Post by somethingwicked on Dec 25, 2020 7:09:33 GMT -5
Vincent Black pulled his white 57 Cadillac Brougham to the curb just outside a small, modest house. Which based on the location, staten island, ny, to be exact, this was probably worth half a million dollars. Barely a yard to speak of and a neighbor so close you could borrow their toilet paper without them knowing. The seat next to him, filled with his girlfriend and tag team partner, Vhodka Marie. Her hair is a combination of green and red, with bows clipped into her bangs just above her eyebrows. Vhodka was excited in the way that most children get excited about the park, or a movie. She felt excitement with her entire body. Not just with a smile or a wave of a hand. Every part of her had to move. Toes, Ankles, and ears included.
In the back seat, Callan Wolf, Vincent’s son of age 9, sat and played on his phone. Vincent tried to keep up on the games the boy played, despite how fast and often the list changed. It could be the cool space game where murder was the objective, or finding out who the murderer was. Or it could be some game that involved clicking on things so that other things happened? He wasn’t sure and he didn’t really care. There were much worse things than games with adult themes. Things that could happen to you at any age. Which was the point of them being in Staten Island.
Vincent stepped out of the car, and called his son to his side. Vhodka also climbed out the window, and almost crashed to the ground, but saved herself to the boy’s amusement. Her response was that of a look, as if she doubted him. Truth be told Vincent was sure she thought his son had only come to try and kill her. Which sounds unrealistic. Which was her to a T.
He grabbed the boys hand and walked him toward the small house across the street from where he parked. He stood outside the house and for the first time in so many years, Vincent Black who was six feet tall and built like a brick shithouse, felt small again. He wasn’t one of the most dangerous men alive in this business. He was a child.
A child who was raised in a foster home because someone didn’t want a child and these people wanted money. He was a child who had been physically, and mentally abused for as long as he could remember. In fact, it was his first memory. It was also his most vivid.
“This is the house I grew up in.” Vincent said, looking down at his boy's face. He was unsure that he should even attempt to have this conversation. If not now, he asked himself and continued. “The man who raised me, was not the nicest guy in the world. He was, broken in a lot of ways. I didn’t know any of it as a child. I only found out about it all as an adult. It doesn’t excuse what he did, obviously. It only explains it.”
“What’d he do?”
“You remember Uncle Tom?” Uncle Tom was not of blood relation. He was a friend and he was close, and had his actual brother, Xavier, OPW Immortal Champion not agreed, Tom would’ve been Call’s godfather. “Daddy’s friend in the wheelchair?”
“Yeah. I ‘member.” The boy was adorable in the way he shortened certain words to reveal how youthful he was.
“When I was a kid, Uncle Tommy lived right around the corner. One day, my father decided to take me for a walk. Which never happened. If he was sober, the only walking he did was to drink. If he drank, he preferred I not be seen, heard or interacted with. Him asking me to go for a walk was the last time I let him get my hopes up. He took me around the corner and we found this small boy splashing about in a puddle. He was wearing this yellow raincoat and bib with this matching hat. It infuriated my father. He told me to go punch him in the face. So I did.”
“Why??” Vhodka said, listening as intently as the boy.
“Yeah, Why?” The boy added for no reason but to draw attention away from Vhodka, which no one but Vhodka thought.
“Because my father hated happiness. He could never understand it. The world could come along and ‘snatch the very earth beneath your feet at any time, why be smiling when it happens’ he would say. Truth be told, he saw that I was jealous. I didn’t own a raincoat. And had never played with such wonder or joy. He wanted to cure me of that.”
“I don’t like that.” Call said, his eyes tearing up a little, and then a lot.
“I’m with the boy.” Vhodka said, her arms crossed and furious because this might not be a boy. He might be a ringer assassin sent to murder Vhodka by the jealous ex. Kids all looked the same anyway.
Vincent, bending at his knees, takes the boys face in his hand, and kisses his forehead. “I need you to know this, Call. I need you to know that your father, while he loves you, is not perfect. He is not a representation of all people you will ever meet. You may see him in others, and you may see others in me, but that does not make them me, or me them. The relationship we have is never going to be perfect. But it will always be there, even when you don’t want it. Ok?”
