by B C Bell
“She’s in danger! And it’s all my fault!”
Gridiron dropped him and Pointer sat disgusted by his own actions. He was ready for the former football to snap his neck and be done with it. What he wasn’t prepared for was Gridiron’s words.
“No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
“Huh?”
Gridiron sat down on some boxes under a back door light. He was weary to the eye, like a statue left in the elements for too long; the anger was rusting him from the inside.
“I did this to myself. I believed I was less of a man without my legs. I convinced myself I would be a horrible husband and father. So, I tried to defy nature and wound up a freak. By then my rage was so strong I needed to direct it at someone. I couldn’t direct it at me, so I took on Big Papa. Like that’d make a difference.”
“Big Papa! That’s right! Big Papa’s men have got June!”
“WHAT!”
Gridiron loomed over Pointer, making the reporter feel like he might kill him after all. “June wanted to help you so she snuck into Big Papa’s restaurant. She found out they’ve got big guns to use against you, but they spotted her and figured out who you are, were, whatever! They’re going to kill her if you don’t walk into their trap!”
All the anger came rushing back. The pain was tolerable as long as she was okay, but June in danger made the rage stronger than ever. Fire burned in his soul and Big Papa would be sacked tonight.
***
June hung from the goal post. They had bound her hands and looped the rope over the uprights. Her legs swung free and her right shoe had dropped the few inches to the ground. Somehow, the left one stayed on.
She couldn’t see them, but she knew where the enforcers lay in wait. Axe was sprawled down on the ground in the hallway leading to the visitor’s locker room. The BAR lined up on her. He’d get Gridiron or her or both of them with the shot.
Pick was hiding in the announcer’s booth with the anti-tank gun. Big Papa had wanted to send more men, but these two had called it a matter of honor. If they didn’t bring back something to hang on Big Papa’s wall, then they’d rather be dead. Big Papa looked pleased when they said it, but then kept the bazooka in case they failed.
They’d turned on all the overhead lights, as if a night game was being played. June knew that this was no game and two people would most likely be dead tonight. Maybe only one, if Pointer couldn’t find Gridiron. She feared for April, mostly, not for herself. To lose one parent was tough enough, then Gordon. But if she lost her mom, April would withdraw from life where no one could reach her.
A shape passed by one the entrances to the stadium. Someone was here. A projectile launched from the shadows flew straight and clear into one of the large stadium lights. It went out with a bang and crinkle of glass. A ball dropped to the field and June knew Gridiron had arrived.
Another light followed the first. And another. Finally, a noise came over the loudspeaker. It was Pick. “That’s enough, Gory, lest we start punching holes through your little lady friend here. Now, good and slow, I want you to walk out into the center of the field.”
The shape she’d seen stepped out of the shadows and moved toward midfield. He was big, but not as giant as he’d been portrayed. His football uniform was barely visible under a large trench coat and his face hidden behind that hideous smile. When she’d seen the photo, she had really focused only on the eyes and not the rest of him. But seeing him now as he approached, she could see that he’d really changed. Even his walk was different.
The man-mountain stopped at the fifty yard line. Pick continued with the directions, “Now please remove that mask and coat. We want to have a good look at you.”
From the angle he stood, they couldn’t see what she saw. June gasped. It wasn’t Gordon behind the mask. It was Pointer.
He dropped the trench and mask in one fluid movement and yelled, “Now!”
All the lights went out. Gridiron must have cut the power. Moonlight filled the arena and June watched as Pointer ran in full football gear, firing a gun towards the darkened hallway where Axe was. Flashes of light sparked in return and the cacophony of gunfire filled the air. Pointer got hit in the leg, causing him to go into a diving roll, but it must have just grazed him for he kept his forward momentum towards her. If he was here to rescue her, then where was Gridiron?
***
Pick knew the day he dropped the toothpick from his lips was the day he died. He was starting to believe that might be today. While Axe was firing at the decoy, Pick scanned the entrances hoping to spot movement. He only needed one shot. If he could get it off, his chances of surviving this night increased.
The gun was too heavy to carry alone, but he could slide it across the table in the booth. He angled it back and forth, trying to see both ends of the stadium at the same time. There was a loud thump, like something had landed in the bleachers.
WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP!
Gridiron was in the stands and approaching at high speed. Pick could see the shape barely, but enough to move the gun into position. He waited until the monster was closer. He could almost make out the face, the teeth glistening in the starshine. He had him. He had him dead to rights. He squeezed the trigger and gunfire blossomed, sending its projectile right into the spot where Gridiron stood.
Had stood.
Pick looked up and saw the descending form in the light of the moon. Gridiron smashed through the roof and landed feet away from Pick. The hit man fell backwards, trying to take the gun with him. If he could just swing it around, but Gridiron was too fast. He grabbed the barrel and bent it up, making it useless to fire. A snarl escaped his lips and Pick was sure he’d never seen another being that filled with rage before in his life.
