A Journey Begun - Chapter 5 - Answering The Call
#9 of Saga the First - Book One - A Journey Begun
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This chapter has been edited to pull the story back a chapter. This is now chapter 5, instead of 6.
Days passed. Weeks passed. Still he remained in a depressive haze. What happened to him, I hope to God I don't have to suffer.
The case made the news. Spread across the country like wildfire. The story of how the actions of one detective led to the capture of the most demented serial killer since Charles Manson, and how it also led to a tragedy. I kept up with it from behind the bar, where I served drinks to weary and tired men at night. It was across all the news channels, on all the papers, buzzing on social media and by word of mouth. Some called him a hero, others labeled him a disaster, but what everyone agreed on was that this was a total tragedy, one that no man had to suffer.
But he did. He suffered. For weeks after I heard nothing but bad news. How he'd left the force. How he'd been reduced to a wreck, drifting from place to place like a ghost. How people gossiped about him as they saw him, dejected and alone. How he'd spend his days cooped up in his apartment, crying himself to sleep at night. How his friends and his team visited him every day, but he never responded. How he'd spent some nights at their graves, waking up the next morning with a bottle in his hands and tears staining his face. I saw him a few times from afar, he looked a wreck. I wanted desperately to reach out to him, to tell him that I was there for him, but something inside myself told me not to bother, to let him ride it out himself. So I did, and he seemed to sink further and further each day.
Then one day he ended up in my bar. I was surprised. Instead of having to reach out to him, here he was, shuffling dejectedly into the bar and seating himself down, a tenner in his hand and only one thing in his mind. I provided, of course, and in bottles he lost himself, and I found my way to at least be there for him in his time of need. Oft times, he ended up a snivelling wreck laid out on the bar counter, but my heart was too soft to put him out on the street, so I simply laid him on my couch, drew a blanket on him and left him be. It carried on like this for days, weeks, and soon it was commonplace for me to see him drop in at the exact same time every night, order the exact same thing, then collapse on my couch after he'd had his fill. My heart went out to him. Poor soul must've felt so lost without his family. First his folks, like he'd told me years before, and now his wife and child. I doubted things could get worse for the poor sod.
How wrong I was.
I'd moved from Britain not long after he and his wife, then without child, had visited me and left my pub. I owed him a great deal, having saved my neighbour before me very eyes. He was the sort of man I'd trained other men to be, selfless, brave, compassionate and loyal, all for Her Majesty of course. Fifteen years I spent, doing that, after which I got tired and left. Full honours and a medal from Victoria herself, of which I was very proud of. I thought I could escape my former life by starting my own business, but a few months in I started regretting my decisions. That's when he showed up and gave me a heads up, that I still had the opportunity to change my life for the better. So a few months later, I packed all I had and went to the States. I knew the American businessman loved his late night drink, so I took over an old shophouse that the owner didn't want and put up a watering hole there instead. The profit started rolling in nicely.
As Americans did, I kept up with the news through television and newspapers, so it didn't surprise me when his name came up a few times. This was back before all this happened, so all the news about him was positive, how he busted drug rings, locked up baddies and generally was everyone's hero. I never really did know that he stayed a street down, nor did I know that he'd be such a changed man. Then the news reported about his hospitalisation, the attacks by that tosser what landed him in a bed with bandages around his gut. I followed that story all the way until today, when he showed up at night as part of his routine of wallowing in his own sadness and drowning himself in beer and whiskey.
Then one day he talked. I could barely recognise his voice. It'd been a long time. He poured his heart out to me, and I listened. I listened to his sob stories, of his parents, his childhood, his early life, and about his wife most of all. Every night he'd always end on a word about his wife and kid, which led him to break down and eventually pass out on the counter. He barely recognised me, the haze of depression coupled with the liquor he imbibed every day limited his brain so badly, sometimes I'd think he was a different person altogether. All through summer he spent his nights here, then one October night he vanished, never appeared for his nightly drink. Obviously I got worried, so I closed the pub early and went out to look for him. I travelled far, asking everyone on the street if they had seen this man, until I finally found him, holding a half empty bottle of Jack as he sat on the edge of a bridge overlooking the Hudson. He never noticed me until I sat with him, legs dangling precariously over the edge. He gave me a look and took a drink.
"You too?"
"Nah mate, I just wanted to sit up here, feel what it's like."
"What what's like?"
"Y'know, what it's like to throw your life away."
