Better to Die a Hero

by Michael van Dagger

  Bryan greeted Steve with a strong hug. “I am glad to see you're alive. Now, just what the hell were you doing?”

  “I was testing my limits,” Steve said. “All three of us need to know exactly what we can and can't do.” This was true so he didn’t feel too bad about the lie. “What did I hear about déjà vu?”

  “As you landed and ran up to us,” Nora said, “the whole time I could swear I’d seen you do it before. I mean exactly the way you just did it. It was the strongest feeling of déjà vu I've had since I was a kid.”

  “That explains it,” Bryan said, “That's why you said ‘thank you Lord’ just before Mongoose landed.”

  “No,” Nora replied, “I remember saying that, but it was right after Steve landed and I could see that he wasn't hurt.”

  Bryan shook his head in disagreement. “No, you said it just before Bonehead landed.”

  “Let's talk about this later,” Steve said, “we need to get out of here before the police show up.”

  The three agreed and began a medium jog down the alley and no one suggested a move to the rooftops. It didn't take but a few minutes before the teenagers traded the concrete under their feet for the grassy cushion of the park. Despite being closed for nearly an hour, the park remained sparsely populated. The groups and individuals roaming the recreational areas held little resemblance to those who frequented the park during the day. They drifted the dimness with a confidence the average day person would have trouble faking. Even the bag ladies and other weaker down and outs showed this spirit. Just below this bravado, a sense of anger and hostility existed. Feelings of animosity ruled the night, fueled by having less than others, fueled by having been dealt a bad hand. These people owned the park at sundown and their entire persona projected a tough streetwise mentality.

  “I am really starting to feel ridiculous,” Steve said from under the black ski mask. “Do you see the way people are looking at us?”

  “You worry too much about what people think,” Bryan replied. “These people don't know who Mongoose is. Just relax, it’s all good.” Bryan looked down to Nora, “How you doing Tigerwoman?”

  “Good,” she replied, running a hand through the top of her hair and shaking it out, “This is fun. We'll patrol the park for an hour and then head home.”

  “No way,” Bryan said raising his voice. “You guys can go home after an hour if you want, but I'm staying out here all night or at least until I find some action.”

  Nora’s mouth fell open. “I have to sneak back in at least by twelve o'clock, there’s no way I can stay out any later.” She looked to Steve for support.

  Steve’s voice cracked. “Bryan, we have to give Nora a ride home.”

  “Oh, all right, I'll give both you guys a ride home,” he said, “but then I'm coming right back.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them as they proceeded down the pedestrian trail. Steve pretended not to notice.

  The trail soon led them to a dimly lit parking lot. Two low riders, one purple and one black, parked under a lamp next to a sign that read -Park closes at 10:00 P.M. - pounded out gangster rap audible for half a mile. Nora asked how such vile lyrics like those assaulting their hearing could ever be released to the public. Bryan said something about the price of recording electronics being so cheap anyone could record a rap and burn it to disc.

  When a predator roars, the animals of the forest scurry, instinctively circumventing the area and so it is in the city. Normally, the three would have detoured around the hostile lyrics without thought or hesitation—but they were no longer normal. The powder, by bestowing upon them superhuman strength, endurance and reflexes had indirectly boosted their courage. Still, it had been tempting to avoid the scene until Nora mentioned how a blaring stereo could be used to cover up the sounds of crime. Although the boys thought it unlikely, the three unanimously decided to continue on, course unaltered. As Bryan pointed out, if they were serious about patrolling the park they needed to investigate all activities.

  Steve took a deep breath, focused and turned his attention on the noisy group. The world around him blurred and grayed except for the group that took on the form of a still picture rushing into his face. The knowledge of friends standing alongside vanished as details flooded in defining the scene: 5 males, 2 females, 17 pieces of jewelry, and 53 articles of clothing.

  Where am I? Steve thought.

