| Written by: Ted Humphrey |
Directed by: Vincent Misiano
Episode Number: 117
Original Broadcast Date: March 10, 2000
Guest Stars: Chad Lowe (Craig Spence), Maurice Dwyer (Jimmy), Tonye Patano (Mrs. Ferguson), Guy Ale (Dimitri), Matthew Sussman (Ross)
Jimmy Ferguson is tying his shoes as his mother calls him to breakfast, getting off the phone with a friend. "All right, Sweetie. Now, take your medicine now," she tells him. "Do it while Mommy's watching." He does so, and she smiles. "That's good. Keep the voices down."
He leaves the house, decked out in a plaid cape, sweats, and red Converse sneakers. Jimmy jumps down the steps to the pavement as if launching into the air before heading down the street.
A group of guys are hanging out by a newsstand, spotting Jimmy as he approaches. "It's Mr. Super-Duperity Man," one of them jokes. "Yo, Super-Duperity man, come here. We've got to look at you."
"Hi, guys," Jimmy greets cheerfully.
"Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, check out the tux, man," the other man jokes. "You look like a reject from the A.B.A. Where'd you get those? Dr. J. lend them to you? Plaid cape... plaid cape? Are you supposed to be Captain Plaid today or something?"
"No. It's my winter cape. My mom makes me wear it when it's cold outside."
The other man laughs. "When it's cold outside? Jimmy, what am I going to do with you, man?"
Jimmy grins and starts off again, but the second man stops him. "Whoa, whoa, Jimbo, where are you going, man?"
"I got a mission."
The second man pulls him aside. "Hey, check this out, man. Don't be playing down by them factories, all right? We've got people giving us good money to keep people away from those factories."
"No, no, hold up, listen," the first man says. "They're not going to care about him."
"Just tryin' to tell him--" "They're not going to care about him," the first man repeats. "It's just Jimmy."
"It's okay?" Jimmy asks hopefully.
"It's okay, man." The first man grins. "Hey, Jimmy... You want it?" Jimmy nods. "Oh, no. You know I got it, man. You know how we do, right?"
With that, he reaches into his coat and pulls out a small gun, making sure to remove the cartridge "All right. Check this out, then." Jimmy puffs out his chest, and the man points the empty gun at him, clicking the trigger harmlessly. Jimmy chuckles. "Captain Plaid is in the house, baby," the man says, putting the gun away. "He tough. You are real tough."
The abandoned factories. Jimmy runs down an empty alleyway, punching at an unseen enemy, then spreading his arms out as if he were flying. He crouches down behind some crates, pretending to be hiding from an enemy, firing an imaginary weapon over the top of the crates. As he begins to "fly" off again, he hesitates, seeing a white box among the stacks of old crates. He opens it to find that it's full of missiles. Jimmy grins in awe, but he doesn't move them.
Back out in the alley, he's duking it out with an imaginary enemy when suddenly, a black sedan speeds around the corner. Jimmy ducks into a doorway to hide as the sedan roars into the alley. He watches as a man comes running around the corner after the car, matching its speed.
Inside the sedan, the men observe in Russian that their pursuer is still behind them. "Turn around," one of them advises. "Run him over!"
With that, the car spins into a hard U-turn, tires squealing as it stops facing the man running after the sedan. Seeing this, the man stops - and we see that it's Michael who was chasing after them. When the sedan suddenly starts speeding towards him, Michael gets the idea and runs over to grab one of the steel supports sticking out of the remains of a brick wall. He rips it out of the wall completely, taking some of the brick with it and letting the beam fall right in the sedan's path. The driver screeches to a stop.
"What's he doing?" one of the men asks as Michael hops onto the hood and jumps over the roof of the car to jump down behind them. He crouches down and grabs a hold of the back bumper, lifting the sedan up and flipping it completely over.
The men inside start shouting helplessly, and Michael hops over the beam, kneeling down and knocking on the window. "We here at Superheroes Anonymous realize you have a choice in law enforcement," he quips, "and we're grateful you chose us."
