Thirteen: Spears and Tygers

I'm honored and indebted to A.G. Devitt for working with me on this crossover. It's been a real growth experience trying to write not just my characters, but to do justice to his. His work on some of the background information and Blake's dialogue are part of this story. And now, the final part of our three story arc:

Spears and Tygers

Blake and Antonio created by A.G. Devitt. Used with permission.

“…When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?”

--From “The Tyger” by William Blake

Knowing you ought to do something and actually doing it are two different things. In the theoretical, I knew I should do something about Tommy’s death. But before I had a name, I was comfortably powerless. Now that I could actually do something, I found myself balking at the prospect.

I think part of my hesitation came from my subconscious. Some part of me knew what road I was on. It wasn’t the fear of what could happen to me physically. Really, I knew where my decisions were leading me. Honor warred with innocence within.

The tough guy world doesn’t have yellow pages, but the more jobs you work, the more contacts you make. Still, tracking down Blake wasn’t easy. He didn’t have much in the way of legitimate connections, working the other side of the table and all. I used part of my severance check to grease a few wheels. When that didn’t work, I got my leads five knuckles at a time. It was dirty work. Every once in a while, I’d catch a reflection of myself and not realize who I was seeing at first.

I did clearly see Tommy. In my mind’s eye, he lay there wadded up and discarded. What monster could do that to him and in front of his little girl?

I caught up with the man named Blake in a ramshackle bar. Whiskey was about him like loose clothes. He looked average. Tough, but average. He was about my size, maybe even a little smaller. Definitely not the hulking brute I had imagined.

I doubt he saw me coming in. He was drinking mean. I’d know what that was like later, after I killed Colón. You hope the whiskey burns away the memories like it burns your throat. It even works for a little while.

I didn’t worry about it then. I didn’t care if it was fair that he was drinking. What he did to Tommy was monstrous, and he had to pay.

Without giving him warning, I went to knock him off his stool with a body check. He caught himself, but I managed to get a fist up under his ribs. He moved with the hit, but there was little room to maneuver and his spine slammed into the brass bar. Even with the whiskey, he was fast. He was already defensive when I attacked again, elbows and fists seeking his face. I had a few pounds on him and finally got him off the stool.

I should have just kicked him. Then I might have seen his Mexican friend slide up behind me with a Beretta. I’m not sure why he didn’t shoot me, but the pistol whip didn’t feel good. At least I was alive.

I didn’t go completely out, but I didn’t offer much in the way of resistance after that. I was dimly aware of the bartender leaving my field of vision. I saw Blake rising to his feet. I had laid some good shots on him, but he still pulled himself up. His gaze met mine and then he smashed an elbow…somewhere…

I awoke tied to a chair. I hurt everywhere. Blake must have worked me over after he knocked me out with the first shot. He stood at the end of the bar, drinking coffee and looking sober. I ran my tongue over all my teeth, squirmed a bit to check my ribs. Everything was intact, but painful. I think even my hair hurt.

“Whiskey?” he said, walking over to me. He held a shot glass to my mouth when I nodded. It was good stuff, probably Jameson’s and I could use one or five more.

“Who sent you?” He said it wearily, like he knew he was going to have to drag this out of me.

“Tommy.”

He exchanged looks with someone behind me. Getting no satisfaction that way, he turned back to me. “Who’s Tommy?” His tone was more annoyed disappointment than anger.

“Tommy is the guy you pulverized in front of his little girl. That’s who the fuck Tommy is.”

I would have missed it if I hadn’t been staring a hole through him. It was tiny, almost gone before it existed, but he sucked in a little air through clenched teeth.

“You work with him?” he said. Back to business.

“No. Went to high school with him.”

“High school?” He said the word like I had just claimed to come from Mars. “You’re just a high school chum, looking for a little payback?”

I sat motionless. He was obviously working himself up to something, and I had to be ready.

“Makes sense, Kimosabe,” the voice behind me said. The Mexican with the gun and the Mustang. “Pro hitter would have just plugged you from the doorway. He came looking for a bar fight.”

Blake was stoic. He pulled a chair in front of me and sat on it backwards. He studied me like I was an artifact.

“You seriously came in here for some debt of honor? Do you have any idea what your friend Tommy was into?”

I shook my head.

“Antonio.”

