The Adventures of Kid Combat Volume One: A Secret Lost (6 page)

Jones paced and tried to fathom the Kid
Combat’s popularity. He provided no real service to the community.
Did he build any buildings? No. Did he give money back to the
community? No. He was just a boy. A boy causing more problems then
he was worth. That was Jones’ narrow-minded point of view.

His mind continued to race as he recalled the
fight for Maple Forest and his first encounter with Kid Combat. Kid
had won that round, but Jones vowed it would never happen again. He
had moved past that deal and went on to make millions elsewhere.
Who needed the forest? He still owned most of the town, and the
town was his to do with as he pleased. Until lately. The town was
changing. It was paying more attention to Kid Combat, and not him.
His egotistical mind hated that. The buzz on the street was Kid
Combat, not the man that helped build the town up.

Elmcrest would have to pay for its betrayal,
Jones thought. But how? That question plagued his mind as he gazed
around the room. His eyes finally met the large clock he bought
during a trip to China. The solid brass unit was encased in glass,
and two miniature swords acted as the hands. It read ten to nine.
It was getting late, and Jones realized this would not be the day
to answer such questions.

As the moments passed, Jones started to calm
down. He realized he still needed this town to conduct business,
and there was a lot of business to be done. His anger and desire
for revenge on the town had to wait. It was time to make more
money, and Jones was late for a meeting downtown.

“Bring me my limo,” he said while looking out
the window, and not at his assistant.

“Yes, sir,” Two said, finally able to speak,
and quickly exited the room, closing the double doors behind him,
before more instructions rained down on him. Jones stood alone in
the room.

Looking out the bay window, Jones surveyed
his property. As he stood there contemplating his next move, he
spotted his reflection in a pane of glass.

“I’ll show those kids who’s boss of this
town.”

Chapter Five:

Reconnaissance of Jones

9:00 am

The dark clouds that had haunted Elmcrest for
the past few days finally broke open, and the rain started to fall.
The thick black thunderclouds rumbled loudly in the early morning,
and flashes of lightning glared out of the heavens. The smell of a
summer’s downpour was thick in the air.

A black limousine drove up Cottage Hill
Drive. Mansion after mansion flew by the driver’s window until the
car reached Jones’s lair. The driver pulled into the house’s
entrance and stopped at the gate. The window retracted, and an arm
extended out of the window toward the call box.

Buzzzzzzz went the button as the driver
pushed it. He waited in silence for a few seconds until a voice
bellowed over the loudspeaker.

“Mr. Jones is expecting you. Drive to the
main house,” the crackling voice said.

The driver closed the window, and the car
rolled forward. The large metal gate started to open. Creeeak …
clank … clank … clank.

The limousine rolled up the driveway toward
the main house. The rain continued to pour, and the gutters that
surrounded the house became overwhelmed. Streams of water ran down
in front of the house, almost concealing it. What water the gutters
did handle dumped onto the asphalt and ran down into the yard.

The driver popped out of the limousine door
and opened an oversized umbrella. Dressed in all black from his
suit to his chauffeur cap, he calmly walked around the back of the
vehicle and waited by the car’s rear entrance.

A minute later, the doors to the mansion
opened, and two men exited. Both men, wearing black suits, stood in
the doorway like security waiting for a VIP to emerge. Moments
later, he did. Jones walked out of the house and proceeded down the
stairs. The two men opened black umbrellas and shielded their boss
from the rain, while they themselves received little protection. As
Jones approached the limousine, the driver opened the door and
stood at attention.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, tipping his
cap. Jones walked past him and entered the car, never turning to
acknowledge him. The driver closed the door and returned to the
front of the limousine. He started the car, followed the circular
drive to the street, and turned right. The two men disappeared back
into the house.

As the car exited the driveway, there was a
small rustle in the bushes across the street. Two arms extended out
of the bush, one holding an object similar to a slingshot, the
other a small object the size of a pen cap. Quickly, the arms
cocked the rubber band back and shot the small metallic object
toward the back of the limousine.

