Memoirs Of An Antihero

by Drew Blank

  Her confidence was high, but something was keeping her from pulling the trigger. That hesitation was all I needed as I dove to the ground, grabbing for the mop bucket I had initially kicked to the floor. In one fluid motion, I heaved the bucket by its metal handle directly into Lola’s chest. She slammed against the wall upon impact and crumbled to the ground, falling over Eddie’s body. The gun was still tight in her grip.

  “You son of a bitch!” She screamed, pointing the revolver at me still. We were both on the ground, our eyes locked. I couldn’t get up without giving her the half second she needed to put a bullet in my skull. Keeping her gaze I crawled towards her.

  “Get the fuck away from me, you goddamn freak!” I was still having a problem with the idea of fighting a girl. No matter how psychotic she was, I didn’t think I had it in me. But, there was no way I was going to get out of that club with the money as long as Lola was still conscious.

  I got close enough to Lola to see the revolver quaking in her hand as she lay otherwise motionless on the kitchen’s threshold, supporting herself inside the doorway. I reached out, grabbed her wrist and slammed it into the ground, taking myself out of the gun’s path.

  “Fuck you!” She hissed at me, enraged.

  “Look,” I climbed on top of her, now pinning both hands to the floor. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Well, if you think you’re going to get out of here with my money, you better plan on fucking killing me, asshole.” For the first time that evening, I really had no attraction to Lola. She was practically frothing at the mouth as she furiously stumbled over her words. No matter how angry she was, I still had my doubts that she would kill me. Her hired hands had no problem shooting at me and trying to end my life. I felt what I did to them was simply self-defense. Whether they were alive or not, I did not know, nor care. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem Lola cared either. Her main concern was the cash stuffed down the front of my pants.

  “I don’t think you understand.” I was losing my patience and knew we had to end our lethal banter quickly. “This is not going to end in your favor. Now just let me get the hell out of here and be happy that I am letting you live.” She lifted her head just high enough to spit in my face.

  “Go fuck yourself!”

  “You really want to do this?” I began yelling at Lola, my mouth only inches from hers. I needed to end this, but there was only one way I could in good conscience subdue the crazed degenerate beneath me. With my hand still gripping her wrist, I brought the gun up to her eye line. “You want to hurt me?”

  “I want to fucking kill you, cock sucker.”

  “Well here’s your shot.” Grabbing the muzzle of the

  gun, I directed it to the square of meshed titanium on my chest. “But you better fucking make it count, because once you pull that trigger all bets are off!” I growled down at her.

  Drew! Tell me you aren’t doing what I think you’re doing! That time it was Jim in my ear, knowing exactly what I was planning. None of that stuff has been tested enough for this! Just get the hell out of there!

  Lola sat underneath me, her hand shaking around the trigger of the revolver. Her plump cheeks were red as tears streamed down them. It was becoming clear she didn’t have it in her to shoot me.

  Slowly, I released my grip on the muzzle of the gun, confident she was admitting defeat.

  Still straddling her stomach, I loosened my hold on her other hand.

  “Now,” I said in a calmed hush. Before I could finish my thought, a thunderous explosion interrupted me as Lola wrapped her freed hand around the revolver and, with a vengeful grip, pulled the trigger. The blast shot me off of her and at least five feet back. Although I felt like a berserk horse had just kicked me, I knew the bullet did not penetrate my dual protection.

  Lola remained on the floor, her face distorted by a venomous smile.

  “That felt good,” she growled viciously. I watched her fingers, no longer trembling, squeeze the trigger again. Diving to my right, dodging the second bullet, I pulled the stun gun from my pocket. Without hesitation, I stabbed the metal conductors into Lola’s leg and quickly flipped the activator switch.

  As her body convulsed I scrambled to the stainless steel prep table, reaching underneath for Eddie’s gun. Slowly rising to my feet, I pointed my newly obtained firearm directly at Lola.

  “Hope that didn’t hurt too bad. I hear those things will

  make you piss your pants,” I joked as I made my way to the exit, never taking my sites off of Lola.

