HeavyLight

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HeavyLight: Chapter 3

One thing about our Heist that was good was that we did manage to get a reputation. Those who were present at the Bank when we attempted to rob began spreading the word; telling people about how one day, while everybody was over at a gay pride parade, four men wearing masks of the faces of our presidents strolled into a bank and tried to rob it. However, the big issue is that we didn’t get the good kind of reputation where people on the streets know who you are and respect you. We were more or less a joke in the criminal community.


I didn’t realize this until one night when some uninvited guests showed up to my house. But I’ll get to that later. Anyway, so it was nearing nighttime and I was coming back home, driving an old car that I got from work. Now, I’m a criminal for a living, so I was returning home from a job I don’t really want to talk about. But I got a free car out of it as long as the cops don’t find out. I also got about 250 dollars and a brand new wallet that I should probably clean out of all it’s old photos and cards.


So anyway, I turn into my driveway and pull halfway up. I can’t pull into the garage because Roger’s van is parked in it and I don’t know if I’ve explained this or not but Roger lives in his van. He doesn’t want to pay taxes or mortgages so he just moved into the back of his windowless Ford. We’re totally okay with that though; if he didn’t live in his car, he’d probably try and room with one of us at our homes. I just can’t see Roger as a roommate especially after I watched that video of him where one time, in college, he did a flying kick flip and landed on a pool table, busting it in half. And that was during a class so I can’t image what he does when he’s in a relaxing environment. But I know I don't want to find out.


So I parked the car and check over my shoulders to make sure my spare supplies are still there. Sitting in the back were two cinder blocks and some rope. Thankfully, I didn’t need to use them for this job, but I always come prepared just in case. What I did get out of the job, however, was a bloody crowbar which I had to hold in my right hand the entire time driving because if I set it down on the Passenger side seat, it would have left a big red stain.


So I turned off the car, got out, and headed around to the back. I popped the trunk and tossed the bloody crowbar in with whatever else was already occupying the trunk. In this case, it was three golf clubs and an empty duffle bag. I slam the trunk down and glance around one more time to see if there were any cops coming. There weren’t, which is always good. So I straightened out my jacket and said “...Job well done...” to myself.


Now, I was looking forward to a night of relaxation. And I was feeling pretty good until I made it to the front door and opened it up. That’s when I saw that I won’t have the house all to myself. Sitting on the couch is Angry Steve, who has his dirty feet up on my table and he is doing his nails. The big issue there is that Angry Steve isn’t coloring them, he’s just painting them with clear paint so that they retains their natural color. Angry Steve is very self conscious about his feet.


Jumbo Jim is in the kitchen with a fly swatter, trying to kill this fly that kept buzzing around his head. But he’s very slow so he missed by a long shot everytime he swung. Dougman is sitting on the couch with Angry Steve, watching TV. I walked in to see what they are watching and it’s just static. They all glance over at me and wave once before going back to what they were doing.


“...Guys...what are you doing here? Don’t you have your own places?” I asked.


“There’s a family reunion at my house. It’s my father’s brother’s family along with his daughter’s family along with the Uncles and the Aunts and half-Uncle and Quarter Aunts twice removed. Needless to say, it’s alot of people and I don’t want to be apart of it.” Dougman explained.


“Man, my wife Shabiqua was pissed that I forgot that yesterday was her birthday and I didn’t take her out for dinner. Man, I overslept and missed it. So now I’m staying here until she calms down enough to not shoot me if I approach the door.” Angry Steve said.


“Yeah...uh...my Grandma’s house is infested with hippies, so we’re waiting for them to leave.” Jumbo Jim said.


“Wait...where’s your grandmother then?” I asked.


“She’s in the Van with Roger. Those two kicked it off pretty quickly; they got alot in common.” Jumbo Jim pointed out.


I didn’t say anything at first, mostly because I was processing all that shaving cream in my head. I’ve had alot of late night fantasies about killing Dougman, Angry Steve, and Jumbo Jim in weird ways, but my Therapist told me it was important that I never expressed those fantasies. In fact, he suggested I change my fantasies. So now I fantasize about being a dragon slayer. But that’s a side note.


I really wanted to express my anger against those guys. But I held my breath, counted to four, and imagined that I was stabbing a dragon through the heart with a long sword. Then I calmed down long enough to go “...so...I guess you guys aren’t leaving anytime soon...” They all shook their heads.


