Memoirs Of An Antihero

by Drew Blank

  “So then what good will it be to us?” For some reason, I always felt it necessary to chime in to their technical conversations, no matter how dwarfed my intellect was compared to theirs.

  “Just one second.” Phil was sitting back down in front of his computer. What he was up to was a mystery to both Jim and me, but whatever it was, I saw the MobilCom logo in the upper left hand corner of the screen.

  “Accessing his account from here is no problem.” Phil was muttering more to himself than talking to us. “Here you are, Nelson Meade.”

  “Mouse’s name is Nelson?” I had no idea. “I see why he goes by Mouse.”

  Typing at what seemed like a thousand words a minute, Phil had obviously formulated a plan.

  “All right. It’s done.”

  “What’s done?” Jim’s curiosity had him speechless until now.

  “When Mouse, or Nelson, calls customer service to report the phone stolen, the service rep will find the account frozen. The only thing they will be able to access will be a warning from the securities department. The note simply reads ‘Privacy Breached. Transfer to 502 immediately’. The call center employee will then follow protocol and transfer Nelson to extension 502, after politely informing him the matter he is calling about can only be handled by a security agent.”

  “And I take it that is you?” I was catching on.

  “Very good. And all calls are immediately forwarded to my cell phone. No matter when he calls, I will handle it.”

  “Handle it?” It made me feel good to know that Jim was still asking questions. I didn’t feel like such a moron.

  “I will clone the current SIM card, insert it in a new version of his existing phone, repackage it and send it down to the mailroom to have it shipped back to him.” Phil said as if explaining his plan to a classroom of second graders.

  “Clone it?” I never really understood what that meant.

  “Yes. I will have access to any text messages, emails or voicemails Mouse receives without ever alerting him that someone is monitoring all his communications.”

  “And that will work?” I should have known better than to question Phil when it came to anything computer or phone related.

  “I assure you it will work,” Phil said smugly, sitting back down in his chair, folding his arms.

  “So then what?” Jim interrupted Phil’s basking with a dose of reality. “You think this guy is not going to be more careful in the future? I guarantee you he will not let his guard down like that again.”

  “Yeah, but just as he has time to prepare, so does Drew.” There was a glimmer in Phil’s eyes as he spoke those words that sent chills down my spine. “And we are going to help him.”

  “Oh really?” Jim continued to play devil’s advocate, “and how exactly are we going to do that?”

  “This could work…” I mumbled aloud and disconnected from their bickering as it occurred to me that Phil’s scheme might very well be possible.

  “All you do is babble on and on about the things you could invent and build if you had the resources. Well, now you have ‘em!” Phil threw one of the stacks of cash at Jim. “Go be a genius.”

  “Holy shit, this could work!” I blurted out in an excited daze.

  “Wait, wait, wait… Hold on.” Jim was still resisting. “So, we find out where the next big deal is happening? Then we strap all sorts of weapons and gadgets on Drew? Then we send him into battle like some sort of superhero? This is your idea?”

  “Precisely,” Phil said with no hesitation.

  Jim simply shrugged and said, “I’m in.”

  “Hold on a second, guys.” The reality of the scenario began to settle in. “I am no superhero. What I did tonight was totally despicable. I realize that. The fact that my little girl needs this money a hell of a lot more than those corrupt bastards is the only reason I was able to do what I did. If you think we are going to band together and become some vigilante crime-fighting unit, I’m not your guy. Once Moxie is taken care of, I’m done.”

  “Drew, do I look like I care about fighting crime?” Phil reasoned as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “I couldn’t care less about what goes on out there.” He pointed to where the window should have been, were it not covered by bookshelves. “All I know is we three are destined for something more. This is an opportunity for us to do something worthwhile, and hopefully profitable. No more waiting tables for you. No more going to work trying to fix trivial computer problems that a retarded chimp could solve for me. We would no longer have to listen to Jim drone on and on about whatever the hell it is he does all day.”

