Sammy Keyes and the Power of Justice Jack (27 page)

Well, Tow Truck Tony sure isn’t paying any attention to Jack’s commands. He keeps right on waddling, making his way into a cow stall. And Jack and Billy sure aren’t paying any attention to me. They’re cocked and locked and moving in fast.

And then Jack cries, “We gave them fair warning, Deuce! We have no choice. And … FIRE!”

Thwooop! Thwooop!
The Pellets of Pain … 
t
go flying. Only I guess Billy hasn’t had enough target practice, because his hits the truck, not Tony.

Thwooop … whack! Thwooop … ping!
They fire again, and again, Billy’s hits the truck, but this time Jack hits his mark. “Ow!” Tow Truck Tony shouts. “Ow!”

Thwooop … whack! Thwooop … ping!
“Dang!” Billy cries when he hits the truck
again
.

“Stop it, you idiot!”
Tow Truck Tony screams when he gets hit again.

“Surrender, villain!” Justice Jack booms, and when no hands go up, they fire again.
Thwooop … whack! Thwooop … ping!

“Double dang!” Billy cries. “There’s something wrong with my slingshot!”

And I’m not sure if it’s so much the pain as it is the
paint
that’s got Tow Truck Tony moving out of the cow stall, because his arms are crossed in front of his head, but what he shouts is, “Quit messin’ with my truck!”

Thwooop … whack! Thwooop … ping!

“That’s it!” Tow Truck Tony yells. “Sheri, your kid’s an idiot and I’m done with this!”

And that’s when Mama Jack appears in front of the truck. “Jack! Stop it! It’s us!”

Inch by inch, Jack’s slingshot lowers. “Mom …? What are you doing here?” And then, “Is that
Tony
?”

And that’s when it hits me—Jack really
didn’t
know.

Jack’s mom hurries up to him. “Tony got a tip that someone hid the statue out here, and they did! Look what we found!”

“She’s lying to you, Jack,” I say, running up to him. “
They
stole the statue.”

“Why would we steal a stupid statue?” she says, but she’s looking like a mom caught wiggling coins out of her kid’s piggy bank.

I lock eyes with her. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

She gives me a pleading look.

Like, No.

Don’t.

You’ll destroy him.

But Tony’s ticked off about his truck getting thwacked with paint and has no problem busting a wannabe superhero’s bubble of righteousness. “Give it up, Sheri. This has gotten completely out of control.” He rubs a paint splotch
off his truck with a rag. “First the dogs, then the bikes, then the statue … How did you ever talk me into this?”

“But it worked!” she pleads. “We’re
this
close to having a show!”

“Mom?” Jack says, and let me tell you, there’s nothing booming or even halfway strong about his voice. “What are you saying?”

“Aw, honey,” she says, moving toward him.

He takes a big booted step back. “Stop it! I’m not a kid! I’m Justice Jack! I take down criminals. I … I …” His face crinkles behind the mask. “Are you saying all my rescues … everything I did …?”

His voice trails off, so Tony cuts in with, “Yeah. She set ’em all up.”

“Not
all
of it!” Mama Jack says. “That purse snatching at the mall was legit!”

“But everything else?” Jack asks. “The bikes, the dogs, the
snake
?”

“Honey, look. You wanted to be a superhero. There was no talking you out of it! But you’re an
adult
. I needed to find some way to turn your passion into your income. You don’t want to be a loser living in your mom’s trailer when you’re forty! Or even thirty! And you’ve seen the junk that’s on TV—it’s a joke compared to your real life. You have such color and flair and passion for doing good in this world. What’s your motto, honey? Come on, say it.”

“It’s a good world. Let’s take it back,” Jack says, but the life is totally gone out of him.

“See? You
are
a superhero! You just need a way to shine.”

“I’m a fraud,” Jack says, sounding really dejected. “I’ve been living a
lie
.”

“No, honey. You’ve been living the life you dreamed of. You’ve been helping people. You’ve been making other people believe in doing what’s right. Imagine all the people who are standing up for their neighbor because they’ve seen you do it!”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t need you setting up crimes. I hate crime!”

