The Sidekick chapter 10

     Detective Simon Hapwell had been looking over at his partner’s empty chair, off and on all morning.  He had planned to confront Detective Block about the missing bodies at the morgue, but now, instead, was becoming concerned about his partner’s whereabouts.  It wasn’t like Block to not show, and not call.  Certainly, the veteran officer was chronically late, especially on Mondays, and had, over the last couple of years, started to “call in sick” more often.  But, as far as Hapwell knew, this level of irresponsibility was unprecedented for Block.

Captain Jonathan Burns stuck his shiny head out of his office.  He was a short, neat, muscular man, wore rectangular wire-rimmed glasses and was completely bald.  He shaved and shined his pale, bald head every morning, and when the light caught his dome at just the right angle, it shone like a polished bowling ball.  Burns was a little odd for a police captain.  Almost every year at the annual Policeman’s Picnic, Captain Burns won the push-up contest and the pie eating contest.  His office was decorated with the ribbons.  And every Thursday night, he could be found singing karaoke at Rosie’s Bar and Grill.  More times than not, he chose a Sinatra classic.  Thing was, the man couldn’t carry a tune to save his life.  His men thought he was a funny little man, but they respected him.  They respected him because he was a “damn good cop”.  The Captain raised his voice over the din of the office.  “Hey, Hapwell!  Where the hell is Block?  I gotta send you guys out.  Got a call from the 17th Precinct.  Somebody over there thinks that guy you two picked up the other night, might have had somethin’ to do with a murder over in Turtle Bay.”

“Sorry Captain, Detective Block seems to be a ‘no show’, I’ll…I’ll check it out myself,” Hapwell replied in his thick British accent as he stood up, shoved the last remnant of a blueberry muffin into his mouth and pulled on his jacket.

“What the hell?  It’s after 11.  Block’s a pain in the ass, no doubt, but to just not show up?  That’s not like him.  Did you call his numbers?”

“Yes, yes I did.  I rang his home and cell.  No answer.  Perhaps I’ll stop by his place on my way to Turtle Bay.”

“You do that.  And you tell him, this is the last time he pulls this bullcrap with me.  Got it?” Burns’d had just about enough of Block’s disrespect.

“Sure, sure Captain.  I’ll tell him,” Hapwell replied.  The English detective took one more gulp of his luke-warm, bitter, black coffee.  He’d grown up on tea, but since moving to New York, coffee had grown on him.

Hapwell made his way to his car and headed to his absent partner’s apartment.  When he arrived at Block’s apartment building the front door was locked.  Simon buzzed Block’s number.

“It’s about damn time.  They said 20 minutes or the pizza’s free.  It’s been longer than that.  I ain’t payin’ nothin’,” came the somewhat feminine, metallic voice from the speaker.

“Oh, terribly sorry, I thought I had pushed the button for 402.”

“You did.  Who is this?”

“Yes, well, I’m Detective Simon Hapwell of the NYPD and I was looking for my partner, Marion Block.  Is he there?”

There was a long pause, and then a loud buzz and the clicking sound of the doors unlocking.  The English detective had a bad feeling.  Something didn’t seem right.  As far as he knew, Block wasn’t married.  In fact his partner had told him he had been divorced, twice.  The two policemen never talked about personal stuff, but on the very rare occasion they did, Block never mentioned a girlfriend.

Hapwell ran up the stairs to the 4th floor taking two and three steps at a time.  Sweating and breathing hard, he warily made his way down the short hallway to apartment 402.  The door was slightly ajar.  The hair on the back of the detective’s neck was standing on end.  He pulled his gun and used it to push the door open.

“Hello?  Hello?!  As I said over the intercom, I am a police officer and I must warn you, I am armed…” and Hapwell looked around the corner through the door.  On the other side of the room was a wide-open window, dingy yellow curtains waving in the crisp, fall breeze.  Hapwell ran to the window and looked out.  It led to a fire escape, and he saw a woman, carrying a briefcase, running away from the building.

“Stop!  You there!  Police!  Stop!” But the woman didn’t even turn around.  Hapwell climbed out the window and down the escape to the pavement.  He hit the ground running and within seconds had cut the distance between him and his quarry in half.  As he ran he radioed for back-up.

“I said stop!” and as he got closer to the woman he could see that she was dressed in a way that might, in some circles, indicate a certain type of employment.  She was wearing a skimpy, red cowgirl outfit, and had big, platinum blonde hair.  As he caught up to her, she turned and threw her briefcase at him.  Hapwell batted it away.  The woman took a quick right turn and ran across a busy street as car tires screeched and smoked.  Hapwell ran into the street and suddenly, violently, a yellow cab collided with him.  His battered and bruised body rolled up over the hood and into the windshield of the taxi.

He rolled off the car and hit the macadam hard.  With some effort, he got to his feet, ignoring the severe pain that was shooting through his right shoulder and down his right arm.

He saw the woman disappear down an alleyway.  They had been running for several blocks and it looked like she was slowing.  Hapwell resumed his pursuit.

Finally, the detective caught a break.  The alley was a dead-end, and the woman he was chasing was trapped.  Hapwell’s right arm was hanging down to his side, useless.  Blood dripped from a deep cut on his leg.  He held his gun in his left hand pointing it straight at the woman.  The woman stood panting and retching, her back to the gnarled and rusted, chain link fence.

Hapwell spoke first, he too was out of breath.  “What…the hell is wrong with you?  Seriously!  Did you not hear me…clearly, say stop?  You idiot!  Damn!”  The detective spat on the street, blood mixed with saliva spattered on the macadam.  He wiped the blood and spit off his mouth with the back of his left hand.  “What the hell were you doing…in my partner’s apartment?”

The woman replied, “Ooh, partners.  Sorry…didn’t realize you two…were an item…”

“Goddammit, answer the question” Hapwell’s patience was runnning out.

“I came there two nights ago, for our…weekly…meeting.  We’re in a…book club together,” and the scantily clad woman smiled at the irritated detective.  “He wasn’t there, so I…let myself in and crashed for the last two nights…that’s all.”

“I suppose you have your own key.”

“No, but I know where he keeps the secret spare.  He should really be more careful…don’tcha think?”  When the woman said the word secret, she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers.  “Anyway, I didn’t take nothin’, I just slept there…yeah, OK, I drank a couple of his beers and ate a couple of bowls of his corn flakes.  But that’s it.  I swear on the life of my mother.”

“Why’d you run then?  Afraid I wouldn’t approve of the book you two were reading together?  What was it by the way?  What book were you and Block discussing?”  Hapwell was starting to believe the woman had nothing to do with Block’s disappearance, but he wasn’t going to let her off scot-free either.

“Harry Potter.  I betcha like that one don’tcha?  Now the question is, are you a Harry or a Herminey kind of guy?  And I ran because you were chasing me…duh…”

At that point, a small crowd had gathered at the alley and the sound of police sirens filled the air.

“It’s pronounced Hermione…oh, never mind!  You said Block hasn’t been home for two days?.”

“Nope.  I was disappointed, too.  Coulda used the dough, ya know?”  and she made a clicking sound with her mouth and winked at Detective Hapwell.

“Any idea where he might have gone?”

“Last couple of times we were…together…he mentioned somethin’ about comin’ into some money.  You’d be surprised how many guys say that though.  Guys always think they’re comin’ into some money.  He said he was workin’ for someone named McDonald or McSomething or other…I don’t remember.”

At that point, a police cruiser pulled into the alley.  Two officers jumped out and one of them addressed Hapwell.

“Whadda we got?”

Hapwell replied, “She’s a suspect in the disappearance of Detective Marion Block.  Cuff her and take her in.”

“What the…I told you, I don’t know where he is you piece-of-shit limey,” the cowgirl shouted.

“Ah, limey.  Yes…that hurts quite a lot.  Very clever.  You’ve cut me to the quick.” Sarcasm, as well as a little blood, dripped from Hapwell’s mouth.

“Whoa, Simon, you look like shit.  We better get you to a hospital.” The second officer exclaimed.

“No…no, I’ll be fine.  I…I need to check out Block’s apartment.  You got her?”

“Yeah, no problem.”  And the officer cuffed the woman and escorted her to the cruiser.  As the car pulled away and the crowd began to disperse, Hapwell began to suspect foul play in his partner’s disappearance.

Hapwell limped back to Block’s apartment.   With some effort, he managed to climb back up the fire escape and in through the window.  The first thing he noticed was the smell.  The air was tinged with the distinct smell of stale urine and smoke. The small, tight apartment was littered with empty pizza boxes and Chinese food containers.  Ashtrays, overflowing with cigarette butts, sat on the coffee table, the small kitchen table, and the counter next to the sink filled with crusty, dirty dishes and empty beer cans.  Fruit flies scattered as Hapwell walked through the kitchen.  Also on the counter was a pile of unopened mail.  The English detective’s shoulder was still hurting, but he managed to  flip through the months and months of unopened bills.  Hapwell’s forehead crinkled with concern.  On another pile he found horse racing forms and a couple dozen, scratched off “scratch off” lottery tickets.

A knock at the door startled him.

“Hello?  Mr. Block?  It’s Mrs. Beazle.  May I come in?”  a small, frail voice came through the door.

Hapwell went to the door and opened it.  “Yes, hello Mrs. Beazle. I’m Detective Simon Hapwell of the NYPD.  Marion was…is my partner.”  Hapwell flashed his badge.

“Oh my.  You look terrible.  Are you alright?  Can I get you a bandage or something?”

“No, thank you.  I’ll be fine.  Now, about Marion Block…”

“Yes, Mr. Block… maybe you can talk to him.  My husband and I own the building,” the diminutive, elderly woman seemed a bit distraught as she wrung her hands.  “He hasn’t paid his rent in 3 months, and when we ask him for the money, he gets downright belligerent.  Says he’s a cop and we should show some respect.”

“I’m sorry for that.  I think Marion has gone missing Mrs. Beazle.”

“Oh dear…that’s unfortunate.  Well, please let me know what you find.  He really was a nice man when we rented the apartment to him.  We will have to empty his apartment and rent it out…eventually.  Sorry if that sounds harsh.”

“No, I completely understand.  Of course.  I’ll let you know.”

Hapwell closed the door.  He stood there for a moment, thinking.  Block needed money, obviously.  And some Irish chap had entered into some kind of business agreement with him.  Block had been missing for at least two days and hadn’t called or checked in at home or at work.  It was certainly possible that Block’s “debtors” had been involved in his disappearance, but that seemed too simple.  He wasn’t about to give up that easily.  He was, after all, one of the best detectives the NYPD had.  And, love him or hate him, Block was his partner.

