by Cosca, Paul
GERRY: Don’t mind the shoes. I hate ‘em. Not those heels. Well, yes those heels, but I mean shoes in general. I grew up in the country, about four hours north of here, and I always loved summer because I’d go months without wearing shoes. They’re oppressive. And if there’s one thing I really can’t abide, it’s oppression.
Anyway, we’re not really talking about shoes. But we are talking about oppression, aren’t we? Aren’t we always? I’m glad you came to see me. You...probably read that article in Newsweek. Yeah, I know. But I was completely misrepresented there. Completely. I know the kind of point they were trying to make, but they were way off the mark on that.
There are those wackos out there who think that Enhanced people are above the rest of humanity. That's, and edit this how you need to, but that’s bullshit. And that kind of elitist attitude is completely against the movement. Completely. I don’t think Enhanced people should be treated better than anyone else. I don’t think they should be treated any differently at all. Put that in italics right there, because that’s what I mean. At. All. What I
want is for everyone to be on the same playing field. And that does not include special favors. We’re not fighting to give people special treatment. We’re fighting for equality. Polar opposites.
The first big legal landmark comes in 1964 in New York. Two small-time boxers get in the ring and one of them dies. Now, by that point they’ve been able to prove little shreds of connection between the RGR virus and Enhancements, but nothing really conclusive. That study came out that got a lot of press in the late 50s, but it wasn’t really a smoking gun. You know, it’s still early on. The technology is still new. But when this death happens, it catches a lot of papers. And the mayor starts putting pressure on the DA to bring up charges. The poor guy who did it really wasn’t responsible, but you’ve got to have answers, right? When someone dies, someone needs to answer for it.
So this DA gets a little creative. You have to do that sometimes. In order to make the law work around all the red tape it’s wrapped in, sometimes you have to think outside of the box. So instead of charging the boxer, this DA charges the United States Army.
Can you believe the balls on that guy? I’m surprised he didn’t break his kneecaps for all the brass he was carrying in his pants. The boxer tells them that he had fought in Korea and the government had given him some kind of injection to change him. So the DA files charges against the United States Army for manslaughter.
Naturally, the press just goes bananas on this. Never mind that this case doesn’t have a shot in hell of going anywhere. Never mind that. But it’s insane, and the press love that kind of insanity. It gets splashed on newspapers all over the country; they’re just eating it up. And somehow they find a judge who’s willing to have a hearing on it. Now this isn’t a trial, just a hearing, just to see if there is enough evidence to go to trial. This DA knows this thing is never going to trial, so he pulls out all the stops.
So this judge is taking a look at all the evidence. Witnesses are called. You’ve got military top brass who are issued subpoenas. It’s a circus, but it’s amazing. Because right there, with people sworn under oath and everything, you’ve got people from the army confirming that they gave the RGR virus to soldiers with the knowledge that some of them would become Enhanced. And now you’ve got documents in evidence that show strong links between it all. Proof. Legal, under oath kind of proof. Spectacular.
Of course, it never went to trial, but by that point everyone had forgotten that poor dead boxer anyway. For the Enhanced community, it was a huge success. But then...success can be a double edged sword. We won the battle, but we started losing the war. Right there. The first big defeat comes at the hands of The United States Boxing Commission. With all the new evidence coming to light, they hold a tribunal type thing and decided that this boxer having the virus is what ended up getting the other one killed. So they decided that no Enhanced boxers would be allowed to legally fight. Nowadays you’ve got all kinds of rules in all kinds of sports about it, but that’s where it started.
Now, you know, I’m not going to sit here and try to tell you I’m a fan of boxing. I have a tiny little apartment, I don’t eat meat, I don’t wear fur. I don’t dig boxing. But that’s not the point. The point is, nobody should have to face discrimination. One person, or one organization or whatever, should not be allowed to discriminate against anybody based on their age, their gender, their sexual orientation, or what virus may or may not flow through their blood. If they want to do away with the whole sport, then so be it, maybe. They can take their ball and go home. But they can’t tell Enhanced they can’t compete, just like they can’t tell black people they can’t compete. That, and again feel free to edit how you need to, is bullshit.