The tiny piece of metal flew through the air
on a collision course with the vehicle. There was a small splat—no
louder than the raindrops hitting the car—as the object attached
itself to the bumper of the limo. Timmy emerged from the bush with
a satisfied grin.

“Bingo!” he muttered to himself.

“’Bout time you did something right!”
exclaimed Wedge, as he pushed his head through the bush to check
the scene out. Both boys were drenched. They had been hiding for
about an hour before they spotted Jones.

“Hey, I know,” Timmy said excitedly. “What
about Slingshot? Yeah, that could be my nickname—Slingshot!” After
all, he was a deadeye with that thing.

Wedge shook his head. “How many times do I
have to tell you, li’l brother?” he asked. “You can’t give yourself
a nickname—you have to earn one.”

This was true. None of the other boys picked
their nicknames. Kid Combat’s was given to him by the town; Gears
got his for his inventions; and Wedge got his from, well, no one
was sure where Wedge got his nickname. Probably from all the jams
he got himself into—and how he wedged his way out of them.

“I understand,” Timmy responded, his head
hanging low.

“Don’t worry, li’l brother, we’ll think of
one for you. Now, can we go? I’m soaked!”

Timmy sat back in the bush and packed the
slingshot. Still disappointed, he focused back on the mission.

“Yes, we can go now, you big baby,” Timmy
said. “With that tracking device attached to Jones’s limo, we can
follow him around town and see what he’s up to.”

Timmy turned around to see Wedge attempting
to turn on the locator device. With a shake here and a smack to the
side of it, Wedge was getting frustrated.

“How do you turn this dang thing on?” he
muttered in frustration. Timmy rolled his eyes and snatched it from
Wedge’s hands.

“Give me that!” Timmy exclaimed as he grabbed
the device. With ease, he flipped the locator over and turned it
on. With a quick flip of another switch, the tracker started
beeping and flashing.

“We can’t wait for you to figure this out,”
Timmy said. “We only have a two-mile range.” Timmy smirked as he
ducked out of the bush and hopped on his bike. He started pedaling
away as Wedge stood there in the rain, gazing at his younger
brother.

“I would have figured it out,” he said, a
note of frustration in his voice.

The two boys rode off in the pouring rain,
following the signal from Jones’s limousine. The silver frames of
their bikes were undecorated and attached to solid black wheels.
These were the twins’ normal, everyday bikes, and they had no
special modifications. The boys were not allowed to detail them or
outfit them with any devices that would link them to Kid Combat or
to SOCKs.

Timmy and Wedge kept a safe distance from
Jones, but they discovered that keeping up with a limo on a dirt
bike wasn’t easy. The task was long and tiring.

All morning, the two kept a close eye on
Jones. He made a number of stops. First was the bank, then his
office. He spent about an hour and a half there, then emerged and
had a lunch meeting with a man at a local restaurant. But by the
time the boys caught up to Jones and his guest, the meeting was
over.

Exhausted, they continued to follow Jones. By
early afternoon, the rain had let up and eventually stopped. A warm
sun peeked out from behind the clouds and dried the boys out.
Frustrated that their search was leading nowhere, they pressed on,
hoping that the day’s work would yield at least one clue. Wedge let
it be known at every turn that he was not pleased with the
mission.

“Couldn’t Samantha make us a copter or a race
car or something?” Wedge said, puffing for breath as they rode down
Main Street. “Heck, I’d settle for a go-cart right about now.”

“Would you relax?” Timmy admonished. “We’re
getting new stuff soon, she said.”

“Yeah, but from where?” Wedge asked. “I mean,
it’s not like she has any money.”

“I don’t know,” Timmy replied. He further
pondered the question as they rode down the street, then added,
“Samantha said Kid wanted to keep that a secret for now. And to
trust him.”

“Whatever,” Wedge said in frustration. “I
don’t care how they get it—just get it. I’m freaking tired.”

The limousine suddenly turned into a building
parking lot. Jones quickly emerged.

