Memoirs Of An Antihero

by Drew Blank

  “Probably shoulda used your gun,” I said as I pulled back and swung the bat directly into the Latino giant’s skull. No matter how big you are, be it fat or muscle, a baseball bat to the head is always going to hurt. In his case, it was near fatal. The big Mexican collapsed again, this time with no hope of getting up any time soon.

  “Fellas?” I addressed the two weakest links of Benji Carver’s criminal cadre. “There’s no shame in running.”

  “Eat shit, faggot!” The little Asian was more tenacious than I had suspected. With gun drawn, he was obviously looking for a chance to get back at me for interrupting his trip to the restroom. The college kid couldn’t have looked more confused or scared, but he did not run. He stood next to the Asian guy with his gun out but not drawn. “Not so funny now, are you, homo?”

  “Faggot? Homo? Is it the codpiece? I knew it was sending out the wrong signal.” I threw the bat in the tiny Asian guy’s direction, causing him to leap out of the way and instinctively pull the trigger of the gun. A bullet sailed past the college kid, almost immediately making him turn white. He was obviously not cut out for this part of the drug selling lifestyle.

  Giving the little Asian kid no time to regain his stance, I dove forward and wrapped my left glove around his ankle, pulling us both to the ground. Unfortunately, I had miscalculated the situation and had not noticed he managed to keep hold of his gun. It became clear when I looked up and saw the barrel pointed at my head.

  “See ya, Freak,” the Asian guy hissed, ready to blow my brains out. I had no time to make a quip or point out that his pants smelled suspiciously of urine. It seemed interrupting his trip to the potty, then scaring him senseless caused a bit of an accident. As much as I would have loved to point that fact out, I needed to act fast. Raising my right hand in the air, I flashed the devil horns and triggered the electric spark.

  “What the…?” I gave him no time to finish the thought as I stabbed the prongs into his leg. The small Asian’s body shook violently as a million volts coursed through his system.

  “There. Now you can blame pissing your pants on that,” I said helpfully as I pulled myself to my feet.

  “F-f-fuck…you…ass…hole…” Even after being beaten, slightly charred and covered in urine, he still kept going.

  “I’ve learned my lesson about leaving you guys conscious. Sorry ‘bout this.” A quick punch to the head finished off the little Asian guy, finally.

  “All right kid, last chance to run.” I advanced on the college kid hoping I wasn’t going to have to beat him senseless. He was obviously in over his head and maybe this was a wakeup call to the dangerous business he had gotten himself into.

  “Ummm…” Without another sound he turned to the door, grabbing a black duffel bag that was on the floor where he had been sitting before I barged in.

  “Not so fast, handsome.” I continued my advance. “I believe that’s mine.” The kid didn’t even show a moment’s hesitation as he dropped the bag and ran for the door empty-handed.

  “Say ‘hi’ to the kids back at the dorm for me!” I yelled after him as the door slammed shut.

  “Well, I think I managed to not kill anybody. So that’s pretty good, huh?” I said to the friends keeping track of me back at Freak HQ.

  You still have a lurker hanging out by the bedroom door, Drew. Phil reminded me of the last person standing in the house.

  “All right Carver! You can come out now!” I hollered into the next room while gathering up the various bags and cases that were strewn about the room amidst the bodies.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  The door to the side bedroom creaked open as a figure stepped out from the shadows, slowly applauding.

  “Very impressive.” It was the serene and almost ghostlike voice I had heard on Mouse’s messages. It was Benji Carver, in the flesh. The lights were off in the room he exited and the dimly lit hallway did not make seeing him any easier. He remained in the darkness as he spoke. “I have heard so much about you, Hero. I wanted to see you for myself. That’s why this little meeting was arranged. I knew you couldn’t resist.”

  “Yeah, well, who am I to turn down a good party?” As I spoke, I tried to get a good view of his face but it was shrouded in the dark. “I was a little let down by the lack of refreshments, though. After all that fighting I’m parched and you’ve got no punch or soda to quench my thirst. You may want to brush up on your hosting skills, Benji.”

