Brad wore a bright yellow spandex suit with “Clock Stopper” embroidered down the legs and arms. It had cost him a lot of money, money he could sorely use ever since his pay got docked for that unfortunate incident with the case of DVD players, but Brad had heard that little details like a good costume could make or break a superhero sidekick’s chances.

The waiting room at the Hero League held four people. Four. Was that good odds? One out of four? Or maybe they needed more than one sidekick? If they needed two, that would up his odds to fifty-fifty. Brad jiggled his knee and tapped the end of his pencil against his notebook. He really needed this job. True, being the sidekick of a superhero didn’t pay a huge salary, but it was certainly better than being a salesman at the electronics store. He glanced around at his competition, trying to figure out their special powers.

The woman next to him wore a headband with ears on it and a tight fuzzy cat suit. The suit had stripes, and her nails had been chewed down to the quick. She had a pet crate next to her, though whatever lay inside must have been sleeping or drugged, because the animals made no sound.

“So, uh, what’s your power?” asked the woman.

Brad pointed to his sleeve. “I stop clocks.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re not that good looking.”

“No, see?” He pointed to his wristwatch, squinted his eyes, and the second hand stopped moving.

She didn’t look very impressed. “Can you stop all electrical things?”

“Yeah, but I’m best at clocks.” Of course, his aim was terrible, but she didn’t need to know that. “And you? Let me guess, Catwoman?”

She made an irritated moue. “Can’t. It’s copyrighted. I had to go with ‘Tabby Girl’.”

Across from her, a man in a pair of denim overalls sat reading a magazine. No costume, no logo, no props, nothing. Mystery guy.

The door opened, and another guy came in. He wore a pointed hat with stars and moons on it, and had an acetate cape that looked as though it had come with a discount Dracula costume. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sat down on one of the chairs. Great. Now there were five people.

“Who are you?” Brad asked, just to be personable. Maybe superhero sidekicks had to be able to relate to the common people.

“I’m ‘Summoner’,” the guy in the pointy hat said. He still had his hands in his pockets, and he was moving them around. Brad hoped that was a wallet in there.

Brad turned back to Tabby Girl. Even if Tabby Girl was competition, she was at least cute. “Can you turn into a cat?”

“No, I just talk to them.”

“Wow, and they obey you?” An army of cats would be really impressive, Brad reasoned.

“No, of course they don’t obey me. They’re cats.” She gave the pet carrier by her side a little shake. “Wake up, Snuggles.”

“Piss off, human!” came a cat’s whiny voice. “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep!”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool,” Brad said.

A cat in the other carrier had apparently woken up, because it stuck a white whiskery nose up against the metal grate. “Lemme out. I gotta take a dump.”

“I can’t, Mr. Boots,” Tabby Girl said. “There’s no litter box here.”

“Then I’ll use your shoe,” the cat offered.

“I’ll show you what I can do,” the Summoner said. “Rectus, Spinatus, Peritorum.” He had taken a lump of chalk out of his pocket, and was busily scratching a circle on the carpet. Brad wasn’t impressed. He learned a little Latin in high school, and he was sure he could have come up with something that sounded better than that.

The other hopeful wore a horned helmet and homemade storm trooper armor. He held a bladed flying saucer in his arms. At least, it might have been a flying saucer. It had a ring of tiny lights around the rim, and the blades looked as though they retracted into the body of the disk. Brad craned his head to peek into the cardboard box that Hagar the Frisbee thrower had next to him. Sure enough. Three more saucers. Could those things fly? That wasn’t like a superpower, but they might count it as good enough for a sidekick.

“Is that guy summoning a Demon?” The helmet-headed guy flicked a switch on the Frisbee in his arms. The saucer began to hum, and lights flickered back and forth. “It better not come after me.”

Brad leaned forward, intrigued despite himself, as purple smoke curled around the edges of the Summoner’s circle. The humming increased, and Helmet-head’s arms flexed as though his bladed Frisbee wanted to escape and take out whatever was about to appear in the chalk pentacle on the carpet. Suddenly, the form coalesced, taking on a familiar, recognizable shape.

“A pigeon?” Tabby Girl asked, incredulously.

 

“I wanna summon a demon, but this is what I usually get,” the Summoner explained sheepishly. He picked up the gray pigeon. It cooed and wrapped its fat pink feet around his finger. “I got a dog once though.”

“Look out!” Helmet-head shouted, as his Frisbee flew free of his grasp.

The flying saucer zipped across the room, careened off the leg of a metal chair, and crashed into one of the cat carriers.

“Snuggles!” Tabbygirl shouted, opening the front of the cat carrier. “Are you okay?”

A tabby with white nose and paws dashed across the room as soon as the cage door opened. With a yowl that sounded almost human, the cat leapt for the pigeon.

“No!” The Summoner lifted his pigeon out of the cat’s reach. Snuggles dug her claws into the Summoner’s purple robe and started climbing him like a curtain. “Hey! Get your cat off of me.”

“Snuggles! Snuggles! Get down from there!”

The flying saucer still hummed, and its blades vibrated. It looked like it was about to wiggle itself free. Brad thought about grabbing it, but he got distracted by the sound of retching.

“Hey, that’s my backpack!” he shouted, protesting the hairball which Mr. Boots had deposited.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, punk?” Mr. Boots drawled.

Brad drew his shoe back and was about to launch Mr. Boots across the room, when he remembered his father’s advice. A superhero ought always obey the wisdom of his elders. He was pretty sure that went for superhero sidekicks, too.

“Son,” his father had said, not long before he died, “Never kick a cat when a lady can see you do it. Make sure she’s left the room first.”

