Bystanders

by Phillip Murrell

  “Tell your story,” First Line states.

  The footage has been edited to omit the “you’re a fool” and “any way you wish” parts of First Line’s dialogue. After he says, “tell your story” it jumps to him flying away with the camera tracking. The camera comes back down and focuses on a pair of police officers, then the footage ends.

  Keith and Kyle are speechless. That footage defined their lives, and they can’t believe that they just saw that on television.

  “I’m still calling him Beatdown,” Keith declares.

  “Hear, hear,” Kyle adds.

  Gabe and Claire wait for the footage to finish. Once it does, Gabe adds, “I’m just speechless. That was amazing, and it took a lot of bravery to film it. You truly are an intrepid reporter.”

  That comment makes Claire wince.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “Have you spoken to First Line since?” Gabe asks.

  “He hasn’t given me a new contact number. I think he feels a bit responsible for what happened.”

  “I know that isn’t how you feel. Would you like to tell him now?”

  Claire focuses her gaze on the nearest camera and addresses her hero. “First Line, you can’t save everyone, but I’m truly grateful that you saved me. Our friendship means a lot. I don’t blame you, and I’ll sing your praises for life. Thank you for being there for me.”

  Claire begins to cry again. This time Gabe knows the tears lack any true emotion.

  A man in a police uniform watches the program. A single tear trails down his cheek as it plays. It’s clearly the last of several and feels out of place on a man with such broad shoulders. If not for his police uniform, most would consider him to be a criminal because of his buzz cut hair, bulky frame, and dead eyes. His nameplate says Smith. He’s the cop who won the boxing match against Karen when she underestimated him. He exhales, then stands and leaves his home.

  Keith and Kyle sit in silence.

  “I feel bad for her,” Keith admits.

  “Yeah,” Kyle agrees, “but Beatdown saved her.”

  “Yeah, but now his enemies know that she’s connected to him. She’s always going to be at risk.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think of that. She’s a really brave woman.”

  “Well, we have our first official footage for the blog,” Keith says.

  “Hell yeah!” Kyle exclaims.

  The D2I Analysis show wraps up.

  “I want to thank Claire Kennedy once again for reporting this to us,” Gabe states. “I hope this is proof that we’re honest here at D2I and that less scrupulous journalists are jealous of our breaking story. I, for one, am proud to be a D2I journalist, especially when I have such passionate co-workers as Claire Kennedy and the late Lou Drive. You’ll be missed. Until tomorrow, I’m Gabe Hammington saying, that’s your information.”

  “And, cut,” states the producer.

  Claire grins from ear to ear. Gabe smiles, too. The whole production team cheers and hands out high fives.

  Gabe stops being professional and transitions back to his crass persona. “I got so excited from that, I need to change my pants.”

  The whole room laughs. They’ll be the talk of the town for some time.

  Power is in his room watching the D2I Analysis credits roll. He sighs to himself.

  “That ain’t good.”

  As if on cue, there’s a knock at his front door.

  “Punctual as ever,” Power says.

  Power walks across his room and opens the door. Standing in the doorway is Julie and two muscular men, not that she needs them. She confidently strolls into his apartment.

  The two men resemble professional wrestlers. The first has tribal tattoos on his arms and concentric circles covering his face. The second has a bald head and numerous piercings. Each fills the entire doorway as he enters behind Julie.

  “Mr. Wiener, I trust you caught the news today?” Julie starts.

  Once again Power attempts to control the conversation, and once again he fails. “I did, but I didn’t--”

  Julie promptly cuts him off. “Uh, uh, uh. My turn to speak. The Chairman was displeased to see that not only did he lose loyal employees to The Opposition, but he had to find out your target was a reporter.”

  “I didn--”

  Once again, Julie interrupts while slightly raising her voice. “Silence. Fortunately for you, he’s viewing this as an advantage. We finally got a look at what we’re up against. Now we know that you’ve clearly been outmatched.”

  Power audibly sighs. “That’s what I been saying, yo. We need better guns.”

  Julie fixes him with an iron stare. It clearly states that if he interrupts again, she’ll show him why she’s the number two in The Enterprise. Power wisely zips it.

  “Therefore, you and your lateral co-workers will no longer worry about protection. You’ll simply oversee product sales. The Chairman has authorized additional funds for security, and these details have already arrived.”

  Power looks at the two goons flanking Julie.

  She continues. “These gentlemen are your personal detail. They’ll be with you always. That way they’ll be able to notify us immediately if you need assistance.”

  Power hears the underlying threat; if you’re a snitch, they’ll kill you.

  Julie looks at Power, but he just waits.

  “You may speak again,” Julie says.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Please let The Chairman know that I appreciate the help. I promise that the product will flow smoothly with me one hundred percent dedicated to sales.”

  “Good. I trust this will be the last quarter we find ourselves in the red. Profits must always be made or else terminations will have to take place.”

  Another thinly veiled threat.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see myself out.”

  Julie exits the apartment.

  Power looks at the two goons. “You guys got names?”

  Goon One responds, “Yes.”

  Power waits, but it’s clear that he’ll not get an answer.

