“Not all comic book heroes are based on real people,” Albie said. “Some are created for dramatic purposes. Wolverine is one of the fake ones. Even the ones that are real are usually exaggerations. The real Superman couldn’t do all of the things he can do in the comics. At first, the real versions kept their distance from their fictional doppelgängers. But, over time, they started to embrace the role, and act more like the character.”
Chuck played along. “Makes perfect sense. I guess Mr. Wonder is one of the real ones then?”
“Oh, right, Mr. Wonder,” Albie said, remembering how they’d gotten on this topic to begin with. “Yes. He’s real. Nobody is sure of his real identity though. He was never popular enough for folks to do the level of digging required to get to that. But he’s definitely real. And I’m almost certain that’s his cape.”
“Assuming it is his cape, what does that mean for me?” Chuck was thrilled to finally be getting back to the point. “Can I sell it? Or do I have to try and get in touch with him to give it back? Or is there another option?”
Albie snorted. “Oh, you can’t sell it. I mean, you could try I guess. What’s your plan? Put it on eBay? If you do, almost everyone will assume it’s fake and has no value. But someone will realize it’s real. And that won’t be someone you want to deal with. Think about it, Chuck. Who would be most interested in Mr. Wonder’s cape? Someone like me? Sure, I’m interested, but not enough to deal with the pain and suffering it will bring. So, maybe a big Mr. Wonder fan, who also happens to know he’s real? Assuming someone like that exists, they’ll know that the cape is the source of Mr. Wonder’s power, and that it’s bound to him. Nobody else can wear it. And by having it, they’re putting their hero in danger. No Chuck, the only people who would really be interested in that cape are Mr. Wonder’s enemies. And, while they want it more than anything in the world, they’re not interested in buying it, if you know what I mean.”
Chuck stared at Albie in silence for a long moment, letting his words tumble around in his head. It all kind of made sense, even though it wasn’t what he wanted. Of course, it only made sense if you bought into the premise that this was a real superhero cape. Which he didn’t.
“Ok then Albie, I think I’ve wasted enough of your time. I have to get back to work. Thanks for looking at the cape, thanks for the comic, and thanks for talking me through this. If you decide you want to buy it, here’s my number.” Chuck grabbed a pen and scrap of paper from Albie’s cluttered desk, scribbled his name, and handed it to Albie.
Albie looked at him, searching his face for something. “Don’t do anything stupid Chuck. Call me if you come to your senses and need help.”
“Will do, thanks again,” Chuck said, turning and walking back to the front of the shop as quickly as he thought was polite. By the time he was at the front door he was nearly at a sprint. He ran to his van and slammed the door behind him.
What the hell did you get me into old man?
Chapter Six
The rest of Chuck’s work day passed without incident, at least compared to his morning. He was proud of himself for staying focused enough to get some real work done. Accounts were balanced. Inconsistencies spotted. Capes searched for.
Another miserable rush hour gave him plenty of time to think about the cape. The way he figured, he really had three choices:
Believe the cape was real, and try to track the old man down and give it back
Believe Albie was a whack job, and try to sell the cape
Not worry about what to believe, and just keep it as a prop to play with the kids
By the time he got home, he was pretty sure he had made a decision. But there was no harm in taking the weekend to think it through.
“Penny, I’m home,” Chuck said in his worst Ricky Ricardo impression. Penny always hated that. “Penny? You here Pen?”
It was quiet. Alarmingly quiet. No fighting over toys, or squeals of joy, or off-key renditions of the latest hit song from an animated princess movie. No pleading to “please just put your pants back on”. No random crashes, stomping elephants, or singing toys.
And the smell was off. The stale smell of old diapers and baby formula wasn’t quite missing, but it was in the background. It was being masked by something. Chuck couldn’t quite place what it was. It was kind of beefy. But with lots of spices. Cinnamon? Cardamom? Cloves? And was there a little lime slicing through the smell? Was it...?
“Penny, did you get pho? Or did a Vietnamese person break in, kidnap the kids, and leave soup while we were at work?”
