Memoirs Of An Antihero

by Drew Blank

  “What guy were you talking about? What’s going on?” Phil was concerned and trying his best to be compassionate, while still digging for information.

  “Blueboy. She’s turning me in to Carver for a reward.” I lifted my head to look Phil in the eyes, as my bottom lip quaked uncontrollably. “He’ll fucking kill Moxie. How does that stupid fucking bitch not realize that?” I pounded my fists on the floor until they throbbed with pain. Phil awkwardly patted my shoulder as sobs forced my body to convulse.

  “She’ll be all right.” Phil’s tone was genuine as he consoled me. “We’re going to find her.”

  Before I could respond to Phil’s uncharacteristic tenderness, we were interrupted by a thunderous crash from outside.

  “What the hell?” Phil tried to regain his footing after being knocked off kilter by the explosion that shook the entire apartment.

  “I have no fucking idea,” I said as I got to my feet and ran to Phil’s bedroom to get a view of the outside. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ! You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I exclaimed, wiping the tears from my eyes.

  “What is it?” Phil yelled from the hallway as he made his way in. I did not know how to describe the scene before me without sounding like I was pulling the visuals straight from a cartoon. A Ford Taurus across the street was the source of the initial explosion, evident by the flames engulfing its metal frame. However, the blazing sedan was not the most unusual thing about what was unfolding before my eyes.

  Rolling down the middle of Byrne Avenue at a snail’s pace was a bright yellow school bus. It was not the bus that concerned me as much as its passengers who were spilling out onto the street. The bus was filled to capacity with men donned in all black. As they poured off the bus, I could make out their black pants tucked into combat boots, accompanied by black turtlenecks and matching black bomber jackets. They were a menacing crowd, for sure. If they hadn’t been piled into a canary yellow school bus, one would assume this was a military emergency. The detail that really made it clear these soldiers were not there on a mission of good was the fact that each man had his face colored. Some were made up with blue paint, while the others were yellow. Another indicator of the busload’s malicious intent was the fact that each was armed with an assortment of weapons ranging from chains and crowbars to baseball bats and two by fours. This, I could only assume, was Blueboy’s army. His soldiers were flooding the street, haphazardly destroying anything that got in their way. They seemed to have no purpose other than to cause mayhem. They were looting. They were setting fires. They were terrorizing and beating passers by. They seemed to have no agenda but to strike fear into the people of Byrne Avenue.

  Jim and Phil were both looking over my shoulders, trying to get a glimpse of the insanity.

  “I thought you said Reggie hadn’t told Carver yet,” Jim was the first to speak.

  “I…I was pretty sure she hadn’t,” I stammered in response.

  “Well, I will give him this. Carver certainly works fast,” Jim observed.

  “I don’t think Reggie has anything to do with this.” Phil took a step back to process the situation.

  “Well, he obviously knows where to find me!” I pointed out the window. “This isn’t just a coincidence!”

  “No, it’s not. But I don’t think he knows who you are.” Phil was piecing his theory together for us. “Remember the night you met him he was asking you about the Mr. Chin’s incident?”

  “Ummm…yeah,” I said, unable to follow Phil’s train of thought.

  “He was asking how you happened to be in the right place at the right time,” Phil reminded me of the first conversation I had with Carver. “He’s calling you out.”

  “Calling me out? For what?” I felt stupid, but it wasn’t making sense to me. My mind was still focused on Moxie.

  “My guess is, he assumes this is where he can find The Freak,” Phil explained, “and he is calling out the hero.”

  “No fucking way! This kid is seriously deranged!” I knew what Phil was saying made sense, but I couldn’t believe it. “So, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “I have no idea.” Phil shook his head. “I guess that’s up to you. Do you want to be a hero?”

  “No! I thought I made that clear. I am in no mood to play this game.” I was very much regretting not killing Carver when I had the chance. “Besides, if I come out now he will know this is where to find me. I can’t feed his fire. If he keeps trying and I don’t respond he’s got to give up.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to give up until he gets what he wants,” Phil said solemnly.

