Cutthroat Heroes Page 5

  He was the one that recruited us all; taught us everything. He said that the procedure came from an ancient time, and that Attila the Hun and Hitler and Genghis Khan all used it to take over the hearts of their soldiers – made them all fall in love with him. This mysterious Pope was the one that put me in charge. Said that all we had to do was play along. Fly around and give people love. Everything would work out swimmingly for everyone. We'd all be rich.

  I put the bag of money back in the safe.

  I wish I could give you more, Jem.

  When night came, we all gathered outside behind the church and watched as Jody landed the UFO down in front of us. The rest of my crew all wore their silver suits and were putting on their alien masks. I carried a glass box containing Carl's love ghost. It flew around, banging into the sides of the box, screaming, wanting freedom. We walked into the UFO, and Jody took us sky high.

  We had something like twenty damn jobs to do....Twenty ghosts to pump into people. I got exhausted just thinking about the work. Carl wanted us to put his love ghost into an older woman named Tina Lety.

  We hovered the UFO over her house and saw her watering her flowers. She looked up and screamed. Jody pressed a red button and a ray of light shot down and hit Tina, freezing her in her tracks. The UFO landed, and we got out and took her inside. I injected Carl's ghost into her heart. She was awake, of course. That was important. We wanted her to see us. She had to be looking at aliens. That was the trick. That was always the trick.

  Later, we knocked her out and stood her back up on her lawn, running hose in her hand, watering those flowers.

  One down; nineteen to go.

  I was getting tired of doing it. Uninspiring. How many years had I been doing that job? Too many. At first it was exciting, but after years and years, you want out. Time for a change. Time for something else. Time to learn how to play darts. Something. Anything new. No one is made to do the same thing over and over again. It's mental. A form of insanity. I think it was after the Jerkins job when I finally got tired of it. That damn politician. We had to make a whole town fall in love with him. Took us months....

  There was a point when the guy running against Jerkins – a Susy Granto – hired us to inject HER love ghost into everyone in that town. I thought it was a bad idea, but the Gangster Pope demanded we go through with it. Susy offered a million smackers for the service, and that Pope wanted every dime.

  Long story short, it was a whole mess.

  People died. Their hearts exploded. Tiny ghosts flew out of everyone – ghosts fighting ghosts in the sky. It was all-out war. That town – called St. Bergers, in Makaha – burnt down in the aftermath. Nothing remains there but piles of black stuff and cars on cinder blocks.

  I had bad dreams. Usually, right after a job....Of the island of Oahu on fire. Of hands reaching out from black pits. Of kids crying and screaming. I saw myself in there with them.

  I had to get out of there.

  I had to get out.

  PHIL

  A real crazy person sauntered into my office. His name was Carl.

  “Doctor, please, you have to help me!”

  “What's wrong?”

  “It's my brain,” he said. “It's hurting all the time.”

  “Maybe you're thinking too hard.”

  “No....It's the drugs.”

  “That'll do it,” I said. “Stop taking drugs.”

  “I can't,” he said, shaking. “I'm addicted! I'm addicted to baby brains!”

  I squinted.

  “Excuse me. I didn't hear you right. Did you just say 'baby brains'?”

  He nodded, and then he reached back and pulled out a paper bag. It was wrapped with a shoelace. The bag dripped red stuff, and I had the funny feeling it was blood.

  “One moment,” I said. “Before you open that, I have to press this button.”

  Which I did.

  “Security.”

  Carl reached out to me.

  “No! No!” he begged. “It's not what you think. I just want to show you some brains.”

  I got up and was gonna kick him out of my office, when...he leaned forward, and a butcher's knife fell out of his jacket. He picked it up and looked up at me like a confused child. I was paralyzed with fright. Hazel – my secretary – opened the door.

  “Did you just say 'security'?”

  I waved her away.

  “Go away. I was just joking.”

  I wondered if she could see the fear in my eyes. What I really meant to say was, “HELP ME! GET ME OUT OF HERE! 911! CALL FOR HELP! CALL THE COPS! JESUS GOD! THIS MAN IS INSANE!”