He gave me a look, tried to take another swig. I snatched the bottle from his hands and tossed it into the river. He tried to catch it but all he did was extend his arms and look sad as he watched his drink plummet into the water below. He glared at me and almost made to jump, but I grabbed his shoulders and fell over backward and onto the sidewalk. He got up and tried to resist, but I held him down tight. Eventually he stopped, gave up and lost all will to resist. He settled against my chest and cried, sobs racking his entire body as he went through all his pent up emotion. I held him there for what seemed like forever, then he looked up at me with almost a puppy-like look to his face, like he wanted to be forgiven for his mistakes.
"D-d'you think she's in a better place?"
I merely nodded.
"Yeah, of course mate. She's probably looking down at you now, poor you, crying your heart out because of her. I bet she wants you to be happy and cheerful again, y'know, instead of having tears in your eyes and a bottle in your hand every day."
I stood and helped him up, dusted him off. Then I gripped him by the shoulders firmly and stared right at him.
"Listen mate, I'm sure you don't want to disappoint her, wherever she is, cause she's looking down at you and wanting you to be the best you can be, even without her around. Understand me? Treat it like she never even left, like she's with you in spirit, always by your side, everywhere you go. Take pride in that you had the best wife in the world and no one else could ever match her, ever. Take pride in her, in your son, and most importantly in yourself, because without you, she would never have had a person to love and to be loved by, she would've been lonely all her life if it weren't for you. That's why she'll be by your side, that's why she made the vow and wore the ring, and that's why you've never lost her. Remember that, and I promise that you'll never go through this heartache again."
He nodded, tears in his eyes again, and leaned against me. I held him and took him home, his home, for the first time in months. I felt happy for the poor sod.
I don't know what he saw in me, but I guess I was his savior that night. That must've left an impression, cause he visited me every night after that, kept me company in the late hours. I appreciated it, and I guess he did too.
I never expected what would happen later on.
Another typical night and here he sat, drink in hand as we chatted. There was another lady in here having the night to herself, but I guess she didn't mind the noise we made in conversation. It was late. I didn't expect any more customers. Then came in these bunch of low lifes in expensive suits, the kind of guys that order expensive wines without knowing what they're good with, or they go to expensive places for chips and fried chicken a la douchebag. Making a right bloody racket, they were, and not once did they show any respect to anyone in the pub. One of them, I guessed the de facto leader, plonked a fifty on the counter.
"Hey you, give us your most expensive brews, make it quick!"
I sighed, took the note and grabbed a few of the house beers I normally reserved for myself and set them on the table. Idiot took the bottles and went off to his mates. Never once did he question why. I guess that's a plus with these rich types, they pay good and they don't ask questions. I ignored them, and so did my chum and the lady.
Hours passed. The bunch got even more rowdy. They recognised my pal as the guy from the news stories, started making fun of him. He didn't even fight back, just sat there drinking his Jack like no one was there. Eventually this lead guy had enough. He went up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, wise guy, you know who I am?"
Didn't answer.
"Hey I'm talking to you, ass wipe!"
No answer.
He shoved him in the shoulder.
No response. I'm thinking he must be getting right bloody angry already.
"Alright then, play it this way, you creep."
He shoves him hard enough to spill his drink. He took the bottle and chucked it behind the bar. I barely managed to catch it. The wise guy sauntered back and sneered.
"What now, chump? Gonna listen to me now?"
My pal pulls his piece and shoves the barrel right up the wanker's nose. Everyone else instantly backs off. He grabbed the sod's jacket and pulled him right close.
"Yeah I'll listen to you. You listening to me?"
The guy nodded. He was whimpering, bloody coward.
"Now here's what I'll do. I'm gonna give you and your buddies ten seconds to get out of here, otherwise I'm going to give you an extra breathing hole, that understood?"
He nodded again. He released him but kept his gun trained on them.
"Time starts now."
The whole lot of them scrambled to run out of the bar and disappeared into the dark. I sighed in relief and sat back down and so did he.
"Well thank god you still pack, eh?"
"I have a permit for a reason, man. Might as well put the second amendment to good use."
We laughed. First time I've heard him laugh in a long time. He still sounds so grim and depressed, even though he's here laughing with me. The lady in the corner offers us a toast. I turn to look at her.
"To what?"
"To those douchebags leaving!"
Aye, a toast then. We raised our glasses and drank our fill, smiles on our faces.
The night wore on. He drank less than usual, satisfied himself with peanuts and water while I listened to the lady in the booth tell stories. She was a nurse, apparently, and she had many a tale to tell about her work and life.
