A Dad in a Cape (Mr Wonder Book 1)

by Sean Stansell

  “Wait. You’re saying Mr. Wonder is real?” Penny cocked an eyebrow at Mickey. “Like, really real? As in, you saw him, could touch him?” As if to emphasize her point, she poked Chuck in the arm, repeatedly.

  Mickey looked genuinely confused at the question. “Of course he is. Where did you think the cape came from?”

  “We thought—“ Chuck started.

  Mickey cut him off with the wave of a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just get through this. Now, where was I?” He closed his eyes and sipped his drink. “Right, he knew who I was. I was new on the scene. Hadn’t really made a splash yet, but he still knew who I was. That’s the kind of guy he was. Always noticing what was going on. And making people feel special. Elevating them. With all of the amazing things he could do, I still think that was his real power.

  “Anyway, eventually my tongue started working again, and we got to talking. He said he could see my potential, but that I was raw. With the right guidance, he thought I could really help people. He offered to be my mentor. To show me the ropes.”

  He drained his glass and held it up again. “Just one more, please.”

  Penny didn’t hesitate. She poured a tall glass and sat the bottle back down. Her eyes never left Mickey.

  “We spent almost every day of the next dozen or so years together, first as student and teacher, then as partners. He taught me how to fight. How to be a detective. How to read people. He taught me discipline, focus, tactics. He was far and away the best teacher I’d ever had, and he grew to be one of my greatest friends as well.

  “One day we got a call that an escaped con had kidnapped a woman and little girl, and had them holed up in an abandoned warehouse downtown. Max and I went in to save them, just like we had a hundred times. Only, when we got in there, we found out it wasn’t just any escaped con. It was one we’d put away. A real nasty son of a bitch named Ares. We did everything we could to take him down before he could hurt the hostages, but we weren’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough. We saved the girl, but he cut the woman’s throat while we did.”

  Mickey closed his eyes and finished his drink in one long sip.

  “You knew them, didn’t you?” Penny placed her hand on Mickey’s.

  Mickey nodded. “Emily and Sarah. My wife and daughter” He rubbed his eyes. “Max had told me it was going to be rough getting married and starting a family while keeping up the hero work. But I was in love. Emily supported what I did, and I think it’s part of what she loved about me. We’d only been married for a year when Sarah came along. Things were tough, but we were happy. Sarah was four when her mom died.”

  He paused, misty eyes focused on his scotch, silence heavy in the room. “After that, I lost the heart for hero work. I was a wreck from losing my wife. From not being good enough to save her. From being the one to put her in harm’s way to begin with. If I hadn’t been so intent on being a hero, she would have been safe. My choices, and my lack of skill, got her killed.

  “But, I still had Sarah. And I could still protect her. Raise her. Make sure she never forgot her mom. So I retired. Told Max I couldn’t do it anymore. He understood, of course. He wanted to help out, to keep an eye on us, but neither of us thought that was safe. To have him connected to us might make us—make Sarah— target. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  “Every year on the anniversary of Emily’s death, I sent him a card, letting him know how we were doing, with a picture of Sarah. He always wrote back, and I think he looked forward to the updates. After Sarah graduated from high school, and went off to college, I didn’t see much point sending the cards anymore, and we lost touch.

  “With her gone, I have a hard time staying busy. Once you get used to stopping bad guys and saving innocent people, watching The Price is Right doesn’t hold much appeal. So now I mostly spend my days at the mall, people watching. Imagining the lives of the strangers I see. Wondering what their stories are. How I might have helped them in my former life. How someone I helped went on to have kids, because I saved them, and now these kids are able to hang out with their friends at the mall. It helps me remember that, even though it came at a terrible price, I managed to do some good.”

  He sat down his glass, and looked at Chuck. “I was sitting on a bench at the mall today when I saw you sprint by. Noticed the cape right away, and noticed that you weren’t Max. I followed you, and I saw you blow out that window. With a fireball. Which tells me you don’t know what you’re doing. I kept tabs on you as you went to security, and as you left. And I saw you throw the cape away. I couldn’t let Max’s legacy sit on the greasy pavement of a mall garage like a discarded food court cookie, so I followed you. You should know the rest.”

