by Alan Janney
I’d have to process that later. For now, the only thing that mattered was Katie. Above me, the steady beat of helicopter blades pushed into my cone of focus.
Instead of scooting carefully from building top to building top, I leapt. The world dropped away, shrinking as I plummeted upwards into the night air with each jump. My bounds covered ridiculous distances and my landing spots sprang near like looking through binoculars. I had no control during my inhuman flights and I landed less than gracefully. I rolled to a stop against Natalie’s fire escape staircase.
“Tank,” I said to myself, voice trembling, “Either you or I, or both, must…” I couldn’t finish the thought out loud. … must die. The enormity of the situation overwhelmed me. My thoughts were interrupted as the dark hiding spot suddenly erupted with brilliant white light! A helicopter I was just now fully noticing swung in a majestic arc across the skyline towards me, its searchlight fixated on me like a homing beacon through the increasing volume of rain.
There went my element of surprise. I had to hurry, so I didn’t run up the stairs. Instead, I jumped and landed on the staircase’s second-story handrail, a precarious perch. I jumped again, even higher, farther, shooting myself like an angel of death up and over the apartment building’s parapet.
The scene unfolded below me as I flew into the action. There stood Tank alone, a gargantuan goliath, watching the helicopter fly closer. I must have come out of the darkness like a phantom. Time slowed, giving me a chance to engage the stun gun with my thumb. My trajectory was perfect and he could only widen his eyes in disbelief. I flew into him. I thrust the heel of my hand into his chest with every intention of punching clean through.
The powerful electrodes attached to my palm dug into the flesh of his chest…and failed. The device should have activated. It malfunctioned. If I lived, I was going to scare the hell out of Lee later.
Still, the force of my attack hurled Tank backwards and he landed on the iron patio chairs, crashing across the green turf. It should have maimed him. My inertia and the velocity of my focused blow should have broken him. Bones had not been designed to endure that strain. But rising from the wrecked picnic furniture came the sound of laughter, malicious and sinister. He stood, like a ghoul rising from the grave, and he grabbed his chest with a black-gloved hand.
“I have chosen for myself,” he rumbled and paused to wince for breath, “a worthy opponent.” As always, he had dressed stylishly. Only this time, he wore black gloves and what appeared to be hosiery over his head. It effectively masked his facial features, like a granite statue whose face had worn away through time.
“Where is she?” I demanded.
“She’s here,” he said, still rubbing his torso in pain. “Not that it matters.”
“It matters to me.”
“That’s pathetic. This is beyond her. This is past her. Your attachment to her should humiliate you. Look at yourself, PJs. You’ve become a damn national treasure, but you’re brought low by a simple high school girl.”
“Explain this to me before I throw you over the edge,” I said, having to shout above the approaching helicopter. “Why are you doing this? Why now? Why this rooftop?”
“All the world is a stage!” he bellowed in pleasure, which noticeably caused him pain. “And there is a tide in our affairs, Outlaw. I’m taking it at the full, at high tide, while you’ve done all the work of gathering the spotlight.” He raised his hand to indicate the aircraft above us, which had rotated enough for me to see Channel Four News on the side. “Now you tell me, Pajamas. Explain to me, before I beat you unconscious and toss you over the edge with your girl, why you’re doing this?”
“Because you took her, stupid.”
“Not that,” he snapped irritably, and to my surprise he grabbed his head, like it hurt him. Apparently we both had headaches, but who could blame us. “All of it, your whole charade. Why play dress up in the first place?”
“It’s pretty simple,” I said and I started walking towards him. I wanted to end him, terminate this disaster. “You took her phone. I got it back. After that, you wouldn’t let it go.”
“Wrong,” he said and he closed the distance between us. “Do you see what you’re doing? In your weakness you try to deflect the blame. You pathetically avoid responsibility. This is my fault, little man? Wrong. You came back to my house a second time. Don’t try to place that on me.”
“I came back because I had to,” I said. For the necklace. For Dad.
“You had to because of your pride.”
