Sidekicked (10 page)

I'm about to lie to her and tell her how much I like it, in fact, when Mr. Masters clears his throat.

“What I am about to tell you is top secret, though I'm certain it won't be for long. Two hours ago, there was a breach at the maximum security prison in Colton, two hundred miles north of here.” The lights go off and the screen flashes to life, showing a photo of a veritable fortress, complete with guard towers and barbed wire and an outer wall of solid steel at least twenty feet high. Mr. Masters clicks to another picture of the same building from a different angle, this one a satellite shot. Part of the outer wall is obscured by white smoke. “At approximately ten thirty-five a.m., an explosion tore through the outer perimeter. A figure wearing a gray mask, a dark gray hat, and a business suit subdued a handful of guards and bypassed several other security measures with ease, infiltrating the prison's supranormal security wing.”

I'm only half listening to him. Something about a break-in. I'm sure there are Supers out there cleaning it up. Probably the Fox already has this all under control. I lean closer to Jenna.

“It's flowery,” I whisper.

“It's called Purple Passion,” she whispers back, sounding just a little annoyed.

Nikki turns to give us a dirty look. Apparently whatever Mr. Masters is talking about is kind of important, but I'm still curious why Jenna's decided that the smell of her honey vanilla body wash and melon berry conditioner that I've grown accustomed to over the past year isn't good enough anymore.

Mr. Masters continues. “When the smoke cleared, twelve guards had been knocked unconscious and three prisoners freed.”

“It's nice,” I say, realizing that
nice
isn't the word you would use to describe something with the word
passion
in it.

“Gavin gave it to me,” she whispers.

Sudden loss of cabin pressure. Stomach dropping. Eyes blinking. I have no idea what to say to that.

I look at Gavin, who turns and smiles.

Yes, I do.

In that case, I think it smells like crappity crap crap crap.

“All three prisoners shared the same name,” Mr. Masters says.

I stop glaring at Gavin momentarily and turn to see the photo on the screen, showing four figures escaping through the outer wall and into the forest beyond. The one in the gray suit leads the way. The other three are all dressed in orange prison uniforms. From here they just look like three faceless thugs, though one of them is much larger than the rest—looks more like a boulder with legs, in fact.

“The escaped prisoners are all named Jack,” Mr. Masters says.

Suddenly I forget all about Gavin's purple passion.

Three Jacks.

The
three Jacks.

I know these guys.

I mean, not personally know them. Anyone who knew them personally is dead or in prison. But I know them the way some people know generals from the Civil War or famous serial killers. I know them because it is my job as a sidekick to know them. I know them because I wasn't hiding under a rock my entire life.

These are the guys the Titan took down almost six years ago. The Dealer's henchmen. His Suits.

“Those of you who have bothered to study your criminal history probably have a guess as to who
this
is, then,” Mr. Masters says, pointing to the figure in the gray hat and suit. Now I recognize the outfit from the front pages of so many newspapers. I take a closer look, and a chill works its way through me.

“But I thought he was . . .”

“Dead?” Mr. Masters says, finishing Nikki's thought. “So did the rest of us. But obviously we were mistaken. Apparently the Dealer is back in the game.”

I can't tell if Mr. Masters is trying to be funny or not, but the look on his face suggests not. Eric takes a long breath. I look over at Jenna, who huddles a little closer to Gavin. The room is graveyard quiet all of a sudden. No one says anything as Mr. Masters brings up brief dossiers of the escaped convicts. They are all pictures I had seen a dozen times on reruns of
America's Most Notorious Criminals
.

The first is a photo of a man who looks like something out of a 1920s silent film where damsels are tied to train tracks and rescued by Canadian Mounties. The figure in the photo has coal-black eyes and thick white scars on both cheeks, bisected by a long, black handlebar mustache that twists upward at the ends. The mustache looks plastered on, too big to be real. But the hollow, deathly look in his eyes seems all too real.

“Jack Candor,” Mr. Masters says, “aka the Jack of Clubs. Weapons and demolitions expert. An unforgettable face and a notorious reputation. He was an accomplished hit man for three years before signing on with the Suits. Carries around a baton that he tosses like a boomerang so it can hit you twice, just to be sure. Most of the time you're unconscious before you even know he's there.”

