The Outlaw: No Heroes

by Alan Janney

  That night I drove downtown, towards the skyscrapers thrusting up into the evening atmosphere. I circled Natalie North’s city block a few times and put the structures together in my mind like puzzle pieces. I ultimately determined that I could reach Natalie’s roof using an alternate and less visible route. The dark parking lot behind an adjacent Laundromat was an ideal place to leave my car and ascend to the rooftops.

  I left the mask in my pocket. There was too great a chance someone would see me in the parking lot and I didn’t want to start a riot. I was almost invisible in the shadows and I stared upwards at the sheer, two-story, brick wall looming above me. How had I done this last time? I made a few feeble and unsuccessful attempts to climb, and each time I simply slid down the surface. I’m sure I looked like a little boy pretending he could climb walls. How did I do this?

  Behind me, voices approached. Laughter, coming out of Starbucks. Did the coffee shop never close? It was so late! The source of the voices, a man and a woman, turned the corner. Their car must be in this small parking lot with me. I was busted. My heart sprang into action.

  In desperation, I bounced into the corner, where the two walls met, planted my shoe and jumped. And jumped again off the adjoining wall. Each ricochet I discovered ridges that had eluded me initially. My hands bonded to the surface and in a matter of seconds I pulled myself over the roof’s crest and out of sight. The miraculous ascent didn’t phase me. Of course I could climb a wall!

  “Did you see that?”

  I listened to the voice far below respond, “See what?”

  “I don’t know! Something on the wall.”

  “Too much caffeine! Your mind is playing tricks on you.”

  “I would have sworn…”

  I took a deep sigh of relief and continued the journey. I hurried across the long metal scaffolding of a soda billboard, briefly illuminated by the harsh spotlights, and tried not to think about the drop below me between the buildings. The next rooftop had been covered by thin strips of plastic and I squeaked the whole way. I stumbled over an unseen air vent before running up the fire escape and onto Natalie’s rooftop.

  As I moved, the familiar feeling of invisibility and invincibility began to flood my limbs. The strange awareness of belonging to the night awoke inside me. My mind tried to keep my emotions in check, reasoning that this passion could only lead to trouble and it was based on my imagination. But the tidal wave of power proved irresistible and in the end I was a new being, stronger and more alive. I pulled on my Outlaw disguise.

  Natalie’s phone rang in my pocket, destroying the relative stillness of the evening and nearly giving me a heart attack. I whirled on my heel, looking for the source of noise. Her phone had never rang before. I didn’t even know what ringtone she had until that moment. I snatched it out of my pocket and answered it.

  “I’m on your roof,” I growled, angry with myself for being so startled.

  “You are?” she gasped.

  “Come see for yourself.”

  “Can I bring someone? So she’ll believe me?”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I hung up and turned off the ringer. I tugged the power cord out of the outlet, casting her roof into shadows. And then, on a theatrical whim, I hopped up on top of the stairwell’s enclosed penthouse. I lowered to rest on my haunches and hands. From up here I could detect a glow from the Staples Center, home of the Lakers.

  She must have hurried because I didn’t wait long. Natalie North and another lady rushed out, directly below me, so close I could have run my fingers through their hair. They slowed down, disoriented by the sudden lack of light. My eyes had adjusted to the night so I patiently waited while their eyesight caught up. The pair turned in circles, holding hands like two frightened children.

  “Where are you?” Natalie whispered.

  “Here,” I said.

  Natalie jumped. The lady let out a strangled scream and put a hand over her mouth.

  “Don’t do that,” Natalie gasped.

  “Oh my goodness,” the lady said into her hand, squinting up in the darkness at me. “He’s real.”

  “Of course he’s real,” Natalie said.

  I dropped off the doorway and landed in front of them. The lady squawked like a bird and shuffled backwards. Some twisted part of me enjoyed that reaction.

  “Who’re you?” I asked, keeping my voice to a deep rumble.

  “I’m Glenda, Natalie’s publicist,” she quaked.

  “My agent and my manager are downstairs,” Natalie said, smiling at me. “I wouldn’t let them come up.”

