Memoirs Of An Antihero

by Drew Blank

  After being buzzed in, I jogged up the steps to what was becoming our official headquarters. Twisty greeted me at the door with a huge smile on her face. She naturally carried an exuberant glow, but that afternoon I saw something more than that. It was obvious helping out was giving her a sense of purpose. Whether our business venture was right or wrong, she didn’t seem to care. She felt good to be involved and genuinely believed in what we were doing.

  “Whattup, Buttercup?” She asked at the threshold as she wrapped her hands around my neck and pulled herself up for a hug. “How ya feelin’?”

  “Surprisingly, not too shitty,” I said as I pulled the army bag’s strap over my head and placed it amongst the clutter accumulated on Phil’s desk.

  “So how’s it feel to almost get shot?” Phil looked up from what he was doing long enough to greet me.

  “While I have no base of comparison, I would guess better than actually being shot,” I quipped. “Regardless, it still sucks. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen all too often.”

  “Jim is working on that as we speak,” Phil reassured me. “So how did we end up doing last night, anyway?”

  “We did pretty well, I think. I haven’t actually counted it yet. Tom says there is about twenty-two grand in here.” I pulled the manila envelope from the bag. “But there’s more in there now, after the guy on the bus.”

  “The guy on the bus?” Twisty repeated me, but in a question.

  “Yeah. I found this dude dealing to some punks on my way home. When he got off I followed him and convinced him to share his profits with me.”

  “Are your persuasion techniques going to get you on the news again?” Phil was not so subtly inquiring if I left behind a person or a body count.

  “He’s alive. He may walk with a limp for a while, but he’s alive,” I chuckled as I flashed back to the man in gray falling to the ground clutching his knee.

  “How much did you get?” Twisty joined in.

  “Not sure. Count it.” I tossed her the envelope. “So, what have you guys been working on?”

  “Well, I am trying to get us a little bit better connected than just an earpiece for communication. We really need to see what you are up to,” Phil said as he was fiddling with wires at his desk.

  “So, you wanna put a camera on me?”

  “Among other things, yes. We won’t always be sitting across the street in a car waiting for you. I’ve been working on these.” Phil handed me a plastic case with a stake on the bottom. It appeared to be an outdoor garden light, but completely gutted.

  “You want me to have better lighting?” I asked, making no effort to hide my confusion.

  “No, you moron. I’m putting these inside them.” He held up a hand full of wiring and gizmos of which I was not familiar.

  “Oh, that makes perfect sense then,” I said sarcastically. “What are those?”

  “Cameras.” Phil sighed. He held up one of the gizmos, so that I could see the lens on the front of it.

  “Ah. I see now. But not really. How are these going to…”

  Phil interrupted me. “Each of these yard stakes will have two miniature cameras inside of them. One is a regular video camera with night vision capabilities and the other is a thermal camera.”

  “Thermal?” I was familiar with the term, but didn’t know what advantage it had for us.

  “Yes. It will be great for when you are doing a job inside a building or some place we can’t see you. It registers the heat from people’s bodies using radiation.” Phil explained patiently.

  “So, like X-Ray sort of?” I asked.

  “In a way. We won’t be able to see specifics, but we will have your costume set up so we always know where you are and when someone else is approaching you.”

  “My costume?” This was the first time I had heard any mention of a costume.

  “Yeah!” Twisty looked up from the cash, excited. “We designed you a totally kick ass suit to wear!”

  “A costume? You want me running around in a costume?” I did not like the sound of that. “Like some sort of super hero?”

  “A suit. Just think of it as a suit.” Phil tried to calm me.

  “A totally kick ass suit!” Twisty added.

  “Anyway. Back to the cameras.” I tried to get back on topic. “How exactly are they going to be everywhere I am?”

  “Well, that’s why they are in the garden stakes.” He turned the casing upside down to illustrate his point. “Every time you go out, you will scope the area first and place these within range but out of the way. They really are not very expensive to make, so if you snatch them up afterwards, great. If not, no big loss.”

