The Brotherhood of Rotten Babysitters (9 page)
“But... then ...I fell hundreds of feet! I should be pudding!”
“Bunni used her telekinetic powers and lowered you like a feather,” Spelling Beatrice explained.
“
Bunni
saved me?!”
“It’s amazing what a hug can do,” Exact Change Kid added. “We can fly. We can shoot rays from our eyes. We can bend steel bars with our bare hands. We have the powers to crush worlds and topple governments — well, none of
us
can do those things, really, but sort of — and yet none of us have ever stopped to think that maybe there’s no power greater than love.”
Boom Boy slammed the window down on him. “Where is Bunni? I mean, I should thank her,” I said.
Boom Boy stabbed a thumb toward the living room. “She’s sharing eye shadow secrets with Spice Girl.”
“And my mom?”
“Right here.” I heard her voice as she entered the room. “We’re all so proud of you!” she bent over and gave me a kiss on the forehead.
“Mom!” I grumbled, turning red.
I had a million questions. “Do we know who hired the Brotherhood of Rotten Babysitters?”
“Even Bunni says they don’t know. It was all done through scrambled messages,” Spelling Beatrice said.
“So this isn’t over yet. The real enemy is still out there. Maybe with babysitters even more rotten than these... .” The thought left me uneasy.
My mom ushered the Sidekicks from the room. “Now all of you run along and let my boy sleep. There’ll be plenty of time to discuss evil’s secret plan for world domination when he’s feeling a little better.”
“Wait! What about the Babytron Bomb? Did I stop it?” I called to them.
Spelling Beatrice stopped in the doorway. “Well, I wouldn’t say it ‘stop’ exactly....”
“Where did it land?”
“Paris!” Pumpkin Pete stated as he stepped from my closet.
“Oh no! I turned the city of Paris into whining, crying babies?”
“Eh, it’s just the French.” Pumpkin Pete shrugged. “You ask me, no one will know the difference.”
And the funny thing? He was right. No one did.
Evil Has a Tantrum
“What are they doing now?” the voice asked.
“Trying to reattach the cable to the house,” the minion replied.
“Cable?”
“Yes. Cable.”
“I see.”
The room was cast in darkness. Long shadows fell across the mysterious figure shrouding his face and body in a gloomy veil. There was a moment of silence while the voice considered the possibilities.
“What kind of cable?” the voice finally asked. “Cable TV cable.”
“I see.”
Again, silence. The voice had not foreseen this eventuality. There was a reason. There must be. If only the voice could crack the enigma of this event.
“Don’t they have satellite TV? I thought everyone had satellite?” the voice finally asked.
“No, great leader, they still have cable.”
“I see.”
Possibilities, endless possibilities unfolded like an onion smashed against a wall.
“Do they at least have the premium channels?” the voice asked.
“By our records, they have Bravo and Cinemax, but not HBO,” the minion revealed.
“No HBO?! How do they watch
The Sopranos
?” “The one with the orange pumpkin for a head asked the same thing.”
“And the Brotherhood of Rotten Babysitters... did they destroy anyone?” the voice asked.
“Counting the cable?” the minion replied. “No! Not counting the cable!”
“Then no. They destroyed no one. Although Bunni did get a date with Boom Boy.”
“A date to
destroy
Boom Boy?” the voice asked hopefully.
“No. A date to Waterslide World. See, apparently Bunni didn’t get enough hugs as a child and when Spice Girl —”
“Please. I just... don’t want to know,” the voice sighed. “Do we have any more rotten baby-sitters?”
“ ‘Rotten’ as in babysitters who lack the skills to properly supervise a child, or are you making a commentary on their moral disposition?”
“I don’t care which one! I need someone to destroy the League of Big Justice!” the voice shouted.
The minion accessed his PDA. “Sorry, great leader, but all the remaining contacts we have are merely babysitters who lack the skills to properly supervise a child, such as Mrs. Duck-worth.”
“But does she have any super powers? Can she blow things up or blast things? Tell me she at least has the power to blast things!”
“No. But she does have a peculiar odor . . . not unlike mothballs.”
There was silence; a long deep silence that set upon the dark room while the voice thought for a moment, considering the multitude of options like a master studying a chessboard.
“And, sir? There’s still a matter of payment,” the minion reminded him.
“Payment?”
“Yes. We owe each member of the Brotherhood of Rotten Babysitters ten dollars an hour, plus double for every hour they tried to destroy the League of Big Justice after midnight.”
“Fine. Fine. Fine. But send it to them in pennies.”
“Pennies, O great leader?”
“Yes! Pennies! I
am
evil, you know!”
“Yes, great leader! Of course, great leader!” the minion gushed as he bowed repeatedly and backed out of the room.
“So...it would seem I have shown an error in judgment, sending well-dressed teenage girls to destroy the greatest superheroes the world has ever known,” the voice said to itself. “No matter. There shall be no mistake next time... for I shall destroy the League of Big Justice myself!”
“Uh...were you talking to me?” the minion called out from the other room.
“No! I was scheming! Can’t I scheme to myself anymore?!” the voice shouted back from the dark room.
The minion did not answer. The voice fumed. “And another thing!” the voice shouted to the minion. “Get someone to fix this light! I’m tired of sitting in the dark!”
Charisma Kid Saves the Day!
CHARISMA KID SAVES THE DAY! the newspaper headline screamed. Below it was a picture of the defeated Brotherhood of Rotten Babysitters.
