The Continued Adventures of Superheroman & Sidekickboy – Chapter 3
By day, mild-mannered Orenthal James Coleman & Donald Cherry work for an olive oil company. By night (and sometimes day as well), they become Superheroman & Sidekickboy.
Chapter Three – The Case of the Peculiar Prisoner
Donald Cherry, aka Sidekickboy, rests his head glumly in his hands. “Can’t believe we live in jail now.”
Orenthal James Coleman, aka Superheroman, nods. “All for attempting to foil a bank robbery.”
“And subsequently letting the robbers make off scot free with the largest bank heist Iron City’s ever seen,” Donald amends.
“But it’s the thought that counts,” OJ clarifies. “Either way, we need a new lawyer.”
“You represented us!”
The pair’s prison cell parrying is postponed by a ringing phone.
OJ’s ears perk up. “What the devil?”
Donald reaches under his bench and pulls out a burner phone that had been taped beneath him.
“Give it here, Lil Donnie.” OJ flips open the phone and presses it to his ear.
“Hello, friend,” a voice utters.
“I’m afraid you have the wrong number,” OJ answers. “I don’t have any friends.”
Donald frowns as the mysterious man continues.
“How would you like to get out of prison?”
“I would like that very much, thank you sir.”
“Follow my instructions to the letter and you’re free.”
“Sounds like a plan, my man.”
“What’s he saying?” Donald asks, only to be met with a finger held up in silence.
“Is there another man in your cell?”
Orenthal glances at a frowny old gray-hair sitting on the opposite end of the cell, staring daggers at our fearless hero. “Old guy? Not a big talker?”
“Que?” the old man mutters.
“That’s him. We need him in order to facilitate the escape. Sort of a…patsy, if you will.”
“Oh, a dope,” OJ grins at the old man.
“Que?” he mutters again.
“I’ve hacked into the prison’s mainframe. Your cell door should open in thre–“
“Oh. Well, good then.”
“Sorry, I hope I didn’t ruin that for you.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“I should have just waited til you got to one and been like ‘Oh, wow!'”
“It’s really not a big deal.”
“I’m always doing tha–“
“You need to move now.”
“The door is open,” Donald narrates.
“Cracked another case, Donnie my boy.”
Two prison guards enter the now-open cell. “What the hell?”
“Take their uniforms,” the hacker orders.
“Can we have your uniforms please?” OJ asks politely.
“No,” the first guard responds.
“You can have ours. We’ll trade.”
The second guard shakes his head. “I don’t wanna do that.”
“You’re going to have to take those uniforms by force,” the hacker advises.
“Donnie, we’re going to have to utilize the patented ‘You-Know-Who’ & ‘You-Know-Who’ Super Punch.”
“I don’t think I can do that without my uniform,” Donald frets. “Plus, we’d need a distraction. These are awfully cramped quarters.”
The first guard crinkles his nose and furrows his brow. Basically a whole lot of stuff was happening to his face. “What are you guys talking abou–“
The old man drops to the floor, shaking.
“What’s happening to him?” the second guard exclaims, dropping to his knees.
“My goodness, that old man’s having a seizure. Donnie, do CPR.”
“I don’t think–“
“Perhaps he’s not having a seizure,” the hacker proposes. “But merely having a distraction?”
“Ah.” OJ turns to his sidekick. “Donnie, my boy? It’s bonking time.”
The two superheroes, now garbed in guard garments, approach the outer gate of the prison with the old man as their ‘prisoner’.
“Schultz & Showalski. We’re transferring this old jailbird upstate.”
“Sure is fun working in a jail,” Donald chimes in. “Because we’re prison guards.”
“Easy, Donnie,” OJ whispers.
The gate guard frowns at his computer screen, “Odd. Not seeing any transfers scheduled for today.”
“Gulp,” OJ gulps nervously.
“Did you just gulp nervously?” the gate guard asks.
“I was, uh, drinking something.”
“You’re not holding a drink.”
“Threw it away. The last of it was in my mouth. Just swallowed it. Hence the gulp.”
“So you were talking to me earlier with a mouthful of beverage.”
OJ nods. “Retired ventriloquist.”
“Tell him to check his manifest again,” the hacker reports. “Your inane rambling bought me enough time to enter a false transfer.”
“My rambling is not inane!” OJ argues.
“Who are you talking to on the phone?” the guard asks.
“Uh…my mommy. Can you check that manifest one more time?”
The gate guard refreshes the page and nods. “There we are. Schultz & Showalski transferring a Miguel Chavo.”
The gate opens and the heroes escort Señor Chavo outside to a waiting limousine.
“Oh boy!” Donald claps. “Long car!”
Señor Chavo climbs in and the limo peels out.
“Hey, what the hell!” OJ hollers into the burner phone.
“This is where we part ways, friend,” the hacker responds. “Enjoy your freedom.”
“Would have enjoyed it more in a limo,” OJ mutters to an uncaring dial tone.
Our heroic duo trudges through a small town main street on the outskirts of Iron City, when a storefront television display captures their attention.
“The pair who assisted in notorious Salvadorean crime kingpin El Chavo’s escape are reported to be one Orenthal James Coleman and Donald Cherry. They are believed to be unarmed, but dangerous.”
OJ elbows his trusty sidekick. “Didja hear that, Donnie my lad? They think we’re dangerous.”
Send all hate mail to ethanrbooker@