  An over whelming data stream drowned out his internal voice: 37 buttons, 157 textures, 569 angles, and 633 curves.

  A crescendo buzz developed in Steve’s inner ear, followed by pain and then loud pop. His world suddenly fell back into place. Again fully aware of the environment, he slapped his forehead in an attempt to rid himself of a lingering low-level buzz. While the original snap shot in all its detail remained available in memory, the experience was unsettling.

  The would-be heroes relaxed as they passed the rainbow of skin tones rounding out the noisy group. Many of the cliques in Queens weren't as segregated as those on the island or South Bronx, which meant less hostility. Never the less, Bryan conjured up the toughest look a normally jovial face could muster and drilled it through the gathering. It would have been taken as a major show of disrespect and a challenge, had anyone been able to see it behind the goggles and mask.

  “Uh, Oh.” Nora said, glancing at her two partners.

  “Hey, mister pajama head, where do you think you're going?” A mean looking man with shaved temples stepped forward. Group laughter followed.

  Steve was just about to suggest they ignore the comment and keep moving when three of the young men darted out, blocking the trail. The other two moved a bit slower taking a position behind the teenagers.

  “You really don't want to do this,” Bryan said displaying his middle finger.

  “Oh look, mister pajama head can talk,” the mean one said, “Hey, Marty look at this, we got us a sexy cat woman, a chubby masked man with an “M” on his chest and a clown. What do you make of that?”

  “I think it's too early for Halloween,” Marty replied. He reached behind his back and withdrew a pair of black nunchaku.

  The man’s cohorts backed away as he flung the chained sticks over one shoulder then the other. He spun the sticks around his waist, then neck in a blur of black and silver. Covered only by a slim leather vest, his stomach, chest and arm muscles flexed to the rhythm of the hurling sticks.

  “We're not looking for any trouble,” Steve said, stepping out in front, “so if you just move out of the way we'll be going.”

  Bryan blurted out from behind. “Kick his ass Mongoose.”

  “Mongoose? What a joke, come on Mongoose mother fucker.” Marty stepped forward. Only a few feet now separated Steve’s face from the deadly weapon. The nunchaku hissed as it sliced the air.

  Over years of gaming, Steve had participated in hundreds of hand-to-hand combat scenarios that played as clear in his mind’s eye as watching a movie. He knew all the moves—in theory. Heart pounding, fear electrifying his limbs, he still managed to stand strong as the man charged, the hard weapon whirling a deadly pattern. Adrenaline pumping, the timing of the chained sticks instantly known to him, Steve easily slipped past the danger to the man's outside right and hammered his fist down on the hoodlum’s wrist. The lethal instrument bounced against the ground. Steve’s swung his arm around and smashed across his opponent’s chest in a clothesline maneuver. The man’s chest cracked and popped as the targeted rib cage flattened.

  The hoodlum’s feet came up from underneath him and his back slammed the pavement. Steve and Nora stood paralyzed as Bryan spun to the back and charged the largest man.

  The big man didn’t bother bracing for impact. Much like the cafeteria incident Bryan raised his foot high for a front stomp and drove the kick forward. The large man pivoted. The flat of Bryan's foot caught the man’s shoulder; the hood’s feet left the ground. His heavy body spun a full two and a half times before his head collided with the ground. Bryan’s opponent lay still, face in
the dirt, ass in the air.

  Bryan took hold of the second adversary’s jacket and twirled him several times until the thug was airborne. Spinning with more force than an Olympian discus event, Bryan released the body. His foe collided with a fir tree beside the trail. Twigs and branches snapped and the man’s squeal made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand on end.

  “Aaaaah!” Nora's voice pierced the air. She dove to the dirt, snatched up the nunchaku and tumbled to a low-graceful stance. She hurled the weapon at one of the men. Before the stunned hood could pull a snub-nosed revolver from his baggy pants, the clang of hard wood and metal sounded as the weapon met its mark, the gun wielder’s face. Nora yelled a second time and sprang high into the air, well over the head of the last man standing. She landed on the trail far beyond the group and took off running. Steve jumped even higher and farther and ran after her. The horror of the experience was lost to him the instant the wind hit his face. These jumps, so high and long, almost like flying—it was ecstasy.

