REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Fifteen

"GONGS OF A BELL"

“JESUS CHRIST, FRANK!”

I slammed the car door behind me, sending shards of broken glass everywhere. I stomped off in no particular direction.

“Frank, for the love of Christ, where are you going?” Sandy shouted.

I heard the other car door slam shut and a few seconds later Sandy was pacing me. “Frank, will you just stop for a second.”

“No,” I said, “I’m done. I’m leaving. You’re right. I’m a fucking bastard. I know. It’s not a secret.”

“So, you punch out my car window? What is wrong with you?”

I finally stopped walking and turned to her. “I don’t know,” I said, raising my voice. “I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me. All I know is that I ruin everything I touch. I thought I was going to try and do the right thing for once, and it just fucked everything up even more.”

“Frank, please, just…here, let me get the glass out of your hand.”

That’s when I realized that my left hand was dripping blood. “Fuck, Goddamn it,” I said. It hadn’t really sunk in yet that I smashed the window with my fist. “I’m fucking sorry about your window, doll. See, everything I touch is ruined.”

“Frank, will you just shut up for one second!” she snapped.

I shut up, more out of shock than anything else.

She began pulling pieces of glass out of my knuckles while I tried to stop some of the bleeding with my handkerchief. “Frank, I know you’re unhappy. I want to help you, but I don’t know what else I can do. You’ve always been so distant…”

“I’ve been distant!” I cut her off, “I’m not the one who’s bringing a different guy home with me from the strip club every few weeks.”

“Well what do you expect me to do, Frank? I’m not going to just wait around for the few moments you’re in the mood. I’m a person too, Frank, and I have my own life to live.”

“And your own mistakes to make.”

“Yeah, that’s right, I’ve made mistakes. But I made them. I may not be living the life I expected to live, but it’s my life. I’m responsible for everything I’ve done, and I don’t blame anyone else but me.”

“I just didn’t want to ruin things. We had something good, I was too scared to change it.”

“Frank, I understand that you never got over your marriage ending, but you can’t keep living in the past.”

Her words echoed inside my head like gongs of a bell. Deep down, I already knew everything she was saying, but sometimes you just need it spelled out in front of your face before you can really see it. We stood in silence while she cleaned up my hand as best she could, using the handkerchief as a makeshift bandage.

“I know it’s all my fault,” I finally said, “I know I’m not a good person, but I try to change. Or at least every time I think I do, I end up doing something stupid.”

Sandy couldn’t think of anything to say, and I could see that it was tearing her up inside. I never gave her a chance to say anything anyway.

“It seems I’ve just been fucking things up my entire life. My job, my marriage, my daughter. I just thought…I just thought I’d make up for that my helping Jennifer. Or, maybe not make up for it, but just…I don’t know. You’re right, it won’t change what happened.”

Sandy breathed out a loud sigh of relief and said, “but that doesn’t mean Jennifer won’t need your help.”

She was right, as usual. And just as I was thinking that, I heard those exact words repeated in my ears out of the mouth of a stranger.

“She’s right,” said the stranger. “Night Cat does need your help. We all do.”

The stranger stepped out from behind a large SUV and revealed himself. I assumed he was one of Jennifer’s superhero buddies, but he didn’t really look it. He wore a basic tan trench coat complete with matching tie, gloves and a fedora hat. He was wearing some large motorcycle goggles that doubled as a mask, I suppose. The fella looked like he crawled right out of a 1940’s newspaper strip, minus the digital watch on his left hand.

“Night Cat said we could trust you, but I’m sure you know how hard that can be these days, so I wanted to check you out for myself before we let you up. You can call me The Watchman.”

“I’m Frank,” I said, “this is Sandy.”

“Night Cat said you used to be a cop, that you know still have some connections with the police. Is that true?”

“Yes.” I said plainly.

“Good, why don’t you come upstairs with me, we have a lot to talk about.”

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Fourteen

“EASY CHOICES”

We were parked outside of large, fancy hotel, I don’t remember which one.

The anonymity of being one out of hundreds of parked cars was a little comforting. Jennifer had gone inside to see if the others were still checked in. Apparently this place was their de facto hideout. Whoever chose this place must have had money to throw around. She said it was one of her teammates, the one that paid for all their plane tickets. I found it suspicious, that’s for sure, if for no other reason than the generosity.

Sandy and I sat in silence. I couldn’t say anything to her. What was I supposed to say? I had a whole new realization. I could see what our relationship was all along, nothing more than an easy thing. What really upset me was that I had gotten really accustomed to it. I guess I was beginning to treat it like a second marriage. But it was easier because we didn’t have to see each other all the time.

“Frank…listen,” she started, “about what happened back there. I swear, I didn’t…It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I know the score. Pete got me drunk, got my car away from me, then dropped me off for you to keep busy ‘til the other guys came for the pick up. Right?”

“Frank, Gurly didn’t tell me anything. He just said I was supposed to keep you busy. He said…he said you’d be better off this way. “

“Better off in what way? I could have just crawled back into the bottle and forgotten about the whole thing, right? Go back to being the pathetic, drunken fuck up. That’d be better for everyone, huh? Well fuck, he’s probably right. It wouldn’t have been that hard. Feels like I been doing that my whole life. But I’ll tell you one thing, that girl wouldn’t have been better off. What about her? How am I supposed to live with that?”

I must have raised my voice a little because she screamed at me next. “Don’t fucking yell at me!” she said, “You never cared about anyone but yourself as long as I known you, and now all the sudden you gotta do right by this girl? She’s not your daughter, Frank! You abandoned her ten years ago, and helping out Jennifer is not going to make up for that!”

Every decision we make, every choice we are given, we have to struggle with what our intelligence tells us is right, and what our impulse tells us to do. For some people, it’s no choice at all, as the two are one in the same. For others though, like myself, it’s a constant struggle, and the easier of the two choices is usually taken. It’s not that I don’t want to be a better person, it’s that somewhere along the way, I got to a point where I felt I didn’t deserve to be a better person and just let my impulses carry my decisions.

The last time my ex-wife spoke to me like Sandy just did; she left with a broken nose. She took our daughter with her and I’ve never spoken to either of them since. Now, I’m a man who can recognize his own faults no matter how much he tries not to, but that doesn’t mean I like to hear them. I could feel my mind racing and my fists clenching.

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Thirteen

“SHARON”

Her scream drowned out the other sounds of the night.

It was hard to tell exactly what was going on. Between the flashing lights of the squad car, the piercing beam of the handheld flashlight, and all my regular anxieties brought on by the usual city night life, I was finding it hard to focus. But what I can tell you is that within seconds, Jennifer and I were running down the street in front of the apartment complex. She left the two cops on the ground, no doubt calling for backup, if it wasn’t already on the way.

We didn’t get half way down the street when a car sped past us from behind, squealing to a halt just in front of us. My heart sank because I thought it must have been Ross. But I paused in surprise when Sandy jumped out of the driver side door and screamed, “What are you waiting for? Get in!”

I rushed into the passenger seat and Jennifer climbed in the back. I was breathing pretty heavily. Sandy hadn’t really entered my mind since the guns started firing, and now that I was thinking about it, I wasn’t sure if I should be trusting her. Shit, I didn’t know what I should be doing anymore.

I don’t know if I really loved Sandy, but whatever we had, it was as close to love as I was capable of getting. Emotionally, I couldn’t handle the idea of her selling me out. But the more I tossed it around in my head, the less impossible it seemed. I mean, why wouldn’t she? It’s not like she has anything invested in me. I’m just a lonely old fucker who gives her attention whenever he needs a lay. I don’t deserve her love. I don’t deserve anybody’s love. Not since my marriage with Sharon ended. Christ, I haven’t even thought her name in forever, not since Sandy came into the picture. So fuck it, I know what you’re thinking and you’re probably right. I was just using Sandy to help forget Sharon. I knew that. Sandy knew it too, I’m sure. Maybe she didn’t believe it, but deep down she knew it.

So yeah, how can I blame her for selling me out? I’m sure she got enough money for it. Lord knows she could use more money. Then again, who couldn’t? Were I in her position, I can’t say I wouldn’t have thought it over.

“Frank!” Sandy yelled, interrupting my thoughts. “Jesus fuck, Frank! I’m trying to talk to you here!”

“Sorry, was just thinking about some stuff,” I solemnly responded.

“Well, you better start thinking about what you’re going to do now. Jesus, what happened to those cops back there?

