Persona Non Grata: A Novel

by Grahame, D. C.

  John looked to Frank who laid unconscious near the impact area. Next to him laid several of Que Pasa’s bouncers, bloody and unconscious. Indy looked for Eva who climbed to her feet having almost been trampled on by the continuing exodus. John, in full-blown crisis mode, grabbed Indy’s arm.

  ‘Grab Eva and get out of here. I’ll get Frank!’ John ordered.

  ‘No, let me. You can’t be here.’ Indy countered, knowing full well if this were Kane, his thugs wouldn’t hold back on John this time.

  Like a heard of wildebeest, the club-goers threw one another to the ground to escape. John saw Eva desperately holding onto the bar. A vacuum of people pulling her toward the ground once more. John forced his way through the tide. Incapacitating a man who hindered his path to her.

  ‘Are you okay? Are you hurt?’ He asked, wrapping her arm around him.

  ‘I’m okay. Where is Indy?’

  ‘I told him to check on Frank. Let’s get you outside.’ John said, almost floating them both with the crowd’s undercurrent. As he turned to find Indy, he caught several of Molar’s thugs enter.

  Indy sprinted to his brother, tapping his face and checking for a pulse. Alive but semi-unconscious, Frank’s hand flailed as Indy gripped it tightly.

  ‘I’m here Frank. I’m here.’ He reiterated. Seeing Molar’s thugs arrive, Indy panicked for a brief moment before gathering himself. He grabbed the shoulders of Frank’s suit jacket and pulled his brother under a table of an enclosed booth. The thugs scanned the clearing club, admiring Goldmolar’s explosive work.

  ‘I can see why Molar’s been keeping hold of his grandad’s old grenades.’ One of them laughed.

  ‘God bless the IRA.’ Another thug concurred. Indy ran up the steps of the VIP area, careful not to grab their attention. Reaching Frank’s office, he ran through it and kicked open the second-floor fire exit. Grabbing a small bag he had kept hidden above it.

  Outside, John led Eva towards an emerging fire engine. Hearing police sirens some distance away.

  ‘Stay here and wait for the police. I need to get Indy.’ John stated, sprinting back to the club.

  The thugs began to ransack the venue, shattering every glass surface available. With one vandal about to hammer down on the DJ equipment. A colleague pulled him away, laughing that the tracklist was nothing more than a pre-mixed CD. And that even the DJ was taking Frank for a ride.

  ‘Let it play.’ another requested.

  ‘Indy!’ A man yelled from the fire exit corridor, causing the three men to look towards each other smiling. They recognised the voice.

  John moved through the back corridor, arriving at the dance-floor entry-way. Hoping to discover the twins in the derelict arena.

  With no time to react, a baseball bat swung its merciless way into his chest. The hit sending him flying back into the corridor. Crashing into the passageway’s wall. He fell on all fours, attempting to alleviate what felt like his lungs folding in half.

  ‘Oh look, Max, I think that’s John Vinyar having an asthma attack.’ one of the thugs commented.

  ‘Oh yes Billy, I think you’re right.’ Max, the batsman, agreed. John coughed violently. Unable to gather air or stifle the growing dull pain across his rib-cage.

  ‘It seems you didn’t get the hint that the boss wants you to leave.’ Billy, the giant Samoan explained, grabbing John and hurling him down the corridor.

  ‘I think we should explain it better Billy.’

  ‘I think you’re right Max. Let’s teach Mr Vinyar how to bid a fond farewell.’ They agreed, grasping John’s frame and launching it through a glass door. Crashing into a small stockroom. John lost control of his limbs as they clattered into anything and everything hard and metal. Dazed and broken, his face rested motionless against the metal counter. At peace for only a moment. He felt a hand rip into his back, before it tossed him aside a third time.

  ‘I think he’s done, Max.’

  ‘I think he is done, Billy.’ the thugs echoed each other as John crawled away down the corridor.

  ‘Where are you going Mr Vinyar?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Get him, we can wrap him up for Molar, put a little bow on his head.’ Max suggested as John reached the doorway of which he had previously met the baseball bat.

  ‘Come here sweetheart.’ Billy requested, making his way down the corridor. John still broken, rested by the door, awaiting his detention. With his end imminent, Hades from the door adjacent, suddenly made his entrance.

