The Applyburg Institute of Archaeology was generally a pleasant-looking brick building full of history (quite literally), but one of its front glass doors had been boarded up, an unfortunate blemish on its beautiful facade.
"But that's what happens when you kick a cucumber supervillain through a door," an onion named Alvin remarked to his best friend, who he carried on his shoulder. (His friend did not reply, but Alvin was used to their one-sided conversations.)
He was a tall vegetable with arms and legs (a remarkable sight in most places), and his best friend was a lamp with no arms or legs (which was decidedly less remarkable), but the two got along pretty well. Lampy always smiled at everything and did not mock Alvin when he said something silly, and Alvin had found him to be of great help when it came to crime fighting (for Alvin was a crime fighter and a superhero at that).
Approaching the entrance from the sidewalk, he took in the scene at a studious leisure, running his yellow eyes over the area where he had launched LarryBoy the supervillain onto the sidewalk, noting how quickly the glass shards had been cleaned up. Doubtless a forensics team had combed their way through to collect every shred of evidence related to the attempted burglary last night before the crime-scene clean-up crew had swept up the rest. Alvin would have to ask the police if he could review the data later.
Satisfied for the present, he climbed up the shallow front steps and knocked on the unbroken door. The security guard, a grandfatherly green onion named George, recognized him and smilingly ushered him inside.
"Nice to see you on the job, sir," he said cheerfully, peering up at Alvin's pale, monocled face. "You know, I've always wanted to work alongside a real superhero, and here I get to meet Altruistic Alvin. My granddaughter is a huge fan."
"It's just 'Alvin,' actually," the younger man told the guard. "The newspapers added the Altruistic part."
"Well, it's nice to have a hero around, whatever he's called," chirped George. "I suspect you'll be wanting to talk with Officer Scooter. He's right over there" — nodding to a carrot with bushy white eyebrows talking to a few officers.
Alvin thanked him and stepped toward Scooter, taking a moment to appraise the lobby. An atrium stretched to about the third floor, and its pillared center on the first had been taped off, marking it as a crime scene — although it was really more of a "fight scene," Alvin reflected. The institute had asked Alvin for help with protecting some recently loaned items, but instead Alvin had found himself having to stop the plunger-headed LarryBoy, who had broken into the vault full of their permanent items. Alvin had taken advantage of the pillars as hiding spots while he had tired LarryBoy, so the area must be loaded with evidence for the police to sort through.
Alvin greeted Scooter as he neared, and the older carrot stepped over to him in a smart stride.
"I figured I'd be seeing you soon, lad," he said wryly in a Scottish brogue. "The security cameras captured quite a show last night" — and he nodded toward the small video camera mounted on the nearest wall. "Our boys on the forensics team were cheering for ya while we were going over the footage."
"Hopefully, the camera caught my best side," Alvin replied. "Dr. Zucchini asked me to come in."
"I was just on my way to see him," said Scooter. "I'll walk up with you."
They strode around the edge of the atrium toward the stairwell since the elevators laid within the closed-off crime-scene area. As they walked, Alvin remembered something.
"By the way, Scooter," he said, "have you or any of the other officers read anything... surprising in the newspapers this morning?"
"Well, a farmer up in Maiseville found an egg with three yolks in it," Scooter smiled. "Pretty exciting, huh?"
"No, I meant... anything exciting about me?" he asked carefully.
Scooter snorted, slowing his walk as they reached they reached the door of the stairwell. "Well, I don't think the papers have caught wind of what happened last night, me lad, but give it time, okay? Lampy will have something for his scrapbook later."
"Not that," frowned Alvin, and he checked his surroundings for any listeners. "Last night, LarryBoy said he might call some newspapers and tell them about... my past."
"Eh?" Scooter straightened, growing alarmed. "Your past, son?"
"But clearly he was bluffing," Alvin said, pulling open the door. "Let's go."
What the majority of Applyburgers did not know was that the superhero they now called Altruistic Alvin had once been a supervillain from Lollyhaven named Awful Alvin, the awful-minded genius who had terrified many of them only a year ago. Following a moment of surrender in a jail cell, Alvin had put away his evil life and had chosen to help vegetables instead of harming them. So far, Alvin had done a good job concealing his past, but LarryBoy had threatened to tell newspapers the truth.
