Memoirs Of An Antihero

by Drew Blank

  “The doctor said to let her go if she is feeling up to it. The key is to make her feel like everything is normal. On her bad days, let her stay home. On her good days, encourage her to go for as long as she can. But, there is a very good chance she will miss too many days and have to do the school year over again.”

  “That sucks,” Reggie murmured, oblivious to the huge understatement she made.

  “Yeah.” I was in no mood to start a battle over why she should care more about Moxie’s condition. I figured I was stressing out enough for the both of us.

  “Look. I know you feel like shit right now, what with losing your friend and all. Do you want me to take Moxie with me tonight?” Normally this would have been interpreted as a power play by Reggie, but that night she just wanted to be alone.

  “Sure. Take her. You gonna get her to school tomorrow?” Once again, any interest in Moxie’s schooling from Reggie was nothing less than shocking.

  “I always do. She’ll be fine. Why don’t you just relax tonight? Don’t worry about her.” The words came out caring and considerate, but in my head they were meant as snide attacks, ironically pointing out she hasn’t even taken a moment to acknowledge her daughter all day. Once again, I did not want to start a fight. “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine,” she said dramatically, falling back in her bed.

  “Well, I’ll go round up some of her things. You have a good night.”

  “Hey!” Reggie called to me as I began to leave the room.

  “What’s up?” I turned her way to find out what she wanted.

  “Thanks.”

  I knew that word was next to impossible for Reggie to utter, so I didn’t press my luck. I simply returned it with a pleasant “No problem.” And with that, I left Reggie to cry in her dark smoky room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  “Daddy? Where are we sleeping tonight?” Moxie turned her head up to look at me as I pedaled. It was reckless and irresponsible of me to ride with her on my lap, but she took such great joy in it, I couldn’t say no. With her face bundled in the long rainbow striped scarf Twisty had found for her at Goodwill, and the brisk autumn gusts attacking us as I rode, I could barely make out her words.

  “We’ll probably sleep at Mema’s like we usually do.” I practically yelled into her ear to penetrate the obstacles of plush cotton and momentum caused wind noise.

  “Okay.” From her curt response I could tell this was not what she wanted. For some reason, and I could never figure it out, sleeping in my bed, in my crappy cell of a room, was a treat to her. She turned her head back around and held on as we neared home.

  I buried my chapped, freezing face into the top of her stocking cap and whispered “I love you.” I knew she couldn’t hear me, but I didn’t care.

  We both held on as I popped the bike over the curb in front of Mama Mema’s. Hopping down from her perch, Moxie immediately ran to the door as she saw Mema still in the restaurant, closing up. With both mittened hands pounding on the glass, she easily got Mema’s attention. My daughter and my closest-thing-I’ll-ever-have-to-a-mother had an amazingly close relationship. Between Reggie’s parents disowning her at sixteen and my unfortunate family situation, Moxie was left without grandparents. Mema was the closest thing she had and as far as I was concerned, Carmela Severi was Moxie’s grandmother. Or, as her name suggested, Moxie’s Mema.

  Mema greeted Moxie at the entrance, wiping her hands on her apron before she unlocked the door and let us in.

  “Mema!” Moxie let out a yell muffled by the long multi-colored scarf still covering her mouth. She wrapped her hands around Mema’s legs and squeezed tightly.

  “Hello Miss Moxie.” Mema patted her head affectionately as she unwrapped my little girl from her wintry confines. “Must be cold out there.”

  “We rode Daddy’s bike. It’s freezing on that thing.” Moxie rubbed her hands together and simulated a very fake teeth chatter. Mema looked at me disapprovingly, a look I had grown very accustomed to in the previous nine years.

  “Daddy should know better than to ride his bike with you on there,” Mema said, obviously more for my benefit than Moxie’s.

  “She loves it. Whatta ya gonna do?” I shrugged my shoulders and flashed her a wink. Mema just shook her head, knowing full well she would not change me.

