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***
2 years later
The vile scent of the big city. Huge streets littered with rubbish and overflowing sewers that make you think there's blood flowing there - and you wouldn't be wrong.
It's the blood of New York City, fouled by the mobs of bastards who think the metropolis is theirs, imposing rules on ordinary working people.
They sneak around the dusty, dirty streets, smearing their expensive white sneakers, spitting in all directions just to hurt or offend those who can't fight back.
But even for the biggest fish, there's always a bigger fish. And now, like a predator from the depths of the sea, I glided through the back alleys, listening to the growing noise.
Drunken voices, too joyous, too angry and anticipatory. They are full of lust, full of anticipation of the satisfaction to come when the filthy hands of their stinking bodies commit the next crime.
I hear the stomping of feet, many of them, probably more than five, and each one rumbling like a goddamn elephant, beating out an uncomplicated rhythm with their lower limbs that can only be heard in my ears. The disorderly sounds take on a regularity, building into a symphony of death and despair that once again descended on the city.
The clatter, the rustle of clothes, wet from the rain the day before, not yet dry, Chinese knockoffs sold to a couple of dumb ambassadors on the cheap.
There is the rattle of unzipping and a sluggish struggle. The voice of the chief accompanies every moment, falsely whispering soothing words so that the unfortunate victim accepts his fate without resistance.
I am close, just a couple of metres away and we can plunge into the maelstrom of events, and the newspapers will call it another act of violence and lynching, while the unfortunate "victims" of the attack by the masked and cloaked psychopath will be wiping snot on camera, demanding justice.
-Justice... I'll show it to you, I'll show it to you in a way you'll remember it forever.
A woman's sob. Silent and weak, filled with pain and understanding. She can't resist, but even though she's barely aware of what's happening, she doesn't want the irreparable to happen. She's still so young, so inexperienced and naive, that she agreed to drink the crap taken from the hands of such personalities. A rich girl from a good family looking for a little adventure up her arse.
My last step round the corner is accompanied by an encouraging whistle. The primates gathered around the ringleader are cheering, clapping their hands and laughing, demanding that the leader give them the right to a wedding night right after him.
My eyes stumble upon a disgusting picture. But the first thing that catches my trained eye is a pair of knickers unwinding on the finger of a big black guy, grinning in all his white, straight teeth.
Joseph Arilski. Athlete, honours student, tennis player. A rare combination with such rich and busy parents. A fine boy who was to be his father's support and his mother's joy. A true unicum, standing out from the other students at his school, and not just because of his skin colour.
In my cloak there is a picture of this nice boy smiling at the camera, hugging his little sister, who asked me to find him. Poor girl, sure that her caring and sweet older brother was probably in trouble for staying out so late and not coming home for dinner.
As I crept quietly towards them, Joseph was laughing, he was cackling, at the top of his voice, savouring the fear and despair on the face of the young white-haired girl lying on the bonnet of the car. He was on his knees, hovering over her, staring into her eyes as his friends stripped off the rest of her clothes, preparing to see the final stage of the performance.
A dirty back alley, an old beat-up car bought off the books from a tax-dodging alcoholic. The scum of the earth under the arm of a rich boy with a bad head. Pills, beer and weed, they're hungry for the show, eager to get started, barely restraining themselves until Joseph has satisfied his sick fantasies and vices.
The king pampered his entourage, he dipped his head in the amber of lust, drug addiction and power, power over the weak and defenceless.
If right now to compare the faces of the two personalities that bear the same name, no one, even the most cynical, will have no doubt that they are different people. But they're not. No matter how his clothes, emotions, and face changed, there was always a monster lurking beneath the mask of a nice, kind high school student, and today I finally found it.
My hand habitually unfolds the telescoping baton my father gave me after my fight with Pete. My free palm grabs the dustbin lid and launches it into the air, knocking the king off the bonnet of the car.
-Who? Jos? You okay, bro?
-Hey, who the hell are you?
-Justice.
***
-You got in another fight? When do you have time for this?
