Bystanders

by Phillip Murrell

  Sean defiantly turns his head toward the window. He utters a small grimace; it’s the price of his indignation.

  Benji nods understandingly. “I get it. Tough guy. Not a snitch. So, listen, tough guy, I’ve got two dead bodies and a bunch in the hospital with nobody to blame but you. Perhaps if you give me a different subject, I can leave you in peace.”

  Sean turns toward Benji and, with another grimace, fixes him with a fierce stare. “I didn’t touch those two fools. They must have got hurt some other way. I didn’t shoot nobody.”

  “Yet, somehow you know they got shot?”

  “You can’t trick me. You’d have to be deaf to not hear that shotgun blast. But, my conscience is clean. Ain’t no prints on anything, and nobody gonna say I did anything. That couple just got got. It’s a rough neighborhood. I thought the police were supposed to fix that?”

  Sean tries to cross his arms in defiance, but the pain of a broken clavicle apparently stops him with a whimper.

  “Yeah, you see the thing is that only one person was shot. The other half of the couple is alive and well and talking.”

  Sean looks at Benji, confused. “You said that the couple was dead.”

  “Actually, I said that I had two bodies. The other was a woman, who does have prints on a shotgun. A Riley Woot, if I remember correctly.”

  This revelation appears to shock Sean. “Roo Roo’s dead?”

  “If that’s what you call Riley Woot. Her neck was snapped and practically ripped off.”

  Benji shows a picture of Riley’s lifeless body. Sean accepts the photo and appears to fight back tears.

  “Yo, it was Night Terror,” he finally admits. “The big guy in armor. I didn’t have nothing to do with Roo Roo dying.”

  “I’m guessing by the nature of your injuries that you can tell me stuff about the vigilante.”

  Sean momentarily hesitates. Benji looks forward to hearing another imbecile attempt to talk his way out of an increasingly incriminating situation.

  “Listen, we saw the couple and went to ask them if they needed help. They ran from us. I guess they must have been profiling the poor. We tried to stop them from going into a violent part of town.”

  “I don’t need that part right now. I want to know about the vigilante.”

  “I’m getting there. We were trying to help those people, and Night Terror just jumped down on us. He attacked us just for being poor in a bad neighborhood.”

  “Go on.”

  “So, like, this guy is beating our asses and we scared we about to die. So, we started shooting at him.”

  “You have those guns registered?”

  Sean gives Benji a “really” look. “Man, you know I don’t, but that don’t mean I killed somebody.”

  “I believe you. What happened next?”

  “Yo, Night Terror started to knock people out, including me. I don’t remember shit after the mofo kicked me in the neck. Roo Roo must have taken aim at him and accidentally hit the man.”

  “How did you know it was the man who got shot?”

  “I mean. Shit . . . I want a lawyer. I don’t think you should be questioning me when I’m on my pain meds.”

  “Sure, Sean. We’ll get you a good lawyer and do this again when you’re locked up.”

  “Wait! Locked up? I told you, I ain’t done nothing!”

  Benji gets up to leave. He looks over his shoulder as he adds, “Nobody ever does. I’ll keep in touch.”

  With that he opens the door and walks out. Sean hangs his head in apparent defeat.

  Keith hears the doorbell ring and goes to answer the door to his house. Kyle is on the other side and excited.

  Kyle doesn’t wait for any pleasantries. “Man, we got to talk. Have you been watching the news?”

  Keith lets him in, and they move to the living room.

  “Yeah, man,” Keith answers. “Everyone is claiming that they landed the first interview with First Line, or whatever they call him. It’s always confidential sources.”

  “Man, those news people are just lying,” Kyle accuses. “They’re all just trying to get ratings.”

  “Exactly,” Keith agrees, “I can’t wait to watch Gabe Hammington today and see what he does. I thought he had integrity, but I guess not. Still, there’s at least one good thing about them getting caught in the lie.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We know his name isn’t really as weak as First Line.”