  “And how are you, sweetheart?” Mema kneeled down as to be on Moxie’s level.

  “I’m good, I guess.” Moxie replied.

  “You guess?” Mema questioned back.

  “Well, I’m worried about my mom. She’s sad. I think it’s cuz of me.” Her long face was enough to make me want to break down. No child should have to live with that kind of burden. Fortunately, Mema had a stronger resolve than me and kept her cool.

  “Darling girl. None of it is your fault. Just remember that. As long as you are strong and don’t let the little things bother you, you’ll be just fine.” Mema gave Moxie a huge hug, uncharacteristic of her typical independent and sometimes cold demeanor.

  “Promise?” Moxie asked.

  “I can promise you that everything will be easier if you stay strong, little one.” Mema was like me and was not

  one to make promises she could not guarantee would be kept.

  “I never get hugs like that.” I tried to lighten the mood with a joke.

  “It’s because I don’t love you nearly as much as I do this little angel.” Mema looked up at me while still on the floor holding Moxie tightly.

  “Haha Daddy. Mema likes me more,” Moxie teased, as she stuck her tongue out at me.

  “That’s fine. You can have her. She’s all sweet and lovey now, but I promise you pumpkin, she can be a real pain in the…”

  “Drew Blank!” Mema sternly interrupted me before I could inform Moxie just where Mema was a pain.

  “Will you two be staying on the couch tonight?” Mema quickly changed the subject while getting to her feet.

  “Daddy said we could stay at his place!” Moxie blurted out excitedly.

  “I never said that you big liar face,” I countered. “Why do you even like sleeping in my bed? Mema’s place is much nicer.

  “I just like it. I dunno why.” She shrugged her shoulders while flopping her head to the side, forcing her foppish hair to follow suit.

  “Well, my place it is then.” I said. “Mema, don’t worry about the mint on the pillow this evening. We have other accommodations.” I jokingly informed her. Moxie jumped up and down clapping at the news.

  “Shall we, ma’am?” I motioned towards the kitchen.

  “We shall, sir.” Moxie made an exaggerated bow before she bolted for the back stairs. “Good night Mema!” She screamed as she ran out of sight.

  “Good night, Miss Moxie,” Mema responded without raising her voice.

  “And you.” I looked intently at Mema. “It’s past your bedtime and I don’t want you walking home in the dark. I don’t care if it’s only three doors down. Whatever you need to do can wait.” When the sun went down on Cross, the streets were not a safe place. The last thing I needed was to worry about Mema.

  “Yes sir,” she said with a mocking salute.

  “Forgive me for caring, you old bat,” I sneered in response to her sarcasm.

  “I appreciate it, dear. You are very kind.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Now go get that sweet girl to bed.”

  “That’s the plan. G’night Mema.” I returned her kiss and headed for the stairs.

  “Good night, sweetheart.” She pulled the apron over her head and hung it on a hook in the archway to the kitchen.

  As I went up the stairs to my tiny corner of the world, I heard the bell above the restaurant’s door ring behind me, letting me know Mema had heeded my advice and gone home. Moxie had already made her way to my room and was snooping through my things when I entered. I rarely had anything to hide, so she was always welcome to poke around whenever she visited. That evening, however, it was difficult to explain away something
she had found.

  “Daddy?” She asked quizzically, while holding up one of the thigh high men’s boots I had lazily hidden under my bed. “I have never seen you wear anything like this before.” The kid wasn’t stupid and anything that out of the ordinary would certainly raise her curiosity.

  “Oh, those!” I exclaimed, trying to hide my immediate alarm. “Jim lent me those for a Halloween costume.” With Halloween only two weeks away, it was certainly a believable cover.

  “What are you going as?” She squeezed her face as if figuring out a mind-bending puzzle.

  “Umm…a soldier.” I was hoping she was too young to realize that if any of the armed forces wore boots like the ones she was holding it would be the most fabulously cross-dressingest branch of the military ever. It was then that I realized my room offered little privacy or security and I had to get better at protecting my new alter ego’s identity.