  The hallway’s residents froze, and time, for a brief moment, moved in slow motion. The music from the burning arena continued to roar. A heavy bass pulsated through the corridor, with a high rhythmic tempo that matched everyone’s increasingly rapid heartbeat. John had to double-take as he looked up at the matt-black armour and the skull-like mask. The dark figure looked down for a second before returning his gaze to the thugs.

  ‘It’s him.’ Max mumbled under his breath.

  ‘No shit.’ Billy commented, a tone far serious than previous.

  Showing little fright, he lumbered his obese physique down the corridor as Max followed hesitantly.

  Hades, now experienced in dealing with the plus-size thugs. Leapt from his stance. Sprinting and throwing himself into the passageway wall, spring-boarding off it into Billy’s side. Crashing down, he plastered his tasered fist into the man’s neck. Sending the big man’s body into spasm as they both fell to the ground. With his right glove needing a moment to recharge, Hades swung his left fist into the second thug’s leg. Max yelped in pain as an electric current sped up passed his hip and into his abdomen. Distracted by the contractions, he didn’t anticipate a rocketing uppercut that Hades sent his way. As Max’s feet left the floor for a half-second. The jiu-jitsu trained vigilante grabbed the man’s body, and brought it to the ground using an aggressive uchi mata throw.

  Taking a deserved breath, he examined both men as they laid paralysed on the floor. Walking over their bodies towards a speechless John. Indy behind the mask gathered himself, not wanting to give himself away.

  ‘You okay?’ Hades asked with the now-trademark reverberation. Continuing his path down the corridor to meet John. Before the bystander could speak or Indy could reach him. The door to the dancefloor opened once more, hitting John who laid within its radius. A curious and impatient Goldmolar walked in. Studying the floor space that hindered the door. Confused by the sight of a battered-up John.

  ‘Hello John, how are you?’ he casually enquired before looking up and down the corridor. The vigilante stared silently towards him. Molar could only look back giddy with excitement. ‘Oh yes.’ he murmured to himself, cerebrally rubbing his hands together. Hades stood stern, like a statue made of an abyss-stained marble. ‘You sir, have created quite a stir.’ Molar commented as Hades remained taciturn. Beneath the mask, Indy was petrified. ‘I must congratulate you on the theatricality of all... this’ Molar praised. Gesturing to the suit with his hands, ‘but this city can only have so many friendly faces. So I’m afraid one of us is gonna have to go.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Hades replied, knowing it to be a somewhat empty bluff. Molar smiled, wanting to hear nothing less.

  ‘Exquisite.’ Molar replied. ‘You want my throne? You’re going to have to take it sunshine.’ He explained, lifting his hand towards Hades, inviting him to contest. The masked Indy was nervous, but Molar’s arrogance left Hades unflinching. Just another criminal with no fear of consequence. Maybe it was time to install some.

  Indy felt his armoured legs move forward. He felt his semi-charged fists clench and electrify as his chest tightened and puffed out. The suit, the mask were driving now. Molar grinned at the pregame. He could see a defiant cosplayer ready to go. He stripped off his suit jacket and laid it neatly on the ground as Hades quickly swarmed towards him, throwing a wild punch. Molar ducked and dodged it. Sliding under and then behind Hades, continuing down the corridor to a terrain free of bodies. Hades rotated to face his calm, composed opponent. He opted to rebo
ot the wall-leaping move he had pulled off on Billy only a few moments ago. Goldmolar saw through the extravagance of the acrobatics, timing the descent to perfection. He caught Hades’ hooking arm and pulled it towards him. Countering with a jab that went straight into the mask which in turn collided bluntly into Indy’s nose, sending him crashing to the ground.

  ‘Teenage mutant ninja turtle, you honestly think that shit is going to work on me?’ Molar quipped, stretching out his fingers, his hand slightly numb from punching the mask.

  ‘No. But this might.’ Hades replied, from the ground. Pressing his electrified fist against Molar’s ankle. The Irishman dropped down to the ground in agony. Hades caught the descending fighter and quickly slid underneath him. Wrapping his legs around Molar’s torso. He then wrapped an arm around the back of the neck and underneath the jaw, forming a makeshift guillotine choke. Molar felt the back of his neck burn as the vigilante pulled the top of his head down.

