No more joggers now jogged passed, Martin felt alone in the park. He was only partially inside it, near a perimeter asphalt path in fact—by no means a spot that ought be lacked of business, but yet, he was alone. He stood.
Martin hadn’t come to this particular park for the offered friendship of random joggers; he had come with a depressing purpose. Nevertheless a purpose though. And so he marched onwards, Rap’s blood encrusted gun sticking from his trousers, rifle and cash left behind—a surprising gift for a random jogger perhaps. Martin marched on, deeper into the park, to a place he wasn’t actually invited.
________
“Which one sweet heart?” the new husband pulled his lover close, embracing her.
“They are all so cute,” she giggled this, half due to the cuteness of the white-gold Labrador puppies and half due to the squeezing of her newly vowed man.
“This one here seems to adore you, almost as much as I do,” he pointed to an excited one near the gate opening, its tail fwapping side to side; then he smiled, she smiled, they kissed.
“Yes, that one,” the young woman picked up the chucky pup and held its face next to her own.
“He’s fat,” the young man jested, “and cute. But not as cute as you. Now, let’s get you two home.”
________
Martin’s wrists waned with agonizing pain. He had to dig the keys to the cuffs from the seemingly lifeless body of Fredrick Glass, and when the steel rings finally fell free from his arms, the mangled flesh underneath was at last revealed. All the skin and muscle the cuffs had been touching when the taxi hit the van was now torn loose. They were in bad enough condition to surprise Martin when he was able to climb free from the wreckage and heroically stagger the ten blocks to the park. He even had the strength to swipe an apple from a passing fruit vendor; he did this only to help his mind subdue the terrorizing aguish that he felt was chasing him. The reason he carried the bags of bundled cash with him: who in their right mind, injured or not, leaves 18 million dollars sitting inside a tipped over van next to dead bodies?
Now that was in the past, the near past mind you, but the past all the same. Martin limped around the park, every part on his body feeling cut and broken in some way. To anyone who had cared enough to watch the ragged man, he seemed to aimlessly wonder, his life’s meaning drawing to a final and quiet close. However, Martin did have a plan. And as he managed to pass through a particularly dense set of trees in the park he saw it.
They had just arrived, cake placed on picnic table, band of children running around the mothers, and everyone starting to put on their party hats. That kid is going to have an incredible story to tell about his eighth birthday, Martin thought.
In his head the wounded ex-cop pictured what the aftermath would be. Sirens finally shredding the silence the park owned. The imagined future park in Martin’s brain was horrid: babies cried, dogs barked, homeless folk awoke from dreams of paradise and fortune. A stolen van “parked” on its side blocks away, the occupants still cooling. And general sympathy for the pretty blonde women on the ground. Her frame still wrapped tightly in body armor lying in the middle of the street, passer-bys gawking at her. Police that were once his friends finding the work of what would look like a blood lusting psychopath. Martin didn’t smile when he opened his eyes, it was a terrible thing to do, but then again, his day hadn’t been full of niceties had it.
He crossed the opening sitting between him and the party. They didn’t see him until he was nearly on them. He stood, slightly panting from strain and leaking blood onto his face, ten feet outside the party. One by one, first adults then children, froze and stared at the almost zombie looking man who was pointing a black pistol at the center mass of the party.
No one screamed and no one made the ever classic grapple for the bad guy’s gun, they were all too shocked at the horror that arrived at the party. Too shocked, they just stood there like trees with faces. Martin’s eyes viewed the children, he had never met the boy before, but a bright yellow and black lettered “Birthday Boy!” t-shirt helped him. The boy was standing only a few feet from Martin. Martin reached out lighting fast and snatched the boy by the arm, his plate of blue and orange cake falling to the ground. He pushed the barrel of the pistol to the boy’s right temple just as a taxi hit the side walk and halted sliding on the pavement.
Fredrick Glass jumped out of the back seat. “You sonafabitch!” rang out from the inside of the taxi and it sped off, kicking out oil burnt fumes—door still open. Glass darted to the center of the party, his weapon drawn out also. So you didn’t die… Not so worried about your next meal now are you, Martin thought—the doom of his actions spilling into his thoughts.
Glass eyed his old partner with a reddening face, “cabbies down like guns in their face.”