“That’s a good question.” I said, turning around to see if Jennifer was even in the car. She sat with her head down, like a dog who knew she was in trouble and about to get whipped.

“It was his ring,” she finally said. “He was wearing a ring on his right hand. It was the same ring I saw two nights ago when Azul died.”

“His ring? It could have been a wedding ring,” I said flippantly.

“No, I saw his hand pick up the brief case. It belonged to the same man that killed Azul. It was him. I know it.”

“You didn’t say anything about no ring before.”

“It was there, okay?” she screamed, “I saw it. I swear it was him.”

“Do you realize what you’re saying? You’re saying a cop was involved in a drug deal and killed your friend who was a witness,” I said.

“That’s crazy,” exclaimed Sandy.

“No, it’s not,” I confessed, “Koslowski is as crooked as they come. Fuck, of course. It had to be him, that’s why he was riding me the other day. He’s looking for the other witnesses. That’s why Gurly was playing along with him. I bet it was Gurly’s money. Koslowski was going to give the money back in exchange for the girl. Aw fuck. This is fucked. We got to find somewhere to go.”

“I know where to go,” Jennifer whispered.

“What?” I asked, “Where do you know?”

“Well, see, we had a rendezvous. The team, I mean, in case we got separated, we had a secret meeting place.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything about this before?” I shouted.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to go back, after Azul got shot. I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

“You didn’t know if you could trust ME?” I shouted even louder.

“Frank, Jesus, she was scared, okay. Leave her alone,” Sandy said.

“Alright, your right. Fine. Shit. Let’s meet up with them. If they’re even still there. Maybe they all came to their senses and got outta town. I hope they got some more information. If this is turning out to be what I think it is, we’re going to need more witnesses, or we’re going to be spending a lot of time in prison. If we’re lucky.”

Admittedly, I felt some relief from having some sense of direction finally, but it was undercut by one other thing.

Detective Ross was going to be pissed.

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Twelve

“IN THOSE EYES”

The phone rang interminably.

“Hello?”

“Detective Ross?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“Ross, it’s Frank, Frank Calico.”

“Frank! What are you calling me for? You know the whole precinct is looking for you?”

“Yeah, I figured. Look, something big has gone down. I don’t know, I just…It’s big, okay. I want to talk to you. I thought I could handle this, but…I just don’t know. Things keep happening. I don’t even know what I’m trying to do anymore. I’m too paranoid, I guess. I need help. But, I need someone I can trust, okay?”

“Okay. Right. Well listen, I’m on my way home, why don’t you meet me there, okay?”

“I don’t have my car.”

“Well, alright, I’ll have somebody pick you up. Where are you?

“At Sandy’s.”

“Jesus, Frank. We just got a 911 call about some shootings over there. You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

“No, well, yeah, look I can’t…I can’t talk about it right now! Fuck.”

“Okay, okay, okay, calm down. There’s already some officers on their way over there. Just stay put. I’m on my way over, too.”

“Ross, I called you for a reason. I don’t trust cops right now.”

“Frank, now c’mon…”

“Don’t bullshit me and try to tell me there’s no such thing as corrupt cops, Ross. You of all people should fucking know that!

“You’re right, Frank. I’m sorry. Okay look, I’ll be there shortly. Just stay out of sight, and for the love of God don’t do anything stupid.”

“Fine.”

“Look, Frank…just relax okay. You’re going to be fine.”

I took a deep breath, couldn’t think of anything to say, and hung up the phone. I liked Ross, but I never knew how to talk to him. He was a good man. He was a responsible man. He was also responsible for me losing my job, but it’s hard to be mad at him. He was doing the right thing. I was in a bad place at the time. I don’t like to dwell on that time of my life.

I did feel a little relieved after getting off the phone with Ross. Everything got really fucked up over the last few days, and it was nice to know that everything would go back to normal. Well, as normal as it could, I guess. I made my way back to Jennifer, she was still sitting on the curb. She was looking up, staring at the stars, I guess. When she noticed me approaching, she buried her head between her knees and arms.

She was crying.

She did her best to cover it up, but it was still pretty obvious. Fuck. I didn’t know what was going on with this girl, but I was beginning to think it was too big for me. I was almost ready to just turn her over to Ross and be done with her.

“Jennifer,” I said, “I got a friend to come pick us up. He’s…he’s a cop, but he’s a good man. We can trust him. “

She didn’t look up, she just kept quietly crying. I stood there, trying to think of something to say. I was beginning to feel anxious about standing out here. I didn’t know how long it would take Detective Ross to get here, but I didn’t really want to talk to anyone else if I didn’t have to. I didn’t like to interrupt a crying woman, and couldn’t really think of how I would approach doing so. It didn’t matter, though. I never got the chance.

I felt the squad car pull into the parking lot before I ever saw it. Cops give off an aura; you can just feel whenever they are around. The cruiser pulled up in front of us, blinding us with its headlights and drenching everything else in alternating shades of red and blue.

An officer stepped out of the driver side door, followed by his partner on the passenger side. Even though the cruiser’s headlights were pointed right at us, he still drew his flashlight and shined it directly in my eyes. I squinted, unable to see.

“Hands where I can see them,” he said.

I already had my hands up trying to shield my eyes, but Jennifer didn’t move. I tried to keep their attention on me.

“Look, officers, I just spoke with Detective Ross and he’s on his way over…”

“Well, well, well,” he interrupted, “Frank Calico. I thought we’d find you here.”

My stomach turned upon hearing the way he spat out my name. It was that son of a bitch Koslowski. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

“So you talked to Ross, huh? Well, we’re responding to a 9-1-1 call. Seems somebody’s been shooting off some guns in the area. You know anything about that?”

“I’m only going to talk to Ross.”

“That a fact? Who’s your friend there; maybe she doesn’t have a problem talking to me.”

Jennifer finally looked up. I guess she was off in her own little world for a while there, because once she realized what was going on, she stood up as tense as possible.

“We’re both only going to talk to Ross,” I said resolutely. I hated this fucking asshole and had no problem giving him as much shit as possible, but I still had to watch my tongue. Ross already agreed to help me out and I didn’t want to fuck things up more than they already were. I was going to have deal with Koslowski as nicely as possible until Ross got here.

“Well then you can wait for him in the squad car, for your safety,” he said.

“Fine,” I said between gritted teeth.

“Hey Mike, what’s this?”

Koslowski’s partner picked up something small and thin off the ground. It wasn’t until he brought it over to Koslowski that I realized what it was.

“My mask!” Jennifer screamed. She shot up off the curb and snatched it out of their hands.

“Whoa, girl! What do you think you’re doing?” yelled Koslowski. Things were getting tense.

She clutched the mask to her chest, ignoring the irate cops.

“A mask? What the hell you need a mask for?” Koslowski’s partner asked.

“Shut up, Jerry,” Koslowski snapped, “Alright ma’am, I need you to cooperate with me and get into the car.”

Jennifer stood there, not even acknowledging the cops. I was starting to get a sickening feeling in my stomach.

“Ma’am, I will not ask you again.” Koslowski approached Jennifer and unhooked his handcuffs from his belt.

“Wait a minute, Koslowski,” I started, but was interrupted when he shinned his flashlight in my face.

“Shut your god damned mouth. I’m through fucking around here. Get in the fucking car!” he barked. Normally, I’d never let this little shit talk to me like that, but I was determined to keep myself from fucking this up for Ross. Koslowski put his flashlight away, but his partner, Jerry, kept his trained on the girl. Koslowski grabbed Jennifer’s wrist, forcing her to look up.

There was a single quiet moment when the whole city seemed to pause, waiting for a reaction. Now, verbal and physical abuse I could take, but I could not abide this piece of shit laying his hands on that poor girl. I felt a volcano build up inside of me. All my sickness and anger was boiling out of me and all I had to do was give it a target.

But I didn’t.

Before I could react, for that brief second when the world stopped and Jennifer and Koslowski were caught in the flashlight beam like actors on a stage, I saw Jennifer’s eyes. They were fixed directly on the hand gripped around her wrist. And in those eyes I saw a torrent of emotion that smothered all my rage and sickness.

Inglourious Basterds

I'm going to talk extensively about the movie, so be warned, there are spoilers aplenty.