  John sat up in pain, witnessing the struggle unfold. Shocked to see Molar in such submissive circumstances. Molar wiggled and wriggled until his legs worked themselves free. On his feet, he used all his surprising strength to lift Hades off the ground. Before slamming the figure back down to earth. With no padding on the rear of the suit, Hades rolled on the ground in pain. Molar casually stepped over him, stretching his hand out once more.

  ‘This is all very disappointing. I liked the eletro-glove-thing though.’ He noted, turning to see an astonished John still in recovery in the corner.

  To both the experienced fighters’ awe, Hades climbed back to his feet and Molar could only breathe a heavy sigh. One that reeked more of boredom than fatigue. ‘Alright,’ he moaned to himself, lifting his hand once again, inviting round two. Indy pepped himself up, knowing John was still vulnerable. He attacked the henchman once more, throwing a series of desperate punches. To his dismay, Molar grinned his golden-toothed grin. Illustrating both his skill and deception as he dodged every strike. His counter shots, however, caught Hades with every swing. Causing the dark figure to again retreat in suffering.

  Molar for the first time went on the offensive. Showing off his fighter’s prowess with a roundhouse kick that barged its way into the vigilante’s left side. Sending him violently into a wall.

  Beaten, Hades rested for a brief moment. Hearing the humming sound of his right taser now fully charged. Playing possum, he awaited his punishment as Molar approached.

  ‘I’m curious, what do you think happens after you lose this fight?’ Goldmolar queried. Gripping hold of Hades’s mask to rip it off. Hades pushed himself off the ground, sending his electrified fist towards Molar’s temple. Molar, as if in slow motion, dodged it cleanly and rotated Hades. Stomp-kicking him down the corridor towards John. ‘What a great night.’ Molar sniggered, making his way to the two defeated men.

  On all fours, a few feet shy of his brother. Indy looked to John, knowing the latter to be unaware of his face behind the mask. John stared back at the mask and the dozen possible faces beneath it. For a reason, he could not explain, his short list instantaneously filtered to one person. Speechless, he turned to the wall and ripped the fire extinguisher off the wall. Firing it full blast into an approaching Molar’s face. The chemicals flowing deep into his exasperated air-ways. Choking hard, Molar dropped down to the ground, coughing his lungs up. A spectating Hades turned to John as the white smog quickly overloaded the corridor.

  ‘Kick his ass.’ John sternly ordered the vigilante, a resolve in his speech. Those three words were like an epi-pen to the testicles. Gathering all the strength he had left, Hades stood up in the white smoke. Molar having crawled down the corridor was now a distance from the growing smog. He gathered himself and climbed to his feet. An enraged menace slowly brewing in his eyes. His mind was a strobe light, flickering with images and ideas of how he would torture the pair when this escapade concluded. Waiting for the passageway to clear, he awaited their suffering.

  Materializing out of the bleach white cloud came a humanoid darkness. Hades marched calm and resolute toward him a final time. Molar, still choking slightly, struggling to breathe, lifted both hands in a come-at-me gesture. Hades, defiant and smog-free thanks to the morph-suits filtering fabric, quickly re-engaged. Sending carefully orchestrated jabs to Molar’s person. Now able to hit him once in every three attempts. A world record perhaps. Molar countered with his default pattern, causing Hades to groan in pain before returning several of his own critical hits.

  Still suffocating from the chemical weapon. Molar stumbled backwards to the end of the corridor, pausing by the fire-exit door. Hades for all his second wind struggled to formulate a tactic that could put the henchman down. He had thrown every punch he could spend, and he was exhausted. Molar would no doubt gather himself and come roaring back, and that would be it, game over.

  Or. Hades could throw everything including the kitchen sink at the man, praying to the benevolent gods it all worked out. Why not he thought, we’ve come this far. Hades gathered the very last of himself and rushed with all his speed and force towards Molar. Asphyxiated, Molar looked up but couldn’t react in time. Hades, in a tribute to Suga’s aggression a few weeks back. Speared his shoulder into Molar’s abdomen and sent them both flying through the door. The wooden panel flew off its hinges and into the outdoor car park beside them.

  John picked himself up. Hearing the sound of police officers and firefighters arriving at the front entrance. Needing a quick exit, he hovered towards the two unconscious opponents. Picking the vigilante up off the cold wet gravel.

