The Amazing Adventures of Phoenix Jones: And the Less Amazing Adventures of Some Other Real-Life Superheroes: An eSpecial From Riverhead Books Read Free Page B

very non-comic-book response. Yes, I can, but only if I accord them “. . . professional respect by cooperating with our scheduling and more importantly our tactics in the field. . . . A bulletproof vest will be available for your use. . . . The scheduling is not negotiable. —Zero, co-founder of the New York Initiative.”
    We meet for a strategy briefing outside a movie theater near Washington Square Park, Lower Manhattan, at 10 pm . There are ten of them. They don’t look much like superheroes. They look quite intimidating, in fact, like a street gang, or some kind of private security detachment dressed entirely in black, with only cursory flashes of color.
    “I look at it like a homeland soldier who has stickers on his helmet,” explains Zero, a tall, good-looking, blond-haired man. “I’m an artist. I’m a fighter. I’m a radical. I’m in a state of unrest.” He pauses. “I’m trying to promote a new term instead of ‘superhero’: X-Alt. It’s short for Extreme Altruist. I think it’s going to open a lot of doors for people who don’t want to be directly linked to the superhero stigma.”
    “Is any of this because of Phoenix—” I begin.
    “We’re not going to comment on Phoenix Jones,” snaps Zero, shooting me a look.
    Before Phoenix came along Zero and his crew—headed by the veteran superhero of nine years’ standing, Dark Guardian—were America’s most famous RLSHs. But these days the media don’t really want to know them.
    They put a bulletproof vest on me and the night’s maneuvers begin. The plan is to confront the pot dealers in Washington Square Park, those men who sell to the students at the adjacent New York University.
    We enter the park at 11 pm . It is all very quick and efficient. A dealer is standing alone, looking incredibly startled and upset to see ten frightening men rushing toward him.
    “Are you the police?” he says, in a small voice.
    The superheroes surround him, shining torches in his face, screaming, “This is a drug-free park! A drug-free park! People, not drugs!”
    They look like a pack of dogs chasing a fox. The dealer practically chokes with fright.
    “You don’t know anything about me,” he shouts, running away onto the Manhattan streets.
    Even though the operation seemed to me to unfold with a textbook precision, an embarrassed-looking Zero asks to speak to me quietly.
    “It was a disorganized clusterfuck,” he says, evidently furious with himself, like a virtuoso opera singer who does a flawless performance and then beats himself up. “Please don’t write about how disorganized we were. If the dealers read it they’ll think they can take us. . . .”
    My night with the NYI leaves a bad taste in my mouth. These men just seemed menacing, with no fun to them. I don’t want my superheroes to be bullies. I want goofy charm. When Phoenix Jones walks down the street passersby point and laugh and gasp. Whereas all the NYI seem to get are anxious sideways glances. I agree with Zero: there’s nothing superheroish about them at all.
    Seattle. Saturday night. Phoenix Jones is in a bad way. He’s still sick from the stabbing and the baseball bat incidents and has now developed a fever of 102.5.
    “I found out this morning I have tetanus,” he tells me.
    “You have to sleep,” I say.
    “No sleeping for us,” says Phoenix.
    I’m starting to like Phoenix a lot. For all his naivety, there’s something infectiously upbeat about him. He’s forever cheerful and positive and energetic. I ask him if he’s addicted to crime fighting and he says, “Yeah, I guess you could put it in the addiction category. It’s the highlight of my day. Addictions are normally detrimental to health. This is detrimental to my health.”
    He puts his positive spirit down to a stable home life: “Me and my girlfriend have been together since I was sixteen. I make my own money. To be a successful superhero, you’ve got to have your life in line.”
    This will be