  “Oh. Okay.” She was immediately disinterested in my boring costume idea.

  Never one to disappoint I followed up my statement with “A zombie soldier.” Her eyes lit up.

  “Awesome!” I had won back cool points.

  “Well, why don’t you go get in your PJ’s and get ready for night time, baby.” I threw her bag on the bed and began to unzip it.

  “Do I have to?” She whined in the way she typically did when she wanted to manipulate me to do her bidding.

  “Yes, punk. PJ’s. Now.” I laid out her pajamas with the rainbows and unicorns on them.

  “Can’t I just wear one of your t-shirts, Daddy?” If her whining wasn’t filled with such sweet intentions, it would have been annoying. Knowing that she loved wearing my t-shirts warmed my heart and I found it difficult to say no.

  “Fine. You know what drawer they’re in. But then brush your teeth and get your butt to bed.” I pointed to the desk as I gave her directions.

  “Are you coming to bed too?” She looked up at me with her huge hazel eyes.

  “Of course, silly.” I would never give up a chance to cuddle with my little girl. She was getting older and soon she would be too embarrassed to be seen with me in public, let alone want to cuddle. I dreaded that day.

  We had gone through the typical bedtime routines of brushing teeth, cleaning faces, getting in pajamas and finally crawling into bed. I was careful not to change my shirt in front of Moxie, because the last thing I needed at that hour were questions regarding the huge bandage on my chest. From bed I made a quick call to Phil, explaining why I would not be swinging by, but keeping the conversation brief and non-specific.

  My bed was tiny, but we always made it work. She would lie on the side against the wall and I would shield her from rolling off the bed by lying on the other side. She would always start off nestled closely in my arms and through the course of the night she would break free, rolling, kicking, tossing, turning and somehow end up flipped to where I would wake up with her feet in my face. How she managed this remains a mystery to this day, but I learned years later it was normal with all kids.

  Moxie’s sleep patterns at Reggie’s place were terrible, which was why I would receive frequent phone calls in the middle of the night. For some reason, whenever she was with me, she would fall into a mini coma, allowing her a full night of undisturbed sleep.

  At around one in the morning I was awoken by a sound that was not at all uncommon for the streets of Cross late at night. A burglar alarm. Unfortunately, it would go off for about a half hour to an hour before the police would even show up to to reset the system. They would call the owner of the victimized shop, hang around long enough to make it seem like they were gathering clues and doing actual investigative work and then leave the scene without ever giving the crime a second thought. I knew all too well the procedure, because Mama Mema’s experienced its fair share of break-ins. Thankfully Moxie was familiar with the sirens, as well and she didn’t even flinch in her sleep.

  Normally, I would simply ignore the alarms and resume my slumber. As long as it wasn’t coming from the downstairs, it did not involve me in any way. That night, though, I was compelled to investigate. I blamed it on the close proximity of the wailing siren and my incurable curiosity, but I am sure now there were other factors to blame.

  I snuck out of bed and quietly gathered my things.

  Luckily, most everything was in the canvas bag. I just needed my black work slacks, the turtleneck that Tom had so generously cleaned after I had drenched it in blood and the boots that were now part of a fake Halloween costume. The plank covering my entryway always creaked at its rusted hinges when opened, so I had to take caution when leaving. Moxie could sleep through alarms, barking dogs and just about anything else going on around her in the city, but any sign that I might be leaving her side would have her bolt right out of bed. It concerned me that she might wake up in my absence, so I scribbled a little note for her and left it at the foot of the doorway underneath my shoe..

  Pumpkin,

  Stay in bed. Be back soon.

  Love you.

  Daddy.

  It would get the point across. Hopefully she would not have to read it.