It's long been my contention that Quentin Tarantino's movies work so well because they are self aware genre pieces, each one seemingly more so it's predecessor. Inglourious Basterds is no exception. Like Kill Bill and Death Proof before, Tarantino is going for a deliberate "genre mash up" style, done in such a way as only he can do. Also similarly to Death Proof, Tarantino is making a movie about movies. But where Death Proof was primarily about the portrayal of women and men in horror movies, Inglourious Basterds reaches for a bigger goal, that of racism in America, and it's manipulation through Hollywood.

The film opens, appropriately enough, with "The Green Leaves of Summer", a song originally used as the opening to John Wayne's own War/Western film, The Alamo. Aside from being a good song that sets a wonderful mood, this connection to John Wayne provides a direct link to the old American Western Films that Tarantino will be will be commenting on in Inglourious Basterds.

The first chapter introduces us to Landa, the ruthless Nazi officer known as the "Jew Hunter". Landa is charged with hunting down all the Jews hiding in France, the new territory that the Nazi's have taken by force. Landa himself is intelligent, charming, and poetic in nature, but beneath that lies a horribly racist, murderous, madman. He is despicable, but also frightening. Tarantino does a fantastic job of giving us a great villain that would be at home in any classic War film, which becomes a little unsettling when you remember that it's not just a War film, but also a Western film. Yes, this is a Western, and the Nazis are representations of the Manifest Destiny Americans.

The Nazi's are our "cowboys" and in the second chapter we are introduced to our "Indians", the American Jewish soldiers known as the Basterds. Tarantino draws a lot of parallels between the American Indian and the Basterds. The Basterds' only mission is to terrorize the Nazis. They do this through guerrilla warfare, which includes scalping dead Nazis, brutally beating prisoners to death, and carving swastikas on the foreheads of the survivors. The scalping plays a significant part in the movie. It's important to remember that scalping was not a widespread practice among Native Americans, quite the contrary, European colonists paid Native American's bounties for the scalps of their enemies. The savagery of scalping was something that was grafted onto Native American's and portrayed as natural through Hollywood Westerns. In the same fashion, Tarantino's Jews learn from the Nazi's. Just as the Nazi's branded Jews with the Star of David, the Basterds brand the Nazi's by carving the swastika into their foreheads.

In the fourth chapter, Tarantino drives home the metaphorical point even further when the undercover Basterds have a confrontation with a Gestapo officer. The group play a bar game that involves trying to guess(through a series of questions) the name of a famous person(real or fictional) written down by the person next to you. The Gestapo officer's card reads King Kong. After a series of guesses he learns that he was "born in the jungle, came to America on a boat, was not benefited by his arrival, and imprisoned(or something along those lines)" and unsuccessfully concludes that he is "the story of the black man in America". When he's told that he is wrong, he matter of factly states, "Oh, then I must be King Kong." Tarantino speaks the universal language of film. Everybody knows King Kong, and if you didn't think about it being an allegory for racism, he expects that you do now, and if you're willing to accept that, then you may be ready to look for the same allegories in his film.

Inglourious Basterds has a fairly straightforward Western plot, but told with Nazi's and Jews in place of cowboys and Indians, and in doing so, gives us a movie where we effectively root against John Wayne, the Hollywood Cowboy icon.

But as I said earlier, this is also a War film, but Tarantino isn't as interested in looking at the effects of War as he is in looking at the effects of War Films(it's a movie about movies remember). The rest of the movie focuses of the War Film as propaganda. The Nazi's made many propaganda films portraying the superiority of the Aryan and the inferiority of the Jew(similarly, Western Films champion the superiority of the White Man over the savagery of the Red Man).

The other story that runs concurrent with the Basterds story is the story of Shosanna, the young Jewish girl who survived Landa's brutal assault in the first chapter. She is now living under an assumed identity and owns a movie theater. After meeting Frederick Zoller, a Nazi parody of Audie Murphey, her identity becomes endangered when he falls in love with her and wants to screen his latest film in her theater. This leads to the climax of the movie where the top members of the Nazi party, including Hitler himself, attend the movie.

The Basterds infiltrate the theater, with the intention of blowing it up. Shosanna intends to burn it all down. As the plans unfold, we being seeing the Nazi propaganda film, a film in which the young Nazi star does nothing but shoot down American soldiers in a violent fashion, all the while the Nazi movie patrons cheer as the Americans are shot down. But then Shosanna's secret plan is put into action. She has recorded her own message over the ending of the Nazi propaganda film in which she proclaims that she's going to burn the building down with everyone trapped inside and they should know that "the Nazi's will die by the hand of a Jew". A fire is started using the theater's film cache, which burns three times faster than paper. As the message plays, the theater is engulfed in flames. The Basterds, their plan having completely fallen apart, improvise by grabbing machine guns and repeatedly mowing down Nazis. Ironically, we are now cheering at a scene in which the Americans do nothing but shoot down the Nazis in a violent fashion. This all culminates in the big scene where Hitler is riddled with bullets. Even after he is dead, and they've moved on to shooting the movie patrons, one of the Basterds makes it a point to go back and continue shooting Hitler until he is no longer recognizable.

So, what we have here is Hitler, in a movie theater, being butchered beyond recognition by films, while a movie announces his death at the hands of Jews. With the understanding that many power players in Hollywood are Jewish, and the fact that for the last sixty years Hitler(and Nazis in general) have been torn down so completely by Hollywood to the point of being cartoonish villains, I'd say it's a fairly accurate portrayal of what happened to Hitler.

Inglourious Basterds raises a lot of points about Hollywood's control over our perceptions, and plays our expectations of genre against us to give us a movie that might be deeper than it initially wants you to believe. I immensely enjoyed it, even if it didn't feel as tight as Pulp Fiction or as superficially awesome as Kill Bill.

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Eleven

“NIGHT CAT”

The city was abuzz with its nighttime choir of sounds, but it was all silence to me.

The sound of my heavy breathing echoed inside my head. I was only listening for one thing, and I couldn’t hear it. I ran out of the apartment complex, desperate to find what I was looking for.

And I did. She was running in my direction, ducking behind cars in the parking lot. Then I saw him. He was just another guy in a suit and he seemed to be by himself, but I knew he was armed. All the others were. He was standing at the opposite side of the parking lot. I doubted he saw me, but I hung back in the shadows anyway. He just stood there for a moment, surveying the lot. It was dark and I doubted he could see much of anything.

My gun felt heavy in my hand. I looked back at the man in the parking lot. He was slowly stalking his way through the lot. He was on alert, but he didn’t see me. I tried to raise my gun up, it was a clear shot. My hand was still shaking. I grabbed hold of my arm with my left hand, unsuccessfully trying to steady my aim. I couldn’t do it. I don’t know what was wrong with me, but I just couldn’t pull the trigger.

I felt sick. The guy in the suit was making his way toward me; I was surprised he hadn’t seen me yet. In a way, I guess I wanted him to. Everything would be so much easier if he’d just shoot me. It would be a fitting end to my night.

But he never got the chance. Helplessly, I stood there and watched as that stupid girl jumped out from behind a car and effortlessly kicked the gun out of his hands. It went off when it hit the ground. In the time it took the gunshot to echo across the parking lot, the man was dropped to the ground, effortlessly it seemed, by a few precise kicks.

I ran toward her, calling out, “Anne!”

She spun around so quick I thought she was going to attack me. Thankfully, she didn’t.

“No Anne here, sir. Just me, Night Cat,” she said in what almost sounded like a parody of a police officer.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, you know what I meant, Jen-Jennifer. Whatever.”

“No. I’m Night Cat. And as long as Night Cat is here, nobody is getting shot. Not anymore.”

Her fists were clenched tightly, ready to knock somebody out. I took a step back; her voice was different, and not as reserved as it had been before. She was emotional, and ready to explode on the first person to argue with her. Unfortunately, so was I.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Are you crazy? Those guys had guns, they were shooting at you! Why the fuck did you run down that hallway. Don’t you have any sense?” I kept screaming at her for a minute or so, I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I’m sure I repeated myself a bunch of times. She finally just cut me off.

“Somebody had to something!” she shouted, “that what being a superhero is all about. I can’t just be doormat for the rest of the world. I won’t be. I won’t let anybody else get hurt. That’s Night Cat’s job!”

“I’m just glad that you’re okay,” I finally blurted out, “Look, this is big, okay. Somebody sent these people after us. I…I have to call the cops.”

“I thought you didn’t trust cops,” she sneered. Her newfound courage was unsettling.

“I was wrong, okay. I was being stupid. We can’t just let this go. It’s…too much.”

