Memoirs Of An Antihero

by Drew Blank

“Well, look on the bright side. It’s not your concern anymore.”

  “Yeah.” He looked down at his plate. “But I just get this feeling I’m the only one who could have solved this thing.”

  “The detectives working the case a bunch of morons or something?” I asked.

  “No. I mean, yeah, they are, but I don’t think it’s their skills or lack thereof really that will stop them from solving this. There is just nothing in it for them. The last thing the cops on this force want is to go to a crime scene where all the money and drugs have been cleared out already. If anything, they are going to hunt this guy down and take care of him themselves. He’s fucking up their sweet little operation.”

  “Operation?” I was a little unclear on what Dom meant.

  “Where do you think these guys get their money? How do you think they are all in nice, big suburban homes with families and all that and I am barely making it by in my shit-hole apartment? Their pay grade isn’t that much higher than mine. The only time they do anything that resembles work is if they are getting something out of it. They bust a hooker when they want to get laid. They bust a drug dealer when they need cash. It’s a job of convenience. Why do you think I am the laughing stock of the force? I’m the only one who does this hoping to make a difference. But I’m starting to realize it’s just fucking hopeless.” Dom’s eyes began to well up. “I was just hoping with this case I could have done some real police work. Find this mother fucker and get him off the streets. Like a real cop is supposed to do. Instead, I’m just pushed to the sidelines as always.” He took a final pull on his mug of cooled cocoa.

  “What makes this case so interesting to you, anyway?” While I felt good just being there as a friend for Dom, I needed to know more of what they had on me.

  “Besides the fact that some costumed vigilante is running around the city killing drug dealers? That isn’t interesting all on its own?” Dom asked rhetorically.

  “Okay, maybe that was a dumb question. So tell me more about your theories.”

  “I don’t have any theories yet. But, there are definitely some elements of the case that I find puzzling. Like, why did he let Randy and Mouse live; yet the next night he goes out and kills three people? He obviously has some real hatred towards these people. I mean, massive issues with dealers.”

  “Why do you think he killed them, then?” The whole conversation was becoming very surreal.

  “Well, I have an idea about that.” Dom leaned in across the table, as if he had a secret. “We found three guns on the scene, all of them riddled with the victims’ fingerprints and no one else’s. Forensics reported one of the guns was used to kill Lola.”

  “So?” I was just dying to see where he was going with his train of thought.

  “So, I don’t know what good it does us, but I think this guy is going in without a weapon. I mean, he beat one of the guys to death on the pavement. Another he kills with a frying pan he found in the kitchen. And then Lola, he takes her out with one of her cronies’ guns?” I could not escape the fact that Dom was very good at his job. While it would certainly benefit me to have him on the case, it could also work against me. “I really have no idea why anybody would try to rip off a bunch of known criminals completely weapon free. Hell, all he used at the Tully’s attack was a freakin’ chain.”

  “Maybe he’s some trained assassin.” I don’t know what a trained assassin would be doing in Cross, nor did I think my handiwork would resemble that of one upon investigating further, but I offered it up anyway.

  “Yeah, sure. He’s a ninja. They’re very common here in the Chicago suburbs,” Dom laughed. “Oh well. Like you said, it’s not my concern anymore. Enough about all this. How’s Moxie? How are you?”

  “She’s doing surprisingly well. She’s a smart kid, but I think she is too young to fully wrap her head around how serious her condition can be.” The word leukemia had become a trigger for my tears, so I avoided using it as much as I could.

  “So is she going to be getting chemo? How do they treat it with kids?” The concern in Dom’s voice was beyond heart warming. My friends all loved Moxie, but Dom truly saw her as family.

  “Chemo starts next week. The doctor tells me he isn’t sure how it will affect her, but he is hoping to do it on a weekly out-patient basis. The last thing we want is to hospitalize her.” I said as I already began to choke back tears.

  “Dude, she’s going to be fine. You know that, right?” Dom said while looking at me intently.

  “I hope so, man. That kid’s just about all I got.” A tear rolled out of the corner of my eye.