Mr. Masters brings up the next photo—a behemoth of a man with no neck and a body like a bulldozer. He's the boulder from the surveillance photo. His picture fills up the screen.

“Jack Voshel, aka the Jack of Spades. The bruiser. Easily identified because he is seven and a half feet tall and weighs four hundred twenty pounds. Carries a shovel as his only weapon. Seldom needs to use it. Not the sharpest knife in the block, but not to be underestimated, especially when barreling toward you.”

Mr. Masters clicks. The third photo shows a perfectly normal looking man by comparison to the other two. His close-cut blond hair is carefully styled, his thin, angular face drawn into a wry smile. Unlike the other two, he carries no weapons. His only odd feature is quite noticeable, though: a chunk of glass where his left eye used to be.

“Jack Coal, aka the Jack of Diamonds. Once an international jewel thief and playboy. He lost his eye when he was twenty-six and had it replaced with what he believed to be a rare, one-of-a-kind diamond. Turns out it was actually a small chunk of meteorite that quickly bonded to his molecular structure, making him nearly impervious to pain and just as hard to take down . . . not to mention he can use it to shoot energy beams.”

Suddenly I'm wishing I had joined the chess club.

“And finally . . .”

The last picture shows the man in the mask, the one who freed the others—eyes like sapphires peering through the mask's only two holes, his dark-gray fedora, like the color of a storm cloud, cocked to one side. Cold and confident, with more than a hint of malevolence. For well over a year this guy was the poster child for a successful life of crime, wreaking havoc everywhere he went. Until the Titan finally brought him down.

“The Dealer,” Mr. Masters says. “Real name, date of birth, place of origin, all unknown. No one even knows what the guy's face looks like. He's the one who brought the Suits together the first time. A mastermind and scientific genius, he purportedly engaged in illegal experiments designed to enhance the kinds of extraordinary abilities found in people like you. No known superpowers himself, though, save for his astronomically high IQ and his uncanny ability to stay one step ahead of everyone who ever tried to catch him. Up until today, he was believed to be dead, killed in the battle with the Legion of Justice so many years ago.”

Mr. Masters touches a button and the lights come back on.

“We don't know where he's been hiding all these years, but the fact that he has most of his original gang in tow makes him a top priority for all Supers in the area.”

Most
of the gang, I think to myself. He's only missing one Suit. The Jack of Hearts, who died in the confrontation with the Legion of Justice. Though “dead” doesn't mean as much as I thought it did. If the Dealer is back, there's no guarantee he doesn't have another surprise up his sleeve.

Mr. Masters steps out from behind the podium and walks over to stand right in front of us. “That makes the Dealer our top concern as well. For that reason, I'm putting Jenna, Gavin, and Eric on ready reserve status.”

In front of me I see Erik sink in his seat. Gavin actually says the word
oh
. Only Jenna seems unfazed. Ready reserve means that your Super can actually call on you to accompany him on patrol whenever he deems it necessary. Not just weekend training exercises—the real deal.

“The rest of us,” he says, referring to Nikki and me, “need to keep our eyes and ears open. We don't know where the Dealer has been all this time or what he's been up to, but it can't be good.”

I look at the photo of the Dealer. It's blurry and far away and the mask covers everything but the icy blue eyes. Cool and calculating.

I glance over at Jenna. She is looking at Mr. Masters, who stands in front of the image of the man in the gray mask. Her eyes look pretty much the same. Like she already has a plan to take the Dealer down.

“W
hat's the big deal?”

We are huddled in a circle eating crackers with circles of what might once have been peanut butter between them, a gift from Mr. Masters, who apologized for not buying pizza and apologized yet again for having to interrupt our training to go make some calls, leaving us to fend for ourselves and to cope with the fact that, only two hundred miles away, one of the most notorious criminal gangs in history had just kicked off a reunion tour. I am just about to open my crackers when Gavin shoots off his stupid mouth.