  But Hazel just smiled and said, “Yes, doctor. Have fun.”

  Carl was talking again, but his words just sounded like gibberish to me. I couldn't focus. I kept imagining that butcher's knife slamming into my face. I kept seeing Fran behind my eyes, at my funeral, hugging me, kissing me, weeping. I'd never kiss those lips again. And the lovemaking! All those fine, sexy nights – never again. This was it. Bye. I always knew it would end this way. I could see the headlines: “Psychologist Dies Via Crazed Patient. Anyone Else Not Surprised?” I was biting on my tongue and tasted blood. Sweat fell from my face and spotted my pants. God, hear me now! I thought. I demand a miracle. I deserve a miracle. I've been good. Protect me. HELP ME. Where are your angels? Damn you!

  All the while, Carl just looked at me in a funny way.

  “This drug in my hand...it controlled me,” he said. “It made me come here for some reason. I don't understand. It's mysterious.”

  He licked the drug.

  I reached out to him.

  “Please, as your doctor, I beg you. Don't eat that brain.”

  He made his eyes really big and said, “Too late!” and ate the thing like a mad beast. It was a messy sight. Carl stood there gripping his head, spinning around like a top, complaining about life. And then a weird thing happened....I saw myself in that spinning blur, and that other version was laughing at me and wore toy devil horns. Carl stopped spinning and stared – looking like a madman: Eyes veiny, mouth leaking, nostrils blowing up, hunched over like a football player ready to run.

  “Yesss, this baby brain drug has made me into a true genius. Life is so clear now! I can read hearts.” He stared at me. “I can read your heart, Phil. Yesss....You messed up real good, didn't you?”

  “What was that?” I felt Death crawling up my leg, whatever that meant. I had to get out of there. Jumping out the window seemed like a good idea. Carl sniffed.

  “You...killed someone.”

  “What? No. I didn't....” It sounded like I was begging. It was pathetic.

  Carl sniffed again.

  “Yes! I can smell something rotten. You killed someone. Killed her real good, too! Someone you once loved. You turned your back on her – killed her love. What?” He thought for a second. “Carmen, was it??? You bastard! You deserve to die, and you know it....”

  I started backing up toward the window.

  He followed.

  “Well...don't worry, man. I'll help you out. Free of charge. You can thank me...IN HELL.”

  He came at me, screaming with his knife slicing through the air, “Yaaaarrgghhh!”

  I raised my arms over my face.

  “Jesus! No! I'm innocent!”

  The knife went into my arm and hit bone. (Strange – I didn't feel a damn thing.) I fell down with Carl on me. He tried to yank the blade out, and he did, and blood flew out like a hose and covered his face. I was impressed by the amount. Carl stood up.

  “My eyes! I'm blind! Waaaaaaaaah!”

  I jumped up and punched him in the head and took his knife and cut into his neck. I was working on pure Adrenaline – hacking away. I had my eyes shut tight. When I was done, I backed away and wiped the gore from my face. Carl...he got up and just...stood there. He sighed, and his head nodded backwards, and all his life came out of his neck like a fountain...arms shaking, palms opening and closing like he was being electrocuted. Now here's something interesting: A pu
ff of smoke flew out and went into the ceiling. Not only that, but I think it was in the shape of an angry face. Was I drunk?

  Gadzooks....

  Carl began to stink. Blood kept shooting out of his neck and pooled at his feet. It was like something out of a Japanese cartoon.

  I walked around the curious sight and examined him. His head dangled by a thread of skin – eyes looking left and right. I think he was dead....

  I opened the door and poked my head out.

  “Hazel.”

  She looked over her desk.

  “Yes?”

  “You can come in now,” I said. “Bring a mop. And some cops. Something crazy just happened.”