Now, I know what they say. “Safety concerns”. Having Enhanced people in the ring is a “Safety Concern”. Well you know what? Boxing is a
safety concern. That’s what I think. If you want to worry about safety in a sport where two people stand in a ring and hit each other until one of them falls down, well...you’ve got some weird priorities, you know? If you want to worry about safety, play tennis.
But tennis...oh man, don’t even get me started on tennis.
June 11th, 2000
Antoinette is out again, for the third night in a row. On the one hand, I’m incredibly proud of the progress she’s made. She’s gotten stronger. Faster. Smarter about the job, too. She’s really making a difference out there. She’s had to switch areas twice because her work has dried up in different neighborhoods as criminals avoid her usual haunts. But it also makes me nervous, because I’ve interviewed enough superheroes to know that every time she goes out there, it could be the time that she doesn’t come back. I spend these late nights transcribing tapes and doing research. Keeping my brain busy so I don’t worry about her. And really, I shouldn’t worry. We certainly aren’t beholden to one another. She is her own person. It’s easier to support her financially if she stays in the guest bedroom, but that’s it. That’s all there is.
It’s a quarter past one, and I’ve just poured myself a cup of tea when the phone rings. I drop the cup in my scramble to grab the phone. I don’t have to pick it up to know who’s calling. And I don’t have to hear the news to know it isn’t good.
I’ve dressed in as much black as I thought I could pull off without looking suspicious. Soon I’m standing on the roof of an apartment building in the Pilsen neighborhood. The lights of downtown glitter in the distance. Antoinette stands apart, near the edge of the roof. She asks me if I have my recorder. I do. She tells me to turn it on.
ANTOINETTE: One day, somebody’s going to read this and they’re gonna wonder if being a superhero is something they want to do. So...if they’re gonna hear all the rest, they need to hear this too. See, there’s a line. I’ve done a lot of stuff in my life, and I’m not proud of all of it, but I haven’t done too much that I couldn’t go back on later. There’s not too much in life that’s really...permanent. But there are lines, and when we cross those lines...whether or not we mean to or want to, we can’t go back. It’s done.
I’d been watching for him. I’d heard about him on the police scanner. Tall guy, mid-thirties, with a red ball cap and a heavy coat. There’d been reports of him touching girls. Not too aggressive, but he was handsy.
Copping feels on the bus. Hassling girls on the street. The cops...they’ll watch out for a guy like that, but they’re not going to go door-to-door looking for him. But I kept my eye open. That’s the job. Do what they can’t, you know?
I saw him at a bus stop. He was high. Twitchy. Two busses go by and he doesn’t get on either of ‘em. And then he went walking. I didn’t really know how I wanted to approach it. Yeah, a guy who gropes women on the bus is a creep, but it’s not a federal offense, either. You don’t break a guy’s arm because he’s a general pervert. I was hoping I could catch him doing something and put a scare into him. Get him to move on to somewhere else. I followed him for abou
t five blocks and then he and I both saw the same girl. College kid. Probably goes to UIC. In the wrong neighborhood. Out too late. She had headphones on and didn’t hear him coming. I don’t want to ever blame a victim but...smart girl rules. You gotta follow the smart girl rules.
I don’t know if he was feeling bold or what, but he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into a doorway. Scared the hell out of her, but I was the only one around to hear it. He was...pawing at her. Holding her down. Really touching her all over and trying to get at her clothes. He...this was going to get worse in a hurry. So I ran over and gave him a kick in the ribs. Hard as I could. He went down, and I was helping the girl up when he kicked at the back of my knee. It hurt. It...
She sighs deeply, running her gloved fingers through her hair.