Suddenly the sod from earlier burst in with more friends than before, and they were all armed with handguns. The lady gasped and hid under the table, but we both played it cool. We were outnumbered, but at least we had an advantage in gear. I had a shotgun I kept under the counter for such an occasion. My friend ate another peanut. "And what brings limp dick back? What, the action earlier not enough to get you hard for the night?"
I couldn't help but chuckle. The guy's face turned bright red and he almost lost it, but he calmed down and took a seat between me and him. He put his handgun on the counter and stared at him, apparently content with ignoring me.
"Yeah, yeah this gets me hard. But you know what works better? Being better than you. You're nothing but a washed up cop, done nothing but bad all his life and for what? Lost the broad and the kid, lost ya job, you lucky you ain't lost your life at this rate man."
I could sense anger. A lot of it. I caught his hand moving slowly into his jacket, a move our pal didn't quite notice.
"Tell you what though, why not you just back the fuck off, get your washed up ass outta my bar and go home and do something else with your life, eh? I got more than enough to buy this whole city block from under ya nose, so you also lucky you ain't lost ya home too!"
"And why don't you take your rich Jersey Boy act somewhere else, wise guy, this is New York, things work differently here. I've been on the street longer than you've been sucking your daddy's dick to get the latest clothes and shoes and things, I've seen many and killed a few to make it worth my while. So why don't you back off and maybe I won't have to waste a bullet in your sorry ass, hmm?"
The guy stood in a rage. He grabbed his pistol, cocked it and put it right up on his forehead.
"You asshole! Do you know who I am?! I'm Tony diMaggio, my family rules this city, grampa! So why don't you wise the fuck up and lay off!"
"Sorry I didn't hear you over the sound of you sucking more dick."
I had the silliest smile plastered on my face, but the matter was deadly serious. The man growled and clicked off the safety.
"Go ahead, shoot me. I've got nothing else to lose."
"Damn straight gramps."
The lady whimpered in fear. He heard it and turned around.
"Who's that?! Come out!"
She shrank further under the table. He had had enough and he advanced to her, dragging her out by her hair. She screamed. He pistol whipped her to shut her up, when I saw him move.
"Hey!"
Tony swiveled around and stared down the barrel of a very big handgun. His eyes widened. The man behind the gun clicked off the safety.
"Wrong move, little man."
There was a huge crack. Time seemed to slow.
Tony's brains exited out through a gaping hole in the back of his head. My friend's other gun came up and spat death at the other thugs in the room, plugging each of the other men square in the face. As they fell, he ejected a spent magazine and swept his empty gun into his jacket. It came out loaded and he cocked it.
Time sped up again.
The bodies collapsed. The lady screamed and ran out the back. He kept a pistol and pulled me down behind a booth as the front of the bar erupted in a cacophony of bullets. When the gunfire died down I broke from cover and vaulted over the counter, grabbing the shotgun that laid underneath. I loaded it and stuffed some spare shells in my pockets, then followed him as he exited out the back. In the alley, there was another car with four men, all armed, but they fell to his onslaught, gunned down as they raised their guns at him. I followed close behind as he advanced down the alley, but more cars roared in from the street and blocked off our exit. Undeterred, he hunkered down behind a dumpster and shot at the thugs as they filled the alley with bullets. I was nearby in an alcove. They hadn't noticed me yet though, so I tried to look for an escape route. A fire escape caught my eye. I took advantage of the lull in the gunfire to dash across the alley and avoided getting shot at as I scrambled up the ladder. I yelled for him to follow me up as I leaned out of cover to fire at the thugs, making them dive for cover from my shotgun. He climbed up the ladder and went past me as I covered him, then I followed right behind him.
I thought we would be safe on the rooftops but no, there were goons here too. They shot at us, made us dive for cover behind chimneys and heat vents. I returned fire, but I noticed that my friend wasn't shooting back. He laid against a ledge, seemingly in a daze. I yelled at him to snap out of it, but he didn't hear me. I reached out to him.
I got a bullet for my troubles.
Last thing I saw was him starting out of his trance before I hit my head on a brick as I fell.
Then everything went blurry.
The next thing I know, I saw a spray of blood erupt from his arm.
Time slowed.
I pinpointed the shooter. Plugged him in the face. Plugged his friend in the face. Ducked back down and dove for him. Hail of gunfire from my left. Turned in the air and plugged the gunman. Landed on my back next to him and shot one more guy as he emerged from cover.
Time sped up.
I got up and hauled him to his feet. The hit wasn't serious, just a glancing blow on his upper arm, but he was in a daze from the fall. I sat him against a nearby wall and took stock. He was bleeding, but not much, the bullet graced the meat of his arm but didn't hit any vessels, thank goodness. I took off my jacket and held it to the wound.
