Tracy Morrow, Polynesian Male, 36 years old.
I was a solider. Wrapped up in the
patriotism movement after the 9/11 “terror” attacks, I joined the United States
Marine Core.
Went through the training, became a seasoned veteran surviving out in the
barren wastes of Iraq and Afghanistan… Afghanistan, where the real fighting was
being done, where the news didn’t report all the horrid things we had to do out
there.
One day on a night patrol, I was sitting on top of a Humvee. I got a call on
the radio from my Sergeant to pop a guy who was running down the street after
curfew. I saw him, lined him up, and put his brains on the floor.
No explanation as to what he did, nothing. And I just shot him, because I was a
robot… A unit, following commands from a master, like a damned dog.
When I first got to in the war, killing was survival, him or me. But then it
turned into tyranny. We were the mechanical prison guards, for our nearly nonexistent
wardens. We all turned this country into a prison, the freedom I wanted to
bring to this place, was a lie.
I had to leave, but that was a
challenge. All the red tape, all the waiting… I too was a prisoner just like
those we oppressed. I had to serve my time.
Then finally, I was free. Back into
my country with green grass, hot dogs, and women in bikinis on TV. It was nice
at first. Being with my family, seeing my little girl grown into little Ms.
Successful. My time in the war though, it stained part of my soul with a
darkness I can’t wash clean.
One night in the hours just before dawn I was restless, with flash backs that
plagued my thoughts. I decided to hit a local pub to clear my mind. I see a guy
harassing the bar wench, a cute petite woman that spoke English like a record
player smeared with mole sauce. It was none of my business until she smacked
his hand out of her bra and the bastard jumps over the bar and starts roughly
handling her.
I stand up for her, not taking much thought of her trying to warn me. Shaking
her head and waving for me to sit down.
With four buddies on his side the prick jumps over and starts walking up to me
with his crew tight behind him. Takes a swing at me, I duck and upper cut him
right off his feet. While his entourage attempted to catch their falling
comrade, one of them; some fat slob in a trucker cap with double chin under a
thin sweaty mustache and denim jacket, pulls out a pistol.
And before the bastard can point it at me, I fly a hunting knife into the asshole’s
foot.
Turns
out the assholes were all off duty cops. I was found at home, beaten, and
thrown in jail. The cops intimidated the bar wench against testifying in court
and I was sent up shit creek.
More imprisonment, except this time I learned what it felt like to take the
abuse of power. To know what it was to be one of those innocent civilians in
the Middle East.
The time passed… But being around those violent criminals, and the inmates.
It changed me.
I can no longer feel patriotism to this country. So I packed up and headed out
here to the forests far north of America. Killing trees and hauling the
carcasses to make them pretty for more strip malls and fast food restaurants.
Off the grid, paid in cash, no names.
All the men are just hard hats who don’t look one another in the eye. Only
method of communication is barking orders, and the closest thing to a hug is
the random fist fights from flared tempers.
My only contact with the outside
world is the little decorated envelopes from my 18 year old daughter. My little
Tiana, fresh out of high school and into college with no punk boyfriends
around. Every dad’s dream… Ms. Successful.
She’s the only one who takes the time to keep my knowledge of life in the city
is.
Tiana’s letters usually start off with some clever pun like, “Father Mountain”, to poke fun about my
new lifestyle.
But this time it was “Dad”, and my
heart sank, because right then I knew something bad had happened.
Dad,
I’m
not sure how to say this, but I’m in jail for ‘allegedly’ assaulting a police
officer.
Dad,
he broke my left arm.
Tiana.
Without another thought I begin packing my pages. No one
hurts my little girl, no one, not for
any reason they might want to make up.
The bag is packed, tossed into the passenger side of my black pickup, to
California I go.
Los Angeles, California, Court House, early afternoon.
I arrive in town just as the
court house opened. The traffic, the noise, the smells…
I have definitely not missed the people of LA. After being stuck on a freeway
for nearly two hours and spending close to another just looking for parking.
Walking into the court room, the proceedings nearly come to a stop, everyone is
looking at me. My daughter dressed in county blues, she tries to fix her hair
and wipe her tears with her one good arm. And in the witness stand was a cop. A
balding 30-something, who doesn’t look as if bathing is on his list of regular
things to do, sitting comfortably while my Tiana is chained like a wild animal.
I take a seat as close behind Tiana as I could, she tries to turn and talk to
me, but I point to the officer on the
stand.
She understands, and turns to face the judge. I can see her looking at me out
the corner of her eye.
Don’t worry baby… Daddy isn’t going anywhere.
The
slovenly officer beings to recite his testimony.
“At around 1800 hours I arrived on the scene of the defendant’s home responding
to a DV call.” The officer started.
“Please state full what a DV call is, for the record Officer Buncannan.” The
Judge interjected.
“Oh, a domestic violence call.”
Officer Bucannan beamed up at the judge much in the way a dog would, wagging
its tail and painting, after doing a simple trick.
“The Defendant was standing in the door way of her apartment, a man who later
was identified as
Mikael Rodriguez, the defendants ex-boyfriend.” Officer Bucannan continues. “
Mr. Rodriguez was battered and restrained with plastic grocery bags an-“ Officer Bucannan was disrupted… By my laughter,
I wave to the Officer to continue and remain quiet in my seat. Lean forward and
whisper to Tiana, “ I can’t believe you used that old trick.” She smiles and
looks down into her lap.
