A Boy and a Hero
Nikos Kalpakis
Copyright 2010 by Nikos Kalpakis
Smashwords edition
He stood under a streetlamp in the freezing night. His hands were trembling. Couldn’t get a grip on his lighter. The cigarette in his hand went loose and landed on the pavement. He looked at it and wept.
He bent down to pick it up. He had blood on his shirt.
Twenty feet away, John Austin held his breath, the smoke burned him inside and a moment later he exhaled.
A few minutes ago John saw this guy come out of a seven eleven at the corner. He looked lost, like he just came out of a desert.
In his hands there was a pack of cigarettes. He looked at it like it was gold, after a few seconds he took a big breath and buried it in his pocket.
He crossed the road and stopped under the streetlamp. He stood there for a bit, in a yellow circle of light.
Slowly he took the pack out and put a cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it.
The guy was in his forties, slim, short hair, probably hadn’t taken a shave for a week. He was wearing a grey overcoat with a brown woolen shirt and blue jeans.
John was leaning back on a record store window, smoke escaped from his mouth and he gazed at the man.
What’s wrong with this guy?
John was eighteen. He had been doing weights for some time now and he started to look big. His hair would be long enough to reach his shoulders if he hadn’t pulled it back with gel. He was dressed all in black and didn’t have any facial hair. He did want to grow a small goatee but didn’t feel comfortable yet.
He was staying in a small apartment in a bad neighborhood. Every night there was something. Shouting, fighting, things thrown at the walls. Sex.
That annoyed him. It seemed like every time he tried to read a magazine the next-door couple was going at it. His first night in the city, he heard a crash. He jumped from his bed and ran to the window. Two cars collided and smoke curled in the air. Two groups of black men jumped out, shouting words he did not understand, all cocky and shit. John heard a “pop” and all hell broke loose. John hid behind the wall and wished he had more courage.
Later that night he had a dream:
The black men jumping out of their cars, started shouting, he saw himself standing there by the window, watching. One stray bullet hit the window and almost killed him. The glass didn’t shutter only made a small hole. John placed his finger on the hole and felt a rush.
“ This is how heroes feel, unafraid”.
He smiled in his sleep and rolled on his side sleeping like a baby.
Death wasn’t a strange thing to him. His favorite game growing up was the hunt.
He used to go every weekend, “Hunting with a rifle is for old people” his Grandfather used to say. "In order to appreciate the hunt you have to use a blade. Then you will see how good you are. To sneak behind a deer to reach close enough, you plunge a blade into its heart. Isn’t it the most beautiful thing in the world?”.
Little John Austin nodded looking up at his Grandpa, his beautiful brown eyes gazed at the almost ceremonial slicing of a pig. Blood sprayed in the air and little John Austin wanted to close his eyes and run away, but he didn’t. He admired and feared his Grandfather. He seemed like a giant that had all the knowledge in the world. He didn’t know it then, but his grandfather was an old fool, full of shit, that had never spoken a true word in his life. He built his life on lies and butchering all kinds of animals that he sold to make a living.
The blade entered and exited, again and again. His hands were bloody. The Grandpa had an ominous smile. “Always have a blade on you son” he said. It’s gonna save your life”.
And little John Austin listened to his grandfather.
Just before he stepped out in the freezing night he had strapped a sheath on his arm with a knife resting inside. The blade was pointing at his chest. His shirt and jacket were one size larger and covered it pretty well.
The blade stretched from his wrist to his elbow. He still thought it to be too short and made plans to get a jacket long enough to hide a machete.
He didn’t liked the fact that someone could sneak up behind and put a knife in his face, demanding money or something worse.
He had practiced it a million times. How would he take the knife out and surprise him.
I got a knife as long as my arm, what the fuck do you have?
How he’d be walking one night and hear a woman scream for help, and he would take the knife out and run to her rescue.
“John Austin the hero” he thought.
He would cradle the knife in his face, the unknown attacker, force him to run away and hide like a little boy. He was sure that was the way events would unfold.
John looked at the sky, a breeze hit his neck and he raised his shoulders.
He pulled his back from the window and walked towards the traffic light.
He lit a cigarette and saw the guy go into pieces:
The guy leaned back on the streetlamp and started quivering. A mere wind would be enough to take him away. He took a few big breaths, then took out his cell phone and dialed a number. First he talked then he cursed then he shouted, then the line went dead. He tried again and again but no answer. He cursed and then he stood there not knowing what to do.
He tried to light a cigarette but couldn’t do it. He threw the lighter as far as he could cursing in the wind.
All of this was fascinating to John. He wanted to find out what was wrong with this guy. It was a cold night in mid February and the guy was white as snow, he was sweating and his eyes were red.
Why does he have blood on his shirt?
Is he dangerous?
Did he hurt someone?
The man looked down the street like he saw something, then he started walking.
And John followed him. Slow and calm.
Is he going to hurt someone?
He had to know. He had this bad feeling that something was going to happen and he wanted to be there.