  “I see you’ve done just as much research on me as I have on you.” He began to move forward, almost gliding as he spoke. “I appreciate an educated adversary.”

  “I wouldn’t really call me an adversary,” I said, letting out more of my real voice than I should have. “I’m more of an opportunist.”

  “I find that hard to believe, Hero.” As if he had meticulously planned the lighting’s dramatic effects, he stopped just short of revealing his face to me. His thin frame was dressed in a tight black turtleneck and comfortably loose black slacks. If he weren’t wearing black gloves, he would have looked like a sixties-style beatnik. The gloves just made him look like a cat burglar. “I think there is a lot more to you than you let on.” His voice was the most audible whisper I had ever heard.

  “Not really, Ben,” I told him. “What you see is what

  you get.”

  “Please. I think we are past using the Benji Carver moniker, don’t you?” This statement confused me. Did he think I knew who he really was? Should I just play dumb until he slips up and lets me know? What else was I supposed to call him? Phil was obviously not as confused.

  Oh Geez. Here it comes. I heard through my ear piece.

  “I’ve evolved,” he stepped into the illumination of the main room “I’m Blueboy now.” Just as his namesake had done on Dragnet, Benji Carver painted his face; one side blue, one side yellow. On the TV show it looked kind of silly. In real life, it looked absolutely ridiculous. I immediately broke out in laughter at the sight of him.

  “Are you serious with this?” I pushed the words out through my guffaws. “I mean, c’mon. What are you thinking?”

  “My identity is very important to who I am. I rely on complete anonymity.” He did not seem phased by my mockery and continued speaking. “I am sure you, of all people, can understand that, Hero.”

  “Yeah, but you look like a crazy sports fan,” I joked. “I expect you to rip off your shirt and have a big letter painted on your chest. Maybe put on one of those beer helmets.”

  Tell him he looks like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, Twisty giggled into my ear.

  “May I point out, kind sir, that you are wearing a rubber bike messenger’s outfit with opera gloves and sunglasses reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” Benji’s tone did not change, but he was obviously a little defensive.

  He does have ya there. Twisty again piped up.

  “Okay. You win. We both look silly. But the difference is, I am walking out with all your cash.” I lifted the duffels and attaches up in my arms to illustrate my point.

  “Is that what this is all about? Money?” Carver seemed almost confused, as his smooth voice actually elevated slightly.

  “Yeah. I told you I’m no hero. If you wanna be someone’s super villain, you have the wrong guy, Benji.”

  “So, you’re just going to walk out of here?” Our first meeting didn’t seem to be going as Carver had planned.

  “As long as you don’t get in my way,” I said honestly.

  “I guess I had you figured all wrong.” He shook his head in disappointment. “You are just like these reprobates.” He surveyed the room with his hand, pointing out his fallen soldiers.

  “Reprobates? They seem pretty loyal to you.” I made the observation that his cronies were obviously willing to put their lives on the line for something that night. Whether it was self-preservation, pride or loyalty I was not sure, but something convinced the four men lying on the floor to stay and fight.

  “Who? Them?” Before I could react in any wa
y other than shock, Carver calmly pulled a revolver from the back of his pants and sent four bullets whizzing through the room. After a quick glance, I saw that each of the criminals had been shot directly in the head.

  Holy fucking shit! It was as if Phil was narrating my thoughts. Up to that point, I thought Carver was just another loser drug dealer. It took four remarkably well-placed bullets to show me otherwise.

  “I’m gonna get blamed for that, you know,” I said, trying to laugh away what I had just witnessed.

  “You’re already wanted for murder. What’s a few more counts?” That was Carver’s attempt at levity. It worried me that only after killing four of his own people did he truly seem relaxed.

  “I suppose you’re right. So, are you actually going to try and stop me with that gun?” For some reason, I didn’t feel

  like Carver had any intention of harming me.