  “Well, I can’t take on an entire army. I’ve gotta sit this one out and let the cops take care of it.”

  “The police won’t be here for at least a half hour. You know that.” It almost seemed as if Phil was trying to convince me to do something.

  I had made up my mind to stay right where I was until a single word escaped my lips. “Mema.”

  “What?” Phil was distracted again by the chaos outside.

  “Mema. I can’t let those fucking psychos get to her.” I was immediately panicked as I imagined what Blueboy’s cronies could do to Mema and her restaurant. “I need to get there first.”

  “Well, what do you suggest? It’s not like they have a path formed for you.” Phil waved his hand toward the window. “If you go down there, you’re fighting.”

  “Guys, have you noticed something weird about all of Blueboy’s soldiers?” Jim was now peering through the window, examining the scene.

  “I’ve noticed a lot of weird things down there, James. Where would you like to start?” Phil said impatiently.

  “Well, for starters, they are all carrying weapons of some sort, but no guns. Why do you think that is?” Jim pondered.

  “Wow. I hadn’t noticed. That is odd,” I agreed with Jim, not sure what to make of his realization.

  “It makes sense,” Phil reasoned. “Blueboy organized this to draw you out into the open. He wasn’t trying to start some huge slaughter fest. Guns would have made everything too messy”

  “Wow. You’re pretty good at this, Philsie.” I patted Phil on the back, impressed with his logic.

  “So, does The Freak still have a strict no guns policy?” Phil looked at me with all seriousness.

  “He would prefer to keep the policy, yes,” I informed him. “Why?”

  “Well, it really doesn’t matter, because The Freak isn’t going to try to storm the bus.” Phil’s mouth couldn’t help but turn up in a devious smile. “Two ordinary Joes packing a shitload of guns are.”

  “Wait. What?” He obviously had a plan and I needed

  clarification.

  “Look, if you want to save Mema but you don’t want to be a hero, we need to make a compromise. Get in your suit. I know what I’m doing.” As he spoke he was rummaging through his closet, throwing an assortment of guns onto the bed behind him.

  “Hold on. I’m…” My hesitation was not met with approval.

  “Get in your goddamn suit!” Phil yelled with a finger pointed in my direction.

  “Yes sir!” I sprinted for the main room to retrieve my uniform and then headed to the bathroom.

  “And don’t worry about the gloves, goggles or wig!” Phil yelled to me through the bathroom door.

  Once in my fighting gear I found Phil and Jim had migrated to the main room, readying Phil’s plan of attack.

  “Put this stuff on over your suit.” Phil tossed a wad of clothing at me without looking up from the arsenal he was readying. The mound of clothes consisted of a gray hooded sweatshirt, black sweatpants and a plaid flannel shirt. “You’ll have the uniform’s protection, but the clothes should make you look a bit bulkier and unrecognizable as The Freak.”

  “Should I be concerned that there is actually workout attire in this house?” I joked as I pulled the sweatshirt over my head. “And flannel, Phil? Really?”

  “If you must know, that is what I sleep in on cold nights.” Phil def
ended his less than fabulous wardrobe, still not looking up.

  “Stellar evening wear.” I pulled the sweatpants over my leather boots. “Feels good to get into your PJ bottoms.”

  “That’s the closest you are ever gonna get,” he replied humorlessly. “Here. Hold these.” He handed me a 9mm handgun and something that looked like a semi-automatic of some sort.

  “Will you please tell me what your plan is?” I pleaded.

  “It’s simple. You and I are going to jump on the bus, eliminate the driver and take it to Mema’s. If anybody messes with us, we blow their fucking heads off.” As Phil spoke, he strapped the Kevlar vest Tom had given me around his torso. It was a very snug fit, but it would keep him relatively safe.

  “No way, man!” I objected. “I can’t let you do that. This is my fight. I won’t let you get killed over this.”

