by B C Bell
The reporter kept his head low.
“How could you? How could you do this without talking to me? Was your precious position with the paper that important? That you’d risk everyone finding out?”
Terry finally looked up, “But I didn’t, did I? Nowhere in that article does it give his name. I left it deliberately vague.” He grabbed the paper from her and pointed to a line. He read it from memory, “The man that calls himself Gridiron was spotted in an undisclosed location as he prepared to visit more mayhem on evildoers in the city.’ I could have said more. I know so much more. But I didn’t.”
“What do you know? What’s going on?” June was frantic now. Emotions on overdrive, she pushed at Pointer, demanding him to tell all his secrets. “Where is he hiding? Why is he doing this? How did he become this… this…”
“Monster?”
The tears started again and Pointer drew her in for a hug. It wasn’t the hug of a suitor, but a friend. She needed it and let lose her anguish. When the sobbing stopped, they sat on the couch. He filled June in on all that he knew.
“I think there’s still a good man under all that metal,” reasoned Pointer, “He hasn’t hurt any innocent bystanders yet. He chooses his targets carefully; always Big Papa’s enterprises. He’s dismantling The Giordanos one piece at a time. He’s doing what the courts couldn’t.”
“Big Papa nearly killed him once. They’re going to keep at it until he is hurt, or someone else gets hurt accidentally. He’s got to stop. I don’t care if he’s metal, as long as he’s alive.”
His bloodhound nose could see where this was going, “Now, listen, June. You can’t go after him. I doubt he’ll be at the gym anymore now that I’ve seen him there. He’ll go deeper into hiding, or worse, rush his end game.”
June was puzzled, “What end game?”
Pointer stood up and paced around. “No one’s gotten close to him. Not until recently. He’s either getting tired, or impatient. Either way, he’s sloppy. First the grenade that injured him, now the front page. Police will now be on the look-out for him and Big Papa knows he can be hurt. He’s running out of time to take The Giordanos down.”
“So you think he’ll do something stupid?”
“I think he’ll take the fight to Big Papa. He looked healed, so that could be any time.”
June shot up, “I’ve got to stop him. They’ll kill him, Pointer.”
His face lit up. “You called me Pointer.”
June hadn’t realized her slip. “You’re an ace reporter now. I have to get used to that. Now, you’re going to help me get into Big Papa’s restaurant.”
He held his hands up to stop her. “No way! Not in a billion years.”
She set her jaw and advanced on him. “I’m going with or without you, but if you help me get a job there, then you’ll have the inside track on Big Papa and anything that goes down.”
“You’re crazy! Pick and Axe will recognize you from the trial.”
Twirling, June laughed, “I’ll just have to disguise myself. A wig and some new clothes ought to do it. Plus, if I can find out how they plan to stop Gordon—”
“Gridiron,” Pointer corrected, “You can never use his name or they’ll know who he is, if they haven’t figured it out already.”
“If they had, I doubt I’d still be here. But you’re right. If I can find out what they plan to do to Gridiron, then I can tell you and you can warn him.”
“That’s assuming a lot, Toots.”
She headed for the bedroom, “I think I still have a wig from Halloween.” She disappeared behind a door, but continued to call out, “And yes, it is. But it’s better than sitting around waiting to read your story about the death of Gridiron.”
Pointer was left wondering who was crazier; Gridiron or his girlfriend?
One Month Ago
Gory stumbled through the dark alleyway, a moth-eaten blanket covering his immense frame. He was a modern day Quasimodo; a man with no home, reprehensible to gaze upon, his insides a turmoil of anger and sadness, depression and loneliness. Nothing Phong did could reverse the process and only caused more pain. He should be grateful his organs hadn’t turned to metal as well. The former football player was tired; the weight of his skin only held upright by his metal bones. And it hurt, the metal pulling against the flesh of his muscles, like a million demons scratching at him constantly.
He needed somewhere to hide, somewhere where no one would find him. He couldn’t go to June’s, not like this. He hadn’t made friends on the team that he could trust. He only had himself.
Instinct took him towards the edge of town, to the football stadium. He remembered the old shed, the one where they used to train before the new workout area was added to the locker room. There were cots, and clothes, and no one used it in the off season. He could hide there for a month and be gone before the team started anew.
The lock was easy to bust with his new strength. He rumbled around in the dark until he found a flashlight. The torch revealed a dust covered room with weight benches. He picked one strong enough to hold his massive bulk and laid down his world weary head. The blanket wouldn’t warm his metal skeleton, but he wrapped himself in it, anyway. Tomorrow he’d figure things out. Tomorrow he’d start planning his revenge.
***
He slept most of the day and kept hidden until dark. He went out again to gather food. Once satiated, he considered a disguise to work the voodoo he was planning.