But clearly that had not happened, Alvin reasoned. If the papers knew he was— used to be Awful Alvin, then every news stand would be full of the scandal, and Alvin would not have been able to walk into the institute at all. Maybe LarryBoy was waiting to reveal the truth when it was convenient for him, or maybe he would try to use it as blackmail.
Or maybe LarryBoy realized that no one would believe that Altruistic Alvin was Awful Alvin — or maybe the newspapers editors, if they had believed it, had realized that Alvin was a changed man, and they would all unanimously stand by him no matter what had happened in the old days.
...Or LarryBoy was just bluffing, Alvin sighed inwardly. With a past his dark, no newspaper editor would let him forget it if they knew the truth.
They met Dr. Zucchini coming down the staircase, and he greeted them with a jerking nod. He was a stiff, formal man in glasses who usually ran the institute with order and precision, and Alvin suspected the break-in must have shaken him because he seemed even stiffer than normal.
"So, Mr. Alvin," he said, staring through his spectacles at the tall onion, "it seems that we didn't have to worry about thieves going after the borrowed artifacts after all. That LarryBoy scoundrel was more interested in the institute's own treasures."
"But he wasn't able to take anything," Alvin reminded him kindly.
"True," agreed Dr. Zucchini with a respectful nod. "The institute is fortunate you were able to stop him in time."
"What exactly was he after, sir?"
"I suppose I should show you," said Dr. Zucchini, adjusting his tie. "Gentlemen, if you'll be so kind as to follow me."
He led them up to the third floor to the interior room where items on loan from other institutes and museums were typically kept, and he made a beeline to a large safe at the back.
"Following the break-in, I found it advisable to store the artifacts in a different location until we can improve our security measures," he said as he spun in the combination. "Not as secure as the vault, of course, but hopefully LarryBoy won't think to look up here first if he tries again."
"Do any of your employees know that you put them here?" questioned Alvin, frowning.
"Not at all. It was a last-minute decision on my part."
"Hmm." Alvin furrowed his brow in thought. "Then you should keep an eye out for anyone asking too many questions about the artifacts. It's possible LarryBoy either infiltrated your ranks as a worker, or he has an accomplice within the institute who gave him everything he needed to enter the vault."
"Well, I can tell you partly how he got in," exhaled Dr. Zucchini as he opened the heavy safe door. "He used the keycard from one of our conservators, John Orange. But John is in Hawaii right now on a two-week vacation with his family. When the police went around to check on his house, they found it had been broken into."
Alvin thinned his lips. "I didn't think you could enjoy a lengthy trip to Hawaii on a conservator's salary."
"That's the thing," said Dr. Zucchini, pausing as he picked up a small storage container. "John said his wife won an all-expense trip for a family of five at a luxury resort, but she didn't remember entering any contest or sweepstakes."
"Ah." Alvin nodded. "A windfall that grand must have been too tempting to question further."
"Indeed."
"And the night security guard? How did LarryBoy get past him?"
"His cup of caffeinated tea was replaced with chamomile. He was asleep almost instantly."
Dr. Zucchini carried the small storage container to a nearby table. Then he withdrew from the safe a long, wooden box which Alvin recognized from the night before, the one which LarryBoy had attempted to steal.
"To add to LarryBoy's list of crimes," Dr. Zucchini said flatly, "he stored the items together, no doubt to make his theft easier, not at all caring about proper preservation."
He removed the lids from both boxes, and although he was a no-nonsense courgette, his eyes took on a look of academic fervor.
"These, gentlemen," he said, "are some of the greatest finds of our time."
From the smaller box, he gingerly picked up what looked like two long cords tied to a pouch, and Alvin remembered that this was called a sling.
"That?" frowned Alvin doubtfully.
Dr. Zucchini formed one of his rare smiles. "My young friend, this — as small and as insignificant as it looks — is believed to have been the very sling that David used to defeat Goliath."
Alvin's mouth fell open. "You're kidding."