Helmet-Head was busy trying to get the bladed Frisbee out of the side of the pet carrier. Brad didn’t want to be standing next to it when it got free, so he put a row of chairs between himself and the flying saucer.

By now Snuggles had climbed up to the Summoner’s shoulder. Judging by the Summoner’s screaming, Snuggles wasn’t skimping on the claws. The pigeon had escaped, and perched on top of the wall clock. Tabby Girl had a hold of Snuggles’ neck, and she yanked as hard as a cat lover with a recalcitrant feline dares.

Now that Tabby Girl was distracted, Brad stood and looked around for Mr. Boots. Mr. Boots had climbed to the top of one of the empty chairs, and was wiggling his tail from side to side.

“Gotcha now,” Brad muttered, as he leapt for the cat.

The cat yowled, and leapt off the chair. Brad hit the arm of the chair with his elbow, and fell. Just in the nick of time too, because the Frisbee flew over his head, gouging a trough in the wallboard next to the door. The pigeon swooped off the clock, and the Frisbee took off after it, as though that were its programmed target.

Snuggles leapt after the pigeon. Her claws just missed the bird’s tail. She twisted in midair, cursing and meowing, too preoccupied with her escaped prey to notice the flying saucer until it was too late.

“Snuggles! No!” Tabby Girl shouted.

The bladed Frisbee swooped low. Blood spurted, fur flew, and Snuggles dropped to the ground.

Mr. Boots was busy depositing a steaming load onto the carpet, but Brad decided to do the decent thing and see to the needs of a lady instead of giving that cat the kick it needed.

“Tabby Girl, are you okay?”

“What about me, you moron?” yowled Snuggles. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding? Alack, alas, the world grows dim!”

“Look out!” Shouted Helmet-Head, as the bladed Frisbee came back after the pigeon. The bird flapped in a circle, taking temporary refuge in the hanging lamp. A rain of dirty gray feathers fell, followed by a wet guano plop.

“Don’t worry,” Helmet-Head assured them, turning on a second Frisbee. “I got another one to stop it.”

“I really don’t think that’s—” Brad began, but it was too late. Helmet-Head had already turned on the second Frisbee and launched it across the room. The saucer smashed the glass on the door’s window, then ricocheted off the ceiling, tearing out chunks of ceiling tile.

Helmet-Head was leaping for the first Frisbee, which had embedded itself in one of the studs and appeared to be vibrating itself free. Purple smoke boiled from the Summoner’s circle, and he waved his arms dramatically as he intoned. Tabby Girl cried and cradled Snuggles, while the cat wailed one of the most overblown and obviously fake death scenes Brad had ever heard. Meanwhile, the guy in the overalls just sat there, reading his magazine as though nothing were happening.

It was time for a hero. It was time for Brad.

Clock Stopper, that was.

“Stop!” He shouted, pointing at the Frisbee embedded in the wall. Nothing happened, so he tried it again, taking what he hoped was better aim this time.

The man in the overalls frowned at his watch, and shook his wrist.

 

 

“Stop!” Brad shouted a third time, trying to shut the wall-Frisbee down before it got free.

“Duck!” Tabbygirl shouted.

He might have disabled the Frisbee that time, except that something hit him in the back of the head. It was a duck. Snuggles made a miraculous recovery and leapt after the duck, clawing up Brad’s jeans with a brazen disregard for testicular integrity.

“Duck!” Tabbygirl shouted.

“Another one?” Brad asked, then crouched down because one of the Frisbees was coming right for him. He dropped and rolled, trying to knock the Frisbee out of the air with his power. The second hand on the clock stopped.

The Frisbee gouged a hole in the carpet, then bounced back up and struck the wall. The second Frisbee came right after it, and the two saucers sliced parallel stripes along the far wall. Plaster dust and shreds of insulation billowed from the holes. One of the saucers turned vertical and rolled near to the ground, then got stuck between the legs of two chairs.

Mr. Boots caught the duck, but the duck wasn’t giving in without a fight. It quacked and kicked, biting the cat’s tail. The Summoner was bringing forth a white chicken. Brad looked for the first Frisbee. It must have damaged its flying capabilities, because it limped spinning on the floor, chasing Snuggles. As much as he hated cats, Brad wanted to be a hero, so he pointed both hands at the Frisbee and concentrated all his power at it.

The flying saucer’s lights flickered and died.

“Hooray!” Brad shouted. “I’m a hero!”

“You broke my blade wheel,” Helmet-Head protested. “I’m going to sue you! Those things are expensive!”

Just then, the door opened, and a secretary came out. Everyone turned to look at her: cats, birds, Summoner, Tabby Girl, even the guy in overalls.

“The Hero League has made its decision.”

Brad held his breath. The cats stopped fighting. The ducks quacked quietly. Even the Frisbee hummed in anticipation.

“Congratulations, Mr. Anselm.” The secretary turned to the guy in overalls and shook his hand. “The rest of you, thank you for your time, but the position has been filled.” She shut the door behind her as she went back inside.

“What the…” Helmet-Head protested to Mr. Anselm. “But you don’t even have a prop, you don’t even have a character name.”

“Yeah,” Tabby Girl said, sounding as resentful as Brad felt. “What’s so special about you, anyway?”

“I’m the fixer.” Mr. Anselm pointed at the ripped drywall, the torn carpet, the sagging ceiling tiles. Golden light beamed from his fingertips, and when it stuck the debris, the wallboard became smooth, the ceiling tiles re-hung themselves, even the clock hand moved again. Within seconds, the room looked as good as new. He tipped an imaginary hat at them, and walked into the Hero League office.