“Most people don’t,” Martin returned. Then there was a peculiar dullness. No explosive shoot out. Both men were quiet for a minute—Martin hiding behind his child shield, Glass standing amidst the accursed party goers and the party goers all still frozen, drenched in terror.
Martin broke the silence and spoke first, “you reminded me of something when you asked about the tacos.”
Caught off guard by the mundane sense in the broken calm, he inquired, “yea… what did I remind you of?”
“When we were taking the oath for the city police station, the captain gave that speech. You remember?”
Glass nodded apprehensively, not seeing the point.
“He spoke of corrupt cultures. Remember?”
Another slow nod from Glass.
“Like the ancient Egyptians.” The absurd nature of this caused a few of the party members to glance around, still frozen: is he mad, being the group’s allotted thought.
Martin continued, “if a master builder built something, and it collapsed and killed someone—they executed his son. His mistake meant the taking of his son’s life.”
Glass take a few panic filled steps forward, Martin tightened his arm around the boy, and Glass stopped.
“You slept with her?! And now she’s dead!...” Martin yelled, the boy squirmed but didn’t escape. “You were going to kill me! Fredrick, both our pensions were taken! We were both fired! I needed the cash just as bad as you!”
“Ah, don’t give me that bull! You don’t have kids and a family. You didn’t need the cash,” he suddenly paused and glanced to his wife, who was sitting at the table with the cake on it teary eyed, “and I can explain about that woman. It was nothing, I swear.”
“Glass!” Martin screamed, grabbing his attention, “your mistake equals your kid’s life.”
A high pitched squeal screeched on the road, the shrieking reanimated the party.
________
“Sweetie please hold on to him,” the young husband said as he hefty the chucky pup from his lap to her’s.
She laughed softly, “I’m trying. He just likes you so much. This is a great gift, thank you,” she shifted in her white floral dress and kissed the man. The puppy bounded free again and leapt onto the man’s lap. The young wife laughed again and reached out for the furry pet. It dove down to the pedals at the man’s feet.
“Ah hell,” he whispered as the puppy ran around his feet playing. It landed on the gas and sat. The small Toyota lunged forward with the surge of fuel. The girl yelped while the man yanked on the emergency brake lever. The brake cables tightened dramatically, then snapped with a deafening squeal. The car blasted forward with no control.
________
Ignoring the new commotion caused by the sound, Martin lowered his head to the youngster’s ear, “happy birthday kid…” he prepared to yank the trigger back. A car suddenly lurched over the nearby curb, about the same spot the taxi had momentarily parked. It barreled through the crowd, flinging various party goers left and right.
There are times in a man’s life when he is filled with vengeance and anger. And all he sees is red, he desires the blood atonement all men do after they are wronged in horrid ways. And in these times, he has a chance
to alter his actions, not a chance to rectify sins or evils done in spite, but rather a chance for one last push of external effort to help the innocent. Martin was in the middle of that chance, his only chance. He stooped, dropping the gun, and gripped the hips of the boy. All in one motion he stood and shoved the boy through the air—out of the way. His muscles working like gears and pistons. The car crashed into him, lifting him into the air and viciously backwards. The car stopped at a tree, pinning Martin to it, and wrapped virtually half way around the wood.
Martin fell forward and laid on the hood, spilling blood profusely and coughing. He meagerly lifted his eyes. Fredrick Glass had tried to move but he hadn’t had the time to. He lay on the warm grass of the park. His head was gone and in its place was what looked like a popped balloon that contained wet confetti. A large round, red circle crested around him. Glass was dead. Martin closed his eyes again. There were a few sounds from the car and Martin forced his eyes open one last time. An unscaved, fat little puppy hopped from the driver’s shattered window, crawling on the dead man to get there.
Martin watched him as he—luckily avoiding the red oozing circle around Glass—found the birthday boy’s dropped cake. He dropped his little puppy butt down next to it and began eating the cake.
Happy birthday kid.
Martin closed his eyes and welcomed death.
Other titles by this author:
Something Warm
Aisle 14
Henry Stable
Numb
Sickeningly Human: Advena
A Dream to Consider and Letters to the Worlds
Aisle 14
Nicholas Blakeman lives in Idaho (USA) with his wife and son. Currently he is enrolled in Idaho State University. He has several other short story publications. He has recently been focusing all his writing on an up and coming epic fantasy. Be sure to read more of this new and promising writer as his career matures and progresses.
Bulletproof Birthday Cake Page 4