  “And so they transmit to you?” I was trying to take it all in.

  “Yes. We will be able to see everything from here, or a laptop if we need to go mobile.”

  “But, if the cameras are linked to your computer and I leave them at the scene…” I was thinking out loud, “won’t

  someone be able to trace it back to you?”

  “They will be set up with a kill switch. At any point I can just cut the signal from a given camera.”

  “Wow.” I was impressed. “Good work.”

  Phil beamed from the praise.

  “$24,563.” Twisty broke in with the final figures.

  “Holy shit!” Phil’s jaw dropped. None of us had ever seen that much money in one place before.

  “I’d say between that and the haul I took from Mouse and Randy, we have had a profitable couple of days.” Any doubts I may have had regarding our plans were washing away.

  “I think this is only the beginning.” Phil loved saying lines like that.

  “So, you said on the phone you found Benji Carver?” I reminded Twisty.

  “Well no. We haven’t found him. Nor do we know who he really is,” Phil corrected me.

  “But on the phone…” The news was discouraging.

  “Come over here.” Phil swung around in his chair to face the computer monitor. Twisty and I huddled behind him, peering over each shoulder.

  “Benji Carver does not show up on any police records in the country. Nor does Benjamin Carver or any variation with Benji or Benjamin in the middle name. As suspected, it is an alias.”

  “Well, that’s not very helpful,” I admitted.

  “No. But when I did a simple Internet search of Benji Carver I found something very interesting.” Phil began furiously punching commands into the computer. With a hit of the ENTER key a photograph blipped onto the screen. “Ta Da! Meet Benji Carver.” Phil leaned back in his chair and allowed me a clear view of the man on the monitor. It was a young guy, probably in his early twenties. He looked like a surfer type, with sandy blonde hair flopping down past bright blue eyes. Besides appearing maybe a bit stoned, he was relatively nondescript and certainly did not appear to be any sort of criminal mastermind.

  “That’s Benji Carver?” I questioned in disbelief.

  “Yes. This picture was taken from an episode of Dragnet in 1967,” Phil replied.

  “So this is a really old picture? That probably isn’t even him. And what’s Dragnet?” I observed.

  “What’s Dragnet?” Phil shook his head in disbelief as Twisty smirked behind him. “I swear, it’s like being friends with a home-schooled kid sometimes. Dragnet was a very popular cop show in the fifties and then revived again in the sixties. This picture was taken from the pilot episode of the sixties reboot. Do you know what a pilot episode is?” Phil teased.

  “Fuck you. Sorry if I was busy getting my ass beat to shit in an orphanage as a kid and not watching cop shows about drag queens. And yes, I know what a pilot is. So is Benji Carver some washed up actor, then?” I felt the need to defend my ignorance.

  “First off, Dragnet was not about drag queens. And secondly, no, Benji Carver is the character,” Phil explained, showing his usual amount of annoyance at my lack of pop culture knowledge.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Nope,” Phil con
tinued. “Benji Carver was an LSD dealer on the show. From what I can tell, he is the first drug dealer to ever be portrayed on broadcast television. Whoever our Benji Carver is, he decided this character was historic enough to steal his name.” Phil clicked the mouse a few times and brought up a media player on the screen. “On the show he also had an alias. Blueboy.” He clicked play.

  The video began with two cops coming across a young man I assumed was Benji Carver, with his head buried in the dirt. He was wearing a brown jacket with the words LIVE AND LET LIVE. DOWN WITH FUZZ painted on the back. In a dramatic reveal, the two officers pulled the boy out of the dirt, and there the viewer was introduced to Benji Carver. However, unlike the picture Phil had initially shown me, the kid had his face painted in two colors split down the center. The left side was blue, the right side yellow.

  “That is Benji Carver, or Blueboy.” Phil introduced me to our new prospect. Benji Carver was the guy I was going to get the most money from and so he had to be found.