Dr. Zucchini's eyes actually twinkled at his astonishment. He then reached into the next box and pulled out what looked like an old, stretched-out ram's horn — what the leader of Alvin's online Bible would have called a shofar.
"And this, Mr. Alvin, is believed to be one of the horns that the Levite priests used to bring down the walls of Jericho."
Alvin nearly staggered back.
"Where— How in the world did you get them?"
"An Australian archaeologist who goes by the moniker Outback Jack donated these to our museum not too long ago," replied Dr. Zucchini, laying the shofar on the impeccably clean table. "He's a rather unorthodox fellow, but he is known to pursue the most elusive artifacts across the globe."
"Unorthodox?"
"Well," answered Dr. Zucchini awkwardly, pushing up his glasses, "he does carry a sock puppet with him everywhere."
Scooter blinked. "Excuse me, did you say a sock puppet?"
"Mmm-hmm. His closest companion in the outback. Mr. Alvin and he probably have a lot in common," added Dr. Zucchini, but Alvin did not know why he stole a glance toward Lampy just then.
"Well," said Scooter, leaning over to inspect the horn and sling, "with bonnie artifacts this valuable, no wonder LarryBoy's fingers would be itching to get ahold of them."
"Yes," said Alvin, touching his chin, "but there may be more to their appeal in LarryBoy's eyes than mere historical significance."
Dr. Zucchini lifted an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Last night he said something about the artifacts having secrets," Alvin related. "Do you have any idea of what he was talking about, Dr. Zucchini?"
"Oh. That," the director replied with a shake of his head. "I suppose he meant the so-called 'legends' attached to each of them. Superstitious nonsense, of course."
It was Alvin's turn to quirk his brow. "Superstitious, how?"
"Unfortunately, among those who adhere to cabals and secret societies — who cause great trouble for those of us trying to preserve history, I might add — there are people who believe that items from biblical times must operate as they did in biblical times, no matter the circumstances."
"Meaning…?"
"For example, if one were to find the staff of Moses, then one could then use the staff to part the Red Sea whenever one desired," Dr. Zucchini elucidated. He then motioned toward the sling. "So, they assert that if this is really the sling that David used to defeat Goliath with one stone, then they can also use it to slay any foe that they want. And if this is indeed one of the trumpets that felled the walls of Jericho" — nodding to the shofar — "then they can use it to topple any building at any time."
Alvin stared at him. "Seriously?"
"Sure stirs the imagination," said Scooter wistfully. "I can't tell you how a wall-breaking trumpet could help our boys on the force take down a villain holed up in his hideout."
Alvin thinned his lips, beginning to understand LarryBoy's intentions. Although he had only met LarryBoy a few times back in his villainous days, Alvin knew the cucumber's reputation for tenacity and boldness in his capers, chasing thrills as much as he chased treasures. If he sincerely believed the artifacts had powers that would help him in his line of work, then he would make another attempt to grab them, and any added security would only increase the fun.
"But we know from the Bible that it's not the items themselves that have power," Alvin pointed out. "It was God who was at work in each situation."
"Yes, but every time someone finds something that may be an artifact from biblical times, there is a strange crowd who assert that the artifact must have divine powers," Dr. Zucchini returned, rolling his eyes. "The stories I could tell you about treasure hunters trying to find Noah's umbrella…"
Alvin nodded, contemplative.
"Even in Bible times, that seems to be the case," he remembered, folding his arms. "Moses made the bronze serpent under God's direction so that those dying from being bitten by fiery serpents could look upon the image and live — which God was simultaneously using to point to Jesus — but generations later, the people of Israel burnt incense to it, and King Hezekiab had to destroy it."
"True, but in our day and age, surely people ought to realize that not everything touched by a Biblical figure has special powers that can be wielded willy-nilly."
Alvin then had an uncomfortable thought, and a shadow crossed his pale face.
"But it doesn't really matter if the artifacts have powers at all," he said slowly, seriously. "It's enough that people think that they do. A supervillain of LarryBoy's caliber could stage 'demonstrations' and enslave people by keeping them in fear. That's what I would do in his place — uh, if I were currently a villain, that is," he amended quickly.
Dr. Zucchini adjusted his spectacles, narrowing his eyes grimly.
