“Are you fucking crazy?” Homeless Joe shouted.
Chuck’s brain couldn’t connect the dots of coherent thought. “Maybe…I didn’t mean…I was only…shit…”
“You son of a bitch! You wasted my goddamn hooch!”
Chuck sat on the curb watching the horde of cops get the crime scene under control. They had assured him that he wasn’t in any trouble, but had asked him to hang around to give his statement. Homeless Joe sat next to him, either asleep or passed out, miraculously upright. Chuck was kind of impressed with the old guy. Clearly, he’d had a lot of practice sleeping in odd situations. Despite the late hour and long day, Chuck was in no danger of nodding off.
He texted Penny to let her know he was alright, but would be a while. No immediate response meant one of two things: either she had used her secret Mom Magic to get Paxton back to sleep and was sleeping herself, or she was dealing with an irate baby and didn’t have time to text. One of those situations was far better than the other.
“Sorry I snapped at you in there,” Homeless Joe said, slurring the words ever so slightly. “I get a little possessive of my booze once I pay for it. Takes a lot to earn the money, and it’s the only thing that helps me sleep.”
“No problem,” Chuck said, noting that at least part of his backstory for the man was true. “It was a tense situation, and I don’t blame you a bit.”
The old man laughed. “Yeah, it was a tense situation alright. But you’d never know that by the way you acted. You were calm and collected, and you did what needed doing.” He looked Chuck in the eye for the first time. His words were clear now, not slurred at all. “You read the robber, came up with a plan, and executed it. And in the process, you diffused the situation with only one person getting hurt, when it could have been more. I don’t go throwing this word around, but that’s the sort of thing a ‘hero’ would do.”
A sharp laugh escaped Chuck’s mouth before he realized it. “I’ve been called many things in my day, but never that. You give me too much credit. I didn’t really read what was going on, and I certainly didn’t plan anything. In fact, I was telling myself just to give the guy my money and stay quiet. I didn’t even realize I had done anything until it was over. Doesn’t sound like a hero to me.”
Homeless Joe gave him the kind of smile every parent recognizes. The one you give your kids when they say something they believe wholeheartedly to be true, but will only learn is wrong with years of experience. “Son, you may not have been trying to be a hero, but that doesn’t change what you did. Actions matter more than thoughts.” He paused, breaking eye contact and staring off into the distance. “You see, I was having the exact same thoughts. ‘Just wait it out. Don’t draw attention to yourself. It will pass’. But I listened to those thoughts, while you took action. That’s the difference between us. You knew the right thing to do, and wouldn’t let your brain fool you into doing something different. I was more than happy to play the fool.”
Chuck didn’t know how to respond. He would have to rework his mental backstory for this guy to add something like “streetwise psychologist” to it. These were deep thoughts for after 3:00 AM. Rather than ponder them, he changed the subject. “How about I buy you a new bottle to replace the one I busted?”
Homeless Joe blinked back tears. “There was a time I took action,” he said quietly. “When I was the hero. But now I’m weak, and I’m a coward.” Then, so quietly Chuck could barely make it out, “And I’m a disgrace to my name.”
The old man stayed quiet after that. Chuck watched the police officers as they took photos, bagged evidence, and did things he didn’t quite understand. After a couple of minutes had passed in silence, he turned to check on the old man, figuring he had nodded off again.
Instead he found that he was alone on the curb. Homeless Joe was nowhere in sight. But where he was sitting there was a package, wrapped in crumpled brown paper, with a note that said “I don’t deserve this anymore. You earned it.”
“Sir, we’re ready for your statement. Can you come with me please?” The young police officer broke Chuck from the momentary trance the package had placed on him. Without thinking, he grabbed it, tucked it under his arm, and followed the officer to his car.
It was just after 5:00 when Chuck finally slumped back into the minivan. The cops kept assuring him that he wasn’t in any trouble, but they also kept asking him to repeat exactly what happened, over and over, as if they were looking for him to slip up on some detail. He was probably imagining it, a side effect of having seen too many episodes of Law and Order, plus exhaustion messing with his mind.
