Teddy the Wonder Boy

It’s an age-old story. Mr. Freedom stands atop the getaway car, grinning wildly while holding each of the bank robbers by the scruff of their necks. News cameras and citizens’ iPhones are all taping the event for prosperity. Laurels and praises are being heaped upon Mr. Freedom for doing only what he seems capable of fighting crime. Meanwhile, I stand off to the side unnoticed, Teddy the Wonder Boy.

At the end of the Iraq War, Dirk Stroman, aka Mr. Freedom, found an infant boy in the rubble of a collapsed building. He delivered me to a military hospital and arranged to send me back to his mansion in the United States as soon as I was well enough to travel. Dirk Stroman was a Lt. General in the army at the time, and when he was discharged, he returned to his private practice as a high-profile stock investor. However, he always said that fighting for freedom and stopping crime was in his blood, so he created his alter personality,” Mr. Freedom!”

As for myself, I was raised by my nanny Gloria, a very nurturing and kind lady who always had my best interest at heart. A retired college professor homeschooled me in all the classics. In addition, I received intensive training in the martial arts of Hapkido and Kung Fu To’a, a form of Iranian fighting, and Niyudda, an ancient Indian martial art focusing on kicking, punching, and throwing. And so when I reached nineteen, Mr. Freedom announced to the world his new sidekick and assistant, “Teddy the Wonder Boy!” My costume included a turban, a Nehru jacket, a white turtleneck shirt and a plain black mask. I also have a red dot on my forehead, signifying a high-ranking clan in Indian society. The thing is, I’m Iraqi, and my name is Adeel, though oddly enough, my name means righteous and fair. It goes right along with Mr. Freedom, a perfect fit. I’m eighteen and will graduate this fall. I’ve chosen Harvard School of Law, where I hope to attain a degree in law enforcement. If I imprison criminals, I might as well get paid for it.                                                                                                                                             Mr. Freedom, whom I call Dad, is forty-three and in the best physical shape of his life. He works hard to keep up the superhero image but also has his stock career. That’s why he has a police scanner in his office and at home, so he can pick and choose which crime might offer the highest exposure on the news. He’ll then drop everything and jump into his costume decorated in red, white, and blue stripe with stars, under which he wears a bulletproof vest. But, of course, I’m expected to do the same, preferably arriving at the crime scene before him. The reason is that because of my youth, speed, and knowledge of the various martial arts, I am the one who will stop and seize the criminals. Mr. Freedom will arrive in time to apprehend the crooks, many of which have broken limbs, ribs, and noses. Cameras flash and news articles are written about the famous exploits of the invincible Mr. Freedom. There might be a minor blip about how he was assisted by his helper Teddy the Wonder Boy but no mention of my actual part in the situation. Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Stroman has been a great dad in providing for me, but I’m more of a kick in the side than a sidekick.                                                                                                                                                                  …                                                                                             Today, our butler, Stevens, asked if I might take a phone call from the City Commissioner Pat O’Day.

“Why? I ask. “Is he looking for Dad?”

“According to him, he’s been trying to reach your father all day Master Adeel, but without success.” Stevens extends the phone to me.

“Hello, Commissioner, Adeel speaking. How may I help you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Stroman’s son, you know Teddy?”

I close my eyes and sigh heavily.

“Commissioner, Teddy is a synonym I use when assisting my father when he is Mr. Freedom. Do you mean to tell me that in all the years you’ve worked with my dad, he’s never told you my real name?”

“Err, no, I’m sorry to say he never has. I apologize.  Um, what’s your name again?”

“Frustrating!” I whisper into the phone.

“I beg your pardon. What was that.”

“Never mind! Just call me Teddy and tell me what is going on.”

Stammering and stuttering like the Wizard of Oz, the Commissioner continues. “Y-Yes, well, there is a problem that I need to speak with your father about concerning, um, you know, Mr. Freedom?”

“And, what is the exact nature of this problem, Sir?”

“Well, you see, a few hours ago, I received a phone call from an anonymous caller demanding a one million dollars ransom for the release of Mr. Freedom.” I can hear the Commissioner breathing anxiously on the other end of the line. The poor man has had an easy job for years by letting my father handle all the tough decisions.

“Commissioner, could you please give the list of demands the kidnapper has requested? And in the meantime, have desk Sergeant Kelly see if anyone who was sent to jail by my father for kidnapping has been released recently.”

The Commissioner declares, “Oh! I think I see where you’re going with this.” Adeel hears the intercom button click as the Commissioner asks Kelly for a list of everybody released in the last six months. Then, returning to the phone, he explains that the kidnapper asked for one million dollars in cash, which will be dropped off at the Greyhound bus terminal; on 26 and Main.

“Very good. I’ll have Stevens put the money in a particular attache case that will release a knock-out gas when the culprit tries to open it,” I explain.

“Mr. Teddy, Sergeant Kelly has just handed me a piece of paper with only one name: “The Bayside Napper,” Lewis Lowenbrow.”