Penny’s answer came from somewhere upstairs. “Do you really think your old friend Benny Nguyen would appreciate you assuming his people are kidnappers?”
“Hey, I said they left soup,” Chuck shouted back. “And Benny’s such a good guy he’d probably go along with it, even if I was disparaging his people. Are the kids around here somewhere, or did you finally ship them off to the circus?”
“They’re at my folks. And now I have a mess to clean up with the Ringling Brothers, on top of the entire country of Vietnam?” Penny said, walking down the stairs. “Can we make it a trifecta before you even have your shoes off?”
Chuck watched her walk down the stairs, amazed for the millionth time that she could be that beautiful, in lounge wear, after a hard day of work, with almost no sleep. Her hair wasn’t styled. She wore no makeup. Her face showed a few more wrinkles than when they’d first met. But to his eyes she was perfect.
“How about I just tell you how utterly gorgeous you are, and stop the bleeding there?”
“Throw in a kiss and I’d say all can be forgiven,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. He kissed her. Not the fiery kiss of young lovers, but a firm, smoldering one that reflected both their long relationship, and the heat that still remained in it. “Yeah, that’ll do.”
He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “I love you Penelope Ann.” She hated being called that.
“I love you too, Charles,” she countered. He hated that even more.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, sarcasm fully engaged. “You have a funny way of showing it. I mean, what? You get the kids out of the house, bring home my favorite takeout, manage to stay incredibly sexy after all these years and two kids, but you can’t even manage to have a cocktail waiting for me when I walk in the door? For shame, dear. It’s back to the June Cleaver School of Husband Husbandry for you.”
“Oh, I’m frightfully sorry Ward,” she said, in her best mock submissive wife tone. “I try so hard to get all of the details right for you, but my tiny woman brain can’t remember so many things. Should I go get the sack of oranges?”
“No, not this time, dear,” Chuck said, filling his voice with mock condescension. “I know you’ll try harder next time. Plus, I don’t want the soup to get cold.”
Penny chuckled softly. “Did people really act like that, you think? Or did they just like seeing it on TV? I can’t imagine how that would be any fun for either party.”
“Penny, my dear, aside from your stunning beauty and sharp wit, your absolute inability to be anyone’s servant is the biggest reason I married you. Well, that and I figured you’d say ‘yes’.”
“And I married you for your smooth talking. Now can we eat?”
“And he just stares blankly at the screen and says, ‘I don’t get it’,” Penny said, exasperated. “I didn’t even know how to respond. I mean, it’s a duck. And he’s clearly sea sick. He takes your stupid medicine, and he’s back to bobbing with the other ducks. It’s not exactly Chaucer. There aren’t layers of meaning here. Anyway, he tells us to go back to the drawing board. Three months down the tube. And it’s not like we’re going to get paid for the extra work.”
Chuck slurped noodles from his pho. “A seasick duck? That’s clever. But not too clever. Any way to reuse it for another client?”
“I don’t know. It’s a pretty specific situation. Anyway, how was your day? Have a hard time staying awake after last night?” Her eyes widened as
she remembered how weird last night was. “And what the hell happened last night?”
“Ah, yes,” Chuck said, putting down his spoon. “You haven’t heard about your husband the hero yet, have you. You don’t even know the greatness you’re gazing upon. Move out of the way Superman, there’s a new top dog in town.”
Penny continued to eat her soup, not pausing to look at her husband.
“Ok, I’ll skip the hyperbole and give you the version based on facts. I was waiting in line, diapers in hand, when a guy burst in with a gun. Said to stay calm and hand over our wallets. He got distracted with the cashier. I stole a 40 from a homeless guy and whacked the robber over the head with it. Not a total win though, since his gun went off and hit the cashier in the shoulder. But not too bad for an accountant, I guess.”
Penny looked up from her soup, eyebrow cocked. “That’s the ‘version based on facts’?”