  “Drew, if anything happens to Mema or, more importantly, her Stromboli, there is no sense in living another day. You have your reasons for being a hero, I have mine.” He cocked a shotgun to emphasize his point. “This is not up for discussion. Jim, you stay here and guard the apartment. We can’t let any of those psychos find this place. When we leave, push the desk in front of the door. If anyone so much as knocks, you shoot. I’m wearing the two-way, so if you need anything, I’ll be listening. Got it?” I never heard Phil use so much authority. I had to admit, it worked for him.

  “Consider it handled,” Jim said.

  “Let’s do it then,” I complied. “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” Phil looked at me and smiled as he threw open the door and jogged down the stairs with me in tow.

  “Let me ask you something.” He paused for a moment before we went through the main exit.

  “What’s up?” I asked anxiously.

  “Are you really not scared at all in these situations?” I was sort of hoping his inquiry was a sign he wanted to back out.

  “Never. I think I’m just too dumb to be scared,” I answered honestly. “Why? Are you?”

  “Shitless.” He chuckled nervously. “But it’s too late for that.” With no notice he flung open the exit and ran over the threshold, shotgun and pistol leading the way.

  The scene looked far worse from street level. Cars were ablaze, windows smashed everywhere and people not quick enough to find refuge were lying on the concrete in pools of blood. Nobody looked fatally wounded, but the County Hospital’s ER was going to be a busy place that night. Most of the action had dissipated away from our end of the street as the attackers followed the slow pace of the bus down Byrne Avenue.

  “I didn’t think the bus would have made it this far already,” Phil huffed as we raced down the asphalt. “Remind me to do something when all this is over.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked, far less winded than my good friend.

  “Never to run again. This is fucking bullshit.” He wheezed with laughter as we came up on the throng of deviants.

  “I thought you were going to say you should get in better shape,” I nudged him as we ran.

  “Fuck you. Let’s get that bus.” He pulled ahead of me, ready for action.

  A few of the stragglers hanging behind the bus noticed our presence right away.

  “Don’t shoot unless you absolutely have to!” I yelled to Phil as the gap between us grew. “It’ll just take one gunshot for us to be swarmed by these assholes.”

  “You got it!” Phil said as he ran up on one of Blueboy’s hooligans. The thug was brandishing an aluminum baseball bat, pulled back and ready to swing. Without hesitation, Phil lifted the shotgun and thrust its stock directly into his aggressor’s nose. With little surprise, Phil’s opponent immediately fell to the ground.

  “Wow!” Phil exclaimed. “That was fun. I could really get into this.” We made our way to the entrance side of the bus without catching any of the hooligans’ eyes. It seemed Blueboy’s army was not trained for much other than causing chaos and mayhem. They were an easy bunch to sneak up on and infiltrate.

  The bus was idling along slower than our jog, allowing us time to survey the interior for passengers.

  “You see anybody?” Phil asked as I hopped up to peer into a window.

  “Nobody but the driver. He shouldn’t be a problem,” I told him. “I’ll get on first. Follow me and cover my back.” I motioned to the door as we picked up our pace.

  “Where ya headed?” I asked the driver while jumping onto the steps.

  “Who the fuck are you?” He pointed a box cutter at me as he kept one hand on the wheel. It didn’t seem Blueboy had put much effort into arming his troops.

  “I’m the guy with a big fucking gun pointed at your head.” I held the semi-automatic out as I advanced the steps, allowing Phil room to get aboard. “Nice to meetcha.”

  “Whoa! Buddy, I don’t want any trouble.” The driver dropped his inferior weapon and put his free hand in the air. There was fear in his yellow painted face.

  “Gee. That was easy,” I yelled back to Phil without taking my eyes off the man driving the bus.

  “Well ya better hurry it up. We are starting to draw some attention,” Phil warned me as he raised his guns to an advancing throng.

  “Get the fuck out of the chair, asshole!” I threatened the driver with my firepower. The bus idled even slower once the yellow-faced man left his spot. Grabbing him by the collar, I threw him down the steps past Phil and into his oncoming cohorts.

  “Ready to go for a ride?” I saddled up into the driver’s seat and stepped on the gas.

  “Something just occurred to me!” Phil yelled, bracing himself in the doorway.

  “What’s that?” I hollered back.

  “Have you ever been inside a school bus before?” He yelled over his shoulder.