  “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Dom said reassuringly, even though unfounded. “That is until you get the bill.” He smirked as he popped his last bite of stromboli in his mouth. Before I made a comment to agree with him, I caught myself. The last thing I needed was to give motive to someone keeping a close eye out for a homicidal vigilante with a need for money.

  “You’d be surprised. Insurance is picking up most of the tab.” As genuine and caring as Dom was being, it killed me to lie to him.

  “Really? I remember breaking my wrist while under Tully’s insurance and I’m still paying bills from that.” There was no doubt in his voice, but I still had to tread lightly.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. For some reason, most of her stuff is covered. Let’s just hope she doesn’t break a wrist during chemo.” I tried to laugh away the subject.

  “It’s just further proof that the cosmos are always smiling upon you, while they are busy shitting all over me.” Self-deprecation was Dom’s strong suit. In reality, I had a hard time believing I wasn’t the one covered in cosmic shit.

  “Well, my brother, it is time for me to get going. I wanna hit Moxie’s place and see her before bed time.” I flipped open my cell phone to find we had spent almost two hours chatting and I got more information from Mema than I did Dom. But in reality, it was just nice to see my old friend. It occurred to me it might be the best thing for our friendship to not have Dominick investigating my case.

  “It’s always good to see you, man. Hey, at least since I’m not out hunting a serial killer, I’ll have plenty of free time.” Dom said as he pulled out his chair.

  “Always a ‘glass is half full’ kinda guy, ain’tcha?” I joked as I threw the last crumb from my plate into my mouth.

  “Yeah. But the glass is usually full of piss, unfortunately.” Dom grimaced, as he reached into his pocket and threw ten bucks on the table.

  “Wish I had tippers like you at Tully’s.” I followed suit with another ten.

  “Well, I’m making the big bucks, right?” Dom walked over, coming in for the inevitable hug.

  “Ha ha. Yeah. Public servants are the millionaires of our generation. If respect were money, that is,” I added.

  “If respect were money, I’d be fucking bankrupt.” He patted my back in a friendly embrace. “I’ll see ya buddy.”

  “Yeah. I’ll see ya homo.” I waved as he headed down the sidewalk to his car.

  “That’s Officer Homo to you, killer.” And with those words, he disappeared around the corner.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  “Daddy!” As if I hadn’t seen her for months, Moxie ran at me full speed, almost knocking me to the ground as I walked through the door of Reggie’s place.

  “Where were you this morning? When you don’t come for breakfast you always call. You didn’t come to breakfast and you didn’t call.” As I lifted her into my arms she flashed a deliberate pouty face, making me feel like I had just lost Daddy of the Year. “I was worried.” She laid her head on my shoulder and squeezed me tightly.

  “I’m sorry baby. I got really sick at work last night. Once I finally fell asleep, it was like an hour before you would go to school. I woke up around noon.” It pained me to lie to her, but I couldn’t really tell her the truth. “And I left my phone at Tom’s, so I couldn’t call you. I’m so so so so sorry, pumpkin head.” I pulled her so close I felt the stitches in my
chest pulling, but I didn’t care.

  “It’s okay, Daddy. Are you feeling better now?” She cocked her head, only inches away from my face.

  “Much better, thank you Miss Moxie.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead and dropped her to the floor.

  “Mommy’s not feeling so good, either. I think she might be sick too.” Moxie looked at the floor as she circled her sneaker in the carpet. “She didn’t come out of her room this morning when I left and she’s still in there now.”

  “Any idea what’s wrong?” It was not unusual for Reggie to sleep through Moxie getting ready in the morning, but she would at least be awake when Moxie got home.

  “Nope. I hear her crying sometimes. But when I knock on the door she tells me everything’s fine and to leave her alone.” The looks Moxie made whenever she spoke of her disappointment in Reggie were always enough to make my heart physically hurt.

  “Do you want me to go talk to her?” I sighed, as that was the last thing I wanted to do, but I could tell Moxie was concerned.

  “Mmhmm,” she nodded her head as she quietly answered.