“Good,” she said, “These men should be arrested. Breaking and entering, assault, I’m sure there’s plenty of other stuff these guys are guilty of.”


“Right,” I stuttered out, “I’ve got a friend, a detective. I’ll give him a call. He may be able to keep this low profile. It’ll probably be better for both of us.”

“Fine,” she said and sat down on the curb to wait.

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Ten

"THIRTY-EIGHT SPECIAL"

My ears were ringing.

I shook my head, trying to get my bearings. I think the alcohol was finally wearing off. There was a familiar weight in my right hand. My gun. The Thirty-eight Special had been fired. I looked over to Sandy, she was screaming something. At least, that’s what it looked like; my vision was a little blurred and I couldn’t hear what she was saying, just a dull tone muffling her voice. I looked back to the doorway, there was a man in a navy blue suit leaning against the wall in the hallway, clutching his leg as cherry red blood leaked out.

Fuck. I just shot someone. I fell backwards, fortunate that the couch was there to catch me. I needed to snap to attention, and fast. My hand was shaking so I put the gun away, unsteadily. That gun hadn’t been fired in over twenty years. What had I done? Suddenly, everything seemed so pointless, so futile. Maybe my time really was up and I’ve just been prolonging the inevitable, torturing myself out of some deep sense of self loathing. What the fuck do I deserve to live for anyway?

Steadily, the sound of Sandy’s voice came pouring back into my ears.

“FRANK!” She yelled, “You have to get out of here! Are you listening to me?”

She had been repeating herself for what seemed like eternity. Even when my hearing returned, I still couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge her.

Then, I heard her say something different.

“What the shit! What’s she doing?” screamed Sandy as she jumped behind the couch, followed by the distinct sound of a man punching a large side of beef.

Looking up, I saw Jennifer, in full costume, twisting a man’s arm around behind his back. I think I heard a ‘snap’ but I don’t honestly remember. She turned toward me and I could see her mask covering her face. That fucking mask! I didn’t think she still had it.

The man screamed. He had entered the apartment after seeing his companion get shot and was immediately disarmed by Jennifer. That damn girl was going to get herself killed!

“It’s okay, Frank! Night Cat is here.” She said, rather boisterously. She gave the man a sharp kick to the back of his shin, felling him instantly.

Another gunshot pierced the air and splintered the door panel next to Jennifer’s head. Then, before I could even react, she bolted down the hallway toward the gunfire. Two more gunshots rang out, followed by scuffled feet. I was completely paralyzed with fear, unable to move until I noticed the bleeding man leaning against the wall. Still clutching his leg, he reached into his jacket for his firearm.

I pulled my revolver out and roared, “Don’t move!”

He froze and stared at me. I had my gun trained on him, but my hand was shaking like a rattlesnake tail. The gun nearly fell out of my hands. He turned toward me. I saw it in his eyes, he knew I wasn’t going to be able to hit him. But he didn’t shoot. He spoke.

“Frank, you damn fool. Why’d you have to complicate things?”

Realization crashed into me like waves on a beach. These were Gurly’s guys. I’d even worked with these guys before. The guy I shot was named Rick. The one on the floor’s name was Jason, I think. Fucking Gurly set me up. It was so fucking obvious. It was Gurly’s drug deal that went wrong last night. He must have been the one who sent the guy to my place. Then I fucking walked right into his arms. Fucking idiot!

“What are you here for, Rick?” I asked as calmly as I could.

“My name’s Nick you fucking idiot.” He snapped.

“Fuck you, asshole. What does Gurly want?”

“We’re not here for Gurly, fuckhead. Gurly sold you out. Too bad his stupid bitch stripper couldn’t keep her mouth shut, this would have gone a lot smooth—“

He coughed twice, spit up blood, and fell to the floor, leaving a bloody stain on the wall behind him. I don’t remember shooting him, but the smoke was still emanating from the chamber of my Smith and Wesson, which now contained two less bullets than it did yesterday.

I looked down the hall, desperate to see Jennifer, but all I could see was a couple of bodies lying on top of each other. I hoped to God she wasn’t one of them.

This whole day had been one colossal fuck up.

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Nine

“SANDY BREEZE”

Sandy’s lips sucked gently on my neck. It was a good way to end the night.

Sandy Breeze was a stripper at Gurly’s. She was small and stout in stature, had short, dark brown hair, and was pushing forty. She wasn’t the most attractive stripper, but something about her just pressed all my buttons. She reminded me of better days.

And she seemed to like me well enough. To say what we had was a relationship was a bit of a stretch, but it was something. I don’t think either of us was looking for any kind of relationship anyway. Relationships just lead to misery. But even a lonely old broken fucker like me needs some companionship every once in a while. She had other occasional boyfriends, but never anything serious. At least, not serious enough to disrupt what we had between us. I don’t know what she saw in me that kept her from ditching me altogether, but I wasn’t going to fuck it up by asking.

It was stacking up to be a pretty good night. I was more than a little drunk so Pete gave us a ride to Sandy’s once his shift was over. It just felt so good to get everything off my mind. I didn’t have to think about murders and costumes and drugs. All I had to think about was Sandy’s plump lips making their way up my neck.

But then, inexplicably, I pulled away. I don’t what was wrong with me, but I just couldn’t get one thing out of my mind.

“Where’s Anne?” I asked.

“Who? Anne? Jesus, Frank, her name’s Jennifer,” Sandy moaned, “and I already told you, she in the other room watching television or something.”

I looked around a bit and sat up. I was inside Sandy’s bedroom and had been propping myself up on my elbows rather awkwardly. The room was small and cluttered with clothes and trinkets. I was lying on Sandy’s bed. It was small and crammed in the corner of the room. Sandy was hovering over me on her hands and knees. All in all, it was an excellent view from where I was sitting, but I still couldn’t get the girl out of my mind.

I nearly pushed Sandy off of me. She landed on her feet and stumbled to keep from falling over.

“Frank, what the fuck!?”

“Oh fuck,” I muttered, “Sorry doll. I just….where’s Anne?”

I could see tears welling up her eyes, “Frank…I…” she hesitated and sat down on the bed next to me, “Frank, Anne is gone. She left a long time ago. That girl you came over here with is named Jennifer.”

“I know that!” I snapped, “Fuck, you knew what I meant.

“I’m sorry, I know.” She sighed, “Frank, what’s wrong. I mean, I wasn’t going to ask, Jesse told me you needed a place to figure things out, but…this girl, you keep calling her ‘Anne’ but she is not your daughter. You don’t owe her anything.”

“She needs help. Isn’t that enough? She’s…not well. I just…She needs help, okay?”

“Oh Frank,” she said as she started to massage my chest, “I know you mean well, but helping this girl is not going to bring your daughter back.”

I stood up and wobbled trying to maintain my balance, “I too fucking drunk to help anybody, anyway. Where’s Jen?”

“I already told you, she’s in the other room.” Sandy crossed her arms. She was pretty upset. She hated repeating herself.

I walked out of the bedroom and saw Jennifer sitting on the couch watching Sandy’s TV. She was still wearing my old clothes. I nearly fell over just from walking across the room and quickly found an empty chair to collapse in. Jennifer gave me a timid look, but didn’t say anything. It was good, I didn’t really feel like talking anyway. I just sat there and let the ambient sound of the television lull me into a state of meditation.

Sandy walked out shortly thereafter and sat down on the couch. The TV droned on for a few minutes before Sandy started talking.

“So, I saw you and Pete were getting pretty friendly, are you his new girl?”

“Who me? No, of course not! We were just talking. He’s the first person that’s really been nice to me since I got here.”

“Oh, where are you from?”

“New York.”

“Well now, that’s quite a travel, what are you doing all the way out here?”

“I…” she paused, “it’s a long story.”

“S’alright, I understand.”

“No, it’s not like that, it’s just…” she trailed off.

“It’s okay, girl. You can trust Sandy. Prolly more’n you c’n trust me.” I said, or, at least I think that’s what I said. Whatever I said, it got her talking.

“Well, you are probably going to think this sound crazy, but…I’m a Real Life Superhero.” Jennifer braced herself for the inevitable barrage of questions, but got a little surprise instead.

“Oh yeah, I saw something on the news a few months ago about that. I thought it was some kind of joke. I didn’t know people actually did it! Neat, what’s your superhero name?”

Jennifer was clearly caught off guard, but she seemed to relish in the fact that somebody was interested in her.