  Fifteen minutes later, my office was filled with cops, all asking me questions and whatnot. Carl was still standing there – blood still rocketing out from his neck. A cop pushed him over. He fell onto a gurney and was wheeled away. A doctor wearing a white coat with a silver, circle thing on his forehead shined a penlight in my eyes and took my pulse. No, I didn't call Fran. I didn't want to bother her. Didn't want to be irritating.

  When I got home, reporters were all over the driveway like rats, shoving cameras and microphones in my face. I shoved my way through, and I think I might've accidentally elbowed someone in the head.

  Fran was inside, waiting for me. She looked none too happy and was holding a newspaper in her hand.

  “What the hell is this all about?” she demanded. “You killed someone?”

  I kept staring at the newspaper.

  “How did they put it out so soon???”

  “They didn't,” she said. “I printed it all from the internet. All twenty pages. I'm horrified! Do you know what this means?”

  “Well, I....”

  “You're out of the job, idiot! You think people are gonna want to go to a shrink that killed his patient? No! It's foolish....You damn idiot! Did you really have to kill him?”

  “Well, I....”

  “Answer me!”

  “He did have a knife.”

  “That's no excuse,” she said. “If I had been in your shoes, I would've defended myself and knocked him out cold – not kill the guy like an idiot. Idiot, meaning YOU. Arrrrgghhh! This is so frustrating!”

  Fran walked around the place, thinking, pacing, staring at her shoes.

  “You messed me up,” she said.

  I wanted to hold her, hug her, comfort her.

  “Baby, I'm sorry. Forgive me. He had a knife.” I held in my weeping. Wanted to show her I was a real man – a strong man. I reached into my pockets and showed her all this jewelry I bought for her.

  “Look what I bought for you, master. I spent everything to buy you these wonderfully expensive, shiny things. All for you! See how much I love you?”

  She picked up a stereo and threw it at me.

  “Away with you! You're too poor for me! Now I have to support both of us! This is insanity....This isn't living....I'm gonna have to work longer hours now. Shit! You devil! Scram! Beat it! I never wanna see you again!”

  She started throwing plates at me. That's when I figured it was time to run the hell out of there. She needed time to cool off. She didn't really mean any of those distasteful things. Couples fight. This was normal. Just let her cool off a bit, I thought. Everything will be all right. Ahh, love! Such a funny thing....

  I knew what I had to do. I had to buy her more jewelry.

  That would make things right again.

  That would do it.

  FRAN

  I threw those plates at Phil, hitting him in the back of the head multiple times. I slammed the door shut and melted to my ass, arms around my knees, weeping like a baby, rocking back and forth, banging the back of my head against the door sometimes for dramatic effect. At one point, I even sucked on my thumb. Life was over. I wanted to kill myself. I didn't wanna be a vet – never did. It just seemed like an easy job to make a few bucks. But now I had to work even harder. Maybe (gasp!) find another damn, boring-ass job.

  Someone help meeeeee. Working my life away – poor – depressed – sick and tired of being sick and tired....That isn't living.

  My drug wasn't selling well. People were complaining. People were ending up in the hospital, waking up in wheelchairs with tubes in their faces. No. I'd have to get real. Maybe even be a cashier. Maybe even go back to school. Maybe both. I couldn't stop crying. Wasn't I fixed? Didn't my drug fix me? Maybe I just needed more? I ran to the basement and opened a secret door and walked into my lab. All sorts of lights blinked red and blue and yellow. My personal robot rolled up.

  “How may I assist you, master?”

  I pushed it away.

  “Leave me be,” I said. “I have problems.”

  It saluted. “As you wish, my queen.”

  I opened a freezer and took out a brain and defrosted it and ate it.

  Nothing.

  No what???

  Only one answer....

  The universe was against me – enjoyed seeing me miserable. The universe got off on it! I walked to the chalkboard and drew outer space and the stars and all the planets, and then I drew myself inside of Earth. I drew a giant foot stepping on Earth, on me. And then I went crazy – I made all these confusing lines and shapes and just went completely nuts. I kicked the chalkboard over and screamed and fell to my knees and wept. I had no control. I was being stepped on. I was being forced to live by someone else's rules. I felt like a slave....