  While staring at the screen something occurred to me. “The face! That’s what that sticker was!” Phil and Twisty both looked at me, perplexed. “When I busted up Mouse and Randy, Mouse had a package of coke bundled up in plastic and it was sealed up with a sticker. It was a circle, half blue, half yellow. Each side had white circles with black circles inside, like eyes!” I had grabbed a pen and was trying to draw the design on a loose piece of paper as I spoke.

  “Apparently, Benji already thinks he is the Blueboy.” Twisty observed.

  “Dude’s a weirdo. The way Lola talked about him, he sounds like a real nut job. I think he and I could get along,” I joked.

  “Well, you may get your chance to meet him sooner than you think,” Phil said, obviously aware of something I wasn’t.

  “Please don’t tell me I am going out again tonight. This shit has got to heal a little or else Tom is going to kick my ass.” I didn’t want to sound like a whiner, but the fact that the gaping wound on my chest had been torn open and sewn up twice already, I figured I needed to let it rest a little before my heart fell out of the hole.

  “No. Nothing tonight. But Benji did call Mouse this morning.” Phil smirked with pride as his plan regarding Mouse’s phone was obviously proving to be effective.

  “But I thought Mouse didn’t have a phone yet?” I was puzzled.

  “He doesn’t. I shipped it out yesterday directly to the hospital. He should have it today or tomorrow. But like I told you before, I have access to all of Mouse’s voice mails. Benji called this morning concerned about the story on the news. Wanna hear it?”

  “Yeah, of course!” I hoped hearing Benji Carver’s voice might take away some of the mystery regarding who he was. I was wrong.

  Phil punched in a few numbers on the cloned phone and then handed it to me. I was honestly not sure what my expectations were, but the voice I heard on the other end did not match up with anything my imagination had concocted thus far. As opposed to sounding like the brash and aggressive degenerates I had dealt with up to that point, the best word to describe Benji’s voice was demure. Articulate and polite, his words carried a hushed pleasantness that soothed and intimidated at the same time. It was apparent Benji was educated and not the typical ignoramus one would imagine pushing drugs in a beat up ghetto town like Cross. I listened to his words intently.

  Hello Nelson. I have not heard from you in some time now and I am growing concerned regarding your well-being. The news this morning reported one of your clients and two of her associates found themselves in a most unfortunate situation. I am hoping you have not befallen the same fate. This certainly is a dangerous business we are in. Please contact me once you receive this message. We have things to discuss. Thank you and good day.

  “What a weirdo, huh?” Twisty pointed out as soon as I hung up the phone.

  “Definitely a little crazier than I would have expected.” Benji’s eloquence was unnerving, to say the least. “So, what now?” I inquired.

  “Well, we keep an eye out for any new emails or

  messages coming to Mouse. It seems word is not getting out about his hospitalization, which is good. We have also taken steps in monitoring Randy a little better.” Phil explained. “I had Twisty go into Tully’s this morning and install a bugging device into the bar phone. Now, whenever Randy is working, I can monitor any calls that he makes or receives.”

  “Wow.” I was impressed. “You guys have been busy.”

  “Yeah, we are definitely on track to go full speed ahead with this within the next few weeks or so,” Phil assured me.

  “The next few weeks or so?” I repeated in disbelief.

  “Well, Jim called a few minutes before you got here and said he is making huge progress with the armor and it should be ready to incorporate into the suit by the weekend. We have a few weapon ideas that shouldn’t take much to construct and then you will be ready to go,” Phil explained.

  “I really thought this was going to take a few months, at least,” I said, displaying my shock.

  “What can I say? You hired the right men for the job,” Phil gloated proudly.

  “Excuse me?” Twisty insisted on clarification.

  “I’m sorry. You hired the right ladies for the job,” Phil replied smugly, “and Jim.”

  “That’s better.” Twisty rested her hands on her hips.

  “So tell me about this suit.” The idea of having some sort of super suit was not appealing to me in the slightest, but I figured if I was going to be prepared for what was ahead, it was necessary. I also wanted to give Twisty a chance to brag about her involvement.