Big Papa had taken everything away from him; his job, his love, his soon-to-be step-daughter. They were all out of his reach. Now, Gory would start taking things away from Big Papa. He’d start small by rattling the chains of the small fries, like when he smack-talked an opposing team. Gory found the weakest players and browbeat them, creating rumors about his merciless play. After that, he’d hunt the front line; the guys between him and his goal: the quarterback. Once they were scared, he’d start getting in the mind of their leader. He’d make mistakes, fumble plays, chose the wrong guys to commit to defense. He’d tear apart Big Papa’s team, as he’d done so many others in the past.
He rooted around the lockers finding old pads that he could rework for his bulk. There were big players on the team, so Gory looked for some of their leftover shirts and pants. He couldn’t be too obvious about the design. If he looked too much like a football player that might bring Big Papa down on the team, but he could modify what he found to imply the same toughness and intimidation he brought to the field.
Finally, needing a mask to cover his face, he looked around in the storage shed. Some joker had brought in a clown mask and stuck it on a tackling dummy. It had creeped everyone out and made them want to hit the dummy harder. It was still there, so he cut out the smile and glued it onto a torn piece of cloth. After wrapping it over his nose and chin, only his eyes remained uncovered, so that he’d have the best angle of vision. Once dressed, he looked at himself in the mirror. The effect was chilling. Anyone who saw him would be terrified. They’d talk about him until Big Papa himself was wetting his expensive suits.
But what would they call him? Gordon “Gory” Burrell was gone, as far as anyone was concerned. He needed a new name. One that would send chills up the collective spine of The Giordanos.
On the wall was a framed newspaper sports page article. It was twenty years old, yellowed and faded, but he could still make out the headline:
Roosevelt Visits Gridiron Board
Gory’s smile mimicked the fake one he wore. He knew who he was to be from that point forward. He pulled up the hood and went to find his first target.
Now
Big Papa was nervous and when Big Papa was nervous, Big Papa ate. Some say he built his empire so big hoping he’d never have to worry again, but the more he amassed, the more he worried and the more he ate, until Big Papa’s girth was as big as his holdi
ngs. His momma said he was a worrier, but she was always critical of him. If he didn’t worry, she’d say he wasn’t worried enough.
Instead, he put people around him to solve his problems, so he wouldn’t worry so much. Pick and Axe were his most trusted enforcers and they still couldn’t solve his latest concern.
“You goombas are worthless!” It was the first time Big Papa had to reprimand the pair. They took it in stride, their own work ethic making them feel low enough already. “I can’t get you to do one simple thing; blot out one man. Sure he’s made of metal, but you two were supposed to have brass knockers bigger than anyone’s. How could you do this to me?”
They said nothing. The grenade should have worked. They found blood in the wreckage, but not enough to confirm a kill. Then the blab sheet ran that picture and they knew for sure they’d failed. Axe was taking it the hardest as it had been a grenade his father had brought back from Germany and was told to use only in case of emergency. He stood there now, seething inside, thinking of how disappointed his father would have been and how much worse the tongue lashing would have been in comparison to Big Papa’s.
Pick, on the other hand, was considering if it was time to join his aunt in the floral delivery business.
Big Papa continued, oblivious to their thoughts, “So I’m getting you a little help.”
With a snap of his fingers, a man entered through the alcove wheeling a cart with a tablecloth over it. Young and dressed in army fatigues, He paused before the large man and saluted. Big Papa laughed with merriment, the first either of his enforcers had heard in months. “Come here, you wise guy, and give your uncle a hug!”
Seriousness gone, the soldier bent over for the offered affections, returning them in kind. After, the Patriarch introduced the grunt, “This is my nephew Vito, Charley’s brother. Vito got the good looks and the brains of the family. These are the boys, Vito. Say Hi.”
Vito shook the enforcers’ hands in turn. He made no move to acknowledge his brother who hovered behind their uncle. “Good. Now Vito here did something I thought was stupid last year, but in hindsight, it was most fortuitous. He went against our wishes and joined the army.”
“After all the stories I heard about the war, I felt in my patriotic duty to serve.” Vito beamed with pride. His Uncle did likewise.
“You hear that? Patriotic Duty. We told him that he could do that as a member of the Giordanos, as we are a very patriotic family, aren’t we?”
The enforcers agreed, but kept eyeing the shapes under the cloth.
“So, when you two yahoos couldn’t get the job done, I starts thinking; who is the best killer I know? And then I remember Vito here. Not only is he a member of family, but he’s been trained by our own government to kill anything. Ain’t that right, Vito.”
“That’s right, Uncle.”
Big Papa laughed. “I love this kid so much, he’s the only one I let call me Uncle.” Even Big Papa’s momma called him Big Papa these days. “So, why don’t you show the boys what Uncle Sam has created for us?”
“Sure thing, Uncle.” Vito pulled back the cloth revealing three weapons, each more impressive than the first. “Okay, for starters we have the M1918A2, or BAR for short.” The grunt hoisted the rifle which had its own bipod at the end of the barrel. “This baby is a semi-automatic that will punch a hole in a wall you could put your fist through. It’s a little bulky and not easily carried, thus the stand at the end, but if you have time to set it up, this should give your metal man something to think about.”