  “You have really pretty eyes,” she viciously teased as she shook off the current I had sent shooting through her. At that moment, I realized my giant bug eyed sunglasses had fallen off after the first gunshot. It was obvious her observation was not a compliment. It was a threat. Now that Lola knew what I looked like, she would have no problem identifying me to the cops or giving a sketch artist a detailed description of my face. Without a thought, I pulled the trigger on Eddie’s gun. I then pulled it again. And again. How many shots I fired I was unsure of, but unlike her thugs, I was sure Lola was dead.

  There was no time for remorse. I had to get out of there immediately.

  Drew! Talk to us! What is going on? Phil had taken the helm again.

  “Consider that test successful,” I grunted into the two-way. “And Twisty?”

  Yeah babe?

  “She was a cock.” I listened to Twisty’s laughter as I pulled myself together.

  I tossed Eddie’s gun onto Lola’s chest, scooped up the sunglasses and stormed out of the kitchen into the evacuated club. Exhaustion overtook me as I hustled my way to the side exit, escaping the scene of the crime. I ran out the back lot of Head Knockers, listening to the sound of sirens in the distance.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Good Morning, Sunshine. You look like shit.” This was the husky greeting I received as I warily opened my eyes. My surroundings were very familiar, but how I got there was a complete mystery. Sitting up in the uncomfortable leather couch I greeted my old friend in the best manner I could, given the circumstances.

  “Tom? How the fuck did I get here?”

  “It’s nice to see you too, Orphan.” Tom handed me a steaming mug of black coffee. Normally I take mine with lots of cream and sugar to the point where I might as well drink syrup, but for some reason, black coffee sounded great. I guzzled it down, groaning as it burned my throat. “That’s a hell of a greeting from the guy responsible for dragging my ass downstairs at three in the morning.”

  “What? How the hell do I not remember that?” Sitting upright I rubbed my hands through my hair, confused.

  “It’s because you were freakin’ unconscious.”

  “Then how…”

  “Your friends dragged your ass here. Apparently, you had another bad bike accident. This time you were wearing that vest I gave you.” Tom fell back into his tiny desk stool that he had scooted to the archway of the studio. “Your buddies told me everything, man. They said you passed out a few blocks from Knockers. You told them to pick you up at the Steak N’ Egger and then they lost communication. They found your ass knocked out against the dumpster. Obviously you needed medical attention, so they brought you back to me. Why the hell didn’t you tell me what you were up to?”

  “I have no idea.” I shook my head trying to shake the grogginess. It was then I realized my chest wound had a fresh dressing, as well as my left arm, where Eddie’s bullet had grazed me.

  “With the chest shot, I guess all the stitches got yanked,” Tom explained as he saw me running my fingers over the bandages. “You don’t want to see under there. It ain’t pretty. The bruising is unbelievable. When your friends got you here you were bleeding like a stuck pig. What’d that bitch do? Shoot you point blank?” Tom chuckled.

  “Yeah…” I exhaled, still trying to wake myself up.

  “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

  “No. I had the muzzle of the gun pushed up against me.” I mimed the action lazily.

&nb
sp; “Orphan. Those jackets are not designed to take a shot like that. You are one lucky bastard.”

  “Yeah. Lucky. That’s me.” I tried to stand up, but lacked the energy.

  “You might wanna rest a bit more, kid. Your body took a fucking beating last night.”

  “What time is it?” With all the windows in the studio covered up it was always impossible to keep track of time.

  “About twelve thirty. You gotta date?”

  “I’m supposed to meet Dom for lunch today,” I groaned from the lingering pain.

  “I’m sure he’ll be a little late.” Tom had met Dom a few times, but because of Dom’s affiliation with the city’s police force, Tom liked to keep his distance.

  “How do you know? Did he call here?” I was confused how Tom would know anything about Dom’s whereabouts.

  “He’s been on the news all morning trying to explain the mess you made over at Knockers.” With that, Tom picked up the remote and flicked on the TV sitting on a small rack in the corner of the room. “You made some real headlines, kid.”