  Kyle laughs in agreement. “Hell yeah. That was just dumb. I bet they had a board meeting that lasted hours coming up with that weak shit.”

  Keith assumes a mocking voice that’s uppity. “Gentlemen, I’ve called this meeting to come up with a name for the vigilante that will make us better than one percenters.”

  Kyle grins and joins the fun by imitating a sultry feminine voice. “Mr. Man, I recommend we go with First Line, as in I’m first in line to take you into my mouth.”

  The two teens laugh at their shared joke.

  Keith returns to speaking normally. “That means we need to come up with a new name again. Something that sounds better, like . . .” Keith thinks for a few moments, then adds, “How about The Hardcore Defender?”

  Kyle snickers. “I thought we were trying to come up with good names? I would take First Line over that shit.”

  “Well, then you come up with something.”

  Kyle thinks for a moment. Keith crosses his arms impatiently and hums an annoying tune.

  “Give me a moment,” Kyle demands.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  Kyle thinks for a few more seconds, then his eyes light up. “I’ve got it, Beatdown!”

  “Beatdown?” Keith ponders. “I like it. It’s clearly what he does, but it still sounds badass. Yeah. Beatdown.”

  “Beatdown,” Kyle repeats.

  Keith offers a suggestion. “I think we need to start a blog. People can post pictures of him, then talk about what they saw. It’ll be the unfiltered truth, instead of the shit they shovel us on the television.”

  Kyle agrees with the plan and adds his own suggestions. “Yeah, and you can’t comment about firsthand experiences unless you have pictures or video to back it up. We’ll delete the comments of the fakers and the haters. You either post a picture or comment on the badassery of someone else’s picture or video.”

  “Exactly.”

  The boys excitedly think for an additional few heartbeats.

  “I’m still going to watch my man Gabe, though,” Keith admits.

  “Why?”

  “To see what he’s gonna say next.”

  “Whatever. I thought we were gonna start our blog?”

  “First let’s get our inspiration through a couple of rounds of you being embarrassed by my superior gaming skills.”

  “You’re on.”

  The two move to boot up another video game.

  Donald and Alex are in the locker room of the hospital. The two paramedics change into their civilian clothes after a grueling shift. As usual, they’re deep into one of their trademarked debates.

  Donald vainly attempts to get his point across. “Look, man, all I’m saying is that they don’t really count.”

  Alex isn’t having it. “Four more injured and two dead this time, and you don’t think they count?”

  “The reporters count,” Donald concedes, “but they were clearly hurt by the thugs. Trash Man didn’t use a gun.”

  “Yeah, well, that girl’s head was turned around, or did he not do that either?”

  “Yeah, but she was probably the most deserving, and that’s why she was executed--”

  “Murdered,” Alex says.

  “Let me finish. She got it worse because her crime was worse.”

  “You don’t even know if she killed that guy. For all we know, she could have been trying to get the other three to back off.”

  “Maybe, but I just have a feeling that she had it coming.”

  “We need to change the subject, or I think I m
ight have to really hit you this time. You say the dumbest crap all the time.”

  “I speak the truth,” Donald states. “You just get mad because my opinion rarely lines up with that hippy nonsense you drink up.”

  A third man in the locker room violently throws his scrubs into his gym bag. “Shut up, you two! This isn’t your personal spa! Argue outside.”

  Donald and Alex look around the locker room and relent.

  Donald apologizes to the man. “Sorry, I know we get spirited.” He shifts his attention back to Alex. “Are you coming out tonight?”

  “No, man,” Alex responds. “The kids and I have some cartoons to catch up on. They wait for me when I have weird hours at work.”

  “Cartoons over boobs?”

  “Yup. Besides, you know the wife wouldn’t let me go out if that was the plan anyway.”

  “Which is why I’m still single,” Donald declares.

  “I think divorced three times and single are two different things,” Alex retaliates.

  Donald adopts a classic platitude. “Tomato, tomato.”