He tossed the package, along with the diapers that started this whole adventure, into the passenger seat, fired up the van, and headed home.
The whole family was sleeping when he walked in. Penny had done an amazing job, somehow managing to turn a kitchen towel into a makeshift diaper, and getting Pax to go to sleep in it. Then she had gone back to sleep herself. As far as he could tell, Riley had slept through the whole ordeal.
For the first time since the attempted robbery, he was alone, and able to really reflect on what had happened. He wondered what had come over him? Why had he taken such a risk? He knew Penny and the kids needed him, and he couldn’t go playing cowboy just to feel some excitement. The silly fantasies in the car were one thing. But this was real. And it was dangerous.
He wondered if a need for excitement was the only reason. He had a nagging feeling there was something deeper at play. He tried to figure out what else it could be, but every time he got close to a thought, exhaustion pushed it away. He realized that he could still get an hour or so of sleep if he went to bed right now. And that was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.
Chapter Three
“Daddy? Daddy? Why don’t bees wear coats? Is it because they can’t find their size at the store? Daddy? Wake up Daddy. Am I going to school today Daddy? Can I have cereal for breakfast? Make sure you get milk on all the pieces. I like milk on all the pieces. Daddy? Are you going to wake up today Daddy?”
Chuck groaned. “I’m awake sweetheart.” He rolled over to face Riley. For her third birthday, in addition to a mountain of toys, she had received the ability to go from sound asleep to totally awake in the blink of an eye. She did not get that from him.
“I want to go downstairs now. Can we watch TV? I need to go potty. Daddy, can we go downstairs now? Is it a school day? And what about the bees? Can we find coats for them? I don’t want oatmeal today. I want cereal. But only if I can have milk on all the pieces. Are you still sleeping daddy? I’m ready to go downstairs.”
He wondered whether small children needed to breathe, or if that was something they grew into. He fought through the fog in his head and sat up. “We can go downstairs sweetheart, but let’s be quiet so we don’t wake up your brother,” he said, bending down to pick her up.
Riley put on her most serious face. “Ok Daddy, I’ll be really, really quiet,” she said, in her biggest of big girl voices.
“Thank you, sweetie. Now let’s go get you some cere—AAAAHHHHH, son of a…” Pain rocketed through Chuck’s foot as he jammed his little toe on the end of the bed.
Penny turned toward him, murder in her eyes. “SHHHHHHH!”
Riley giggled.
“WAAAAAAAHHHH!”
Chuck slumped his shoulders, kissed Riley on the head, and limped to Pax’s room.
He managed to get the morning back on track. He got Riley her cereal, with milk on all the pieces. Brushed her teeth. Helped her pick out clothes. Got her dressed. Stuck with her as she decided she didn’t like those clothes and picked out different ones. Got her dressed again. Repeated that two more times. And finally plopped her down in front of the TV so he could get ready.
All thing’s considered, it was a normal morning. Which also meant he barely got a chance to say “Good morning” to Penny, much less tell her about what happened at the convenience store. That would have to wait, unless he wanted to be late for work. He scooped Ril
ey and Pax up, gave Penny a kiss goodbye, and headed out the door.
One of the primary selling points of a minivan — besides the stylish looks, incredible fuel economy, and killer horsepower — was the ease of getting kids into car seats. Sure, there was a sliding door. And that meant that there was plenty of room to get the kid in their seat. But nobody who had tried to put Riley in her seat would be so foolish as to think any kind of vehicle could make the process “easy”.
“It’s too hot! I don’t want to go to school! We forgot my giraffe! My seat is hot! My shoes feel funny lookin’!” Riley was screaming, tears running down her tiny face. Chuck employed focused arguments when he tried to persuade someone. Riley preferred a shotgun approach. Throw a bunch of reasons on the wall and see what sticks.