-Well, you know, old boy, here and there. It's not easy being a little redhead in a neighbourhood full of jocks, niggers and--
-Hiding his smile behind a stern expression, Peter was the first to open the door to the school, squinting in the winter sunlight, -Oh, it's nice not to have snow this year. Just clean air and a slight chill.
At that very moment the school bus sneezed in a futile attempt to start its old crumbling engine, thus releasing clouds of black gas from the exhaust pipe.
-Yeah, the romance of the wilderness. -Yeah.
-Oh, that's it.
I was about to start a new argument with my friend, but at that very moment a whole procession of our classmates passed by us. Dressed in warm clothes, wrapped in scarves, they were blushing sweetly in the cold, exhaling clouds of vapour. Some of them were warming their frozen fingers against each other, while the others were hurriedly pulling on colourful mittens with different prints and funny decorations.As we froze with our friend, we stared at the passing girls like a couple of sheep, feeling our faces blurring in amusement.
Lately it had become extremely difficult for me to control my hormones, and the schoolgirls blossoming around me only added fuel to the fire, growing and rounding up by the hour. But for now, my inner adult held this terrible siege, helping me to withstand the pressure of the beautiful young ladies that surround us every day.
It wasn't that I was popular, but rather that the very presence of the beauties around me broke my brain, preventing me from chasing after them with my tongue out like so many of our male classmates.
Oh, look, Beavis and Butt-head are staring at us.
Be glad we're watching, Kristen, or else-
Peter's hand forcibly covered my mouth, allowing me to avoid embarrassing myself in front of my object of affection. And you can rest assured who it was. Mary Jane Watson. Red-haired, flamboyant, outgoing, with a simply stunning rear bumper, and the girl was doing well in the front. And the arsehole knew it, twisting guys' balls off with a nice smile on her face. Pete was easily caught in that net, like a puppy, looking at the school's first beauty with sad eyes.
No, MJ wasn't a petty bitch or anything. She was just a regular girl, but the way she could make Parker get up on his hind legs.... Hats off to her.
Our mock wrestling, as a lovesick Parker tried to keep me from retaliating against MJ's girlfriends, elicited the stereotypical giggling among the girls behind a covered palm.
Luckily, the girls didn't want to freeze their appetising behinds in the cold for long and, having quickly co-operated with the laggards, left our glorious society.
-Hare, Pete, you almost ripped my lip out, you hero lover. -Hare, Pete.
-I'm sorry. I was just--
-Oh, stop mumbling, just go up to her and talk to her, you live next door to her. -Oh.
-It's not as easy as you say," Parker looked at MJ's figure with a dreamy gaze and smiled moronically as the redhead turned round and waved at us, "I'd love to look at her forever.
-Oh, that's luscious. It's making my mouth water.
-You're an idiot, Shawn. Uncle Ben said that's what happens when you find the one.
-All the more reason to go for it. Do it," I shoved my friend in the shoulder in the direction of the girls who had left, and I was about to follow, but Parker was Parker, "well, what else?
-I can't, it's too much.
-So you can serenade MJ, but you can't tell her. That smells like faggotry.
-Fuck you.
-Yeah, I hope it's not in the arse. I mean, you're my mate and all, but I'm not ready to do that.
-Oh, come on. I'm telling you some serious stuff here, I could be supportive.
-I'm doing the best I can. At least for the first 20 of these conversations.
-I'm afraid, Shawn. If I ask her out on a date. What if she says no?
-That sucks, what can I say?
-You're a hell of a friend. Not much of a friend.
-Oh, okay," I ignored the broken down bus, whose driver had just as much trouble and was taking his time hammering a joint, and followed the girls, as we were going the same way, "I'm going to say this one last time, and whether you listen to me or not is up to you.
-Yes, of course.
-Call her, ask her out, and be brave," I said, putting my hands behind my head and looking up at the bright blue sky, "I'm sure it'll work out. Besides, MJ isn't an evil bitch, and she won't tell anyone about it if the date goes wrong.
I didn't bother repeating that it was more than obvious from the outside that the redhead herself was interested in Parker. Not that much, but with a good effort, his chances were not bad.
