The New Addition to Reliable Red Roman

“And your change is a dollar, seventy-five.” I cup my hand towards the cashier’s, feeling the cool metal graze against the pads of my fingers. Dropping my change into my wallet, I take my cup of coffee and press the two newly released comic books against my chest. I step outside the convenience store, the air is starting to thicken as the sky brightens above me. Various people spend their loose change and paychecks on different things. Some adults walk into Al’s corner store needing a pack of smokes, others need an emergency pregnancy test or artificial beef jerky. But me? I need every single addition to The Reliable Red Roman series. 

He’s constantly all over the news. Without him, the crime rate here in Chicago would’ve been through the roof. The policemen hate him, especially since he gets more recognition and good publicity. I’m pretty sure half of the policemen here dreamed as a kid that they would have their names and faces on a cereal box or constant printings of their adventures in a comic book. But Red Roman stole that dream right under their noses.

A lot of the people I work with constantly wonder why I buy comic books that are made for prepubescent boys. It’s my source of news, the media is biased. Even our local news station is biased. Local news stations should not be biased. The only unbiased news sources comes from CenterPrinted Comic INC. They tell all, the good and the bad. Of course there are other superheroes they tell on, like Sundance in Cali or Mal Dona up in Detroit. But Red Roman is my favourite. The cashier, Andy, doesn’t shun me for getting them, he actually reads them as well but he isn’t a collector. I usually get the new addition every Thursday right after work but I missed last week’s and I need to catch up. Now, at the crack of dawn, on my way to work, I feel secure knowing that this street is safe because of Red Roman.

When I arrive at my workplace, I silently pray that I'm early enough to miss the balding nuisance that used to have light shining in his brown eyes. But when my elevator ride stops at the floor I work at, my growing smile instantly falls when I'm greeted by Samuel, the receptionist. The light in his eyes faded some time ago, dropping and residing in his huge eye bags. "A thirty year old still reading and collecting comic books?" He sneers at me. "Pathetic, is it not?" I miss the days when our relationship was more on the love side of the love-hate-situation. 

"First of all," I force a smile, "Good morning. And I'm twenty-seven."

"Doesn't help your case."

"Second of all, there's nothing wrong with collecting comic books. After all, I need some time to enjoy myself since I work so hard managing you." I take a swig of my coffee and turn towards my office.

I already know today is going to be a slow day. Taking another long draw from my coffee, I get lost in the high contrast panels and matte pages. Last week Red Roman busted a cartel group from importing stolen goods and drugs. I heard it briefly in the news but I didn’t pay too much attention to it. I wanted to see it for myself, I anticipated every word that allegedly came from the culprits and Red Roman himself. I gasp when I notice the superhero’s concerned face show up on the next page. A few of the cartel members escaped. Sometimes I wonder who gives the artists and writers the information on what happened in the situation, the who said whats. Maybe sources? Maybe Roman himself?

I’m startled by the voice of my boss, Clarissa, “You do know you can watch the news like a grownup, right?”

“The comic books are just as informative.” I dig my nose deeper into the colourful pages.

“Says who?” 

“Roman himself, see,” I show her the front cover, pointing at the lower right corner. A red circle around a cartoon roman soldier with his spear upwards, he’s saluting to the American flag. “Roman’s seal of approval.”

Clarissa squints her eyes, the roots of her blond hair is starting to grey. I feel like I’m partially responsible for her well-hidden stress. I like to take big risks when it comes to our company. They either work or they don’t. Sometimes there’s a good chance the outcome to one of my many brilliant ideas would cost us a lot of money, but it usually ends up being just fine. 

I’ve learned that from Red Roman himself. Always take risks. “Don’t you think it’s ironic how a Roman soldier is saluting to the American flag?”

I shrug, “Him and his parents might be immigrants, but they are all American.” I got back to my reading, unsettled. I feel her grey eyes pierce through her glasses. “What?” I say without looking up.

“Do you like Roman?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I mean lust after him? I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a shrine of Reliable Red Roman comic books.”

“I do not lust after him, no one knows his identity,” his helmet covers most of his face. The only things America knows about Red Roman is the fact that he and his parents were born in Italy, he lives here in Chicago and he’s in his early thirties. That’s about it. “I do not have a shrine of his comic books or merchandise. I keep the comic books as a source of news and I’ll eventually sell them to the highest bidder once Reliable Roman retires.”

“Smart. Creepy, but still smart. Now stop reading your news and meet me in the conference room in five.” She says to me before disappearing into the hallway. 

After a long day of work, I throw my stuff on the floor and notice the sun glowing on my bookshelf. It brings a smile to my face. The neatly kept piles of all the comic books I’ve accumulated overtime. Pulling up the one I finished during lunch, I add it to the collection. This, right here is a gold mine. Some people like to collect rocks, coins or stamps. I like to collect Reliable Roman comic books.