“Riley, we have to be quick, or daddy’s going to be late for work, and your friends will take all the good toys at school.” Chuck tried to make his voice sound like one of those patient parents he read about parenting message boards.
“But I don’t want to go to school!” She arched her back in the seat, making it impossible to get the straps on her.
“You love school. All of your friends are there. And you love the art projects. And the playground.”
“I don’t like any of that!”
Chuck wished, for neither the first nor last time, that someone had invented a pediatric version of the tranquilizer dart guns they used to take down wild game. He would have paid more than the van was worth for one of those.
“Sweetie, if you get in your seat and get buckled, I’ll let you play with my phone on the way to school,” he said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.
Faster than a mercury on a hot skillet, Riley sat back in the seat and threaded her arms through the straps. A few seconds later, she was buckled and playing on his phone, giggling at a pink cartoon cat, and they were off.
Chuck willed the van to stay on four wheels as the took the turn into the daycare parking lot faster than intended. I can still make it on time, he thought, just have to get them inside and catch a break or two with traffic.
As he unbuckled Riley she pointed to the passenger seat. “Daddy, did you get a present?”
In the confusion, he had totally forgotten about the package Homeless Joe had given him the night before. “Yes, sweetheart, I guess I did.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“A nice old man at the Quick Stop. Now, we need to get Pax and get into school. Quick, quick, quick.” He clapped his hands with each “quick” to emphasize his point.
“Are you going to open it?”
“Later sweetie. Right now, we need to get you into school,” he said, pulling her out of the car. He carried her around to the other side of the van to get Pax and sat her down. “Hold onto my pocket please, while I get your brother.”
She grabbed the pocket of his pants. “If you don’t like it, can I have it?”
“We’ll see. Now, let’s see how quiet we can be until we get to your classroom.”
He spent most of his commute stealing glances at the package. It wasn’t very big. About the size of a frozen pizza. It was wrapped in battered brown paper. Spots of dirt and grime adorned the top. A small envelope was taped to one corner.
His mind raced through questions. How had this homeless man managed to carry around this box, and keep it wrapped? And where was he keeping it while he was in the store? Or while he was sitting on the curb next to Chuck? Had that drunk old man slipped away, gotten the package, written the note, placed the package onto the curb next to Chuck, then slipped away again, all without Chuck noticing?
And what the heck was it? What was this guy not worthy of that Chuck was? His imagination explored every possibility he could think of. Was it his one possession of value? A painting maybe? One that he couldn’t bear to part with when he lost everything else? Or maybe some kind of award he had received? Would Chuck open it to find a framed letter of commendation from the man’s former boss? Or was the man totally nuts, and had given him something completely random? A box of leaves and twigs, or an old newspaper.
His preoccupation with the package made the commute fly by. The traffic gods smiled upon him and he arrived in his office’s parking lot with 3 minutes to spare. He knew the smart thing to do was to leave the package in the van and open it after work. Just get inside, clock in, and avoid a tongue lashing from his boss.
Chuck was still good at recognizing the smart thing to do, but for some reason he was starting to have a hard time doing it. Instead of punching in like a good employee, he picked up the package and felt the weight of it in his hands. His brain raced through possibilities, while his gut told him to just rip into it and find out what it was. He was torn. At this point, the package represented pure potential. He had no idea what was inside. The moment he opened it, the mystery was gone. It might be something amazing. Or it might be something mundane. But he would know. And the fun would be over.
He glanced at the minivan’s clock. Had he really been holding this thing for 11 minutes? He was going to be in trouble now. Time to open it, and see if whatever was inside was worth it.
He tore the paper from one corner of the package. He forced himself to take his time. When the last bit of paper gave way, it revealed a standard white gift box. The kind department stores give away when you buy a shirt before Christmas. It was plain white, with no store logo.
After taking a second to savor the final moments of wonder, he lifted the lid. Removing the top, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered, “he thinks I’ve earned this”. He cleared his mind and opened his eyes.