  “Good.”

  “They’re big fans,” she said.

  I asked, “Are the police still asking about me?”

  “Not recently.”

  “Good,” I said again.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, still beaming.

  Without warning I reached out and snagged her phone. I could tell she had been aiming it at me.

  “No pictures,” I said.

  “Aw. No fair.”

  “How about me?” her publicist asked. She pulled a small digital camera out of her purse. “You and Natalie could be on the cover of every magazine around the world.”

  “No pictures,” I said again, snarling out of frustration. “In fact, Natalie, I think you should distance yourself from me.”

  “What? Why?” Natalie asked.

  “Because Los Angeles is too angry right now,” I said.

  “Los Angeles is always angry,” Glenda mused.

  “I think it’s time for me to disappear,” I said. “You’ll get your life back soon enough.”

  “Actually,” Glenda said, holding up her pointer finger. “That’s the last thing we want. If you’re as good a man as Natalie says you are, then we want her to stay connected with you. Eventually the truth about your character will surface, and all this negative publicity should turn positive. It would be a media super-storm. We envision her asking salary for feature films could triple.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  “Her team,” Glenda replied.

  “Her movie salary isn’t one of my priorities,” I said.

  “But consider,” she said, now holding up her other hand. “Do you realize what big business we’re discussing? She makes over five million dollars a picture. That could easily enlarge to fifteen million. Or more! Her films usually generate between fifty to one hundred fifty million at the box office. That is a number that sways whole companies, and impacts the entire entertainment industry. It would be irresponsible not to consider the ramifications of a prolonged relationship with Natalie, a movie starlet. There are fortunes to be made! Seats to fill! Talk-shows appearances!” she almost shouted, growing more fervent with each word. “Not to mention your story, Mr. Outlaw. There is already jockeying within production studios about who will tell your story first. Think of the autobiography you could sell, the movie rights, syndication, perpetuity…I could make you tremendously wealthy,” she finished, her throat clenching and flexing. Even Natalie appeared enamored with the vision and she watched me excitedly, taking deep breaths.

  If only you knew. If only you knew that I’m a high school student that simply got mistaken for something more. Your movie script wouldn’t be worth the paper it was written on.

  “Natalie, what about your classes?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be a student, but you’re caged here.”

  Glenda shrugged and said, “She can take night classes. Or whatever. Plus she has a house in the County.”

  “Have you told them?” I asked Natalie. “About your loneliness? How your life is too surreal? Everything you told me?”

  “Of course her life is surreal!” Glenda cackled. “She’s living out her dreams! And sometimes it gets lonely at the top. Outlaw, certainly you can relate to that.”

  “Time for me to go,” I said.

  “Wait,” Natalie protested, grabbing at my arm as I turned. “I shouldn’t have brought Glenda, I see that now.”

  “I came her
e to help you,” I said. “To help untangle you from my mess. But now I see that your team is enjoying the pain it’s causing you. We can speak later, when you’re alone. But I think it’s time I disappear. Forever.”

  “Forever?” she said, following me to the edge of the roof. “Ignore Glenda, that’s just how publicists think. It’s her job. I don’t want to untangle from you. You’re the only thing that’s made me happy for weeks.”

  “That’s not a good thing, Natalie,” I said. “I can’t be the solution to your problems. I’m just a disguise. You deserve better. I’m nothing.”

  Behind me, something clicked, and for a fraction of a second our whole world was brilliantly shocked in white light. Glenda had taken a picture.

  “Good night.”

  “Please?”

  But I had already jumped.

  “Oooowwwwwww,” I grimaced, massaging my feet. What on earth had I been thinking? How could I just leap off the roof? My body had begun to believe the Outlaw lies.

  I had jumped off the roof and plummeted three stories! It’s a miracle I was even alive. No bones broke when I landed, which was also a miracle, nor had I crashed through the roof I landed on. Now that I sat in the car I could rub some blood back into my sore feet, but otherwise nothing hurt. How could that be possible? How could I be uninjured after that fall? What was happening to me? And why were my new shoes looking stretched, like they were about to break?