Hapwell’s head started to swim a bit, and he was reminded of the pain in his shoulder and the cut on his leg.  As he turned to make his way to the cheese-curl-covered sofa, he heard someone talking excitedly in the hall.  And then a sudden and bone chilling gunshot.  A second shot followed.  He went back to the door, opened it slightly and peered out through the crack.

In the hall, lying in a pool of blood, was Mrs. Beazle.  Standing over her was Marion Block.  His face was an ashen gray and his eyes had no iris or pupil.  They were completely white, and they were looking in Hapwell’s direction.

The Sidekick chapter 9

     Sean Macormac was packing his duffel bag when Abe stuck his head into the sidekick’s room. Another day had passed since Sean had revealed himself to the cabby, and the ice between them had begun melting.  It was early evening, and Sean was planning to leave the next morning.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Abe tried to sound nonchalant.  His arm was in a sling, and it still hurt to breathe, but he had grown tired of lying in bed and insisted on moving about the house.

“I don’t exactly know, but I’m leaving.  I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”  Sean sounded less than enthused about this course of action.

“Hell, I’d leave too, if I was you.  I’d be just as scared…” Sean had told Abe about the grandfather and the mysteries surrounding him.

Sean interrupted, “I’m not scared, Abe.  I…I just have to go is all.”

“Listen kid, I got a brother in Pennsylvania.  He lives on a farm near Bethlehem.  He rents an old farmhouse there and helps run the farm.  Funny, he and I always talked about buying a farm together someday.  I guess this is his next best thing.  We haven’t talked in a while, but I’m sure if I called him up,  we could go there and chill for a spell.  You could get your head straight.  It’s not that far from the city.”

“Really?  Are you sure he…wait, did you just say, ‘we’ ?”

“Yeah, kid.  I ain’t got a job to go back to, I’m pretty sure.  Ain’t been there for days.  Honestly, between you and me, I won’t miss it.  I got a couple of dollars socked away.  Been meaning to spend some time with Isaiah anyhow.  I think you’ll like him, my brother.  It’s real nice there.  There’s a couple of horses, chickens and goats and shit.”

“That sounds…great.  You’d do this?  For me?”

Abe looked at Sean with sorrowful eyes. ”Yeah.  I’d do this for you, kid.”

Sean looked Abe square in the eyes. “Abe, what happened to Kirby?”

“How’d you…”

“You were talking about him in your sleep.  Oh, and I took a little peek in your wallet.  Sorry ’bout that.”

Tears welled up in Abe’s eyes.  He turned abruptly and left the room.  Sean followed him down the stairs.

“Abe, please.  I’m not trying to make you upset, but I think you want to tell me and I want to listen…I do!”

Abe made his way through the kitchen, out the back door and into the yard.  The sun was setting and there was a chill in the air.  A light breeze blew dried leaves around the yard.

Abe turned on Sean.  “You want to know what happened to my grandson?  Huh?  Do ya?”  Tears were streaming down his face.  “He flew to New York to visit me for his 16th birthday.  I wanted to make it special, so…so as a surprise birthday gift, I made a reservation for him and me to have breakfast at the Windows on the World restaurant in the World Trade Center.  Had the whole day planned.  We were gonna go see a show that night, too.  Saved my tips for weeks…”

“Oh god…oh Abe…” Sean was beginning to realize what was coming.

“We were running late…I couldn’t find a parking space, so I…so I sent him up ahead of me to get our table.  By the time I found a spot, the first plane hit…”

“I’m so, so sorry.”  Sean had tears running down his cheeks, but Abe had started sobbing.

“He was a good boy.  Played the violin and was on the soccer team at school.  My son and his wife, they said they didn’t blame me, but we ain’t never been the same since.  He was…he was their only child.  My only grandchild.  I sometimes feel like I died that day too.  I sometimes wish…I sometimes wish I had.”

Sean went to Abe and put his arms around him.  And the two men cried together.  The wind had stopped and the world was still and quiet for a moment.

Abe broke the silence.  “Don’t squeeze so hard kid, I still got a bullet wound in my shoulder for Christ’s sake.”

“Yeah, sorry ’bout that. And I remind you of him?  Of Kirby?”

“First of all, stop sayin’ you’re sorry all the time. And yeah, when I saw you that night, all pathetic, walkin’ in the rain, I just…I had to stop.  Listen kid, I still ain’t happy about what you did to me, but I don’t really blame you for me gettin’ shot.  You and me…as of right now, we’re good.  But you gotta promise not to pull any more bullshit on me… OK?”  Abe wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

“I promise.”

“Good!”

Just then, Doc Stanley came barreling out the back door.  He was in a short, black and red kimono, with black slippers and black socks pulled up to his calves.  “What are you doing out here Abe?  You need to get inside and into bed.  I can’t very well heal you if you don’t listen to me and follow my orders!”

“Yes sir, Doc,” and he saluted with his “good” arm.  “I’ll call my brother tomorrow kid. OK?”

“Yeah.  OK.  Thanks Abe.”  Abe followed Doc Stanley back to the “hospital room” and Sean went back up to his room to finish packing.  He picked up the shoebox with his family’s secret history inside.  Sean sat down on the bed, opened the box and pulled out the picture of his hero.  He smiled as a warm, loving feeling flooded over him. The feeling was a little surprising.  He started to recall memories from his childhood.  He had, for years, rejected the idea that she was his mother.  He had even made a point of correcting people, sometimes in front of her.  “She’s my adopted mother,” he’d say.  He knew that hurt her.  He’d always kept her at arm’s length, never letting her in, fully.  But she never stopped trying.  And now she was dead, and he was realizing for the first time, that she was the only mother he’d ever really known.  And he felt ashamed.

Doc Stanley was suddenly standing outside Sean’s room.  “She sure did love you”.

Sean looked embarrassed and stuffed the picture into his duffel bag.  “Yeah…you mentioned that.  I loved her too Doc.  But…I was confused.  So confused.  I was never able to sort out my feelings.  About her, I mean.”

“It’s perfectly natural son.  No shame in that.  I’m sure she knew you loved her.”  Doc tried to console Sean.

“Yeah?  I hope so.  I just wish I had the chance to tell her, ya know?  But I won’t.  Ever.”  Sean wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Doc just stood there and gave Sean a half-smile.  “Well, g’night.  I’ll see you in the morning”

“Doc, it’s like, 8:00.  You’re going to bed?  And PS, you might want to pull that robe closed a little tighter…jeez.”

“Harumph…whaddaya want?  I’m old, you young whipper snapper.  And I need my beauty sleep.”  He winked at Sean as he cinched the robe tie tighter.  Sean heard the old doctor muttering to himself as he walked down the hall.  “Not that it’ll do any good.  Old is old…”

Sean laughed as he closed the door to his bedroom.

He thought he should go through the box, one more time, just to be sure he wasn’t missing anything important.  He picked up the key again.  He held it up to the light.  “What do you open?” Sean asked the key.  He then found a piece of string in the drawer of the side stand, next to the bed.  He tied the key to it, and slipped it over his head like a necklace.  He pulled some important looking papers out of the box.  One was his birth certificate, another looked like a contract of some kind.  Sean wasn’t in the mood to read over a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo, but he tossed them in his bag, nonetheless.

He laid down on the bed, put his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling.  He thought about his mother.  When he thought of her, usually, he thought of her as the hero.  But this time, he thought of her as his mom.  “Kristy Montclair…Mom,” he whispered.  “I love you, and I miss you.”  And with that, he turned over and fell fast asleep, at 8:15 in the evening.

The Duke had taken care of Block’s body exactly how Gabriel Macormac had instructed.  He removed his clothes and washed him down.  He placed him in the glass chamber that looked like a futuristic coffin, closed the door and locked the latch.   He then attached the black hose to the chamber and flipped the red switch.  The chamber filled with a white fog.

The Duke was able to lift the dead and bloated detective easily, because his strength had doubled since his resurrection.  Gabriel had made him all kinds of promises when they’d first met, and enhanced strength and stamina was one of them.  He would also need very little sustenance or sleep.  He told him, as long as he died from electrocution, he could “resurrect” him and offer The Duke immortality.  He would be dead in the eyes of the world, yet live forever.  Gabriel had unlocked the secrets to resurrection and immortality and he was willing to share them with The Duke, in exchange for his loyalty.  It was an unbelievable offer that The Duke couldn’t refuse.  But Gabriel didn’t tell him about the pain; the intense pain he was feeling in his temples.  He tried to ignore it as icy sweat ran down his cold and clammy forehead.  What The Duke didn’t know was that, in order to stay alive, he needed Macormac, now and forever.  Without the Resurrection Fog, he would die…and stay dead.

There were several more of these glass “pods” in the laboratory and The Duke crossed to one in particular.  He winced as another wave of pain surged through his head.  He laid his arm across the pod, as though he was hugging it, closed tight his milky-white eyes and pressed his colorless cheek against the glass.  This was the other promise that Gabriel had made to him.  This was the thing The Duke had wanted more than anything.  He wanted the hero.  He wanted her for his own.  And inside the pod, Kristy Montclair, the hero once known as Astounding Girl, the woman who’d adopted Sean Macormac, was in a deep coma, but she was alive.

She was alive.

And The Duke’s scream echoed through the lower levels of Macormac Industries as his head was wracked with yet another wave of excruciating pain.

The Sidekick chapter 8

   Abraham was sitting up in the bed, sipping on some peppermint tea.  His shoulder was healing and, even though he felt like he’d been hit by a bull elephant, he was actually starting to feel a little better.  It had been 3 days since Detective Block’s bullet had found its mark.  Abe woke up in Doc Stanley’s “hospital room” the day before.  He had no idea where he was, or how he’d gotten there.  Doc had assured him he was in safe hands and, selectively, delicately, recounted the previous couple of days.

During that time, Sean Macormac had been making plans.  He was also resting, eating and regaining his strength.  It had been 4 days since his hero’s death.  Three days since Abe had been shot.  And even though he had been chomping at the bit to see Abe and apologize for the whole sordid situation, Sean had kept his distance.  On Doc’s recommendation, he was letting Abe get acclimated to his new surroundings and heal, a bit, before dropping any bombs on him.  Sean, cautiously, tentatively, stepped into the room and cleared his throat. Abe looked up and immediately looked ready to spit nails.

“What the hell are you doing here?  Doc!  Doc, what the hell is he doing here?” Abe demanded, very loudly.

“I just came to…to check on you.  Make sure you were alright.  And, to say…I’m sorry” Sean took a deep breath and another step into the room.

“Well, you just keep your sorry ass away from me” Abe was clearly not in the mood for a reunion.

Sean froze.  “Listen, I wasn’t thinking clearly.  A lot of shit went down the night I met you…I…I…I need to tell you something.  Show you something, actually,” Sean brought his sidekick costume out from behind his back.  He held the costume up to his body and the mask up to his face.