“Because of need,” I shouted.
“Was it need that drove you up here a month ago? To this very rooftop to see the movie star? Need didn’t bring you here, to visit the starlet. Your laughable ego did. You’re doing all this because you like it!”
The wash from the rotors hit us as the chopper pitched backwards to maintain position. Scraps of paper and debris kicked up, and the shattered rain slashed our faces.
“You came here because you’re weak!” he shouted. “You came here to get attention! You’re just a lonely man in pajamas who wanted five minutes of fame with a movie star!” he yelled, and I could see the madness seeping out of him. He was close enough to push me and he did, but not hard. I stepped backwards to avoid falling. He closed his eyes and shook his head, shaking off pain between his temples. Maybe he’d have an aneurysm. That’d save me a lot of work.
“What does it matter to you? Why are you obsessed over this?”
“I’m obsessed??” he laughed, a malevolent sound. “I am? You stick your face in front of a camera every week!”
“Are you jealous? Are you mad because you’re supposed to be some kind of freak linebacker and everyone quit talking about you when I showed up? Is this all about jealousy?”
He hit me. He had thick bones, years of weight lifting, freak genetics, steroids, and rage behind the punch, and he crushed me. I scraped and slid across the thin turf like I’d been hit by a car.
Staggering up again, I glared against the bright light of the helicopter, recording this deadly and absurd confrontation, and then shifted my vision away. Something else. Some new stimuli. There. Another aircraft was approaching. A second helicopter; the red and blue and green anti-collision lights were coming fast. More witnesses to the melee.
“Okay,” I groaned. “We’re even.” The rain had begun to seep into the mask, soaking it to the point of saturation. Breathing became harder and wetter.
“Not for long,” he growled, advancing towards me. “Your fifteen minutes are up.”
“I can’t believe this whole thing is about jealousy,” I chuckled and grunted because it hurt. “You were going to kill a girl so people would notice your sack total?”
“No, but I’m going to kill you,” he said, “to prove you’re nothing.”
I attacked without warning, throwing all my weight into his stomach like a battering ram. The air whooshed out of him and he fell back, stumbling over furniture.
“What’s the matter? Let me guess,” I shouted. “You can’t buy me? Can’t evict me? Can’t bully me? Can’t threaten me? Scared I’m better than you?”
“This is the police!”
The second helicopter slowed as it approached the first and its megaphone blared to life. It was a black and white police B-2 helicopter. The sky was completely full of insane wind and light.
“Clear the area! You are in restricted airspace!”
A police helicopter! And it was issuing orders over the megaphone to the news aircraft? Why not just use the radio? My attention was diverted, allowing Tank enough time to kick me to the surface of the roof again. I rolled to a stop near the penthouse door.
“Tank,” I yelled over the whipped air and the mechanical roar. “This is ridiculous. Give me the girl and let’s get out of here!”
Tank had been eyeing the police chopper nervously and he seemed to be considering my idea, his body temporarily frozen.
“Repeat, vacate this airspace! Immediately!”
&
nbsp; “Take your mask off!” Tank shouted.
“What?! No!”
“Take your mask off and I’ll give you the girl.”
“Fair enough,” I panted, climbing to my feet. “Give me the girl first. Then you get the mask.”
We stood next to each other, speculating on a cease fire and the chances of betrayal, and for a moment we were just a pair of kids that had swam in waters too deep without a way out. He was only seventeen. This had gotten too big, far too big to control. We needed to exit the stage.
The news helicopter pitched back to give the police more room. The black and white chopper came in uncomfortably close, its blades churning the air.
“This is the police! Lace your hands behind your head and lay face down!”
“Lose the mask. Now. You don’t set the terms,” Tank said softly.
“What?”
“I set the terms!” he shouted. He burst through the veil of blinding light and sheets of rain, bowling me over. I was caught off guard. He landed on me, inhumanly heavy, and pinned me completely. He was a relentless, colossal beast that blocked out the entire sky. “I set the terms! Not you! I have control!”