"Ah, yes, I suppose you are right about that," he said slowly. He then looked at Alvin thoughtfully. "You certainly have an uncanny way of guessing how supervillains think, Mr. Alvin."
Alvin forced a smile. "Isn't a hero supposed to think three moves ahead?"
"Indeed. That's what makes your insight so valuable." He gently but swiftly began to return the artifacts into their containers. "Speaking of which, perhaps you would be so kind as to accompany me to the vault, Mr. Alvin? And you, Officer?"
They both agreed, and after the artifacts had been stowed away, they followed him back into the hall.
They took the stairs back down to the first floor and followed the walkway that formed the perimeter of the atrium. Alvin, as was his habit (which had been born in his days as a supervillain who never knew when an enemy would jump out and attack him), cast yet another look around his surroundings as he walked, and he noticed that instead of the watchful figure of George, a green cylindrical shape — a cucumber, to be exact — with asymmetrical blonde hair, a pink dress and an eager smile moved carefully around the other side of the sealed-off perimeter, snapping photos with a flashbulb camera. A male, single-toothed cucumber in a tan boiler suit who might have been her assistant followed close behind her also taking pictures of the area, but he used a flip phone.
At the sight of the pretty blonde, Alvin stopped in his tracks, and his face brightened in recognition.
"Lampy, look!" he whispered. He quietly pulled his sidekick around to his other side and pointed discreetly toward the woman. "Look who's here!"
Lampy did not respond. Alvin figured he must have been too delighted to speak.
The woman blissfully snapping shots before him was none other than Vicki Cucumber, a photojournalist for The Daily Apple. Although her editor called Alvin a menace, Vicki had sought him out for an interview. Alvin and Lampy had taken her for a ride on the hovercraft the night before when Alvin had gotten the alert of the break-in, and LarryBoy had threatened her life, which had enabled the supervillain to escape. In the process LarryBoy had caused Lampy to fall off the hovercraft. Alvin had thought his friend was a goner, but then Vicki had offered to help — loaning Alvin her toolbox and even giving Lampy a new lightbulb — and Lampy had survived the night, thanks to their new friend.
Smiling, Alvin had a mind to carry Lampy over and say hello to her — and ask her how she was and whether he could reimburse her for Lampy's new lightbulb, and maybe he could find out what were her plans later — but unfortunately Dr. Zucchini also noticed the two cucumbers, and he straightened with indignation.
"I told George not to let in any press!" he harrumphed. "Where is he?"
Scooter chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, don't go blaming ol' George on account of that there lass, sir. She'd stowaway on a rocket ship to the moon just to get a good photo, she would. She probably slipped in after she made sure George was distracted."
Dr. Zucchini pushed up his spectacles. "Even so, I would prefer that photographers stay away from the crime scene for the present."
He started off to deal with the pair, muttering to himself.
Left with Scooter, Alvin turned to his friend, gesturing toward the cucumber lady.
"You know her?"
"Aye, she tagged along on my patrol once and took photos for her paper" — he puffed out his chest with pride. "That lass is as cool as any cucumber but full of fire underneath. Vicki Cucumber is her name."
"Yes, ah, I met her last night. She helped me patch up Lampy when he was hurt." He gestured to the new dents on Lampy's shade, souvenirs from their run-in with LarryBoy. "She's quite interesting, isn't she?"
"Heh, you'll probably be seeing a lot more of her, lad," Scooter winked. "A superhero like you is going to be the center of a lot of news stories, and she'll be trying to capture every shot she can."
"Hopefully, from a distance," Alvin said under his breath, remembering how LarryBoy had nearly harmed her after she had recklessly taken a photo of Alvin's fight with the supervillain.
Meanwhile, Dr. Zucchini had been speaking to the two cucumbers, and he had radioed George, who had been — as Scooter suspected — distracted by a diversion, allowing the intruders to slip in. The cucumbers retreated toward the broken glass door, without seeming to notice Alvin watching them.
"Here, Vicki," said the male cucumber as they reached the exit, and Alvin's ears picked up on his debonair tone, "let me buy you lunch as thanks for today."