I sighed angrily. I would still try and enjoy myself, I’d just have to do it in my room. So I began making my way to the kitchen to grab the necessary tools for my enjoyment. Jumbo Jim followed the fly out of the kitchen, swinging the fly swatter wildly. He nearly smacked me in the face as he lumbered past.


I went into the kitchen and opened up the door to the Fridge, hoping to quickly locate a 2 liter of soda. I personally prefer Cola cola, because the redundancy is what makes it good. It was difficult to see because Angry Steve had packed my fridge with a couple dozen fruit juice cartridges. He never leaves home without a few packed for the trip, so I assumed he planned on staying for a long time. So I had to dig through the junk to find my bottle of soda in the back.


So after I found my bottle, I start making my way to my bedroom door, which is only accessible in the living room. I open the door and I was about to step in but I felt like I should first address the freeloaders loitering in my room. “Alright, listen up guys.”


Jumbo Jim stopped swinging the fly swatter and glanced over at me. Dougman grunted angrily and turned off the TV, turning his attention to my direction.


“Guys, it’s Wednesday which means I’m going to lock myself in this room, chug this whole bottle of Cola cola, and then watch anime. All night. Just like last week. And I’m only watching the good stuff; Sword Art Online, Spice and Wolf, maybe Fairytail, MAYBE fairytail...let’s just see how the night goes. Anyway, while I’m doing that, I don’t want to hear any distractions. That means keep the volume down,no horsing around, and please; don’t set off fireworks in my house. I’m talking to you Steve.”


I gave Steve an extra long glare and then I calmly muttered “I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning. Around like 7 or something...” and then I closed the door. And I knew that sometime during the night, I would be interrupted. I just didn’t know how. So I sat down, turned on Netflix and got to chugging the Cola cola. And now I am going to switch points of view. This is how Dougman, Angry Steve, and Jumbo Jim explained to me what happened that evening. And they began the story right after I closed the door.


So Dougman spoke first. “Alright, what are we gonna do tonight?” He asked.


“Well, we can’t do anything that’ll distract Red. So what else can we do?” Angry Steve asked.


Jumbo Jim opened up the closet door and peered in. “How about we play a board game? We normally do that on nights like this when Red isn’t with us.” He said.


“Hey, if we’re playing Shoots and Ladders, I wannabe the battleship this time.” Angry Steve said.


“Steve, that’s the wrong game, first off. Secondly, we’re not playing any board games. Why don’t we just see what’s on TV?” Dougman pointed out. He turned the TV on and began flipping through channels. The first couple of channels were just static. Then he flipped to a channel that was just some old chinese guy sitting in a chair and speaking mandarin.


“Dude, change the channel. I’ve seen this episode before.” Angry Steve said.


“I don’t get it. What show is this?” Dougman asked.


“Haven’t you seen this before, man? This is Uncle Ming’s House! I watched this all the time when I was a kid.” Angry Steve said. Suddenly the old Chinese guy in the chair took out a fork and began to stab himself violently in the leg. Dougman immediately hit the channel changing button on the remote. He kept flipping through static channels until he came to a channel that was just a fire in a fireplace. It’s more or less a novelty channel; you’re supposed to have it on during Christmas time to set the atmosphere, but they run it locally all year so it’s on all the time.


“Ah, it’s getting hot in here! I’m gonna go open a window.” Jumbo Jim said.


“Dude, it’s just a channel. It’s not a real fire.” Dougman pointed out. Jumbo Jim still went to open the window though.


“Man, this show always reminds me of my pet hamster, Fred. One time I was bored and I set him on fire. It was pretty hysterical until he died. Then it was pretty sad.” Angry Steve said. Dougman hit the channel changer again and flipped through channels until he found one that was three guys having a pillow fight. “It’s time for: Hardcore Full On Fraternity Pillow Boxing!” said the voice over. Dougman and Steve watched as some guy swung a pillow around, smack another guy in the face, and several of his teeth flew out and bounced across an Arcade Fire Poster hanging in the room.


“Man, I hate these college Board/wrestling shows. They’re always too real/fake.” Dougman said.


Jumbo Jim opened up the window and looked out. “Guys...someone just pulled into our driveway.” He pointed out.


“It’s probably Red. He usually comes home around this time anyway.” Angry Steve said. This caught Dougman’s attention. He took a moment to think.


“Uh...Steve...Red already came home...he’s in his room right now. So who just pulled up?” He asked.


