by Lucas Flint
I ran my hands through my hair. “How long has he been teaching you how to be a thief?”
“Three years,” said Greta. “We started when I was thirteen, but I’ve always known about what my dad does. He never hid it from me, but he always told me not to tell anyone else. He even trained me in how to lie or change the topic in a conversation if he ever came up.”
“And you went along with this?” I said in disbelief. “It never occurred to you to report your father’s crimes to the police?”
Greta rubbed her hands together anxiously. “It’s not that simple. I just … I don’t have anyone other than my father. If I told the police what he does, they might arrest him and take him away from me. I’d be alone and left to fend for myself. My dad can sometimes be too secretive, but I know he loves and cares about me more than anyone else in the world, and I don’t want to lose him, even if that means keeping quiet about some of the things he’s doing in secret. You can understand that, can’t you?”
I nodded. I thought about how I’d feel if I had only one of my parents and how I’d be alone if I told the police about their crimes. On one hand, my strong sense of justice told me that this was an unacceptable excuse for breaking the law; on the other hand, my love for Greta helped me understand her and not rush to judgment too quickly.
“So for three years, I’ve been going around Golden City robbing various places,” said Greta. “Always with dad, of course, though he’s so good at hiding that most of the time no one knew that the ‘Robber,’ as I began to be known as, even had an accomplice. I started seeing my name in newspapers, on the news, and even among friends at school, who would sometimes talk about me and say the most awful things about the Robber without ever knowing that I was her; well, I should say ‘him,’ I suppose, because most people believe that the Robber is a man.”
I had to admit, what she just said took me by surprise. I felt the exact same way whenever anyone talked about Beams around me. Sure, they usually talked about Beams in positive terms, but it was still awkward to hear people speculating about Beams’ identity within earshot and it was definitely awkward not to be able to take the compliments which many people gave Beams because that would mean losing my license. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be a hated criminal and yet never be able to talk about it for fear that your friends might abandon you or turn you over to the police. It seemed like Greta and I had more in common than I thought.
“I’ve basically made my peace with my dad’s job,” said Greta. “I don’t like it, but at the same time, I can’t do anything about it. And I want my dad to love me, so I just do what he tells me to do. You’re the only person I’ve ever told my secret to; I haven’t even told my best friends.” She looked at me plaintively. “Are you going to report me to the police now?”
I hesitated, and said, “Who does your dad work for? Or is that a lie, too?”
“Actually, it’s not,” said Greta, shaking her head. “My dad works for a wealthy man who likes to collect various rare historical artifacts from around the world. He has my dad go around the world stealing whatever happens to catch his eye. He pays my dad well, but … I don’t like him one bit.”
“What’s his name?” I said. “Would I recognize it?”
“I don’t know if you would,” said Greta, “but I guess since I’m telling you everything anyway, I might as well tell you the identity of my dad’s employer. His name is Albert Monsoon. He’s the head of McCoy Robotics. Ever heard of that company?”
I nodded. That was the name of the same company that Greg Elliot, AKA Lord Mechanika, worked for before he went insane. “I didn’t know the name of the boss, but I have heard of it before. Kind of hard not to, given how they have a factory near here.”
Greta nodded. “Yes. I’ve only met him a few times, because he tries to keep his connection to my dad under the radar, but he’s a creep. He may be rich and powerful, but he always acts really creepy. I wish my dad wouldn’t work for him, but he does pay well and on time and has never cheated my dad out of his money, so that’s why my dad keeps working for him.” She leaned toward me, her blue eyes wide with worry and curiosity. “Now, are you going to tell the police about me and my dad or not?”
Once again, I hesitated. My sense of justice told me that I should. What Greta and her dad did was wrong. Theft was a crime, after all, and also an immoral action in and of itself. Greta and her dad were exactly the kind of people that sidekicks like me were supposed to help capture and put behind bars. If I didn’t tell the police about her, I could end up in big trouble, and maybe even Rubberman would, too, because as my employer, he is legally responsible for whatever I do. Not to mention I was angry at how she had lied to me personally; after all, we were dating each other, and I didn’t think it was right for girlfriends to keep such important secrets from their boyfriends or vice versa.
On the other hand, Greta did not seem like most criminals or villains I fought. She seemed genuinely remorseful for lying to me and for the actions that she and her father had done. Plus, I still liked her a lot and related to her now more than I ever did. It was kind of ironic, in a way. We were on opposite sides of the law, yet I felt like I understood her and what she was going through more than what other sidekicks did. Perhaps it was because we both had identities which we needed to keep secret from the general public, me because the law said so, her because the law would put her in jail if the government found out.
And I understood wanting to please your parents. My parents have never been that hard to please, to be frank, but I still want their approval and still want to do what will make them happy. Greta clearly felt the same way about her dad. If anything, her feelings were probably stronger, because she didn’t have a mother or anyone else she could turn to. If I reported her dad to the police and they arrested him, Greta would have nowhere else to go. She might end up homeless or worse. It would be cruel to have her end up on the streets or lose her home because of her dad’s decisions.