“What? That’s the truth. Really. No embellishment. What part do you think I’m making up? You don’t think I can be a tough guy? No faith in the gun show over here?” He flexed his biceps, kissing each one in turn, accentuating his point.
Penny made a show of being unimpressed. “I’m not sure you can hurt anyone with those pellet guns, dear. That’s not what I’m having a hard time with though. Why’d you act at all, instead of just doing the smart thing and going along with the guy? I’ve known you a long time. You don’t have a problem taking risks when the outcome is going to be fun. But you’re pretty conservative otherwise.”
Chuck nodded. “Funny, my brain was telling me to keep quiet, follow directions, and get through it. But my hands had a different idea. Honestly, I didn’t even know what I did until after it was done, and I saw the guy lying on the floor. It was kind of like I blacked out, but my body kept on going.”
“I’m not thrilled that you took action like that, honey,” Penny said, all playfulness gone. “You could have gotten hurt. Or worse. And it would be pretty silly to get yourself shot over the $4 in your wallet.”
“I know. And like I said, my brain…Hang on. How did you know I had $4 in my wallet?”
“Huh?” Penny’s face was a perfect picture of innocence. “I didn’t. It was just a guess. Or I might have taken the other $40 you had in there yesterday morning. One of those.”
“Why did you…You know what, never mind. It’s not important right now. Anyway, I would never consciously risk my safety over something silly. I couldn’t do that to you and the kids. My brain was telling me to play it cool. So I don’t know why I did what I did. But looking back, it felt good. Really good. I did something Penny. I took action. And it worked. As a matter of fact, it worked so well I think I might have had a secret career as a super spy, then had my memory wiped of it. And something about the situation triggered those instincts to come back. Penny,” he said, getting very serious. “I think I’m Jason Bourne.”
Penny rolled her eyes. He loved it when she did that. “You’re way more Louis Tully than Jason Bourne dear. And I love you for it.”
“The guy from Ghostbusters? You wound me,” he said, feigning being offended. “And you better hope that this new super spy version of me likes you, or you might be next on my hit list.”
“Easy tough guy. Seriously, I’m happy you’re ok. And I’m glad you got a thrill out of this. But it’s not going to be a habit, is it?”
“Nah, Pen. Even if I wanted to take action like this, how often would I get the chance? We live a pretty boring life. And I mean that in the best possible way.”
She finished her pho, and started clearing the dishes. Setting the bowls down on the counter, she noticed a box she hadn’t seen before.
“Hey Mr. Bourne,” she yelled into the dining room. “What’s in the box? Super spy uniform?”
“Oh, right. I didn’t tell you about my prize,” Chuck said, bringing his empty bowl into the kitchen. “The homeless guy I stole the 40 from gave it to me. Open it up.”
“You got this from a homeless man? The homeless guy you stole booze from? Gave you a present? In a box?”
“Yeah, what’s so weird about that?” Chuck said, with no hint of sarcasm.
“Glad I married you for those guns and not your brain then,” Penny quipped. She took the top off the box, took a long look at contents, and looked back at Chuck. “What is it? A bowling jacket?”
“Don’t be silly. You think Homeless Joe was in a bowling league? It’s obviously a cape.”
“A cape? Why the hell would this guy have a cape? And where’d he get the box? And, if he had a nice, clean cape, and a pristine box, why would he give it to you?”
Chuck shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it all day, and have no clue. I did some digging on the cape though. Thinking it might be worth something. You know, a movie prop or something.”
“And?”
“Don’t think so. Though I found a crackpot that thinks super heroes are real, and he thinks the cape belongs to one of them.”
Penny let out a sharp laugh. “Tell me you don’t believe that.”
“Not the slightest. My best guess is it held some kind of sentimental value for the guy. Like maybe he made it. Or one of his kids gave it to him or something. So I don’t think it’s worth anything. I figured I’d just put it on to play with the kids.”
Penny held up the cape, a devilish twinkle in her eye. “I might have a better use for it, at least for tonight”.