  “You should come over,” Alex invites. “Kim hasn’t seen you for a while.”

  “Kim is always trying to set me up with the next ex-Mrs. Singh.”

  “Come on, the kids will like it, and I think you’ll like the cartoons. Most of them are about comic books these days. Either that or zombies.”

  “Alright, I’ll swing by, but I might be a bit late. I’ve got other things to do first.”

  “That’s not surprising. You’re always late. Especially these past few months.”

  “Didn’t we have this conversation earlier today?”

  Alex just stares him down.

  “What can I say? Pimpin’ ain’t easy,” Donald says.

  The two close their lockers, grab their bags, and head toward the door.

  Donald asks, “Did you hear that they were going to air the Gabe Hammington D2I Analysis today in that one victim’s room?”

  “The woman we brought back?” Alex searches his memory for a name. “Claire something or another?”

  Donald nods. “The very same.”

  “Good for her. Why do I care?”

  “Well, I know how butt hurt you got for not being interviewed at the scene. Maybe if you push your way to the front, you can peer through the door’s tiny glass window. There’s a chance you can still be on television today.”

  Alex playfully swats at Donald. “Screw you.”

  “What?” Donald chuckles. “I know it means a lot to you. Let me guess, being on TV leads to some loving?”

  Alex swings again, but Donald dodges it.

  Donald continues laughing at his friend. “What? I know the wife only rations you three sessions a year for birthday, Christmas, and the big game. This is your chance for a bonus round.”

  Donald screams as Alex pummels him with mostly playful blows. Donald rushes out the door as his friend good-naturedly chases him.

  The cameras are set up in Claire’s room. Gabe Hammington is there, and his eyes are amazed as he watches First Line on Claire’s phone.

  Gabe is compelled to comment on what he watches. “This is amazing. This is perfect. He actually gives you permission to say whatever you want.”

  Claire seems a bit concerned. “We can edit that part about being a fool, right?”

  “Absolutely!” Gabe reassures. “I’m gonna sell you as his personal publicist. We’re going to be the end-all source of all things First Line. We’re going to trademark that name.”

  A producer alerts the team that they’ll soon be going on air live. “We’re on in five . . . four . . . three.”

  The intro plays for the D2I Analysis show. Gabe transforms into his showman mode.

  “Good afternoon,” he begins. “I’m Gabe Hammington. Today we’ll have a special presentation dedicated to Colberton’s very own superhero, First Line.”

  Keith and Kyle sit in the living room and watch the program.

  Keith comments during the intro. “Good, let’s see what they have to say about all the haters out there.”

  Back in Claire’s hospital room, Gabe continues his monologue. “Yesterday, on this program, we broke to you startling revelations about First Line, to include his moniker. Many other networks and news programs then immediately called us liars and made their own claims, often with ridiculous sounding code names for First Line. As a journalist, this greatly offended me. None of these so-called media sources bothered to ask us about our source. They just simply went on the attack. I asked one of those sources to reach out to First Line, so we could provide proof. She’s with me today.”

  Gabe pauses for dramatic effect. “She’s here to tell her story, but unfortunately, here is not a good place.”

  The camera zooms out of its focus on Gabe to show the audience that they’re in a hospital room.

  He continues. “I’m sitting in a hospital room with Claire Kennedy, a D2I journalist, and our number one First Line source. Claire, thanks for speaking with me. How are you feeling?”

  Claire plays her part of the sympathetic victim to perfection. She weakly states, “Thank you, Gabe. I wish I could say that I was feeling fine, but I was shot hours ago trying to defend this station’s journalistic integrity.”

  Gabe pauses again to allow the drama to build.

  “Claire, why were you shot? What happened?”

  “Well,” Claire says, “I was deeply offended that people didn’t believe my story. I asked a colleague of mine to come with me, and we went to talk to First Line.”

  “That colleague was Lou Drive,” Gabe informs his audience, “who was tragically killed by the same shot that wounded you?”