The boy shook his head, and wiped a tear away from his cheek as it hid the midway down his face. Vincent had planned to tell him the rest, but in this moment could see that this wasn’t the time. The boy could barely handle hearing about someone being punched, the rest of it was far worse.
“Let's get you back in the car, you can play your game for a minute while Vhodka and I talk.”
“Okay.” The boy pulled the phone out of his pocket and began to play, as his father placed his massive hand on his head and guided him toward the car. Once sat inside, Vincent and Vhodka walked to the front of the car, and sat on the hood. Him turned toward the street, her looking directly at him, but keeping the boy in her peripheral vision. Not because she wants him to be safe, but because she wants to be safe from him.
“There was this guy who lived in this neighborhood. James Linori. He was a garbage man, or mailman. He lived with his mother, that much I know. She had gotten sick when he was a kid and he dropped out of high school to get a job and take care of her. All these years later and he’s 40, unmarried, living in her basement, and she dies. His entire life's purpose goes with her. And he’s in the pit of despair. So he decides he’s going to kill himself. Most people just take some pills, or close the garage door on the car. Not James. He wanted to leave a mess. He’d made no mark in the world with his life. He was going to do so with his death. Can the kid hear me?”
“He’s too busy trying to kill me.” She said jokingly in appearance but absolutely serious.
“He’s 9.”
“They start young! Keep low to the ground and out of sight. You know this.”
“I do not. Anyway, James goes out and buys himself a .357 magnum. He comes home with the gun and a box of bullets, and he’s playing with it like a child would. Spinning it, pointing it at things. Having fun with the item that would bring about his own death. Like one does. He testified that he was crying the entire time, but still having fun. There’s a poem there but I’m not able to write it. James decided to load the gun, and try to do that thing where they jerk the gun and get the wheel to snap into place. Only James had terrible trigger control. And when he slammed the wheel into place, the gun fired. It went through his window, dodged not one but several chain link fences, and landed in the back of my best friend, who had been standing directly next to me. I thought he was dead. I was told he was dead by my foster father. He later moved me away because he felt the boy was a pussy. And being a crippled pussy was even worse.”
“Where is he? I need to speak with him.”
“He’s inside that house, he got sober about 15 years ago. He’s tried to make amends, but I can’t allow it. He caused too much suffering in my life, as well as others. I heard he’s very active in the programs, Which is fine if you like validation from other people who are fuck ups, too.”
“Why’d you bring him here?” Vhodka asked, sure that it was a quiet street to murder her on, but now sensing it’s for other reasons.
“Because my ‘father’ was a piece of shit. But also, he was right, Life will fuck you the second it gets the urge. There are no guarantees. You want happiness, you have to reach out and grab it and never let go. Even if it hurts someone you care for.”
“Remember this when I try to buy the pop tarts.”
“I WILL NOT” He exclaims, realizing he’s yelling just a moment too late. “I will not let you eat that shit. I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“I’m gonna do my sexy dance as I step over it.”
“With a mouth full of poptarts?”
“Chock full.”
“I will buy the company that makes pop tarts and put them out of business.”
“I will marry you, divorce you, take the pop tart company in the divorce, and produce more pop tarts than ever. I will make a flavor called PHRQ and it will be Artisanal Cheese and meatballs from ikea. They will smell like patchouli and when you open the box, the girl from ipanema will play on a non-stop loop.”
“Ok. Now I am going to kill you.”
“If the boy assassin doesn’t beat you to it.”
The two kissed and looked into each other's eyes. The years had come and gone and the time they spent together had gone from nothing to nothing but, and even that wasn’t enough. Like swimmers who resurfaced, they were finally able to breath again. “Let’s get to the airport.” Vincent said, kissing her hand before climbing into the driver's seat and turning the key until the engine rolled and rocked like only a classic caddy could. Call, leaning into the middle of the front seat, flashed his phone at his dead.
“Look at this article I found, Dad. It’s all about you.” Call looked at Vhodka. “And you.”
“Read it. And put on your seatbelt.”
“There aren’t any.” Call flashed his phone's flashlight at the seats and revealed that he was telling the truth. There were none. Vincent suddenly recalled that Caddy wouldn’t add them until 59, or 63. “But listen..”