“So from now on everything will be legit. You can’t give up this reality show! All your young crime-fighting friends can be part of it!” She looks around at us. “Wouldn’t you love that?” And before we can make a peep, she turns back to Jack. “Think of the opportunities that will come from having your own show! No more living in a trailer, no more—”

“No!” Jack shouts. “I’m not doing any
show
. All I wanted was to be a real crime fighter.”

Tony spits on his truck and rubs. “Give it up, Sheri. All these kids know about it. It’s over.” He shakes his head. “I just want to know what we’re supposed to do with this statue now.”

“You’re not doing anything with it!” Marissa shouts, and that’s when I notice that she’s nowhere near the rest of us. She’s over in the cow stall, standing by the statue. “We’re getting the reward and you’re going to jail!”

“Wow,” Casey says under his breath. “Not smart.”

But Jack hangs his head and nods. “We deserve to go to jail.”

“Wait a minute,” I tell him, because goofy or not, the
guy’s heart has definitely been in the right place, and it’s not easy seeing someone’s dream get shattered. “
You
don’t deserve to go to jail. You didn’t know what they were doing!”

“Doesn’t matter. If I’m that stupid, lock me up.”

Then slowly he takes off his helmet.

His mask.

His gloves.

“Noooo!” Billy cries. “Dude, you’re my inspiration! My mentor! My
idol
.”

“Sorry to let you down, Deuce,” he says, and you can tell his heart is just a big lump of lead in his chest.

And the truth is, mine’s feeling a little that way, too. I mean, watching a superhero give up is just … 
sad
. And something about the whole situation feels
wrong
. I mean, maybe Jack’s mom went way overboard trying to help her son, but to someone whose mother seems to have no interest in her, there was something sweet about it. A mom who would go through all that trouble to get her son a job doing what he loved?

Just thinking about it kinda choked me up.

Besides, aren’t all reality shows staged?

Plus, I could see where she might think that instead of a reality show with a houseful of trash-talking ego-heads, one with a guy who wanted to inspire good deeds and crime fighting might actually be something worth watching.

So, no. I didn’t want to see her go to jail.

Or, for that matter, see Tow Truck Tony go to jail.

But how were we going to get the statue back to City
Hall? How could Justice Jack save face? Was there a way to return the statue and
not
let anyone know what had happened?

I looked at Marissa staking out her reward money. And Tony spit-washing his truck. And Jack with his head hung low from the weight of being mortal, while his mom stood by, holding her face while she cried.

And that’s when I get an idea.

It’s not perfect.

But at least it’s something.

Officer Borsch used to be so completely by the book. He would charge you with violating some sub-sub-sub-clause of the penal code and think he was being a good cop. But now he sometimes actually closes the book and looks at the whole situation, not just the violation.

Sometimes he even looks the other way.

So I was pretty sure that if I could explain what had happened and get Officer Borsch to see the whole picture, he would put away his ticket book and his handcuffs and find some way to help us.

When I explained my plan to the others, they all thought it made sense—everyone but Jack. He just wanted to hang up his utility belt and hide somewhere. But the whole plan depended on Jack, so I finally said, “Look, you don’t want your mother to go to jail, right?”

“But she committed a crime!”

“Does it matter that she did it because she was trying to help you?”

“It’s still a crime!”

“Nobody got hurt and the statue will be returned.”

He just stands there shaking his head.

“And you don’t want her to lose her job. Especially since you don’t
have
a job. She’s probably paying for your food and, you know, hero gear, right?” I look at Jack’s mom. “I’m guessing you work at City Hall?”

She nods.

“So if they find out you’re behind this, you’re out of a job and maybe in jail.” I turn to Jack. “Is that what you want?”

He heaves a sigh. “Punishment should not be relative.” He sighs again. “But you’re right. And I do need to get a job.”

His mother tries cutting in with, “A reality show
is
a—”

“No!” he shouts. “It’s bad enough being a fake in real life! I don’t want to be one on TV.”

“Give it up,” Tony tells her. “He couldn’t fake it for all the money in the world.”

The minute he says that, it hits me that’s exactly the reason I’d started liking Justice Jack. Sure he’s over-the-top and full of bravado, but he means what he says. He may look like a cartoon, but underneath that he’s
real
.

