by B C Bell
“Did you know where you were?”
“No idea. Some warehouse. There was nothing to identify it on the ceiling.”
“And you couldn’t move around?”
“Nah, they had every part of me strapped down. I was tied up worse than a bank loan.”
There were scattered chuckles again. The D.A. liked that. If they liked Gory better than they feared Big Papa, they all stood a chance.
“Could you see anyone?”
“Yeah, that mug with his magic toothpick.”
“Patrick?”
“Yes.”
“Did Patrick talk to you?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t say much. Just one thing, really.”
The attorney raised his voice just a few octaves to make sure the jury knew that this was important, “And what did he say, Mr. Burrell?”
“Weasel-boy said, with that little hyena-like laugh of his, ‘You should have no trouble taking a dive after this.’”
“Referring to the request he made of you in the tunnel before the football game, as you testified earlier?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s when you saw Axel?”
“Objection!” shouted the defense attorney, and whined about a leash.
“Sustained,” agreed the judge.
“What happened next, Mr. Burrell?”
“The big ape came into view.”
“Axel?”
“Yes, Axel.”
“Did you notice anything odd about him?”
“Yes.”
“And what was that, Mr. Burrell?”
“The sledgehammer he was holding.”
There was a collective gasp. After Gory described what happened next, the D.A. saw several people on the jury openly weeping. Would it be enough? The audience was horrified. All save for June, Gory’s gal. She was stoic, sending him waves of support as he described how Axe had started at his feet and worked his way up. The enforcer had stopped at the femurs, leaving the shattered player’s manhood intact, if that could be called a favor.
The cross-examination was brief. The defense wasn’t counting on evidence or lack of. Their game was intimidation. The judge excused Gory from the box.
Gory turned his chair around and carefully wheeled down the ramp they’d built for him. His arms were still like Hercules’s, but his crushed legs were nothing more than pudding wrapped in skin. He wouldn’t let the doctors amputate, saying it would be better for his anger to see them every day.
***
Out in the hallway, on recess, the prosecution’s lead man felt like he’d been a tackling dummy for the Everett Eagles; hair mussed and head in his hands. June wheeled Gory over to him. His massive bulk wasn’t easy to haul around yet, however, she never complained.
“We’re not done yet,” started Gory, “You’ll be able to tear their alibis apart once they get up there.”
The D.A. looked over at Gory, disputably the toughest player in the league for three years. As an attorney, he’d been the toughest, too. He’d taken on men like Big Papa as a lawyer and won. He didn’t even have a witness like Gory, whose story was enough to break your heart. Yet, this trial was not going their way. Despite overwhelming amounts of evidence, he’d failed to convince the jury that bringing The Giordanos down was worth the risk to their own personal safety. He could see it in their eyes. They’d given up, and now he was starting to, as well.
“Take our friend down the hall for a coffee, Doll Face.”
June nodded and pulled the attorney to his feet. She kept a hand on his shoulder as they walked. He looked back just in time to see an old Oriental man approach Gory. Gory shook the man’s hand and in a voice fading as they moved farther away, the D.A. thought he heard him say, “Okay, now what was this you whispered to me in the courtroom about my legs?”
Now
“I’ve got to get home, Mr. Johnson.”
“Pointer.”
“Okay, Mr. Pointer. I’ve got to get home.”
The kid was starting to annoy him. “Alright, Massey. I’m almost done here. How about you leave me the camera and I’ll drop it off to be developed when I get back to the newspaper?”
The kid agreed and set the camera down on the bench next to the reporter. He skedaddled off as Pointer directed his last questions to the Eagles player.
The locker room emptied. Security was used to Pointer’s face, sometimes asking him to turn off the lights before he left. Pointer used the facilities and looked at his notes as he trudged out. The soon-to-be ace reporter was beat. He’d been doing double duty for weeks trying to catch Gridiron in action. He’d been a day late and dollar short on two occasions, having chosen to stake out the wrong watering hole in Big Papa’s empire. The masked madman had moved up from fronts to speakeasies. In one, he’d not only found illegal booze, but the deputy mayor, as well. This sent a ripple of fear through City Hall and now the police were hunting the man-monster too.
However, the creature was taking some damage. Last night, Pick and Axe had gotten him cornered and lobbed a grenade. No body was found afterwards, but bits of clothing and small traces of blood were. Apparently, Gridiron wasn’t completely indestructible.
As Pointer walked to the parking lot, he heard a noise coming from the far end of the field. If he remembered right, that was where the team’s old gym was. They’d upgraded the facilities with the increase in attendance. Gory’s trial had brought the Eagles into the spotlight and now everyone wanted to watch football. It was “The Galloping Ghost” all over again.
The noise sounded like weights being lifted and dropped. Someone was still working out, even after a game. Pointer decided this would make a great side feature. “The Player Who Never Quit,” he’d called it. It was odd that there was little light coming from the old building. The reporter could only see a flicker of a gas lamp through the window. Deciding that caution would be prudent, Pointer snuck up and peered in through the corner of the window.