Rubberman always told me that being in this business meant you might find yourself in between a rock and a hard place, but until now, I didn’t really understand what he meant by that. I wondered how often Rubberman found himself in these types of situations, situations where the right answer wasn’t immediately obvious and where both options seemed equally bad. Maybe I was just being indecisive. If Rubberman was here, he’d probably already be calling the police to have her hauled off to jail and have her dad thrown behind bars with her.
But I wasn’t Rubberman. I was my own person. And so I made my decision.
I stood up and looked down at Greta. “Greta, I’m not going to report what you or your father are doing to the police.”
Greta sighed in relief. “Thanks. I thought—”
“I’m not finished speaking,” I said. I readjusted my glasses. “What you and your father are doing is wrong, but if I reported you to the police, I don’t think it would matter much. I imagine that your father would find a way to ‘prove’ his innocence in court. It might end up causing more problems than it solves.” I looked at her harder than before. “But don’t mistake that for approval of your actions. I don’t approve of what you and your father are doing at all, even if I understand why you do what you do.”
Greta sniffled, but did not say anything, which was good, because I was not done talking yet.
“And because of that, I can’t date you anymore,” I said. “I still like you a lot—maybe even love you, I don’t know—but I can’t continue to date you knowing what you and your father are doing. It’s just not something I can continue to do in good conscience.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected Greta to do. Perhaps I expected her to cry some more or maybe get angry and start calling me names or something like that.
What I didn’t expect her to do was nod once and say, through a sniffly nose, “I understand, Alex. I understand. I feared something like this might happen, but I can’t say I am surprised.”
“Then you understand th
at I have to leave,” I said. “Are you going to tell your dad you let a boy in the house when he gets back or not?”
“Maybe,” said Greta. “He won’t be back for a while because of … well, you know now.”
I nodded. “Right. Well, see you at school tomorrow, I guess.”
With that, I walked out of the living room and out the door of her house. I expected Greta to come after me, to call me back and beg I don’t just leave her like that, but I didn’t even hear her get up. And when I was at the end of her driveway and glanced back one last time at her house, I did not see her, either in the doorway or in any of the windows.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
About an hour later, I parked my bike into the bike rack inside the entrance to the Elastic Cave. My backpack was unusually heavy, because I’d stuffed it with extra clothing and some of my other possessions from home so I would be able to make myself comfortable in the Elastic Cave while I was away. It didn’t hurt my shoulders too much, because part of my training with Rubberman included several shoulder exercises, but biking across the city with such a heavy backpack on my shoulders was still not easy by any means.
Less than an hour ago, I had arrived home and explained to Mom and Dad about what happened recently and what Rubberman and I had decided to do. As I expected, both of them argued that I should stay home, that I would be safer there, but I managed to convince them that I’d be a lot safer in the Elastic Cave, which was designed to keep out assassins like ZZZ, and that they’d be safer, too, because ZZZ was targeting me and not them. It helped that I told them that I would only stay in the Elastic Cave until ZZZ was arrested, though I did not tell them when I would come back because I didn’t know myself.
As a result, my parents allowed me to pack all of the important stuff I left at the house that I couldn’t get at the Elastic Cave. I didn’t bring any food, water, or anything like that, because the Elastic Cave was well-stocked with all of that, but I did grab my clothing, homework, and other things that the Elastic Cave either did not have or did not have much of. Then I said good bye to my parents, who both hugged me and told me to be safe while I was away.
I took my usual route back to the Elastic Cave, rather than the route that would take me by Greta’s house. I didn’t want to see Greta again, at least not so soon after we broke up. I told myself that this was for the best, that I needed to do this if I was going to keep her safe, but at the same time, I couldn’t feel happy about it. The idea that Greta and her dad were thieves left a bad taste in my mouth and I felt guilty for my decision not to tell the police about them. I tried to reason with myself that they weren’t murderers or anything like that, but all of my justifications sounded like bull even to me. That was why I didn’t like to think about it, because I didn’t want to think about whether I’d done the right thing or not.
Shaking my head, I walked over to the elevator and immediately descended down to Level One. It felt kind of weird entering the Elastic Cave at the time when I was usually at home, eating dinner, doing homework, or getting ready to go to bed. But this was going to be my life for the next … I don’t know how long, so I might as well get used to it.
Once the elevator reached Level One, I stepped out of it and said, “Rubberman, Adams, I’m here.”
Adams stuck his head out of the kitchen area and waved at me. “Ah, hello, Mr. Fry. It’s good to see that you didn’t waste any time returning here and that that vile assassin did not get you.”
“Thanks, Adams,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I didn’t even seen ZZZ anywhere. He’s probably hiding or recovering from his failed attempt to kill me earlier today.”
“Of course he is,” said Adams with a sigh. “Oh, I just remembered, Mr. Pullman asked to see you in his office when you got back.”
I frowned and looked down the hallway to my left, where the door to Rubberman’s office was ajar. “What for?”
“I do not know,” said Adams. “I suspect it has something to do with your living arrangements in the Elastic Cave, because you are the first temporary guest we’ve had in a while. You’ll need to be aware of how things around here operate when you are usually in home or at school.”
