison. She gives me an impatient “Come on!” wave. Should I even pretend that I don't want to follow her? I leap over to the next building.

She gives me a light kiss, then sprints away. I sprint right after her.

We leap across the city's rooftops … not speaking … just soaring, flipping, and turning in sync, laughing as the city supplies endless rooftops to jump from and to.

She stops suddenly, on the roof of one of the buildings
bordering the East River. I come to a sliding halt next to her. She's looking out at the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun is starting to go down, and the lights are just starting to blink on. A boat chugs lazily across the water. “I love this. This picture. Right here,” she says.

“You must bring all your boyfriends up here,” I say, only half-kidding.

She looks at me, a small smile on her face that tells me she knows what I was fishing for. “What makes you think you're my boyfriend?”

And I have one of those moments where, even after everything that's happened, I don't know if she's kidding or not. And then she takes my hand and smiles at me. “I mean, you are … if you want to be,” she says. “But what makes you think that you are?”

“You may not know this about me, but I am a world-famous detective and crime fighter.”

“Nooo!”

“Yes! And I could tell how you felt about me the moment we met! Five years ago! When I thought you were a boy … wait …”

She laughs and slaps me “lightly” on the shoulder.

“I don't think you know how hard you slap,” I say.

“Ohhh, poor super-strong baby,” she says. Then she
grabs my arm and puts it around her shoulders. We stand there and watch the world get darker and the lights on the bridge get brighter.

“May I ask you something?” she says.

“Sure.”

“Did you ever think that this was all a setup?”

“Puh-leeze. The only reason I'd think this was a setup was if I had
any
doubts about my”—pause—“irresistibility.” I give her a wink, followed by my cheesiest grin.

“So, you thought it was a setup, then.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

She tilts her head up and kisses me. “Wow,” I say. “What'll you do if I tell you I thought you were going to kill me?” I ask.

She smiles. “You're being honest with me. You could've lied and said no, just so I wouldn't let go.”

“How would you have known it was a lie?”

“Well, probably because I'm not an idiot. We're archenemies. If you weren't suspicious of me, even a little bit, you're either lying or stupid.”

“So … were you suspicious of me, then?”

“What do you mean
were
? Try ‘still am.'” She laughs.

“Are you?”

She's not laughing anymore. “Look, if I want to be completely honest, I started ‘being friends' with you because I thought I could find new and interesting ways to kick the snot out of you.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” I pause. “So how are we ever going to totally trust each other?”

Allison looks at me. “Is there ever such a thing as two people
totally
trusting each other?”

Before I can answer, she kisses me. And suddenly I am not so worried about trust anymore.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

A piercing scream startles us apart.

“What the heck was that?” Allison says.

The selfish side of me doesn't want to answer. But I know what it is … I've heard it hundreds of times … and I can't ignore it. “It's a scream for help,” I say. “Wait here.”

She laughs at me. “Yeah, right! Come on … which way?”

“AAAAAAAA!!!!”

I listen to the sound, triangulating the direction from the way it's bouncing off the buildings. I point to the right corner of the roof. “This way.”

We sprint toward the sound. One more scream, so I know where you are … come on.

“AAAAAAA!!!!! Stop!!! STOP!!!!”

“Come on!” I yell to Allison.

Three rooftops away, we see them. A woman is on the ground, cradling the bleeding head of an unconscious man. They're dressed like bikers. Six guys, all in nice khakis and dress shirts, have formed a circle around them; one of them is holding a tire iron and looks like he knows how to use it. The woman on the ground is crying. The six guys are laughing.

Allison looks concerned but confused. “What do we do?” she asks. “We need masks.”

“No time. Relax … wait … follow my lead,” I tell her.

The woman on the ground is sobbing. “Please … he's hurt … please …” From where I'm standing, the guy's wound looks superficial. On the other hand, he is unconscious … and there's nothing superficial about the tire iron that threatening guy is holding.

He's about six feet three inches tall, two hundred twenty pounds, athletic, black belt in at least one martial art, possibly two, looks like he's had a couple of drinks,
but not drunk enough to be impaired … just enough to make him think he's invincible.

“He's my husband! Please!”

“All I wanted to do was talk to you,” the guy with the tire iron growls. “Talking time's over now.” He's moving toward the unconscious guy, raising the tire iron, about to strike.

I step in front of him. He stops short. “What the … ?”

“Nice night, isn't it, gentlemen?” I say.

“Get out of my way, kid,” he says. The tire iron is still raised in the go position.

“OK … here's the thing, Captain Dress Pants,” I say, “you're going to put the tire iron down and wait nicely for the police to arrive, or we're going to play a little game … it's called Let's See How Far I Can Cram That Tire Iron Down Your Throat. Doesn't that sound fun?”

He hesitates … sizes me up … and starts laughing. His friends laugh with him, and I can't help thinking that I'm looking at Jake Berkshire's not-too-distant future. “You gotta be kidding me?”

“Put the tire iron down.”

“Kid, you just wrote a check you can't cash.”

“You heard him,” Allison says, stepping out of the shadows. “Surrender! To justice!”

Silence. I snicker. I try to hold it in, but it's no use. “Surrender to justice?”

“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.