  There was a long silence, none of them really knowing where to go from here. Chuck had questions, of course. But they all seemed trite and uncouth, given the level of openness and honesty they had witnessed.

  Mickey broke the silence. “How’d you get it?”

  “Max gave it to me,” Chuck said simply.

  “You knew him?”

  “No. I had just met him. At a convenience store around the corner. I took down a guy trying to rob the place while we were waiting in line. Afterwards he told me how impressed he was with me, and how disappointed he was with himself. He gave me a package. With all the commotion, I didn’t even open it until the next day.”

  Mickey held his glass out again. Penny hesitated. “Are you sure? You’ve had a lot.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She filled the glass again, and again he took a long sip.

  “Can you help me find him?” Chuck asked. “Help me convince him to take it back? He clearly made a mistake. I can’t keep it.”

  Mickey smiled and shook his head. “No, Chuck, I can’t help you find him.”

  “Why not? I mean, you knew him. Surely you could convince him I shouldn’t have the cape. You saw me at the mall. I’m a disaster.”

  “You can’t give the cape back, Chuck,” Mickey said, hanging his head. “Max is dead.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mickey watched Chuck’s face closely, reading his reaction to the news. How he handled hearing that there wasn’t a Get Out of Jail Free card would determine Mickey’s next move.

  Chuck appeared calm, no obvious emotion on his face. “How do you know he’s dead? You said you hadn’t seen him in years.”

  Mickey looked him in the eye. “Because he gave you the cape. That’s how it works. You pass it on when you’re ready to die. The cape bonds itself to you, and getting rid of it is like losing a part of you. For someone that’s been wearing it most of their life, it’ll kill them.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Chuck said, his calm demeanor disappearing. “What the fuck is this thing?”

  “It’s a cape, Chuck. A very special cape. Your cape. It can’t be taken from someone. It can’t be found. It can only be given. And once it’s given to you, it’s yours. Now, you’ve got a choice to make.”

  “A choice?” Chuck stood and started pacing. “What fucking choice? Keep the cape or die? That’s not much of a choice.”

  “No, you don’t have to die. The cape bonds itself to you over time. You’ve only had it a few days. You could find someone you think is worthy, and pass it on, without doing yourself any harm. But you have to choose carefully, because the person you give it to will be in the same position you’re in now. You have to choose wisely.”

  Mickey paused, choosing his words carefully. “Or, you could make a different choice. You could accept the cape. Become Mr. Wonder. Learn how to use it to help people. Become a hero.”

  Chuck stopped pacing and stared at him. “What makes you think I want to be a hero? The only people I’m worried about helping are in this house, and I can’t very well take care of them if I put on a cape and run around chasing bad guys.”

  Mickey was disappointed, but not surprised. “Then find someone to pass the cape along to. Someone that can take on the responsibility.”

  “How the hell do I find someone
who would want this? Why would anyone want this?”

  Mickey shrugged. “Lots of folks want power. Finding someone who wants the cape won’t be the hard part. The trick is finding someone that wants it for the right reasons. I can help if you want. Reach out to a few old contacts. See if anyone knows someone.”

  Chuck thought for a minute. “What if I just folded the cape up and stuffed it in a drawer, and never took it out? It wouldn’t kill me then, right? And I wouldn’t have to curse someone else? Why shouldn’t that be my plan Mickey?”

  Mickey smiled at him, sadly. “Because the world needs Mr. Wonder, Chuck.”

  Mickey sat on the toilet, face in hands, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Chuck was protesting, and seemed like he genuinely didn’t want any part of being Mr. Wonder. But Mickey thought he saw something under the surface. Chuck wanted to be a hero. Needed to be special. That made the next part delicate.

  He got up, went over to the sink, and splashed water on his face. That last scotch was probably one too many. He had to be sharp. This was no time to get sloppy.