“Aw, hell I knew that was you.  That mask barely covers any of your damn face,” Abe turned his head away from Sean.

“Yeah, so I’ve been told,” Sean chuckled, then paused a moment.  ”I saved your life you know.”  He regretted the words the second they passed his teeth.

“Are you…are you freakin’ yanking me with this?  It’s because of you my life needed saving at all!” One of Abe’s monitors started beeping a little faster.

Doc Stanley came rushing in.  “Sean, please.  I told you…Abe needs to remain calm” and he held Abe’s wrist, checking his pulse.

This was not the way Sean had envisioned this going.

“Sean, huh?  That your real name?” Abe asked with a tinge of disdain in his voice.

“Apparently, yeah.  I only just found out myself.  True story.” Sean replied.  “Name’s Sean Macormac, I guess.  Sorry I drugged you.  Sorry I got you shot…the eggs were delicious by the way.  Thanks for that.”

Abe looked hard at Sean, assessing the young man’s sincerity.  “Your mother, she got killed by The Duke that night…she was that superhero wasn’t she?  And you were her sidekick.”

Sean looked down at the floor.  “Yeah, that was her.  That was us.”

“What you did to me.  Wasn’t right.  Good Lord says forgive, so I’ll forgive.  I ain’t forgettin’ though…I ain’t forgettin’” Abe softened a little.

“Well, it’s a start.”And Sean brightened a little.

Detective Block pushed the button that rang the buzzer at Macormac Industries.  He had come there to collect his money.  He’d done what was asked of him, for the most part, and wanted to be paid, in advance, for the rest of it.  Block’s face was covered in bandages and the skin around his eyes was black and purple from the fall, from when the sidekick had confronted him.

“You may enter, Mr. Block,” a metallic voice came through the intercom.

“How’d you know it wuz me?” asked the dull and dirty cop.

And a “click” signaled that the door had been unlocked.  Block opened the door and stepped inside.  He had never been there before.  It was eerily quiet.  The door snapped shut behind him and he heard it lock again.

Block had entered into a two stories high, glass lobby.  The voice echoed off the walls.  It sounded distant and angry.  “Why did you come here without the boy.  That was your main objective.”

Block started to sweat.  “Yeah, yeah I know.  But I brung you the hero girl and that freak, The Duke, didn’t I?  I, umm, I came here for an advance on my payment.  I figure I deserve somthin’.”  The confidence that drove Block to come there was starting to leave him.  “Hey, uh, where are you?  This is a little weird.  You’re freakin’ me out.”

The voice replied, “You were to bring me the boy.  He’s all that matters.  You have failed me.”

“Waitaminnit, who the hell do you think you are, Darth Vader or somethin?  You’re gonna treat me with some respect or you’re gonna regret it.”  Block pulled a cigarette out from his inside coat pocket and a lighter from his pants pocket.  His hands were trembling as he attempted to light the cigarette.

Another voice echoed off the glass walls, “Those things’ll kill you, you know.  The cancer, the emphysema.  You really should be more conscious of your health.” This voice was vaguely familiar and it was closer.

“Who’s that?  What the hell is going on here?”  and the cigarette dropped out of Block’s mouth and to the floor.

“Have you ever wondered what it feels like to die Detective Block?  Hmmm?  I can tell you, it hurts quite a bit.” The new voice was suddenly right behind the detective, “And I don’t appreciate you calling me a freak”.  Block spun around, and there, standing before him was The Duke, his face an ashen gray, his eyes completely white; A ghostly, milky white.  He was smiling and holding a long metal rod.

“What the fu…” and before the detective could finish the expletive, The Duke touched the rod to Block’s face.  Electricity surged through his body as the blood drained from his face.  Within seconds he was dead.  His lifeless husk crumpled to the shiny, marble floor.  A feathery plume of smoke escaped his mouth and nostrils.

Gabriel Macormac emerged from the shadows.  “Take him below, Duke.  And then return to me.  I think I know how we can find my grandson.  It’s time to find out what kind of hero the boy really is.”

And with that, The Duke entered the elevator, dragging Block’s dead body behind him.  As the doors whooshed shut, the previously dead supervillain inserted a key into a secret keyhole in the control panel.  He turned it and the elevator began to move down.  Down, down, down it went, descending into the deep, dark, secret bowels of Macormac Industries.

The Duke propped the lifeless Block up against the wall of the elevator.  He knelt down and kissed the dead detective on the lips.  He leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Welcome to Hell, Detective Block.  Welcome to Hell.”

The Sidekick chapter 7

  Sean Macormac sat, stunned, in Doc Stanley’s kitchen.  He had changed from his sidekick costume into his “civvies”, as he called them, and he wondered if he’d ever wear the costume again.  He, numbly, pored over the letters and articles and pictures in the shoebox.  His tea had gone cold and day had turned to night.  The doctor checked in on Abe, from time to time and reported to Sean that the cabby was stable and sleeping peacefully.  Sean absent-mindedly nibbled on a turkey and cheese sandwich that Doc had prepared for him hours earlier.  He hadn’t eaten much over the last couple of days.  Then again, he hadn’t had much of an appetitie.  His last meal had been the late night eggs and cheese with Abe.  Sean winced as he thought back to that meal.  He drugged the old cab driver in order to gather his things and dispose of any evidence that the hero and the sidekick had lived there, at the house in the Bronx.  Had he not drugged Abe, Abe wouldn’t have been shot.  This weighed heavily on Sean’s conscience.

The sidekick had gone back there that night, not just to make the hero and the sidekick disappear, he went there to retrieve something. It wasn’t the motorcycle, although, he needed that too.  It wasn’t the handful of weapons the hero had taught him to use, although he brought them with him, as well.  No, this something was a something that kept him grounded in reality.  Something that reminded him that he had, at one time, been someone’s child.  It had been important enough to risk being caught.  And important enough to ignore the hero’s wish that, if anything happened to her, he leave the city and never look back.  It was an old, brown, stuffed bear that he’d had his whole life.  He couldn’t leave the house behind without it.

He pulled the bear from his duffel bag/sidekick costume.  It had a red bow around its neck, was missing an eye and had a small rip on the seam of its left paw.  Its colors had faded and the fur had become somewhat threadbare.  He put it up to his nose and breathed in the scent.  It smelled like home.  He had kept it in the secret room at the house, locked away in the desk.  He hadn’t taken it out in years.  But now, he was happy he had it with him.  He put it back in the bag and went back to the shoebox and turkey sandwich.

Something was bothering him as he sifted through his family’s checkered history.  If his grandfather was a potential danger to him, why hadn’t someone taken him far, far away?  In a way, he was glad that he’d stayed.  Otherwise, perhaps he would never have learned the truth.  He might have lived his life in some, freezing cold town in Alaska, wearing mukluks and hunting elk.  Or, some dusty ranch in New Mexico, smoking pot and reading Hunter S. Thompson books.  He chuckled at these thoughts and decided he was very glad to have stayed in New York as a superhero’s sidekick.  And besides, his grandfather had been committed and was unlikely to be released without having gotten better, right?  Sean wondered if this was realistic, or just wishful thinking on his part.  He wondered if his grandfather was actually well and merely looking to reunite with his grandson.  Something was telling him that he would soon find out.

Then, another, more disturbing thought entered his mind.  What if his grandfather was truly unwell.  What if his grandfather was the person on the other end of the conversation with Block, back in the warehouse?  What if Gabriel Macormac had enlisted Block to track and find him.  But, if that was true, then why?  What did he want?

Doc Stanley interrupted the internal dialogue that Sean was having with the sidekick.

“So, what’s the plan, son?  Your mother, she wanted to protect you from all that.” And he pointed at the shoebox as he sat down at the table.

“I know she meant well, but…she should’ve told me,” Sean replied as he rubbed his eyes.

“To be honest, I believe she knew you’d find out someday.  One way or another.  I mean, you were right here, in the same city where it all happened,” said the doctor.  “Frankly, I’m surprised it took this long.  Damn shame it had to happen like this.  Didn’t  you ever wonder though?  Did it never come up?”

“She told me my parents disappeared.  She did.  But I never pushed further.  I guess that was enough for me.  Maybe, deep down, I didn’t want to know.  Did you know my parents?  Or my grandparents?”

“No, son.  Sorry to say, I did not.  Before you came along, a young superhero by the name of Astounding Girl came in to the hospital where I worked before I retired.  She had a concussion and a nasty gash on the back of her head.  She’d been hit from behind with a sword.  An honest-to-goodness sword.  I helped her that day, protected her secret identity and she’s been coming to me ever since.  She brought you to me, for the first time, when you were only 10 years old.  Do you remember?  You had a deep cut on your arm from that robbery you foiled.  I had to stitch you up.  Wasn’t the last time either.”

“That’s right, she went by Astounding Girl then,” and Sean laughed.  Doc laughed too.

“Yep.  Astounding Girl.  Glad she changed it.  She was crazy and fearless.  Saved a lot of people over the years.  She didn’t have many friends.  Kept to herself, pretty much.  She sure did love you, though.” Doc replied.

Sean had stopped laughing.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I know, Doc.  I know.”  At that moment, he pulled a picture of the hero out of the shoebox.  It was clearly from her younger days as the hero.  “Why’d she do it, Doc?  Why’d she become a superhero?  I never asked her.”

Doc took his glasses off and wiped them with his shirt.  “She just wanted to help people, son.  No sad story.  No tragic event.  She wanted to do good.  Not enough people like her, in the world, if you ask me. Seems like most folks need some sort of catalyst to move them to action.  Not her though.  She was truly one of the good ones.”  Doc put his glasses on, got up from the table and made his way to the doorway.  As he passed Sean, he stopped, and put his hand on his shoulder.  “I’m going to bed.  You should too.  Abe will be fine.  I’ll check on him throughout the night.  And his monitor’s are all wired up to an alarm in my room.  So, anything changes, I’ll know.  It’s pretty loud, so you’ll know too”  And he smiled a half-smile.

“Good night Doc, and thanks…for everything.”

“You’re very welcome.  I made up a bed for you upstairs.  Now don’t go doing anything foolish like running to Macormac Industries tonight.  You need some rest.”

“I know, I know.  I won’t go anywhere tonight.  Promise.” and Sean held his right hand straight up as though he was taking an oath.  He was telling the truth.  He had no plans to leave that night.  Doc left Sean alone in the kitchen and he sat there in silence for a few minutes.  Then he got up from the table and made his way to the stairs.  He passed the hospital room on the way and peeked in on Abe.  He looked so peaceful.  He entered the room and crossed to the bed.

Abe started to stir.  He was mumbling something.  Sean leaned down to listen.