There was a commotion downstairs. I stood to have a look. There was an old man down there, directing and organising men, sending them every which way. When he looked up he spotted me, which apparently made him very angry. He grabbed a gun off of one of his henchmen nearby and fired up at me, making me duck down for a second before popping up again. The man kept on firing and firing in a rage that consumed him so much, he didn't even notice when his gun ran dry. He threw it down in a rage and yelled up at me.
"ANDERSON!"
Me? I poked my head out and looked down.
"Who's asking?"
"You killed my boy, you fuck! You better pray I don't get my hands on you, cause I'm going to tie you up in my basement and feed you to the rats!"
Oh this was the guy's dad.
Then I remembered: these were the diMaggios I was dealing with. That old man down there must be the big cheese of the family, Antonio. I'd only seen his pictures in various case files I read in the office.
Remembering that brought a bitter taste to my mouth. It reminded me of Evelyn and of Vincent. Murdered by the diMaggios in an apparent warning to the cops not to mess with their business. We caught the killer, a madman named Shank, but it was what happened after that I remember, clear as day.
Shank was tied on the roof. Almost immediately after I found their bodies, I stormed back up and took his neck in my hands. He choked, but managed a weak cackle. I barely noticed that his arm was soaked in blood.
"You found my little surprise, hmm? I was originally going to spare them, but my employers insisted I get rid of them. For different reasons, you understand. But now it works for my own purposes too!"
I tightened my grip.
"You KILLED them."
"I had to! If not, you would not have gone to such lengths to find me and achieve your destiny!"
"What destiny? What sort of fucked up destiny involves my wife and kid getting killed for no reason?!"
He went pale, a puzzled look on his face.
"You mean you weren't told?"
"About what, shit for brains?"
"About how the Protector line is passed down through the generations. I thought your father would've told you that."
My grip loosened. He knew my father? Somehow, I believed him, that this whole shishkabob was all real somehow.
"He would've?"
"Yes, when you turned twenty one and became a man. Didn't he tell you?"
"My dad died in a car accident when I was eight."
His face fell.
"Oh... Pity he didn't tell you, you would've understood more then, perhaps faced this with less emotion."
"Tell me about what?!"
My hands tightened around his neck again. He choked and held up his, gesturing that I let him talk. So I did.
"The Protector line is passed down through their children. When a Protector weds and has a child, their child is given their new destiny and powers as soon as they come of age. If you had gone down this route, you would've been the Protector with the shortest tenure! One does not give up this mantle so soon, and many higher powers would've pounced on your decisions like wolves on a hunt."
"But why, why do I have to be this, this mythical godsend, this superhero?! I just want to be normal!"
"You can never be normal, Daniel, not while powerful blood runs through your veins. Without you, the world would end, have you considered that?"
"Then let it end! I would've been happy!"
He growled at me and pulled at my collar.
"You fool! The world needs you, just as much as you need it! If there were no Protectors, there wouldn't be civilisation, no you, no Evelyn, no Vincent, no New York, no nothing! It is with YOUR line that what exists now does exist! Without you, we are NOTHING!"
My hands tightened even more around his scrawny neck. Nothing was going to stop me from killing this monster. But this was exactly what he wanted, and if I continued this way I would end up exactly as he said I would.
But I had nothing to lose.
I squeezed until I saw the life leave his eyes.
If this was my destiny, I'd die before it makes me a slave.
I shook my head to clear away the memory. Below me Antonio was yelling his lungs out, and from the sound of it he was getting tired. I snuck a peek. He hadn't moved an inch, but his henchmen were missing. I guessed that they must've spread out to hunt for us, but possibly given up on the hunt altogether, seeing as how I'd cleared out a bar and a roof's worth of men.
I stood. He saw me. With no words, he simply raised a handgun at me.
I knew what I had to do.
Time slowed.
My hand cannon shot up, pointed at the old man.
My finger squeezed the trigger.
Then I squeezed it again.
And again.
And again.
I didn't stop until my magazine was empty.
Time normalised.
Antonio slumped onto his knees, thumb sized holes in his chest and face. He flopped over onto his side and remained still, blood gushing from his front and what remained of his face. I reloaded my pistol and kept it, even as thugs flooded the street from the sounds of gunfire. I hauled Brandon to his feet and took him away.
I couldn't stay in Manhattan any more. Not while this heat was on me. Brandon knew a guy. Said he ran a private firm specialising in bodyguards. I asked him where.
He told me.
"Brazil."