Free Sidekick: The Misadventures of the New Scarlet Knight by Pab Sungenis

head than I had thought? What was he talking about?
    “You see, FedEx, the original plan was for one of us to follow you home after this delivery. For some strange reason, the address my employer had on file for your father wasn’t accurate. You wouldn’t know why, would you?”
    Ah. Pop’s paranoia. It had always served him well enough in the past. “Nope. No clue. So, what’s with the ropes? You expect me to squeal on my pop and tell you where we live? Or are you just a pervert who likes tying little boys up?”
    “Oh, I don’t want you to squeal on your pop—” He reached into his pocket and drew out a card. “—Bobby. No self-respecting boy would ever do that kind of thing, and I’m not the kind that gets off on trying to get them to do it, either. Good thing I don’t need to.”
    He smiled, which lowered the temperature of my blood at least three degrees. He flashed the card again, and I recognized it.
    “You know you’re a really conscientious kid? Smart to carry something like this around in your wallet. ‘In case of emergency, contact … ’ with a phone number and address. Well, I’d say this certainly qualifies as an emergency, so I’ve sent a few guys over to,” he checked the card again, “56 West 22nd Street to, shall we say, make contact.”
    He smiled again, and my blood froze.
    “Like I said, you sure did me a favor carrying this card, so I’m going to return the favor.” He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a pistol, which he pointed directly at my forehead. “I’m gonna make sure it’s over quick and doesn’t hurt, unlike what we’d planned for you and your pop. Say goodbye, FedEx.”
    There was a loud crash and what sounded like breaking glass, and then a rush of wind tore past me. To my left was a big gaping hole where the wall had been a few moments before. To my right, the bozo with the gun squared off against the strangest-looking person I’d ever seen.
    He was clad in a knight’s armor right out of a King Arthur movie. His left arm had a bracer strapped to it, and his right arm grasped a gizmo that sort of looked like an old-school TV remote control. He clicked a button, and a blade shot out of the gizmo, leaving him with a full-length sword. But the part of the getup that grabbed my attention the most was the coat of arms he wore over his chest: a blood-red shield with a white mare rearing up.
    I’d heard about the guy while out doing jobs but figured he was a myth, the kind of crap they like to put out there to scare cowardly folks into walking the straight and narrow. But he was right in front of me.
    The Scarlet Knight.
    The bozo shot at the Knight a couple of times, but the armor proved more than up to the task of blocking the bullets. Frustrated, Bozo tossed the gun, picked up a crowbar, and charged the Knight. Unfazed, the Knight simply raised his sword, pointed it at Bozo, and clicked another button. A flash of white light arced from the blade, knocking Bozo out like some kind of super stun gun. Beautiful!
    The Knight marched over to untie me but stopped cold when I yelled at him.
    “Knight! They’re on their way to kill my pop! 56 West 22nd Street! Hurry! I’ll be okay! Save him!”
    He gathered Bozo under his arm, gave me a curt nod, and flew straight up, breaking through a skylight high in the warehouse ceiling.
    Five minutes later, police sirens and squealing tires announced the arrival of the black-and-whites, but for the rest of my life I’ll think about those five minutes whenever I hear the word “alone.”
    ***
    The interrogation room at the Harbor City Police Department was bright white with flickering florescent bulbs high against the ceiling. A plain wood table sat right in the middle, behind which was a huge mirror spanning the length of the wall. A cop had brought me in there, equipped with a mug of cocoa and a plate of cookies (how young did they think I was, anyhow?), then proceeded to tell me the Knight hadn’t made it in time to