  Bryan followed and the three, running together full tilt, left the park for a nearby alley in an adjacent neighborhood. They covered over ten blocks running from alley to alley when Steve recognized one of the buildings. An old apartment dwelling renovated into commercial offices, occupied by architects and engineers, he believed. No lights indicated no personnel working late, making the rooftop a perfect place for the teenagers to collect themselves. Nora's emotional state showed through her painted face. The girl was rattled.

  “There’s no one in this building,” Steve said, slowing down, “let's hit the roof and talk about what happened.”

  “Maybe we should just walk up the fire escape this time, nice and quiet like.” Bryan added, noticeably out of breath.

  Nora ran ahead and left the boys standing there. The brickwork around the windows jutted out from the wall forming large decorative arches. She jumped two stories and landed on the ledge of the window arch, her heels hanging over. Again she jumped, ascending another story, her face inches from the wall. Passing the top, she executed a perfect twist and flip, landing her feet firmly on the roof ledge. The barely audible maneuver scored a perfect ten from both males.

  “Can you do that?” Bryan asked.

  “Nope,” Steve replied, “let's use the fire escape, besides I think she could use a moment alone.”

  Air-conditioning units and sheet metal ducts cluttered the rooftop and offered seclusion residential buildings lacked. Nora sat against one of the large metal boxes picking at a hole in her black nylons. As Steve approached, he counted four holes in the fishnet stockings. The material obviously couldn’t hold up to the tumble back on the trail or the powerful leaps she was capable of performing, not that he thought this a bad thing, he found the tattered hosiery very cool and extremely sexy.

  Steve sat beside her. She turned to him, began sobbing and buried her face in his chest. Awkwardly, he put his arm around her. Comforting a woman was new territory and he tried remembering recent movies, looking for a relative scene to draw upon. No movies came to mind and he fought the urge to console his female friend with a ‘there, there’. Gaming had consumed both his and Bryan’s time all through High School leaving both of them, up to this time, dateless.

  “That was kind of scary back there,” Steve said.

  Bryan sat down and crossed his legs. “Yeah, I have to sit down or my legs are going to start quivering again.”

  Nora lifted her head off Steve's chest and wiped the tears from her cheek. “I just didn't expect it to be like that,” she said. “That thing I threw at that guy. I think I put his eye out.” She sniffled and wiped her nose.

  Bryan smiled. “And I'm sure he didn't believe his mother when she told him, don't play with that thing, you’re go’na put your eye out.”

  Nora managed a small laugh and a smaller smile. “I have a scenario for you guys,” She paused, “let’s say you’re walking down a dark abandoned street in the middle of the night and you see a small group of men a block down heading your way. Even though it’s dark you recognize them as a group of troublemakers and bullies.” She wiped a tear from her face. “They are directly in your path, but you can go around the block and avoid them, losing only a little amount of time. What do you do?”

  Bryan waited for Steve to answer first, and then decided to end the silence before it got awkward. “Two weeks ago I would have said any sane person should move to the next block and avoid the group. And I say that still goes for the weak, but not for us. We walk straight on.”

  Steve wanted to give an answer that would please Nora, but didn’t have time to analyze her thoughts on the subject and opted for honesty. “I would not avoid the group.”

  “Why,” she asked.

  “If they’re going to commit a crime against someone, it would be better if it were against a person who could defend himself.”

  “But if you avoided them the crime would never have taken place,” she said.

  “I see where you’re going with this,” Bryan said, “but those punks tonight pulled a gun on us. They’re criminals through and through and if it weren’t us tonight, it would have been someone else tomorrow. So I wouldn’t feel guilty if I were you. And you know what else, you may have saved our lives tonight.”