  “Hey!” Jim protested.

  “I am sure what you do is important, James. But it is boring.”

  Jim shrugged, as if to admit Phil was right.

  “This is our chance to do something completely historic. Between the great big bore here actually being able to create some of the crazy shit he talks about all the time, me at the helm guiding you along and you being too stupid to realize that I will probably be marching you into certain death, we are the perfect team!” As much as I should have felt insulted, I knew he was right. While I was a decent fighter and had been adequately trained in a few forms of hand-to-hand combat at the local community center, what really made me a formidable opponent was my inability to know when to back down. With the help of my two genius friends, I really could have the ability to kick some ass.

  “So?” Phil’s smile glowed as he waited for my reply.

  Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was Phil’s rousing motivational speech. Maybe it was a little bit of all three. Whatever it was, I heard myself say “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.” And that was how it all began.

  I left Phil and Jim’s apartment around 4:00 a.m. After agreeing to further investigate the possibility of turning Phil’s plan into a reality I told them we could discuss it later, as I was moments away from collapsing. We adjourned our meeting and I biked home, barely making it up the stairs before passing out in my bed.

  The cell phone alarm woke me up at 9:00 a.m. After all I had been through the previous night, five hours of sleep was far from adequate. I pulled myself from the bed and stripped out of the clothes that were now ripe with the smell of sweat and blood. The bandage on my chest had stayed in place through the night, although a little blood had dried around the edges. After allowing the pipes in the shower to run clean for a few moments, I stepped into the steamy hot stall. I let the powerless stream pour over me as the stink separated itself from my skin. The water loosened the adhesive on my chest and the bandage peeled away with little trouble. Tom’s stitching job looked great, but I could still feel the sting as the shower sprayed into the wound. After twenty minutes of hydro rejuvenation I was ready to face the day. I applied a new bandage to my chest, threw on t-shirt and jeans, made my way downstairs, gave Mema a kiss on the cheek as I passed through her already bustling kitchen, hopped on my bike and headed over to Regina’s apartment to pick up my little girl.

  Moxie was perched at her normal spot in the window, anxiously awaiting my arrival. After the typical morning ritual of kisses, hugs and tickling we packed her bag for our bus trip. While her regular doctor was only a half hour walk away, the specialist we needed to see was on the other end of town. Moxie had no complaints. She loved the bus. According to her, it was a great place to see all the people of the city. I envied her innocence, as I found the bus a great place to witness a mugging or watch a homeless guy pee on himself during a drunken nap.

  Before we left, Moxie poked her head into Reggie’s bedroom to see if her mom wanted to come with us. I didn’t hear anything but mumbles from their conversation, but the frown on Moxie’s face as she left said it all.

  “Mommy’s too tired. She wants me to tell her all about it when I get home.” She repeated her mother’s words while moping towards the door. I am not sure what Reggie had been doing the night before to make her still so tired at ten in the morning, but I had a hunch if we were to co
mpare evenings, I would win the “Who has a better excuse?” battle. Even though I hated to see Moxie sad, I was relieved to know I wouldn’t be spending the morning with Reggie.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I like it with all the syrups. It’s best that way,” Moxie explained to me as she poured equal parts of strawberry, maple, boysenberry and peach syrup all over her heaping stack of pancakes. All I could do was laugh as I watched her make a sticky sweet pool on her plate, melting the ample mountain of whipped cream the waitress had supplied her with. Breakfasts at Roscoe’s were always a treat for her. She loved the 50’s atmosphere, although the era the look had been taken from was a complete mystery to her. The tall black and white checkered diner tables in the front of the restaurant were her favorites, although sometimes she liked the comfort of the cushy red leather booths in the back. Today was a booth day. She wouldn’t admit it to me, but I knew she didn’t have the energy to climb up and down the barstools that morning. A good night’s sleep was what she needed. It was what we both needed.