  “What? Why?” Criminals get killed every day in this town and they make page 6 of the Herald, if at all. I was perplexed as to why my actions found their way onto the local news networks.

  “Eight people saw you run into a kitchen dressed like some sort of superhero, waving a gun around. Some people may find that interesting.” As soon as Tom mentioned the witnesses, a police sketch appeared on the screen. Luckily, the picture looked nothing like me, but they captured the Jackie O sunglasses perfectly. As a matter of fact, the picture looked a little like Jackie O with no make up and better hair.

  “I killed somebody last night.” I hung my head, more from the pain coursing through my body than shame.

  “Dude. You killed three somebodies last night.”

  I slumped down in my seat. Part of me was hoping Eddie or Raff would have made it through.

  “Fuck,” was all I could get out.

  “Yeah, and your buddy Dom was on the scene. He doesn’t know about your little hobby, does he?” Tom made the quote marks with his fingers as he said the word “hobby”.

  “God no. He’d fucking freak out.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” Tom said.

  “Whatta you mean?” I asked, not understanding what interesting word I had chosen.

  “Freak. That’s what they’re calling you on the news. Not terribly creative, but that’s the word all the eyewitnesses used to describe you. They’re calling you a vigilante.”

  “If they only knew,” I said, knowing I was not the vigilante everyone suspected I was.

  “Yeah. That reminds me.” Tom got up from his perch and walked over to the light table. “I believe this is yours.” He tossed a familiar manila envelope in my lap. “There’s twenty-two G’s in there. I counted it and took a few hundred out for my services. I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Shit.” I had almost forgotten all about the money. “No man, no. You deserve it. Hell. You deserve more. You’ve saved my life.” Opening the envelope, all the pain I was feeling began to wash away. The contents of the envelope made it all worthwhile.

  “It’s an interesting business you’ve started for yourself, Orphan.” Tom sat back down.

  “Beats workin’ for a livin’.” A cliche of unknown origin sometimes fits best.

  “Tom, you ever killed anyone? I mean, besides in the war?” The fact that I had brutally killed three people less than twelve hours prior was starting to sink in.

  Tom leaned in, letting out a huge breath, as if he needed to make room for the words he was about to say. “I’m not gonna lie to ya, Orphan. I’ve taken a few lives in my day…yeah.”

  “How’d it feel? I mean, afterward?” This was a conversation I couldn’t have with anyone but Tom.

  “Really, it depends. There are people I’ve killed because they deserved it and the world is better without ‘em. Those guys don’t really nag on me.” He took a swig of his coffee. “The other ones? Well I was just angry. You get into a fight and one thing usually leads to another. But no matter how much they may have pissed me off, I’m still pretty sure they didn’t deserve that. Those times kinda drag me down. Killing’s easy Orphan. It’s dealing with it that’s a bitch.” He scrunched up his bearded face and slapped one knee as he rose from the stool again.

  “You just gotta know you’re doing it for the right reason.” For such a brut of a man, sometimes his wisdom was sage like. “I will tell ya. That daughter of yours? She’s the right reason, buddy.” He patted me on the shoulder as he lumbered over to the Donkey Kong Jr. machine. “Besides,” he didn’t look up from the game as it began to light up “those three seemed like real pieces of shit. The world’s probably better without ‘em.”

  Tom was right. I did not carry an ounce of guilt over what I had done. I did, however, have concerns about getting caught. I had to pull my shit together and try to make that lunch with Dom.

  “Hey Tom. Did anybody leave my phone here?”

  “Yeah, Twisty left it on my desk for you with the rest of your shit. Moxie called early this morning. I answered it and told her you had just killed a buncha people and needed your rest.” He still didn’t look up from the arcade game.

  “What?” I replied, shocked.

  “I’m just fuckin’ with you. I saw it was her so I picked it up. I told her you left your phone here and you’d be by soon to get it. She had to go to school, so we didn’t talk long. I really love that kid, Orphan. If you ever need anything…”

  “I know, man. I appreciate it.” Tom was an unlikely, but great, friend. “She is pretty awesome, isn’t she?” I gloated.

