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

save my pop. He’d figured I’d want some privacy after getting the bad news, so he left me in there to have a good cry, stuff myself, and wait for the social worker who would follow shortly.
    I sat, transfixed by my reflection, unable to break eye contact with myself. Half of me couldn’t understand how I’d been reduced to this situation, but the other half knew darned well how I’d gotten there and was thankful it didn’t end up worse. I’d survived to be miserable, which I suppose wasn’t all that bad when you consider the alternative.
    I lost track of how long I’d been sitting there staring at myself when the door opened. In came a woman who couldn’t have been much out of her twenties, with her black hair done up in one of those severe buns you see in old photographs and horn-rimmed glasses that did nothing for her face. With her was a middle-aged guy with brown hair wearing a battered old suit. The woman spoke first. “Bobby? I’m Miss Penobscot, from the Division of Youth and Family Services. I’m so sorry about your loss.”
    “I’m sure you are.” I turned to the man. “Who are you? A lawyer or something?”
    He chuckled. “Or something. I’m not a lawyer, but I guess you could say I know a few things about the law. And I also know a few things about justice.” He turned to the lady. “Is everything in order, Phoebe?”
    “Do you know how many strings I had to pull to set that up? How many favors I had to call in?”
    “That’s one of the reasons we’ve got you there. Is it all set up?”
    She grinned. “Yes, I took care of it all.”
    “Excuse me,” I interjected, “but what are you talking about? Who are you, exactly?”
    The woman cleared her throat, thinking the time had come for a formal introduction. “Bobby, this is Mr. Horner. He’s a local businessman, and he’s volunteered to be your foster parent.”
    “Jack Horner,” the man said, extending his hand for me to shake. “And please, no jokes about Christmas pies.”
    “Bobby Baines,” I said, remembering my manners and taking his hand.
    “I know.” And that’s how it all began.

Duel Identities
    Logically, when out of uniform and at a major disadvantage equipment-wise against an enemy who’s already killed someone with all of the high-tech gadgets you don’t have at your disposal at that moment, the reasonable thing would be to make a strategic retreat and call for help. Push and hold that little panic button on my watch, and within minutes the six strongest people in the universe would flock to my aid. Then I’d stand a better chance of walking away from it all, not to mention bringing the villain to justice. Yes, that is the smart thing to do in this case.
    Too bad for me that a meeting with my guidance counselor a couple hours before had confirmed I was anything but smart.
    For a couple of moments we stared at each other, looking for any opening and preparing to guard against any attack. Of course, being the impetuous fool I am, I lunged first. The killer parried my blow almost effortlessly then followed with a sweeping motion toward my torso as if he intended to cut me in two. I jumped back in time to save my skin but not my down jacket as the blade sliced through it and sent stuffing all over the place. I used the spray of little feathers to camouflage my movements as I tried a move Mister Mystery had taught me in one of the big training sessions the heroes used to like to give us kids. I dove to the floor, sliding headfirst like an insane baseball player, between the robber’s legs, before I rolled back to my feet and swung the sword, full-force.
    Instead of connecting with the shoulder I had been aiming for, I found my blade parried in an expert move, and the killer facing me. He’d anticipated my move better than I ever expected, and I considered myself lucky he hadn’t run me through while I was pulling off my fancy maneuver.
    I went back to basics. Every attack I’d been taught, every move I’d