I can tell she feels so embarrassed for me seeing her like this.
“… Yea well, the defendant was eating a bowl of fruit and spitting the seeds on
Mr. Rodriguez. I asked her to stop doing so, in which she replied: ‘what took
you doughnut-fuckers so long, I already took care of the problem, clean up this
mess.”
Again, the officer was interrupted by my laughter. Officer Bucannan continued.
“Ooo-k… The Defendant then became verbally abusive towards me about the
response time to the call. I asked her again and again to refrain from using
such language until it got to a point where I felt threatened, and decided that for my safety as well as hers, to put
her in handcuffs.” Officer Bucannan paused, and looked at me directly. Maybe
waiting for another big guffaw, or what he was about to testify next might be
very upsetting to me. “So the defendant began resisting, screaming ‘why am I
being arrested’, I then wrestled her to the ground. With her resisting, her arm
may have broken.”
“Don’t forget the part where you ripped my shirt and bar in half, and kicked my
face!” Tiana barked out, nearly rising to her feet.
The judge smashes his Galvan, and calls for order.
I stand up and go straight up to the witness stand, I can feel the people
around me becoming tense, and I think Officer Bucannan had his hand on his
pistol.
“Daddy,
NO!” Tiana hissed at my back. I come face to face with Mr. Bucannan. I can feel
the bailiff beginning to muster his balls .
And I just stare into Officer Bucannan’s face, learning every detail I could.
“The fuck is your problem, huh?” Bucannan said. I stand up, hands in the air.
“No problem at all, bra,” I hit an about-face and exit the court room.
I got word that Tiana took a deal
to drop the charges against Officer Bucannan, and they’ll drop the charges
against her. So she took the deal. Now I just sit, smoke and wait for my
daughter to come through those metal doors at the back of the county lock up.
I sit inside my pickup and think… and think, and think.
Something had to be done about Officer Bucannan. Nobody hurts my little woman,
especially no “patriot” who feels his badge makes it ok to break my little
girl’s arm.
Think and think some more. My mind becomes more obsessive about what that
pig-bastard did to my little girl.
How could he?
I hear the metal door clank and open, the sliding barbed wire gate slides ajar,
newly released prisoners stream out one after another, all of them puff in a
large puff of fresh air… well as fresh as Los Angeles air can be, but at least
there isn’t the stench of despair, and jail in it.
Finally Tiana comes out, barely anything covering her body, she must have been
arrested in her pajamas.
I spring over to her and wrap a jacket over her shoulders, and help her into
the pickup.
“Dad… I had to take a deal.” Tiana begins, gazing blankly into the dashboard
and rubbing the cast on her arm. “… I
had to drop the police brutality case so that they’d drop the assault case.”
I look her in the eyes and smile, “Where do you wanna eat my darling?”
In a local chicken-in-a-bucket restaurant, Tiana and I sit
and eat in silence. Until Tiana, trying to eat a chicken leg, dropped it in a
small vat of sauce, making a big mess.
We couldn’t help but laugh, and not that the ice has been broken: “So what
happened with that Ri-cardio asshole?” I question.
Tiana shrugged and waived her hand as if the gesture would magically make me
drop the subject.
“Tiana.” I say sternly. She takes a
deep breath and starts gabbin’.
“Mikael was getting really, really
clingy,” she says, apparently talking to the chicken drenched in sauce. “So I
break up with him, three days later he comes outside my door screaming outside
my door, and tried to kidnap me. “Jeez… Were you guys banging at least?” I
blurt out. “Daaaad!” She shrieks.
“Well?”
… “ Yea, just once or twice.”
“Didn’t I teach you better,” I wag my finger in her direction. “You don’t give
100% of your ability!” We laughed.
Finished our meal and I drove her home. I was pulling up when Tiana sighed
deeply.
“What’s wrong doll?” I asked my daughter. “That fuck-wad Mikael is sitting on
my porch.” She huffed. “Dad… Don’t do-“ She couldn’t even finish. The bastard
thinks he’s going to harass my daughter? I think not.
“Tiana, who is this fuck, huh?” Mikael yelled, then seeing my size, he drew a
pistol. Tiana hopes out the car and confronts Mr. Crazy. “Mikael, what the hell
are you doing, you better put that gun away!”
“You cheating on me with this old fuck!?” He barked, waving his chrome piece in
my general direction.
“I fucking love you, you will be with
me!” The mad man rants.
“You know what, you’re funeral man.” Tiana waved her hand to dismiss him.
I pull out my favorite hunting blade and send it sailing right into Mr. Crazy’s
thigh. Kicked the gun out of his hand, with the other foot spinning in the air
kick his face practically in half.
Tiana walked right over him, “Told you bra.” She enters her house.
She knows what’s coming next.
I load Mikael into my pickup, and we take a nice little drive to have a heart
to heart.
“So Mikael, I seem to
remember that you got my daughter’s arm broken.”
“Oh shit, you’re her dad?” Mikael shrieked. I guess this news made him more
worried about who I am.
I crack him in the nose with the blunt end of the pistol the little jerk tried
to shoot me with.
Mikael lets out a quick shriek of pain and goes for the door handle, but I’ve
got the child lock on that door.
“Relax Mr. Rodriguez,” I say to him, lighting a cigarette and rolling my window
down. “You and I have to become better acquainted.”
So I took the boy’s gun and left him suspended over the Santa Monica pier bound
with duct tape, with a note that said “Spider Man done it!” I don’t imagine he’ll be keeping his distance
from Tiana from now on.