As he speaks, police sirens can be heard. The limo pulls up and Morris steps out as police appear. He takes in the scene. "I think the other Superfriends can handle things from here."
"Whatever you say, Commissioner Gordon," Michael says wryly. "To the Batcave! 63rd and Madison Avenue... and step on it."
Michael and Morris get into the limo and drive off as police surround the sedan, unaware that someone has seen - and heard - the whole thing. Jimmy backs away into the doorway, grinning, repeating the address to himself like a mantra. "63rd and Madison. 63rd and Madison. 63rd and Madison."
Grand Empire Insurance. Roger is sitting at his computer, trying to make sense of what he's doing, when Lisa stops by to thank him. Some friends of Roger's were looking for a house, and he referred them to Lisa. Roger is distracted; it's nearly 4 pm and he's trying to buy a certain stock online before the market closes. "Online trading. Roger, how Gen-X of you," Lisa remarks. "I wonder what Joe Frimberg would say about that."
"Joe Frimberg and the rest of that pack of thieves at Reese and Whethers? Why should I care what Joe Frimberg has to say?"
"Wow. I thought he was your friend. He's been your broker for a long time. He's been our broker for a long time. In fact," she points out, "you were the one that introduced him to us."
"Lisa, Joe Frimberg is a dinosaur. Everyone is trading online nowadays. 22-year-old kids are becoming millionaires overnight. What do I need a broker for? Come here. Let me show you something. Come on, come on. Trading online is a piece of cake." He beckons her over to watch as he works at the computer. "All you do is... enter the ticker symbol... and the number of shares that you want to buy."
He demonstrates for her, and Lisa is impressed. "AQZ. What do they do?" she asks.
Roger does a double take - he didn't mean to buy AQZ. "'Advanced bowling designs?'" Even worse, he's bought 5,250 shares of the stock - when $5250 is the total amount he intended to spend.
"Well, can't you just cancel the order?" Lisa wonders.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll sell it all really fast." He taps at the keyboard. No luck. "Uh-oh."
"Uh-oh? What does 'uh-oh' mean?"
"Hmm. It's, uh... it's 4:01. The market just... closed."
"Uh-oh," Lisa repeats.
Jimmy is still walking down the street, repeating the address to himself.
The townhouse. Michael finishes doing repetitions, and Dr. Morris suggests they add another thousand pounds. Michael groans. "Well, I don't know, Doc. Flipping those Cockamamie's car did a real number on me."
"Oh, give it a rest; you're fine," Morris sighs. "And it's 'Kysmenistanis,' not Cockamamie."
"Whatever. The point is I think that I have a very viable workman's Comp claim here. Or at the very least, a Workthing's Comp claim." Morris can't help but smile at that as Michael barrels on. "And if you force me to continue to do this heavy lifting against my will I may have to file a grievance with the union. Be a sport; let me knock off early, huh? I chased those guys like you told me. I, uh, valet-parked their car. I nicked the paint a little bit but they'll never notice."
"You have no idea what you did today, do you?" Morris asks incredulously. "But then, how could you? I don't give you newspapers, radio, television."
"Stop it, Doc. You're looking at me the same way my fifth grade teacher did before she told me I'd have to go to summer school."
"Mr. Wiseman, those men you thwarted today if they had succeeded in disrupting the upcoming peace talks there would never have been a hope of ending the civil war in Kysmenistan. Your actions this morning may well have enhanced the prospects for world peace."
"Well, hey... a government-built guy's got to do what a government-built guy's got to do. Can I hit the showers, Coach?"
Morris sighs. "Yeah, sure."
Relieved, Michael gets up, headed for the bedroom, acknowledging the bald agent who comes in at that moment. "Sorry to interrupt, sir," the agent tells Morris, "but we have a little situation."
"What kind of situation?" Morris asks. Surprised, Michael stops and turns back to them, momentarily forgetting about hitting the showers.