I got my arm free and started punching him, but I had no leverage. I might as well have been whacking him with a fly swatter. What happened to my super strength?? Wasn’t I just jumping across buildings?? I ground my teeth and heaved, but I couldn’t move him. I had no angle to apply force!
“Now!” he roared in laughter. “Who is behind the mask?”
I was powerless. My secret had run its course. His hand smashed my face, fingers clawing at my flesh, and yanked the mask off. The fresh air hit my naked skin, and he stared in disbelief.
“Hands behind your head! We are prepared to use force!”
“You,” Tank said in astonishment. “I know you.”
An enormous crack. We both flinched when a bullet snapped into the concrete nearby. A warning shot!
“Hands behind your head!”
“You’re the quarterback,” he said. He seemed unable to believe his eyes.
“Considering we don’t play until tomorrow,” I grunted out the final breaths in my lungs, “I’d say this is a personal foul. Roughing the quarterback.”
We both winced again at a loud and horrible screeching sound. I could just see the disaster over his shoulder. A sudden gust of wind hit the police helicopter, which executed an over-corrected bank and caught the far edge of the roof with its landing gear. The aircraft lurched and pulled wildly away, the engine screaming in protest. The white news helicopter was too near and its whirling metal blades gouged the police’s tail section. Metal debris and noise filled the night. Both airborne vehicles panicked and pulled apart, but the police couldn’t control their yaw.
I gaped in horror at the tons of chaotic metal overhead. Shards of metal hurled into the roof. Tank did not pay attention. He started hammering me. His cruel fists drummed against my chest and sides, bruising and fracturing my ribs. I was helpless and I had no air, but I kept swinging, smacking his face ineffectually. My punches would’ve hurt a normal human, but not Tank. The pain hijacked my mind and I couldn’t think. He pounded me with a lunatic frenzy, determined to beat me to death.
“You. Can’t. Take. What’s. Mine. I. Al. Ways. Win,” he punctuated each insane syllable with a devastating hit. Ribbons of rainwater flew off his fists with each backswing. I was dying.
Then, a miracle! He reared up to full height, grabbed his head, and roared in pain. What was wrong with him?? I slapped at him from the brink of consciousness and my right hand connected fully with the skin of his neck. The two nodes of Lee’s electroshock invention pressed through my glove far enough to make contact with his wet skin. The circuit completed neatly and two million volts discharged in a crackling blue arc under my hand and through his flesh. The electricity hit his spine like a bomb. His eyes snapped up as every muscle pulsed and contracted, immobilizing him. Within that microsecond, a fraction of the current also stuck me. Our skin must have been touching somewhere. Hot energy filled me to the point of eruption and my brain reset.
Sweet air rushed into my lungs. The oxygen was scented with the tang of burnt flesh. Tank fell off, twitching with spasms. For the moment I was safe. Almost dead, but safe. I sat up and cried out in pain. The world dimmed. My insides felt like jelly.
“W-w-w…” Tank stuttered beside me.
I stood up, which brought tears to my eyes. Tank watched me warily, still without possession of his faculties, and then his eyes shifted to the helicopters. I turned to look at them too, and I spat out blood.
“Well, this is a mess,” I whispered. The police still hadn’t regained control and now they trailed a plume of smoke. The shiny white news helicopter was busy gaining distance between it and the tail-spinning police aircraft, and so for the moment Tank and I were in the dark. No spotlights. I bent to pick up my ski mask and I noticed Tank had rolled his body one full rotation away from me. He still twitched and jumped, but he could coordinate the tremors well enough to roll over again. And again.
“Where you going, big guy?” I asked, and I strapped the mask back on, almost fainting from the effort. I wearily pulled off my gloves and removed the used Haser.