If I was following the book...even if I was just following my own rules, I would have let him go. She was okay, I was okay, and he was running. But...pride, I guess. Stupid pride. He’d gotten the drop on me, and I was pissed about it. So I took off after him. It was stupid...but there you go.
Everything...everything about this was so stupid. I’m lucky I’m still breathing, stupid as I was tonight. He was already two blocks away, but I figured I’d catch up pretty quick. Cocky. I turned a corner just in time to see him going up a fire escape. Now...maybe this is just justification here, but I
felt like the last thing I wanted was for this guy to be crawling in someone’s window, so I went up after him. I feel like that was a good decision...but one good choice doesn’t cancel out all the bad ones, huh?
I get up here, and I don’t see him. I’ve got the baton out, got it charged. I’m ready for him. But I’m not. I was angry. My head was swimming and...goddamnit. Goddamnit. I was emotional, and that’s the last thing you need out here. I turn a corner and he was right where I expected, I just didn’t move fast enough. He hit me with something solid and I dropped the baton. I don’t know if he really knew what it was, but he got me in the neck and I went down.
I uh...you don’t have to hear this if you don’t want to. I mean...it’s important, but...
“Of course I do.” She gives me long, hard look, then turns to face the skyline.
I woke up and...shit. I woke up and he was on top of me. Trying to get at my clothes. Didn’t get very far, because I’ve got on three layers and bunch of straps and buckles. But there’s no question what the deal was. No fucking question.
He wasn’t paying attention, so it was my turn to get the drop on him. Groin strike. Neck strike. A thumb in his eye. Now I was on top of him, and striking him. Striking his face. His neck. I saw the chance to end it...end him, but I stopped. I stood up, zipped up my clothes, and started to walk away.
I...I don’t know why he did what he did. I don’t know if it was desperation or frustration or...a guy like that, who is so used to having power over women, what must it have been like to really be taken down by one?
She leads me over to the other end of the roof. As I get close, the shadows shift and I can see a dark figure sprawled out at our feet.
I was about to go back down when I heard him. Sounded like...when I was little I had this nightmare once and awhile about the boogie man. I’d always picture him covered in blood, moaning and shambling down the
hallway like something out of an old movie. That’s what he was like. He was running for me. And when he got close, I did what my instincts told me to do. I tripped up his feet and pushed him hard. His head hit the raised edge and he was dead before he landed, I think. I hope.
I don’t, uh...I know what he was going to do, and I know I’m going to have to deal with that at some point. But I can’t do that right now. So...you’re going to worry about it. I get that. But that’s not the thing for tonight. This...fuck. Look at him. He doesn’t look like much. Looks like a shadow. But...that shadow was a person. Good or bad, he was a person. Years ago there was probably a mother somewhere who cried when she first saw him because she was so happy. Maybe...maybe there were lovers. Friends. Maybe nobody will care about him tomorrow, but I bet someone did once. He...yeah, I’m not gonna try and say...I mean, he was a piece of shit. Obviously. But now I’ve got no choice but to remember that piece of shit for the rest of my life. Because whatever he was, he made me cross a line tonight. And now that I’m on the other side...I don’t know. I can’t get it back. Whatever it was that I just lost, I can’t get it back. I can’t.
MY HISTORY/YOUR HISTORY
July 16th, 1998
Today I am in one of the most unique places in the country. If Michigan is a mitten, then I am just above the first and second finger. On a little speck of mitten-lint, perhaps. Mackinac Island is a tiny patch of land best known for two things: The Grand Hotel, and a city ordinance that prohibits the use of most motor vehicles. Consequently, I’ve never been quite so close to a horse as I am today, riding in a carriage toward my destination. The tourist in me was hoping we’d meet at The Grand Hotel, but the lakeside hotel I end up at is truly lovely. It’s a hip, lively place called The Pink Pony. And here, holding a glass of dark red wine, is my interview subject for the day.