“No, no, Kirby don’t, don’t go Kirby…please, I can’t…Kirby come back here boy.  Come back…No…no…no…”  and he fell back to sleep.  Sean noticed that Doc must have pulled Abe’s wallet from his pocket and laid it on the side table.  Sean picked it up and opened it.  Inside was the usual wallet stuff; license, insurance card, a credit card and a couple of dollar bills.  The hundred-dollar bill the sidekick had given him and Simon Hapwell’s card were in there as well.  But the thing that caught his eye was a picture of a young, handsome, brown-skinned boy.  The boy had jet-black, curly hair, trimmed tight to his scalp.  He was standing behind a desk, his hands placed neatly in front of him.  And, he was smiling.  It was the classic school picture.  The picture was limp and cracked and a bit faded.  On the back, was written, “Kirby–3rd grade“.  Sean was certain that this was Abe’s grandson.  Sean looked down at the sleeping cabby.  He hoped he’d have another chance to ask him about his grandson.  He carefully placed the picture back in the wallet and was about to put it down, when he stopped and pulled out Detective Hapwell’s card.  He looked at it and wondered if this was a cop he could trust.  He couldn’t know for sure, but he’d had a feeling when he’d met him.

Maybe, just maybe…

Across town at that very moment, Detective Simon Hapwell was stopping by the city morgue, on his way home.  Something had been bothering him since the previous night at the warehouse, when The Duke and the hero were found dead.  When the coroner came to pick up the bodies, he noticed Detective Block talking with him, for quite a long time, and acting somewhat suspiciously.  Simon thought Block acted suspiciously most of the time, but this was strange, even for Block.  And he could have sworn he saw Block hand the coroner something.  A bag maybe.  He couldn’t be sure.

Hapwell signed in with the clerk.  “Just here, checking on a couple of bodies from a crime scene.  You may have heard about The Duke and the woman he murdered.”

“Right, right.  Poor thing.  She was a social worker, right?” the clerk was chewing her gum like a cow chews its cud.  The young woman was wearing an outfit that Cyndi Lauper could’ve worn in one of her music videos in the 80′s, and a tad too much make-up.  “That was just last night, right?  Or was it the night before?  All the dead bodies start to look the same, ya know.  Yeah, I was on duty.  Usually he asks me to help him, ‘specially with 2 bodies.  But, uh, this time he told me to go have a smoke break.  It wasn’t like him, so I thought maybe the bodies were, like, super gruesome or something like that.  I don’t mind if they’re all together, but I can’t stomach the ones that are, ya know, like, dismembered.  You got a pretty accent…you from Australia or somethin’?”

“Um, no, England actually.  Yes, very well, could we go see the bodies, then?  You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”  Hapwell was anxious to see the bodies before anyone got suspicious about his motives.  So far the clerk seemed completely clueless.

“Sure, sure.  Let’s go.  Ummmm…let’s see” she checked her computer, “they’re in 22 and 23.  Follow me Mr. England.”

Hapwell followed the young woman to the refridgerated lab, a wake of strong perfume made it hard for him to breathe.

“Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…here they are.  I’m warning you, I may throw up.  It’s been known to happen.”  the clerk admitted as she pulled on the handle attached to 22′s door.  It slid out like a filing cabinet drawer.

It was empty.

Hapwell pulled 23′s drawer out.  Empty.

“What the hell?” the clerk was genuinely surprised.  “That almost never happens.”

Hapwell’s suspicians were warranted.  The bodies were gone, and he knew Block had something to do with it.  Exactly what, though, he didn’t know.

But he was damn sure going to find out.

The Sidekick interlude

     Part I

     Mary Macormac, and her husband Jack, had tried to get pregnant for years.  Mary, who was 35 years old and Jack, 3 years her junior, had all but given up hope when her, very reliable, very predictable, period was late.  After three pregnancy tests, and a visit to the doctor for good measure, they knew for certain, and were beside themselves with joy.  Soon after, however, their celebration ended, when Jack’s mother got sick.  It had come on suddenly, and her health declined dramatically and quickly.  After only a few months, Margaret Macormac had become bedridden.  Margaret’s husband, Jack’s father, Gabriel, was devastated.  By all accounts, throughout their entire marriage, Gabriel had been obsessed with the beautiful, but tragic Margaret.  He was losing the love of his life, and at the same time, some thought, he was losing his mind.  Then one morning, Jack went to visit his mother, and to his absolute horror, she was gone.  Gabriel was virtually catatonic, and offered no explanation or consolation.  There were those who thought, for sure, something sinister had occurred.  And they were certain it had to do with money.

Twenty years earlier, when Jack was only 12 years old, Margaret’s wealthy father, Jack’s grandfather, had a massive heart attack and died. And, since Margaret was his sole heir, a sizable fortune came to her and, by association, Gabriel.  Gabriel was an inventor and had struggled his whole life to get his inventions made.  At Gabriel’s insistence, they used the bulk of that money to start a small company, Macormac Industries, of which Gabriel became CEO.  Gabriel ran the company, but Margaret owned it.  The company concentrated on technology innovations of all kinds and it thrived for almost two decades.  But Gabriel had a pet project he’d been working on, alone and in shrouded secrecy.  He’d stay, after everyone went home, for hours and hours, working and working.  Sometimes days, then weeks would go by when Margaret wouldn’t see her husband, or Jack his father.  This went on for a number of years and finally, Margaret confronted her husband about it.  They argued.  Employees at M.I. reported that, for days, there had been heated discussions and arguments behind closed doors.  And, it was shortly after that, Margaret fell ill.  There had been whisperings about the secret project, but it wasn’t until Margaret disappeared that the reports started to surface.  There was enough hearsay evidence to arrest Gabriel on the suspicion that he had something to do with Margaret’s disappearance.  But the trial ended quickly with a “not-guilty” verdict.  There was no body and no significant evidence of foul-play.

After the trial, Gabriel became a recluse.  He fired everyone at M.I. and moved into the facility.  He lived there and worked there, alone for months and months.  He had food delivered there.  He had his clothing picked up, laundered and returned by a service.  He never, ever left the facility.  Jack, believing that his father had killed his mother and disposed of the body, wanted nothing to do with him.  And that’s just the way it was.  It had been months since the trial and now, Jack’s wife was about to give birth to a baby boy.  They settled on Sean.

The boy’s name would be Sean Macormac.

Part II

Mary Macormac was 9 months pregnant when she went into labor, on a beautiful spring day, at 3:oo in the afternoon.  Sean was born at 7:00 that evening.  Mother and child were healthy.  Father was proud and pleased.

All was well.

Three years passed.  Mary went back to work at the hospital, where she was a brilliant and respected surgeon. And Jack opened the flower shop that had always been his dream.  Jack had supported Mary while she was in medical school, and after she’d become a surgeon, he was able, financially, to quit his job and open the flower shop.  His mother loved flowers and Jack had wanted to open the flower shop in her memory.  In fact, he named the shop Margaret’s.  Every day he’d bring Sean with him to the shop.  He loved bringing him there, and Sean loved being there amongst all the flowers.

One Sunday morning, Jack and Sean headed out to the shop.  Mary was off from the hospital and Jack decided to let her sleep in.  After they’d been gone for a few hours, Mary was awakened by someone pounding on the back door.

“Where’s my grandson??”  Gabriel bellowed.  He sounded like a wounded, wild animal.  “Bring him to me!”  Mary, was terrified.  Even though it had been years since she’d seen him, she recognized Gabriel’s voice.   She picked up the phone from beside the bed.  Nervously, she dialed the number to the flower shop.  Gabriel was pounding harder now.  It sounded like he was trying break down the door.  It took her 3 tries to get the number right.  The phone rang for, what seemed like, forever.  Finally, Jack answered.

“Jack, your father is here.  He sounds crazy.  He’s trying to get in the house.  Oh my god, Jack.  He wants Sean.”  Mary was panicked, and Jack could hear it in her voice.

“Sweetheart, stay calm, I’m leaving now.  I’ll leave Sean with Harriet.  He’ll be fine.  I love you.”  Jack was trying to remain unemotional with Mary, but with his entire being he wanted to scream.

Mary replied, “I love you too, Jack.  Oh god…he stopped…”

Then Jack heard what sounded like breaking glass.

“Please help me.  Jack, he’s in the house!  Please hurry!” Mary was frantic.

“Where’s my son?  Where’s my grandson??”  Jack heard his father’s strained voice through the phone.  Then he heard Mary scream, and the phone went dead.

Jack handed his 3-year-old baby boy to his assistant.  He kissed Sean on the head and said, “Don’t be scared little guy, I’ll be right back.”

And he left.  And he didn’t come back.

Hours passed and when Jack didn’t return, Harriet called the police.  Officers were dispatched to Jack and Mary’s home.  There they found the broken window and signs of a struggle, but no Jack and no Mary.  While the police were there, a young woman with a blue and gold costume and mask, on a motorcycle, came on the scene.

“Hello officers!  How may I be of assistance?” the young woman said with gusto, as she dismounted her steel horse.  She looked like she’d stepped right out of a comic book.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” a young, somewhat disheveled officer named Block asked incredulously.  “Is it Halloween?” he laughed a gravelly laugh, tossed a cigarette butt into the street, and spat on the sidewalk.

“I am Astounding Girl” she cringed as the words passed her lips and she knew she would have to change her superhero name.  Over the last many years, common citizens had begun to fight crime, on their own, in various cities across the world.  Some had usurped fictional superhero personas like “Superman”, “Spiderman” and “Batman”.  But others had come up with their own, unique superhero names and costumes.  Some had gotten themselves seriously injured, and some others had gotten themselves seriously killed.  The thing was, none of them had any actual super powers.  They could not fly.  They did not have the proportionate strength of a spider.  Nor did they have the unlimited resources of Bruce Wayne.  They did, however, take martial arts classes and use common weapons and bullet-proof armor to protect themselves.  The advent of the common superhero gave rise to the inevitable, supervillain.  Supervillains became a sore subject with the police.  Many blamed the superheroes for their existence.  Some of the superheroes did help, though, and in many cities and towns across the globe, crime statistics, actually, went down.

Astounding Girl was the newest superhero in New York City.

Officer Block wasn’t impressed.  He crossed to the young hero and got right in her face.  “Get lost, ya freak.  We don’t need no help.  This is a police matter.  Period.”  And he put his hand on the superhero’s shoulder, intending to push her backwards.  At lightning speed, Astounding Girl grabbed Block’s hand and twisted it, so that his arm was now pinned behind his back.  Her many hours of self-defense classes were paying off.

“Don’t…push…me.  Oh, and you might want to consider investing in some breath mints…and maybe some deodorant,” the hero said through her teeth.

“Get the hell offa me.  I’m a cop, you can’t do that to me!” Block yelled. “Hey, don’t just stand there!  Somebody arrest this bitch!”