  ✽

  With both the police and firefighters wondering where he had walked off to. Frank trod the beach of the Iron sea, making his way to the cold water. His showpiece now destroyed, he felt lost, or at least at a loss. A competitor had played his hand, and the stem of his industries had been ripped from him cruelly and unfairly.

  Alone in the night, he began to amble into the water, unaware of its sharp, cold temperature. Ash and soot still on his face, he stood knee-deep in a suspended period of deep thought. His Armani shoes ruined. Like satellite navigation re-routing, he reconsidered his options, his strategy.

  A glass-half-full type of guy. He realised the considerable insurance premium awaiting him. The riches without the work. His favourite kind of progression.

  He pictured his rivals, his competitors, his enemies, laughing at him tonight.

  But they didn’t know him. His own brothers didn’t know him.

  Others often regarded his ambition. But his perseverance was rarely acknowledged. He was, for all his partying and absurdity, a meticulous planner. A strategist who considered multiple outcomes to any one event. He knew that people would believe Que Pasa to be his signature play in the city. The be all and end-all. But it was merely a step. He had been devising plans in a multitude of avenues long before he had started scamming the books at Que Pasa.

  A car pulled up on the road next to the beach and beeped twice. Frank nodded to himself as a man climbed out. He marched out of the water and up the sand to meet him.

  ‘Time to escalate matters, Razz. Time to escalate.’ he declared, climbing into the car.

  ✽

  Indy awakened fully suited minus a mask. Anxious by such an arrangement, he looked on as John picked up a freshly boiled kettle. Initially appearing indifferent to Indy’s choice of apparel. Indy sat up as John poured two mugs of instant coffee. Slowly stirring each one while giving his brother a disapproving gaze

  ‘Good morning.’ Indy greeted, a sarcasm to counter the awkwardness.

  ‘I knew it was you the moment you slid into that shit guillotine choke. You are outside your mind.’ He stated. Indy got up and limped to the kitchen counter.

  ‘You’re welcome by the way.’ he replied, reminding John that up to a point in events, he was the rescuer rather than the rescued.

  ‘What are you doing Indy? Actually, screw it, I don’t care, end it, end it right now. Before they find out who Ha-’ John paused unable to
finish the name ‘... who you are. Brother, they will hang you, literally hang you.’

  ‘It’s making a difference John, the mask.’

  ‘You honestly think a manic-depressive in scuba gear is going to change anything. Superheroes don’t exist for a reason, they would all be dead in a ditch, a bullet in the head, without exception.’

  ‘That’s what they want you to believe. But you haven’t seen the faces when that thing walks into a room, it’s pure realisation.’

  ‘Realisation? Of what?’

  ‘Accountability. Consequence. Pure, hard consequence John, that’s all this is about. Apathy stems from a failed system. We’re introducing a new system.’

  ‘We? Whose we, don’t say you and Hades. Christ, I can’t do this. I can’t have this discussion with you. I don’t know what to do. Yesterday I’m worried Grace is pissed at me, today I’m in a Batcave furnished by Ikea.’

  ‘I know what I’m doing. I have a plan.’

  ‘Indy it doesn’t matter what your plan is, you think bullying a few dealers, irritating a few corrupt businessmen will take it all down. The game is bigger than you think. And its littered with sharks at every level. You talk about consequences, but these people, they’ll show you cause and effect, and they’ll be as thorough as Mother Nature, believe.’ John warned. He knew so much of a world both beneath and far beyond Kingsland. He wanted nothing more than to embrace his brother and show him a panic room of conspiracies.

  ‘I feel like you’re being a little dramatic’ said Indy.

  ‘I’m dramatic?’ John responded, looking Indy’s attire up and down. ‘Indy, this is serious.’

  ‘Do you remember the day you beat Nico, John. The defiance against what was certain, inevitable punishment. All in a means of challenging the careless whims of a crime-lord. I couldn’t understand it that day. Why you did it. You lost everything with one win. But now I get it. It wasn’t about your pride. It was about sending a message, leaving a scar. Making a god bleed.’ Indy surmised. John rubbed his forehead, nursing a growing headache. He placed his hands on the table, locking eyes with his brother.