“Young lady, are you in need of my assistance?” Chuck asked, in his deepest, most manly voice. Lightning flashed through the window, adding ambiance to the scene.
“Oh yes, help me Mr Hero.” Penny’s voice was breathy, almost panting. She was in bed, covers pulled up to her neck. “That evil villain has me trapped in this bed, and I can’t get the covers off.”
“Have no fear! Your hero is here.” Chuck was standing at the foot of the bed, arms on his hips, in a classic hero pose. He was wearing the cape, and nothing else. “I’ll save you!” He tore the covers back in one swift motion. Penny squealed with delight, making no attempt to cover herself.
“Oh, thank you! Now come down here and get your reward, kind sir.”
“Heroes don’t help people for rewards, ma’am. They do it for the sole purpose of…”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Chuck wasn’t a genius, but he was smart enough to know when to drop a joke. He flung the cape theatrically, and moved toward the bed. The cape brushed the bedside lamp, and with a sharp POP, the room went dark.
“Damn power outages,” Chuck muttered. “Glad we don’t need light for this.” He kissed his rescued damsel, and took the rest of his reward.
Chapter Seven
Penny groaned. “Did you forget to close the blinds last night, honey? It’s so bright in here.”
“I was a little distracted,” Chuck said, clearing his throat. “Something—or someone—had my full attention.”
He looked at the alarm clock, wondering how late they had managed to sleep. It stared back blankly at him. Right, he thought, the power went out. Surprised it’s still off though.
“Plus,” he said, turning his attention back to Penny, “the kids never let us sleep late enough to see the sun anyway, so there’s usually no point in closing the blinds.”
Penny yawned, and threw her arm over Chuck. “It’s nice, isn’t it? How late did we manage to sleep in? Did we make it to 7:00? 7:30?”
“No clue. The power’s still out.”
“Really? That must have been some storm.” She rolled over and grabbed her phone. “No way! It’s almost 8:00. I feel like a teenager again.”
Chuck rolled her back over, gave her an affectionate kiss, then headed for the bathroom. On the way, a sound caught his attention and he took a detour by the window. His neighbor was trimming his lawn with his whiny electric trimmer.
He turned back to Penny. “Did the power just come back on?”
Penny looked the clock. “No, still out. Why?”
“Mr. Wilson’s power is on. We mu
st have blown a breaker.”
Chuck opened the electrical box expecting to find the breaker for the bedroom flipped. He’d needed to find a flashlight to get to the basement, since every switch he tried was dead. He chalked that up to the goofy wiring in the house.
Sure enough, the breaker for the bedroom was tripped. But so were all of the others. “What the hell?” he muttered. “Lightning strike?” He vowed to keep an eye on it, and call an electrician if it happened again, and flipped them back on.
Problem solved, he sprung back up the stairs to the kitchen. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this energized in the morning. He figured a combination of great sex and a good night’s sleep had eaten through his near chronic fatigue. Whatever it was, he felt awesome. So awesome that he wanted to make a royal feast of a breakfast. Right after he got the cape.
He took the stairs two at a time on the way up to the bedroom. He searched the bedroom floor for the cape, uncertain where it landed in the previous night’s activities. “Penny, do you know where the cape is?” She was still in bed, half asleep.
“Not ready for round two yet, hero,” she mumbled. “Maybe after breakfast.”
He spotted the cape, partially sticking out from under the nightstand. Man, that had been a good night. He grabbed it, and with a smooth motion, threw it over his shoulders.
“Sounds good baby,” he said. “I’ll go make us some pancakes and bacon. Maybe some eggs too. Do we have any potatoes to make hash browns? Or ham? Ham sounds good.”
“What got into you this morning? You already fixed the power, and now you’re making breakfast.” Her tone grew serious. “Charles Riley Nelson, are you on crystal meth?”
“You balance the checkbook baby, so I think you’d notice me spending that kind of money,” he shot back. He planted his hands on his hips, feet spread in a classic superhero pose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have breakfast to make.”
A Dad in a Cape (Mr Wonder Book 1) Page 4