“Night Cat," she said gleefully taking of my old clothes revealing her costume underneath, “I have a cat mask with ears and everything, but no tail. Everything I tried with tails looked stupid and just got in the way.”

Sandy seemed to be warming up to Jennifer, which was good because it gave me time to relax. I really needed to get my head straightened out, figure out what was going on. Shit, but all I could think about was Sandy.

“What on Earth made you wan to do this?” Sandy asked skeptically.

“Well, I didn’t grow up in New York. I was born in Ohio. Spent most of my life there, actually. But then I moved out to New York with my boyfriend at the time…”

“Oh, I see,” Sandy interrupted, “one of those stories.”

“Yeah. We got a place together for a few months before it ended. He ended it. Fell in love with someone else. I was only 20. So there I was, all alone, little girl in the big city. I got a cheap place and a waitress job and was barely getting by. My parents wanted me to come home, but I just couldn’t. One night a coworker convinced me to go to some clubs with her to pick up some men. We spent the night dancing and drinking and I ended up going home with some guy. I didn’t really like him, but he was very insistent, for some reasons I couldn’t say ‘no’ to him. It was the alcohol. We walked home from the club, it was only a few blocks. Before we even got to his place he starts getting…intimate…with me. By the time we got to his apartment he was already trying to get my clothes off. I panicked and ran off, but I was still pretty drunk and had no idea where I was. I spent the night in an ally behind the club.”

“That’s…that’s horrible!” cried Sandy.

“I know, I felt like such a weak fool. The next weekend I signed up for Taekwondo classes, put together my costume, and patrolled the streets around the night clubs, in order to help girls from being taken advantage of.”

“Well good for you. Lord knows I couldn’t have used a superhero in life a couple of times.” Sandy said wistfully. Shit, I hoped that wasn’t supposed to be directed at me, I’m so bad with women.

She continued, “Have you ever gotten into a real fight. I mean, isn’t that dangerous. What if someone pulled a gun on you?”

The room got as silent as a graveyard. Jennifer sat down and covered her face. She just got brought back to reality. And it hurt.

“Oh shit,” stammered Sandy,” I…I didn’t mean…”

“That’s why we’re here, darling. One of her friends got murdered last night,” I coughed out, “now somebody is after us. And I just…I just don’t know what the fuck to do. I think maybe it’s the cops trying to cover something up, that Polack sonuvabitch knows something, that’s why Jesse set me up here tonight. I’m gunna owe him big for this, but at least he’s helping me out of a jam.”

I looked up at Sandy for the first time and saw tears streaming down her face, “Oh Frank,” was all she could stutter out before I heard the footsteps outside her apartment door.

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Eight

"GURLY'S"

It was broad daylight, but the neon lights were still on. They were always on. The first thing that caught your eye was the big pink neon lights. They twisted themselves around until they formed the image of a woman on her hands and knees, her ass hung in the air in a provocative manner. Directly above this hung another neon light that spelled out the word “Gurly’s” in an elegant blue cursive.

This place had no class.

I grabbed Jennifer by the wrist and dragged up to the front double doors. The bouncer nodded at me.

“Who’s the girl, Frank?” he asked.

“A friend.” I replied.

“She got any ID?”

“Yeah, Charlie, here you go.” I grumbled, and promptly fished twenty bucks out of my pocket and handed it to him.

“Thanks, Frank. Have fun.” He smiled.

Charlie was a big guy. He used to be a body builder, but now his muscles all turned to fat. Still, I wouldn’t want to get in his way. I was upset about losing the twenty bucks, but I didn’t hate him. He was just doing his job. Besides, it helps to keep people like him happy. He and I, we had an understanding. I take care of him, he takes care of me. He’s saved my drunken ass on more than one occasion.

The first thing I felt after entering was the thumping bass from the music. It reverberated through the walls straight into my chest. As we entered the club the music became louder and clearer. I didn’t recognize the song. It was some pop song, I imagine. I never pay attention to stuff like that. It was pretty empty, not that many people come to a strip club at four in the afternoon. I quickly glanced at the stage and saw some topless girl dancing for some old, wild haired guy in front of the stage. I didn’t recognize the girl, she must have been new.

I took Jennifer over to the bar and sat her down.

“Hey Frank, who’s your new friend.” the bartender asked.

“Shut up, Pete. It’s not like that.” I snapped.

“No offense meant, mate. Didn’t mean anything by it, still, apologies all the same.”

What I said earlier about this place having no class? I was fucking wrong, cause one thing Gurly’s did have, was Pete. Peter Poppins was the coolest cat in town. He wore a tight, black, short sleeve collared shirt that revealed tattoos running up and down both arms. His jet black hair was slicked back and his face was covered in various piercings, but they didn’t cover his ladykiller smile. Together, with his white tie and suspenders and his round rose tinted glasses, he looked decidedly out of place in this joint.

“Don’t worry about it, Pete. I’m just a little edgy right now. Is Jesse in today?”

“Yeah, in the back office, just a sec.” Peter walked around the bar into the back of the club and promptly reappeared a few second later. “Head on back,” he said.

“Thanks, Pete,” and leaning in close I asked him, “Keep an eye on the girl for me, okay? She’s not from around here and she may be a little disoriented.”

“Sure thing, bud.”

“And Pete, no funny stuff, okay? I mean it. She’s…special to me, alright?”

“You got it,” he said, reigning in his smile to a half smirk. Peter was a skirt chaser, but he also knew when to respect another man’s wishes. I knew I could trust him to look out for her.

I made my way to the back room and was greeted before I even entered the office.

“What brings you in today, Frank? Sandy’s off tonight,” boomed the thick, bass voice from inside the office.

Jesse Gurly, was the biggest, blackest, meanest motherfucker in this whole city. He owns the strip club, but I know that ain’t the only way he makes his money. He’s never done anything for free in his entire life, and he’s probably got more blood on his hands than any coroner down at the precinct. And he’s probably the closest thing I have to a friend.

“I’m not here to see Sandy; I’m here to see you.”

“What do you need, Frank?” I couldn’t stand the way he said my name, like it tasted bad coming out.

“I need an alibi. For today.”

“You expect some trouble coming your way?”

“Yeah, well no. I mean, I already had some. I just need to get my bases covered so I can think this one through.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Cops, I think. I don’t know. I haven’t figured it all out yet. I was just on this case last night and now—“

“Last night?” He cut me off, “So you were a part of that massacre, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean no. It’s complicated. I didn’t have anything to do with it, but somebody thinks I did. I just need to get somewhere so I can think things though. I can figure this out. I just need time.”

“And you're sure that someone’s after you?”

“You think I’ve just been drinking too much. That what your saying, Jesse? Course someone’s after me! I just left a guy half dead back in my apartment!”

“Alright Frank, alright. I think I can help you out. I just hate to see you get in over your head.”

I didn’t mean to snap at him. I never mean to snap at anybody. I just get angry when I can’t figure things out. He was right, though. There wasn’t anybody after me. They were after the girl. But I couldn’t tell him that. Can’t risk it. He’s too connected. He was true to his word, though. He said he’d cover for me. He even set me up with a place to stay at Sandy’s. God bless him for that. She might be just what I need to get my head straight. I was going to owe him big time for this.

I went back to the bar and Pete and Jennifer talking. A little too comfortably from the looks of it, too.

“We’re leaving,” I said as sternly as I could.

“Awww, c’mon Frank. You don’t have to go so soon. She was just telling me about New York, I’ve never been there, ya know? Stay for a while, have a drink. On the house.”

I never could say no to a free drink.

Let's talk about art.

Remember the first time you saw the film The Boondock Saints? You had just caught up on Quintin Tarantino's filmography and were still riding high on The Matrix wave when this movie came out of nowhere and stumbled into your possession. Naturally, you thought this was the coolest movie ever because, well, you were eighteen and violence was cool. But then as you got older the movie lost some of it's shine and you started seeing it for what it really was, a collection of action sequences designed to exhibit extreme shootouts and executions. The story development was contrived and nearly nonexistent, and the characters are mere props set in place to hold the guns. This movie is pure fourteen year old child fantasy. Not to say that it doesn't have entertaining moments, there's a spark of clever film making in there, and there is some genuinely funny dialog, but as a whole, the film lacks substance other than a petulant statement that killing bad guys is cool.

At least, that was my experience with the movie. But what I find more interesting is Troy Duffy's experience with the movie. Troy Duffy, for those of you who don't know, is the writer and director of The Boondock Saints, and his story is a sad and amazing tale of self destruction.