  Chuck and Penny were standing quietly at the counter when he returned to the kitchen. “So, what do you want to do, Chuck? Want me to help you find someone else to be Mr. Wonder? I’m pretty sure I can find someone, and you two can get back to your normal routine. Heck, I could probably go ahead and take the cape now, and just let you know when I find someone. Let you get your week off to a normal start tomorrow.”

  Mickey stopped there, letting his offer hang in the air. Come on, Chuck. Take the bait.

  “You don’t need to take the cape now,” Chuck said, tentatively. “I can hold onto it until you find someone.”

  Penny closed her eyes. “Do you think that’s a good idea, dear?”

  That’s it, Mickey thought. “She’s right, Chuck,” he said. “If you’re not going to keep the cape permanently, I should take it from you now. Take away the temptation. Look, not everyone is cut out to be a hero. There’s no shame in being an awesome dad and a great husband. You don’t have to add anything on top of that.”

  “He’s right,” Penny agreed. “You’ve got a family that loves you, a good job. A good life. Let someone else have this.”

  Chuck’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed, a look of determination spreading across his face. “I am an awesome dad, and a great husband,” he said. “And I will be Mr. Wonder.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you Chuck, this will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done,” Mickey said. He and Chuck were giving Penny some time alone to adjust to Chuck’s decision. To say she had not reacted well would be an understatement on par with saying Elvis was kind of famous, or the Civil War was a rough couple of years. Once they had cleaned up the broken wine bottle and glasses, they had retreated to the basement.

  “How do I even do it? I mean, this thing didn’t exactly come with an instruction manual, and I can’t just look it up online.” He held the cape in his hands, marveling at the smoothness of the fabric, the way it seemed to change colors slightly, and the seamless way the “W” was embedded in it.

  Mickey paused to take a sip of his drink. Once the hard part had been over, a celebratory drink had seemed to be in order. “True, there’s no manual. But there are over a hundred issues of the Mr. Wonder comic. They’re not the most reliable resource, but they’re better than nothing. Plus, I worked with Max a long time, and saw a lot of what he could do. We never talked much about how he did it, but I know the basics. You’ll have to fill in the gaps, but it’s a start.”

  Chuck looked relieved. “You’ll help me?” His resolve had faded a bit during Penny’s rage, as realization of what he’d signed up for had sunk in.

  Mickey smiled. “Of course I will, Chuck. I owe it to Max to make sure you succeed. Also, I’ve got literally nothing else to do. It’s either train you or hang out at the mall.”

  “This may sound personal, but how do you get by without a job? Was being a hero lucrative enough that you don’t have to work anymore? Did you get a pension? Or have a good retirement plan? Hell, who do you actually work for as a hero?”

  Mickey rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Being a hero isn’t a job Chuck. It’s not exactly a hobby either. Haven’t you ever read a comic book? Most heroes have a secret identity. And that identity has a job. That’s how they pay the bills.”

  “Really? I was kind of hoping I could quit my job.”

  Chuck felt the cold liquid hit his face before he realized what was happening. He wiped his face off with his hand, and looked over to find Mickey’s hands clamped firmly over his mouth, eyes straining, desperately trying to contain his laughter.

  “What the hell is so funny?” He wiped his face on his sleeve.

  Mickey struggled to compose himself. Opened his mouth and gasped for air. “Sorry,” he said, downgrading to giggles. “It’s just cute that you think someone is going to give you a salary for being superhero. I mean, what do you think there is? Some kind of secret corporation that keeps folks with powers on the payroll? Or maybe that the government pays us? Like some kind of super police?”

  “I hadn’t really thought through it,” Chuck said, gritting his teeth. “I figured there must be some way to make money from it, if you can just be a creepy old guy at the mall all the time.”

  “I can be a creepy old guy at the mall because I invested really well. I was a financial planner by trade. When I met Max I already had a degree in finance, and was well on my way to being junior partner at a good firm. I pushed myself hard, and by the time I retired from hero work, I had a good portfolio of clients, and a solid financial base. Sarah got a scholarship, my house is paid for, and I have simple tastes, so my expenses are low. I live off interest at this point.”