But
my business in LA is not yet concluded.
I am here to hunt. Officer Bucannan has been sent on a two week paid leave. This
badged thug breaks my little girl’s arm, and they send him off for a two week
vacation?
Well the plan now is to catch Officer Bucannan and make sure his vacation isn’t
spent in comfort. Maybe a broken arm will do him well on the beach.
Malibu beach matter of fact.
Watching pasty pale Officer Bucanann sitting in a restaurant on near the beach,
with his other off duty pals. You can tell that they’re all cops, same sneakers
with tube socks, khaki cargo shorts, tucked in t-shirts with a short sleeve
button up to hide their concealed 9mm.
Stalking him… Just waiting for him to be alone, waiting for the perfect time to
pounce.
The night is upon Malibu, the darkness is my natural element.
From a rooftop I watch Officer Bucannan and his buddies enter a tavern.
Strategically park my pick up a half block away, and wait in a shadow. And
wait… and wait.
Then finally, the prey stumbles out of the tavern. Right pass me the slovenly
fuck staggers, nearly falling over. He nearly face plants on the ground, his
button up shirt flies up and I catch a glint of his chrome plated pistol with
black rubber grip. He makes it around to the side of the tavern where the gated
parking is.
Experience tells me to wait, just a moment longer.
“Jim!” one of the cop buddies stumbles out. Blond haired buzz cut guy freezes
for a moment that feels like a whole minute. Not sure what my reaction would
be, the blond man looks down at my shirt. “Swastika, what?” he mumbles in
confusion then dismisses me. “Jim, you drunk bastard, where are ya?” Blondie
goes stumbling after Officer Bucannan.
Every god damn time, I get ready to engage my target, there’s always someone or
something that makes a noise or pops up and just makes it more difficult.
I see blondie give the target a set of keys he must’ve left in the bar. Then
Blondie stumbles back over towards me. “Hey buddy, you got a light?”
Blondie fumbles with a pack of cigarettes, spilling two on the ground and
putting on in his mouth backwards.
“Yea pal, I sure do.” I reply, and feign as though I have a
lighter in my hands. But as Blondie leans in I grab the back of his head and
smash him to the brick wall of the tavern. I have to engage the target, and I
have to do it now before he gets in
his vehicle. I walk over to the caged parking area, glancing around to be sure
that there will be no witnesses.
My target is lazily pissing on someone’s car door handle like a child.
Quickly and as quietly as I can I come up out of his blind side. “Officer, enjoying
your vacation?” I call out, rearing to clock Bucannan in the back of the skull,
but at the last moment I noticed he could see me approaching in the car’s shiny
paint job.
Officer Bucannan whirls around with his pistol drawn, but the motion proves too
much for all the liquor in his brain to handle.
He fires a shot.
BAM
Right past the side of my left cheek.
Surprised, but not stunned, I rush the fuck. I grab his wrist and twist until
the bone went click.
Threw Officer Bucannan to the ground and stabbed him in the throat.
Shit! What the fuck did I do that for?
But
I kept going, again and again. Bucannan began choking, and died nearly
instantly.
I have to get thee fuck, out of here!
No time. I jump the fence and run down to my pickup. My hands are covered thick
with blood… I’m going to jail.
They’re going to fry me man.
At Tiana’s house.
In the bathroom… On top of the toilet, completely naked,
blood coating my hands and cracking like marble from the coagulation.
I sit and stare at the skin on my fingers. Every pore, crevice, and scar has
varying colors of red on them.
Playing over and over again what just happened in my mind.
Why did I pull the knife?
Why did I do it so many times?
… What should I feel right now? Do I feel guilt?
No… I feel good.
Good?
Damn good. I’ve hunted animals, rabbits and deer where never as fun as hunting
predators.
In the Middle East, hunting animals where never as fun as hunting a “terrorist”.
Prey that can think on your level; that can have training and respond with
force just as deadly as yours.
Out here in this country, a police officer is at the top of
the food chain. Turn the shower on to let the hot water prime.
In the mirror I stare into my eyes. Through the dark pools of my pupils I
looked inside myself, and asked: What now?
We’ll do it again… We, will kill
again.
Chapter 2
More and more I see the police have grown into a mafia like
organization. Warping and bending the rules, abusing the people they swore to
protect.
“Dad, did you hear about this poor guy up in Bakersfield?” Tiana asked through
a mouthful of toast. Apparently her routine in the morning is to sit on her
computer and look at horrid news reports. “This guy, Damien Silva, got beat to
death while he was handcuffed by nine police officers!”
Recent events have peaked our interests in these matters, mine more so than
hers. “Wow… nine?” I can feel my face contort with emotion.
“Yea and get this, the people recording this all go down, they got their cell
phones confiscated nearly by force!”
We both sat in silence.
Eventually Tiana began scrolling through her news again.
“Oh my god, dad!” she shrieked. Apart of my mind in the far
back of the bus, had a sense of what she had just read.
“What’s wrong honey?” I respond flatly. “The cop who… That Officer Bucannan,
who broke my arm.” She stopped, and looked up at me in a strange mix of
suspicion. “What about him?”
“He’s dead.” Her face dove back into the screen, eyes darting for more
information. “Apparently he was at a bar in Malibu, and someone mugged him…
Stabbed him in the neck seventeen times.” Tiana looked at me again, trying to
gage my reaction.