Another officer laughed. “I don’t know Block, sure looked like you were askin’ for it to me.  Verged on police brutality, I think.”

And the other officers laughed, too.  The hero released Block.

“You just made yourself an enemy, missy,” Block warned.  And he spat again, this time in Astounding Girl’s direction.

“Fine by me,” the hero taunted.  “I wouldn’t want you as a friend anyway. You’re not my type…”

Just then, a police cruiser pulled up, and a woman holding a small boy got out of the back seat.  She was clearly distraught and the little boy was crying.  Astounding Girl calmly walked over to the woman and said in a quiet, gentle voice, ”May I?” and she held her hands out for the child.

The boy went to the hero and stopped crying.  She held him tight, gently bounced him and said quietly in his ear, “It’s going to be alright, little one.  You’re going to be alright.”  She hadn’t been thinking about having a child.  But something about the boy touched her.  The hero would, over the next year, work towards adopting the little boy.  And, eventually, she would train him as her sidekick.

The police, knowing the family history, went to Macormac Industries.  They found Gabriel, but not Jack and not Mary.  There were no bodies.  There was no blood.  Jack and Mary had disappeared, completely, just like Margaret.  And Gabriel had gone insane.  The officers would later report they found Gabriel crying and shaking and holding a brown teddy bear, rocking it back and forth.  Gabriel was admitted to the local insane asylum.  The teddy bear made its way back to the little boy, through the kindness of a young officer, new to the NYPD, imported from England, by the name of Hapwell.  And as the years went by, the little stuffed animal would become the boy’s only connection to his life with his parents.

For his protection, the boy’s name was changed.  And for many years, life just went on as “normal”.

Then Gabriel was released from the asylum.

The Sidekick chapter 6

     Doc Stanley was working in his garden.  The doctor was an older, somewhat shorter gentleman with thick glasses, long, wiry, pepper and salt hair and a big, bushy gray mustache.  His nose hair had grown so long that it co-mingled with the mustache and his ear hair had merged with the hair on his head and his sideburns.  He was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and a wide-brimmed, straw hat.  His tan shorts were pulled up to his chest and he wore black socks and Birkenstock sandals.  Doc Stanley loved his gardening, especially in the Fall, and was enjoying the warm, peaceful, sunny day.

The thunder of a motorcycle engine broke the silent serenity.  The sidekick pulled up behind the tall, wooden privacy fence at the back of the doctor’s property.  Doc knew immediately who it was and his annoyance at the noise melted away at the thought of seeing his friends.  His feeling of joy turned quickly to dread, at the sight of the sidekick carrying the wounded man into the doc’s backyard.

Doc was flustered, “What happened?  Who’s that and where’s…”

“She died, Doc…She’s dead.” The sidekick choked on the words.

“Oh…oh dear,” Doc replied.  Tears welled up in his eyes.  “You’re certain…”

“Yeah, Doc.  I found her.  This is Abe.  He’s a cab driver who helped me last night.  He got shot because of me.  Save him Doc, please.”  The sidekick looked bleary eyed and weary.

“Let’s get him inside.  We’ll see what we can do to save your friend” Doc Stanley shuffled towards the backdoor of his home, his face wet with tears.

The sidekick followed with the old cabby in his arms. “He’s not my…” but the sidekick didn’t finish the sentence.  Abe had helped him.  Now that the hero was dead, he was the closest thing the sidekick had to a friend.  And so far, the sidekick hadn’t been a very good friend to Abe.  He hoped he’d have the chance to change that.

Upon entering the house, Doc Stanley and the sidekick went straight to the ”hospital room”.  That’s what the sidekick called it, anyway.  He had been there, with the hero, dozens of times over the years for cuts, bruises, broken bones, fevers, etcetera.  The hero always brought the sidekick to Doc Stanley, as far back as he could remember.  They always kept their masks on when they were with Doc, and the doctor had never, to the sidekick’s knowledge, asked a single question about their secret identities.

Abe was gently placed on the bed, and with an intensity, speed and precision that betrayed his cartoonish visage, Doc Stanley went to work.  The sidekick watched in awe as the gruesome bullet wound was cleaned, and dressed.  The doctor put Abe on a mild pain-killer/sedative intravenous drip and shot him full of antibiotics as a precaution.

“He’ll be fine,” Doc said in a comforting tone, as he washed his hands, and Abe’s blood disappeared down the drain. “He won’t be driving a cab any time soon, but he’ll be fine.”

The sidekick and the old doctor left Abe alone and went to the kitchen.

“Tea?” Doc was already pouring a cup for himself.

“Yes, please.” and the sidekick collapsed onto a chair at the kitchen table.

Doc looked at the sidekick out of the corner of his eye.  “You can take off your mask.  You’re safe here,” Doc reassured the sidekick as he placed a hot, steaming cup of tea in front of the sidekick.

The sidekick was shocked. “But, but.. I cannot reveal my secret identity to you,” his “sidekick” voice had automatically kicked in.

“Pshht.  Do you really think, after all these years, I don’t know who you are?  Son, I know more about you than you know about you,” the old doc chuckled, in spite of himself.  “She always insisted you be cautious, for your safety, but she knew I knew.  And, she had confided in me about…some things, from time to time.  Besides, who do you think you’re fooling??  That thing barely covers any of your face to begin with.  Take off your mask, son.”

The sidekick slowly, and with great trepidation, took his mask off.  He felt naked in front of the doctor.  He had never revealed his identity to anyone before.  The whole situation was surreal to him, but in a way, also freeing.

“There’s the little boy I watched grow up.  Now drink your tea before it gets cold.”  Doc smiled at the young man sitting at his kitchen table.  His smile faded quickly however, and he asked, “How did she die, son?  What happened?  I, foolishly, began to believe she was indestructible.  You, too.”

The sidekick blew on his tea and took a sip.  He then proceeded to tell the doctor the whole sordid story.  From the distress call, to The Duke’s suicide, to finding the hero dead, to the over-heard phone conversation with Block, and finally to meeting Abe, and the cabby being shot.  It was hard for the sidekick to believe all that had happened over the last 12 hours.  He hadn’t slept and it was catching up to him. His exhaustion was intensifying his emotions.  His eyes filled with tears again.

“I was in love with her, Doc.  I’ve never told anyone that before, but I was.  I never got a chance to tell her, and now I never will,” the sidekick confessed.

“Oh pshht.  Don’t give me that Oedipus baloney, she was your mother.  Of course you had strong feelings for her, but you were her son and she was your mother.  Period.  She took you in, cared for you, raised you…”

“Trained me, you mean!  I never had a childhood.  She trained me as her sidekick from the time I was 5 years old” the sidekick raised his voice a bit, he could feel his face reddening.

“She was protecting you!” the old doctor matched the sidekick’s volume and intensity. “And she was teaching you how to protect yourself.  She loved you as a son.”

The sidekick felt a little sheepish.  Had he mistaken his feelings for the hero?  Now he was confused and getting more upset. “What was she protecting me from, Doc??”

Doc Stanley stood there in the kitchen, dumbfounded, speechless.  There was an awkward silence that felt interminable.

The sidekick ended the quiet. “Doc, what do you know about Macormac Industries?”

Doc Stanley sat down with his tea and looked intently at the boy.  His expression turned to one of great concern.  He took his glasses off and rubbed between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.  After a few seconds he replaced his glasses and replied, “Why do you want to know about that?”

“After I over-heard Block, this dropped out of his pocket,” the sidekick handed the card to Doc.

“This could be anything, you don’t know.  Block could’ve…could’ve picked this up anywhere, uh…uh…a policeman’s convention or, or…something like that.”  but the doctor wasn’t an actor and the sidekick wasn’t buying it.

“Doc, please.”

“Listen, she made me swear to never tell you.  I can’t…I shouldn’t…”

“But she’s dead now, isn’t she,” the sidekick was getting angry. “I need to know why this happened.  What’s going on??  This isn’t just another crazy super villain doing bad stuff for the hell of it, or for money, is it?!  I need to know what you know!!  I’m going to Macormac Industries.  What will I find there, Doc?”

The doctor sat there for a few seconds and stared at the business card.  He looked up at the confused and angry young man.  Then he got up from the table and left the room.  He returned with a shoebox and sat it down in front of the sidekick.

“This is all I know,” and he pointed at the shoebox.  “She gave it to me, for safe-keeping.  It’s not much, but…I think you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

The sidekick swallowed hard and opened the box.  He suddenly felt like he had a mouthful of sand.  The box was filled with legal documents and newspaper clippings, pictures and letters.  A small key caught his eye and he picked it up and ran his fingers over the teeth.  He picked up a newspaper article and read about a man who’d been accused of murdering his wife for her money.  The article explained that the wife, who had inherited quite a sum of money from her family, had been very ill and then, suddenly, disappeared.  Her body was never found and, subsequently, the man was acquitted and set free.  The sidekick stared hard at the man in the picture in the article.  The caption under the grainy, faded photograph revealed the man’s identity.  His name was Gabriel Macormac and he looked, to the sidekick, strangely familiar.

Doc Stanley could see the sidekick struggling.  The doctor had opened a very large can of worms with this shoebox, and now felt a responsibility to help the sidekick deal with the worms.  “Son, you’re not who you think you are.  That man…that man in the article is your grandfather.”  The doc looked the sidekick square in the eyes.

“Your name is Sean Macormac.  And he’s looking for you.  Your grandfather has been looking for you for a long time.”

The Sidekick chapter 5

     Abraham woke up with a splitting headache.  He was groggily aware that he was lying on an unfamiliar sofa, in an unfamiliar living room, in an unfamiliar house.  The smell of eggs and cheese and butter lingered in the air.  Light streamed through the windows, it was a bright, beautiful, Autumn morning.

Abe’s head was cloudy, however, and it started spinning as he tried to sit up.  “Damn,” he said in a dry, hoarse voice.  He made his way to a sitting position, rubbed his temples and tried to ignore the feeling like he might throw up.  The events of the previous night swirled in his head.  The last thing he remembered was the boy, John, laying him down on the couch and saying, “Just relax, you’ll be ok.” And then the world became a vortex and blackness overtook him.  “Damn kid,” Abe rasped.  His thumb and forefinger probed the breast pocket of his shirt.  There he found the hundred-dollar bill and Detective Simon Hapwell’s business card.

He looked to his right and, slowly, a glass of water and two white tablets that looked like Alka Seltzer came into focus.  There, beside the glass, was a small, yellow sticky note that simply said, “Drink”.   For some reason, Abe trusted the note, dropped the tablets into the water, waited for them to dissolve and drank.  He took the sticky note, crumpled it up and shoved it in his pants pocket.  Within a few seconds, he felt better.  And after about a minute he felt a lot better.  So much so that he jumped up from the couch and ran into the kitchen.  All the dishes and pans from the egg and cheese feast were clean and drying in a wooden rack by the sink.  Posted on the rack was another sticky note.  One word was written on it  “Sorry.”  He shoved that note in his pocket as well.