“Look. He’s stopping again,” Timmy said,
pointing. “We need to get into that building.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Wedge said. He
knew that would require them to get off their bikes, and for the
first time in hours, stop pedaling. “Leave that to me. I’ll get
something on Jones,” he huffed and puffed.

Timmy just rolled his eyes as they parked
their bikes against a light post near the curb. From there, they
watched Jones enter into the lobby of the building. The building
housed a small office that ran a part of Jones Industries. It was
primarily used for commercial real estate deals in Elmcrest.

“I wonder what he’s doing in there,” Timmy
said. “It has to be something important. We need to get closer to
him, so let’s get to work! One of us needs to sneak in there, while
the other stays out here, just in case.” Timmy turned around to
look for his brother, who wasn’t there. Timmy turned the other
direction to find Wedge already walking toward the building.

“I think we all know who’s doing what here,”
remarked Wedge as he walked. He approached the building and went
through the door, disappearing into the lobby. Timmy, back at the
bikes, stood guard and hoped for no sign of danger. He knew,
though, that was a rarity with his brother and was ready for
anything.

An open and airy building with marble floors
and a high ceiling greeted Wedge as dozens of professionals
scurried in every direction to conduct their business. Wedge
scanned the lobby for Jones. On the far side of the building were
three elevator banks, each leading to different locations in the
building. Wedge knew he needed to locate Jones before he
disappeared into one of the elevators or the mission would be
lost.

He looked back and forth and finally saw
Jones being escorted toward the first bank of elevators. Wedge knew
it would be an advantage to ride up with Jones. He ran through the
lobby as Jones boarded the elevator with a group of others. As
Wedge got closer, the door started to close, and to his dismay, he
missed getting on by only a few steps. His task had just gotten a
bit harder.

Wedge needed to figure out where Jones was
going. He asked a couple of people waiting for the next elevator if
they knew where Jones was headed, but no one knew. Dejected, he
turned from the elevators. As he headed toward the exit, he spotted
a security guard at the far entrance. He got an idea and started in
the man’s direction. Wedge messed up his hair and put on his best
sad face as he approached. I hope this works, he said to
himself.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said to the guard as he
made puppy-dog eyes.

“Yes, little boy?” the guard replied,
shifting his black hat higher on his head.

“My daddy said to meet him in the lobby of
this building, but I was a little late and missed him.” Trying to
help his case, Wedge was even able to produce a few tears. “My
daddy’s going to be so mad at me. He said he had a meeting with Mr.
Jones and wanted me to wait in his office. And now, I don’t know
where to go!”

“It’s okay, little boy,” the guard said. “I
know where he is. Mr. Jones and the rest of the gentlemen went to
the fourth floor. I’ll take you to them.”

“No!” Wedge cried out. “I mean, no. It’s
okay. I can find my way. You don’t need to come with me, but thank
you.” He started back toward the elevators. The guard stood there,
apparently buying the charade, and watched Wedge disappear into the
elevator.

Sucker, Wedge said to himself as he pressed
the button marked 4.

When he reached the fourth floor, Wedge
darted off the elevator. It appeared to be a floor for employees
only, as there was no reception area. Wedge perched behind a desk
in the foyer. He peeked out to see Jones surrounded by eight to ten
other elderly men, all in business suits. They took turns shaking
Jones’s hand as if he had just returned from war and was a national
hero.

The men retreated to a conference room
enclosed by glass walls. From ceiling to floor on three sides was
nothing but glass. The glass was crystal clear, except for two
one-inch thick lines that ran down the center of each side. The men
sat around a large circular conference table in the center of the
room. Behind them, the glass doors closed, and Jones’s two
bodyguards stood attention at the door. There was no way to
eavesdrop on this meeting.

Wedge ducked into an empty office, whose
regular occupant was in the conference room, waiting on Jones hand
and foot. Trying to figure out how to listen in on the meeting,
Wedge drew a blank. He figured it was time to ask Timmy for ideas.
He grabbed his earpiece and quietly radioed his brother.

“Wedge to Tweedledum. Wedge to Tweedledum. Do
you copy? Over,” Wedge whispered.