  Power morosely declares, “I think it’s time that I consider retirement from The Enterprise.”

  Goon Two glares at him. “We can arrange that. We have a nice ‘get thrown out the window’ package that’s been well received by your predecessors.”

  Power looks at the floor, defeated. His crew is gone, and now so is his autonomy. He wishes that he had studied more in school.

  A homeless person leans against the wall of a closed abortion clinic. He has a bottle of liquor held loosely in his hand. He’s clearly extremely intoxicated.

  He sings to himself a nonsensical description of his actions, burping and farting throughout. “I wanna drink. Nobody can stop me. I don’t need nobody. Who--” His fart interrupts his song. “Heh heh. That was a bit wet, but it burns.”

  The drunk is in his own little world. He stands to urinate on the side of the building.

  The drunk addresses the building. “I’m pro-choice, but the door is locked.”

  He laughs to himself. He’s easily amused by his caveman antics.

  He shakes off the last drops when a pair of armored gauntlets grab him by the shoulders and yank him away.

  “Whoa, what the hell! I got piss all over my pants and my dick is hanging out. Wait a second, buddy.”

  Votary places an arm on the man’s shoulder. He turns him around to face him. Votary senses the man’s fear as he stares at Votary’s emotionless helmet.

  “Aw, c’mon, man. Pissing ain’t a crime. Is it?”

  Votary throws the man to the ground. He scrambles to pull up his pants. Votary’s two light gray reinforced shoulders are missing. His armor is a dark gray throughout. This different appearance seems to confuse the drunk.

  “How many of you are there?”

  The drunk attempts to get up, and Votary pushes him back down. “What’s your problem, man? I ain’t done nothing to you or nobody else.”

 
Votary stares at the man. The abortion clinic, empty of all workers, suddenly explodes.

  The drunk covers his face from the onslaught of the flames and overpressure. “Holy shit! What’d you do that for?”

  Votary ignores the man and flies off.

  Chapter 3

  An irate Larry stands in his office. “Kennedy! Get into my office this moment!”

  Claire looks up from her desk. She’s rarely heard Larry this mad.

  “What did I do this time?” she wonders aloud.

  Claire stands and moves toward Larry’s office. Inside it, a perturbed Gabe glares at her. Larry seethes as he watches a rival news program.

  “What’s up, Boss?” she innocently asks.

  “Don’t even start with that shit,” Larry scolds. “Your stunt has cost us. Believe me when I say that you’re going to take the fall for this one, not us.”

  Claire is clearly confused. She turns her attention to the television. A reporter speaks with Yuri Osaka. Yuri is a pasty and well-dressed man in his mid-sixties. He is clearly affluent. His reddish-brown hair is thinning, but he offsets the appearance with a full goatee, impeccably groomed.

  The reporter on the television continues his show after the commercial break. “Folks, thanks for sticking with us. I’m here with Colberton’s favorite philanthropist, Yuri Osaka.”

  “Thanks for having me,” Yuri warmly adds.

  The reporter continues. “For those of you just joining us, we’re discussing the attack last night by the criminal terrorist on an abortion clinic.”

  Claire gasps as she views an image of a smoldering building. “It can’t be true.”

  “Shut up,” Larry commands.

  Inside the rival news studio, the interview continues.

  The reporter adds the desired details. “An eyewitness claims to have viewed the terrorist, whom some news programs have taken to calling First Line, destroy the building after assaulting him.”

  The news plays a clip of the drunk from the night before.

  “I was minding my own business,” he begins, “then, that psycho grabbed me and threw me to the ground. Then, the building just up and exploded all over the place. After that, he just flies off like a bird without a care.”

  The clip ends. The reporter and Yuri continue their conversation.

  “Mr. Osaka, what’s your take on this?”

  Yuri begins. “Clearly this man, this opposition to quality law and order, is showing his true colors.”

  The reporter nods as he listens. “Now, you’ve been quite outspoken of his methods over the past month. Is this justification of your opinion?”

  “Absolutely,” Yuri states. “We have police for a reason, we have laws for a reason. Those who celebrated his actions like a comic book superhero were at best naive, and at worst, endangering the public.”

  Claire desperately tries to bite her tongue and fails.

  “Boss,” she says.

  “Shut up! We need to hear this to stay in front of it. We’re in full damage control now, thanks to you.”

  The reporter presses on. “There are those who claim you’re outspoken against this vigilante because he often targets young men who are connected to you. People who used to go to your parks and after school programs in their youth.”

  Yuri nods, as if expecting this line of questioning. “Of course. I’ll always have critics. You’re being polite by not bringing up the number of times I’ve been implicated, falsely, as being connected to the drug trade.”

  “I didn’t want to repeat vicious rumors.”

  Yuri raises his hand to silence the reporter. “It’s okay. I’ve developed a pretty thick skin over the years. I’ve dedicated most of my life to helping underprivileged children, especially from the inner city. I wish I could say that I’ve been able to reform them all, but that would be a fairy tale. I’ve had my failures, but I refuse to give up on them. I know some aren’t saints, but I won’t turn my back simply because the paparazzi will be able to sell scandalous pictures.”

