The Savior of Seattle

by Nat Kozinn

  “You just chased them out of the house?” Mario said in a sudden burst of panic. “It’s not enough. You’ve got to stop them, Savior. They’re going to figure out what happened. They’ll keep looking for me. They won’t take this lying down.”

  Mario finally got a good look at his hero and realized how ridiculous his request was. Clearly, David was not in a state to save anyone else, let alone take on a whole gang of thugs. He was now bald and shirtless, and his left leg was hanging to the side and bearing no weight. His body had splinters sticking out from every appendage, and he was covered in holes and grooves. He looked like an ancient statue that had just been excavated and needed to be restored before he was fit for viewing in a museum.

  “I’ve got to get to the hospital,” Mario said, and he got to his feet. He stumbled a step before heading down to the ground, saved only by David reaching out and catching him.

  “Mario, you need to sit for a minute and catch your breath before you go anywhere,” David said.

  “We don’t have a minute. Soon as they figure out what happened, they going to come looking for me, and when they can’t find me, or even if they do, they going to go after my mom and Luis. These 49ers aren’t like the Hood Clowns. They are about more than looking tough. They want everyone to be scared of them and they got no problem killing to do it, even women and children.”

  “I know that, and they aren’t going to stop after this, no matter what we do. We can’t stop them. Only the police can.”

  “The police? You’re crazy, man. You know the police don’t come out here. Not for a gang fight anyway. Maybe after they go to the hospital and shoot the place up, but it’s going to be too late.”

  “They’ll come when you tell them what happened to me. Wait a few minutes and then call. You’ll know when,” David said.

  Then David started limping away back down the alley—back toward the fire and the gang.

  “Savior, no. Don’t do it. They’ll kill you!” Mario yelled.

  David turned and look back at Mario and smiled. It was only half a smile. The other half of his lip had been torn off somewhere in the fray.

  “You take care of your brother and mother. And if you get a chance, try to keep helping out at the church. I can tell you like it. Don’t let the other punks in the neighborhood talk you out of it. The church needs people like you.”

  Then David walked off down the alley, leaving Mario with nothing to do but catch his breath and listen.

  David walked out of the alley and pounded his fist on the side of a nearby building, sending down a cascade of concrete.

  “Fee-fi-fo-fum. I smell the blood of some punk cowards who think it’s okay to beat on women and children! I think it’s time someone gave you all a spanking!” David yelled at the top of his lungs.

  “Yo, it’s him! Get him!” a voice yelled back.

  A gunshot rang out, and then it was joined by another, and then another. Before long, the street sounded like a war zone. Dozens of shots rang out. Many shooters, many bullets. Enough to implicate every gang member there.

  “Is that all you’ve got, you little punks!” David yelled.

  That just brought on more gunshots. The bullets flew for three solid minutes before they finally started to wane.

  “Hey, he’s down. We got him!” a voice yelled over the still occasional gunshot. It sounded like Big H.

  Mario wiped a tear from his eye. Then he thought about calling the police. It took him a second to get in the right mindset; he hadn’t used think.Net since his mom had bought him an hour of time for his birthday. And he used that to watch a TV show. Finally, he felt his mind connect.

  >>>Police. You got to get out here. Corner of Smith and 61st. They killed the Savior of Seattle. They killed the Savior of Seattle!

  ◆◆◆

  “A Complicated Hero Laid to Rest” by Alexis Quinn, Seattle Times.

  Today, a hero was laid to rest, his massive coffin carried down the streets of the Metro Area by a group of Strong-Men who no doubt grew up idolizing the man we knew as the Savior of Seattle. His death served as a harsh reminder of the realities of the world we still live in. Despite the best efforts of people like the Savior, our Metro Area is rife with crime and inequities. His killers have been caught, thanks to the all-out manhunt by the Seattle P.D. A manhunt that, if it had been conducted earlier, might have saved our hero’s life. But I do not wish to harp on that. Others have and will continue to do so. The Savior gave us a final parting gift with that, an opportunity to address the issues of crime and justice that plague the Metro Area.

  But I write here to discuss the man we lost. You see, unlike the rest of the nation, I do not believe the Savior of Seattle was a hero. And I believe the Savior himself would agree with me. When he absorbed that bomb, he did so without thought or action. When he saved us from the Russian warship, or the Younger Gang, or the countless other evil men and women who had sought to hurt us, he was not a hero. When he built his dam, or dug the Hoover pipes, or laid the foundations for many of our buildings, he was not a hero. You see, heroism is about more than the act itself. It is about the cost it took to perform. Am I a hero if I turn over a turtle I see trapped on its back? That is a nice thing to do, certainly, but it is not heroic because it is easy for me to accomplish. It costs me nothing. The Savior of Seattle was so strong, so powerful, that it cost him virtually nothing to perform all that he did for us. He faced no danger from battleships or powerful Differents. He felt no soreness or exhaustion from the hours of hard work and labor. The Savior of Seattle was a god, a benevolent one surely, and thank the real God for that, but when a god does something for us lesser mortals, he is being gracious, not heroic. The Savior of Seattle gave the Seattle Metro Area and this nation many fine gifts, and we should be grateful for them. He was incredibly generous, but it would be wrong to call him a hero. Calling him a hero diminishes the acts of bravery performed by many of Seattle’s fine firefighters who choose to walk through flames to save strangers. It diminishes the brave acts of the police officers who choose to stand between the citizens of this Metro Area and the criminals that threaten them. It diminishes the fine work of our doctors, teachers, nurses, and all the other heroic human beings who work themselves to the bone, often for little to no compensation just so they can improve the lives of others.