“Guys, there’s a bunch of them. And they’re packing heat.” Jumbo Jim said. Angry Steve and Dougman both glanced over their shoulder at the window. They could see the eerily bright white light pouring in through the window and the sounds of several people muttering angrily and walking across the grass.


“Who the snap is that?” Dougman asked.


“Maybe it’s some girl scouts.” Angry Steve suggested.


A brick flew in through the window and hit a vase across the room which shattered. “Hey, get out here! We got something we wanna talk about with you guys!” And angry, adult male voice shouted.


“That’s definitely not girl scouts. We better go see what the Bell they want.” Dougman said, pushing himself up off the couch. Angry Steve nodded and got up to follow him to the door. Jumbo Jim first shut the window to keep the insects out, and then made his way to the door.


Once outside in my front yard, they realize who was there. Standing there was a group of men from uptown who run in a gang known as the “Eastside Butterflies.” Now, here are a few things about them; for one thing, they aren’t very well known. They’re just your common street thugs who hang out around the East Side tavern. But they think they’re all that, so they like to go around and mess with people.


Another thing is the ethnicity issue. I am going to go ahead and say this; the Eastside Butterflies are not segregated in any way. They allow members from all races, ethnicities, and colors to join. However, in reality, it’s mostly just black guys. That’s just how it turned out. Now there’s one white guy, and I heard somewhere that he’s from South Africa, so that probably makes him more african than the all the african americans in his gang. But anyway, that’s a little about them.


So they parked one car in my driveway behind my car and one on the street. There were like 8 or so dudes, packing pistols in their belts. The leader, some guy named Cinnamon Smack, was standing with his head held high right in the middle of the group. He spoke first. “So I heard ya’ll tried to pull off a bank heist, huh? Too bad you guys barely made it past the front door!” He said.


He began to laugh loudly and obnoxiously, clapping around while he glanced back at his bros who were also clapping and laughing. Dougman shook his head angrily. “What are you guys doing here? Do you want directions or something?” Dougman asked.


“Naw bro, we just heard about how you guys totally failed robbing a freaking bank. The News got the security footage and we saw it all on the 5 O’Clock News. You fools done messed up like a white-backed cracker skater trying to ride a half pipe and landing flat on his hairy buttcheeks.” Said Smack.


“Yeah, you, the one with the Polo. Ain’t you done been shot by an old guy? Boy, that’s some silly shaving cream right there.” one guy in the back said. They all started laughing again, clapping and looking over at each other.


Jumbo Jim stepped up for Dougman’s defense. “Dude, you guys need to lay off Dougman. He’s a cool guy. He also knows his ABCs. That’s more than I can say for myself.” Jumbo Jim said.


‘Yo, hayseed! Why don’t you go back to Louisiana and make out with your sister!?” Another prick in the back said. They all went “oooh!” And put their hands in the air, waving them like they just didn't care.


“But...I’m from Georgia....and I don’t have a sister...” Jumbo Jim said.


Angry Steve saw that both of his bros were in trouble, so he got up in front to defend them. “Hey, you black backed sons of witches, you best not be slapping my home boys like that. I’m gonna go to my car and pop the trunk on yo flat black booties! Ya hear me!? I’m Angry Steve! Nobody messes with Angry Steve!” He shouted, jumping up and down and waving his hands.


The gang was silent for a moment. Then one guy said “Hey, ain’t that the one guy who in fifth grade ate all those crayons and threw up a rainbow?”


“Oh yeah, I remember that. That was funny as Bell....” Another guy said. They all started laughing again. Angry Steve’s face grew red with...well, what else? Anger. He hated it when people brought up his dark past. So he immediately went straight for my car, because Steve doesn’t actually own a car, but he knew that the Eastside Butterflies didn’t know that. So he went back and stood next to the Trunk so that they could see him.


“Yo, check it out, meat sacks, I’m right next to my trunk. And I’m about to pop it open and give ya’ll something to think about when you wake up next week in the hospital with no face!” He shouted.


The Eastside Butterflies stopped chuckling and began to step backwards, holding their hands up in defense. “Whoa dude, chill man...” Smack said. Everybody behind him made agreement sounds.


“Dude, should we stop him or something?” Jumbo Jim asked.


“Naw, I doubt there’s anything in that trunk at all. But the Butterflies don’t know that.” Dougman pointed out.


“Yep, ya’ll done messed up. Now it’s time for you to get yours. That’s right; real thug. All day. Everyday. Wake up, go to work, drink paint thinner, pass out, wake up, find out where you are, hitch-hike, get back home, apologize to your wife. I just described my last honeymoon, bo-oys! Now I’m gonna do to you what my wife did to me!” Angry Steve chanted.