Scrambling backwards out the door, Pick raced across and down the stands. The thudding followed and Pick knew Gridiron was right behind him. He lost his footing and tumbled down a dozen rows to land upright against the bottom railing. The mouthpiece of the mob turned just as Gridiron reached him, the full force of his tackle taking them through the railing and down onto the field. Pick was trapped under the metal gargantuan and heard every bone in his body break even before he felt it. Pain took him into unconsciousness, the toothpick dropping to the ground beside him.
***
The pain in Pointer’s leg was less than he imagined being shot felt like, whether it was due to being grazed, or the thickness of the pads Gridiron had dressed him in. They might have overdone it, as it was hard to run in all that gear. However, he could move and he could get to June. The problem was that when he got there, though, they’d both be sitting ducks. He fired towards the visitor’s locker room again knowing it wasn’t doing diddly except give the maniac with the sniper rifle something to shoot at. Pointer had to change tactics.
The thudding followed and Pick knew Gridiron was right behind him.
He changed direction away from June. Still firing, he was pleased when the muscle kept focused on him. Did he just think that? Pointer was now as crazy as the rest of them.
Axe had left the shelter of the alcove and now walked along the sidelines firing the mammoth gun with both hands. If Pointer was any slower, he’d be Swiss cheese by now. Their eyes were adjusting to the low light and things became clearer. The reporter spotted something on the sidelines and made a break for it. Laughing as he tried to gun the fleeing man down, Axe seemed to have an endless supply of ammunition. Reaching his goal, Pointer dived behind the tackling dummies. Holes were punched through them by the large caliber bullets, but it gave him a sense of shielding, however unreliable it was. The dummies were on wheels and keeping his head down, Pointer pushed with all his strength to get them rolling. He heard Axe start in surprise and the laughter stopped. As Pointer got closer, he risked a peek only to see Axe back-pedaling.
So focused was Axe on Pointer’
s approach, he didn’t see what had come up behind him. The hit man smashed into the metal monument that was Gridiron. He spun, but the gun was torn from his hands and tossed away.
“Mer-cy!” Axe croaked, as a metal gauntlet wrapped around his throat.
Gridiron laughed through gritted teeth, “Listen to him, would ya, Pointer? ‘Mercy,’ he says!”
“Yeah, Gory, I heard him,” Pointer echoed as he approached.
“What mercy did you show me when you took a sledgehammer to my legs? What mercy have you ever shown any of your victims?”
“Gordon ‘Gory’ Burrell! You put that man down right this instant!”
Gridiron and Pointer turned to see that the dangling June was furious. She motioned with her face for them to look down. Gridiron realized he was holding Axe about six inches off the ground.
“This doesn’t concern you, June!”
“Like blazes, it doesn’t! Down! Now!”
Pointer reached into the waistband of Axe’s suit and retrieved a handgun. He nodded to Gridiron who let the thug drop.
“They must be stopped, June or you and April will never be safe.”
He moved to free his fiancé, snapping the ropes with one hand, while holding her in his other arm. June focused on him, eyes piercing his soul. “And what would I tell April? That the man she loves like a father was no better than the men he’s out there trying to protect her from? No. Pointer has the whole city believing you’re some sort of hero.”
She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering to him in a soft voice, “Be one.”
It didn’t come easy, but he found the strength to put his arms around her and complete their embrace. After a few moments, he had to push her away, his face darkening into something unreadable.
“It has to end tonight.”
He set her down and walked over to the discarded the mask and coat. June watched as the man she loved donned his persona once more. When he faced her he said, “Gordon is dead, but the man he once was is not. I am Gridiron and I will protect you.”
***
Big Papa was too nervous to even eat. It was the first time Charlie had ever seen him not eat. They both knew whoever walked through that door was going to decide the fate of The Giordanos. Charlie wasn’t stupid. He knew that if Big Papa went down, then he went, too. He’d turn state’s evidence and get a reduced sentence, but Charlie wasn’t the type to do well in jail. He was smarter than anyone expected, playing the fool to make him appear harmless. As long as his brother served in the army, Charlie was the only direct heir to business, and he knew the business backwards and forwards.
It was Charlie that had suggested to Big Papa that Gordon Burrell might be approachable to take a dive, knowing full well he wouldn’t. It has been Charlie that suggested to Axe that kneecapping the football player would be a fitting punishment. It was Charlie who’d contacted Phong, a scientist in the Asian cartels’ employ and brought him to America to meet with Gory. It had been Charlie that whispered to his Uncle that Vito might have weapons they could use on Gridiron. And, ultimately, it would be Charlie who walked away from all of this unscathed.
“Charlie! Come here you miserable excuse for a lackey!”
“Yes, Big Papa?”
“This started with you and that tip, so I’ve decided it’ll be you that finishes it.”
Charlie frowned, but inside, it was exactly what he expected the fat tub of lard to do. “What do you want me to do, Big Papa?”
“I want you to take that bazooka thing and get ready to blow a hole in anything that comes through that door that’s not Pick or Axe. Capiche?”
Charlie loudly swallowed to imply nervousness, but felt the rush of his plan reaching fruition. “Yes, Big Papa.”