Chapter Four
It took Chuck a minute to figure out what he was looking at. Fabric of some kind. Silk? It was smooth, shimmery. Cool to the touch. Silver. Or light blue. White? The lighting in the van must have been strange, because he couldn’t tell.
Ok, it’s made from fabric. But what is it? A blanket? Definitely not a shirt. Could it be a… “That crazy old bastard,” he said, shaking his head. “What the hell did a homeless dude need with a cape?”
A cape, Chuck thought for the eight hundredth time. Why would a homeless guy give me a cape? And why is he not worthy of it? He had thought of these questions over and over again since getting disgusted and coming into the office. There was only one rational conclusion he could come to: that crazy old fart thought he was some kind of superhero.
He swallowed his disappointment and struggled to keep it down. He realized that he didn’t deserve anything, and that he hadn’t earned it. And that it was unrealistic to believe that a homeless guy would have something of real value to give him. But he still couldn’t help feeling that he had missed out on something. Oh well, there’s nothing better to get your mind off of disappointment than eight solid hours of corporate accounting.
He made it almost four minutes into balancing numbers on a spreadsheet before his mind wandered back to the cape. Maybe it’s a movie prop, he thought. Might be worth something. I’d better check. He typed a bunch of different search phrases into his METIS search engine.
Not only was it the most popular search engine in the world, by far, but using a competitor’s engine inside a METIS office was at least frowned upon, if not a fireable offense. Chuck hadn’t put 11 years into the company to get fired over something stupid like using another search engine. If he was going to get fired, it would be over something stupid like looking up details of a cape during his work hours.
Chuck sighed, closed his browser, and went back to his spreadsheet.
Eighteen minutes later he went back to searching for the cape. He considered himself a master researcher, but this thing didn’t give him much to work with. He knew it was a cape. But he couldn’t really tell what color it was. Or what material it was. The only identifying feature was the large block “W” on the back, navy trimmed in silver.
After 20 minutes of getting nowhere, he was pretty sure it wasn’t a movie prop. Switching tactics, he tried an image search. A sea
rch for “Blue cape W” turned up a few panels from a comic book. Now we’re getting somewhere. Not necessarily somewhere profitable, but somewhere at least.
Following the first link took him to a Wikipedia entry for Mr. Wonder, a comic book hero from the 60s and 70s. Great, Chuck thought. Not only is it a comic book, it’s a comic that hasn’t been made in decades. At this point he figured he’d be lucky if the cape was worth more than the box.
Not wanting to get back to work, he went back and clicked through a few more of the links his search returned. By the time he got to the link for superheroesarentfiction.com, he had no hope of finding anything useful.
The site looked like a crackpot conspiracy theory site from a prior decade. Blinking text proclaimed “Super Heroes Exist in Real Life”. A scrolling banner implored him to “Click here to read about the government cover-up”. Fuzzy photos showed “real” super heroes, though those photos were taken with the same camera that usually captured Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. He was about to close the site and get back to work, when something caught his eye. One of the fuzzy photos had a familiar look to it. He zoomed it as far as he could, and, though it wasn’t completely clear, he was pretty sure that was his cape.
Chuck pondered this for a minute. He dismissed any notion that the site was right about super heroes. But whoever ran it might know where the cape came from. Or if it was rare. Or worth money. Heck, the guy might even want to buy it. So far it was his best lead. Might as well follow it.
If the person that ran the site really thought there was a government cover-up of real-life superheroes, they weren’t concerned with the government finding out who they were. They made no effort to hide their identity from any secret agencies that might want to tie up loose ends. All it took was a click on the “About Us” link for Chuck to find out that the site was built and maintained by Albert Jefferson, proprietor of Capes and Cowls Comics and Collectibles, “Northern Virginia’s Most Eclectic Comic shop”.
A Dad in a Cape (Mr Wonder Book 1) Page 2