The Outlaw: No Heroes

by Alan Janney

  “Yes,” Natalie said. “He asked me if I was okay.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I don’t think I said anything,” she laughed again. “That whole moment in time was such an intense rush that I don’t remember, but I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have spoken right then. He gave me back my purse and told me to go inside, so I did.”

  “And you called the police?”

  “The lobby attendant saw me and called 911.”

  “What Natalie didn’t see,” Teresa Triplett continued, “was the man in black chasing down the second robber, and retrieving her money. Unfortunately we have no footage of that event.”

  “The bank manager gave me the money Friday morning,” Natalie smiled. “I figured I’d never see those sixty bucks again, and I have no idea how the man in black got the money back.”

  “Let’s talk about his appearance,” Teresa said. “He looks really scary!”

  “Oh, he is. He’s very frightening. I’d guess he is about seven feet tall and all I could see were his angry eyes. I’m glad he was furious with my assailants and not with me.”

  Seven feet tall? I’m barely six, if that.

  “It looks like he’s dressed like a ninja! Was he?”

  “No, not really,” Natalie said. “I’ve watched the video and I still can’t quite recollect exactly. He wore all black, but I’m pretty sure he had on a bandana.”

  “A bandana?” Teresa asked.

  “Right,” Natalie chuckled. “I think. Like a stereotypical wild-west stagecoach robber would wear? Or an outlaw?”

  “An outlaw,” Teresa repeated.

  “Correct. But a nice one,” she smiled, and she might have blushed.

  “And a mysterious one, that kept his features hidden. He ran off, and neither you nor the police know who he is,” Teresa said.

  “I can’t stop thinking about him, you know? On one hand, he’s a hero. On the other, he’s very dangerous, and why was he dressed in black?”

  “Right.”

  “But, after all, he saved me. He kept me safe, and gave me back my purse and money,” Natalie said. “I’m very grateful for him.”

  “Since Natalie was kind enough to answer our questions Sunday evening, there has been an additional development,” Teresa spoke directly to the camera in-studio. “Channel Four News has discovered a police report, detailing a Latino man being treated for broken ribs and bruised kidneys at a local emergency room on Friday. He claims the devil kicked him Thursday night, and now the police are holding him as a suspect in the Natalie North case.”

  “The devil,” Lee laughed.

  “The Sheriff has also released a statement concerning Natalie’s attack. While he is glad Natalie is safe, he strongly encourages other potential vigilantes to call emergency responders rather than taking matters into their own hands.

  “In other news, the Latino community held another protest today at the state capital…”

  I walked to Strength and Conditioning in a daze, nodding absently to questions and congratulations in the halls. I’d made a lot more friends since Friday night’s game. I was embarrassed by that news report and anxious it somehow would get traced back to me.

  Then again…the man in black on the video had been enormous. Certainly I wasn’t that big. And all three people that night had been terrified of him. It made no sense. It was only me in a ski mask that covered my mouth and nose.

  In Strength and Conditioning, we jogged, lifted weights, and joked about the win over the Panthers. More of the conversations seemed to be directed my way, as though the room’s enjoyment must pass through me first. The wide receivers recalled the game route by route, using their hands to illustrate their specific position against the defenders and exactly how they had out maneuvered them. Jon Mayweather showed us the local newspaper’s recap, which had a picture of him catching a touchdown in the end zone. Patrick Henry, our rival school, was going down when we played them later in the year, of that we were certain. The only two athletes that did not share in the merriment were Jesse Salt (our running back) and Andy Babington, who was icing his ankle. It wasn’t broken, but it was badly sprained.

  I toweled off quickly, reapplied cologne and hurried to English. Before class started, Hannah said, “I missed you at the party Friday night.”

  Hannah! I’d forgotten all about her. She’d wanted to go to the party with me, but I was too hurt to attend. The spell she cast on me each English class apparently wore off when I was away from her.

  “Did you go?” I asked.

  “For about five minutes,” she said. “I didn’t see anyone I wanted to be with so I left.”

  “After the game I could barely move so I went home.”

  “You played so well,” she smiled and poked me in the shoulder with her finger. Her smile belonged on a bright toothpaste commercial. “That was the most fun game I’ve ever watched.”

  “Really?”

  After class began, she whispered, “See if you can spell what I write on your back.”

  “What?”

  “Just try.” She pushed her finger into my shirt and started carving letters into the cotton. I could identify ‘A’ and ‘R’ and ‘E’ but then she said, “That’s not working,” and she switched to my neck. I practically melted away as her finger began tracing letters like smooth fire on the skin above my collar. Her fingertip moved slowly, deliberately, seductively, and when her nail would scrape across my neck every inch of me grew goose bumps.

  A…R...E…Y…O…U…G…O…O…and then I lost her.

  She sighed and then said, “Here,” a minute later and handed me a note. Her finger returned to my back, idly doodling.

  Sorry for the note. Are you good at English? I’m horrid. Should we study together?

  I wrote Absolutely and passed it to her.

  When?

  Every night.

  I felt her laugh silently on my neck when she read my response, and she scratched my back the rest of class.