"I didn't want to bother you," the agent sighs, "but about two hours ago, our surveillance cameras picked up a civilian lurking out front."
"So?" Morris responds.
"So, we went to investigate, encouraged the civilian to leave, even made some threats... and believe it or not, he refused."
Morris stares at the agent. "Refused?"
"I know. Believe me, we've been working on it. But he said he won't leave until he's had a chance to talk to, uh..." The agent pauses, glancing at Michael. "Superman."
"Oh," Morris decides, "I have to meet him."
They bring in Jimmy, and soon he's seated in the middle of the townhouse, blindfolded. "Who sent you, Mr. Ferguson?" the agent asks.
"What do you mean? No one sent me. I was on a mission."
"A mission? Really?" the agent inquires. "Who do you work for?"
"No, I-I don't... I don't work for anybody."
"You don't work for anybody?" the agent repeats.
"Well... Sometimes, Mr. Pulaski, down at Dixie's, he lets me sweep up and stuff and he gives me free comic books. Does that count?"
Morris sighs. "That will be all." He motions for Michael to come over and stand in front of Jimmy. "You want to take off that blindfold, son?"
Jimmy does so, and the minute he sees Michael, he gasps in excitement. "You know him?" Morris asks Jimmy.
"Yeah, I've seen him. That's why I came to find this place - so I could see him again."
"Why? What makes him so special?" the doctor prompts.
"Are you kidding? That man there is a real, live superhero. I-I don't know if he has a costume or a superhero-type name but I've seen him, and I know - that man is a superhero." He beams at Michael. "I-I've been wanting to meet you all my life."
"Wow. You seem pretty certain," Morris observes. "Tell me, what is it exactly that makes you think that this man is a superhero?"
"Well, I saw him catch those bad guys today. I saw you flip over that car," Jimmy tells Michael.
"Is that true? I mean, that sounds awfully amazing," Morris says. "Are you sure you saw this man flip over a car?"
"Oh, yeah. See, I was playing by the vacant factories and I seen this missile upstairs and down the street I was Nitro Man and Dr. Diablo stripped me of my superhero powers, and then out of nowhere, this car comes screeching around the corner and right behind it, keeping up with it was..." He trails off and turns back to Michael. "Do you have a name?"
Michael grins. "Michael."
"No, no," Jimmy says. "I mean a superhero name."
Morris stands up. "Could you excuse my friends and me for a moment?" He beckons for Michael and the bald agent to follow him, while another agent keeps an eye on Jimmy. The three of them go out onto the balcony outside Michael's room to talk. "Do you know how he got here?" Morris asks the agent once they're out of earshot.
"He indicated he took the subway. I could interrogate him further, if you'd like."
"No. I think he's been interrogated quite enough," Morris insists. "I'd like to take him home in the limousine."
"Take him home?" the agent repeats. "I don't understand. I mean, shouldn't we be reviewing... options?"
"Options? I think it's safe to say that James DeWitt Ferguson poses no threat to Mr. Wiseman, this project or our national security."
"Oh, really?" the agent asks. "Are you sure?"
Michael is looking through the window at Jimmy, who is still sitting there under guard. "What exactly do you think is going on with the kid, Doc?"
Morris sighs. "I suspect he suffers a cognitive dysfunction of some sort. A mental illness. Did you hear how he blurs things that actually happened with things he imagines? He talks about comic book characters and missiles as vividly as he describes seeing you flip over that car. That's usually an indicator of some sort of dementia. Perhaps schizophrenia." He turns to the window, looking in at Jimmy, who is sitting with his back to them, waving his arms over something that's excited him. "Look at him. He sees movies we can't get into. He hears music... that no one's written. "
"Not a superhero?" Jimmy asks, staring at Michael and Morris.
"Not a superhero," Morris insists. He explains to Jimmy that they were doing automobile safety tests in an abandoned area. "Part of our job was to see how much weight the roof of that car could support. It may have looked like Mr. Newman flipped it under his own power, but there was actually some pretty sophisticated hydraulics at work there."
