9
The Ghosts You Chase
Bronson sprawled back on the ground, six feet from the speeding car.
“Watch out,” Wylie said, throwing his body between Bronson and the death machine bearing down on him.
The sedan screeched to a stop inches from Bronson’s face. He crawled up onto his knees, knocking the remains of his lunch off his jeans.
The passenger’s side window opened. A serious man leaned his head out.
“You Morgan?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Wylie said. “What’s this all about? You almost ran over my young friend here.”
The man opened the car door, stretched out his tall frame then opened the back door and gestured for Wylie to get in.
“I’m here to give you the ‘sweet peppers.’ We just gotta have a little talk first,” he said.
Wylie picked up his briefcase then knelt down, looking Bronson in the eye.
“Look, I have something I have to take care of. Grown-up stuff. You go back to the shop and I’ll meet you there later.”
Bronson stole a look at the large man by the sedan.
“He doesn’t seem like a good guy, Mr. Morgan. What are you caught up in?”
“It’s my business. Please, be a good boy and head back to the shop.” The man from the car came up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Now, Morgan. Or we’ll take the kid too.”
“Go. Trust me. You don’t want any part of this,” Wylie said, then he climbed into the back seat.
Yeah, like that’s going to happen, Bronson thought. He slung his backpack over his shoulder then disappeared into an alley as the sedan drove away.
Dogboy bounded out onto the street, searching for the sedan. He saw it several blocks down the street, still challenging the speed limit.
A boy on a bike whizzed past him, followed by a few friends.
“Stop,” Dogboy shouted, chasing after the boys.
The first boy skidded to a stop, kicking up dust from the sidewalk.
“Nice costume, but it isn’t Halloween for months,” the boy said.
“Look, I don’t have a lot of time. I’m a superhero, a real superhero, and some bad guys just kidnapped my friend. I need your bike. Now.”
As Dogboy reached out to grab the handlebar the boy let the bike drift a few feet ahead.
“A superhero, huh? Like the Dogboy kid from the papers?” the boy asked.
Dogboy stood there for a moment, hoping the gears would click in the boy’s head. They didn’t.
“Like him? I am him,” he said.
The boy jumped off his bike. “Oh, wow. The actual Dogboy. Here you go, sir. I’m going to get this back, right?”
“I’ll leave it right over there for you when I’m done,” Dogboy said, pointing to a bike rack across the way. “Thanks, and remember… I’m Dogboy.”
He took off after the sedan, leaving the boy waiting alone on the sidewalk when his friends came back for him a moment later.
“Where’s your bike?” one of them asked.
“That superhero kid took it. Dogboy,” the boy said, a look of pride on his face.
“How do you know it was actually him? Dogboy can fly. Did this kid fly?”
The boy stood there for a moment, considering the question. “You know what? He didn’t fly a lick.”
“Hop on the back of my bike,” his friend said. “Time to show this faker how to heel.”
Dogboy pounded the pedals, pumping his feet up and down until his knees were two pink blurs. He stuck to the sidewalks. They were crowded but easier to navigate than the streets.
The sedan swerved through traffic. The other cars slammed on their brakes. Every stopped car meant a dozen others stuck behind it.
With the traffic jam behind him, Dogboy steered the bicycle into the street. The boys he’d borrowed the bike from shot out from a side street. Soon enough they caught up to Dogboy, surrounding him.
“Stop the bike,” one of them said.
“We just want to talk,” said another.
“Contrary to the rumors I’m not your psychic friend.” Dogboy steered toward the boy on his right, sticking his leg out then kicking the other bike’s front tire. The wheel wobbled. The bike fell over, sending its driver spinning across the pavement.
Dogboy saw a small gap between two buildings up ahead. Four feet across at most. It would be tight, but he figured he’d fit. He waited until the last second to turn, veering into the gap. The boys chasing him rode past the alleyway then continued down the street.
Dogboy popped out the other side of the buildings, banking left toward the corner where he could double back and catch up to Wylie.
As he turned the sedan passed him going the other direction. He turned the bike around and followed. His shins started aching like somebody had shoved a pin against the bone, but the pain didn’t stop him. He pushed the pedals, over and under, over and under, getting closer every second.
Dogboy caught up with the sedan as it ran the red light at Lilac and Seventh. An arm reached out of the passenger side window. A second later a splash of gunfire.
The bullets hit the street around Dogboy’s tires, sparking as they skipped over the concrete. Dogboy swung the handlebars right, sending him flying toward a piece of plywood propped up against some scaffolding that ran around an old department store.
The bike rolled up the plywood, catching some air at the top. He landed then rolled along the makeshift walkway. From his vantage point he could see the sedan cruising down the street below. He kept pace with it, following the platform around the building at the corner.
The scaffolding ended in the same way it began, with a piece of plywood propped against it that led back to the sidewalk. He rolled down the ramp. The car merged into the turning lane which led to Route 63, an expressway that circled around the heart of downtown Colta City.
A silver coupé zoomed up the street, going twice as fast as the sedan ever had. It had a large spoiler on the back.
That’s it, he thought, one last shot or I’m going to lose them. As the coupé passed him he reached out with one hand and grabbed on to the spoiler. A jolt to his shoulder, but the joint held as the bike surged forward.
The pedals spun at a farcical speed. Dogboy was going so fast now he had to balance his feet on the bolts that held the front tire on. His sneaker bumped against the spoke, rubber chipping off the soles. Chunks of shoe flew back into his face.
The coupé pulled up to the sedan’s bumper. Dogboy held on as the driver switched lanes. He was about to come face-to-face with Wylie in the back seat when—
An orange flash. The coupé stops. He’s flying through the air, crashing through the back window. Another flash—
The driver in the sedan locked eyes with him in the rearview mirror. Dogboy let go, maneuvering the bike toward the sidewalk. The front tire hit the curb, throwing him off the bike.
He soared through the air, his cape billowing behind him, until he landed on a large bush planted at the entryway to Dixon Park. He tumbled off the bush into the grass.
The sound of sirens saturated the air. Dogboy ripped off his mask, shoved it under his shirt then ran in the direction of Horum’s magic shop.
Bronson rushed through the door then slammed it behind him. Mr. Horum ran out from the office. He stopped short when he saw his young friend.
“Why you make noise like gunshot? You scare beard off Horum’s face, you betcha,” he said.
“Sorry, I… Dogboy had somebody on his tail. Don’t worry. I lost ’em.”
Mr. Horum scrunched up his face.
“You in trouble, boy-oh? No big deal. We cover each other, hmmb?”
By the time Mr. Horum finished his last sentence Bronson was in the back of the shop climbing down the ladder to his room.
“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Horum,” he said. “Might have to leave the mask behind for the next couple days is all. I gotta get cleaned up, though. Going to see a friend who might be able to help.”
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