“Vincent Black is a man of many names, many monikers, and many talents. All of which have been successfully secured by the Fade 2 Black. Vincent who vanished from the world of wrestling almost a decade ago to pursue, successfully we add, a myriad of other artistic interests, has suddenly found his huner non-satiated once more. Pulling double duty between F2B and..another promotion…”
“Good boy.”
“..Vincent has become revitalized and has returned to the man that set the business on fire all those years ago. His debut match against a man named Alex Scott who had been deemed one of the most exciting names the promotion had signed, was less about who he was and more about what Vincent Black chose to do to him. Long gone was the cool and calm, long live the brutal and vicious. From eye gouging to biting, multiple times and parts, Vincent Black has proven that he hasn’t just returned to the business he left behind. He’s bringing the business back with him.”
“Where does it mention me? Did you skim over it?”
“It’s further down. I can skip ahead if you like?”
“No. It’s fine.” It was not fine, but she was going to stifle it for now. For now.
The car jerks to a stop, and Vincent pats his pockets a bit, and curses.
“I dropped my billfold. I’ll be right back.” Vincent hops out of the vehicle, and rushes back toward the direction they’d come in. Vhodka, who is watching him run, looks down at the seat and sees the billfold, but does not call out. She knows well enough to know that is not what he’s going back for.
His feet against the pavement began to hit slower, and sound different. These weren’t the sounds of an adult foot in an expensive shoe. These were the soft padded steps of a child encased in brightly colored rubber. The same sounds he would hear every day after school, or at the end of a day of play, when he would come home in a rush. Racing against the street light that decided his fate. Often he would imagine being smart enough to wire it so it wouldn’t come on until he was by it. It was a wish that never made it past a thought. And it was often thought of during the ramifications of not being home before it flipped on.
Vincent swaggers up the steps, cheerful in his approach. His hand wiggles it’s individual fingers, before ringing the doorbell for an absurd amount of time. Peering through, he watches as an older man in his late sixties stands up slowly from his recliner. He swipes the cookie crumbs from his mustache and makes his way over to his wooden cane which is leaning against a small table nearby. Waddling less and faster but still waddling, he unlocks several locks and pulls the door open. Ethan Black was a dentist, a drunk, and a bastard. Anger was his first emotional response to practically everything. Save for this moment. In this moment, he was nothing more than terrified. Vincent landed a punch to his gut and doubled the old man over. Vincent caught the cane, and twirled like a horny teenager in a skirt with the smile of an old man who was watching one. The sounds of the man at his feet giving him more joy than concern. Kneeling down, he lifts the man's head with a handful of hair, and looks deeply into his eyes.
In that moment he remembered the Christmas’ of his childhood, and beyond. Denied the right to happy memories or festivities beyond being slurred at by a drunk. He recalled that year after year his father would let his older ‘sister’ open all of her presents before he got his. His ‘mother’ would protest but she would often get hurt for it. So instead she would sneak Vincent’s gifts into his room, so he at least knew someone loves him. Of course that was until he found out, and emptied it all into a garbage can. The attempt to stop him was the last time she attempted anything. She had been hit enough, and no amount of love was going to let her take anymore. Self control was not Vincent Black’s strong suit, but even he was impressed.
“Just came by to say Merry Christmas, ‘father’. Hope you have a wonderful day. Maybe you’ll dream of sugar plum fairies, or children you can beat for years without tiring. Or perhaps, you’ll dream of me reminding you further of how you raised me. That the world would always be looking to rip the ground out from beneath me, as I just did to you. Enjoy the success of your endeavors, old man. Even if you regret them, they are still the only legacy you’ll ever leave. See you soon.”
Vincent dropped the handful of hair and with it the head of the man he was raised by. He looked at his neck, and felt the urge run up his leg to stomp it. To forcefully come down upon it and separate it from one end to the other. But instead, he grunts and stomps the porch. Gripping the wooden walking stick, he quickly snaps the cane in two, and throws them both into the house. Skipping down the steps, he whistles ‘I want a hippopotamus for christmas’ as the old man rises to his feet and ducks back inside the house with his face red from the lack of air available to him. It's a terrible feeling to have someone you shaped from a child into an adult hate you so much that they’d physically assault you. It’s worse that its so close to christmas. It’s even worse that you know you deserve it.