“Damn.” Abe said again, this time his voice sounded normal.  “Damn, damn, damn.”

Standing there in the kitchen, Abe didn’t know what to do next.  He’d been drugged by a kid who he’d tried to help.  The police would be back, probably soon, and now the kid was gone.  That would not look good.  As he stood there, pondering his next move, he became aware of another smell, other than the cooking odors.  It was acrid, and it seemed to be coming from a door in the kitchen.  Abe carefully, warily opened the door.  It opened on a set of rickety, wooden stairs leading down.  Abe’s curiosity was getting the better of him.  He knew he should be in his cab speeding away, but he had to know what the smell was.

He found the light switch, and slowly made his way down the stairs.  He could feel his heart beating faster.  His knees were creaking as much as the stairs, and when he got to the bottom, to his surprise he found…a plain old basement.  There was nothing there, except an old, rusted and broken exercise bike, some antique looking wooden skis, a single cardboard box (which upon closer examination, held instructions for the appliances in the kitchen and the washing machine and dryer),  a washing machine and dryer, and what looked like a very, very old computer printer.

With a shake his head, Abe dismissed the smell and started to leave the basement.  As he did, his shoe caught slightly on a very thin crack in the concrete floor, and he stumbled.  He glanced down and cursed under his breath.  The crack was as thin as a human hair and virtually imperceptible to the eye.  He knelt down and ran his fingers over the cement.  Then he realized that the thin fissure kept going in a rectangular shape.  Suddenly, it looked an awful lot like a door.  Abe’s stomach tightened.  He tried to get his fingernails into the crack, but to no avail.  He jumped up and down on it.  It made a dull “thud” sound.  Maybe his imagination was getting the better of him, but it certainly seemed like the strong smell was coming from that hairline fracture in the cement.

He tried once again to get under it with his fingernails, but again failed to move the cement rectangle an iota.  A low chuckle started in his throat as he realized how ridiculous he was being.  “Silly old man,” he said to himself, “What did ya think you were gonna find, huh?  A super-secret hideout or somethin’?”  And with that, he started back up the stairs.  There was no railing on his left side, so he kept his hand on the brick wall as he ascended back to the kitchen.  As he reached the last step, his hand brushed over a wobbly brick.  Abe stopped.  He pushed on the brick, nothing happened.  He pulled on the brick, and it moved.  And as he removed it from the wall, his pulse quickened again.  Inside the void was a black, metal button.  He pressed it down and heard the sound of cement blocks moving against each other.  He replaced the brick, slowly turned on the stairs and started back down.  This time a very different sight met him at the bottom.

The door shaped crack in the cement floor had shifted down and over, revealing a set of stone steps.  Abe approached this new opening with some trepidation and, much to his surprise, excitement.  Abe heard his heart in his ears as he descended the stone steps.  Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and his palms began to sweat.  The steps lead to another cement room, and as he entered it, lights flickered on automatically.  The bitter smell was much stronger here and Abe glimpsed, what he thought could’ve been, melted office equipment.   It was as though someone had poured some sort of acid over what was probably a computer and desk.  The charred remains of paper sat in a metal trashcan in the middle of the room.  On one wall there were empty hooks positioned in such a way, they looked like they might have held weapons, or sporting equipment.  After the events of the past evening, Abe was betting on weapons.  A glass front wardrobe sat empty on another wall.

It looked, to Abe, as though someone had done a pretty thorough job of getting rid of some things they didn’t want anyone to find.  Abe was betting it was his new “friend”, John.  He couldn’t help but wonder where John was and why he’d felt it necessary to drug him.  And what secrets this room held before it had been cleared out.  “I doubt his name is even John.  Punk.  And I made him that nice meal.  If I ever find him again…”

Suddenly, a red light that was on the same wall as the wardrobe started to flash.  And a weak, sick sounding buzzer sounded.  After a couple of seconds the buzzer stopped completely, but the red light still flashed.  Abe was scared out of his wits.  This had to be a proximity alarm.  Someone was coming into the house.  He just instinctively knew it.  He felt in his pants pocket and found the keys to his cab and sighed a sigh of relief.  “What am I gonna do?” Abe whispered to himself.

Then a thought occurred to him.  If there was a way to open the secret room from the outside, there must be a way to close it from the inside.  And he, somewhat frantically, started looking for a black, metal button near the bottom of the stairs.  And, just as he’d hoped, there on the brick wall, inside a void where a brick should’ve been, was an identical button to the one upstairs, in the basement.  He pressed it and the slab of concrete shifted over and down, closing him into the secret room.  Abe couldn’t help but feel the secret room now suddenly felt like a secret tomb.

The cement floor closed, not a minute too soon, however, because he heard shuffling shoes from above.  Much to Abe’s relief, they faded quickly.  He then turned his attention to the room again.  On the wall opposite the wall with the hooks, was a metal door.  Why hadn’t he noticed it before?  He pulled on the handles and the door groaned open.  It opened into a passageway, an underground tunnel.  It was pitch-black in the tunnel, but as he stepped inside, another light flickered on.  Abe decided he’d rather take his chances with the tunnel than return to the house through the basement.   As he progressed deeper into the tunnel, another light would come on as the previous one would go out.  He’d only been walking for about 30 yards, when he noticed above him, what looked like an exit.  The tunnel continued in front of him, but he was now interested in where the exit would lead.  He climbed the metal ladder up and up until he came to a wooden door.  He pushed on it.  It opened easily and he pulled himself up through the floor of what he thought must be a large shed or very small garage.  He looked out the dirty and streaked window and could see that he was in the alley behind John’s house.  In the shed was a large gas can, containers of oil and various tools used to work on automobiles.  Abe pushed open the door to the shed, made sure the coast was clear, and stepped out into the crisp, bright morning.  By the position of the sun, Abe could tell that it wasn’t yet noon.  He could see his cab sitting just down the alley where he’d parked it, the sun reflecting off the shiny yellow metal.

“Freeze!” came a voice from the back door of John’s house.  Abe saw Detective Block coming towards him, his revolver aimed in his direction.  Although Abe had nothing to hide, he doubted the detective would believe his story.  He wheeled around and started running.

“I said freeze dirtbag!” Block warned.  But Abe kept running.   As he reached the cab, he heard a gunshot.  The bullet whizzed past his left ear and shattered the windshield of the cab.

And, just as Abe pulled on the door handle, another gunshot rang out.  Suddenly Abe’s left shoulder exploded and a hot spray of blood hit him in the face.  He fell hard on the macadam.  He was lying on his right side and could see Block coming towards him.

“Where’s the kid?  Huh?!  Goddamn it, where’s the freakin’ kid?” Block barked at the downed cabby.

The pain in Abe’s shoulder was too much to bear and he started to waft in and out of consciousness.  He thought he heard the roar of a motorcycle from behind him and then he saw the sidekick zoom into view, positioning his motorcycle between himself and Detective Block.

The sidekick dismounted his cycle. “Back off, Block!” He was dressed in his sidekick costume and mask, and using his “sidekick” voice.  “Whatever this man’s done, it doesn’t warrant you shooting him in the back!”

“Well if it ain’t the snotty little sidekick.  You’re obstructin’ justice.  Be a shame if I had to shoot you too.”  The dirty cop raised his gun and pointed it directly at the sidekick’s head.  But Block had no intention of shooting the sidekick.  The man he was working for, answering to, wanted the sidekick alive.  “Alive and unharmed,” were his exact words.

On the sidekick’s wrist was attached a powerful dart gun.  Too quick for the sluggish Block to react, the sidekick shot the sedative dart and hit the detective in the neck.  The effect was instantaneous.  Block fell forward, his face smashing into the pavement.  The sidekick thought he heard Block’s nose break when he fell, so he went to him and propped him on his side.  There was a lot of blood coming from Block’s nose and he was having trouble breathing.  The sidekick certainly did not want Detective Block to die by his hand, so he used the police walkie-talkie to call for back-up.

“Officer down, officer down!  Request assistance!” And he gave them the address and location of Detective Block.  He dropped the police radio on the ground and turned his attention to Abe.  The cabby was out cold and looking pale.  Carefully, and with some effort, the sidekick picked Abe up and gently placed him in the side-car of the motorcycle.  It was where he, the sidekick, would sit when he went on missions with the hero.  And now he was in the driver’s seat.  And he knew just where he needed to go.  He knew just who he needed to see.

Doc Stanley.  He needed to bring Abe to Doc Stanley.  But, as he looked down at the unconscious and bleeding Abraham, he hoped it wasn’t too little, too late.

The Sidekick chapter 4

     The sidekick peeped through the peephole and said, “You don’t look like police, where’s your uniform?”

“We’re detectives kid, hang on…” Block struggled to pull something out of his pants pocket, “We don’t wear uniforms, but here’s my badge” and he held it up to the peephole on the other side of the door.

“My mother told me to never open the door for strangers,” the sidekick was intentionally needling Block.  The other officer was tall, and lean, had a goatee and wore a black baseball cap low to his eyes.  It was dark out still, and the dim glow from the old, rusted porch light was just enough to make out shapes and a little detail.

“Young man, please open the door, it’s about your mother,” the 2nd officer spoke up.  He sounded much more pleasant than Block, more articulate, with an English accent.  The sidekick decided he’d better play along.  He slowly unlocked the door handle, slid open the bolt, and took off the chain.  Block opened the door and the two officers stepped into the entry.  Block didn’t smell any better than he had 2 hours ago at the warehouse.  If it was possible, the sidekick thought he smelled worse.  The nausea he felt when he heard Block’s voice had not subsided, and now that the grotesque, sorry excuse for a policeman was standing in his home, he worried it wouldn’t be going away any time soon.

“What’s going on?  Is she alright?” the sidekick was careful to not overact the part.  He yawned and rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand.  He was playing it down a bit.

The 2nd officer spoke first, “Son, I’m sorry, but your mother is dead.  She was killed by a dreadful criminal called The Duke.  Do you know who that is?”

“Oh my god…oh my god…ummm…yeah, yeah I think so.  He’s some kind of super villain, right?  Carries a scepter?” and the sidekick sat down next to the duffel bag on the bench,  putting his hand to his mouth, feigning incredulity.

“Yes, a scepter, that’s right.  If it’s any…consolation to you, and I know it’s difficult right now, but…but she did fight back.  The Duke is dead as well.  We’re not entirely sure how it happened, to be honest, the investigation has only just begun.  It’s a bit of a bugger, really.”  This officer seemed, almost, kind.  His English accent was disarming.  The sidekick thought how odd it was that these two particular officers ended up working together; the blockhead and the Brit.