  That little girl always had me right where she wanted me.

  “Well, why don’t you hang out here and watch TV. I’ll go see what’s up.” Moxie plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV with the volume as low as it could get. “And no eavesdropping,” I said as I pointed a stern finger her way.

  “Fine.” Moxie replied in her most angst riddled tone, while turning the volume back to its normal level.

  “I love you baby.” I blew her a kiss as I walked down the hall to Reggie’s door.

  Before I could even knock, I heard weepy words from the other side.

  “Go the hell away Drew. I don’t need to listen to your bullshit tonight.” Sound traveled pretty well within the cozy two bedroom apartment.

  “Reg, open up. We gotta talk.” I quietly and pointlessly knocked.

  “Fuck off! This has nothing to do with you!” I had not expected Reggie to talk to me without a little persistence.

  “Reg, I’m coming in.” I grabbed the handle and quickly turned before Reggie could bolt for the door and lock it. No such effort was made. Slowly pushing my way in, I was welcomed by complete darkness and a thick cloud of lingering, stale smoke.

  “I told you to fuck off.” Upon entering, it occurred to me I had never been in Reggie’s room at this apartment, and in the dark had no idea where her bed was or where she may be moping. I had to follow her voice to even know which way to direct my words.

  “Yes. I heard that. Very eloquent. And believe me, if it were up to me I’d just leave you here to drown in your own self-involvement. However, we have a kid together and we need to talk.” We still had not even had a conversation regarding Moxie’s doctor visit the day before.

  “Well, can we make it quick? The last thing I need right now is to hear your fucking voice.” I couldn’t help but feel she was reading my mind and repeating the thoughts I had about her. She flicked on a lamp next to her bed. Unlike the room she had taken me back to seven years ago, this room was bare. Milk crates were stacked next to the bed to support her light and an alarm clock. Had I been in a better mood, I may have made a query about what exactly the alarm clock was waking her up for. I decided this was not the right time. The closet door was wide open, unable to hide the piles and piles of what I assumed was dirty laundry strewn all over. Reggie was lying in bed, wearing a black t-shirt with the logo of some local radio station and a pair of ratty boxer shorts. She propped herself up on some pillows, feebly making an attempt to participate. “So, what do we have to talk about?” She asked, obviously put out by my show of concern.

  “First off, what’s up? Moxie says you’ve been in bed all day. You feeling all right?” It took everything I had to inject even the slightest bit of sincerity in my question.

  “Oh c’mon, Drew. You and I both know you don’t give a shit, so stop trying. I know deep down you were hoping you’d open the door and find me dead on the floor.” I was really beginning to think she was psychic. “I know you’re here just ‘cuz Michaela wanted you to see if I was okay.” As much as our daughter made it clear she preferred to be called Moxie, Reggie refused to use a nickname I bestowed upon her. “Am I right?” She asked bitterly.

  “Mostly, yeah,” I admitted, “but in reality, it doesn’t matter what I think of you. That little girl out there still loves you and in order for her to be truly happy, you have to be truly happy. So spill it. What’s bothering you?”

  “I’m just dealing with some shit that happened last night, that’s all.” She snorted snot back into her nose as she lit a cigarette that was dangling out the corner of her mouth. “Shitty luck. It’s no big deal. I’m used to it.” She said as she inhaled her first puff.

  “Anything I can help with?” I asked earnestly.

  “I doubt it,” she blew smoke in my direction with no regard for my hatred of the habit. “Unless you can bring people back from the dead. Can Super Dad do that? Huh?” I would have been a moron to think Reggie would be anything but hostile during our confrontation. I continued my attempt to connect.

  “Who died?” There was nothing in the world that could have prepared me for what Reggie said next.

  “Did you watch the news this morning?” The room began to spin as all the blood left my head and fingertips. I knew Reggie hung out with plenty of dirt bags, but what were the chances she knew either Lola or her goons?

  “I only caught the tail end. Didn’t see anything about anyone dying, though.” I had really grown adept at playing dumb.

  “Well, a guy I had been sort of seeing got killed last night.” She forced the words out while trying to maintain a rhythmic breathing.