  Claire nods and cries what appear to be genuine tears. Gabe sits astounded at what is either an amazing performance or proof she’s too soft for the job.

  “Yes. It was his first day on the job, but he knew a big story when he heard one and wanted to meet his idol, a genuine superhero.”

  “So, what did First Line say to you when you reached out to him?”

  “He was dismayed that people would treat a friend of his like that. He asked me to come on a mission with him so that he could give an interview from the streets.”

  “Did you record this first conversation?”

  “No. It was over the phone. He gave me a one-time throw away number to call. I didn’t think to record it because I always get a one-time number to use.”

  “Essentially you use a burner for each time you speak?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what did he say to do?”

  “He gave me an address to go to and told me to wait. He had a plan to break up some drug dealers. It was in a rough neighborhood, so I asked Lou--”

  Claire chokes up again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Take your time,” Gabe says. “I know this whole ordeal has been traumatic for you.”

  Claire wipes her tears and composes herself. “We drove there and waited, but the dealers saw us and approached our car. I got scared.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Lou was a true hero, but I was terrified and bolted from the car before he had a chance to drive off. He then got out to get me back in. If I hadn’t frozen, Lou would still be here.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. Do we need to take a break?”

  “No, I can continue. Lou tried to get me back, but I ran down a dead-end alley. We turned around, but our attackers had blocked the only escape.”

  Claire pauses. Gabe hides his smile from the audience. Claire is perfectly delivering dramatic effect.

  Keith and Kyle lean into the television. They are completely enamored with the story.

  “What happened next?” Gabe asks.

  “One of them said something, I can’t remember what; it was a woman. Then, she just aimed at me and shot.”

  “She shot you?”

  “Technically yes, but Lou selflessly threw himself in the way and took most of the shot. It killed him insta
ntly, and I was thrown to the ground.”

  Gabe addresses his off-screen producer. “Let’s get a picture of heroic Lou Drive on the screen for our audience.”

  The shot of a cheerful Lou Drive fills the television screen.

  “Our prayers go out to his family,” Gabe says. “Lou Drive, a new member of the team, but family nonetheless, dead at age twenty-six.”

  The shot of Lou ends and is replaced with a somber Claire and Gabe.

  Gabe continues the show. “So, you and Lou have been attacked, but why? Where was First Line? I know he cares about you and wouldn’t let this happen.”

  “He showed up almost immediately after,” Claire answers. “He just missed his chance to block the shot with his magnificent armor.”

  Keith and Kyle are stunned by this revelation.

  “He’s got armor?” Kyle exclaims.

  “Shut up,” Keith reprimands. “I want to hear this.”

  Back in the hospital room, Gabe presses for clarity. “I’m sorry, did you say armor?”

  Claire answers with a knowing smile. “Yes, First Line has a suit of armor that can only be described as futuristic. He jumped down, defended me, then made sure the police arrived before flying off and helping someone else, I assume.”

  “Wait. His armor lets him fly, too?”

  Claire nods. “Would you like to see it?”

  Keith and Kyle scream in unison at the television. “Yes!”

  Gabe can barely contain his excitement. “I think I can speak for all of our viewers at home that we absolutely want to see this footage.” Gabe focuses his attention to the camera. “I have to warn our audience that this footage is extremely graphic. We’ve edited it to keep the deaths from being shown, but the violence is still frightening. This is not the time for your children to watch. Viewer discretion is strongly advised.”

  Gabe pauses a moment to let the audience make appropriate adjustments. He can barely hold back his smile because he knows that the next few minutes will cement his career.

  The video from Claire’s phone picks up moments after Lou is shot and killed. The camera is shaky, but there are several good shots of the four thugs being severely beaten. There are many vivid shots of First Line, in his full glory. At one point, Claire’s bloody fingers are seen in the recording, and they leave a smear in the corner of the screen. The video plays for about two minutes and ends with First Line addressing Claire after she asks those frantic questions.