“What do you mean, what's the big deal?” Nikki replies through chomps of strawberry bubble gum, beating me to it. “Are you nuts? These guys are totally hardcore. The Dealer was a criminal mastermind.”

“
Is
a criminal mastermind,” I correct. I figure you use the present tense when talking about someone
back
from the dead.

“Right,” she says. “The Suits went on a crime spree that lasted three years. It took the entire Legion of Justice to bring them down. And you're asking what the big deal is?”

Gavin straightens up stiffly. “I just don't see what Mr. Masters is getting so worked up over. So a couple of baddies break out of prison? Happens every day. The Supers will round 'em up and stick 'em back in—and if we're lucky,
some
of us might get to help.” He looks at me and smiles. All confidence and straight white teeth.

I glare back. It is bad enough getting it from Mr. Masters. I don't need to take it from Purple Passion McAllister.

Eric starts signing rapidly.

Gavin shakes his head. “What did he say?”

“He says you're crazy,” I translate. “And ignorant,” I add, though Eric didn't sign that, “and that these guys are
way
out of our league.”

Jenna sits cross-legged next to me. She has taken off her glasses and let her hair down—halfway through her transformation to the Silver Lynx. “Eric's right,” she says. “These guys were the most dangerous supervillains in the world. Even without the Jack of Hearts,” she adds in a whisper.

“Right. What happened to him again?” Gavin asks. I can't tell if he doesn't know or just doesn't remember. Or maybe he's just playing dumb. Or maybe he's not playing.

I look at Jenna, who is fidgeting with the laces on her tennis shoes. I watch her tug on the loops, waiting for the whole thing to unravel. “Nobody really knows,” she says. “Like the Dealer, the Jack of Hearts wore a mask, so no one knew his true identity.”

“Though they say he was the most powerful of all the Suits,” Nikki adds.

“All we know for sure is that the Legion of Justice tracked the Suits back to their secret hideout and there was this huge fight.”

“They were all there,” Nikki says, “Corefire and Mantis . . .”

Venus
, Eric signs.

“Venus, Kid Caliber . . .”

“The Titan.”

Nikki pops a bubble.

I realize everyone is looking at me, and then just as suddenly making an effort not to.

“Can't forget him,” I say. There is another long pause, and then finally Nikki speaks.

“So they had this big battle. And everybody kind of gets split up. And the Titan and Kid Caliber chase the Dealer and the Jack of Hearts into this lab. And the next thing you know, the whole place goes up in flames.” Eric's hands fly wide in accompaniment, the universal sign for
kerplowy
. “The Titan emerges from the smoke with an unconscious Kid Caliber in his arms and says it's all over.”

“Supposedly the Jack of Hearts and the Dealer were both caught in the blast,” I add. “The other three Jacks were captured and imprisoned.”

“End of story,” Nikki says.

Gavin shrugs his shoulders. “Right. See. My point exactly. Good guys win. We did it the first time, we will do it again.”

I stare at Gavin. If it's true that we all have a little voice inside our head, I'm pretty sure his is a bubble-headed cheerleader. “Sure,” I say. “Except the Legion of Justice doesn't exist anymore. They've all retired or gone solo.”

“Or disappeared,” Jenna says, looking at me sideways.

I don't bother to say anything back. I think about the Titan straddling his stool at the bar. What would he say if he knew the Dealer was still alive? If he knew the Suits were on the loose again? Would it make any difference? And what about the others? The ones who may still be around somewhere? Kid Caliber? Venus? Corefire? Would they even care?

“So maybe they'll come back,” Gavin says, somehow reading my thought. “Like old times.”

Nikki rolls her eyes. “
Tcha
. Last I heard, Corefire was in Australia and Venus was retired out on the West Coast, using what's left of her fame to convince kids to say no to drugs,” Nikki says. “And Mantis, didn't he die . . .?” She can't bring herself to say it. She looks at Eric.

He solemnly holds up two fingers. I remember reading about it in the paper. Turned out his chitinous exoskeleton was actually a form of skin cancer that slowly spread to his lungs and then to his brain, taking him, finally, in his sleep. He died two years ago.