Bystanders

by Phillip Murrell

  “And, that makes it okay how?”

  “Abortion is wrong. It’s evil, and the doctors who work at those clinics are nothing short of serial killers.”

  “That’s a pretty extreme position. Who are you to say what a woman does with her body?”

  “I thought you were Catholic?” Donald says. “Aren’t you on the wrong side of this position?”

  Alex shakes his head. “I can think for myself.”

  “So, what do you think about what Yuri Osaka said today?”

  “Yeah, I don’t trust that guy. He just doesn’t seem right.”

  “He made some good points about hypocrisy.”

  “So?”

  “So, nothing. I’m just saying the guy is smooth.”

  “Exactly my point. Maybe there’s something to all those rumors about him and drugs.”

  “Whatever; we need to finish our game.”

  The two go back to playing.

  Votary perches on the top of a building at night. He’s dressed in his slimmer armor that’s mostly a solid dark gray color. He’s cloaked and observes the city. The sounds of Colberton rush up to him.

  A shape climbs on top of the building behind him. The form is revealed to be a light gray armored figure. The same color of the pods normally on Votary’s armor. The figure pulls out a staff and charges. Votary senses the attack of an expected foe and de-cloaks. He turns and grabs Alpha’s pole moments before it hits him. He swings the attacker to the side. Alpha engages Votary with several quick strikes. Votary blocks them with his gauntlets and eventually ejects his two escrima sticks from his leg compartments.

  The two swing their weapons at each other and masterfully intercept their opponent’s attacks. Alpha then gets bold and charges Votary. The two forms collide and fall over the side of a ten-story building.

  As the two fall, they continue to hit each other. They’re unconcerned with the rapidly approaching ground. Just before they hit it, both activate the red glow of their flight boots. They then settle on the ground. Votary’s armor expels gas from various vents. The strong odor scatters the nearby homeless people. Only one person, in a gray hoodie, stays to watch the action. He pulls out a smartphone and films the fight.

  The two silent warriors continue to beat each other. It’s a graceful dance of violence. Any would-be witnesses, except for Votary’s ever present observer, have cleared out. Votary’s public image isn’t presently good, and they’re apparently not willing to risk being in his vicinity.

  Finally, Votary gets the upper hand. He’s able to disarm his attacker, then he sweeps him to the ground. Votary now pounds him repeatedly in the head with his weapons. After several blows a chime sounds from inside Alpha.

  This sound distracts Votary, and Alpha uses the opportunity to reverse Votary’s dominant position and stand back up.

  The attacker turns to grab his dropped staff and once again faces Votary on even ground.

  Votary flies three feet off the ground straight into his adversary. He grabs his opponent and soars into the sky. His watcher tracks the whole fight with his phone, then nonchalantly turns it off as he casually strolls down the abandoned street. He thrusts his hands into his gray pockets, then he whistles a tune.

  It’s the next morning, and Kyle rings the doorbell to Keith’s suburban house. He has a skateboard under his arm and wears pads and a helmet, all decorated with a skull and crossbones motif.

  Keith answers the door. He’s dressed in his own skater gear.

  “You ready?” Kyle asks.

  “Hell yeah. Hopefully the park won’t be too full this early.”

  The two put their boards down and start to skate to the park.

  Kyle speaks first. “So, you want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t believe it,” Keith says. “There’s no way Beatdown took out a legitimate business. It has to be a set-up.”

  “Who would set him up? It’s not like he has an arch-nemesis.”

  “I don’t know who did it or why, but I refuse to believe anything else.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t just holding on to a dream?”

  Keith stops skating. “No. I know he’s a good person. He didn’t do it. It’s a set-up, and I’m going to write about it in my blog after we’re done skating.”

  “Our blog seems to be a bit biased now.”

  “The hell it is. The whole point is to keep it real for the true fans.”

  “Then how come you haven’t added the footage from the news of the bombing?”

  Keith scoffs. “Because it hasn’t been confirmed by a real source. One homeless guy claiming he saw the whole thing isn’t proof enough to meet my standards.”

  The two boys start skating again toward the park.

  “That barely makes sense, but if we’re gonna do this, we have to be honest. If a second person comes forward, we put it online.”

  Keith thinks for a moment. “Fine. I don’t want to be accused of not being fair in my coverage. In the meantime, we need to do something special.”

  “Like what?” Kyle asks.

  “Why do I always have to come up with the ideas?”

  “Why don’t we have a name the superhero contest?” Kyle suggests. “We could offer a hundred-dollar prize to the winner.”

  Keith shakes his head. “He has a name, Beatdown.”

  “What if there’s a better name out there? We don’t have to be married to it.”

  “Yes, we do! I made a commitment to the moniker.”

  Kyle laughs. “Fine. I’ll stroke the keys. That way you can blame me if we get caught. I have an open relationship with the moniker.”

  The two laugh again.

  “Fine,” Keith relents. “We’ll have a competition, but I’m not handing out a prize. People should do it for the love of Beatdown and not for a prize.”

  “Whatever. I wasn’t going to use my money. You’re the one who lives in the big ass house.”

  “Because we earn our money in my family, instead of giving it away all of the time.”