  “I saw what you did to these gentlemen. I would be foolish to think I could take you down all by myself. It’s only money.” He returned the gun to the back of his slacks, then ran his hand through his floppy, sandy blond hair.

  “Only money?” I repeated, making my confusion apparent. “Isn’t that what this is all about?”

  Carver sighed, as if searching for his words carefully. “Money has never been an issue for me. This was never about monetary gain.” He paced closer towards me, fully entering the main room. “This used to be exciting. But lately, it’s just not what it once was.” He actually allowed his rigid frame to relax a little as he leaned forward, bracing his hands against one of the tacky family room chairs. “I was hoping you were going to be a breath of fresh air in this mundane world.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, man. I’m just an entrepreneur.” I shrugged as I headed for the door, arms loaded with cash.

  “That’s not what the papers said about the incident at the drycleaners.” He was determined to get what he wanted from me. I turned back around to briefly address his argument.

  “The drycleaners was a one time thing. I tried on the hero cape and it just wasn’t a good fit. So, as long as you don’t get in my way, you are free to go about your business. Just know I will always be there to fuck shit up if there is a decent payday in it for me.” I felt it was necessary to let Carver know I had no interest in turning this into some sick game. This was my business. Pure and simple.

  “I think you’ve just lacked the proper motivation.” He flashed me the closest thing I had seen to a smile on his painted face.

  “Whatever. I’m out of here, unless you would prefer I stick around to beat you senseless.” I said, again heading for the door.

  “No. I don’t believe that will be necessary,” he politely declined my offer. “But I appreciate you giving me the opportunity.”

  “Don’t mention it,” I said, reaching for the doorknob.

  “One more thing.” He certainly loved to hear himself talk. “The dry cleaner. How did you just happen to be there during the robbery?”

  “I guess I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  “Hmmm…” He stroked his chin in an exaggerated attempt to appear pensive. “Curious.”

  “Yeah. Uh huh. Look, Benji, I’ll see ya.” I nodded my head in Carver’s direction as I crossed the threshold with bags full of his money.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Hero.”

  What about all the product? Phil asked as I made my way down the front stoop. You’re leaving him with a house full of drugs.

  “I didn’t want to push my luck. Enough people died tonight,” I explained my thinking. “It just means he can sell it again and I’ll be there to clean up the profits. I’m comin’ home, guys.”

  I found my way to the Grand Marquis, stripped off all my headgear and headed back to Phil and Jim’s place.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  $97,465.

  That number raced through my head the next morning as I lay in bed, well rested after a busy night’s work. Twisty’s voice kept repeating the figure in my mind as I recalled her sitting at the table in the apartment, separating and counting my haul from the previous evening. We made almost one hundred thousand dollars in less than two hours. There was no telling what Moxie’s medical bills would come to, but I was pretty sure the money we had made so far would at least take care of a good chunk, if not all of it. For the first time in weeks, I was truly relaxed. It seemed everything was going to be all right. Unfortunately, good feelings can never last forever. Or in my case, they can barely last an hour. Forcing me to shake the euphoric daze I was experiencing, my phone rang. It was Tom.

  “Mornin’, Orphan. Good job makin’ the news again.” He barely gave me the opportunity to say hello.

  “Wow. That was fast. I wanna tell you right off the bat, Tom, I didn’t kill anyone last night.” I wasn’t sure what the news was saying, but as I told Carver, I knew I was going to be blamed.

  “Well, that’s not what the news is telling us.” Tom confirmed my suspicions, “and the video footage is pretty incriminating.”

  “What video footage?” It was too early for me to process all the info Tom was throwing at me.

  “Someone caught you in action. It’s all over the news and the Internet. They are calling the person an anonymous source,” he informed me.

  “Tom, I gotta call you back.” I immediately hung up the phone, threw on my dirty clothes from the day before and ran downstairs. I had no TV in my room, but Mema had a small one mounted to the wall of the dining room that was rarely ever turned on. From what Tom said, I gathered I would have no problem finding something on the news about my night’s activities.