  Twisty danced to the opposite end of the desk and picked up a sketchpad, not unlike the many sketchpads I had seen her fill up in the past years. Twisty never fancied herself an artist, but she was always sketching design ideas and formulating unique apparel concepts that would usually end up existing only in her head. While I did not want anything flashy, I thought this would be a great opportunity for her to see her work come to life, even if it would have to be more understated than anything she had ever done.

  “Okay, check this out.” Balancing the pad in one hand, she flipped through page after page of sketches with the other, until finally landing upon one sheet in particular. She triumphantly held up a picture that immediately made my heart sink. “Now this is not final, but I really like it. Phil and Jim also say it will be practical for everything they have planned. What do you think?”

  The picture she held up was a decent likeness of me in one of the most bizarre get-ups I had ever seen. She had kept the bug eye sunglasses, which I liked. However, the rest of the outfit was a tad unusual. The drawing showed me in the same boots I was currently wearing, but instead of having anything over them, they simply met over my knee with what appeared to be bicycle shorts. A standard black belt was drawn in with various nameless gadgets hanging from it. The shirt was obviously meant to be tight, as evident by detailed muscles drawn in, maybe a bit more flattering than the reality of my physique. The collar stretched halfway up the neck while the sleeves were capped off shorter than your typical t-shirt. This left a few inches of skin exposed before long gloves began just past the elbow. On the flesh of the bicep were tattoo designs, but nothing like my own.

  “Whose tattoos are these? Was I your second pick for this design?” I joked with Twisty, pointing out that the tribal designs on the sketch looked nothing like the gothic sun and moon tattoos I had on each opposing arm

  “No. That will actually be flesh-colored material with tattoos airbrushed on it. It will throw people off and, of course, hide your real tattoos. Those might be a dead give away if you ever get photographed,” Twisty explained.

  “Clever. But wouldn’t it be easier to just make the sleeve go down into the glove?” I reasoned. “And for that matter, why can’t the pants at least reach into the boots? What am I? Bike Messenger Man?”

  “I told you he would whine,” Phil re-entered the conversation.

  “I’m not whining. It
’s just…” I was impressed with the design and it was obvious to me nothing I said was going to change it. I just needed to know some of the reasoning behind it.

  “Jim told me the material we are using is not going to be terribly flexible. He made it clear to keep it away from your elbows and knees so as to not limit your mobility. The sleeves could actually be a few inches longer, but I figure the tattoos would make it cool and also send out some false identifiers.” Twisty defended herself, but was obviously a little hurt that I was not initially wild about the design.

  “Sweetie, I love it.” I put my arm around her shoulder, pulled her in for a sideways hug and kissed her spiky hair. “But you have to admit, it’s a little weird. I’m not used to wearing such tight shorts.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be wearing a codpiece.” Phil attempted to put me at ease.

  “A codpiece? No way! What for?” I objected at the idea of wearing such a ridiculous device.

  “Where else am I going to store the plutonium that powers your suit?” Phil argued.

  “Plutonium?!” I made it abundantly clear through my tone that I was not excited about the idea of having a radioactive material resting against my nether regions.

  “Relax, you idiot. Where the hell would I even get plutonium? And if I could get it, something tells me it would cost a bit more than the few thousand we have to finance this project. We will be sticking with regular old lithium-ion to power you.” Phil’s condescending tone was nothing abnormal. Admittedly, I was not the smart one of the group.

  “Lithium-ion?” I still had concern in my voice.

  “Rechargeable batteries. Better?” Phil attempted to put me at ease.

  “I suppose. But why a codpiece?” I still didn’t like that idea at all.

  “Well, since you are insisting on not carrying a firearm of any sort, you are obviously going to be in some hand-to-hand situations. Would you rather get kicked in the nuts and then killed during a moment of weakness?” Phil’s logic was undeniable.

  “Okay, fine. You are right. I just can’t believe I’m going to be wearing a freaking codpiece,” I grumbled.