Vincent made it back to his car and pretended to not know the billfold was in the front seat. Vhodka looked first at his face, and then at his hands. There was no blood, no defensive wounds, no signs of a struggle. Didn’t mean nothing happened but at least there wasn’t proof of It. Starting the car up, he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and handed it to Vhodka.
“Contacts, find Peter B. He’s the pilot. Tell him we’re on the way.”
“Code to unlock?”
“Isn’t one.”
Truth be told Vhodka was a tiny bit surprised. Vincent was a man of many secrets. Being one of the people in his life where nothing was hidden, was a wonderful feeling. But shit he should have been that way the entire time. So she hit him in the ribs. Just a little. Just to get the message across. Then she realized there was a child watching and smiled.
“There was a bee.”
She watched as the boy looked back to his phone and paid her no mind. Probably calling in an air strike or a hit squad while faking a game of candy crush. She explains to the pilot that they are going to Vietnam for what she calls “code payback” before Vin interiors and sets him straight. The pilot, being a professional asks if they’d like a rental car put into place on the other side.
“
“No need. We will be hitchhiking. Thumbing it. Depending on the kindness of strangers. It’s the only way to travel.”
Call’s head popped up and looked to his father in the rearview mirror. Vincent blinked at him as if to say ‘not really’, and the boy went back to his game. Vincent had known his girlfriend was planning on such a thing. He had reached out to a nearby car dealership a day earlier and told them to station an old beat up truck right outside the airport. He’d pretend to fall in love with it and buy it. She’d know he’d been a step ahead of him. It was a game they played that only the other understood.
“I hope someone driving a mouseratti picks us up. Thems fancy.”
“I believe you mean a-“
“NO.” She yelped, slapping the seat for effect or affect. “A mouseratti is half rat, half mouse, half car.”
“The math doesn’t add up.” Call said, looking up from his game.
“...you don’t add up.” Vhodka responded, her eyes glaring at the boy. Mouthing the words “I’m onto you.”
“...is it a car that has the fierceness of a rat and the cuteness of a mouse? What’s it look like?”
“Whatever is most disturbing to you. That’s the combo. Like, what unsettles you more? Keep in mind that it’s mostly just an expensive Mazda 3. But really go with it.”
Call perked up. “I picture a half mouse half rat but going up the middle. Rat on the driver side, mouse on the passenger.”
“At least the pint sized killer gets me.” Vhodka snarled, putting her feet up on the dashboard. And eazes over to the middle of the leather seats. Her head rested on his shoulder, But mostly her eyes on the rearview mirror, watching the midget assassin in the backseat with unblinking eyes.
In the back seat, Callan Wolf, Vincent’s son of age 9, sat and played on his phone. Vincent tried to keep up on the games the boy played, despite how fast and often the list changed. It could be the cool space game where murder was the objective, or finding out who the murderer was. Or it could be some game that involved clicking on things so that other things happened? He wasn’t sure and he didn’t really care. There were much worse things than games with adult themes. Things that could happen to you at any age. Which was the point of them being in Staten Island.
Vincent stepped out of the car, and called his son to his side. Vhodka also climbed out the window, and almost crashed to the ground, but saved herself to the boy’s amusement. Her response was that of a look, as if she doubted him. Truth be told Vincent was sure she thought his son had only come to try and kill her. Which sounds unrealistic. Which was her to a T.
He grabbed the boys hand and walked him toward the small house across the street from where he parked. He stood outside the house and for the first time in so many years, Vincent Black who was six feet tall and built like a brick shithouse, felt small again. He wasn’t one of the most dangerous men alive in this business. He was a child.
A child who was raised in a foster home because someone didn’t want a child and these people wanted money. He was a child who had been physically, and mentally abused for as long as he could remember. In fact, it was his first memory. It was also his most vivid.
“This is the house I grew up in.” Vincent said, looking down at his boy's face. He was unsure that he should even attempt to have this conversation. If not now, he asked himself and continued. “The man who raised me, was not the nicest guy in the world. He was, broken in a lot of ways. I didn’t know any of it as a child. I only found out about it all as an adult. It doesn’t excuse what he did, obviously. It only explains it.”
“What’d he do?”
“You remember Uncle Tom?” Uncle Tom was not of blood relation. He was a friend and he was close, and had his actual brother, Xavier, OPW Immortal Champion not agreed, Tom would’ve been Call’s godfather. “Daddy’s friend in the wheelchair?”