  “I dunno how the fuck she turned out that way, with such an asshole for a father.” Tom let out his biggest belly laugh, always delighted to make a joke at my expense. As he continued with his game play I peeled myself from the couch and hobbled over to the desk. My phone was resting on top of the bulletproof vest and a neatly folded black turtleneck that was unrecognizable from the state it was in the night before.

  “Aww. You washed my shirt. So sweet.” I mocked Tom as I sniffed the turtleneck to even find traces of fabric softener.

  “Yeah. I’m Mary Fucking Homemaker,” he bellowed over his shoulder. “That shit was covered in blood, and I sure as hell wasn’t lending you any of my clothes. Now put it on. I’m sick of having you walk around my place half naked. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  “You know you want this.” I joked as I pulled the shirt over my head. Stretching my arms into the sleeves was a chore, as the combination of bandaging and pain limited my mobility. “Hey, you got a bag I can borrow?” I figured walking onto the bus with a police baton, stun gun and length of chain hooked to my belt may be a bit conspicuous.

  “What?” He yelled back.

  “For all my shit. Or did you want me to just wear the vest home?”

  “Huh?” He mumbled to himself for a moment. “Goddamit!” He pounded on the machine as the words GAME OVER flashed on screen. My request had obviously distracted him from his game.

  “Fuckin’ Orphan.” He shook his head as he backed away from the arcade game. “Now whatta you want?”

  “A bag. Something to put all this in.” I lifted up the stack of bulletproof clothing and armaments.

  “Lemme see what I got.” He lumbered out of the studio and disappeared into the hallway.

  After I listened to him rummage around in his upstairs apartment for a few minutes, he reemerged with a canvas sack in his hand. “This should work. Be careful with it. I wore it in Nam.” He tossed the bag at me. “That’s a nylon canvas, totally impervious to fire and you can’t cut that shit for nothin’. I dunno if it’d come in handy for your little adventures, but if ya need it I s’pose I could part with it. Good cause and all.” He grumbled. The bag itself was just a little bit bigger than a canteen and had a thin shoulder strap constructed with the same durable material. If it hadn’t been made of the drab gray army colors, it could have easil
y served as a purse.

  “It’s an awfully nice pocketbook. Did the Army also provide you with matching heels?” I jokingly observed.

  “You’re welcome, cocksucker.”

  “Thanks, man. I’m sure it will work just fine.” I began to stuff the bag with all my things. It was surprisingly roomy, despite its appearance. Everything was snug, but it all fit.

  “You headin’ out?” Tom asked me, with a note of concern in his voice.

  “Yeah. I’m going to see if I can still catch a late lunch with Dom.” I threw the bag over my shoulder.

  “It’s nice to have an inside scoop, isn’t it?” Tom’s implication was all but subtle. I simply shot him a knowing look and a smile.

  “He’s probably had a hard day. Might need a friend to talk to about it.”

  “You are dirty rotten, Orphan. Dirty rotten.” Tom chuckled as he shook his big shaggy head.

  “Maybe. I’ll see ya around, man.” It wasn’t until I got to the door when Tom stopped me.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He motioned to the envelope full of money I had left on the couch. “I mean, you can leave it if you want. I’ll take good care of…”

  “I got it. Thanks.” I stepped back over to the couch and swept up the cash. “Now go write a book about me or something. I gotta hunch I’m gonna be famous soon.” I laughed wickedly as I limped into the dark hallway.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I hate the bus. As much fun as Moxie had watching all the interesting characters go on and off, I knew better. While there certainly are the innocent people just trying to get from point A to point B, there is also the less admirable element. Homeless guys find the bus a great place to take an all day nap for just a buck and a quarter. The city’s lower level scumbags use the bus as an office for their criminal business transactions. It wasn’t that I was ignorant to that side of the city, but I admittedly preferred to keep a blind eye to it all. Public transportation just sort of put it all in your face, front and center.