A new sound tugged at the edge of my attention. A distant deep human hum. I peered over the edge of the roof. Five stories below on the sidewalks circumventing the building, throngs of onlookers packed the asphalt. Hundreds, maybe thousands of pedestrians stared upwards, watching the helicopters. I scanned the crowds and the drone of voices quickly ramped up in volume and intensity. The Outlaw! There he is! Outlaw! There’s the Outlaw! Outlaw! Out-law! Out-law! Out-law! Out-law! The denizens of Los Angeles must have been drawn by the rumors of my dash through the city, and then further intrigued by the swirling helicopters. For the moment, they stood unified. No riots. No hatred. I raised my fist in the air and pumped it. The multitude responded. They went berserk. Another pump, another outburst, like a conductor. That was fun, but I had work to do. I returned to Tank.
“H-h-ho-how did…” he asked, rolling away from me again. It took a lot of effort for him to roll all three hundred pounds.
“How’d I do that?” I finished his question. “You and I must have a connection.” I wheezed in humor and agony at my own joke. He rolled again. “We just spark,” I said, and he rolled again. Where did he think he could go? He’d finally rolled to the edge of the roof, and he got an arm over the retaining wall. “Tell me where she is, Tank,” I said. But then with a herculean effort he pulled himself over the side and disappeared. What?! I hurried as best I could and looked down after him. He couldn’t have fallen all five stories, just three, onto the neighboring rooftop. In the blackness below I didn’t see his body. Had he committed suicide rather than tell me where Katie was? I’d go check on him in a minute.
The media helicopter returned and aided my rooftop search with its spotlight. I didn’t have to hunt long. Katie had been stuffed behind the penthouse staircase. I started crying when I saw her small, frail figure. The heartbreaking sight was too much. Her hands and ankles had been zip-tied together, and a thinly woven cloth bag covered her head. I removed it. Her beautiful face was pale. Rain droplets began to dot her skin. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were covered with duct tape, which I pulled off. Wax had been stuffed into her ears. Her chest rose and fell slowly with breath. She was alive, but she was unconscious. What did he do to her?
I cupped her face with my hands. “Sorry it took so long,” I told her. “But you’re safe now, Katie.”
I carried her in my arms to the center of the rooftop and laid her at my feet. The helicopter hung in the air steadily, doggedly filming my every move. The police chopper had apparently fled the scene, unable to steady itself, unable to enforce the law. But any minute, more police officers would come bursting through the door to arrest me.
I pointed at the aircraft and used my arms to demand that it fly closer. As if by magic, the helicopter complied. I gestured and indicate
d that it should land. The roof had plenty of space. It approached, tearing at the air around us. My world was afire with angelic brilliance from the blinding search light. The landing skids touched down. I picked her up, cradling her to my chest, and walked to the side of the fuselage. The sliding door was pulled back to allow the camera enough room to operate. The air pounded too heavily in our ears for communication but the two men in the passenger cabin already knew what to do. I mutely handed her to them. A ride in this airborne ambulance was the quickest way to get her to a hospital, to medical treatment, even though I wished could carry her there myself.
As I turned to go, one of the camera men stuck out his hand. I looked at it, confused. Then I understood. I shook it. I had to shake the next man’s hand too. They regarded me with undisguised awe as I disappeared down the fire exit.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Friday, November 1. 2017
Friday. Game day.
Impossible. I couldn’t even get out of bed.
I hadn’t slept, so the worst day of my life had now become the longest. The fact that I had to play a football game in about twelve hours was unfathomable. The pain and swelling and discoloration were going to take weeks to recover from. Last night I’d almost stopped at an urgent care facility, but my clothing would’ve aroused attention, plus the medical care would have increased the chances of someone at school discovering my injuries and preventing me from playing in the football game. On top of that, the bills would have bankrupted us. We might need to sell the house, so the last thing I wanted was more bills.
I was desperate to know Katie’s condition, so I called the hospital at three in the morning to inquire. The flustered operator briefly told me over a hundred people had already called about the girl they’d seen rescued live on television, and that a statement would be issued later. That rescue had been broadcast live? I hung up and called Katie’s mom, intending to tell her Katie had been found but Ms. Lopez cut me off; she was already at the hospital with Katie. The rest of the night I spent thanking God for Katie’s safety and trying to find a comfortable position in bed.