  “I liked that Dr. Fish Man. He was nice,” stated as she prepared her fork for a mouthful of multi-flavored pancakes. Her oncologist’s name was Dr. Fishman, but Moxie took to calling him Fish Man. He was a kind, older gentleman who had obviously dealt with hundreds, if not thousands, of children in the same situation. He was sweet and gentle, and never used big words that could scare or confuse a kid. He handled terrified parents well, too.

  “And he says I don’t have to have surg’ry.” In went a mound of pancakes. “Which is good, right?” I could barely understand her as her cheeks puffed out, full of food. Breaking the news to us that Moxie had a less common form of leukemia called “hairy cell leukemia”, seemed to be a relief for the doctor. In his words, we had won the “cancer lottery”. He appeared confident the regimen he was putting Moxie on would have a good chance of long-lasting remission. However, the treatments would be no less grueling, he warned me. He wanted to try chemotherapy first and, if progress wasn’t seen, he would consider radiation.

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good sweetheart.” I leaned in and gave her a kiss on her bulging cheek. She tasted like syrup.

  “So what is the stuff he was saying I need? The medicine stuff?” She gulped down the mouthful.

  “Chemotherapy. He wants us to go in once a week and get the treatments,” I began to explain.

  “Why can’t I just take the medicine at home?” Whenever Moxie asked a question she tilted her head to the right in a much exaggerated manner, her moppish bob cut falling in her face. “Does he think I won’t take it or somethin’?”

  “No baby. I am sure Dr. Fishman…”

  “Fish Man,” she corrected me.

  “Oh yeah. I am sure Dr. Fish Man trusts you. But this medicine you can’t get at home. They give it to you using an IV.”

  “What’s that?” I dreaded telling her she was going to get a shot every week.

  “They put a real tiny needle in your arm.” She began to turn white. “Sweetie, it isn’t that bad. I promise I will be there every time and you will barely feel it. Plus, once it’s in, you won’t even know it’s there.”

  “You promise?” She knew I couldn’t break a promise.

  “I promise.” I leaned in again and wrapped my arms around her. She slid in on the slick red leather and cuddled into my armpit.

  “So it won’t hurt?” She was obviously still a little worried.

  “It will hurt as bad as this,” I pinched her forearm with my fingernails.

  “Ow! Daddy, that hurt!”

  “But did it really hurt that bad?” I asked her earnestly.

  “No,” she begrudgingly admitted. “I guess not.”

  “Well, see? It will hurt that much. You can handle that, can’t ya?”

  “Yup. I can handle that.” She sat up in the booth, very proud of her new found bravery.

  “Then we have nothing to worry about.” I figured I wouldn’t stress her out with all the side effects. We simply finished our pancake breakfast and headed home, all the while talking about anything that had nothing to do with cancer or leukemia.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Fear and worry are two very different things. While I am what most people would call fearless, I have no problem registering and processing worry or concern. When I rode my bike into Tully’s parking lot and saw the team of police cars parked up front, my heart began to race. Randy and Mouse were not the types who would normally welcome the authorities into their affairs, so I hadn’t really considered the possibility of police involvement.

  Just keep cool, I had to tell myself.

  This is what ran through my head non-stop as I rode around back, parked my bike and went inside.

  Just keep cool. Nobody knows anything.

  It had been easy for me to justify my actions from the previous night. Anybody that involves themselves in a lifestyle of crime and drugs has to accept the consequences of their actions. I was one of those consequences. While what I did felt right in my mind, it was still certainly illegal. Put before a jury, my peers may not suffer from the same crippling superiority complex I do and actually take pity on the two degenerates I brutally pummeled. Everything I did was for Moxie, but I wouldn’t do her a whole lot of good if I was in jail. Maybe Phil’s plan wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  The shipping room was as far as I got before getting pulled aside by Mary Frances, a fellow server.