  I put my shoes back on and drove the Toyota out of the parking lot. Downtown still seemed like a beautiful, well-manicured yet foreign jungle and I ended up traveling in the opposite direction I intended. As I slowed and turned on my signal light, I noticed some familiar landmarks.

  I’ve been here before. Natalie North’s apartment is only a few blocks from that house where I encountered Tee.

  A flush of anger heated my face. I wondered if he had messaged Katie tonight. If the police couldn’t stop him… maybe the Outlaw should. It couldn’t hurt to drive by that house, just a few blocks away. Perhaps I could divine a method of stopping him.

  I set my jaw and made the turn, and as I did my headlights’ cones of illumination washed past a group of individuals walking on the sidewalk. I maintained the same speed and cruised past them, but as I did I scanned their faces. The collection looked young, maybe my age, dressed in teenage clothes, strutting, jumping, acting like kids should. They were black, white, and latino. A few of them glanced at my car as I drove past. Then I noticed that one of them stood out. One of them towered above the rest. One of them was Tee.

  My grip tightened on the wheel. I’d only caught a glimpse of his face, but I recognized that unmistakable smile, those eyes, that bulk. I followed them in my rear view mirror until they turned a corner, and I hastily parked.

  This is a stupid idea.

  I tore off the ski mask and bandana as I hustled silently after them. This part of the city smelled of sour trash and looked like the builders had stuffed as many thin houses into a city block as the law would allow. Even after midnight I knew there’d be eyes watching me from porches or windows, and if a car came down the road its beams would illuminate my face. My face wasn’t recognizable but the mask was, so for the moment I traveled as Chase Jackson and not as the Outlaw.

  I shadowed the group, following them away from the houses and towards the high-rising structures. The teenagers traveled candidly, not shying from street lights or passing cars, and I could’ve tailed them by volume alone. We trekked seven blocks total, under the vibrant and living Highway 110, four blocks into the canyon of polished towers and more heavily populated streets. Above us, lights burned through the office windows of all-night work sessions. I had assumed this group could be up to no good, but they were headed towards more traffic and witnesses, not away. Could I be wrong? Was the Outlaw guilty of racial stereotyping?

  No. I’d met Tee before, and he was anything but innocent.

  My heart started beating harder when they paused at a dimly lit side street. I ducked into the shadows of a dark storefront, within ear shot. Somewhere close, deep within the bowels of nearby building, came the throb and hum of a rave.

  “Alright, Guns,” a deep, distinct voice rumbled. Tee’s voice. “Here it is. Just like I told you.”

  Guns? What a terrible nickname.

  “That’s the Oriental Market. Just like I said.”

  Someone else chimed in. “Just like Tank said.”

  “Hey,” he barked. “Call me Tee. That’s it. Too many ears. Tee. Got it?”

  “Right, my bad, yo. My bad, Tee.”

  Tank? Tee was short for Tank? Tank. That’s an extremely appropriate nickname.

  “There’s the Oriental Market,” Tank said again. I peeked around the corner. Tank and his five minions milled at the entrance to the dark side street. Two of them smoked cigarettes, and they all relaxed and drifted apart when a Lexus drove by. Afterwards, with the headlights and witnesses receding, they reconvened. Tank didn’t dress like them, nor did he speak like them. His clothes were nice and so was his grammar. And he still wore the white gloves. “Like I said, the front security screen doesn’t cover the entire entrance. There are about two feet exposed, nothing between you and the cash except the glass.”

  “This a bad idea, man.”

  “Shut your mouth, Beans. Or run home. Ready Guns? You break the glass, get the cash, and go in under one minute. We’ll stand here, on watch.”

  “You sure, Tee?”

  “I’m sure, Guns.”

  “I gotta do this?”

  “No, Guns,” Tank said. “You do not have to do this. You can go home. You can go home to your mama empty handed. How does that sound? How will she like that?”

  “Ma’s crazy, Tee.”

  “I know.”

  A different voice. “Tee, c’mon, man!”

  “Be quiet, Beans,” Tank commanded. I watched, spellbound.