So I faked one. “Serves the fuck right, breaking my little girl’s arm, I hope I
meet the man who did it so I can buy him a shot!” I slap my knee and chuckle.
The act disarmed her suspicion.
Breakfast ends on a merry tone.
Months go by. I drive back to California to visit Tiana. Her
arm has healed and Mikael runs away whenever he sees her coming down the
street.
“What are you doing back in my neck of the woods pa?” She jests with a
hillbilly accent. “Why I is comin’ to the big city to do some huntin’ and-a
shootin’ and-a drankin’!” I respond, with a slack jaw look on my face.
Laugh. Hug. Telling a partial truth, is still telling the truth.
Tiana is busy with work and school, so I leave in the night
to Bakersfield, California. It’s a three hour drive, three whole hours to plot
my plan of action.
According to all available sources of information, the deputies involved in the
killing of poor Damien have all been left unidentified and still actively
patrolling the streets of Bakersfield.
What to do, what to do…
I finally arrive in Bakersfield two hours and twenty minutes
later. I park my pickup in an inconspicuous location that looks mostly
abandoned.
Tonight, the game is stealth, the mission is recon.
From watching online news clips, I decide the cleanest way to identify my
targets is to first locate an eye witness. I think one man named Jason Plain
will be the perfect informant.
So I am watching him right now, it looks as though he is heading to a
convenience store.
A few moments pass and he’s back out, looking over his shoulder constantly. I
can tell the police have been putting the screws to this poor man, as every car
that comes his direction that remotely resembles a police car, makes his pace
slow until it passes by.
I follow him until he gets near the apartment building I saw him leave from.
Need a quick distraction to get the lead.
Bottle on the ground, throw it high and far to Mr. Plain’s right. Jason stops
and peers into the darkness, so I dart to his left and get into position.
Jason comes to his door, and unlocks it, grabs the door
knob, turns.
I pounce on him, blade to his throat and other hand around his mouth. “Calm
down Mr. Plain, I’m not the police, I need to talk to you for a moment,” I
whisper in his ear slowly. Every muscle in his body is stiff as a board. “We
are going to go inside. I’m going to ask you simple questions, you will answer.
I will then leave, and no one gets hurt. Understood?”
Jason nods his head shakily, and slowly opens the door. There’s a large TV
illuminating the room and three small children on the floor watching a kids’
movie.
I position myself behind Jason so he can shut the door. Suddenly he rifles in
his plastic bag and leans over to the children. “H-here y’all go,” I can hear
him trying to remain calm as possible, as he dispenses large candy treats to
each of them.
“Thank you!” “Thank you!” they cheered, one already had her mouth busy chewing.
“Y’all stay in here alright, be good.” Jason instructed. The children all
suddenly noticed me standing behind him, and stared with mouths open.
I tug the back of Jason’s hoodie, and he follows. Into the kitchen there’s a
stove lamp on shining a faint orange light on the bar counter in front of the
oven. I grab a chair and turn it around, wave the knife instructing him to sit
in it. He does.
Perch myself atop the bar island and glare at Mr. Plain.
“Jason Plain, I am here to ask you questions about the night Damien Silva was
murdered.” I began. “Do you mind if I drank my beer?” He asked.
“I’d prefer if you did.”
Jason cracks the seal and takes a large drink. Exhales, and gazes at the
ground. “What do you want to know?”
“The two highway patrolmen, could you identify them if you saw them?” I ask.
“I guess so.” He replies shrugging his shoulders, still gazing into the
linoleum.
“Flip through these pictures and point them out.” I hand him a cellphone I
stored pictures of the California Highway Patrol men that were reporting to a
station closest to Bakersfield. Jason takes the phone and flips through the
pictures quickly. “Naw, I don’t think any of them were the ones.” Jason held
the phone out to me.
“Jason, two men from the CHP will die. I am going to kill them.” I say flatly.
“Now I understand you may not agree with murder, but two men will be hunted,
and murdered. It is up to you to decide whether it be the two CHP officers
involved in killing Damien Silva… or two innocent officers.”
Jason’s arm retracted slowly, the light from the cell phone shined on a grim
face. A couple moments went by.
Jason handed the cellphone back. “It was these two.” He went to stand.
“Ah ah, sit.” I instructed waving my knife, looking at the faces of the two
targets now acquired.
“You should finish your beer.” I hop off the bar island and open a nearby fuse
box, and flip all the switches. Then leave out the door while the children
protested with mouths full of candy.
I wonder what could possibly be going through that man’s head right now.
But the night is still young, I have traps to lay; have to
bag them all in one night before any alarms can be set off.
Prowling the streets, hunting for the police is a surreal feeling.
The element of surprise, so comfortable… It feels glorious. Driving around for
nearly a half hour before I spot one of the targets, I believe his name is
Sargent Doug Blade. Ah yes, this one is a seasoned killer. My heart begins to
gallop in my chest.
Sit back, and observe.
Wouldn’t you believe the luck, Sgt. Blade and four of the six deputies on my
list are ordering late night snacks at a taco stand right outside of a
convenience store.
Hmm… Gotta move fast, I start the pickup and drive to a building a few blocks
away. It looks like its going to be empty over the weekend, a warehouse of
sorts.
Set my trap, and run back to where my ‘friends’ are. Pull as mask over my face unsheathe the
blade, right up to the counter.