  “You’ve also been on record many times advocating for the legalization of all drugs, to include hard ones like crack and heroin.”

  “I try to live my life free of hypocrisy.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “Last night an abortion clinic was destroyed. Sure, nobody was hurt, but it was still a wanton crime. I assume that this vigilante must be pro-life to target it. So, I can respect his consistency. He takes out drugs and clinics. The main argument we pro-choicers use is ‘her body, her choice.’ Society often shows how hypocritical it can be when this same, rational argument doesn’t apply to other arenas.”

  “You’re saying this same argument is good for recreational drug use?”

  “I’m saying ‘her body, her choice’ only works in abortion, but skips narcotics, euthanasia, suicide, or an extra-large drink at a fast food restaurant.”

  “That’s an interesting point. So, what do you think the police should do with the vigilante?”

  “They need to arrest him,” Yuri answers. “He’s too dangerous on the streets, and eventually his antics will cause the city to boil over.”

  “Strong words from a strong man. Thank you for your time today.”

  “Thank you for having me.”

  “Coming up in our next story--”

  Larry switches off the television in disgust. He glares at Claire. Gabe glares, too.

  Claire attempts to force a light tone. “If you ask me, that was just Yuri Osaka paying people to let him give another rant. They barely spoke about First Line at all. It was just for him to grandstand. Why else would he bring up legalizing drugs?”

  Larry and Gabe scoff and pace in the office.

  “You bitch, I supported First Line for you, then he pulls this shit,” Gabe says.

  Claire isn’t about to be a scapegoat again. “Hey! Enough, I’m not going to be a punching bag! We all agreed that the story would get ratings, and it did. We can weather this too.”

  “You better be right, Claire. I’m serious when I say that you’ll take the fall for this one,” Larry says.

  “It sure as hell isn’t going to be me,” Gabe adds. “I just reported what a trusted colleague told me was the truth.”

  Claire stares Gabe down, and he turns away. “I don’t know why you guys are mad anyway. This will just boost today’s ratings again. Everyone will want to know what we have to say about the clinic attack.”

  “What do we have to say about it?” Gabe asks.

  Claire ponders this for a moment. She places her hands firmly on Larry’s desk after pacing for a few steps. “We just remind everyone that we don’t control First Line. He hasn’t spoken to us for some time. Then, later we have First Line in the studio.”

  Larry asks, “How the hell are you going to pull that off? You better not be buying into your own pile of shit.”

  Claire is quick to answer. Her brain is already providing the details for the plan. “We have someone sit in a shadow with his voice modulated. He can answer a few questions, and we can just say that he’s trying to hide his identity.”

  “We’re going to bring someone in here?” Gabe scoffs. “Someone will confess. We can’t keep the lid on this many people. My crew is good, but I can’t vouch for all of the other shows.”

  “We’ll do it off site,” Larry offers, “at his secret base or something.”

  “Exactly,” Claire states. “First Line will then claim that he has enemies who are trying to frame him. He isn’t alone. There are others like him. This stuff will sell itself. Nobody can ever prove that we made it up, and he did give me permission to tell my story. I choose to make it fiction.”

  Larry and Gabe share a look. Smiles slowly spread across both faces as they laugh together.

  Larry compliments Claire. “Claire, remind me to never play poker against you. Gabe, you’ve got less than two hours until you’re on. Make sure you get your lines straight.”

  “I’m on it, Larry.”

  L
arry nods. “Excellent job, Claire. I need to stop doubting you.”

  “What you need to do is pay me more,” Claire states.

  “Talk to me during sweeps. Now both of you, out of my office.”

  Claire and Gabe leave.

  Donald and Alex hang out in Donald’s bachelor pad. They drink beers and play pool after a hard day’s work.

  Alex steps up to the table and calls his shot. “Two ball in the side pocket.”

  Alex takes his shot and misses horribly. The cue ball goes into the pocket instead.

  “Damn.” Alex hangs his head in defeat.

  “You’d look less pathetic if you stopped calling out your failures first,” Donald says.

  “Screw you. I’m just trying to build up your confidence. I’m already smarter, better looking, stronger, faster, and have a bigger penis.”

  “You forgot more humble,” Donald adds.

  The two chuckle. Donald finishes the last of his beer. “Ahh. You want another one?”

  “Sure, one more won’t kill me.”

  Donald goes to the refrigerator and grabs two more beers. He hands one to Alex, and they clink bottles.

  “Did you see the news today?” Alex asks.

  “Which part?” Donald wonders. “Where Trash Man got slammed for blowing up a clinic, or when D2I immediately called it a set-up?”

  “That Gabe Hammington sure is a smooth one. He could sell a flashlight to a blind man. But, yeah, all of that.”

  “I don’t know what to think. Why can’t my real-life superhero be a solid shade of white? I don’t like this gray shade.”

  “What do you mean, ‘shade of gray?’ Mortician is a straight-up villain. He’s all the way in the black now.”

  “No, he isn’t. The criminals have been beaten. Nobody was hurt at that clinic,” Donald points out.