Antonio told me. It was shocking but I moved right past denial and accepted it. My gut had told me that something was very wrong in Tommy’s life. I hadn’t expected to hear what Antonio said, but it made sense. The whole time, Blake studied me.

“You’re a fighter, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“You any good?”

“I used to think so.”

“What do you do for a living, when you’re not avenging serial rapists with big gambling debts?”

“Bodyguard.”

“Ah. Professional tough guy. You ever hurt someone bad? Real bad?”

“You ever hear of someone being hurt good?”

He smiled mirthlessly. “Maybe now’s not the time to be a wiseass.”

I nodded.

“What I mean,” he checked the wallet he had taken from me, “Mr. Spears, is have you ever hurt someone the way I hurt Tommy? Do you know how or why someone would do that?”

I thought of a witty comeback, but bit it back remembering that now wasn’t a good time to be a wiseass. I just stared at him.

“You don’t.” He rose, put the chair back. “What I should do is crumple you up and throw you away like Tommy, but I’m not going to. I’m going to give you a gift.”

He walked back to the bar and finished his coffee.

“You’re on the knife-edge of this life, Spears. Maybe you’ve had a little taste, thought it was exciting. You’re probably pretty good against drunks and nut jobs. But you’ve never had to face someone like Antonio or me before.” He signaled to Antonio.

“You want to see what it’s like, kid?” he said. He didn’t look any older than me, really, except in his eyes. Those were a hundred years old. “I’ll take you into this world.”

Antonio put a hood over my head. They untied me from the chair and loaded me into the back of a car. From the deep engine rumble, I guessed we were in Antonio’s Mustang. We drove for a while. When we stopped, one car door opened and closed. I tried to reach the Buck knife in my pocket. I almost had it out when the door opened again and Blake said “Bring him.”

Antonio hauled me out of the car.

“Nothing cute, gringo. I’m taking your hood off and untying you. You try to start any shit, I’ll shoot you.” I could hear the metal in his voice. It was cold and sharp edged. I nodded.

We were in another apartment building, not unlike Tommy’s. Antonio pushed me through a broken door frame and into a cheap apartment, notable by its ragged rug and stained walls. Chipped and worn furniture was overturned in the living room. I could smell fresh urine.

Blake stood in the center of the room holding a thin young man by the throat. The man was beaten and shaking, his pale hands wrapped imploringly around Blake’s wrist.

“Do you know why I’ve done this to our friend here?” Blake asked me.

“No.”

Blake held the man by the Adam’s apple. The man gurgled and turned purple.

“You don’t want this,” he said, and with a start I realized he was talking to me. “You see this guy? What’d he ever do to me?” The man eyes moved from pleading to bugging out of his head. “Nothing. But here I am. I was told he’s a bad man who needs to be punished. Just like your friend Tommy.” My teeth ground each other. He hadn’t hurt the man badly yet, but this had all the earmarks of what had happened to Tommy.

“That’s not the worst of it, Spears,” he continued. His grip shifted slightly and the man gasped some air. “I could let him go. I want to let him go.” His hand loosened more.

“But I really, really don’t want to let him go, either.” His smile was that of a fiend as his fist contracted and twisted. I rushed forward and grabbed his hand, tried to pull it away, but it was too late. The man fell backwards, feebly grasping at his throat. To hell with Blake. I wouldn’t let him do this. I knew a trick with a ball point pen and a knife. I could open an airway for him. Blake continued to talk as I worked.

“There’s darkness inside you. I know.”

I tried to block him out but couldn’t. Still, I kept working, using my knife to cut a hole in the man’s neck.

“Don’t let it out. Once you do, you can’t ever get it back in.”

I fumbled the pen taking it apart. Hands shaking, I tried to get it into the man’s trachea.

“You’ll think you know right from wrong. You’ll think you can control it, but…”

The pen slipped into place.

“It will control you.”

I felt a thud and saw stars. I remember trying to not fall on the man, trying not to dislodge his makeshift breathing tube.

When I awoke, I was somewhere else. To this day, I don’t know if I saved that man or if Blake pulled the tube on him after he whacked me. I hated Blake, but I didn’t want to get revenge on him anymore. He showed me that much. At the time, I was sort of thankful. He let me walk away from a lifelong mistake.

Or so I had thought. Bebe’s dark wide eyes appear to me every time I close my own. I haven’t walked away from anything. I just took a longer road to Blake’s place.