-Oh, I don't know, Shawn. I'm just gonna wait it out for now. I'll see what happens next.
Mm-hmm. That's a good plan. You watch her now. Then you're gonna watch her get a boyfriend. Then you're gonna look out the window and watch them--
At that second, I had to dodge a slap. Parker's angry face changed, glaring furiously, breathing hard, or rather panting, not knowing where to start. Start hitting me right there or yell at me first.
"Oh, here's the Cuckold Man. You seem to have changed so much in character, and yet you're still dumb and whiny."
I wasn't mad at Peter. We'd become good friends over the years, and often got out of trouble together, stood up for each other and covered for each other, helped each other with little things and serious matters. Well, as serious as they could be at our age.
But Parker's inability to just make the first move... It was tiring. He should have overcome it and then there would be no trace of his former timidity, but instead of gritting his teeth and going forward, he's always looking for ways around it, backing away or crumpling in place. It's annoying.
Joking and shoving, going over a bunch of jokes from the past to sting the interlocutor more, we leisurely reached Pete's house, where Uncle Ben, the same intelligent old Jew, was waiting for us in the yard.
-"Ready to work, boys?
-"As if we had a choice?To the man's laughter, Peter and I went into the house to drop our things. I don't want anything torn, Mum's gonna skin me.
***
The rich, minimalist mansion was bathed in sunlight. The shuttered windows shielded the owners, allowing them to get a good night's sleep after a long, hard night.
Silk sheets were piled up as the young sexy body thrashed about in nightmares inspired by recent events. Her hands roamed the edges of the bed looking for something to protect herself, but finding nothing, the girl opened her brown eyes, jumping up from the bed.
Her body trembled and her plump lips opened, drawing in the air that was sorely lacking in her chest. Grappling with her frantically pounding heart, she crouched straight down on the cold floor, resting her head against the bedside table.
The cool wood soothed her agitated brain, helping her gather her thoughts and catch her breath. Fixing her white hair, the girl struggled to her feet and waddled to the window, picking up a bottle of water left by her caring mother.
-It's so stuffy, I should open the windows.....
The hoarse voice, unfamiliar to the ear of its owner, only reminded her of what had almost happened, once again rushing blood through her veins, plunging into the terrible events of the night.
A party full of the usual boredom. A real ball for the rich, organised by his mother. Banal, dull and faded, without even a hint of emotion.
She wanted to get away from it, to unwind, maybe do something crazy or stupid, and the chance had come at the right time.
Joseph, a young boy barely younger than her, had invited her for a walk in the park, hoping to spend some time in pleasant company while their parents were deciding the fate of the city, making deals worth millions of dollars.
The son of an old family friend, a great guy, polite, quiet and unobtrusive. As ready as she was to run away from a soiree just to do something more interesting than idle conversation with equally rich kids.
Then there was the park, a couple of glasses of wine dragged from the kitchen by Josef. Fun conversations under a moonlit winter sky and his jacket on her shoulders. Romance and variety, with a pinch of excitement from the escape from the evening. And let it be that it was a park, at least it was.
But then her beau proposed another adventure, and she, like a snot-nosed fool, agreed, easily jumping into a "lucky" hitchhiker caught on the road. She walked him through security and the blind spots on the video cameras. Idiot.
What happened next was hell. A numb body, fear soaking into every fibre of the body, terror flooding the mind.... And the ugly grin of Joseph fraternising with the driver.
The dirty, shabby seats of an old car that smelled of sweat and drugs. And the nasty laughs of the couple in the front seats.
Her consciousness woke up intermittently, revealing new vile pictures. And with each awakening, more and more of Josef's friends gathered around her as she lay on the bonnet of the old car like a hunting trophy.
And all the while, the nasty bastard was talking about how lucky he was. A lucky trip, because he hadn't even hoped for success and had planned to just come alone.
The worst part was the pain in his head.
The large body looming over her. The vile stench of cigarettes, alcohol, and whatever other crap the jerk had managed to get into his system. His huge, rough hands sliding down her body. The guttural laughter and roar of the crowd....