Duffy was a musician who moved to LA in order to pursue a record contract for his band, The Brood, while bar tending. Eventually, he wrote a movie script and astounded media agents when it was bought by Harvey Weinstein for quite a large sum of money. Weinstein was building Duffy up to be the new golden boy, and was gearing up to make his movie with Hollywood stars, land a record contract, and be the new bad boy of the entertainment industry. After a few months he lost it all, got blacklisted from Hollywood, and by some miracle barely got his movie made. How did he manage that? For the whole story, I would recommend the documentary Overnight. If you're on Netflix, it's a free instant view right now. In a nutshell, Duffy was an uncharismatic, foul languaged, loudmouth who was so convinced by his own genius that he put off everyone he met. He successfully alienated all his friends and arguably ruined their lives. Every challenge he faced was met with cries of "they'll all be sorry!" and "you'll come crawling back!" It's quite a scene, man.

Obviously, The Boondock Saints was eventually made and went on to be a large success on the DVD market, which is a testament to the films likability, although Duffy didn't make a cent on the DVD sales due to signing away all the rights. Likewise, for the last five years, Duffy has been trying to get the sequel made, which apparently is set to be released this November.

The Boondock Saints is a frighteningly accurate portrayal of Duffy's personality. The movie's adolescent glorification of murder, under the guise of Catholic symbolism and morality, is the same attitude that every narcissistic teenager shares. This is all representative of Duffy's perpetual state of arrested development. Every decision he makes is driven by his paranoia that everybody thinks he's a bum instead of a genius, so he's going to prove them all wrong and shove it in their faces.

Troy Duffy is a perfect example of why I can't separate the art from the artist. Art is about communication, and when you make a piece of art you are communicating your thoughts, feelings, and ideas. Even if your thought is no deeper than, "Baby, baby, I love you, baby!" -- it's still a thought which other people share and connect with. So when examining a piece of art, I don't think it's unreasonable to get a feel for the creators personality. Likewise, when a creator does something that I disagree with or find appalling, or is just plain old despicable, it does affect how I feel about his art, because any piece of art should be representative of his beliefs.

And if it's not then he's a hack and a liar, in which case I have no interest in his art.

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Seven

Well, I've been out of town for a week and I haven't gotten nearly as much writing done as I'd have liked. But I do have a new chapter to update. I'm not too happy with the way this chapter ended, but the point of this exercise is to just write through all that and edit it later, so that's what I'm doing. Anyway, here's chapter Seven.

“THE TEAM”

I was sweating.

It was pretty cold out, but I was sweating. I had spent the whole drive desperately trying to collect my thoughts but I was just too damn shook up. I shouldn’t have left my apartment with that guy there. Once the cops found him I’d be the prime suspect. No. The cops had to be the one’s who sent him. But why? They were grilling me just beforehand. They had to know something. Maybe somebody else was looking for the girl. The friends of the corpse from last night? Could be. Maybe the girl’s friends. But why? Goddamnit I need to get this all sorted out.

I swung the car into a parking lot and slammed on the brakes.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Tell me what happened last night. No beating around the bush.”

“I told you, it’s hard to—“

“Don’t give me no shit, I nearly got killed because somebody is looking for you. I’m sick of this shit, start talking.” I really didn’t mean to curse at the girl, it just came out. That happens when I get angry.

She took a deep breath, “Well, like I said, we were going out on patrol. The Watchman, he operates a neighborhood watch, but he wanted to expand out, cover more sections of the city. He said it would be good publicity, for us to make ourselves seen and stuff. We wanted people to know we were serious, that we put the costumes on for a reason. Sergio, he was Azul Amigo, he was especially into the idea. He did a lot of local theater back in New York and loved the performance of being a superhero. I mean, he did a lot of work for the homeless shelters and stuff, but he just loved making a show out of it.”

“Where was everybody else from?”

“Well, Watchman is local, I think Super Citizen is too. Pieces is from somewhere in California, Captain Kick is from Orlando, and I think Ombre is from Indiana or something.”

“So, you guys actually all got together as some kind of team?”

“Yeah, I guess. Like I said, Watchman really wanted to something big. He had been doing some interviews with some journalists and had a couple articles written about him and other Real Life Superheroes. So that’s what last night was going to be. We split up into pairs and patrolled the surrounding neighborhoods, everyone was real excited, we had walkie talkies and everything. Azul and I were one team, cause we already knew each other. Pieces and Ombre were another team, Watchman and Captain Kick were together, and Super Citizen was by himself. He was kind of weird, I don’t think anybody wanted to be on his team anyway. But he seemed like he already knew the area and it wasn’t a big deal to him. So that was it, we all went out on patrol, but…things didn’t go so well.’

She stopped, I thought she was trying to gather her thoughts or start crying, but to be honest, I couldn’t’ve told you either way.

“We got a call, on the walkie talkies. Watchman said there was a drug deal going on. He was actually seeing a drug deal. He wanted us to be on our guard. We were supposed to take up positions surrounding him and keep our eyes open, so we could identify anyone in the area if we needed to. Sergio and I were at the hotel. I don’t really know what happened next. Someone, Super Citizen I think, interfered. I don’t know if he started attacking them or if he was just found out, but Watchman was yelling something into the walkie talkies, but it was so hard to hear him, and then… then we heard the gunshots.

Azul and I looked for someplace to hide, but before we could even move, a guy came running out of the alley next to us. He was carrying a briefcase and a gun. He was running from someone and didn’t notice us at first, but as soon as he did, he knew who we were. He was surprised and started firing at us.”

I thought she was going to start bawling at this point, but she remained calm, almost completely detached from the whole story. It was making me uncomfortable.

She went on, “Sergio was hit immediately. I hid behind a dumpster. There were two more gunshots. Peeking around the dumpster, I could see that the other guy had been shot. Somebody else came out of the alley and took the briefcase. Then he ran off. I don’t…I don’t remember much of what happened next, until you showed up.”

I took a deep breath. I knew what we should do. We should go straight to the cops. She could tell them everything she just told me, and then she can go back to New York City, minus one friend. But it wouldn’t be that easy would it? This whole costume club would be a real mess. Media, lawyers, all kinds of crap. Hell, they’d probably institutionalize her. Then there’s still the matter of the lummox we left at the apartment. I just needed more time to think, to figure it all out, whatever it was. Fuck it, I’d already made my decision.

We were going to Gurly’s. It was still early in the afternoon, but Gurly’s was always open.

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Six

"SAYING GOODBYE TO THE BOTTLE”

The bastard was big. He was real big.

The door swung around on its hinges, sending shockwaves through the walls. A picture frame shattered as it hit the floor. The big bastard lumbered through the doorway, he didn’t look to be in any particular hurry. That bothered me. Worst of all, I couldn’t fucking breathe.

I guess I was having some kind of panic attack. I could feel my lungs aching, but they just refused to inhale. I wasn’t scared, not really. I’ve been living each day as my last for the last decade or so, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a lot of regret. Maybe that’s what was bothering me. I should have called Anne. I knew Grace, my ex-wife; I knew she would never talk to me, but Anne…I could have done more for Anne. I did feel bad for this Jen girl, too. I mean, she seemed to be in a tough place right and I hadn’t been able to do shit for her.

FUCK! Some gorilla just broke into my home and all I could do was tense up and feel sorry for myself. There was no way I wasn’t going to die.

The brute sauntered through the room. And he was a brute, too. Sloping brow, big chin, hands the size of Christmas hams. He noticed that I was struggling to breathe and gave me a dimwitted, black toothed smile. He didn’t care about me. He was here for the girl.

Jen was panicking. On one side of her, I was dying, and on the other side this creep was closing in on her. She didn’t even make a noise, she didn’t scream, cry for help, nothing, she was helpless as I was. We deserved each other, I guess.

The big bastard knocked the whole table over, and it took me with it. I laid there on my back gasping for air. The big guy grunted something. I finally heard a scream. Anne was screaming. I could see through the chair legs that the big guy was wrestling hold of her. She wasn’t making it easy for him, I’ll give her that. She desperately tried to squirm out of his grasp, but his hands were like vices on her arms.

That’s what was happening, but that’s not what I saw. All I could see was my own hand, wrapped in it’s own vice like grip around the bottle of scotch. Air finally surged into my lungs like scotch into a glass, which was soon to follow. I staggered to my feet. I could see the big fucking mongoloid looming over Anne. Fuck him.