  The door was cooperative and I got out without a sound. Tiptoeing through the kitchen, the alarm got louder as I got closer. Looking through the glass on the front door I could see just how close the break-in was. The wailing siren was blasting out through the shattered shop window of Mr. Chin’s Dry Cleaning. Just as Mema had fallen victim to a few robberies in the past, Mr. Chin was a likely target for the criminals that ruled the night. That evening, I felt it was time to change all that.

  Upon further investigation, peering across the street, it was evident the hoodlums were still inside Mr. Chin’s. Behind the privacy of the cashier counter, I quickly changed into my gear. The boots, luckily, had the option of full laces or buckles alongside. The buckles made slipping in and out of them no effort at all. I hated the Kevlar vest and the way it constricted my movements, but I wasn’t willing to take any risks. With the bag slung over my shoulder, my arsenal of non-lethal friends was at the ready. I was in full fighting mode in less than a minute.

  To avoid the risk of being seen, I silently made my way to the street using the side entrance of Mama Mema’s, locking it behind me. It only took twenty long, quick strides to get me across the street. I immediately fell to the ground, hiding myself behind the three feet of brick that the storefront windows rested upon. The front door had been smashed and then unlocked from the inside. The person responsible was obviously not concerned with remaining inconspicuous. After poking my head up and scanning the shop, I saw it was clear to enter without detection. I pulled my signature glasses from the bag, slid them on and made my way through the shattered glass.

  Whoever had made themselves welcome into Mr. Chin’s establishment after hours was in the office, loudly cursing the strength and weight of the safe. Careful not to make any noise, I slipped through the hundreds of garments wrapped in plastic and hanging from the ceiling conveyors. It was becoming clear to me why Mr. Chin’s was such a hot spot for late night robberies. The visibility inside the shop was practically non-existent. All the clothes dangling from the tracks offered up plenty of hiding places in the event a police officer actually made it to the scene of the crime before the criminals were long gone. It was at the exact moment that I was pondering this, when I heard “What the fuck?” from behind a batch of clean shirts.

  Without a thought, I reached into the canvas bag and pulled out the baton as a dark figure jumped from the shadows with every intention of tackling me. While I could not make out my assailant’s features, it was obvious I was wrestling a teenage boy or a very small man. Regardless of age and size, he had the element of surprise giving him the upper hand as we both hit the ground. Once we fell, however, I made sure to take control. Before I could even extract the metal wand from its handle, I clubbed the young attacker in the base of the neck. Aside from a grunt being forced through his lips, the strike had zero effect.

  “Willie! Get the fuck
out here!” The kid yelled over the wail of the alarm, as he tried to keep me down. Not only were these criminals young, but obviously very inexperienced. Using your real name or your accomplice’s during a job is a big no-no in the Street Thugging for Dummies handbook.

  After a second blunt attack to the skull, I followed it up with my left knee to the kid’s groin. It may not be the most admirable of choices, but it was certainly effective. The boy collapsed to the floor just as the office door flew open. Scrambling away, I rolled beneath the hanging garments, still allowing myself a view of the office, and Willie.

  Willie was definitely older, probably mid twenties. He had a larger frame than the other kid, and from the look of his face, could handle himself better in a fight. He was a black man, using black in the most literal sense of the word. The light from the office seemed to just be absorbed into the darkness of his flesh. The features I could make out were not appealing, as it seemed every bit of his face had been beaten, battered or broken at some point or another. Between his bulbous, disfigured nose and his squinted swollen eyes, Willie looked like a boxer that just barely stepped out of the ring after getting his ass handed to him.

  “What the fuck you screamin’ bout, Damon?” Willie pushed the words out through pursed lips, barely audible behind the screaming siren.

  “That dude! He’s here!” The younger, momentarily incapacitated crook yelled back.

  “What dude? What the fuck you talkin’ about?” Willie obviously had no patience for any inconveniences.

  “The dude from TV. That freak! He’s here!” It was beginning to amaze me just how many of Cross’ criminals

  made it a point to watch the local news.

  “Well, where the fuck did he go?” Willie sprayed when he talked, as if every syllable was forced out through his rage.