  The two arrive at the nearby skate park. It’s empty of other skaters.

  “Ha! The early bird gets the worm! The park is ours!” Kyle exclaims.

  “That saying doesn’t work out too well for the early worm,” Keith comments.

  Kyle stares at Keith.

  “I’m just saying,” Keith adds.

  The two begin to practice their tricks. Perhaps after a summer of dedication, they’ll be able to call themselves intermediates.

  A receptionist in the D2I News lobby has a hooded youth standing in front of him. He picks up the phone to call someone.

  He speaks into the receiver. “Mr. Tral, I have a young man here who says he needs to speak with you.”

  The receptionist pauses for a moment as he listens to a response.

  “I understand, sir, but he says that he has footage of First Line that will blow the last video away.”

  Another pause as he listens again.

  “He won’t let me see it. He’s clutching that phone like it’s a winning lottery ticket. I get the feeling that you should hear him out.”

  The receptionist pauses again.

  “Understood, sir.” The receptionist hangs up the phone and addresses the visitor. “Mr. Tral will send someone down to speak with you in a few minutes. She’ll take you up to see him.”

  He nods.

  “Aren’t you hot in that? It’s the middle of the summer. Why are you in a hoodie?”

  The boy ignores the receptionist.

  The receptionist points out Claire. “Here she comes now.”

  The boy turns around to face Claire and takes off his hood. Claire strides up to this teenage boy with a purpose. His deep brown, almond eyes stare her down, behind wisps of hair from his shaggy bowl cut.

  “Well, kid,” she begins, “what have you got for me?”

  “Nothing,” he responds.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I have footage for Mr. Tral. I have nothing for his secretary
.”

  Claire clenches her fists while the receptionist covers his mouth to suppress a giggle.

  “Listen, kid,” she chides, “I’m not a secretary. I’m your ticket to Mr. Tral. I’m First Line’s confidant, and if you have something about him, I have to verify its authenticity.”

  The boy snorts. “His confidant? Please. Then how come you aren’t under arrest for destroying an abortion clinic?”

  “Because First Line didn’t do that! Unless you have a video proving otherwise.” Claire looks a little unsure. “Is that what you have?”

  “I don’t know. I might remember for one hundred thousand dollars.”

  The receptionist tries to stifle a second chuckle.

  “Are you trying to shake me down, kid?” Claire asks.

  “No,” he simply answers. “I’m trying to make a profit from constantly putting myself in jeopardy. I’ve been walking the streets for weeks trying to get some good shots of him.”

  “You think you have something that’s six figures good?”

  “Maybe not. It might be seven figures good.”

  “Nice hustle, kid. I think you can just leave. I’m not going to entertain your wet dream of walking around a television studio.”

  “Fine. I’ll go to a different agency.” He turns and heads for the door. “I just thought that since you were such cheerleaders at D2I that you’d want to see him get fought to a draw.”

  “What? Wait. What have you got?”

  “There are two of them, and they don’t like each other. I’ve got footage of them fighting.”

  Claire can’t believe what she has heard. She doesn’t want to risk the chance of excellent footage going somewhere else.

  “Come with me, kid.”

  “My name is Abel.”

  “I apologize, Abel. Come with me. I’ll take you straight to Mr. Tral. You better not be lying.”

  “I’ll give you a one-time preview for a thousand dollars right now.”

  “I think we can pool it together upstairs. You better not be full of BS, Abel.”

  “Trust me, it’ll be the best money you spend today. I may get more videos, and maybe I’ll bring them back here.”

  Claire rushes into Larry’s office, practically dragging Abel by the arm behind her.

  “What is this?” Larry asks. “This kid has the footage?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. We need to pay him a grand before he’ll show me what he has.”

  Larry laughs. “And, why the hell would we pay that?”

  Claire answers. “Because he claims that he has footage of First Line fighting another vigilante.”

  Larry looks dumbstruck. “You mean there are two of them?”

  “It’s what the kid claims,” Claire answers.

  “The kid is standing right here, but like most people my age, I’m getting impatient. I think I’ll just go somewhere else.”

  Larry immediately pulls out a money clip and counts off ten hundred dollar bills.

  Abel collects the money. “Technically this was the price for just one of you, but I’ve got a good feeling about this transaction.”

  Abel hands the phone over to Larry. Claire immediately grasps it from his hand. Larry doesn’t even try to snatch it back. They both hover over the small screen, and their eyes slowly get big.

  The two watch it three times in a row. Each viewing raises their grins. They both stare at each other.

  “This is exactly what we need,” Claire excitedly says. “This proves that First Line didn’t destroy the abortion clinic. This other guy did that. He’s the real terrorist.”

  Larry adds, “We need to get this on the air right away. I want it to go primetime.”

  “Boss, let Gabe debut it. We need to get this out there as soon as possible, and most people tune into his show just to hear about First Line.”

  Abel fidgets while the journalists ignore him. “Ahem, what we need to do is put one hundred K in this guy’s hand.”

  “That’s all he wanted?” Larry asks.

  “First time negotiator,” Claire answers.

  “Wait, how much is it worth?” Abel asks.