  No fucking way! Was all that raced through my head. For a moment I tried to convince myself this was another guy that got murdered last night. It couldn’t possibly be one of Lola’s sidekicks.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t hear anything about it. It’s been on the TV all day. Your little friend Dom was even there talking about it,” she said in a tone less condescending than I would have expected. “His name was Eddie,” Reggie went on, chasing away any doubt that may have been lingering in my head about the identity of her pseudo-boyfriend. “He was such a nice guy.” She started to well up at the thought of him.

  “Wow. That’s crazy. I’m… I’m sorry.” I sat down next to her on the bed and hung my head in hopes of looking sorrowful and not dizzy from shock. “How’d you know him?” The curiosity was killing me. What were the chances our twisted little worlds would collide?

  “He worked for my d…errr…umm…a girl I know.” Though Reggie obviously didn’t want me to know she was using, it was easy to surmise Lola was Reggie’s dealer. What concerned me was the fact that Lola’s clientele was typically strippers and hookers. I did not want to know if Reggie fell into either of those categories, but I had my suspicions. The irony did not escape me, as I let the new info sink in, that some of the money I stole from Lola may have been mine already, in the form of child support. It was enough to force me to keep in a laugh as Reggie began to cry.

  “So, were you guys serious or just…” I could not think of a polite way to say “just fucking.”

  “No.” Reggie sniffled before taking a drag of her cigarette. “It isn’t like I was going to marry the guy. I just really liked him. He was always nice to me.” Her cries rolled into sobs as she buried her head between her legs, curling up tightly on the bed.

  “There. You happy?” She bawled angrily. “You think you can fix that Super Daddy?”

  We sat in silence for a minute that seemed like an hour.

  “No. No, I can’t fix that,” I interrupted the lull, “but I can be someone to talk to. You and I really don’t know anything about each other’s lives, Reggie. But, like it or not, we have that little girl to look out for. And we’re in it together. So if you need help, I will be there to help. Even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on or someone for you to vent to, I’ll be
what you need.” It truly sickened me to try so hard, but I couldn’t help but feel a little responsible this time.

  “Why can’t you just always be an asshole?” Reggie asked rhetorically as she lifted her head from underneath her arms. “I mean, I really fucking hate you sometimes, but I know you’re not always the same piece of shit. You are a good Dad and I guess I should feel lucky for that.” She rubbed her nose with her forearm, leaving a wet slug-like trail on her skin.

  “Thanks, I guess.” I didn’t know how to respond to what seemed like a compliment and insult all at the same time. “Moxie’s a great kid. I’d say we’ve done a good job so far.” In reality, all Reggie did was show Moxie how not to live her life, but I guess it was something. “But now she needs us more than she has ever needed us. We have to be strong.” It was at that moment I almost felt compelled to reach out and grab Reggie’s hand. My absolute disgust and repulsion towards her made me think better of it, though.

  “What did her doctor say yesterday?” Reggie was now trying to contain her weeping so she could talk to me.

  “He said surgery is out. Chemo is the next step.” The last thing I needed was to let Reggie see me cry, so I bit my lip, trying to hold strong. “He wants to start treatments as early as next week.”

  “Holy fucking shit,” Reggie mumbled with the cigarette barely balancing on her lip. “This is real, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded with a heavy head. “It’s really fucking real.”

  “Is she going to lose her hair?” For a moment I was impressed that Reggie even knew what chemotherapy was. I frequently forgot that before she had Moxie, and before she had her psychotic break down, Reggie was no dummy. While narcotics and alcohol had killed plenty of her brain cells off, she still wasn’t completely brain dead.

  “The doctor says it doesn’t happen as often with kids.” I tried to paint as positive a picture as I could. “But she is going to be sick a lot. Very weak. She is going to need help from both of us.”

  “What about school?” The fact that Reggie was even asking about school surprised me. I had been to every open house, field trip, ice cream social and award ceremony Moxie’s school had. Reggie would be hard pressed to even tell someone what grade Moxie was in.