  My heart was talking to me.

  Go to church, it said. Trust me. Happiness awaits you.

  I needed to see Father Lolligal. I needed to talk to him. I needed peace.

  He could help me.

  It was his job.

  I walked back upstairs and picked up the jewelry Phil bought me. I put them on and modeled in front of a full size mirror.

  “Such pretty things,” I said. “I look good.”

  I took a shower and thought of Lolligal....

  When I got to the church, I saw a peculiar car parked out front. It was painted gold. I asked a passing, crying nun whose it was, and she said it was Lolligal's. I didn't realize he was so well off. His service must've been going real good. Now here was a real man! A wealthy man of mind, spirit, and wallet....I wondered how much money he had, and if he was married. Hopefully, he didn't have any kids. I didn't want them stealing my dreams. Ha ha ha....

  I walked in.

  People were all praying for the same thing. “Please, God,” said a Samoan woman, “please give me a lot of money.” An old Chinese man prayed, “Please, God, make me rich. I'll be happy once I have a lot of money.” A young white man prayed, “Please, God, help me win the lottery.” He was on his bare knees – pants rolled up. Must've been holding that position for hours, because his knees were bleeding. In fact, all those people were kneeling. A nun walked around, soaking the blood up with a mop. Cats were all over the place. Many were wrestling around and fighting over scraps of meat. A nun ran after them, waving around a broom, trying to shoo them away. The odor of rancid flesh was in the air. It was acidic....I walked into the confessional and knocked on the wall.

  A tired voice answered.

  “WHAT? Who is it? Can't a priest get some sleep around here???”

  “I'm sorry,” I said. “Maybe I should come back later.”

  “Fran?” His voice perked up. “Wait. I'm sorry. I just had a bad day.”

  “Maybe you should go home early and chill. Maybe talk to your wife about these problems?”

  “I'm not married. Can't. Not after being ordained.”

  Exactly what I wanted to hear.

  “You can vent to me,” I said. “I'm all ears.”

  He sighed.

  “You don't know what it's like. People coming to you all the time, telling you gross things. Can't people keep their problems to themselves??? I'm sorry. That was nasty. I don't mean to be such a jerk. I'm just...exhausted.”

  “Seems like people are taking advantage of you.”

  “They are! But it's not
like I can say 'beat it'. This is my job. I'm sacrificing myself to these people. Sacrificing my time, my sanity.” He paused. “You know...sometimes when people tell me certain disturbing things, I feel like I'm infected. I feel like a sponge. I'm afraid I'm turning into these people.”

  “You need a break, Lolligal.”

  He looked at me. “What is that wonderful scent? Smells like the beach.”

  “That my perfume. I found it on the ground. Do you like it?”

  “You smell very good today.”

  I smiled.

  “Thank you.” He was making moves on me. He was interested. Any fool could see that. In a way, I knew I already had him. My mind was painting away the plan: Dinner, polite comments, agreeing to his views, laughing at this jokes. Then came the occasional light touch – on the shoulder, on the leg. You know how it works. Hahaha (touch his leg). Yes, obvious stuff. But if my gut was right, it wouldn't matter to him. I could pull off all the cliched tricks in the book, and he'd still go along with it. This guy was lonely; I could smell it. He needed breasts to cry on. He needed love. I was gonna give it to him, including my body....

  “You've listened to me describe my wretchedness, Fran,” he said. “Now tell me yours.”

  “How about over dinner? Are priests allowed to go out on dates?”

  “Yes!” he said, voice cracking. “Just two Catholics talking about normal things. We can go in a few minutes. Just let me run to the back and put on my civilian clothes.”

  He zoomed out from the booth and vanished into a room. Cats followed him inside. I walked outside and lit a cigarette.

  “I'm in love!” I said to the clouds.

  Again?

  “It's different this time.”

  You always say that.

  “I was confused before. Now, it's the real thing. I promise.”