So I tell Jack, “Look, you have a big chance to do one last good deed.”

He says, “What?” but it’s more like, Who cares?

“You have a chance to get other people to carry the torch of justice.”

He looks up at me for the first time since I’d started explaining my plan. “The torch of justice?” And I can tell that even without the mask, he’s
Justice
Jack, and that the torch of justice has just become the Torch of Justice.

Once Jack was on board, I borrowed his cell phone to
call Officer Borsch, and once I’d laid down some ground rules with Officer Borsch—mostly that he couldn’t ask too many questions—I told him where we were.

“How’d you wind up
there
?”

“See? You’re already starting with the questions. Can you just meet us out here? And bring a big length of rope. And make sure there’s not a lot of junk in your trunk.”

Which, if you saw the size of Officer Borsch, you’d know was asking a lot.

Good thing I was talking about his squad car.

“Am I allowed to ask why?”

“We’ve got the statue.”

“The
softball
statue?”

“Did another statue get heisted?” I ask. “What kind of protection are you providing the trusting citizens of Santa Martina?”

“Smart aleck,” he mutters.

So after I knew the Borschman was on the way, I shooed Jack’s mom and Tony off, and when the tow truck was gone, I had Justice Jack drive the High Roller back and forth over all the tire tracks outside the barn and inside, too, because I wasn’t sure how hard the mayor would push the police to get to the bottom of who’d broken into City Hall, and dually tire tracks would be a decent clue to get them started.

And while Jack was confusing tow truck tracks with High Roller tracks, we all took turns calling home with Billy’s cell phone.

Now, for Marissa and me it wasn’t that hard to get out of trouble. We both just basically said, Well, if you’d give
us cell phones like the rest of the world has, we wouldn’t be scrambling around for ways to let you know where we are.

But for Casey? Boy, that didn’t work at all! We could hear his mom screeching that he was grounded and that she knew, just
knew
, that he was “with that little witch.”

So Casey said, “Mom! I’m with Justice Jack and Billy. We’ve found the statue, all right? The police are coming and I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

For some reason that seemed to quiet her down.

Which really surprised me.

But then Casey says, “Yeah … Yeah … Yeah … Well, I heard there’s a reward, but I don’t know if—”

And then his mom starts shrieking that if he’s really found the statue and isn’t just lying to cover up that he’s “with that little witch,” he’ll come home with some reward money or be grounded for life.

Justice Jack had returned from scrambling tracks, and since it’s loud and clear that Casey’s mom is ticked off, Jack asks, “That was about the reward?”

“Uh, yeah,” I tell him, trying to keep things simple.

“Money,” Justice Jack grumbles. “It warps the thinking and pollutes the mind. It makes decent men turn to crime.” He shakes his head. “There’s no reward better than doing the right thing.”

Just then Officer Borsch shows up, so we get him to park near the statue. Then I take him aside and explain the plan. And even though he starts asking questions about ten different times, each time I warn him, “There are some things you probably don’t want to know.”

After I’ve told him everything I can, we all heft the statue together and wedge it, foot-first, into Officer Borsch’s trunk. The back end of the squad car sinks waaaaay down, and even when we’ve worked it in as far as we can, the statue is still more out than in.

Officer Borsch walks around it and says, “I don’t know about this.”

“The bottom’s way heavier than the top,” I tell him. “It won’t fall out.”

He sucks on a tooth. “I’m not worried about that so much as I am about bottoming out.” He slaps the brass arm holding the softball. “And this needs a flag.”

So he finds a red rag and straps it onto the softball hand, then ropes down the lid of the trunk and says, “We’ll see how far I get.”

“Uh … maybe it would help counterbalance things if we all got in the car?” I give him a little look. “Plus, we all could really use a ride home.”

He looks around. “So how’d you get out here?” And when his gaze falls on the High Roller, I tell him, “Nope! Haven’t been on it, cross my heart.” Then I head for the double barn doors, calling, “My skateboard’s outside! Hey, Marissa! Come on and get your stuff so Officer Borsch can give us a ride home!”

“I know you didn’t ride your skateboard out here!” the Borschman hollers after me.

“You said you wouldn’t ask questions!” I holler back.