The cashier freezes. “Umm… Is that a swastika?” the pale woman asked. Pencil
thin and straight brown hair parted straight down the middle. I tap my blade on
the counter. “Money, please.”
“Are you serious?” She says in a sassy tone point out towards the taco stand.
“There are cops right there, they
will kill you!”
I tap the blade on the counter again. The buffoons are at
the taco stand boasting to one another, totally unaware of what’s going on. My
heart is beating, toes wiggling in my shoes. Just so antsy with all the
adrenaline.
“There you go mister,” the cashier loaded a brown paper bag, and stood back
crossing her arms. “good luck to you.”
I look out the store entrance, then look back at the bony woman. “Thank you for
your concern miss.”
“ALRIGHT BITCH THIS IS A STICK UP, EMPTY THAT THING INTO THIS BAG AND HAND ME
SOME SMOKES!!” with a start she springs into action, first going for the
register but then remembering she already did that. Pivoted around and grabbed
three packs at random and threw them into the bag.
“HURRY UP, HURRY UP, C’MON!!” I scream at the top of my lungs and then dart out
the door.
I stop as soon as I get outside the store, Sgt. Blade and his associates where
closing in hands on their tazer units.
“FREEZE!”
“STOP RIGHT THERE!”
“Aw man, I’m sorry… I’m sorry!” I dart to the right and start heading down the
street behind the store. I can hear them giving pursuit demanding me to stop.
Then I hear one call “Wait, go get the cruiser!”
So I run into a garbage can and become tangled in the bags.
“Wait, hold up.” The same officer called out. “We got ‘em now.” They all came
trotting over cat calling like the hoodlums they truly are. Gotta bait the away
from them cars.
I clamber up and stumble down the road more. “I just wanna go home, I’ll give
it back!” I scream behind me, and run into a sedan. They all howl with
laughter.
“Hey stop buddy, you’re gonna hurt yourself before we even catch ya!”
Yes that’s right boys, chase the queer into a corner, it’s just like high
school.
Come along now, keep up!
The officers follow me, as I feign a limp. I throw myself
over the fence of the warehouse property I selected. The officers stand at the
fence, panting and smiling with jackal grins.
“Please, I’ll take it all back, just leave me be!” I wail, crawling backwards
until they gather their breath to start ascending the fence.
I hop up and run into the warehouse… And wait in my position.
The inside of the warehouse is dark and eerie, but the officers trickle in,
flashlights drawn and batons at the ready. “Here kitty, kitty!” Sgt. Swords
calls out. The other deputies snicker and continue looking around carefully.
They’re all inside now. I gut the chain that holds the large garage door open,
and it slams down shut tight with a clatter.
All I can see is their beams of light flashing around and around in confusion,
pistols drawn.
Then I chuck down my little homemade device, it’s kind of like chloroforum, and
mace, in a tear gas grenade.
“Dude… We fucked up.” A voice in the dark exhales, as one by one they all fall.
SPLASH!
I drench each officer with a bucket of dirty cold water.
“Rise and shine Officers!” I yell, each of them suspended by their wrists with
chains draped over a beam above, just to keep them on their feet.
“So… I’ve been a busy guy,” I chuckle, pointing to two new guests in my new
lair. “I somehow managed to snag up two CHP officers, one of which was getting
a little handy from a prostitute at a truck stop!”
No one made a sound.
“Well, can you all guess why you’re here?” I ask in the tone of a game show
host. “C’mon, look around and just guess!”
“You’re a sick fuck, and you’re gonna fry!” one officer shouted in a
matter-of-fact tone. “No Officer Brian Rock, you are incorrect!” In the game
show host voice, I punch officer rock twice in the face.
“You can’t tell me, you’ve all forgotten about Damien Silva.”
They each look at one another.
“And since your department decided to violate the 4th Amendment
rights of the witnesses, and destroy evidence,” I click my heels next to a CHP
officer. “I can’t tell if these two highway patrolmen actually committed murder
or not. So they die… guilt by association I suppose.” With
that I ram my blade so deep in one CHP officer’s throat I nearly lose it inside
of him.
Now they’re dancing… now they know, I’m fucking serious. I trot over to the over CHP officer, whose
balling, pleading and begging to live. “I have two kids, please!!”
“Ah… That sounds familiar,” I pause touching the bloody blade to my chin. “Oh
yes, that sounds just like Damien Silva, when you were all beating him to
death.”
Touched the blade to one side of his throat, and drew a line to the other. The
highway patrolmen sputtered and kicked falling to his knees, gasping and
staring at his hands, then back up to me.
“Yes that’s right, you’re all not handcuffed or anything, you’re holding your
own arms in those chains!” I cackled and kicked the CHP officer in the throat.
Blood sprayed like a faucet, and his face hit the ground.
The others wasted no time untwining their wrists from the
chains, each simultaneously grabbing for their pistols. “Ah ah, gentlemen,” I
wag my finger to them. “No projectiles. You will defeat me the same way you
murdered Damien Silva. And no one leaves until I’m dead.”
My hands are stone, years of conditioning, a life time of fighting. In this
moment, it could have been my birthday; I could have won the lotto… Same damned
feeling.
They pull out their batons. Deputy Daniel Stephens, Deputy Ryan Creer, Deputy
Geoffrey Kelly, Deputy Ronnie Almanza, Deputy Conner Miller, and big bad Sgt.
Blade.
I’m going to KILL THEM ALL!