“What?!” I shouted. “Charisma Kid wasn’t even there!”
Below that article was another photo of Captain Haggis being cut free from the undergrowth in my backyard by the local fire department. EVIL BUSHES ATTACK WORLD’S GREATEST HEROES! a smaller headline read.
I took off my goggles and threw them across the parking lot. They hit Pumpkin Pete in the head and draped across his face. “Hey, look!” Pete called out. “Free goggles!”
“I quit!” I shouted, as if throwing my goggles wasn’t evidence enough.
“You can’t quit!” Pete yelled, stomping up to me. “And why not?!” I huffed.
“Because you’re fired!” Pete snarled.
“Then give me back my goggles!”
Pete froze. The goggles’ elastic band was stretched to its breaking point as Pete forced them over his head. “So that’s how it’s gonna be? Well, then, you’re
un
fired!” Pete patted me on the back. “But can I keep the goggles?”
“Go ahead,” I sighed.
Pete ran off, as excited as a monkey in a banana store. He raced into the League of Big Justice and closed the door behind him. There was a moment of silence; then he cracked open the door again and poked out his head.
“You’re fired!” he shouted, then slammed the door.
“Fine,” I griped, then turned and walked straight into The Strike.
“You’re quitting?” he asked. I don’t know who was more surprised, The Strike because I quit, or me because he appeared out of nowhere.
“You’re a little late for saving me,” I complained.
“I didn’t need to save you. You beat those babysitters on your own,” The Strike consoled me.
“Wow. Good for me. I beat evil teenage girls.” “And saved your mom and The Sidekicks,” The Strike added. “It might be best if you wait until you
lose
a fight before you quit.”
“I almost
did
lose this fight. But I’m sure
you
would’ve saved me. Just like you did with Dr. Robot and the Mole Master, Master of Moles.” I crossed my arms. “Now that I think about it, most of the fights I
did
win were only because you saved me.”
“But you still won.”
“It doesn’t matter. Pete fired me,” I explained. “And tomorrow he’ll be looking for you at two o’clock!” The Strike laughed.
“Look, you’re not one to make big speeches about quitting,” I told him. “Didn’t you walk out on King Justice twelve years ago?”
“I had a good reason.”
“Well, so do I!” I defended. “I’m tired of doing all the work and everyone else getting the credit. I save the world and Pete gets the credit. I save Charisma Kid, and somehow Charisma Kid gets the credit. How do you get the credit for saving your own life?!”
“I can’t believe they get
all
the credit,” he said.
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it,” a young street urchin yelled from the corner, waving a fresh copy of the evening paper in the air. “Charisma Kid saves the world from rotten babysitters!”
I cocked an eyebrow at The Strike.
Suddenly, his utility belt flashed. He pulled out a small communicator. “This warns me when important news breaks!” he explained. The screen came to life.
“We’re here with the brave soul who single-handedly fought back the attacking babysitters!” a news reporter barked.
Charisma Kid’s pretty mug filled the screen. “Thank you! Thank you!” he began. “The odds were against me, and even though I wasn’t actually on the island where they were defeated and never even fought them, I’m just glad to have done my part to defeat those evil babysitters —”
“Rotten,” the news reporter corrected. “Rotten,” the cameraman agreed.
“Yes, yes,” Charisma Kid continued. “But this was one battle that I could not have fought alone. There’s one sidekick who helped me more than I can say, whose bravery and steely nerve gave me the inspiration to fight against insurmountable odds!”
I perked up. Was he talking about me? He had to be talking about me! There was no one else
to
talk about! I couldn’t believe it! It was amazing! It was...it was the greatest feeling I had ever —
“Blind-as-a-Bat Boy! I just want the world to hear me say... thanks!” Charisma Kid smiled.
Blind-as-a-Bat Boy stuck his head into the corner of the TV screen. “Skree! Skree!” he shrieked.
“You should have seen him batify those babysitters,” Charisma Kid bragged.
“Skree!”
“You bet, buddy!” Charisma Kid patted him on the back.
“Skree!”
“Blind-as-a-Bat Boy!? Who the heck is Blind-as-a-Bat Boy!?” I shouted to The Strike.
“You can’t quit, Speedy,” he said in response. “Give me one reason,” I said.
“Because you’re good. And right now, maybe more than ever before, the world needs a hero.”
“If the world needs a hero, it can have you again. Besides, I’m sure you’d rather be saving Charisma Kid than me.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Charisma Kid is a jerk,” The Strike said.
He thinks Charisma Kid is a jerk? I could really get to like this Strike guy. But I wasn’t convinced that easily.
“Like I said, you’re not one to go around telling people to not be quitters. Besides, I have a wonderful future ahead of me as junior assistant florist. Maybe my dad will finally be proud of me then.”
“He
is
proud of you, Speedy,” The Strike replied immediately.
I stopped and turned around. “How do you know that?”
The Strike looked at the ground. He took a deep breath. I could tell he was struggling with something.
“Well?” I pressed.
“I loved being a superhero,” he began. “I used to soar above this city like a bird! Imagine that, Speedy! Imagine the freedom and the joy! I bet it’s how you feel when you run — when you don’t give a darn about anything and just run!”
“Maybe,” I replied without looking at him.
“I knew I’d
never
find something that I loved more than being a superhero.”
“If you loved it so much, how come you quit?”
“Because I was wrong. I gave it all up because I
did
find something I loved even more,” The Strike explained.
“
Pfff
. What was
that
? Knitting?” I asked, rolling my eyes.