Tears streamed down her face again. The mere memory of it made her fearful and painful.
Her underwear was pulled off and her clothes were torn to shreds, but just when she was seriously considering biting her tongue off, Josef's huge body was blown off the car by the lid of the rubbish bin.
The flashing headlights of the car on which Josef was floundering, picking at a pile of dislodged teeth. A silhouette glimmering in the semi-darkness, the sounds of blows, screams and mate, ending in painful howls.
And then she saw him. In a ridiculous noir outfit, looking like a thirties detective, standing in the middle of the beaten scum, covered in his own and other people's blood soaking the mask. Limping on one leg and cupping his side with his hand, her saviour loomed over the terrified Joseph with a punishing Nemesis, giving the girl an indescribable gloating pleasure at the sight of his stupid face.
-Josef Arilski,‖ the rough voice, ridiculously played by the young lad, sent shivers of goosebumps down her spine, -sick man.... A bastard who takes pleasure and excitement in the pain of others. Your parents' power and money gave you impunity, but I'll fix that.
With each word, he moved closer and closer until he was right up to the car, hovering over Josef. The roles had reversed, the maniac had become the victim, and now he was huddled against the windscreen, kicking his legs, trying to crawl backwards, unable to take his eyes off the black-and-white-coloured mask.
-I'm going to disarm you once and for all, so you and everyone else will remember what happens when evil fills a city.
He pulled him down by the leg. The small fellow, battered and tired, dragged the big man, Josef, while the latter, howling, clung to everything. At one point the rapist cast a pleading glance at her that even knocked her out, but the girl didn't even have time to respond.
-Close your eyes and ears.
Her saviour cast a single glance at her before immediately proceeding to carry out his threats, but even his advice didn't help her hide from what was happening.
Josef Arilski squealed. He screamed and begged for mercy, still alive, but also experiencing something terrible. Through the palms of her hands pressed tightly against her head, she could hear his voice, feeling the fear begin to overwhelm her with fear again...
But the palm of a shabby leather glove came down on her shoulder, helping her to slip the heavy cloak over her bare shoulders.
It was warm, and despite everything that had happened, it gave her peace and relief that it was finally over. Closing her off from the world, wrapping her up and immersing her in that stupid noir cloak, the stranger lifted her in his arms, placing her in the front seat of the car.
The journey was a blur, as everything that had happened played out before her eyes in blurred images, repeating over and over again until the car slowed down.
-... I can't go any further.
-What?
For the first time since the kidnapping, she raised her voice, looking at the guy getting out with surprised eyes.
-Wait," she looked around fearfully, barely able to stand on her feet, one arm outstretched, as if expecting Josef and his gang to come after her again, "please don't go.... I'm afraid. Stay with me. Take me home.
-Already. Your house is a couple of hundred metres in a straight line. It's an open field, so you can get there safely, and I'll keep an eye out.
-Я... Я...
Nodding goodbye, the noir detective silently turned around and walked straight across the field with his hands in his trouser pockets.
-How do I find you,‖ she gathered her courage and shouted the last question that interested her, but it remained unanswered, -God.... God, God, God....
And then there was the way home, on half-bent legs, in shoes across the cold field, wrapped in an old cloak, thanking all the gods that the strange guy had such an unusual style and she would not freeze in the wind.
And at home, the police and her angry mother were already waiting for her, but as soon as she saw the state of her only child, all intruders from the house were blown away, leaving the pair of white-haired ladies alone.
***
She shook her head, shoving the remnants of the memories away, shoving them deeper. She needed something to do to distract herself, but, as luck would have it, her mother decided to check on her at that very moment. A demanding knock on the door, a worried voice, and without waiting for an answer, Lydia Hardy made her way into the room, finding her child in sight.
-Felicia, are you all right?
Without noticing it, the girl put on the cloak of her saviour, which yesterday could not be torn even from her weakened hands.
-Yes, Mum," she wrapped herself in the wide hollow of the cloak and rubbed the inside of it like a cat, inhaling the scent of cheap cologne, "I'm better now.
***
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