The bottle came down hard on the back of his head, but not as hard as I wanted it to. Glass shattered and big piece stuck out of his head, giving his hair a bloody part.

Anne dropped to the floor.

“FUCK!” He yelled.

He clumsily backhanded his fist in my direction. I didn’t dodge, but he still missed. Thank god. I wasn’t so lucky the second time. He spun around to face me, blood splattering the walls as he did. He landed a solid punch in my gut and I found myself once again gasping for air. I doubled over and clutched my stomach, which helped me avoid another clumsy fist. This dick was angry and swinging wildly, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t have the strength for a fight and just let myself fall over. It was a sorry sight. But before I could give up entirely and just let myself die, I saw her.

The red fabric clung to her body like a wet bathing suit. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back, her bangs hidden by her mask. She had something in her hand. With frightening precision she brought her heel down on the back of the thug’s calf. He cried out in pain and dropped to one knee. He tried to get up and turn around and nearly lost his balance. But before he could react, she held her occupied hand out about a foot from his face and sprayed something into his eyes.

He roared like a beast and blindly charged straight ahead. She deftly sidestepped his lumbering attack and guided him headfirst into the brick wall.

“Anne…” I muttered as she tried to help me up.

“No, it’s Night Cat,” she said, “My name’s Night Cat.”

“My eye’s hurt, what did you spray him with?” I choked out.

“Pepper spray,” she said nonchalantly. Looking at the unmoving body across the room, she stiffened up, “We should call the police, and maybe an ambulance.”

“No,” I spat, “Police…the police…the ones who sent him.”

“What, how do you know?”

“Just…a hunch,” I mumbled. It was really hurting to talk, “We have to go.”

“Well, we have to call 911! We can’t just leave him here!”

“Fine.”

I didn’t have the strength to fight a 300 pound goomba and I certainly didn’t have the strength to fight her. I tried to gather up anything I thought I might need while she dialed the police. This was real fucking bad. I ripped the phone out of her hands and hung it up.

“Are you crazy?” She screamed.

I threw the old clothes at her, “Put those back on. We’re leaving. We need to get somewhere safe until I can get my head clear. And take off that fucking mask!”

That last bit just slipped out, but she took the mask off and got dressed.

“Where are we going?” she asked timidly.

“Gurly’s.”

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Five

It's been a while, but after finally getting Zero's Heroes up and running, I've been able to devote some time to Real Life/Real Death. So here's chapter five, it's another short chapter in which we get a very brief glimpse of the other heroes from Night Cat and a very large dose of self loathing from our main character, Frank.

Chapter Five

“CRACK”

I was ten hours sober. I don’t think good when I’m sober, too many thoughts jumbling around in my head. Admittedly, I was also shaken up by the run in with the cops. I wasn’t thinking straight and I was angry, but not as angry as I was about to be.

I opened the door and there she was, sitting on my couch playing with her hair. Her long blonde locks tangled in between her fingers. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I thought I was going to cry but felt like I was going to throw up.

“…Anne,” I muttered.

She turned around and the wig fell off. I hated myself so much I could’ve blown my head off right then and there.

“Oh, it’s Jen.” She stated, “My name’s Jennifer.”

“Right,” I said as I walked past her, making a bee line for the kitchenette. I set the bag of groceries on the table and pulled out the bottle of Scotch. She just sat on the couch, staring at me while I downed a few swallows. The bottle came down on the table a little harder than I wanted it to. She was nervous.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, trying to break the tension, “I got some food.”

“Um, okay. Yeah, actually I am.”

I microwaved some pizza. We ate in silence. My mind was a mess. What was I going to do about this girl? Did I even have a plan? No, I didn’t. She clearly doesn’t seem all that stable. Did she kill that guy? Is she a killer? Fuck, is she going to kill me? I could kill her if I needed to. I tried to think back to last night. I took a swig of scotch. I think better when I’m drinking.

The whole scene was kind of surreal. She was on top of that guy, beating his face to a pulp. Was he moving? I don’t think so. No, he was dead by the time I got there, I remember that. The night was still kind of a haze, I needed more time to think about it, but I was having a hard time focusing right now. Too much stress, I guess. I took another drink.

We continued to eat. She just stared down at her plate, nibbling at her pizza, as if she was afraid to eat it. Fuck me! It wasn’t until just then that I realized she was wearing her costume, only without the mask.

“You want some clothes?” I asked.

It shouldn’t have surprised me when she put the jeans and sweater on over her costume. I gave her the smallest belt I had; it barely kept the jeans up. It didn’t look all that natural, but she seemed a little more relaxed, which made me more relaxed.

We sat in silence and ate our pizza until she finally blurted out, “I didn’t kill him.”
The words were slow and deliberate. It seemed like she had been practicing those words all morning.

“I didn’t kill him,” she repeated and then emphasized, “the guy in the parking lot.”

I paused, unsure of what to say. I guess we weren’t going to be beating around the bush anymore.

“Why don’t you tell me what did happen,” I said.

“I’m not sure,” she hesitated, “You wouldn’t understand. It seems like so much needs to be explained.”

“Why don’t you start with why you’re wearing a costume?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she chirped, “I’m a superhero.”

“Do you have any…powers?” I asked.

“Of course not, I’m a Real Life Superhero. We’re just regular people who have been inspired by comic book characters to take a more proactive social role.”

“You need a costume to do that?”

“Well, duh. It’s a safety measure.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it.” I lied. This girl seemed to be a little emotionally unstable, so I didn’t want to push any buttons that I didn’t need to and decided to just get to the facts, “so you’re a superhero. Fine. What happened last night?”

“Well, it all started with this guy called The Watchman. He operates out of this city. He has been trying to get a group of us together for a while now. I guess there’s a lot of crime around here.”

I couldn’t really argue with her about that. This place is a shithole.

“We all came in over the weekend and went on our first big patrol last night.”

“How many of you were there?”

“Seven, including me. The Watchman, Super Citizen, Captain Kick, Pisces, Ombre, and…Azul Amigo. Poor Azul…”

I could see the tears welling up in her eyes. She tucked her head under her arms and to hide her sobbing. This was taking to long. I sat at the table, silently waiting for her to get herself back together. I was just reaching for the bottle of scotch when I heard the loud “CRACK” of my door being kicked in.

Meet Puppets

Last thursday I had the extreme pleasure of meeting the band that has probably been the biggest influence on me personally. I speak, of course, about the Meat Puppets.

They were in St. Louis for a show, and beforehand, were hanging out in Vintage Vinyl, promoting their new record. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to attend the show. Thankfully, I've seen them live before, so it wasn't that big of a soul crushing experience. I was happy to be able to see them in the record store though, because this was the end result:I usually don't go for signatures on my stuff anymore(there was a time when I did) because I don't like talking to artists unless I actually have something substantial to say, and I don't feel the need to improve my self esteem by proving that I once stood next to someone famous.

But mostly, it's because I generally make a fool of myself when I don't have anything to say. And naturally, after shaking Curt and Chris's hands, all I could manage to sputter out where the old standards, "This has got to be my favorite album of all time, " and, "the new album sounds really good." It was all terribly embarassing, and I can only take comfort in the fact that to them I was just another forgettable gushing fan, which I'm sure their more than used to dealing with.

Still, I suppose everyone deserves their own little sentimentalities(that's a word I just made up, I think), and this one is mine.

Oh, and the new record, Sewn Together, is good. It's still 2000's Meat Puppets, but there are flashes of different era's of the band sprinkled throughout the album. It's about as close to 1980's Meat Puppets as 2009 Meat Puppets can be, I suppose. Plus, how can you hate a record that looks like this:

Wowie Zowie

Believe it or not, I've been fairly busy for the past few months. Busy, of course, in relative terms. I mean, yeah, I still have time to play through Half Life 2 and read all of Akira, but I haven't done a whole lot of writing. And the reason for that is:This is the "vanity press" I created for myself. It's nothing fancy, strictly online publishing, for now, as an easy outlet for self publishing comics online, which is a fancy way of saying, "I'm making a webcomic." I don't have the money nor the inclination to venture into print publishing at this point in time. This project has been in production in one form or another for over a year now. It's been a long, slow road, but it's nice to see some payoff from all that work. But it's been a busy couple of months. Aside from doing some massive editing to the scripts I wrote over a year ago, it's been kind of a headache coordinating the creation of the website. But I really don't have much complaining to do, because it's no more of a headache than I let it be. I'm just glad to be able to say that the website it up and running. It's an ugly skeleton of a site right now(I can't stop cringing over the various typos), but over the weekend it should be tuned up to satisfaction and, starting Monday, we start updating full time. Two books, each updated twice a week. It's going to be a challenge. We've been working pretty far in advance, so I hope we can avoid any delays. Being punctual is important, ya know.