  “Did you hear?” Mary Frances was one of the very few people working at Tully’s, besides Twisty, that I could not only tolerate, but enjoyed talking to. She had a veiled innocence hiding behind an understated beauty and looked every inch a Mary Frances. With her creamy white complexion, glassy doe eyes and long brunette hair pulled back in a simple ponytail she perfectly represented the virtuous Catholic schoolgirl. Any employees that did not take the opportunity to get to know her were almost intimidated by her chaste appearance. In reality she was as perverted as a teenage boy just discovering boobs and swore like a New York cabbie.

  “It’s good to see you too, sweetie. Did I hear what?” I played dumb.

  “Oh. Sorry. Hi love.” I got a kiss on the cheek and half a hug. “Okay. So anyway, Randy got his ass kicked last night in the parking lot. I mean, really torn up. He had some guy with him who ended up in intensive care.”

  “Really?” Mouse being in the hospital came as no surprise to me. “How is Randy doing?”

  “He’s pretty beat up. His face is all bruised and he’s in a neck brace. You should see him”

  “He’s here?” Randy coming to work was definitely more of a surprise to me.

  “Yeah. He’s not working, but he’s been hanging out as long as the police are questioning people. I think I’ve already heard the story ten times about how he stopped the dude.”

  “He stopped the guy? Wow. I didn’t think he had it in him.” It was a shame I couldn’t do anything to dispel the rumors Randy would be starting to make himself out to be a hero. On the bright side, if the police were questioning the employees, Randy was obviously unable to identify his attacker. All I had to do was play dumb and this whole thing would blow over.

  “Yeah,” Mary Frances continued her story as we headed to the time clock, “I guess he cut the guy across the chest with a bottle and the dude went running.” With Mouse in the hospital, it was easy for Randy to take all the credit for any heroics shown on their part.

  “That’s crazy.” I tried to act as surprised as possible.

  “Yeah. Tell me about it. I told Randy the other day Iwas going to kick his ass if he didn’t stop staring at mine.

  You think the cops’ll believe it was me?”

  “I think they’ll believe he was staring at your ass. The other part they may have a hard time with,” I laughed as I swiped my employee card to clock in.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” She followed me into the kitchen.

  “It means you have a sweet ass, but I doubt you could beat up two guys. However, I’ll gladly c
heck your chest for any bottle inflicted wounds.” Flirting helped my nerves a little, but my mind was still elsewhere.

  “You know you have an open invitation to search me anytime you like,” she purred.

  “Fran, you are a horrible tease.”

  “You don’t even know the half of it, bubala.” With that she kissed me on the nose and scurried off to the dining room.

  “I…I’d like to,” I said half under my breath as she walked away.

  “Goddamn I love that ass!” Twisty had snuck up behind me, also watching Mary Frances depart. “I just wanna take a bite out of it! Rawr!”

  “You certainly are a charming young lady, aren’t you Miss Bailey?”

  “Damn Skippy! So I take it you heard the news?”

  “About Randy?” I had really gotten into the part of ignorant dufus.

  “No. About the new tilapia special. Of course about Randy, you freakin’ moron!” She slapped me across the arm as we swung open the doors to the service bar. “Dom already questioned me after my lunch shift.”

  “Dom?”

  “Yeah. I still can’t get used to him in that uniform. He looks like a stripper.” Dominick Prazzo had been working at Tully’s three years already when I started. Working his way up from busboy at fifteen, he eventually became a server. While I had plenty of deplorable traits that helped me fit in with a waitstaff full of degenerates and losers, Dom’s virtuous and innocent nature always made him a true outcast. While the two of us had absolutely nothing in common, we got along quite well. Besides Twisty, Phil and Jim, he was one of the only people at the time I would have actually considered a friend. The day Reggie went into labor, it was Dom that ran in and covered my shift so I could be at the hospital when Moxie was born. It was not a shock when he finally left the service industry to attend the police academy.

  “Is there a market for Dago strippers under five foot six?” If we weren’t making fun of Dom’s diminutive size, we were making a dig at his all too obvious Italian heritage.