"It's a little early for lunch, Larry," she answered, and there was a hint of laughter in her pretty, feminine voice.
"Then why don't I buy you coffee on the way back to the office, and buy you lunch later?" he suggested, and Vicki told him that was an excellent plan, and they stepped out into the sunshine.
Alvin followed them with his eyes through the unbroken glass panels, and a soft sigh escaped him before he realized it.
That's the way the world works, isn't it? he mused wryly. Cauliflower preferred cauliflower; asparaguses preferred asparaguses; cucumbers preferred cucumbers. That was just how things usually were.
Not that it was any of Alvin's business either way.
Dr. Zucchini, meanwhile, waited for George to lock the door again, and he said a few terse words to the abashed guard before he turned back toward Alvin, Lampy, and Scooter, motioning for them to follow him.
"This way to the vault, gentlemen."
They went down a short flight of steps and down a long hallway that Alvin had run down in the dark the night before, and after stepping through two rooms, they reached a huge, reinforced door. Dr. Zucchini slid his keycard in the slot, and the light turned green, and he pulled open the door.
"As you can see," he said ruefully, "if you have the right keycard, you can get in and out with ease. I'm hoping to change that."
"Maybe you could install a fingerprint scanner," Alvin quipped, turning to grin at Lampy, who always smiled at his jokes.
"Actually," the director replied, "I've called an emergency meeting for the board. I am going to propose that we hire someone to provide us with an anti-supervillain security system."
"That may be a tall order," Alvin warned. "Supervillains are a varied bunch. No two are really the same, and many of them enjoy a challenge."
"Oh, but I think the man I have in mind will be just what the institute needs," said Dr. Zucchini firmly. "I'd be willing to go with a salary cut in order to afford him if it meant that our history is preserved."
"A man like that would have to see around corners to tangle with so many potential villains," observed Scooter dubiously. "Who did you have in mind?"
Dr. Zucchini squared his shoulders, looking quite determined. "None other than Dr. Flurry himself."
Alvin's head snapped up. "Wait. Dr. Arvin Flurry? The scientist?"
At his shocked tone, Scooter shot him a curious glance. Dr. Zucchini, meanwhile, jerked a firm nod.
"The very same! He's just what we need to stop LarryBoy and anyone else who thinks they can deprive others of history for their own selfish gain." His bespectacled eyes actually glittered. "His inventions have already thwarted the likes of Selfish Simon and Awful Alvin over in Lollyhaven. He can handle our institute."
"Well, I wouldn't say he 'thwarted' them," Alvin muttered, glancing uncomfortably at the ever undaunted Lampy, but Dr. Zucchini did not seem to hear him.
"Like I said, we'll be putting the matter to a vote when we can get the board together, but in the meantime I would appreciate it if you would help our security staff for the present, Mr. Alvin."
Alvin formed a quick smile. "I might be able to rig a few things up."
"Excellent. Let me know if you require any assistance."
Alvin inspected the lock for several minutes, then told Dr. Zucchini that he would have to go back to his hideout for equipment, but he would try to have something ready by that evening. Dr. Zucchini thanked him, and he escorted Alvin, Lampy, and Scooter back to the main lobby, but a passing intern stopped him to inform him about a phone call from some archaeologist, and so Dr. Zucchini left his companions to see themselves the rest of the way out.
"Well, I'll be off then," said Alvin, turning with Lampy in his hand for the door, but Scooter stopped them.
"Where did you park your hovercraft, son?"
Alvin jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "In the alley nearby."
"So, it should be safe for the present?" Scooter guessed. At Alvin's nod, he smiled in a fatherly fashion. "In which case, perhaps you — and Lampy, of course — would be interested in helping your old friend out on his patrol?"
Alvin shook his head. "I should probably get back to my hideout and work on something to protect the vault, but maybe Lampy would be interested in helping you."
"Oh, it won't take that long, son," Scooter said, nudging Alvin. "A patrol can clear a man's head, you know, and there may be some coffee and doughnuts in it for you."
Alvin glanced at Lampy to see what he thought, but his friend continued to smile, which Alvin guessed meant he thought the plan was a good idea.
"How could we say no?" Alvin answered Scooter with a lopsided grin.