  “No. Do they all normally smell like bologna and sweat?” I answered.

  “Yeah. Pretty much.” Phil chuckled as we began to barrel down the street. We left the majority of the horde behind us, but there were plenty of brazen soldiers that found their way further down Byrne Avenue without cover of the bus. To say I was deliberately hitting any of Blueboy’s men would be a lie, but I certainly was not making an effort to miss them as we raced down the street, either.

  Upon reaching Mama Mema’s, I vastly overestimated the bus’ braking capabilities. At the speed we were traveling, the bus had no desire to stop as quickly as I had planned. Instinctively, I cut the wheel sharply to the left in hopes of slowing our advance. The bus swung around, causing the rear tires to release a deafening screech and forcing Phil to frantically clutch to the entryway for support. We skidded past the restaurant almost hopping on what seemed like two of the four tires.

  “Holy shit!” Phil screamed in a panic. Aware that he was in danger of flying out altogether, I reached down to grab him, leaving me with only one hand on the steering wheel to fight the bucking bus.

  “Gotcha!” I yelled as I got hold of his shirt. The bus finally came to a stop, albeit facing the exact opposite direction we had originally been heading. Phil took a step back and gave himself a moment to catch his breath and regain his bearings.

  “Piss yourself?” I asked, hoping to make light of what could have turned into a much more disastrous situation.

  “Close. Just let me…” Before he could finish, three of Carver’s thugs stormed the entrance to the bus. One grabbed Phil and threw him to the ground, while the other two made their way toward me behind the steering wheel. Leaping over the back of the chair, I readied myself, semi-auto in my right hand, 9mm in the left.

  “Gentlemen,” I addressed my unwanted passengers. “This is where I would normally say something corny about this being your stop or how this is the end of the line. But I just don’t have time today.” They looked at me confused as I aimed my guns downward.

  “So, I’ll leave you with this.” I pulled the triggers on my weapons and sent bullets sailing into the duo’s feet. “Hope you enjoyed the ride.” As much as it went against my credo, I knew Phil was in trouble and I
did not have time to mess with a hand-to-hand brawl. I justified my lapse in policy on the fact that I was not in my Freak gear. It was more of a guideline than a rule, anyway. As the two fell to the ground wailing, I jumped over them and sailed down the steps leading outside.

  “Hey!” I yelled to the thug hovering over Phil, about to come down with a blow from the crowbar he was toting. Surprised, the blue-faced minion turned for half a second to assess the situation and see who was yelling at him. That was all the time Phil needed to lift his gun and deliver a bullet into the guy’s thigh at point blank range.

  “Made ya look,” I laughed as I wrapped my arm around the thug’s throat and pulled him backwards to the ground. A few kicks to the groin and one to the jaw left him incapacitated.

  “You okay?” I asked Phil, my hand extended to help lift him up.

  “Just a bit banged up. I’ll live.” He got to his feet and brushed himself off.

  “Well, it ain’t over yet,” I observed. The windows of Mama Mema’s were smashed, making it virtually impossible to decipher what was happening inside, but the shattered glass was not a good sign. I sprinted to the entrance, a rapidly tiring Phil behind me.

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  The bell over the door chimed as I kicked my way into the restaurant, alerting the four members of Blueboy’s army that were already inside. They were formed in a half circle, blocking any entrance or view to the kitchen. Mema was completely out of sight from the front door, but by the ominous way the four lackeys were crowding the kitchen, I knew where she was. I was immediately flooded with memories of Donnelly House and the day I stormed into the women’s room to find Luiz and his gang surrounding Mema on the floor. Phil was a few paces behind me, but I could not wait for him.

  I charged the dining room, getting a clear view of the kitchen. Mr. Chin was there, wildly swinging a large kitchen knife towards his would-be attackers. He appeared unharmed and seemed to be protecting Mema, who was unconscious behind him, bleeding on the tile floor. For a frail Asian man in his sixties, Mr. Chin was certainly holding his own against Blueboy’s minions. There was no doubt he would stab every one of them to protect Mema.