“I want back in the game.”
The only response to this was silence.
“Sal?”
“Yeah, Pete. I'm here.”
“Did you hear me? I said I want to
get back in the game.”
“I heard you, but the game has
changed. And you're no spring chicken.”
Pete sighed and leaned back in his
easy chair, letting the heavy, plastic handset fall away from his
head for half a breath. He reached under his glasses to rub his
brow. He had to remember this was what he expected from Sal.
“I know Sal. But have you seen
these kids today? They hardly know a time rift from a dimensional
tear. The worst thing they deal with is the occasional alien
invasion. When's the last time any of them fought a god-planet
single handedly?” Pete idly glanced around his den, spinning his
heavy recliner slightly as he did so. To the untrained eye it looked
to be a collection of odd bits of art and history from around the
world, but most of it was from other worlds, other dimensions, and
other times. “I may not be as fast as I was back in the day, but I
know more about being a cape than anyone.”
“I'm not debating that,” Sal said
defensively. “I just mean...do you know how much a headquarters
costs these days? Or the old sky-jets? Well no that we'd want to
use those death traps anymore, but you know what I mean, right?”
“It's never about the money, Sal.”
“Right, for you it's not. I'm just
your manager. I'm just the guy who made sure your chemo was paid for
by booking all those convention appearances, all those mall openings.
I've got a vested interest in keeping you alive and signing 8x10
floppies for the fans Pete.” Sal stopped and took a deep breath to
prepare. “And what happens if you get killed this time? Sure when
we were in our twenties and had no cares, that didn't matter, but
what's going to happen to Charlie if you die? Or the grand kids? Or
hell, the dog?”
“The dog can stop a tank with one
kick,” Pete said. “Remember, from Pluto. I think he'll be
fine.”
“Okay, Charlie then. You really
think she's going to keep on going if you die? You want her to have
a heart attach every time she see's you on the news fighting some two
bit hood who stole a power suit?” Sal's voice was growing more
plaintive, more desperate. “Don't force me to make that call,
'cause if you die you know it'll be me doing it.”
“Sal, I'm not going to die. I've
still got all the powers I used to, and more experience to boot.”
Pete stood up from his chair and began to pace around his den, the
phone cord stretching out behind him as he did so. “Look, Sal,
Charlie and I were mugged last week-”
“Holy shit Pete, is she okay?”
Pete stopped. “Sal. Really. You
think I can't handle a mugger? Would I be asking you to get me back
in the game if I couldn't handle some teenager with a knife and an
inflated opinion of his tenacity? Hell, Charlie could have kicked
this guy's ass. I just gave him a quick throw into the nearby
garbage, but really, it felt good. It felt better than I've felt in
a long time.” Pete stopped, breathing deeply to stay calm in the
memory of the moment. “A hell of a lot better than signing
pictures at some convention.”
“Okay, Pete, you took down one kid.
One kid is not a member of the Destruction Circle... hell, it's not
even a Scorpion Soldier. You can't just come back after being out
for a decade and expect it to all work out. I mean-”
“Sal, I've got a year to live.
Tops.”
The line went silent, as Pete
expected. He gave Sal time to process as he paced slowly by his
trophy cases, idly running his hand over alien scepters and weapons
of long lost civilizations. He'd had weeks to deal with it, and
figured Sal would need a few minutes.
“What do you mean, Pete?” Sal's
voice was no longer pleading or exasperated, only solid. Determined.
“Apparently that run in with the
Kelhh back in 92, when I got bathed in that cosmic radiation and
Primator told me not worry about it? Yeah, well that crapsack was
wrong and it gave me cancer. Brain tumor, size of a golf ball at
this point and completely inoperable. Docs say I've got six months
most likely, a year best case scenario.” Pete rested his hand on
the handle of the Antifinity Sword, remembering how he had taken from
the champion of the microverse so long ago. How Shrinking Violet had
used it to try and cut the tumor out by shrinking into his skull.
“I've tried everything; every mystic, every tech, every psychic,
and its no good.”
“But what about-”
“Yes, I even called the Dominator.
Nothing.”
More silence.
“So, you want to go out with a bang?
That what this is about?”
“No, Sal. I want to provide Charlie
with a future. Since that Kelhh attack where she loss the use of her
legs she relies on me for a lot, and without me... I don't know what
she'll do. I'm her husband. It's my job to provide for her, and I'd
get a lot more money for the conventions and appearances if I was
back in the game.” Pete turned back to his chair, careful to swing
the phone cord so it didn't knock anything over in the process. “If
I went out swinging instead of dying in a hospital bed, well, that
wouldn't be so bad. Would it?”
“There's no talking you out of this,
is there?”
“No, Sal. And good man for
recognizing it.” Pete sat back in his chair, smiling for the first
time in weeks. “Now can you get me back in the game?”
“Sure, I know some people, but Pete,
like I said it's not cheap. Costumes, gadgets, vehicles. I mean
it's not like you're a flier, we have to get you to the trouble
somehow. And that costs money, especially since it will likely get
destroyed every week. Plus we need a headquarters as we sure as hell
don't want you working out of your house and putting Charlie in more
danger.”
“But we can do it, right Sal?”
Pete said with a sigh. “You're the man that once organized the
evacuation of the entire city of Saint Louis in three hours to avoid
a demonic invasion, you can get me back to be a superhero.”
“Well, may be your luck day.” Sal
said with a level of irony that concerned Pete. “See Lady Rocket
called me the other day; seems she went into television after that
incident with the sasquatch arc-champion back in Oregon. Anyways,
she's got this reality show thing she's working on she's calling “The
Next Sidekick” where a bunch of mundanes spend a few weeks
competing to be a sidekick for some big name superhero. Only problem
is they don't have a big name superhero. All lined up with a
network, facilities, the works. But no hero.”
“You want me to go on television?
You want me to do reality television to get funding?” Pete was at
least partially at a loss for words. Or at least the big words.
“What the hell Sal? I sell my signature and shake some hands, but
I am not some dancing monkey.”
“I can get you ten million for the
season with a bonus if the ratings go up. And a percentage of
licensing returns.” Sal replied. “How many costumes is that?
How many jet packs? You want visibility? You want back in the game?
This is back in the game Pete.”
Pete dropped the phone to his chest,
glancing down the hall to see his wife maneuver her wheel chair
through the hall. She smiled and waved at him, melting his heart as
always.
“Okay Sal, I'll be your dancing
monkey. Call Lady Rocket. Let's do this.”