  “Well, good morning sunshine.” Mema greeted me from the kitchen. I hadn’t even bothered to look at the time, but I should have figured she would already be hard at work prepping for the lunch rush. It would be difficult to frantically tune into the news to see the breaking story of a quadruple homicide without seeming at least a little conspicuous. I needed to find a TV or Internet connection somewhere.

  “Hey Mema,” I huffed, winded from stress. “Sorry I can’t hang out. Late for a meeting at work. Overslept.”

  “You? Oversleep? I can’t imagine,” Mema teased. “Have a good day, dear.”

  “You too.” I swept through the kitchen to give her a kiss on the cheek before bolting out the door.

  My bike trip to Phil and Jim’s was less than two minutes, but it seemed like forever. My legs could not pedal fast enough. The wheels had not even stopped turning when I leapt off the seat and had my finger on the intercom button.

  Who is it? I heard Phil’s voice chirp over the box, more abrasive than usual.

  “It’s Drew. Lemme in.” Before I finished, the buzzer was already unlatching the door for me.

  Phil was leaning out into the hallway, greeting me as I hit the stairs.

  “Holy shit, Drew! This is huge!” Cutting right to the chase, I knew I wouldn’t need to ask Phil if he had seen the news.

  “Tom told me they have video. I haven’t seen it yet. How is there…” Before I could finish, Phil was at his computer pulling up his media player.

  “Remember last night when I told you the thermals picked up someone in the other room and they were holding something? Well, I assumed it was a gun. I was wrong.” Phil hit play and began video playback. “It was a camera. Carver was filming the whole damn thing!” I pushed Phil and his wheeled computer chair out of the way so I could clearly see the monitor. It was a shot of the abandoned ranch home from the inside. Sitting on opposite couches were the big Mexican with the gangbanger and college boy sitting next to the guy in pinstripes. Randy was hunched over in a wooden chair, while the diminutive Asian kid was just stepping off screen to use the bathroom. Ten seconds passed before you saw me come into frame using the Asian kid as a human shield.

  “Ya know,” I began, trying to make light of the situation, “when you step back and look at it, that suit is pretty badass.”

  “Agreed. But I think you are overlooking the magnitude
of all this, Drew.” Phil was much more panicked than I was used to seeing him. At least I thought it was panic. Other than when he was being snide or perverted, Phil was hard to read. “This is huge.”

  “It doesn’t seem like too big a deal, honestly. So far I haven’t seen any clear shots of my face,” I observed. “If anything, you can only really focus in on the tattoos and they aren’t mine.”

  “I know!” Phil agreed. “That’s what makes this so huge! Now people know, without a doubt, that you are out there! It’s awesome!” I had misread Phil’s glee as panic.

  “So, wait. We want the world to know about me?” I was definitely confused.

  “Sure. Why not?” Phil’s eyes were wild as he spoke. “The more dealers in town that you can have scared of you, the easier your job will be. If you can have these guys dropping everything and high tailing it for the nearest exit like Randy did last night, you wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” I had to admit, Phil’s point was valid.

  “Of course, the police are pinning all four of the murders on you,” Jim spoke up from behind his computer desk. “The video ends before Carver comes in. They have officially dubbed ‘The Freak’ a serial killer on the news.”

  “Well, you can’t win ‘em all.” I shrugged. “I’m gonna have to get in touch with Dom and see what they have on this so far.

  “I’m sure he’s up to his elbows in shit right now.” Phil pointed out.

  “True. I almost feel bad for him,” I said. “So, why do you think Carver released that video, anyway?”

  “You heard him last night. He wants you to be a hero. He’s really hoping for a real life arch nemesis,” Phil theorized. “While the news is spreading the word of you being a serial killer, people are raving all over the internet about how you are some super vigilante. I guarantee this video is going to build you a rather sizable fan base. He wants you to be the hero, so when he comes out as the bad guy he can be seen as an evil mastermind, not just some two-bit criminal.”