“Yes. I remember him. Wasn’t he living with his mother on E Street? Do you know if she is still there?”

The Commissioner answers with a chuckle in his voice. “Yes, I believe so. She always reminded me of the sweet little old lady from the Tweety and Sylvester cartoons.”

“Maybe so,” I respond cooly, “But she’s the mastermind behind all of the Napper’s cases.  Do you know where the Napper might be holding my father?”

“No, I don’t. All the fellow said was, “Deliver the money or else.”

I reassure the Commissioner, “I’m not too worried about that because the Napper has never killed anyone. I’ll have Stevens drop the money as instructed and go to the Napper’s apartment to grab his mother. We’ll take it from there, okay?”

                                                               …

I grab my jacket and leave. I don’t wear my Teddy the Wonder Boy outfit, so I don’t tip off the bad guys. I know which apartment belongs to the Lowenbrow family and take the stairs to apartment 103. I check the doorknob and find it’s locked. Scanning the hallway full of trash, I take my lockpicking case out and swiftly pick the lock. After slipping inside, I stop and listen. I hear her in the other room bitching at the TV. “Why the hell ain’t they talkin’ about my Lewis? He’s kidnapped Mr. Freedom, for God’s sake! What’s it take to make the news in this goddamn town?” Mrs. Lowenbrow nearly jumps out of her skin when I whisper in her ear. “The Commissioner told them not to leak a single word about the kidnapping, or he’d sue the news station. Now, tell me where Lewis took Mr. Freedom.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’! And who the hell are you anyway?” 

“I’m Adeel.”

“Who?”

I roll my eyes and say, “Teddy, the goddamn Wonder Boy. Now tell me where my father is!”

Mrs. Lowenbrow sticks out her chin and, in a voice that sounds like a naughty little girl, says, “Nooo.” I jerk her up to her feet and hit her hard with my knuckles across her face.

“Look, I’m not screwing around! If you don’t tell me where he is, I will throw you out this third-floor window. Then I’ll find Lewis and bring him back here to see the grease spot that was you.”

I can feel her trembling in my grip as I watch all the color drain from her face.

“H-He’s o-over in the old T-Toyland warehouse in the bowery.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lowenbrow.” I then apply so much pressure to a nerve in her neck that she passes out.  Next, I call the Commissioner and tell him to meet me there. 

Except for a beat-up Ford Focus, the area is vacant when I arrive at the warehouse. I sneak around outside the warehouse looking for an alternate way in. Sadly, the entire wall is covered with graffiti, including a large one that states, “ The Wonder Boy is stupid.” Luckily, an unlocked door is under it.  I slip inside. I can hear Lowenbrow mocking my dad and the echoes of loud slaps resounding off the walls. I creep closer.

“You’re a piece of crap.  Do you know that? To think that you took all the credit for catching me when the Wonder Boy did all the work! I ain’t seen so many moves, and he hits really hard too. And what do you do? When the news cameras show up, you make it look like you’re the one who caught me. You take all the credit while the real hero stands in the shadows. No one praises him! What kind of a father would do that to his own son?”

I have to admit Lowenbrow’s words strike deep and they hurt. But then I hear my father, and for the first time, I know the reason. 

“I know it looks that way, but I do it for the boy’s sake. I trust him to be okay fighting criminals because he is the top in his field. I take all the fame and praise because I want the bad guys to focus on me, not him. So the more I can make him look less of a threat, the more I can protect him. Yes, he is my son, and I love him.”

My heart melts and all my anger towards him slips away. I rush in and attack Lowenbrow from behind.  It is all over before Lowenbrow even knows what hit him.

“Adeel!” my father shouts.

            I set my father free and use the ropes to bind Lowenbrow to a post.

I turn and look my father in his eyes. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I confess, “I heard everything you said to Lowenbrow, and I want you to know I love you too. All this time, you were protecting me most nobly. Thank you.” We hear the sirens coming in the distance. As Dad meets my gaze, I can see concern as a furrow appears across his brow.

 “ I hope now you’ll understand the problem we have. If the public finds out I was kidnapped and you were the one who saved me, they’ll lose confidence in Mr. Freedom.  So I don’t know what we should do, son.”

I realize I’m wearing my costume jacket and find the mask in my pocket. I tell my dad I’ve got an idea. I rip one sleeve half off and tear several buttons off my shirt. I then muss up my hair and put on my mask, slightly crooked. “There,” I exclaim. “ So we’ll tell the press that I was kidnapped, and you saved me!”

When the warehouse’s front doors open, the press starts snapping pictures immediately. Everyone is shouting all at once. I’m leaning weakly on my father as he holds up one hand and declares, “This evil man kidnapped my boy and held him hostage for one million dollars, but I showed him that nobody messes with my family!” Then, as he flashes his trademark smile, I add, “He saved me from the Bayside Napper! He’s my Hero!”

Someone in the crowd yells, “He’s everybody’s Hero!”