He looks like a picturesque grandfather. He is, in fact, grandfather to seven lovely children (he happily shows me the pictures in his wallet). He has kind eyes and a downright infectious laugh. In the middle of him telling a joke, I have to stop myself and take stock. I’m supposed to be objective, but I’m struggling. This isn’t just some kindly older man. This is a man who was part of a group that left a scar on our nation. A scar that, for many, still has not healed. Many have called this group monsters. And I don’t know that they’re wrong. The term “Cadillac Boys” has become synonymous with any violent collection of people (and is a term often thrown around by anti-Enhanced groups). He’s asked that I not use his real name, so here he is “Stanley”.
STANLEY: Are you a fan of red wine? I sincerely love a good red. Though, if I’m nice and honest here, I only really drink red when I’m feeling like a wine snob. Back in the day, I got started on terrible white wines. Wine coolers, basically. And I’ll still drink a Zinfandel from time to time. Tasty stuff. But if I’m just drinking by myself, I’ll probably have a glass of blush. Nothing makes you feel like a man like a glass full of pink stuff, right?
That laugh again. Infectious.
Anyway, if you’re a fan of red, you’ve got to try...this one.
He points to a spot on the menu.
In fact, I’m just going to get a bottle over here. Trust me, you’ll love
it. I’ve been coming to this restaurant for years, and you can always find the best wines here. I know, everyone wants to go to the Grand. But leave that to the tourists, if you ask me. If you want to eat like a local, you come here.
He calls the waitress over and orders the bottle. They laugh together like old friends. I’m still fighting the urge to warm up to him.
I see it. That look you’ve got there. It’s okay. I understand it, I do. Why do you think I don’t go around telling everyone about my past? I’m no idiot. I’ve read the same history books that you have. I know what kind of reputation exists out there for The Cadillac Boys. Maybe some people have forgotten about it, but I’m not foolish enough to think it will ever go away. I’ve got a big family now; a whole other kind of legacy. And what I don’t want written on my tombstone is “Nice guy, except for all those people he maybe murdered”. And for the record, I didn’t. I guess you’ll believe what you want, but I swear to you I didn’t do that.
Our bottle arrives. It really is a delicious glass of wine.
Obviously, the way we’ve been shown in history is pretty atrocious. But I think that’s because we never had the opportunity to show our side of the story. There were good things that came before all that awful mess, but who would ever want to listen to us? We really weren’t just the boogeymen, or anything like that. We started with a firm code of ethics. We had principles. Principles that I still hold to. This wasn’t a bunch of bad guys coming together and being bad. This was...a
bsolute power corrupts absolutely. You’ve heard that? If there are heroes out there who can do all that without any twinge of that...power, well then God bless ‘em. Really.
There were seven of us, and we looked at that like a real lucky number. Henry brought us all together. He’d known us all, though we didn’t know each other. And it really was a wonderful thing, being with a group of people that had so much in common. We could understand each other. We had similar backgrounds...we’d been through similar hardships. We knew each
other, even before we really did. We had an understanding that I’ve never found since.
Henry had the idea of coming together as a team. And being a team was really important. Henry figured, and I still agree to this day, that a superhero working alone...it’s little better than being a mercenary. Even if they’re not getting paid in money, it’s glory. Someone like that...it just feels completely self-serving. Some of those guys don’t really care about the public. They don’t care about the people. But when you’re a group, you set aside your individual identities and work for the better of the group. That kind of group can really serve the people.
The Cadillac thing was kind of a fluke, really. We had a guy with us named Flint, like the town, and he was huge. If we were going to ride together, we needed a vehicle that could fit him somewhere. My dad owned a Cadillac dealership in Detroit, so that’s what we went with. My dad...I don’t know if he ever felt good about me being a hero. But he knew I wasn’t going to sell cars, so I think he did his best to be supportive. It’s what you do for your kids. He gave us a couple of junkers to get us started. Henry put a nice black paint job on them, and though we had a hell of a time keeping them running, they really made us look like a team.