Muscles rippled as nearly 300 pounds of weight rose and fell under the power of two massive arms. Even in the limited gaslight his skin shone metallic gray like the steel bumper of a pick-up truck, but unlike true steel, it rippled with the effort of the muscles underneath as it hefted its cargo. It was no body armor he wore. His body was the armor. Pointer could see the same effect on his chest and legs. He was glad he couldn’t see the face, for the moment. He wanted to look without being discovered.
It would take more than metal skin to lift that much weight. He was strong beyond belief and those legs looked as if they could run, like a… a…
Why was Gridiron here, he thought, at a football stadium? What was the connection? Pointer got a fantastical idea. It couldn’t be. But it could. Could it?
The clanging stopped and Pointer ducked down. There was rustling in the gym and the reporter hazarded another peek. Gridiron was getting dressed.
Pointer saw a mirror off to the side. If he angled it right, he’d be able to snap off a picture and capture Gridiron in all his glory. He crawled low past a few windows and peered up once more. The mirror was a floor length one and Pointer had him head to toe. He checked the camera for film, checked the flash and shot up quickly to snap the photograph. The movement caught Gridiron’s eyes and he pulled the cloak up just as the flash went off. Pointer wasn’t sure who was faster on the draw, but he wasn’t waiting around to find out. He ran as if the devil himself was chasing him. The door to the gym slammed open, but Pointer had already gotten some distance. Thunderous footfalls sounded behind him as he beat feet to where his car was waiting. His was the only one left in the parking lot. Diving into the car, he tossed the camera on the passenger seat and dug for his keys. Gridiron cleared the stadium and was crossing the parking lot.
Where are my damn keys! Found them!
H
e cranked over the car once, then twice. Gridiron was less than two parking spaces away when it finally caught up. Pointer jammed down the gas and peeled rubber as the man-monster dove for his bumper. The car stopped. Pointer could feel the wheels spinning under him, but they were going nowhere. He looked in the rearview to see Gridiron lifting the back of the car by the bumper. The reporter swallowed and was about to just throw the camera out the window when the bumper gave way and the car screeched into motion. Fish-tailing around the parking lot until he got it back under control, Pointer thanked all that was holy for his luck. He made it to the newspaper without incident, but still called the police to watch over the building as he developed the picture. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t all of him, but it was enough. Pointer had gotten the first and only picture of the thing that called itself Gridiron, and now he knew why.
Two months ago
Gory wheeled himself next to the operating table. Dr. Phong Phat moved to help, but the former football player waved him away.
“That’s fine. I can manage.”
He grunted under the exertion of lifting his dead lower half out of the chair, but eventually got his backside firmly on the metal bench. After taking a moment to catch his breath, Gory then swung his useless legs up and laid back. Phong pushed the unnecessary chair away and began strapping Gory down. The linebacker tensed, remembering the last time he’d been strapped down.
Nervous for the first time since the crazy scientist approached him, Gory decided he needed to hear the whole thing one more time.
“Okay, Doc. Run me through this procedure again.”
Phong tittered. “Oh, it very simple. I inject special serum in you of my own making. It like metal glue.”
“Metal glue?” asked Gory, still not understanding the concept after the umpteenth time.
“Oh, it very simple. I inject special serum in you of my own making. It like metal glue.”
Phong moved to the head rest and tightened the head straps more, eliciting a grunt from his patient. “High in iron, it good for you. It go through your whole body. Then, I stick needles in leg bones, like acupuncture. I stick one in every piece of bone in leg. Lots of needles.”
Gory’d been stuck enough, so needles didn’t bother him. The next part did.
“That’s when you electrocute me?”
The Doctor tittered again, and Gory questioned the strange man’s sanity, not for the first time. If it weren’t for the chance to be healed, Gory would have told the little man to get lost weeks ago.
“Oh, I don’t kill you. It just a low level current to attract serum to bone, make them all come together. Good as new, lickety-split.”
The whole process would take two hours. There was no lickety-split about it.
“And you’re sure this will work?”
Phong went about the task of sticking needles in Gory’s legs. He put nearly fifty in his left foot alone.
“Absolutely! I fix my dog leg like he brand new. He like puppy again.”
“Dog? You mean you’ve never tried this on a man before?”
The right foot done, Phong moved up the leg. “Oh, don’t be big baby. Yes, you first man. I look in paper for long time to find man like you. You perfect specimen.”
“Wait, Doc. I’m not so sure about this now. What about side effects?”
“Dog is fine.”
“I’m not a dog!”
The right leg complete, the weird scientist set about the left. “All men are dog. You no worry. I come with money-back guarantee!”
Gory now understood why Phong had offered to do the procedure for free.
***
“Mister Burrell? Mister Burrell? You wake now.”