Axe reached for the gun and had no problem holding it in a firing position. Impressed Vito complimented, “Or, if you’re Axe here, you pop it like a hand-gun! Ha!”
Next, he hoisted the second gun, this twice the size of the first. It had a flat end and legs in the center of the gun. “This is your standard issue anti-tank Browning M2 machine gun. We used this beauty to punch holes in the Huns’ A7V tanks. They hated it when one of these bullets bounced around inside their cabin. Tore the crap out of them.”
“Hey, watch the language. There are women present.”
Big Papa motioned towards a waitress that was bringing him a huge plate of pasta. She was young with black hair, beautiful eyes and hourglass figure. Exactly the type Big Papa preferred bringing him his repast.
Vito bowed. “Sorry, Miss.”
She smiled and said with a clearly New Jersey accent, “It’s nothing I ain’t hoird before.” She curtsied on her way out.
Big Papa was amused. “I like that dame!”
All the guys laughed, save for Pick who studied the broad as she left. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite place it.
The last thing Vito showed them looked like a stovepipe with a gun grip.
“Now this thing is what you’d call experimental. This guy I know, Eddie, was trying to design something to shoot an M10 grenade. He got tired of having to run up to a tank and throw it.”
“Yeah, I can see where that’d be a problem,” said Big Papa.
“Yeah, so he’s been toying around with some different designs. He’s got this one to work pretty well, but it only works once, then you got to get rid of it. Oh, and you can’t stand behind it.”
Pick was curious, “What happens if you stand behind it?”
Vito made a whooshing sound and with his hands made a big explosion. “Ba-da-boom!”
Pick nodded appreciatively. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Axe set down the other guns and grenade launcher. “What’s he call it?”
“A bazooka. Cause that’s what you yell when you see those krauts go up! BAZOOKA!”
They all had a good laugh and Vito turned to Big Papa to say goodbye. “I’ll need those back soon, okay, Uncle?”
“As soon as we make shrapnel of this metal man. Shouldn’t take long now that they boys here have some sting. Capiche?”
“Capiche!”
***
June finished her table orders and snuck back to where she knew there was a phone. She adjusted the wig because it cut into her head. She didn’t know how actresses did it. Quickly dialing the squawk-box, she hoped Pointer was waiting right by his end, as promised. It rang once… twice…
“June?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I don’t have long. The one they call Pick was eyeing me funny.”
“Get out of there!”
“I will, but first, listen. They have guns, Pointer. Big ones. Ones that’ll hurt him, even through his met—”
Pick had slipped up behind June and wrapped a hand over her mouth. She tried to scream, but his grip was too tight. He coiled himself around her, so she couldn’t break free. Pointer, realizing something was wrong, yelled into the receiver.
“June! June! What’s going on?”
Pick pushed June into Axe’s waiting arms. In the moment she had her mouth free she cried, “It’s a trap!”
Pick put the phone to his face, “You’re that reporter aren’t you? Well, here’s a scoop for you. Thanks to this little lady, we now know who Gridiron is, as I’m sure you do, too. So, you go find that freak of nature so we can finish the job we started, understand?”
“If you harm her…”
“This little number? Not a chance. Not until after her fiancé comes to rescue her and we break him into ball bearings. Then we’ll decide what to do with her. You, on the other hand, have bigger problems. You need to find that abomination and tell him to meet us at Eagle Stadium.”
Resigned to the hand fate dealt, Pointer hung up.
***
Not sure where to start looking, Pointer drove around for hours hoping to catch a glimpse of Gridiron leaping across roof tops or skulking down alleys. Finally, with no recourse left, he headed toward the stadium. While the reporter sat at a red light, he noticed the streets w
ere deserted of cars and pedestrian traffic. This wasn’t odd, being the time of night it was, but it did explain why Gridiron had chosen that moment to yank open his door and drag Pointer into the night.
“Gory! Wait!”
As an answer, Pointer was thrown across the dark alley. He hit several trash cans, knocking them over. Above the rattling, he could hear Gridiron’s growl.
“Gory is dead.”
Pointer wasted no time in scrambling to his feet. “We need to talk!” He was pushed again, stumbled backwards, slipped on some discarded food and landed flat on his back.
“The only reason you’re alive is because you didn’t print my name in your story. What do you want next? An interview?”
The reporter got onto all fours and moved away from the voice. He’d heard Gory before a big game; the desire to break the other team. Gridiron was like that, only ten times worse.
“It’s about June!”
Gridiron lifted Pointer up off the ground by his jacket and suspended him in air.
“Oh, let me guess? Your carelessness with the photo? Did someone piece it together? Is she in danger?”
Hot breath blew in Pointer’s face. He didn’t want to say what he had to, but it a half-sob he croaked, “She figured it out.”
“And she’s heartbroken now? Now that she knows what a monster I’ve become? Didn’t you think about that before you printed the photo? Was fame worth all that? Your precious position?”
With each question, Gridiron shook the reporter making the words strike home even harder. Pointer realized he traded June for a premium spot in the bullpen. He thought it’d all work out in the end, but it hadn’t and now…