“That your mom’s bathrobe, kid?” Block asked in a condescending tone.

The sidekick, in his haste, and in the darkness, had grabbed the wrong bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door.  It was a pink, fluffy bathrobe with kittens all over it.  “Yes, yes it is…was my mother’s.  I was in a bit of a daze, you woke me from a dead sleep.”

“Why’s your hair wet?” asked Block.  For reasons the sidekick could not fathom, Block was beginning to sound suspicious.

“I took a shower before I went to bed.  I guess it didn’t dry completely yet,” replied the sidekick.

“Funny, a taxi was stopped right outside your house when we pulled up, was that you?”  Block was all of a sudden being extremely direct.

“No, of course not.  I just told you, I was sleeping, I have no idea who that would’ve been.  Our neighbor tends to stay at the bars til all hours, maybe it was him,” the sidekick was starting to sound a bit defensive.  “Careful,” he thought to himself.

“That your duffel bag?  You goin’ somewhere?” asked Block.

The sidekick was getting agitated and was having a hard time hiding it.  “I was at the gym last night.  Look, I just found out my mother was killed, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be …”

Block interrupted, “Sorry kid, can’t do that.  You’re a minor and we can’t just leave ya alone.  You gotta come with us, down to the station.” And the gruff police detective grabbed the sidekick’s arm.

Just then, the cab driver that brought the sidekick home, came in from the kitchen.  The sidekick was just as surprised as the two officers, but tried not to show it.  “There a problem officers?” the cabby tried to sound as casual as he could.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Block, as he let go of the sidekick.

“Friend of the family.  Just got off my shift drivin’ cab and saw the police car out front, thought I’d better check on the boy” the man winked quickly at the sidekick. “What’s goin’ on?”

“We are parked down a few houses, sir.  Why would you think we were here, in this house?”  the officer that was not Block broke his silence.

“I saw you at the front door…kid, you alright?” the cabby tried to divert the attention away from himself.  He went to the sidekick, sat down next to him on the bench, and tentatively, somewhat awkwardly, put his arm around him.  The sidekick felt as though he might start crying again.  And he was sure it showed on his face.  He couldn’t help thinking that it was somehow helping his act.  At the same time, he was confused and thrown by the cab driver’s sudden and inexplicable appearance.

“The boy’s mother was killed tonight” the tall officer said.

“Oh…Lord.  That’s…that’s just terrible.” the cabby held the sidekick tighter,  ”Unless there’s anything else officers, and if it’s all the same to you, I can take care of the boy for tonight.”

Block looked down at the two co-conspirators with disdain and disbelief.  Something seemed fishy, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  No one ever accused Block of being the sharpest tool in the shed, but after years of detective work, he had learned to pick up on some clues.  He had no reason to bring the kid in now, however, so he acquiesced.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, no problem.  I’ll come by and check on you tomorrow kid.  You can count on that.” Block casually threatened.

“If there’s anything we can do, please call us.” the taller officer handed the cabby a card.  “It’s a different number than the general police number.  That one will get you directly to my desk.”  The card read “Detective Simon Hapwell“.

“Thanks Mr. Hapwell, I’ll call if we need you.” the cabby stood up and opened the front door for the police officers.  With a somewhat sarcastic tip of his hat, Block waddled out the door with Detective Simon Hapwell following.  The cabby closed the door and stood there for a moment.  He could hear the officers arguing as they walked away from the house.  He locked the door and returned to the bench beside the sidekick.

“Thank you.  I don’t know why you did that but…thank you.” said the sidekick.  He wiped his running nose on the sleeve of the bathrobe and then excused himself to the bathroom.  He changed to his own bathrobe, splashed some cold water on his face and took a long look at himself in the mirror.  ”Can I trust this guy?” he asked his reflection.  He wasn’t used to trusting anyone.  He sat on the side of the bathtub and closed his eyes.  He ran the last several hours over in his mind.  So many unanswered questions.  “Macormac,” he whispered.  He needed a plan and he needed to make it happen before tomorrow, before Block returned.  The sidekick wanted to be long gone by then.  But what about the cab driver?  He had to be careful, there was much to do before morning, and he couldn’t afford to leave any evidence, or worse, a witness.  Before he left the bathroom, he took something from the medicine cabinet.

He came out of the bathroom and immediately smelled something delicious.  He found the cabby in the kitchen, at the stove.

“Hope you don’t mind.  I’m meltin’ some butter.  Found some eggs in the fridge.  Thought you might be hungry.  You like onions and peppers in your eggs?”  the cabby looked at the sidekick out of the corner of his eye.  “I don’t know, I think the pink one suited you better”

The sidekick looked down at his blue and green robe and chuckled.  “Yeah, those kitties are really more my style.  And no, I hate onions and peppers.”

“Hmmm…too bad.  I love peppers and onions in my eggs. How ’bout some cheese?  You like cheese in your eggs?”

“Yeah, I like cheese in my eggs.  Thanks.”  The sidekick looked at the cabby square in the eyes.  “Why are you being so nice to me?  Why are you helping me?”

The old cabby held his gaze for a few seconds.  His eyes were bloodshot.  He looked tired, weary.  And then he turned back to the eggs.

“Don’t know.  You looked like you needed some help, and…and…you remind me of someone.  Oh and by the way, you gave me a hundred-dollar bill in cab.” The cabby, turned short-order cook handed the sidekick the Benjamin.    “Thought it was a twenty at first, but when I looked at it closer, I about had a stroke.  I tried to stop you when you got out of the cab, but you kept runnin’.  To be honest, I started to leave, but my conscience got the better of me and I circled back ’round the block.  That’s when I saw the police officers at your door.  You looked like an honest kid so…hey, where do you keep the salt and pepper?”

“In the cupboard above the stove.  You can keep it.  The money, you can keep it.” the sidekick was looking at the man in the kitchen with amazement and held his hand out with the large bill.

“Don’t want your money kid.  You feel like tellin’ me the truth about what happened tonight?”

“Not really, no.  I can’t.  You have to believe me when I say, I’m not involved in anything shady.  I’m on the up and up.”

“OK…I believe you.  Got no reason not to, I suppose.  Sorry ’bout your mother.  I lost someone close to me recently too.”

“She wasn’t my mother.  I’m adopted.  She was my adopted mother.  I did love her though…and she loved me.  The person you lost, was it the one that I reminded you of?”

“My grandson, yeah.”

“Feel like telling me about it?”

“Not really, no.  Let’s eat.” and the cabby spooned steaming mounds of eggs and cheese on to two plates.

“Before you sit down, could you pass me a napkin, I’m a messy eater.  They’re over there, on the counter,” the sidekick said.  The cabby set the plates down on the table and crossed the small kitchen to get the napkins.

The two men sat across from each other at the rectangular, metal kitchen table.  It was pink and gray with a speckled pattern on top.  One of the legs was missing its rubber foot and the table wobbled slightly when anyone sat at it to eat, or talk or pay bills or play cards.  The hero and the sidekick had shared many meals at this table, and now he was sharing a meal with a man he barely knew, but was beginning to like.  They sat there eating the delicious eggs and cheese in silence.

“Say, here we are eatin’ together in the wee hours of the mornin’ and we don’t even know each other’s names.  That ain’t right.  I’m Abraham, but most folks call me Abe.”  the cabby offered his hand to shake.

The sidekick thought for a second, smiled weakly, and extended his hand, “My name’s John.  It’s nice to meet you Abe.”

The two men shook hands and then went back to eating in silence.

But what Abraham didn’t know was that the sidekick’s name wasn’t John, at all.  The sidekick needed to keep Abe at a distance.   And this little white lie might also, in the long run, protect the cabby.  What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.  Besides, there was no point to getting to know Abraham any better, the sidekick thought, because he planned to be far away from there by morning and he figured the sleeping powder he’d sprinkled on old Abe’s eggs, when he went to get the napkins, would soon kick in.

The Sidekick chapter 3

     The sidekick ran and ran, through the city.  As he ran through the back streets and alleyways, he stripped himself of his costume.  The hero had designed the costume for him, so that it could be turned inside out and transformed into a simple duffel bag.  Unlike the hero, though, the sidekick always wore a thin, black sweat suit under his costume.  Had the hero never worn underwear under her costume?  Or, had she left so quickly, that she didn’t have time to dress properly.  Perhaps she had been in the bath or…

These thoughts were disturbing to him and he shook his head to clear them away.  The sidekick thought back to when he’d gotten the distress call from the hero.  He’d been out, with a friend, a girl he’d been hanging out with of late.  They were seeing a movie together, but half-way through, his cell phone started flashing red, and he, after apologizing profusely but offering no explanation, ran out of the theater.  As he dashed, he wondered if he’d ever get a chance to make it up to her.  Or, if like so many other of his failed friendships, he would never even see her again.  The life of being a super hero’s sidekick did not allow for fostering relationships.  Although he hadn’t thought of it in these terms before, it was probably why he’d fallen in love with the hero.  He was never able to see her as a mother figure, anyway.  And she was the one person, the one woman, he’d spent most of his time with growing up.

His parents had disappeared when he was only 3 years old.  He then spent a year in two different foster homes, until a mild-mannered social worker (who fought crime in her spare time!) from the Bronx decided to adopt him.  He remembered precious little from that time.  He remembered feeling lonely sometimes, but loved and cared for.  The hero started training him right after his fifth birthday.  He’d, inadvertantly, foiled his first crime with her when he was only 10.  It was a simple robbery at a local convenient store.  The hero and the sidekick were there, as their alter-egos, buying milk and bread.  The robber picked the wrong store to rob as he suddenly found himself beaten and tied up.  The sidekick’s training and instincts had kicked in and he, by himself, took down the bad guy in less than 4 seconds.  The robber never knew what hit him.  The sidekick remembered the look on the hero’s face.  Pride and love shone down on him.  She did love him, and he knew it, but she wasn’t his mother.

The hero had always been open to talking about the sidekick’s parents.  He had always known that they had disappeared, and, because their bodies had never been found, he always believed that he’d find them again, someday.  He knew his mother had been a doctor, a surgeon to be exact.  And his father owned a small flower shop in the Village.  He knew one day, while he was with his father at the shop, a phone call caused his father to leave him with an assistant and run out the door.  And he knew, after that, he never saw his mother or father again.  He had questioned why no other family members had come forward to raise him.  He had been told there were no other family members, and he, at the time, accepted that.

The sidekick walked down the middle of the quiet, empty street and he wondered, now that the hero was dead, if there was anyone else out there for him.  What about his parents’ parents?  Did he not have grandparents out there somewhere?  Aunts, uncles, cousins?