He took the bazooka and hefted it to his shoulder.
“Now remember! Watch where you point the back of that thing. I don’t want to get my hair singed off.”
Oh, thought Charlie, I know right where to point it.
The restaurant’s back room was secluded from prying eyes, but Big Papa had a two way mirror to spy on the main dining area. Charlie waited. Gridiron would make a big entrance. He picked the right guy to orchestrate Big Papa’s downfall. No subtly at all. The throng of people feasted on the best pasta in the city, many of them knowing fully well who owned the place. They’d visited Big Papa’s gin joints and knew where the power flowed from. That power would be his soon.
The doors flung open and there Gridiron stood. The lighting in the establishment was set on moody, but it just made the monster all the more nightmarish. Flickering candles played off his dark iron hide and gave the impression of a fire burning under the surface. The man-mountain muttered a single “GO!” and the people scattered past him like rats fleeing the Titanic. Charlie situated the bazooka on his shoulder and took aim at the advancing figure. He was too big to miss, and he’d never dodge something he didn’t see coming. Charlie couldn’t wait much longer, there were going to be casualties either way, but Big Papa would get the blame when they found the bazooka in his dead hands.
“Charlie! What are you? Deaf as well as dumb? I told you watch where you point the backend of that thing!”
The nephew gave his Patriarch a quick sideways glance and said, “I’m neither, Uncle” and pulled the trigger. Flames erupted from either end of the bazooka, engulfing the Mob Boss’s head in a blazing mushroom cloud in the back and sending the rocket propelled grenade out the front. It blasted through the window and would have struck home, but Gridiron dropped hands first to the ground. The missile passed over him and continued through the front window. It embedded into a car outside and destroyed it in a magnificent light show of sound and noise. Shrapnel sprayed the escaping crowd and many were knocked over in the concussion.
Charlie realized someone must have lived to tell Gridiron about the weapon. All he’d have to do is listen for the ignition and hit the dirt. It was a flaw, but not a fatal one. He still propped the bazooka in Big Papa’s dead hand and vamoosed through the kitchen exit.
There would be confusion and chaos. Even if the cops did their jobs, Charlie would derail the investigation using the mob’s money. Once the transition of power was complete, he’d deal with that lucky bastard Gordon Burrell.
Charlie had left his car by the back door. He slid in behind the seat and gunned the engine. Sticking the car in first, he applied pressure to the pedal but the car didn’t move. He pressed harder and could hear the squeal of tires on asphalt, but there was still no movement. When the car’s back end lifted up, Charlie knew what was happening. He grabbed a gun from the glove box and shot through his back window. The bullets bounced off Gridiron’s flesh as if they were BBs.
“Hey, Charlie,” Gridiron spoke, “Nobody ever asks me what I did before pro-football. In all those interviews, they only wanted to know about Gory the gridiron beast. No one asked about Gordon. You know what I did?”
Charlie kept the pedal floored, hoping that Gridiron would get tired of yapping and drop him. “No. What did you do before you became a freak of nature?”
In the rear-view mirror, the former football player, now guardian of the city, held something up in his free hand. It looked like a brake pedal. “I was a mechanic.”
The car dropped and lurched forward. Charlie was pinned to the back of his seat, and could only be a passenger on his car’s trajectory. It leapt from the alley and plowed directly into the wall across the street. The car made a sickening sound and it accordioned, flames shooting from the engine as fuel ignited. There was a small explosion and with it, the Giordanos died.
***
Pointer was busy over the next several weeks. The Chief put him in charge of organizing the teams of reporters covering “The Fall of The Mob,” as the headlines screamed. There was already talk of a promotion to Assistant Chief, but the re
porter repeatedly said that after the mess was over, and his leg had time to heal, his was going back on the beat where he felt like he belonged.
But while Pointer was still on point, there were interviews to gather; from every two-bit thug in Everett to anti-racketeering Feds in Washington. Pick and Axe were both going to jail this time, no savior in sight, and that trial would need to be covered. Pointer found it pleasingly ironic that Pick would be testifying from a wheelchair. Rumors had Vito Giordano going AWOL after an inquiry into some stolen weapons was started by the military. No one knew where he was, but June was sure he was up to no good.
The rush wouldn’t last long, as bad things were brewing overseas. War was in the air and that meant jobs for the people of America. They’d be focused on the future soon, not on a past filled with mobsters and monsters.
June sat on the rooftop with her daughter April. Their apartment building had a nice view of Everett up there and since the events of the last few weeks were winding down, she’d taken to coming up here with April to enjoy the last of summer.
“You know what tomorrow is?”
April’s faced beamed, “Football season starts!”
“Yes, my baby girl. Why don’t we go root the Eagles on to a victory?”
The young girl jumped up and down with joy and hugged her mom. June didn’t let go right away, looking over the blonde curls into the city. He was out there, somewhere. Gridiron left her a note saying he made no apologies for how things turned out, but because of it, wouldn’t be returning any time soon. He wanted the hoopla to die down and people to ever forget Gory ever existed.