Sgt. Blade reaches me first, I jab him in the face, and kick
him aside. Him, I want to save for last.
Deputy Creer is up to bat with Deputy Kelly close behind. Creer swings and a
miss!
Three punches to the temple flays his body flat. Kelly swings twice, I dodge.
Kick Almanza in the face who tries to flank me from the right.
Kelly swings again, I catch the baton and disintegrate his jaw line with a left
hook. Almanza tries to scramble to his feet, I sweep kick his arm and roll over
his back just as Stephens swings down on me, but instead hits Almanza in the
shoulder. Sgt. Sword comes at me from the shadows screaming like a Viking.
I finger smack his throat and dodge his body mass. He’s down for a little
longer.
“Not your turn big boy, you and I are gonna have lots of fun tonight!” I roar
at Sgt. Sword.
Stephens comes at me like a mad man swinging left to right. I snatch his weapon
from his hand, and grab a handful of his uniform.
Dragging him backwards while I beat his skull until you can see his thoughts.
“C’mon Deputy Miller, you’re missing all the fun!” I call
out to Miller, whose trying to disappear with his thoughts. Almanza is on the
charge, tries to do some kung fu kick. I duck and send his balls to high
heaven, as he drops I force a good portion of my boot into his mouth.
“No!” Sgt. Blade screams out, as I stomp Almanza’s throat. Sgt. Blade stops and
stares at me.
“You’re… You’re a psycho.” He pants.
I walk over to Deputy Kelly, whose jaw is fractured. “No Sgt. Blade,” I say,
gazing down at Deputy Kelly. “I’m the new justice.”
With that said, I plunge my blade into the back of Deputy Kelly’s neck. Sgt.
Blade lunges at me with a barrage of
tired strikes, easily deflected. The fuck outta here with that MMA shit!
Upper cut lays him flat on his ass.
I turn to face Deputy Miller who’s still cowering under a rusty table.
“Come here boy,” I taunt as if he were a scared dog. “I’m
not gonna hurt you!”
A smile stretches from ear to ear on my face… I don’t recognize myself, but I
love how I feel.
I walk over to the rusty table that Miller is taking shelter under.
Flip it over with a loud clatter, and roar at him like some kind of beast. Deputy
Miller pisses himself and cringes.
I put my knee into his skull until said knee nearly meets the stone wall behind
it.
Sgt. Blade stands silently; he tosses his baton aside and
stands with a boxer’s guard up. Every muscle in my body flexes and I roar at
him… roared.
I charge Sgt. Blade with a series of wild punches, which he defends against.
Two to the gut, an uppercut clean on my jaw. Blade sends me flying on my back.
He pounces, mounted on my chest pounding my face over and over again. All I see
are stars and knuckles, as the rain pours pain into my face.
“You like that you sick junkie fuck?!” Blade screeches as he continues his
barrage.
Junkie? The fuck is he talking about?
Well that’s enough of this shit.
I kick the Sgt. Blade in the back of his head, which propels
him the fuck off me. On my feet, put on my fighting stance and inch closer and
closer to Sgt. Blade.
Blade swings, three right hooks to the ribs and a left upper cut, clean. I
stumble back, trailing a string of blood from my lips.
Square up again. I swing for a wild left hook; Blade ducks under it and catches
me twice in the solar plexus. I double over and Blade has a knee right there to
give me a kiss on the cheek.
I roll away from the strike zone.
Sgt. Blade stands trotting in his boxing cadence, looking confident. Proud
even.
“Haw look at that,” Sgt. Blade begins taunting. “Little crazy man ain’t got no
stand up!”
I get on my feet again, and focus. My hands become stone.
I see blade coming after me, but he is slow compared to me. Sgt. Blade comes at
me with a right hook, I Savate kick his shin, stopping him.
Then a glorious palm strike to his nose. Bones cracked; eyes rolled back, mouth
agape. Sgt. Blade fall back like a petrified tree, straight back.
Sgt. Blade is disoriented, eyes rolling
around in his skull, blood streaming from his nostrils.
I slam the heel of my boot into his citizen murdering face until it becomes a
bowl.
I hear a noise like a duck drowning in a shallow pool coming from the bowl of
his face; slowly the level rises and spills over.
Back in Los Angeles at Tiana’s house the following morning.
The murderous deputies were found the by a manager coming in
to get his laptop from in his office.
Different law enforcement agencies were reported to be crawling all over the
warehouse in Bakersfield.
Besides all the speculation, and news reporters’ dramatic ‘tragedy’ talk, it all boiled down that a group of Neo-Nazis
ambushed the deputies and then beat them to death.
I guess the random thought to carve swastikas into their foreheads was a good
idea after all.
… I should probably think up some reason for that. In case I’m caught that’s
probably gonna be the million dollar question everyone would actually be dying
to know.
God damned sheeple.
Case 1, end.
The days following have been hum drum. Tina is in La La Land
with some new guy, who’s an uppity suburban “thug”.
Spends most of his time in the gym, blasting ridiculous nightclub electro music
through his rice burner car radio. The damn thing that, besides my little girl
being so smitten with this douche, that cheeky shit grin staring me right in
the eye while that grimy fuck’s arm is moving around under the table. Like I’m
some kind of moron.
Sitting in this stupid fusion Asian restaurant with these weird brightly
colored uncomfortable cold chairs made of cheap plastic. And that stupid shiny
bleached smile stretched ear to ear, touching my daughter right in front of me;
a real sneaky guy ah.