It was like a hunting game. Like the ones he played when he was still back at his country small town, which amusingly he always called it a village and his father always called it a town. And this was the subject of much debate in the passing years in the middle of nowhere.
A town is important, it has a mayor, a school, a doctor, what does the village have, huts?
His father growled and poured beer down his throat.
He feared his Grandfather but he hated his father.
As a little kid John ran to his father and asked him to play catch with him. His father spit black and said okay.
He started throwing him empty beer cans, and it was fine until he switched to full ones. His father laughed and burped and little John curled in the corner and cried. He swore that one day he would stop people like that.
John touched the blade. He needed to make sure it was there. It made him feel safe.
The guy dragged his feet. His hands were in his pocket, cigarette in his mouth. He was leaning forward, his shoulder was as high as his ears. He was cold but didn’t bother button up his jacket.
John kept safe distance from him, half a block away. Just another guy walking down the street. A snowflake landed on his cheek and he looked up. The wind had stopped and it had started snowing.
A police siren echoed. It got closer and closer. Then John saw a yellow van speeding like hell, trying to get away from a police car behind it. The driver was a young man wearing this ridiculous full body chicken suit. On the passenger seat, a teenage girl was wearing 3d glasses and was enjoying the ride. She had her arms up and she was smiling.
The van passed by. John looked at the side of the van and smiled, it said:
FRIED CHICKEN DELIGHT
Well, that guy won’t go far.
The guy turned to look at the cop car speeding away and John lowered his head. He turned and continued walking. John was beginning to feel cold and hungry and considered backing away. Going back to his apartment and grab a sandwich but he thought:
This is a unique opportunity.
How bad can this be? Worst case, he does nothing.
Goes home falls asleep, best case... maybe I can help someone.
The guy stopped at a bus stop and gazed at the incoming bus.
That’s not good.
John picked up the pace.
Is he going to board the bus?
I’m too far away.
The bus stopped and people got off, the guy came closer to the door and grabbed the bar, he seemed to be thinking about going in or not.
An impatient young black girl shouted something to him but he didn’t respond.
Then the driver said something, he looked at him for a moment and got in the bus.
John pulled his hands out of his pockets and sprinted as fast as he could. The bus was moving and the doors were beginning to close. John slammed his hand on the Plexiglas and the driver stopped the bus. He looked at this kid, waving him to open the doors, he shook his head like “what the fuck is wrong with these kids these days” and let him in.
John sat on the first available seat and felt everyone was looking at him. He needed to calm down, to think rationally. He touched his arm searching for the blade. It was still there.
He could see the guy, his head was on his hands which were resting on the back, of the seat in front. A girl was sitting next to him but something made her get up and switch seats.
John knew it, he knew it to his heart, that guy was going to do something bad tonight. And he was going to be there to stop him.
He looked around and saw a beautiful black girl sitting across from him, he looked at her legs and her breasts and the girl caught him looking at her and said “what ya lookin fool”.
He pictured himself getting up, drawing the blade out and cutting her head clean off. Blood would spray on the people and everyone would scream and he would stay there, holding her bloody head, smiling.
But it was just a thought, he had daydreams like that almost everyday. Every time he didn’t like something he would dream of blood. And it was always funny. The black girl screaming hysterically like in those sitcoms on TV.
Her eyes glaring and huge. He chuckled and looked away.
Some college kids got on the next stop, there were standing up, talking about how great will be tonight. They talked about drinking, smoking and dancing. There were beautiful girls with short skirts on and paper cups with alcohol inside.
John envied them. They had money to go to college, he was moving furniture.
John wanted to have friends like that some day but right now his only concern was that the kids were blocking his view. He could barely see the back of the guy’s neck. He didn’t feel comfortable, he got up and walked through the kids, found a place near the guy and stood there for the next seven minutes.
He tried to do what his Grandfather told him to “ focus on the target boy, there is nothing else in the world except the target, never forget that”.
John’s eyes were on a girl. She had black hair and was dressed as a sexy secretary. He gazed at her legs, she was wearing black fishnet stockings.
He watched her as she moved, as she talked and laughed with her friends.
The girl glanced and John looked away very shy.
She turned and said something to her girlfriend and she laughed. Then the girl bit her lip and her girlfriend gave her a friendly push.
John saw her walking up to him and he was sure she would start shouting at him about looking at her like a pervert.
The girl said “ Hey.
John looked at her cleavage and said “Hey”.
The girl talked to him. She had red lips. John couldn’t stop looking at them.
He got lost in his thoughts and the girl said something about a party. About drinking and dancing. About having a good time. The bus stopped and the girl threw herself to John like there was an accident. She smiled and John stared into her eyes. He grabbed her and pushed his tongue into her mouth, the girl struggled to get away and her girlfriend hit him in the head with her purse.
John snapped out of it and pushed the girl back, he looked at the seat where the man was sitting, there was no one there. He pushed through the crowd and saw the man walking. The bus was moving and he jumped out before the doors closed. He felt his ankle hit the pavement.