“Yeah. I ‘member.” The boy was adorable in the way he shortened certain words to reveal how youthful he was.
“When I was a kid, Uncle Tommy lived right around the corner. One day, my father decided to take me for a walk. Which never happened. If he was sober, the only walking he did was to drink. If he drank, he preferred I not be seen, heard or interacted with. Him asking me to go for a walk was the last time I let him get my hopes up. He took me around the corner and we found this small boy splashing about in a puddle. He was wearing this yellow raincoat and bib with this matching hat. It infuriated my father. He told me to go punch him in the face. So I did.”
“Why??” Vhodka said, listening as intently as the boy.
“Yeah, Why?” The boy added for no reason but to draw attention away from Vhodka, which no one but Vhodka thought.
“Because my father hated happiness. He could never understand it. The world could come along and ‘snatch the very earth beneath your feet at any time, why be smiling when it happens’ he would say. Truth be told, he saw that I was jealous. I didn’t own a raincoat. And had never played with such wonder or joy. He wanted to cure me of that.”
“I don’t like that.” Call said, his eyes tearing up a little, and then a lot.
“I’m with the boy.” Vhodka said, her arms crossed and furious because this might not be a boy. He might be a ringer assassin sent to murder Vhodka by the jealous ex. Kids all looked the same anyway.
Vincent, bending at his knees, takes the boys face in his hand, and kisses his forehead. “I need you to know this, Call. I need you to know that your father, while he loves you, is not perfect. He is not a representation of all people you will ever meet. You may see him in others, and you may see others in me, but that does not make them me, or me them. The relationship we have is never going to be perfect. But it will always be there, even when you don’t want it. Ok?”
The boy shook his head, and wiped a tear away from his cheek as it hid the midway down his face. Vincent had planned to tell him the rest, but in this moment could see that this wasn’t the time. The boy could barely handle hearing about someone being punched, the rest of it was far worse.
“Let's get you back in the car, you can play your game for a minute while Vhodka and I talk.”
“Okay.” The boy pulled the phone out of his pocket and began to play, as his father placed his massive hand on his head and guided him toward the car. Once sat inside, Vincent and Vhodka walked to the front of the car, and sat on the hood. Him turned toward the street, her looking directly at him, but keeping the boy in her peripheral vision. Not because she wants him to be safe, but because she wants to be safe from him.
“There was this guy who lived in this neighborhood. James Linori. He was a garbage man, or mailman. He lived with his mother, that much I know. She had gotten sick when he was a kid and he dropped out of high school to get a job and take care of her. All these years later and he’s 40, unmarried, living in her basement, and she dies. His entire life's purpose goes with her. And he’s in the pit of despair. So he decides he’s going to kill himself. Most people just take some pills, or close the garage door on the car. Not James. He wanted to leave a mess. He’d made no mark in the world with his life. He was going to do so with his death. Can the kid hear me?”
“He’s too busy trying to kill me.” She said jokingly in appearance but absolutely serious.
“He’s 9.”
“They start young! Keep low to the ground and out of sight. You know this.”
“I do not. Anyway, James goes out and buys himself a .357 magnum. He comes home with the gun and a box of bullets, and he’s playing with it like a child would. Spinning it, pointing it at things. Having fun with the item that would bring about his own death. Like one does. He testified that he was crying the entire time, but still having fun. There’s a poem there but I’m not able to write it. James decided to load the gun, and try to do that thing where they jerk the gun and get the wheel to snap into place. Only James had terrible trigger control. And when he slammed the wheel into place, the gun fired. It went through his window, dodged not one but several chain link fences, and landed in the back of my best friend, who had been standing directly next to me. I thought he was dead. I was told he was dead by my foster father. He later moved me away because he felt the boy was a pussy. And being a crippled pussy was even worse.”
“Where is he? I need to speak with him.”
“He’s inside that house, he got sober about 15 years ago. He’s tried to make amends, but I can’t allow it. He caused too much suffering in my life, as well as others. I heard he’s very active in the programs, Which is fine if you like validation from other people who are fuck ups, too.”
“Why’d you bring him here?” Vhodka asked, sure that it was a quiet street to murder her on, but now sensing it’s for other reasons.