"Hey, the truth is, under the right conditions," Michael adds, "the way we tricked that thing out, you could have flipped that car."
"Not a superhero," Morris repeats as Jimmy stares at him with a defeated look. "And you know why? Because there are no superheroes and deep down, you know that, right? Superheroes aren't real. There are no superheroes."
He takes Jimmy home in the limo, much to Mrs. Ferguson's concern and embarrassment. "Is everything all right? Is Jimmy in any trouble? Jimmy, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Jimmy says dejectedly, trudging off. "I'll be in my room."
Confused, Mrs. Ferguson invites Morris in, asking what kind of doctor he is. Morris tells her that he does research and that Jimmy took the subway and followed them to a facility on the east side. "He is not supposed to ride the train by himself," she says.
"Yeah, well, our security people got nervous, and they tend to want to call the authorities at the drop of a hat. I mean, that's why I drove him home. I'm afraid I might not be there the next time. If you could say something to him... I mean, it's not like we don't want him around."
Worried, she repeats that he's not allowed to take the subway alone. Morris lets himself out.
Queens, near Kennedy Airport. A man is speaking in Russian on a pay phone. "Yes, I just landed. Of course... we cannot allow these peace talks to proceed. Now, the weapons are still there? Good. Then we assemble a new team and finish the job. And this time, I will lead it personally."
The next morning, Roger calls Joe Frimberg on the way to work, asking him to dump a stock for him; he's stuck in traffic. "Advanced bowling designs," he explains, "and don't even ask why..." Roger stops, listening. "Come again? It what? It... who? It did? Did you say... 'tripled?'"
He can't help but brag by the water cooler, much to the amazement and skepticism of his co-workers. Among them is Ross (from "Everybody Who's Anybody"). "That's almost, uh, $50,000," Ross figures. "Go, Bender."
"Well, my friends," Roger says, "the market is no place for the faint of heart. You go hard, or you don't go at all."
"Yeah, but Roger," another executive points out, "nobody had ever heard of AQZ until this morning when the buyout was announced. How did you know to buy it yesterday?"
"Yeah, what is this?" Ross asks. "You get a little inside information?"
"Of course not," Roger protests.
"So, how did you know?" Ross prods. "Come on, Bender, tell us your secret."
"Uh, well, well, I, uh..."
"You what?" another asks derisively. "Got lucky?"
Roger won't admit to it, saying he bases all his decisions on a statistical model. "It's a little something I devised in-in my spare time. It's very technical, of course. It's highly technical. It'd take me hours to explain it. So, I'll try to keep it simple."
The water-cooler chat, however, gets around to Spence, who drops by Roger's office later that day. Spence wants to know what Roger's connection is. "There's no way the Roger Bender that I know could have picked that stock. No. See, the only possible explanation is that, that stock somehow... picked him."
"I resent that remark, Craig."
"Oh. Do you? Do you know what it takes to really score in the market? To really score in the market it takes brains and it takes... and let's face it, old friend, you're a little wanting in both areas, wouldn't you say?"
"No, actually, I wouldn't."
"So, what are you saying? Are you saying to me that you think you can do it again?"
Instead of admitting the truth, Roger digs himself in deeper, mentioning the model. Spence, who majored in economics, asks Roger to explain it. Roger says he'd rather not explain it. "You're full of crap, Bender," Spence sighs.
Roger tells Spence he'll prove it; he'll plug some numbers into the model, and Monday morning, he'll have a tip for him. As Spence leaves, he sits back in his chair, suddenly realizing just what he's gotten himself into.
The next morning, Mrs. Ferguson calls Jimmy to breakfast, and is stunned to see he's not wearing his superhero costume. "There's no such thing as superheroes, Mom," Jimmy tells her despondently. "You know that. Deep down inside, you know that."