A scream tried to escape but he held it in. He touched his ankle and cursed.
He looked at the guy walking and he breathed heavily. He put his knee first and pushed himself up. Pain traveled up his leg and hit his head. He exhaled anger and limped forward.
He was in a suburban neighborhood now, there were these beautiful houses with lawns and flowers and gardens. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
John leaned on a tree and lit a cigarette.
Where the fuck are you going old man?
If the man continued walking John couldn’t follow him for too long. He wanted to go back home and put some ice on his ankle. Eat something and go to bed. John looked around for a taxi. It’s already too late for another bus and he would hate to walk home.
The guy crossed the road, walked for a minute and then he stopped in front of a house. He stood there looking like a statue.
What now? A cat... motherfucker...
The guy took a few deep breaths, reached inside his overcoat and pulled out a crowbar.
John’s eyes widened.
Fuck.
This is it. This is real.
I was right.
John limped as fast he could. The house that the guy was staring at and the house next to it, were very close. In the space between them there was a narrow alley. John saw the guy enter the alley.
John crossed the street, he kneeled by the corner of the alley.
There was a window at the side of the house placed not as high as it should be.
The guy looked around for something to step on but there was nothing there. He went further in the alley, John hesitated following him, he didn’t know what was back there. The guy came back holding a chair, he placed it in front of the window. He climbed up and tried to use the crowbar to open the window but he realized that the window was already open.
The guy climbed inside the house and John took a few deep breaths.
This is it.
John drew his blade out and limped to the window. He got on the chair and peeked inside and saw the man standing in the middle of the room. It was dark, John looked closer and the guy was standing in front of a bed.
The guy took a step forward revealing a little girl, sleeping.
She had bright red hair with a pink blanket over her. John was so afraid, his heart was racing.
He climbed up as silent as possible and approached behind him with great care. He moved away from the window, he didn’t want the man noticing his shadow.
The room belonged to a little suburban princess, full of pink colors and dolls and stuffed animals like bears and pandas and dogs. He had to look on the floor ground, to be careful not to step on them and alert the man.
The guy kneeled by the bed, he stayed still for a bit, watching the little girl sleeping. Then he placed his hand over her head and slowly and gently started caressing her hair. He smiled and kissed her on the forehead.
What the fuck, are you doing?
John’s hand was trembling, he knew the time he was waiting for his entire life has come. He must do what his Grandfather prepared him to do.
This is it.
John tightened his grip on the blade and reassured himself.
This feels right.
Then the man’s hand with the crowbar went up.
He’s going to kill her.
John rushed forward and plunged the blade deep into his lower back. The man said
“Aah”
He tilted his head back and tried to stand. He tried to take the knife out but he couldn’t reach it. His hand lowered and left the crowbar on the nightstand.
He turned his head and saw a frightened boy in the dark holding a bloody knife. His eyes froze and he fell on the bed.
The little girl woke up startled, she looked at the man and said
“ Daddy, Daddy are you okay?”
She tried to wake her Daddy up but he didn’t move. She felt something warm and slimy on her hands, her eyes adjusted and she saw the blood.
Tears went down her face and she screamed at John
“What did you do to my Daddy!!!”.
John felt a shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t speak. He just stood there in the dark.
John said “ I don’t understand”.
She tried to get up and run away but her father was too heavy.
The girl screamed
“Mommy!!!”.
Her mother’s voice was heard from the first floor. She said
“Alicia... Alicia are you okay?”
Then she started running down the stairs.
“What did I do?” John muttered and the sound of feet hitting the staircase snapped him out of it.
He had to leave this place as fast as he could.
He jumped out of the window and landed on his back. He got up and ran, he didn’t care for the pain of his ankle, he only wanted to get away. He reached the road and heard a second scream far more powerful echoing through the suburban neighborhood.
John walked, limped and ran until he ended up home. He curled up into his bed and cry and in a few hours the alarm clock would wake him and he would go to work.
Later on that day he would be watching the news.
A young female reporter stood outside the little girl’s window and talked about a murder that happened yesterday:
She talked about a tired and desperate man. A doctor that hadn’t slept for a week.
The reporter talked about how that money-hungry bitch of a wife of his threw him out of the house. She thought her husband had someone else on the side.
The doctor every night went back to his house and his wife didn’t let him in.
He was working double shifts in the hospital straight on for days. He would crash in an empty bed next to a coma patient. Night after night he would stay awake thinking of his daughter. He stopped taking care of himself and he would barely eat.
Paramedics rushed a gunshot wound in and he jumped in to help, but he was tired and lost in his thoughts and made a bad call. The man died and the doctor lost it. He didn’t even notice blood was smeared on his shirt.
They dragged him away as he cried that it was his all his fault.
The nurse said to him to go home and sleep it off.
John listened while the reporter talked about a father who all he ever wanted to do, was to go home and kiss his daughter goodnight.