  Steve squeezed Nora’s shoulder tenderly. “If you hadn't spotted that gun one of us could be shot or dead.”

  “And man, are you quick,” Bryan said, “when I'm on the powder I have the eyes and reflexes of a fighter pilot, but I didn't even see that gun until you beaned that guy.”

  “You guys are not going to believe this, but I knew he was going to pull a gun.” She looked at their faces for signs of skepticism.

  “I believe you,” Steve said, “when we were on the roof earlier I could have sworn you knew a guy was coming up before he actually got to the roof.

  “I think I did,” she stated.

  “You know what else,” Bryan said, “you knew Steve was going to land safely when he jumped off the building.”

  “I thought something funny was happening to me,” she said.

  “So, you must see things happen twice, one right after the other.” Steve said.

  “Not really,” Nora stated, “It's more like I know what’s going to happen, because I saw it happen sometime before. Like I had a memory of it happening the day before and the memory is still very clear.”

  “Don’t worry about that guys eye Tigerwoman,” Bryan said, “I saw the whole thing, his eye is okay, but you did break his nose and I mean big time.”

  Nora got up and walked toward the edge of the roof. She looked back at her friends. “You guys can start calling me Déjà vu”.

  7

  BETTER TO DIE A HERO

  CHAPTER 8

  It took forever for the following Friday to arrive, or at least to Steve it felt that way and it had taken all his will power to stay in during the weeknights and log a full eight hours sleep each night. He’d decided to forgo the midnight runs, to wait and build up energy for this night. He did use the new weight set a couple times, always vigilant for his uncle’s approach. Getting caught with three-hundred pounds of iron plates pressed above his head would be hard to explain. George was a smart man. He would automatically think steroids and start asking questions.

  Earlier Bryan called their gaming friends and canceled the weekend campaign, causing less disappointment in the group than either one of them expected. Maybe everyone else was getting a life too. The evening’s big disappointment came when Steve placed a call to Nora. She had skillfully dropped hints throughout the week that she probably would not participate in this weekend’s patrol, but the official word dampened the young man’s spirits. Watching her cartwheel, twist and flip across a rooftop was half the fun of going out, not to mention the synergy her sunny disposition created.

  The sun was going down and the two friends drove to the South Bronx business district minus their teammate. Steve, anxious to do some rooftop jumping, thought staying out of the res
idential areas meant less of a chance of getting the cops called on them. He didn’t think they’d run across any crimes in progress and that’s just the way he wanted it. Though, he didn’t tell that to Bryan.

  Steve loved running the rooftops. The gritty texture of tarpaper and sealant under foot changed from building to building, giving tactile feedback to his astonishing leaps and solid landings. Some tops were like fine sand paper, while others so coarse they were like running on a bed of pebbles. One thing they all had in common, they offered a confident footing and he couldn’t wait to go running on a rainy night. He wondered how the water would affect his traction. How would he compensate jumping from one slippery surface to another? What the ecstatic teenager really looked forward to was the cooling effect the downpour would bring.

  The only activity that beat vaulting an expansive alleyway was bouncing over the clutter of sheet metal monstrosities in their path. The leaps clearing these obstacles, so long and high, gave the illusion of flight, however brief. It was mid leap Steve was the most free, not a care in the world as the wind hit his face. The landings were wonderful also. Every muscle in his body contracted and absorbed the shock, reminding him just how powerful he’d become. Professional buildings offered the best course. Cooling systems, heating systems, sheds, skylights and protruding ductwork of all shapes and sizes lay in their path, just waiting to be hurtled. Enthralled by the superhuman strength that carried him over such obstacles, their function never entered Steve’s thoughts.

  Steve looked over his shoulder. Bryan was right behind, again. He couldn’t push any harder and his friend caught up. While the two ran and jumped in unison, Steve studied Bryan’s face. His friend’s headgear couldn’t hide the fatigue that was starting to show.