“Because my ‘father’ was a piece of shit. But also, he was right, Life will fuck you the second it gets the urge. There are no guarantees. You want happiness, you have to reach out and grab it and never let go. Even if it hurts someone you care for.”
“Remember this when I try to buy the pop tarts.”
“I WILL NOT” He exclaims, realizing he’s yelling just a moment too late. “I will not let you eat that shit. I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“I’m gonna do my sexy dance as I step over it.”
“With a mouth full of poptarts?”
“Chock full.”
“I will buy the company that makes pop tarts and put them out of business.”
“I will marry you, divorce you, take the pop tart company in the divorce, and produce more pop tarts than ever. I will make a flavor called PHRQ and it will be Artisanal Cheese and meatballs from ikea. They will smell like patchouli and when you open the box, the girl from ipanema will play on a non-stop loop.”
“Ok. Now I am going to kill you.”
“If the boy assassin doesn’t beat you to it.”
The two kissed and looked into each other's eyes. The years had come and gone and the time they spent together had gone from nothing to nothing but, and even that wasn’t enough. Like swimmers who resurfaced, they were finally able to breath again. “Let’s get to the airport.” Vincent said, kissing her hand before climbing into the driver's seat and turning the key until the engine rolled and rocked like only a classic caddy could. Call, leaning into the middle of the front seat, flashed his phone at his dead.
“Look at this article I found, Dad. It’s all about you.” Call looked at Vhodka. “And you.”
“Read it. And put on your seatbelt.”
“There aren’t any.” Call flashed his phone's flashlight at the seats and revealed that he was telling the truth. There were none. Vincent suddenly recalled that Caddy wouldn’t add them until 59, or 63. “But listen..”
“Vincent Black is a man of many names, many monikers, and many talents. All of which have been successfully secured by the Fade 2 Black. Vincent who vanished from the world of wrestling almost a decade ago to pursue, successfully we add, a myriad of other artistic interests, has suddenly found his huner non-satiated once more. Pulling double duty between F2B and..another promotion…”
“Good boy.”
“..Vincent has become revitalized and has returned to the man that set the business on fire all those years ago. His debut match against a man named Alex Scott who had been deemed one of the most exciting names the promotion had signed, was less about who he was and more about what Vincent Black chose to do to him. Long gone was the cool and calm, long live the brutal and vicious. From eye gouging to biting, multiple times and parts, Vincent Black has proven that he hasn’t just returned to the business he left behind. He’s bringing the business back with him.”
“Where does it mention me? Did you skim over it?”
“It’s further down. I can skip ahead if you like?”
“No. It’s fine.” It was not fine, but she was going to stifle it for now. For now.
The car jerks to a stop, and Vincent pats his pockets a bit, and curses.
“I dropped my billfold. I’ll be right back.” Vincent hops out of the vehicle, and rushes back toward the direction they’d come in. Vhodka, who is watching him run, looks down at the seat and sees the billfold, but does not call out. She knows well enough to know that is not what he’s going back for.
His feet against the pavement began to hit slower, and sound different. These weren’t the sounds of an adult foot in an expensive shoe. These were the soft padded steps of a child encased in brightly colored rubber. The same sounds he would hear every day after school, or at the end of a day of play, when he would come home in a rush. Racing against the street light that decided his fate. Often he would imagine being smart enough to wire it so it wouldn’t come on until he was by it. It was a wish that never made it past a thought. And it was often thought of during the ramifications of not being home before it flipped on.
Vincent swaggers up the steps, cheerful in his approach. His hand wiggles it’s individual fingers, before ringing the doorbell for an absurd amount of time. Peering through, he watches as an older man in his late sixties stands up slowly from his recliner. He swipes the cookie crumbs from his mustache and makes his way over to his wooden cane which is leaning against a small table nearby. Waddling less and faster but still waddling, he unlocks several locks and pulls the door open. Ethan Black was a dentist, a drunk, and a bastard. Anger was his first emotional response to practically everything. Save for this moment. In this moment, he was nothing more than terrified. Vincent landed a punch to his gut and doubled the old man over. Vincent caught the cane, and twirled like a horny teenager in a skirt with the smile of an old man who was watching one. The sounds of the man at his feet giving him more joy than concern. Kneeling down, he lifts the man's head with a handful of hair, and looks deeply into his eyes.