  After practice, I went to Katie’s out of habit. I didn’t even realize I was there until my reflection was looking back at me in her sliding glass door reflection.

  I look…exhausted.

  I knocked and went in.

  “Oh…hi,” she said, stammering slightly and looking sheepish. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.” She sat on her bed like usual, peering at her computer, and…

  “What are you wearing?” I asked.

  “It’s…” she said and didn’t finish.

  “And where’d you get it?”

  “I got it at a used sports shop,” she said. “It’s…it’s just really comfortable.”

  “You weren’t wearing it today.” “I sleep in it, okay? It’s no big deal.”

  She was wearing the football jersey I’d seen Friday. It was black, red, and way too big. It hung off her left shoulder and through the tiny mesh vent holes I could see the skin of her arms, and her shoulder, and suddenly my chest tightened and I couldn’t look away from her.

  “What?” she asked, fidgeting self-consciously.

  “Where…I mean, how did you get my number on it? Or was it an accident?”

  “They had a few numbers,” she said. “I picked one I knew. Do you like it?”

  “I like it,” I said and I sat in her swivel chair and took a deep breath.

  “A lot?”

  I nodded. I needed to change the subject. And stop staring.

  “How are…how was…school?”

  She gave me a piercing look and said, “Good. Why are you staring at me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “How was practice?”

  “A lot of fun,” I said. “I didn’t throw today because I’m still sore.”

  “Still sore? Need another back rub?” she asked, climbing out of bed. My heart stopped, as she lowered her legs to the floor, paralyzed by the thought that she wore nothing but the jersey, but I calmed down when I saw khaki shorts.

  What is wrong with me?? Relax!!
<
br />   She dug her thumbs into my neck and starting turning. “I have a question for you,” she asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you get scared? On the field? All those guys wanted to kill you. And they will again this Friday.”

  “Yes. I was terrified.”

  “The whole game?”

  “No. You get used to it. There is a difference between watching and playing. Observing verse participating. I’m…aware it could hurt. But the risk is worth it, you know? I wanted to win.”

  “Boys are so weird,” she sighed.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Do you get scared for me?”

  “So scared. I can barely watch.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” she laughed. “Sometimes my friends have to tell me when I can peek again.”

  “What about when we got mugged?” I asked, wishing I could watch her reaction to my question in a mirror. She hadn’t found the video I made for her yet. One of these days she’d open her video files and see it, and she’d realize who returned her phone. I’d been dreaming about how grateful she’d be. My pulse quickened at the thought. “Do you still get scared thinking about that?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve had a few nightmares. That new stupid law has caused so many problems. The minorities are upset but they don’t know how to proactively react, so some instinctively react with violence and then others get hurt and…there are no winners. I hate it.”

  “Speaking of hating things,” I smiled. “Do you hate Lee?”

  “Hate Lee?” she cried. “Of course not! Why?”

  “He did the math. You only return one fourth of his texts.”

  “Well,” she said slowly, like she was looking for an excuse. “That’s because…he texts me a lot. I mean, a lot. I can’t return them all. You never return my texts, but I recognize you don’t hate me.”

  “I text you back,” I retorted.

  “Not enough,” she said. “But I know you. You’re a man of few words. Your actions speak for you. Like when you come visit me.”

  “Mmm.”

  “I bet in the locker room, when all the other guys are jumping around and hollering, you don’t. You’re not one who hollers. You just go out and succeed at everything you do. The trick with you, Chase, is trying to figure out what you would say…if you were actually capable of communicating.”

  “I can communicate,” I protested.

  “Not really. Boys in general can’t, but you’re worse than most. You’re so physical. That’s why I rub your shoulders.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s physical. You’ll understand it. You’ll understand I care about you.”

  I nodded after a while and said, “That’s deep.”

  “Not really.”

  “How do you know I care about you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “How are your AP classes?” I asked.

  “All-consuming. That’s all I do now.”

  “I recognize the feeling,” I said. “Except for me it’s football.”

  “Speaking of classes, should we review Spanish before you leave?” she asked, returning to her bed and her books.

  “Sure.”

  She sat down and glanced at her phone. I blinked away the fatigue closing in while she stared at the device.

  “You didn’t tell me Hannah Walker was in your class,” she said abruptly, eyes still fixated on her phone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What else could I mean? You never told me,” she snapped.

  “Should I have?” I asked, confused.

  “Yes!”

  “Why?”

  “And she was scratching your back today,” she said simply.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “All you do is ask questions.”

  “What?” I asked, and then said, “Wait. I mean, who cares? No, wait. That’s a question. I mean…this is hard. Yes, she scratched my back in English. How’d you know that?”

  “It’s being discussed on the internet, genius.”

  “It’s what?” I cried, sitting up straight.

  “Stop asking questions. It’s all over Twitter. There are pictures on Snapchat.”

  “Who? Who could possibly care about that?”

  “You. Are such. An idiot,” she growled, punching a stuffed animal with each word. “Everyone cares about that, Chase!”

  “Why would everyone care…I mean…dang it, Katie. I can’t help asking questions. Get over it. Why do people care about that?”