Alvin buckled Lampy in the backseat of Scooter's blue-and-white car and then sat up front with the officer. Normally, civilians were not allowed to ride in the passenger seat of Applyburg police, but an exception was often made for superheroes.
The radio softly played as they drove away from the institute, which Alvin did not mind as it gave him an excuse not to talk while Scooter hummed along to his favorite song. Two blocks down they turned into the parking lot of Dippin Donuts, and Scooter got them a dozen chocolate-frosted doughnuts and two cups of coffee. (Lampy, as usual, did not seem interested in eating.)
Instead of going on with the patrol, however, Scooter pulled his car into a street-side parking spot and opened the tab on his coffee lid.
"Best to enjoy a treat in peace before doing any serious driving," he said lightly, nodding for Alvin to pass him the box. "Can't hold a doughnut and a steering wheel if you get into a car chase."
While Scooter got himself situated, Alvin unbuckled his belt to allow himself to turn discreetly to face his window. He took a doughnut to be sociable, but he turned it over several times before he remembered to take a bite. Scooter polished off two donuts in pleasant silence while keeping a watchful eye on the street. After he took a long quaff of coffee, he leaned back in his seat with a content sigh.
"If you ever want to try law enforcement over superheroics, Alvin, me lad, I think you'll enjoy down-time perks like these."
Alvin decided against pointing out that he had his own share of down-time on his own superhero patrols and politely replied, "I think I do better as I am. Like Dr. Zucchini said, I know how supervillains think, and I can deal with them quickly this way."
"Maybe so, but there's something to be said about being on the force, son, working inside the law with your brothers- and sisters-in-arms. Plus we look pretty snappy in blue, if I do say so."
"Keep telling yourself that, pal."
Scooter chuckled. Despite their difficult past, he knew Alvin well enough by now not to take offense at his quips. He took another sip and, swirling his cup, commented, "So, the institute might hire Dr. Flurry."
Alvin's good humor receded, and he pulled his cape closer around him. "Right."
"It'll be nice to see him again," said Scooter casually, but Alvin was pretty sure the carrot was studying him. "Flurry was a big help when we had to team up with the Puggslyville police to track down the Scarlet Tomato."
"And the two of you probably swapped mustache-care tips," Alvin cracked.
"Maybe we did, and maybe we didn't." Scooter offered Alvin another doughnut, but the onion politely refused. Scooter took one for himself and sampled it before he asked, "And when was the last time you saw him, lad?"
"A year ago," Alvin exhaled, plopping his cheek against his knuckles. "Grandpa Simon kidnapped Arv to force him to help us build a machine so that we could take over the world — you know, typical Tuesday stuff back then."
"Mmm," nodded Scooter. "And does Flurry know you're a hero now?"
"Does it matter?" Alvin asked softly, gazing glumly down the street. "With all the stuff I did, Flurry is never going to forgive me."
"He might, if you explain things to him."
"Like he'd give me a chance," Alvin scoffed, rolling his eyes. "The moment he realizes that the hero named Alvin is actually Awful Alvin, he's going to 'warn' everyone about me, and then— and then—"
He broke off, clenching his hands with impotent frustration.
Scooter turned in his seat. "And then you're afraid that Applyburgers won't want you protecting them anymore?"
Alvin gritted his sharp teeth and turned his head away.
He had risked so much — had given up so much — to be a real hero instead of a monster. He no longer spoke to any of his family members, had been disowned by his own grandfather, had been chased out of his hometown, had lived out of safe houses until he had been able to scrape enough funds together to rent a nice starter hideout, and had endured the suspicions of superheroes who had been his enemies. He worked around the clock to help people in need, whether they had gotten in trouble with crime lords or just needed money to pay for groceries. Yet one word from a respected scientist like Dr. Flurry could undo Alvin's reputation, and he would be run out of yet another town.
He blinked his yellow eyes which he realized had grown hot.
Scooter meanwhile picked up the doughnut box and used it to nudge Alvin's arm until the onion looked at him with a dull expression.