Gory’s last thought before blacking out was that the herbs Phong had fed him were not helping with the pain like he said they would. It was even worse than the job Big Papa’s goon thugs had done to him. The electricity raced through his whole body, not just his legs. It set every nerve on fire. He could smell his flesh burning and colors flashed like a merry-go-round beneath his clenched eye lids. The cure had been worse than the disease and then sweet bliss overtook him.
Gory had no idea how long he’d been out. It was morning when they started, but as he opened his eyes slowly, he could see street lamps out the window. He was still at the lab, but in a soft bed. How the micro Asian man had gotten him to it, he didn’t want to know. What he needed to know was, had it been worth it?
Gory got to his elbows and looked down at his legs. His toes pointed up under the sheet. He wiggled them then rotated his feet. Everything felt good. No pain. No crunching of bone against bone. He pulled his knees up to his chest slowly. They were stiff, but movable. Flipping back the sheet, he swung his legs over the side. He pushed off from the bed and wobbled, the first time he’d been on his walking sticks in months.
“Whoa, big man. Take it easy. You no walk in long time. Need to learn again.”
Gory smirked. “The only thing I need to learn now if how soon I can start playing football!”
“No, not that simple.” Phong shook his head. “You have metal bones now. You play game and you hurt people you hit. Not like before. You break them in two.”
Gory hadn’t considered that. He couldn’t play football anymore. He sat back down to think about the revelation. What did that mean? Who was he now?
It didn’t take long before he saw June and April in his mind. He was to be a husband and a father. That’s what was important! He could push April on the swing set at the park. He could make love to his wife on their honeymoon. He could find a job somewhere that needed a guy with bones of steel. He’d make it work!
Gory jumped up elated at his new found peace, but over compensated for the new strength in his legs. He flew forward and put his hands out to grab a hold of something. One of the lab tables was near him and he reached for it. Phong yelled, “NO! Not that table!” but it was too late. Gory hit the edge of it, flipping all its contents into the air. A large beaker had been perched at the opposite end. It went up and its liquid contents sloshed over Gory’s body. The strange substance went everywhere else. It crawled over his skin until every inch of him felt wet. Then as quickly as it coated him, it dried, hardening fast and making him feel like a statue.
“Nonono!” stammered Phong. “This no good! You turn into sculpture. I must fix.” Gory heard a sound like the one when Phong turned on his electro-magnetometer to electrocute Gory earlier that morning. He could feel the air become ionized as it did before starting during the procedure. He wanted to scream for the doctor to stop, but it was too late. Needles jabbed into his skin and the electricity coursed through him once again, and with it, returned the pain.
Now
June was running late. She entered through the service entrance and made her way to clock in. No sooner had she when riotous noise reached her ears. There was a party going on in the bullpen. Not sure if she should poke her head in or not, hoping not to attract attention to her tardiness, nosiness won out and she slipped in behind the cavalcade of writer’s, editors and photographers. A champagne bottle popped and a cheer arose. Looking through the throng, June spotted Terry in the center of the hullabaloo. He stood on a desk with the Chief and was swigging down some of the bubbly. People patted his leg in a show of support.
“To the newest star reporter at the Everett Herald; Terry “Pointer” Johnston! Take a bow, Pointer!”
Terry bowed at the waist and as he came up, he saw June in the back of the crowd. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Terry looked away quickly, an embarrassment showing on his face. June was surprised he didn’t come running to her, sweeping her into his winner’s circle. What was going on?
She leaned over to the closest person to her, “What’s this all about? I just got here.”
A crossword editor, the type to be relegat
ed to the back of a crowd such as this, grinned a Cheshire Cat’s grin, happy to be in the know for once and not the last one at that. “Pointer got a photo of Gridiron. Not just a fleeting one, but a full on, clear as day, snap-shot! He said it nearly cost him his life.”
June noticed the editor was clutching the morning edition. She asked if she could look, and the man reluctantly handed over his prize. And there it was, headlines screaming “Monster Caught on Film!”
It was a reversed image, the edge of a mirror clearly seen. She looked at the creature, a majority of it covered in clothing and a mask, but the eyes were uncovered. She stared at the eyes. They were angry, yet she thought they were also scared. She knew those eyes. She looked into them a hundred times, a thousand. She knew who they belonged to. The paper fell from her hands as she ran from the room; tears dropping like rain behind her.
***
Pointer knocked at June’s door. She knew it was him. He would have heard by now; her running out of the building a weepy mess. He would be the only one to come check on her. Anyone else would have just thought her a scared little rabbit. But Terry would know. He’d have to come to her eventually, if he was any sort of a man.
She opened the door and stood there, morning edition held in front of her like a police officers badge. “How long have you known?”
He held his head down in shame. “I didn’t. Not for sure. Things that didn’t add up at first, but it made sense when you looked at it like a reporter.”
June didn’t let him cross her threshold yet. “But you knew when you saw him. When you took the photo. When you pasted it on the front page.”