Lisa comes to the door at eight in the morning, stunned to find Roger on her doorstep at the early hour. At the kitchen table, he tells Lisa and Heather that he needs Lisa to call Joe Frimberg for him, since Joe's not too happy with him; he wants a tip. When Lisa demands to know what the hell he's talking about, he comes clean about Spence. "Ever since I had that bit of luck with that AQZ stock he seems to have gotten the idea that I have a knack for this kind of thing."
"Kind of like an idiot savant," Heather observes.
"Kind of like an idiot..." Roger starts to agree, but trails off as he gets it.
Lisa sighs, telling Roger that he's probably better off telling Spence the truth, since continuing to lie will just get him into more trouble. "Well, you're right," Roger admits. "I mean, I know you're right. I know I have to go in there Monday morning and tell him that I... I'm simply a nincompoop who pushed the wrong button and got lucky. That... that there is no system. There is no model."
"Uncle Roger," Heather tells him, "you're not simply a nincompoop."
"Well, thank you, Heather. Coming from you, that's..." Again he trails off. Heather just smiles.
Cut to Roger's office, the next working day. "What do you mean, I was right the first time?" Spence asks, leaning across Roger's desk.
"I mean... there is no model." Roger sits there, not looking at Spence and obviously hating every moment of this. "There never was a model. I haven't got the brains. You were right. You were 100% right."
"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it." Spence chuckles, standing up. "Or, more accurately, I know you."
"Yes, you do. And I'm a... coward... and I'm a fool."
"Yes, you are." With that parting shot, Spence leaves the office, closing the door behind him. A second later, he comes back in again. "Why didn't you just B.S. me?"
Roger looks up. "I'm sorry?"
"Why didn't you just hose me off? Give me the name of some stock - any stock? That would have been the stupid thing to do." Spence smiles. "You do have a model, don't you?"
"No," Roger insists.
"That means yes."
"That means no. This is me, remember? The chicken? The moron?"
Spence is not convinced, demanding Roger give him his tip. He's positive Roger does have a model and won't share it. "I'll tell you what it is," Roger says, frustrated. "You figure out what you want - and then you hit the wrong key. That's what happened to me. I hit the wrong key. I was trying to buy something else, but I hit the wrong key. It was a fluke, Craig. The whole thing was a complete, colossal fluke."
But Spence continues to demand his tip, accusing Roger of not being a team player. "You see, I am smart. I'm scary smart, Roger, okay? So, let's just cut right to it. Let's just cut right down to the bottom line. You got a pretty good deal here at Grand Empire, don't you think? Pretty cushy time of it. You could do a lot worse than this great company of ours, Roger. A whole lot worse. And you will, unless you tell me what that model of yours has to say. I want my pick, Roger, and I want it now!"
Roger stares at him for a few moments, realizing that no amount of protesting will convince Spence of the truth. He casts about, fishing for an answer, until he spots the memo on his desk with the Grand Empire logo. "Grand Empire," he tells Spence, "is an excellent investment. Scratch that. A killer investment. A gusher waiting to happen."
"Grand Empire? So, you are telling me to buy Grand Empire?"
"No, not me," Roger protests quickly. "No. Model's telling you."
The townhouse. Michael sits down to lunch, wondering what the "glop du jour" is today. Needless to say, he's not thrilled. Morris ignores his sarcasm, absorbed in a cellphone conversation with the President. As he hangs up, Michael sees the expression on his face and sighs. "Uh-oh. I've seen that look before. You usually get it right before I have to hang off someplace really high, take some bullets in the gut, or outrun some traffic."
"And you get that sound in your voice, too. You can't fool me, Doc. I'm definitely in for some wear and tear."
He's right. There's less than 24 hours till the peace talks, and yet another team of terrorists is apparently organizing to stop them. "And it appears the men we apprehended the other day weren't in that neighborhood by accident. They were there to purchase arms. Specifically, surface-to-air missiles with the intent to fire at U.S. targets from within our own borders - unless the talks are suspended."
"Okay, no sweat," Michael sighs. "The two of us will just run down there in the limo we'll roll down the window and anybody that walks by, we'll say, 'Hi, there. We're looking for the neighborhood missile dealer. Any idea where we can find him?'"