"Alvin, you used to be in and out of Applyburg Jail like a cat who doesn't know which side of the door he wants to be on," Scooter reminded him matter-of-factly, "and that's not counting all the trouble you got into back in Lollyhaven. When Apple Strudel and the Pumpkin Brothers told me you had gone straight, I thought it was just another one of your nefarious tricks."
"A fair suspicion," Alvin said wryly.
"But you proved yourself a changed man, me lad," Scooter went on, wearing something like a fatherly smile, "and if I can see how much of a hero you really are, even with your background, then others will too, if you give them time."
"Time," Alvin repeated. "How much time?"
"It will probably depend on the person," admitted Scooter, leaning back, "and how much you hurt them personally, but the general population might be more receptive if you keep putting your best foot forward. I mean, you didn't harm everyone on the planet. …For the most part."
Alvin snorted in spite of himself. "To be fair, I never tried to destroy the world. I wouldn't have been able to rule it if I had."
"Right, lad!" Scooter chuckled. "There are probably people on some remote island who don't know your name. You'll probably do well with them."
"I feel more popular already," Alvin grinned. "As long as I find a place without Internet or newspapers, I can be a superhero there."
"But what if Pluto already has a superhero?"
"Really, Scooter. I think even Pluto has Internet by now."
That set them both rocking with laughter for several minutes, and by the end of it, Alvin sat much straighter, and his pale face had recovered some of its zest. Even Lampy, still placidly smiling in the backseat, seemed more cheerier, or so Alvin thought.
Scooter grabbed one of the napkins to wipe a tear from his twinkling eyes, and then he suddenly looked at Alvin as if getting a fresh thought.
"You know, son, if you really think about it, everyone on this planet is the villain of somebody else's story."
Alvin leaned back in the seat, skeptical. "What, you think Mayor Blueberry is up at city hall plotting world domination?"
"Well, I wouldn't typically think that of her," said Scooter, tilting his head thoughtfully. "But everyone has done something less than kind."
"And...?"
"Well, the Bible says, 'For all have sinned,' right? And if all are sinning, then it stands to reason that all are hurting someone else at some point in their lives," he reasoned. "So, even if you consider yourself a good person, there's probably a few folks out there who have something to say to the contrary."
Alvin gave him a flat look. "Yes, but not everyone is a megalomaniacal supervillain out for world domination, so it's not quite the same, is it?"
"Maybe to God it is," answered Scooter, picking up his coffee cup again. "Down here, we like to say that this sin is worse than that one, so therefore I'm a good person compared to that man. Even I'm guilty of that myself at times" — with a wry, self-incriminating look — "but before a holy, just God, nobody looks good on their own merits."
"But not everyone has built a death trap, Scooter."
"But we've all done something, son. Look up what Revelations 21:8 says about the fate of 'all liars,' and 1 John 3:15 says, 'Whoever hates his brother is a murderer.' So, everyone is a sinner, regardless of the sin."
Alvin sighed. "And I used to be one of the worst of them."
"Used to," said Scooter with a smile, "but you found out that the just God is also extremely merciful, and He forgave you when you reached out to Him and His Son, didn't He?"
"Yes…"
"Then in His eyes, it's as though you have never sinned," Scooter answered. "When He looks at you, Alvin, He sees Jesus, and if that's His opinion of you, don't worry about what others think."
Alvin mulled that over. Back in his villainous days he had delighted in every chance to torment police officers, but in coming to view Scooter as a good friend — a term which he did not use lightly — he had learned to respect the old man's insight and wisdom.
"I guess what you're getting at is that I need to trust in God regarding Dr. Flurry and not care where the chips fall?"
"If He's gotten you this far, lad, He can get you anywhere you need to be. So, keep doing your part to move forward and let Him handle the rest."
One of the corners of Alvin's mouth twitched upward in a reluctant smile — and right then the police radio crackled to life.
"All units," came the voice of the dispatcher, "robbery in progress at Lettuce Street candy store. Possible silly string involved."
The two men were at once alert.
"Speaking of which," said Alvin, putting back on his seatbelt.
Scooter turned the key and pulled out of the parking spot, already switching on the flashing lights.
"Let's go, Mr. Hero."
THE END
a farmer up in Maiseville found an egg with three yolks in it — who knows that reference?
