Page 27 of No More Billionaires

The rental car agent had told me it was unusual, but the prediction of a rare winter snowstorm in the region had caused cautious travelers to upgrade and take all the four-wheel drive vehicles in anticipation.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Sky reassured. “Those meteorologists are wrong half the time. And if we do actually get snow, it’s not supposed to start until later on tomorrow evening. I know we’re shooting the surgery at one o’clock. When’s your flight out?”

“Larson’s leaving around noon to get back in time for the show,” I said. “My flight’s at four—the closest I thought I could cut it. We should be out of the operating room by two. That should give me a couple hours to get a cab to the airport and check in.”

“No need for a cab—I’ll drive you. And a couple hours should be good. Okay, see y’all over there.”

Sky walked away toward his truck, and Larson and I climbed into the rental to follow.

TEN

Heroes Big and Small

The Webster family lived in a homogenous suburban neighborhood with wide streets and neatly-landscaped front yards.

The newish homes weren’t big or small but somewhere in between and covered in earth-toned siding. It looked like an ideal place to raise a family.

Because it was midday on a school day, the neighborhood was quiet as we drove through. The owners of the various backyard swing sets and climbing gyms we saw were tucked away somewhere nearby in classrooms where they were no doubt watching the wall clocks for recess time right about now.

As we followed Sky to the Websters’ address, I was surprised to see a lone child, a boy, playing on the winter-brown grass in front of a home up the street.

He was running with his arms out to the sides, wearing a bright red cape which stood out clearly against his navy winter coat and dark knit hat. Sky pulled his news car over to the curb alongside the boy’s yard and stopped.

Oh—this must be our kid.

Of course. His parents would have let him skip a school day for the interview.

We parked behind Sky and got out. The boy stopped his game and stared at the three tall strangers in front of his home.

“Are you Benji?” Larson asked in a friendly voice, smiling at him.

The boy didn’t answer. He turned around and ran the few yards to his front porch, cape flapping, then watched through wide eyes as Sky unloaded his camera and lighting equipment from the SUV’s hatch.

Larson and I headed toward the front door to let Benji’s parents know we’d arrived. As we stepped onto the sidewalk, I purposely bumped Larson’s ribs with my elbow.

“It’ssomuch fun to be on video camera, don’t you think?” I asked in a slightly exaggerated tone.

He gave me a quick side-glance, and catching my wink, responded, “Oh yes. I really love it. I get to see myself on TV, andallmy friends and family get to see me on TV. It’s very cool.”

“I agree,” I said. “The only problem is—we don’t have enough superheroes on TV. Especially young ones—that’s what we really need.”

Larson ran with it. “True. If only we could find one. I wish I knew a young superhero—maybe five or six years old, but they’re not easy to come by—”

“Me!” Benji’s excited voice interrupted.

“You?” Larson said, bending to one knee as he reached the porch, bringing his face down to Benji’s level. “Well, what do you know? We do have a superhero—right here.”

He turned to smile at me. “This is our lucky day, Miss Kenley.”

Now Benji was wearing a grin. “Who are you?” he asked Larson.

“I’m Mr. Overstreet. AndIknow a special way to do a high-five handshake. Want to learn it?”

Benji nodded, his eyes bright as he extended a small, delicate hand toward Larson’s chest.

I rang the doorbell. “Mr. Overstreet is really good at putting people on TV, but I think you’ll be the first real superhero he’s talked to.”

I’m not sure Benji even heard me. He was enrapt, trying to learn the steps to complete Larson’s special five-part handshake.

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