"I take your point, Mr. Wiseman, but there's no time to get a surveillance operation up and running. We just have to go down there and canvass the neighborhood. Throw as many men at the problem as we can. Hope we come up with something. Hope somebody saw something. Hope somebody knows something."
The team spreads out over the neighborhood, going from door to door. The bald agent reports to Morris that even with 40 men, they haven't turned anything up. "Jimmy said he saw a missile," Michael recalls. "I know it sounds farfetched, but..."
"Jimmy said a lot of things," Morris reminds him. "Jimmy sees a lot of things."
"No, but don't you remember? He said that he was playing by those factories. He said he saw me; he said he saw the car; he said he saw missiles."
"Yeah, he said he saw Dr. Diablo - he said he saw Nitro Man," Morris adds. "Sure you want to get him all stirred up again, Mr. Wiseman? He's a person, you know."
"I know," Michael replies. "Like me."
He knocks on the Ferguson's door. Jimmy opens it with the chain still on, and he's not thrilled to see Michael. "I'm not supposed to bother you anymore."
"I know, but I need your help... superhero to superhero."
Jimmy shakes his head. "No, don't say that stuff. I know I'm not a superhero. You said anyone could've flipped over that car."
Michael sighs. "I know what I said, but you mentioned you saw some missiles."
"I don't know what I saw. I thought I saw you run as fast as a car, faster than Nitro Man, right? And I thought I saw you pick up some steel, really big, really heavy and throw it in the road, right? And I thought I saw you flip over that car but deep down inside I didn't see any of that, right? Right?! Isn't that what all of you said... that I didn't see any of that?" He slams the door in Michael's face, turning away and hugging his arms around his chest. "There are no superheroes. Deep down inside, we all know that there are no superheroes. So, get away from me and get away from my door!"
There is a sudden crunching sound, and Jimmy whirls to see that Michael has punched clean through the door. As Michael punches his other arm through the door, Jimmy's face lights up in a huge grin, and he laughs in excitement and delight.
He's back in his superhero getup as they walk down the street. "I knew it, I knew it! You were protecting your secret identity all along. That's why you don't have a costume. And that's why you don't have a name - just Michael. That way, no one will know. That's smart." His enthusiasm wanes as something occurs to him. "You going to fix that door before my mom gets home, right?"
"Doc?" Michael asks.
Morris is listening in on the earpiece. "Consider it done."
A woman whistles at them from her doorstep as they pass by. "Hey, Jimmy, who's your friend? I got some Wonder Woman for him."
Michael grins, a little embarrassed, and Jimmy laughs. "She's nice, huh? You got a girlfriend?"
"I used to, uh... we don't get to see much of each other anymore."
"Busy with that superhero stuff, huh?"
They get to the factory, and Jimmy hears something, leading Michael into one of the abandoned warehouses and up a flight of stairs. From the upper level, Michael and Jimmy can get a clear view of the warehouse floor, where the box of missiles is clearly evident. There are a few guards, but nothing major.
Michael checks out the scene, trying to figure out what to do. These are obviously the guys they're looking for, and they're about to make a deal. "Can I help?" Jimmy whispers. "Can I be your sidekick?"
"Oh, okay. Yeah, sure, you can be my sidekick," Michael tells him. "In fact, I want you to be my lookout. You know what a lookout is, right?" Jimmy doesn't, so Michael explains. "It means you have to stay up here and make sure no one sneaks up on me. If you see anything or anybody, you scream. Now, the key to this is, you have to stay up here. You don't leave here under any circumstances. Otherwise, someone might slip by."
Jimmy agrees, and Michael gets up, climbing through the open window beside them and making his way across the ceiling supports. He jumps down, landing on the empty spool sitting right behind one of the guards. As the guard turns, Michael pulls the cigarette out of the surprised man's mouth. "Don't you know this will kill you? Oh, and by the way, so will this." He kicks the man, the single kick sending him flying across the room.