In that moment he remembered the Christmas’ of his childhood, and beyond. Denied the right to happy memories or festivities beyond being slurred at by a drunk. He recalled that year after year his father would let his older ‘sister’ open all of her presents before he got his. His ‘mother’ would protest but she would often get hurt for it. So instead she would sneak Vincent’s gifts into his room, so he at least knew someone loves him. Of course that was until he found out, and emptied it all into a garbage can. The attempt to stop him was the last time she attempted anything. She had been hit enough, and no amount of love was going to let her take anymore. Self control was not Vincent Black’s strong suit, but even he was impressed.
“Just came by to say Merry Christmas, ‘father’. Hope you have a wonderful day. Maybe you’ll dream of sugar plum fairies, or children you can beat for years without tiring. Or perhaps, you’ll dream of me reminding you further of how you raised me. That the world would always be looking to rip the ground out from beneath me, as I just did to you. Enjoy the success of your endeavors, old man. Even if you regret them, they are still the only legacy you’ll ever leave. See you soon.”
Vincent dropped the handful of hair and with it the head of the man he was raised by. He looked at his neck, and felt the urge run up his leg to stomp it. To forcefully come down upon it and separate it from one end to the other. But instead, he grunts and stomps the porch. Gripping the wooden walking stick, he quickly snaps the cane in two, and throws them both into the house. Skipping down the steps, he whistles ‘I want a hippopotamus for christmas’ as the old man rises to his feet and ducks back inside the house with his face red from the lack of air available to him. It's a terrible feeling to have someone you shaped from a child into an adult hate you so much that they’d physically assault you. It’s worse that its so close to christmas. It’s even worse that you know you deserve it.
Vincent made it back to his car and pretended to not know the billfold was in the front seat. Vhodka looked first at his face, and then at his hands. There was no blood, no defensive wounds, no signs of a struggle. Didn’t mean nothing happened but at least there wasn’t proof of It. Starting the car up, he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and handed it to Vhodka.
“Contacts, find Peter B. He’s the pilot. Tell him we’re on the way.”
“Code to unlock?”
“Isn’t one.”
Truth be told Vhodka was a tiny bit surprised. Vincent was a man of many secrets. Being one of the people in his life where nothing was hidden, was a wonderful feeling. But shit he should have been that way the entire time. So she hit him in the ribs. Just a little. Just to get the message across. Then she realized there was a child watching and smiled.
“There was a bee.”
She watched as the boy looked back to his phone and paid her no mind. Probably calling in an air strike or a hit squad while faking a game of candy crush. She explains to the pilot that they are going to Vietnam for what she calls “code payback” before Vin interiors and sets him straight. The pilot, being a professional asks if they’d like a rental car put into place on the other side.
“
“No need. We will be hitchhiking. Thumbing it. Depending on the kindness of strangers. It’s the only way to travel.”
Call’s head popped up and looked to his father in the rearview mirror. Vincent blinked at him as if to say ‘not really’, and the boy went back to his game. Vincent had known his girlfriend was planning on such a thing. He had reached out to a nearby car dealership a day earlier and told them to station an old beat up truck right outside the airport. He’d pretend to fall in love with it and buy it. She’d know he’d been a step ahead of him. It was a game they played that only the other understood.
“I hope someone driving a mouseratti picks us up. Thems fancy.”
“I believe you mean a-“
“NO.” She yelped, slapping the seat for effect or affect. “A mouseratti is half rat, half mouse, half car.”
“The math doesn’t add up.” Call said, looking up from his game.
“...you don’t add up.” Vhodka responded, her eyes glaring at the boy. Mouthing the words “I’m onto you.”
“...is it a car that has the fierceness of a rat and the cuteness of a mouse? What’s it look like?”
“Whatever is most disturbing to you. That’s the combo. Like, what unsettles you more? Keep in mind that it’s mostly just an expensive Mazda 3. But really go with it.”
Call perked up. “I picture a half mouse half rat but going up the middle. Rat on the driver side, mouse on the passenger.”
“At least the pint sized killer gets me.” Vhodka snarled, putting her feet up on the dashboard. And eazes over to the middle of the leather seats. Her head rested on his shoulder, But mostly her eyes on the rearview mirror, watching the midget assassin in the backseat with unblinking eyes.