I looked at Adams curiously. “You mean I’m not the first guest to stay here in the Elastic Cave?”
“Of course,” said Adams. “We’ve kept people down here before, usually to protect them from supervillains or criminals who want to kill them. It’s rather rare, however, because Mr. Pullman doesn’t like having too many guests over, as he likes his privacy, especially when it comes to protecting his business’s secrets.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay, I’ll go to his office, then.”
“Good idea,” said Adams. He gestured at my backpack. “But you can leave your backpack on the ground. I’ll take it to your room for you, because I’m almost done cooking in the kitchen and will have some spare time to get your room ready for you while you’re talking with Mr. Pullman.”
“Thanks,” I said as I slipped the heavy backpack off my shoulders and onto the floor. “That’s awfully kind of you, Adams.”
“Don’t get used to it,” said Adams, wagging a finger at me. “While I will attend to most of your and Mr. Pullman’s needs while you are here, that does not mean you can boss me around or treat me like a slave. Understand?”
I nodded, though I couldn’t help but feel guilty under his withering gaze anyway. Adams had a way of doing that; it reminded me of my grandfather and his own stern gaze. “Sure thing, Adams. I definitely won’t forget that.”
Adams smiled suddenly. “Good. Now run along and see Mr. Pullman before he starts to wonder where you are.”
I nodded again and walked down the hallway to Rubberman’s office. This time, I didn’t bother to knock, because I figured that Rubberman had already likely heard my conversation with Adams and wouldn’t be surprised to see me enter.
When I entered the office, I saw Rubberman seated behind his desk, as usual, but he didn’t have a box of merchandise on his desk like he did the last time I was here. His eyes were on his computer, while in his hand he held one of those fidget spinner toys I’d seen the younger kids at school playing with. It was spinning fast, and anytime it slowed down, he would spin it again without even really paying attention to it.
“Rubberman?” I said as I closed the door behind me. “Adams told me you wanted to see me.”
Rubberman looked at me and smiled. “Ah, Alex. I didn’t hear you enter. Please have a seat.”
I walked over and sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. It was soft and firm, though my attention was more on the toy spinning in Rubberman’s hands than anything. “Is that a fidget spinner?”
“Yep,” said Rubberman. He stopped spinning it and showed it to me. “Cool, isn’t it?”
I looked at it more closely and realized that this particular spinner was in Rubberman’s colors. It even had a picture of his mask in the center.
I looked at Rubberman, puzzled. “Is this a Rubberman-branded fidget spinner?”
“Yeah,” said Rubberman as he placed the spinner on the desk next to his keyboard. “I made a deal with the company that makes these toys to allow them to use my name to market their stuff. That was before I hired you, by the way, so unfortunately you aren’t going to get your own fidget spinner anytime soon. Sorry about that.”
Considering I thought fidget spinners were the lamest fad ever, I didn’t feel particularly deprived like Rubberman seemed to think I did. “Nah, it’s not a problem. I think I’ll learn to live without my own fidget spinner.”
“If you say so,” said Rubberman. “If these sell well, I’ll try to negotiate some Beams fidget spinners. No guarantees, of course, but I figure you deserve to have one, not to mention that the collectors are going to go crazy if they can’t get a Beams fidget spinner to go along with their Rubberman one.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sound like it’s happened before.”
“All the time,” said Rubberman, shaking his
head. “Most superhero collectors are obsessed with having matching merchandise. If there’s a Rubberman action figure, they’ll demand a Beams one to go with it. Or if there’s a Myster party hat, then they want a Cyberkid one to match it. I don’t quite understand it myself, but for some reason collectors don’t feel like their collections are complete unless they have both the superhero and the sidekick.” He shrugged. “Personally, I don’t mind it, because that means more money for us, but it does seem a little weird.”
“It does,” I agreed. “But is that all you wanted to talk with me about? Just your fidget spinner?”
“No, that isn’t what I wanted to talk with you about,” said Rubberman. “It was just a side thing. I just wanted to make sure you were handling this change okay.”
“What do you mean?”
“I understand that this is a stressful situation for you,” said Rubberman. “With an assassin after your head and having to relocate for your and your family’s safety, I can’t imagine what must be going through your head at the moment. I didn’t have to deal with this sort of thing when I was your age, so I’m just worried about how you’re dealing with it.”
“Um …” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m handling it all right.”
Rubberman, however, shook his head. “No, I can tell you’re bothered by something. Do you want to tell me what it is?”
I gripped the bottom of my chair. I was still thinking about Greta, but I’d promised to her that I wouldn’t tell anyone the truth about her and her father. I trusted Rubberman a lot, but I also knew that he would not hesitate to call the police and inform them about Greta and her father’s crimes if he learned of them. Or he might even go to her house and arrest her himself; I wouldn’t put it past him, given how dedicated to his job he is.
“It’s just what you said,” I said. “Everything has happened so quickly that I’m having a hard time adjusting to it. And I’m worried that it won’t be enough, that ZZZ might come after me or my family anyway or that it might be years before I can go back to my home again.”