I have these chopsticks in my hand; I want to take one and plow it up his
nostril and get all ancient Egypt on that noodle of his.
But Tina would cast me out. She’s the only other person I even communicate
with, sadly my whole world revolves around her, but her world is wide and
populated. The boy… I can’t remember his name; I see his mouth jabbering with that
stupid seemingly permanent stick of gum clearly visible.
Chewing the damned thing every time he talks, even when eating his Chinese or
whatever this crap is.
Reminding me of when I was in prison…
4 Years
In prison I made no friends, race is a collective pool in
which sides are taken.
Stick with your own, and you might survive is the motto.
Not black enough for the brothers, not Spanish enough for the Latinos, Arians
are obviously out. Asians have never liked me, don’t know why.
No other Polynesians, though I suspect many of them chose to side with the
Latinos covertly.
And then the toughest gang there, the Guards. The guards were sadistic, twirling their
batons around with slow arrogant strides, whistling Dixie.
The trial was unfair, and most of the Correction Officers, or “C.Os” working
here were at the trial. Filling pew after pew in support for the off duty
officers that I rescued that bartender from. The judge’s wife was in the first
row, glaring at her husband. Daring him to not throw me in the pokey.
My public pretender… I mean defender,
was useless, barely knew my name let alone the details of the case.
Either way, there I was sitting in the cell. The cowboys
attacked me randomly, beating me, trying to get me to lash out, to provoke me
into earning more time in that cage. Eventually the C.Os realized that only
injury they’d get from me is their own bruised knuckles from my face hitting
them.
So they tried another route.
One day I was in the showers, crews of three big black fuckers close in on me.
From the corner of my eyes I could see them smirking and lathering their cocks
with a thick layer of bar soap. I knew then that the C.Os had gotten me, there
was no way I was going to let myself contract some kind of AIDS or HIV from
these gorillas.
In the end of the sudsy fray I left them pretty badly beaten. One of them close
to death, and I was looking at another few years on my stay within those walls.
But a scrawny old timer happened to be in the showers and told what he saw to
the medics in the prison.
Poor guy ended up poked to death a week later. I never got
to say thank you, or ask why he spoke up.
Even still, I was sent to rot in a hole. In solitary, the
silence was deafening.
Except for feeding time… The slot would screech open and light would invade
like a laser beam into my eyes. The first while I would try to bargain with the
C.O, beg to know how long I would be kept in there, how long I had already been
in.
That same C.O, for what I presume was years; I never saw his face. Just that
stupid cheeky smile and the permanent wad of gum stuck inside of his mouth as
he mocked me.
Hawking thick wads of smoker’s snot into my feed, dipping his cock into my
water cup, spraying me with high pressured water for a shower.
For days… weeks… who can tell in there?
I let pride bring me to the brink of starvation and dehydration. Refusing to
eat the sabotaged feed and drink; the gum-smile C.O taunting me all the while.
“You ain’t gonna eat the cornbread, huh killer?” he’d say in his voice, nearly
baying like a donkey. “What’s wrong, you don’t like a little sauce with your
grub?”
In the dark the time does not pass.
The only concept of time is the taunts and the water assaults.
The only way you know for sure that this one minute hasn’t lasted forever.
In the darkness my mind began to crack, or evolve… maybe more like adapt. There
was the me I’ve known all my life, and then there was another.
I can never see him clearly, but I can feel him breathing on my right cheek
always. A shadow in my peripheral, speaking… advising.
Then the time came again.
The slot squealed open, and the smile with the wad of gum peered in at me
laughing like a jackal. “Ready to eat your Cream o’ Wheats, boy?” the smile
asked, cackling hysterically, so much that he coughed a thick wad of phlegm
into the plate. Cock in the water, as
usual.
But this time the voice on my right cheek told me to eat it. To continue to be
strong, consume the contents of the plate to fuel the fire of hatred. That was
the first time I’d ever seen the smiley C.O’s eyes. Tiny little rat eyes.
When I returned the cleaned silverware, I could see his name… Officer McArthur.
I became a side show.
The other C.O’s would come and watch the spectacle, laughing hysterically,
clamoring to watch through the slot in the door to see me eat the spat in food.
“You got him tamed now huh Terry!”
I have no idea how long I was in the isolation chamber. But when I walked out
of there, I was a free man.
As the big metal doors clanged open and I was pushed out into the sunlight that
burned my eyes. I felt vulnerable.
Courtesy bus to the city detention center, forty five minutes of staring out
the window, from the ever unchanging scenery; beautiful and serene… eternal,
slowly morphed into housing developments and advertisements, like a cancer on a
painting. As the newly freed men clamored out
of the folding doors and into the street. Some men were greeted by
waiting family members ready to whisk them away, some men began instinctively
heading in a direction with no manifest in mind.
Other’s stood still on the sidewalk, unsure of where to go.
I stood.
For those long years I believed the C.O’s were keeping my mail from me. I
believed that my family would write to me all the time and those evil men would
try and break my spirit.
In that moment, I felt this odd feeling in my heart that they had not written
me at all.
I thought about Tiana, in my mind she was still a little preteen, my little
daddy’s girl, but she must’ve forgotten about me. As much as I didn’t want to
believe it, I couldn’t lie to myself.
All that time I was in there I had hoped they would move on with their lives
and not let the thought of me rotting away in a cell weigh them down… but… But
for it to actually happen stabbed a cold dagger into my heart.