  “Why do people buy tabloids? Why is gossip so rampant? Because people are nosey, doofus. If the prettiest girl in school starts rubbing on the quarterback then the whole school will be alerted instantly. Why do you think she did it in the middle of class? That’s the juiciest gossip I’ve ever heard.”

  “This is preposterous,” I said, and pulled out my cell phone.

  Did you hear any gossip about me today? I texted Lee.

  His reply was immediate. >> Course bro!! Way to go!! =P Saw the video 2!!

  “The video?” I yelped. “Someone took a video?”

  “Oh jeez,” Katie’s voice had taken on a new tone. Embarrassment? Frustration? Anger? “I can’t believe I just gave you a back rub, too.”

  “Your back rub was nice,” I frowned.

  “How many back rubs do you need, Chase? You need to pick one. Boys are stupid. Why are you so freaking obsessed with back rubs?”

  “What do you have against Hannah?”

  “I have nothing against Hannah,” she snapped again. “She’s perfect. So perfect, in fact, that you should get all your back rubs from her from now on.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said helplessly, pathetically.

  “I’m sorry you’re confused, Chase. I actually am. But I’m too tired to care. Please go home now.”

  I opened my mouth to reply but nothing came out. Before I left I looked at her again, in my jersey. I understood that she was changing, and that I was changing, and that I just wanted to change with her, but that I had messed up somehow.

  She’d never asked me to leave before. I went home with a heavy heart.

  The next day, she found the video I had made on her phone.

  Chapter Seven

  Tuesday, September 11. 2017

  The following day, I approached Spanish with fear and trembling, possessing not the slightest indication what kind of mood Katie would be in. To my relief and confusion, Katie was surrounded by our classmates and smiling so big my heart skipped a beat.

  “Chase!” she said. “Guess what? You’ll never guess!”

  “I give up,” I grinned.

  “I know who returned my phone!” she cried.

  “Oh,” I laughed, pleasantly surprised. This would fix everything! “It’s about time.”

  “I never looked at my videos until this morning,” she said, shaking her head in a state of shock. Katie’s slightly Latina accent only comes through when she’s excited.

  “Took you forever,” I said and dropped my bag beside our chairs. I took a deep breath and smiled. I’d earned forgiveness.

  Katie asked, “So do you want to know who?” “Sure,” I chuckled. “Tell me who returned your phone.”

  “Him! The guy from the video!”

  “Him? Him who?”

  “The outlaw guy,” she said, holding out her phone as evidence. I stared at her phone in confusion. She shook it at me.

  “The outlaw guy,” I repeated.

  “That’s what they’re calling him. The Outlaw,” she said and shook her phone again, beckoning me to take it. “Or Bandit, or something. Remember?”

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “I remember.”

  “What’s wrong with you? Are you okay? Just hit play.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered.

  I stared at the phone like it was a trap that would go off if touched. Did Katie recognize me from the ATM video? Had the
police figured me out? Why would she think I was the outlaw guy?

  I took the phone from her and she hit play eagerly.

  Yes, this was the video I made for her. The picture was dark, but I could recognize my car and my silhouette, and

  I couldn’t believe it! There I was, on her phone…with my mask and my bandana still on! I’d forgotten to take them off that night! The light in the video was dim so details were hard to detect. Even I wouldn’t know it was me hiding under that mask, and my voice was distorted by the neoprene fabric.

  I watched it again.

  “Katie…” I said and then I couldn’t think of a single thing in the world I could say. There was no way she would believe the truth now. I couldn’t tell her it was me. I’d sound like an idiot.

  “I know! Can you believe it? It’s definitely him, right? Everyone thinks so.”

  “Wow,” I said. I had really screwed this up.

  “Wow is right,” she agreed. “He must be like Robin Hood or something. Returning stolen items to their owners?”

  “Yeah?”

  “And he is so totally hot,” another girl near us chirped.

  “Ohmygosh yes,” Katie said.

  “He is?” I said.

  “Of course! That voice, the outfit, the muscles, the hair…” Katie said, smiling dreamily at the ceiling.

  “Those eyes,” her friend finished for her.

  “And those sexy angry eyes,” Katie agreed.

  “Well,” I said. “He does have very nice eyes.”

  “Dude, are you dating the cheerleader?” Lee asked me at lunch.

  “You already asked me that in Math,” I said. “The answer is still No.”

  Lee asked, “Cory, did you see the video, man, of the cheerleader scratching his back?”

  “I saw the video,” Cory said. He had augmented his lunch with a pasta creation from his cooking class.

  Lee asked, “What’d you think?”

  “She’s pretty fly,” Cory said.

  “She’s pretty fly, bro,” Lee agreed.

  “Thanks. I’ve noticed,” I said. “Why do you think I let her scratch my back?”

  Cory mused around a bite of pasta, “I bet Katie’s mad.”

  “Why would you say that?” I asked. “Katie and I are only friends.”

  “Katie’s got to be super pissed,” Lee said. “Do you remember when you were paired with Danielle Mitchell in the 8th grade for our civics project? Danielle was so hot then, and she wore that blue button-up shirt? You remember? Katie cried for like two months until Danielle started dating Tom Barton.”