Suddenly a taxi cab pulled up beside him and stopped.  An older, white-haired, brown-skinned man stuck his head out of the window, “You need a ride kid?”  It had just started to rain, and the sidekick was tired of running.  He was wary, but he accepted the cabby’s offer and got in the cab, collapsing into the tattered back seat.

“Where to my friend?” the driver asked.

“I…I…don’t know” the sidekick stammered.  And then he realized he didn’t even know where he was.  ”Where are we right now?”

The cabby laughed, “You on drugs kid?  Drunk?  I don’t smell no booze on you.”

“No, I’m not drunk or on drugs, I just…just had a bad night.” said the sidekick.  He was telling the truth, he’d had a very bad night.

“We’re on the Upper East Side, kid.  Where you comin’ from at this hour?”

“I was…uh…I was visiting a friend…down in the Village.” the sidekick lied.  ”What time is it anyway?”

“It’s 2 AM.  Listen, it’s nice chattin’ and all, but where am I dropping you?” the cabby was getting a little impatient.

The sidekick thought for a minute and then decided where he wanted to go.  ”Take me home.  It’s in the Bronx.  Can you take me to the Bronx?”

“I don’t normally go to the Bronx, ‘specially at 2 in the morning…alright little man, the meter’s runnin’.  What’s the address?”

The sidekick gave the driver the address and laid his head back on the seat.  He was exhausted.  Mentally, physically, emotionally exhausted.  He knew he’d promised the hero he’d get away if anything happened to her, but he had to go home once more, pick up a few things.  Maybe he’d take a shower, get something to eat and then take off.  Besides, he wanted to grab something from the hero’s secret office…and then he’d destroy what was left, leave no trace of the hero and the sidekick.

By the time they arrived at the small, unassuming row home, the rain had stopped.  He thanked the cabby and paid him (the hero always told him to keep a hundred dollars in his utility belt, just in case he found himself in need of money.)  But before he got out of the car, he noticed a police car parked a few houses down the street.  The hair on the back of his neck stood up.  He then asked the cabby to take him around back, to the alley.  The sidekick cursed under his breath.  Why hadn’t he thought of that in the first place.  “Stupid” he thought.  Since the hero, as her alter ego, was recognized by the police, of course someone would be coming to the house, he just didn’t think so soon.  As the cab turned the corner, he saw two officers get out of the car and walk towards the house.  The cab had barely rolled to a stop when the sidekick jumped out.  He hit the macadam running and threw open the chain link gate not bothering to stop to close it again.  He thought he’d heard the cabby yell something, but he didn’t have time to worry about it.  He reached the back door, fumbled for the key they kept hidden above the door.  He found it, slid it into the key hole, turned the handle and quickly stepped inside.

He heard a knock on the front door.

The sidekick quietly, quickly scooted into the bathroom. He threw off his clothes, down to his underwear and grabbed a bathrobe from the back of the door and wrapped it around himself.  He heard more, louder knocking.  He stuffed everything into the duffel bag (the one that transformed into the sidekick costume.)  He threw the bag on the bench next to the door and in his best “I just woke up” voice said, “Yeah, who is it?”

“Open up kid, it’s the police.  I’m afraid I got some bad news for ya.” a voice said through the door.

The sidekick, still exhausted from running, still damp from the rain, still reeling from the death of his hero, recognized the gravelly voice and felt as though he might vomit.

It was Block.  And he was standing on the front porch of the sidekick’s home, his sanctuary.

The Sidekick chapter 2

     The booming voice coming through the shattered windows startled the sidekick back to reality.  He was suddenly aware of the predicament he was in.  He had been so consumed with grief, that it never occurred to him how things looked.  The hero was dead, but so was The Duke.  He was the only one in the warehouse still alive and that might look bad.  He hated himself for being so selfish, but his relationship with the local police, as the sidekick, wasn’t always friendly.    It seems they felt that he and the hero were always showing them up, and many in the squad regularly attempted to find some reason to arrest them.  Most folks saw the hero and the sidekick as, more or less, supplemental crime-fighters.  The police were certainly adequate for routine crimes, but whenever anything unusual cropped up, the super hero and her sidekick inserted themselves into the situation, whether the police wanted them to, or not.

“We know you’re in there Duke. Come out now and we’ll go easy on you.” the police bull-horn bellowed.

His panic was beginning to get the better of him, and then he remembered something the hero had said to him recently.  “If anything ever happens to me,  I want you to get out of town.  Don’t stay here.  You must leave, and don’t look back.  Do you understand?” she said vehemently.  The sidekick saw the intensity in her eyes, but thought she was just being overly dramatic, as she was wont to do.  He always got the feeling, however, that she knew something, some secret, she wasn’t telling him.  But he never pressed her for information.

“We’ll give you 2 minutes to surrender. This is your final warning.”

He knew he had to go, but he couldn’t leave her.  If he left her there, in her charred and soaking, blue and gold costume, they would finally know her secret identity.  And even in death, he knew she wouldn’t want that.  Not to mention the fact that if they knew her identity, they would know his as well…

Then, he had an idea.

Quickly and gingerly, he started to strip the super hero’s corpse of its costume.  As he pulled the scuba gear-like costume off her, he became painfully aware and embarrassed that the hero was wearing no undergarments.  And as he slid the last pant leg off, he was looking at her naked body.  He had never seen her naked before.  He’d fantasized about it, but now it felt very wrong and he averted his eyes.  He hated the idea of others seeing her like this, but it was the only plan he could think of.  He knew very little about The Duke, but what he knew was that The Duke was known for being a demented deviant and many of his victims, mostly women, had been, in one way or another, sexually assaulted.  The sidekick was banking on the fact that the police wouldn’t think twice about finding the naked body of a local social worker and would assume that she was just another of The Duke’s victims.  But what would they think about The Duke being dead too?   How would they explain that one?

And again, suddenly, he knew what to do.  He dragged the body of the hero to where The Duke’s body lay.  He placed the jumper cables in her hands.  Hopefully, the police would assume that she fought back and killed her captor, and in the process, herself, and that would be that.  He then looked for a place to hide.  At one end of the warehouse was a set of stairs leading to, what was probably at one time, the office…

Suddenly something big and heavy was slamming against the large garage door at the front of the warehouse.  He grabbed the super hero’s costume and took off running. Bounding up the stairs, taking 2 and 3 at a time,  he threw himself into the dark, dank room and just as he closed the door, he heard the police cruiser smash through the garage door below.  He could hear several police officers entering the warehouse.  They were extremely loud and sounded agitated.

“That’s The Duke alright!  And he’s very dead.  Hey, ain’t this the wierdo that used a scepter” said one of the officers.

“Oh my god, I know that woman!  Looks like she fought back and won…well sorta.  Jesus, cover her up.” said another.

“That goddamn sonuvabitch raped and killed my cousin’s daughter” said a third officer angrily, and he spat on The Duke’s dead body.

Things began to calm down and voices were lowered.  The sidekick was having a hard time hearing them over the sound of his own panting, and pounding heart.  Then he heard someone coming up the stairs and his blood turned to ice.  He quickly and quietly ducked into a shallow closet closing the door but leaving it slightly ajar.  And just as he settled in, the office door opened.

“I’ll check the office, make sure there’s nobody else here…” said a low, gravelly voice.  The sidekick recognized the voice.  It belonged to an officer who was especially known for his hatred of the sidekick and the super hero.  They had had many run-ins with this guy, and the sidekick knew, if given the right opportunity, the officer would’ve locked them up and thrown away the key.  This officer’s name was Block.

As the large, overweight, unkempt man entered the office, the smell of bourbon, cigarettes and stale urine entered as well.  The sidekick was barely breathing when Block whipped out his cell phone and clumsily, nervously pushed some buttons.  He spoke barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, it’s Block.  Yeah, The Duke’s dead…No, no, she wasn’t here…Yeah, yeah, I know, I know.  The sonuvabitch just couldn’t control himself, he had some, some social worker babe here from over in the Bronx.  Kinda hot…No, no it looked like she did him before he could do her, but she’s dead too.”  Block laughed a low gravelly laugh, as he found his crude, play on words funny. It took all the sidekick’s will power to not blast the door open and punch the crass Block in his fat, unshaven, pockmarked face.  “No, I don’t know her name, Johnson said he recognized her though…Yeah, he’s definitely dead…I thought you said that he was supposed to…yeah, yeah. I gotta go before the others start suspectin’ somethin’…No, her little crap sidekick wasn’t here neither…Yeah, right, back to the drawin’ board.”  As Block left the room, he pulled a cigarette pack from the inside pocket of his coat and the sidekick saw something the size of a business card float to the dusty floor.

“Nothin’ up here but some cockroaches” Block joked as he fired up a smoke, and waddled down the stairs.

The sidekick was alone again and would have to stay hidden and quiet as the police investigation commenced.  He casually wondered how long he’d have to stay there.   But as he exited the closet, his thoughts weren’t on escaping.  He was thinking about the things Block had said into his cell phone.  He wondered who was on the other end of that conversation.   And then he remembered the little piece of paper that had fallen out of Block’s coat pocket.  He looked down and saw it, a tattered and stained business card.  He picked it up and read the words:  Macormac Industries.  Technology Innovation since 1966.  There was an address and a phone number.  “Macormac…Macormac,” the sidekick whispered to himself.  He thought he’d heard this name before, but he couldn’t remember when, or where.

He sat on the edge of the large wooden desk, slid the business card into a pocket in his costume, and looked around the room.  In the corner of the ceiling above the desk, he saw a small, square, metal door.  His blood started pumping again and his face flushed.  Maybe this was a way out!  The sidekick climbed onto the desk and pushed on the door.  It moved easily.  He was small enough to fit through and he shimmied himself up into the ceiling and found a short ladder that lead to another square metal door with a lock on it.

The sidekick pulled a tool from his utility belt.  This was the first tool the hero had given him.  It was the first tool she taught him how to use.  He was only 5 years old when she gave it to him; only a year after she’d taken him in.  He remembered that time as he jimmied the lock with the tool.  Tears quietly streamed down his face as the lock popped and he pushed the door open.  The cool night air rushed in and over him.  And as he crawled out onto the flat, metal roof he wondered where he’d go.  He wondered what he’d do next.  He wondered what his life would be like now, without the hero. And he wondered why a brutish, idiot like Block kept a Macormac Industries business card in his coat pocket.

He wondered and wondered as he walked to the back edge of the roof and looked out over the city.  And then he jumped off the roof, landing in a dumpster full of old cardboard boxes.  He knew it was there, because he had seen it when he was on the roof just an hour earlier waiting to crash through the warehouse windows to save his hero.  He climbed out of the dumpster, dusted himself off, and ran off into the moonlit, uncertain night.