As I am typing this up, I realize that I haven't talked much about the contents of the actual comics themselves(not just here, but to anyone really). Not because I'm secretive over my ideas(which are nothing special) but more because I'm just loathe to talk about myself. But I guess I'll try to give a good description here of what we're trying to do.

Many, many months ago, I teamed up with my friend Tim, and we began working on two books. We want to write these books in a style similar to Stan Lee's Marvel of the early 60's. I think this approach lends itself easily to the webcomic format. Each book has it's own story and themes, while both tell a larger story of the universe wherein they're contained. On the surface, this sounds exactly like what Marvel and DC are doing, and I'll save you an intense lecture on everything they are doing wrong, but I think our approach different enough. The biggest, and most important thing we are doing is writing these books in volumes(or seasons, album, tomes, whatever). I'm not interested in spinning wheels and maintaining brands like the big companies do(not because they're evil, they have to do it), so we are writing toward endings. I wouldn't mind doing more volumes, of course. So that leaves us with my book, Zero's Heroes, and Tim's book, The Celestial. We are both working with various superhero archetypes throughout our books. Zero's Heroes is a team book about a bunch of dysfunctional losers who are overshadowed by every other superhero in town. On the other end of the spectrum, The Celestial is about the worlds most powerful and popular superhero and the challenge and weight of responsibility she faces.

It's both exciting and stressful, but I'm fairly sure I'm just using the stress as an excuse for why I haven't been more productive. Though, I can't predict whether or not people are going to be interested in my book(and I think it's a waste of time worrying about it), I'm fairly confident with what I'm trying to do, and I think I'm a pretty good learner. Just keeping busy, and actually DOING it, has improved my writing tenfold.

So, it's going to be a great relief once we get the site completely done(as much as that can be) and I will be able to start working on other projects, like returning to Real Life/Real Death.

Is It March Already?

As anyone can see, I've slowed down quite a bit on Real Life/Real Death. I haven't had much time to devote to it, but rest assured, I have been busy. By the end of the month, I should have my webcomic up and running. It's been a long time coming, but it's all worth it because I have been working with some wonderful artists. But once everything is up and running, I should be able to get back to a regular schedule for RL/RD. I've got the next chapter nearly complete, which is good because I'm finally getting to all the superhero stuff. I saw Watchmen the other day, and regardless of how good a movie it was, it was inspiring in the same way that everything I read by Moore is. In a way, Real Life Superheroes started with Alan Moore.

Speaking of Watchmen movie, hrrmmm. Have thoughts. Wasn't great, but was maddeningly not terrible. Enjoyed watching movie enough just to see great scenes played out on big screen, but was disappointed with various missteps throughout movie. Can't say was actually great. Simply put, worst aspects of movie were all the Zack Snyderisms he decided to inject into story. Didn't really have problem with gore and violence in regards to Rorschach, but when Dan and Sally are breaking bones out of arms and killing thugs, kind of defeats whole purpose of everybody, even heroes, being afraid of Rorschach because he's violent killer. That was monumentally stupid decision, completely detracts from characters and story, can only assume was added because Snyder likes to glorify violence to show how edgy he is. Wish New York would have been more of character, give minor characters more scene time, show how society was about to erupt, self destruction. Changed ending almost works in weird way, but not as well as original. Opening montage with Dylan almost completely makes up for whole movie. Really like Bob Dylan. Only thing that really embodied feeling of Moore's book.

My favorite thing about seeing Watchmen was the interesting event that happened after the movie. Once the movie was finished, a sizable portion of the audience made a bee line for the restrooms. Now this Men's bathroom had a basic three urinal set up, two big boy urinals and on the right a kiddie urinal. There were two people at the urinals, one on the left and one on the right. The middle urinal as empty as can be. Now remember, we all just got done watching a two and a half hour long movie with copious full frontal male nudity throughout, and afterwords there were about fifteen to twenty guys all refusing to step up to the empty urinal, nestled between the two occupied urinals. Now, i respect the guy code, "never take the middle when the sides are empty," but this was a weird occurrence. I don't even know what it means. Guys are weird.

REAL LIFE/REAL DEATH Chapter Four

I'm a little disappointed in myself, it's been a month since I last worked on Real Life/Real Death, which was meant to be a weekly exercise. But my attention has been pulled back and forth between some other projects, that coupled with my extreme laziness has really crippled my RLRD output. But I was able to jump back into it tonight. It's a short chapter, but it felt good to get back to it.

"THE SHAKEDOWN"

Okay. Okay. Okay.

I repeated that to myself for a few minutes. A cop car was parked outside my building. That doesn't mean anything, not just yet anyway. This is a terrible neighborhood. They're around here all the time. I took a few breathes. I could see them, the cops, they were still in their car. I wasn't sure what they were doing. Probably waiting for somebody. Waiting for me. Damn.

I took a deep breathe. I knew the law, there's nothing to be afraid of. I didn't even do anything wrong. So, what's the matter? Quit being a spineless little shit and walk over there.

I then repeated that to myself a few times before taking that first step across traffic.

Just as I made it to the other side of the street, I heard the click of car doors opening. Could of been anyone, I didn't turn around.

"Mr. Calico. Frank?" I heard from behind. Damnation. I turned around and came face to face with the officers. I recognized the older one, I think his name was Kowalski or something like that, he was on the force when I was still a detective. I didn't recognize his partner, some young kid.

"Koslowski," I finally said after scanning his uniform for his name, "Haven't seen you in a long time. What brings you round these parts?"

"Just wanted to ask you a few questions," He said, forcing a weak amount of charm.

"You finally get promoted to detective then?" I asked rather wickedly.

He narrowed his eyes, "No."

Koslowski was a bad cop. Not just a dishonest cop, which he was, but he was bad at being dishonest. He wasn't the only dirty cop on the force, not by a long shot, but he was the only one stupid enough to get caught by Internal Affairs. Long story short, he took the fall for everyone, which allowed him to pull enough strings to keep his job, but it was clear he wasn't going to be promoted any time soon. Since then he's been a bitter, intolerable man, I feel sorry for his partners.

"No, we're not here on an investigation. You know how it is, the detectives get backed up on dead end cases, so they have us start asking around. Keep our ears to the community, you know?"

"Well, what the hell does that have to do with me? I asked.

"You were out at that budget hotel last night, weren't you? Bargain Hotel? Budget Rooms? What was is, Jerry?

"Budget Hotel," his partner replied.

"Budget Hotel, that's the one. Word has it you were in the area, weren'tcha?

They knew. They knew everything. They had to. They're going to arrest me for some stupid shit like jaywalking(did I use the crosswalk or not, I can't remember) and then pin the murders on me. Kidnapping too. Oh fuck, I'm so fucked. And too sober to be clever.

"Yeah," I said as calmly as possible, "working a case, cheating husbands use cheap hotels. What of it?"

"That all you saw last night? A cheating husband?"

"What the fuck are you implying?" I snapped.

"Easy, bud. Weren't implying nothin. You know there was a murder over there last night? No witnesses either. Thought you mighta seen something out of the ordinary, being that you were in the area."

"People get murdered on the North side all the time. S'why you guys won't set foot in there unless you're called in. A few gunshots really aren't all that out of the ordinary."

"Heh," he chuckled, "Well, this was a particularly peculiar case, I think you'dve noticed something, had you seen it."

"Well, I don't think I did, otherwise I'dve reported it. I used to be a cop, remember."

"Yeah, 'used to be' bein the key words there." You keep your eyes peeled. You see anything, you let us know. Heh, maybe Detective Ross will hire you for a little freelance work. Haw," his single laugh bellowed out like a cannon shot blowing up in my face. His partner chuckled a bit, unsure of what to make of the joke. Poor kid.

"Yeah, maybe," I said completely straight faced, pretending not to get the joke.

"Right, well, good luck with your investigations and all," he said, the sarcasm pouring out of him like so much sewage.

Then they left. Those mother fuckers. Those sons of bitching mother fuckers. I used to be a fucking detective. That asshole wishes he was as good a cop as me. And now he shaking me down for information like a fucking crackhead. Goddamnit!

Thank God I got that bottle of Scotch.