The other two men freeze, unsure what to do, as Michael jumps down. "Hi. Welcome to America." As they back away, he continues talking casually, trying to psyche them out. "What? You don't want to fight? What kind of Russians are you? You packing any dressing? How about guns? You got any guns? Yeah? All right, then give me your guns. Come on, give them to me." Confused, but seeing that their partner's not moving, they hand their guns over. Michael tosses one away, but holds on to the other one. "Thank you. Now, why don't you lie face-first down on the floor here?"
They obey, but then a voice asks, "Why don't you lie down, too?"
Michael turns to see Dimitri and several other men. One of them is the guy from the newsstand who teased Jimmy about his getup. What really gets Michael's attention is the machine gun Dimitri's holding, which could probably average 20 to 30 rounds per second. Above them, Jimmy climbs out on the roof supports. Michael stalls for time with smartass remarks, but Dimitri will have none of it, insisting that Michael get down on the ground.
Reluctantly, Michael starts to obey, but then Jimmy jumps down from the supports, landing on top of Dimitri and knocking him to the ground. "Jimmy!" the newsstand guy cries. Jimmy gets to his feet, puffing out his chest like he did before.
Michael sees the gun in the man's hand. "No!"
But he can't move fast enough to stop the man from shooting Jimmy. Stunned, Jimmy stumbles back, falling to the ground. Enraged, Michael lunges for the man, pulling the gun from his hands and grabbing him by the throat as police sirens can be heard.
Morris' team, flanked by a squad of police, burst into the room at that moment. Outnumbered, the terrorists are forced to surrender, but Michael is still choking the man who shot Jimmy. "Mr. Wiseman," Morris orders, running up to him, "let him go."
After a moment, Michael releases the man's windpipe. "Okay, okay." He kneels down beside Jimmy, who's still conscious but in great pain. "Doc!"
Roger is sitting at his desk, looking at a newspaper article - Grand Empire has made one of the biggest insurance mergers in history. Spence bursts in, utterly panicked at the news. He bought 10,000 shares the other day. He had no idea the CEO of Grand Empire would do such a thing without telling him, and it looks like he got the info illegally ahead of time. "How many shares did you buy?" he asks Roger.
Roger didn't buy any. "I didn't want to buy it, thereby unnecessarily inflating the price for you," he fibs, trying to conceal his glee.
"Oh! Oh, okay. Oh, wow, thanks. Okay. Sure." Spence is already frazzled, so the implications take a moment to dawn on him. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute. So, wait, you're telling me that-that-that I'm al... I'm alone in this?"
The intercom beeps, and Roger answers the phone. It's for Spence. "Yeah, what is it?" Spence snaps, grabbing the receiver. "Who's here to see me? A gent... a gentleman from the S.E.C.?"
The look of terror on his face is contrasted by the look of satisfaction on Roger's.
Michael visits Jimmy in the hospital; it looks like he'll pull through. "I heard on TV that you're some kind of hero," Michael tells him. "Heard that you busted up some domestic terrorists."
"Yeah... well, I had help."
"Well, that's not the way I heard it," Michael says. "So they taking good care of you here?"
"Pretty good. My mom is a nurse here. I thought I wasn't going to see you again." Jimmy looks worried. "Am I going to see you again? I mean, can we still be friends?"
"Well, that's what I came to talk to you about," Michael sighs. "I mean, come on, Jimmy - you know the deal with secret identities. Heck, you know better than almost anyone I've ever met."
"Yeah, I do. And don't worry, your secret identity is safe with me."
Michael nods. "I know."
"Hey, you remember you were talking about your girlfriend and how you don't see her anymore?" Jimmy asks. "That's the way it has to be. You're a superman. Superman doesn't get Lois Lane."
"Oh, yeah? What does Superman get?"
Jimmy grins from ear to ear. "He gets... to be Superman."
~ Episode Review ~ Sounds ~ E-mail Me ~ Back to Index ~