  “Tee. C’mon Tee,” Beans continued. I remembered him. He was the runt that had called the police at our previous meeting. I’m kinda surprised he was still alive. “Guns, don’t do this. We don’t even know where the cameras’ at, man. Tee, man, don’t make Guns do this.”

  Another car rolled past. Beans kept up his squeaky protest.

  “Tee. For real. Guns, you don’t have to do this.”

  “Beans,” Tank said, quietly, dangerously. “Are you balking?

  “What? The hell does balking mean? Balking? Just trying to talk some common sense to Guns, man.”

  Tank moved faster than my eyes could follow. He struck Beans in the head. I couldn’t see exactly how. Beans dropped in a heap, and everyone else laughed.

  “Beans, Beans, Beans,” Tank laughed ruefully, shaking his head. “You never learn.”

  Beans wasn’t moving.

  “I told Beans I should break his fingers,” Tank said, kneeling over the body. “But I never did. It’s time.” A dangerous, poignant silence descended. My pulse raced. “Watch closely,” Tank told the group, picking up Beans’ limp hand. “This is how to break a pinky finger.”

  All of a sudden, I was no longer watching Tank twist Beans’ finger. He was twisting Katie’s finger. In my eyes, poor helpless Beans represented all of Tank’s victims, including Katie. She might as well be laying there. Tank was threatening to hurt her, just like he was hurting Beans. I had to protect Katie. I had to protect Beans.

  Seething and swollen with rage, I stepped out of my hiding place. I was so furious I couldn’t think, shielded from consequences and reason.

  “TANK!” I bellowed. My voice came out like a lion’s roar, explosive and thunderous. The group huddled over Beans jumped, and the sound echoed off the walls above us. WOW I can yell loud! I pulled the mask tight around my face and walked into the street. Tank rose up slowly from his crouch as I finished tying the bandana. “Step away from the kid, Tank.”

  “Look who it is,” he laughed slowly, deliberately. “Just the man I wanted to see. I’ve been looking for you… Outlaw.”

  “You’
re coming with me,” I snarled. “I’m taking you to the police, even if I have to drag your body there.”

  “What are you going to tell them?” he said, and he spread his thick, long arms. His white-gloved hands were held in a palms-up gesture. “On what charge should they arrest me?”

  “Assault, genius.”

  “Beans?” he grinned. “You think you’ll get Beans to testify against me?” I didn’t say anything. “I own Beans. And his whole family. You’re in quite a conundrum, aren’t you, Outlaw? Because you want to do something about me. But you don’t know what. Do you?”

  “I can think of a few things,” I growled.

  “You can’t do that, either!” he roared with laughter. “There’s five of us. And was I alone? I’d still break every bone in your body and drag you behind my truck to the ocean.”

  “Come out here and try.”

  He made a motion, an inclination of movement, but hesitated. His eyes flickered up and around. What was he looking at? Did he know where the city’s cameras were?

  “Sorry, Pajamas,” he smiled. “A city street is not the appropriate venue for you to die. Perhaps I could entice you to step inside this alley?”

  “Coward.”

  “Coward?” he asked, his face darkening. “Which one of us is wearing a costume? Which one of us is hiding like a little girl? Take the mask off, hero. Superman doesn’t wear a mask.”

  “Sounds like you’re into superheroes.”

  “Especially you,” he grinned. “So what’s your deal, Pajamas? Spider-Man fights crime because of that mumbo-jumbo his uncle told him. Batman, because of his parents’ murder. Superman, because of moral character. Captain America? Patriotism. And now you. Captain PJs. Pajama Man. So what is it? What drives you?”

  I shrugged and said. “I just don’t like you.”

  “Well,” he smiled a big, insidious, handsome smile full of hate. “Every super villain needs a nemesis.”

  “You’re a super villain? Let me guess. Dr. Pinky Breaker?”

  “You’re a joke, PJs. I’m doing you a favor,” he growled.

  “How so?”

  “Up until now you’ve been a joke in a leotard. I lend you credibility. I’m the lone legitimate thing about you. Dying by my hand is the only hope you have of being respected.”