Free Rescued By A Kiss (The New Orleans Go Cup Chronicles Book 1) by Colleen Mooney

to the grip. He cut out a web foot from an old inner tube tire and glued it to the end. The foot became known as his assistant in case he had to duck-slap someone about to kick his ass. He named his assistant, The Quacker.
    “Stan is a nice guy and he’ll be happy to help an old friend. He’ll be up, he works late hours at home. Drop me home. I can’t be a witness to any more of this tonight. My head is going to explode and I have a class tomorrow,” Suzanne said from the back seat.
    “How do you know Stan will be up?” I asked.
    “He’s working on a patent for me on that streaming roach spray can I designed. I sometimes call him when I get off work which is usually late, and he always answers. He never sounds like I just woke him up. He’s a bit of a night owl and a workaholic,” Suzanne replied in a very tired voice. “He will be thrilled to see you, Brandy.”
    “Julia, you’ll love Stan. He sews.” By now she had morphed out of the entertaining Jewel.
    “What? Is he gay?” she asked.
    “Let me tell her,” Suzanne offered. “You are not going to tell it right. When he decided to be Duck Man he thought he needed a disguise. One day he brought home fabric and was sewing a cape and mask on his mother’s sewing machine. When she saw him she asked, ‘Stan, are you gay?’ I guess since Stan was in high school and didn’t have a steady girlfriend, his mother got worried when she saw him sewing clothes. No, he isn’t gay. He’s just a nice guy and very creative.” Suzanne finished the story laughing.
    “Okay, maybe not gay, maybe he’s just a momma’s boy,” Julia said unimpressed.
    “He’s performed many humanitarian efforts,” I replied. My feelings were hurt for Stan.
    Stan rode around on his motorcycle in the Duck Man outfit stopping minor crimes like purse snatching or helping old people cross streets. There were some punks in the neighborhood who drove by the projects in cars and water ballooned the old black people sitting on their porches. Stan attempted to reason with this gang to no avail, hence he needed the assistance of The Quacker. After the gang refused to stop water ballooning, Stan decided he had to do something. He borrowed metal garbage can lids and gave them to the old people to act as shields when the water ballooners rode by. This might have been the only time he had to duck slap someone. The punks were some kind of ticked off at Stan for putting the kibosh on their fun. When they tried to jump Stan, the assistant came to the rescue and fended off the attack.
    I remembered the dog story and figured this would make Julia see Stan in a better light. “He won my eternal devotion when he stopped a man kicking a dog. Stan jumped off his motorcycle and kicked the guy in his butt. When the guy turned around, Stan decked him, and brought me the dog.” Julia listened but didn’t jump on board and join the Stan Fan Club.
    Stan, Suzanne and I grew up on the same block. Stan went to Jesuit, an all boys Catholic School and Suzanne and I went to an all girls Catholic School about one bus stop away. We rode the bus in the morning together and stayed friends.
    Suzanne and I thought Stan would go into a crime fighting career like law enforcement or as a DEA agent. He chose law school following in the steps of his dad, a successful attorney. Duck Man’s Daddy settled a very big tobacco suit earning his firm millions and then moved the family to the Lakefront into a very big, very nice house. Stan’s early antics did put him in touch with juvenile delinquents and subsequent career criminals that he now defended or sometimes prosecuted. Stan figured he could do more good with a law degree than the Duck Man costume. Before he hung it up he invited me to ride along with him on his last caper. I felt like a Bond girl. Stan and Dante were friends, and Stan, being the honorable Duck Man, would never ask me out knowing Dante liked me. I hoped Stan still carried the torch enough to help