I began to walk.
There was nothing else for me to do, so I walked in the direction of my home.
Mile after mile the soles of my feet screamed at me louder and louder. The
scenery had changed so much it was hard to figure out where to go. I couldn’t
bring myself to breathe a word to anyone and ask for directions.
I felt like a foreigner, the stores where all different, the teenagers were
rude and sagging skater pants; earplugs seemingly permanent in their ears while
they gaggled amongst one another.
The sun finally went down and I felt more at ease, I finally figured the way to
go.
Hour and a half later I reached the stoop of my home. The
color was the same, the daisies planted just right. I breathed a sigh of relief
and stepped up onto the porch and knocked.
The door was opened by a young girl, probably in high school. Her hair was
blonde and wild with curls, olive skin and emerald green eyes.
“Can… can I help you?” she glared at my suspiciously. “I’m sorry, is Tiana
home?” I mumbled trying to smile but couldn’t. The girl’s eyes got wide and
excited, which kind made my heart swell.
“No way, you’re Tiana’s dad!” she squealed. “Wait right here, ok!”
The girl swirled around and darted into the house. I stepped to a blind spot on
the side of the door, just in case. Just in case what?
Just in case Tiana had a new step dad with a shotgun waiting for me… That’s where my mind
went, always on guard.
The blonde girl returned and handed me a slim dust envelope.
“Here you go; I found this on a shelf in my closet when we moved in.”
Moved in? I open the letter and begin to read.
Hey Poppa Smurf,
Sorry we’re not there to pick you up on your
big day.
Mom moved us out with some rich jerk in L.A.
She wouldn’t let me write to you because she doesn’t want you to know
where we are.
I’m sorry daddy, you know I love you.
I plan on moving out and getting my own place as soon as I turn 18, so buck up
champ! I’m sorry you had to find out like this, please call me when you can my
number is at the bottom of the page. And if mom makes me change the number, use
my e-mail, also conveniently located at the bottom of the page.
So from the date you’ll probably be reading this I’ll be seeing you in 6
months!
Be safe out there, and don’t stop chugging on,
Love you,
Tiana.
I looked on the envelope I tore the letter from. There was a
message sprawled on it:
To whomever finds this letter, I hope you’re
enjoying your new home.
Please do me a solid and keep this letter for my dad, he’s returning from the
war
And will need to know where to go, PLEASE.
August 13 of this year he’ll show, and thank you in advance.
The blonde girl was staring at me with a cup of cold water
in her hand. “You look thirsty,” She reached out the glass and put it into my
hand. After all that walking I hadn’t realized how chapped and dry my mouth had
gotten. “You’re not returning from the war are you?”
“…No.”
“What did you do?”
“Beat up some off duty cops.” I chug the glass.
“Smart of her to lie, I waited here all day for you to come.” She leaned
against the door sill crossing her arms.
“I apologize, I got lost.”
She chuckled and shook her curls. “You want something to eat?”
“No thank you, I have to go now.” I turned to leave the patio. “Wait!” she
said. “I had that letter with me for a whole year… you look nothing like I
thought you would.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I started descending the little stoop.
“Hold on, take my number!” she demanded.
“Why?”
“I… I just want to learn more about you,” she spoke looking down, visibly embarrassed.
“I’ve created this whole fantasy in my mind about what you and Tiana are… were.
I’m just curious to know how much I guessed was right.”
She pulled out her cellphone; jeez
those things have gotten much bigger. Guess the trend changed from small and
tiny to wide and long. She looked at me,
her eyes lit up brilliantly from the light of the phone, waiting for me I
guess.
“I don’t have a phone little lady.”
“Oh… Shit, what do we do?”
“You could write it on the back of this envelope.”
“Ooo, how prehistoric!” She chuckled reaching for a pen near the door. She
trotted up and began writing. I then noticed how pretty she was, how voluptuous.
I instantly became disgusted with myself, but couldn’t look away.
“I’m Q-Q by the way.” She spoke, still scribbling away.
She looked up and handed me the envelope which I shoved in my pocket without
looking.
“Thank you.” I turned again to walk away. “Well?” She asked, her head cocked
looking me up and down.
“… Honestly, I don’t feel as though I have a name.”
Her face contorted into that of pity, she ran up and hugged me. Instinctively I
breathed in her scent, and feeling her body against mine I started to feel a
twitch in my pants.
I pushed her off.
She paused for a moment.
Then rushed up and hugged me again, squeezing tighter.
“I’m nineteen, my parents are away for the weekend, and my boyfriend just went
off to college.” She chanted her proposition.
I was frozen, battling out what decision I should make. Should I stay, or
should I go now.
… Dammit, now The Clash is playing in my head.
I took too long.
Q-Q dragged me by the hand through the front door.
It shuts with a click of the lock.
Cut… End Scene.
“Dad?”
I snapped back to the Japanese fusion… wherever the hell we’re at.
“Are you all right?” Tiana asked me, her hand tugging on mine. I pulled it away
from her… what a crappy way to wake up from that
flashback.
“Yea mista M,” the boy began
speaking. Gum still in mouth. “You having like one of those PTMS flash backs?”
Tiana elbowed him hard in the gut. “Shut up you moron,” she hissed. “And it’s
PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Maybe you should lift a book once in a while and exercise your puny brain
muscle… Idiot.” You could
practically see gum-boy’s muscles deflate.
Took everything within me to not start chuckling.