  Larry quickly scribbles out a check for $101,000.00 and hands it to Abel. “I made it payable to cash. I added a grand, because this is my phone now.”

  Abel pockets the check. “Sure, old man, I don’t care about that burner. Nice doing business with you. I’ll show myself out.”

  Claire and Larry have already forgotten that he was there.

  They’re watching the fight for the sixth time. Abel walks out of the office.

  Claire is beyond excited. “This just saved our asses. Public opinion was swaying, but this will spring it straight back to our side. We don’t need a fake interview now.”

  Larry nods. “We’re the luckiest journalists ever! I would have paid that kid ten times that for this. Go tell Gabe. He needs to start preparing for what he’ll say.”

  Claire nods and rushes out of the office.

  Yuri walks through the doors of the Colberton Youth Center. It’s one of his many charities for underprivileged youths.

  Many patrons enthusiastically great Yuri. He smiles as he works through the small crowd. He sees a young teen watching television and approaches him. “Greg, why are you wasting your time watching television?”

  “I was just waiting for you, Yuri,” Greg replies.

  “Good answer. What will it be today?”

  Greg simply shrugs. “How about chess?”

  “My favorite. Go get the board.”

  Greg gets up and retrieves a chess board. He comes back and sets up the pieces. Yuri selects the white pieces and makes his first move.

  “And, it begins,” Yuri states.

  Greg quickly moves a pawn. Yuri knows he did this without considering any strategy.

  “Don’t rush your decision,” Yuri instructs. “Your generation is always moving without thinking. You need to take your time. I never move without at least a full minute of deliberation first. And, often it takes much longer.”

  “That’s probably why you always beat me,” Greg admits.

  “Well, that, and the extra fifty years of practice. Do you know why I got so good?”

  “Uh, fifty years?”

  “Yes, smart ass, but what I meant is why do I keep playing fifty years later?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s because I like the game. That’s the secret to life. Do something that you like.”

  “Yeah, that’s what people always tell me, but the world is against people like me.”

  Yuri frowns. “No, it isn’t. That’s what lazy boys say. They’re content with being victims. Men go out and get what they want. What do you want, Greg?”

  Greg doesn’t hesitate with his response. “I want to be rich. I want respect.”

  “There are a lot of ways to do that. You just have to be willing to work.”

  “I am. I’m willing to work hard, for you. I know I would do a good job.”

  “I know you will, Greg. That’s why I came over to speak with you. I see determination in your eyes. I could use someone with your talents.”

  The game continues.

  Claire enters a typical American-style restaurant. The walls are garishly decorated with sports memorabilia. Claire is immaculately attired in a flowing yellow sun dress. She made sure to accentuate the few parts of her body that she considered assets.

  A hostess approaches Claire. “Good evening, ma’am. How many in your party?”

  “Actually,” Claire responds, “I’m meeting someone.”

  Claire looks around again and sees a smiling Benji sitting alone.

  “I found him,” she says.

  Claire walks over to Benji. He’s dressed in ironed khakis and a blue dress shirt. He greets her with a warm hug and pulls out her chair. Claire appreciates the attention. It’s been some time since a man looked forward to her company and not just her progressive views about sex.

  “Do you think I can’t
do that myself?” Claire teases about the gesture.

  Benji seems stunned and confused. Claire’s face breaks into a smile. “I’m just kidding. I’m not feminist enough to hate chivalry.”

  Benji visibly relaxes. “Good. I was brought up to treat all women properly.”

  “I’ll have to thank your mother then,” Claire states as she sits down.

  Benji politely pushes her chair in and sits on his side of the table.

  “I was glad you agreed to come out with me tonight,” Benji begins. “I don’t meet many women as intriguing as you.”

  “I know that I come off pretty forward. I appreciate a man who can handle that.”

  “I don’t know if I would say that I can handle you, but at least you remembered who I was when I called.”

  Claire smiles. She enjoys Benji’s company. A young waitress approaches.

  “Good evening, my name is Emma, and I’ll be your waitress tonight. Can I get you two anything to drink?” the waitress asks.

  Claire responds first. “I’ll take a water with lemon and a glass of red wine. I’ll leave it up to you to select a good one.”

  Benji slightly laughs. Claire hopes it’s for a positive reason.

  “I’ll have a root beer,” he says.

  Emma scribbles the order onto her notepad. “Sounds great. Would you like any appetizers?”

  Benji looks at Claire, but she shakes her head to decline.

  “No, thank you,” he answers.

  “Alright, I’ll give you a few more minutes to look over the menu while I get those drinks.” Emma walks away.

  “I could never do a job like that,” Claire admits. “I don’t think I like people enough.”

  Benji furrows his brow. “I don’t know if I believe that. You wouldn’t want to entertain people so much if it was true.”

  Claire becomes slightly annoyed. Her shining knight just put a foot in his mouth inside five minutes of their first date.

  “I inform; I don’t entertain,” she corrects.

  Benji continues with his thought. “I guess, but you do give the news a little bit of an entertaining spin.”

  He can’t be this stupid, Claire thinks. “No, I don’t.”

  Benji’s eyes finally show some intelligence. They indicate alarm as he speaks again.