  No, the Savior of Seattle was no hero, but David Gilbreth died as one. As time moved on, the Savior of Seattle’s strength waned faster than our memories of him. By the end, calling David the Savior of Seattle was a cruel joke. He was weaker than your average elevator-operating Strong-Man. But it was that weakness that gave birth to a hero. David did not stop giving, even as the gifts began to cost him more and more. Even though the world had forgotten him and told him it had no more use for him, David found his place among the other discarded souls of this Metro Area. He adopted the Heights as his own. And although he lacked the strength to fix all the ills that afflicted that neighborhood, he used whatever he had to improve the life of every person who lived there. Every delivery of food he made, every construction project he helped with, and every thug he battled used up more of his precious strength and brought him closer to the end, but David did not let that deter him. He was determined to give every last ounce of himself to the people of this Metro Area, and that’s just what he did. It was in that end that David Gilbreth, the Savior of Seattle, finally lived up to the moniker we had bestowed upon him. He became our hero, our Savior.

  ◆◆◆

  “That’s a hell of a send-off, Lexi. Nice work,” Harry said as he put down the paper.

  Harry was sitting in his fancy leather chair. Alexis sat across the desk from him, leaning forward in her own leather chair.

  “I’ve gotten pretty good at these puff pieces. Lots of practice. Although this time I did mean what I wrote. But I already knew that you liked that one. You haven’t told me what you thought of the Acado piece. It’s been on your desk for three days. I’m starting to get suspicious.”

&
nbsp; “It’s good, of course. I’m wondering if it’s the right time to run it, though. You told the feds, right? And they’re just starting the investigation. I’m worried we’re going to muddy the waters. It’s more important that he goes to jail than people hate him, right?”

  “Muddy the waters? We’re not doing anything with water. We’re lighting fires. This story involves a long-serving politician and some of the wealthiest corporations on the planet. This is precisely the kind of situation that the government would love to sweep under the rug if at all possible. That’s why we’ve got to run the piece. Once we light the fire, the rug burns and there’s nowhere to hide it. I know it’s been a few years, Harry, but come on. This is standard practice,” Alexis said and smacked the desk to emphasize her point.

  “Maybe. But we’re leveling some pretty serious accusations based on the boastings of a drunk and an intern’s counting of ad buys.”

  “You’re kidding. We’ve run a lot more with less. And compared to our new status as a tabloid, this evidence is positively ironclad. I’m guessing it’s not respect for an alderman’s career that’s giving you pause, but rather who his co-offenders are—namely, the big one: Ultracorps. You’re worried you’re going to piss them off and we’ll lose all those syndication fees from the think.Net pubs. That’s it, isn’t it?” Alexis said, hitting the desk again but much harder this time.

  “That’s part of it. I know it’s easier and more fun to act holier than thou, but I don’t have that luxury. I have to worry about the balance sheet, and that was a horror show up until a few months ago. My ulcers have only just healed. I’m sorry if I’m not in a hurry to have a recurrence,” Harry said, throwing his hands in the air.

  “Seriously? Ultracorps isn’t even the criminal in this case. An accessory maybe, but it isn’t the focus of the story. Alderman Acado is. Is this the future for the Times? We aren’t going to report on the biggest corporation in America? Even the think.Net pubs Ultracorps actually owns have more stones than that.”

  “That’s not the future. It’s the right now. We just picked ourselves up off the mat and you want to get up and start throwing wild haymakers right away. Let’s take our time and prove that everyone can make money together. Then, once we’ve shown that, we can go back to business as normal. We both missed the boat once before, but it’s miraculously pulled back into port. Let’s get on board this time. What do you say?”

  Alexis rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Leather chairs and cubicle walls. That’s the price of your soul, huh, Harry? I had a suspicion that’d be the case. That’s why I already contacted the Post. They’re still mostly broke, which means they’re willing to respect the profession. They’re more than happy to run the story.”

  “Come on, Lexi. You know that’s not how it works. You are on our payroll. That means the Times owns the story. Even if you’re willing to quit over this, the story isn’t going to run. The Post sure as hell can’t afford to settle the suit we’d bring.”

  “Sorry, Harry. You’re the one who forgot how it works. Remember all those years you spent down on the mat? Remember how desperate you were to keep me down with you? You were so desperate you were willing to sign a contract with whatever clauses I wanted, assuming of course they didn’t cost money. One of those clauses was that I own the material until the Times publishes it. On the plus side, you won’t be the one taking the hit with Ultracorps.”

  “I don’t know,” Harry stammered. “I’ll have to check the contract. That doesn’t sound right.”

  “Don’t worry. I already did. And I ran it past the lawyer the Post keeps on retainer. Sure, he’s not the best, but even still, he was quite sure it’d hold up,” Alexis said and stood up from her leather chair. She dropped a letter on Harry’s desk. There was no doubt as to its contents. Alexis was quitting.

  “Come one, Lexi. Let’s talk about this.”

  “Sorry, Harry. The Times might be a changing, but I’m set in my ways.”

  And with that, Alexis walked out the door.

  That’s the end of David’s story, but if you enjoyed the world I created be sure to check out the Chosen Different Trilogy available now on Amazon.

  https://www.amazon.com/Chosen-Different-Nat-Kozinn-ebook/dp/B00GXOF2KA

  Love my novel? Hate it? Share your opinion and help support me at the same time, by writing me a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Thank you!

  Want more of me? Visit natkozinn.com or email me at natkozinn@gmail.com