  Chuck furrowed his brow, mentally kicking himself for not contributing more to his 401k when he was younger. “Ok, so no pay. And it’s dangerous. Tell me again why I signed up for this.”

  “You know why, Chuck. Now, let’s work out a training schedule. You’re going to need a lot of it. I’m free pretty much all the time, so you can pick the times. I have one condition. If you can’t live up to that, you’re on your own.”

  “And just what would this condition be?”

  “I encourage you to ask questions. That’s how you learn. Ask about how the cape works, what it means to be a hero, how to fight crime, anything along those lines. But, if you question my training methods, if you ask why I’m telling you to do something, I’m out. Can you live with that?”

  Chuck looked at Mickey’s face, finding no sense that he was kidding. “If that’s what it takes, I’m game.”

  “Glad to hear it. Let’s start tomorrow after you get home from work. We’ll hash out the details over dinner. I’ll be here at 6:00.” With that he stood, wobbled slightly, and headed up the stairs.

  “Wait,” Chuck said. “Do you need a ride. You’ve had a lot to drink.”

  Mickey chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good. See you tomorrow Chuck.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chuck checked the address again, making sure he had the right house. When Mickey had said training would start at his house, Chuck had figured there would be more space. Mickey’s speech about being a finance whiz had given Chuck the impression that it would be a large house, with a big yard. Somewhere private to train.

  Instead, he stood on a small, unkempt porch that threatened to rot beneath his feet. The yard was more dirt than grass, and had all manner of debris scattered across it. Cigarette butts nestled against bottle caps. An empty Johnny Walker bottle lay across a discarded Victoria Secret catalogue. And two chipped garden gnomes stoically guarded a dried pile of dog shit. He hoped the inside of the trailer was in better shape than the outside.

  The mobile homes of Bushwood Gardens were tightly packed and evenly spaced, giving the place a claustrophobic feeling. Chuck estimated 25-30 units, all with the same dirty lawn, copious litter, and broken lattice around the bottom. Several featured broken down cars parked
in their yards, hiding unimaginable treasures beneath them.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Mickey’s voice came through the trailer’s open front window. “Why would that crazy old man want to train here? Everything’s so close, the neighbors are bound to be suspicious. Well, there are so many meth labs in here, nobody will blink an eye if you blow something up. Welcome to my humble abode, Chuck. Did you bring what I asked?”

  “Um, can I come in already?” Chuck tried to keep the fear out of his voice. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable out here after dark, with a case of beer.”

  “And? Did you bring the rest?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got the meatballs. And the bourbon. Now please let me in.”

  “And you left the cape at home, in a safe place?”

  “Yes, just like you asked. Though I don’t know why, since it seems like an important part of my training.”

  Chuck heard the practiced clicks of several locks being disengaged. The door creaked open. Mickey was dressed a few degrees less formal than the “Too Funk to Druck” t-shirt he’d been wearing when Chuck met him. A threadbare pink bathrobe hung open over his shoulders, doing nothing to cover the torn white t-shirt and ripped boxers underneath. A mismatched pair of socks and dirty slippers shaped like beer cans completed the ensemble.

  “C’mon in,” he said. “You’ll have to get a thicker skin if you want to fight much crime. Most of it doesn’t happen in your upper middle class suburbs.”

  Chuck stepped into the trailer and stopped in his tracks. In contrast to the outside, and to the state of its owner, the interior of the trailer was neat, organized, and spotless. The door opened into the living room, which was decorated in tasteful browns and blues. The furniture was modern, chic but comfortable. A large TV hung on the wall.

  “You can close that mouth, Chuck. There are no flies in here to catch,” Mickey said, chuckling. “I know the place looks like a piece of shit from the outside. That’s intentional. The outside is all about how other people see me. I carefully groom that image. But in here, it’s about me. My Fortress of Solitude, so to speak.”