So, he opens up the trunk and looks inside. And you can read from the expression on his face that he was surprised at what he saw. So surprised that he kinda just stood there for a moment, staring at whatever was in the trunk. The Thugs were all psyched out. They were wondering what he was staring at for so long. Dougman and Jumbo Jim were a bit confused too.


“Steve...hey, Steve...what the problem, man?” Dougman whispered.


Steve glanced over and sorta whisper-shouted back to him. “Dude, it’s a bloody crowbar man! What’s a bloody crowbar doing in the back of Red’s car!?”


“Well, we are criminals for a living. I assume that it has something to do with his recent job.” Dougman said.


Cinnamon Smack was getting a bit concerned. He stepped up and retained his defiant, powerful stature. “Yo, cuz. What’s in the Trunk, man?” he asked.


Steve glanced back. “Oh, uh, nothing. Don’t worry about it...” he said, shutting the trunk.


Dougman whispered-shouted over to Steve. “What are you doing, man? Why were you popping the trunk in the first place?”


“I was just trying to scare them into leaving, man! I didn’t actually expect something to be in the trunk...” Steve whispered back.


“Dude, I wanna know what’s in that trunk now. Nelson, go check it out.” Cinnamon Smack said to the only white guy on his team. So he stepped up and began walking towards Steve. Steve put up his hands in defense and tried to keep him back.


“Bro, don’t go near that trunk man...seriously...” but as the white guy got close, Steve caught a whiff of the smell of Nelson’s dreadlocks, and they smelled vaguely of maple syrup and throw up; Angry Steve’s two least favorite smells. He coughed, covered his nose, and evaded Nelson and his smelly dreadlocks. Nelson popped the trunk and glanced in.


“Yo, Smack!!” He shouted.


“What up, cuz?” Cinnamon Smack asked. “Dude, there's a crowbar in here!” He said. Everybody in the gang gasped. He reached in, wiped off a bit of blood onto his finger, and tasted it. “It’s covered in blood!” He shouted back.


“Holy crap! These guys are crazy! We’re in danger!” Smack shouted. Everybody began to panic. Dougman could tell that this was very bad, so he stepped up to try and calm them down.


“No, we aren’t! I swear! That’s Red’s crowbar, not ours!” He shouted. It didn’t work though. The situation had already escalated past passive.


“Ya’ll, we need to ice these cuckoos. Take cover behind the cars!” Cinnamon Smack shouted. His bros all ran with him to the car. Smack slid over the hood and landed behind it, taking cover. He jumped up, pulled out his pistol, and took a few shots at Dougman, Jim, and Steve. They ducked and covered their heads, suddenly struck by the seriousness of the situation. The other Thugs took cover behind the car and pulled out their pistols. Steve ran and dove in front of my parked car, taking cover. Dougman and Jumbo Jim went and ran back inside, slamming the door just as the gang began shooting.


Now, I was in my room watching anime at the time. And for the most part, I didn’t seem to notice anything going on outside. I was on the couch right next to my bed, watching a scene from a particular anime that was really dramatic on the TV that sat on my dresser. I was so entrenched it in, in fact, that when I heard the first three gunshots made by Cinnamon Smack, I didn’t notice right away.


But then there was a sudden explosion of gunfire outside. One stray bullet shattered my window and then my TV. Right then and there. So one second I’m watching this really dramatic, heartfelt, romantic scene where the handsome, brave male protagonist and the equally brave, beautiful female deuteragonist are leaning in to kiss and the next, the TV just shatters like my broken heart and falls apart. And needless to say, I was pissed.


My head shot around to the window, eyes inflamed with anger. It was then that I saw the car parked outside on the street and muzzle flashes of the guys shooting at us. “Dang it, it’s the Butterflies. Well, they’re in for a world of hurtin...” I said to myself. So I ducked and quickly made my way over to my closet. I flipped it open and stepped inside where there was a four drawer dresser next to a rack of coats.


I opened up the first dresser and found a bunch of red socks. I opened up the second dresser and found my underwear. I opened up the third dresser and found a bunch of woman’s underwear. I can explain. I make Roger go out and buy my underwear, and I’ve told him repeatedly to buy male underwear but for some reason he keeps buying female underwear. And I don’t know what to do with it. If I throw it away, the raccoons who raid my trashcan are going to find it and think I’m a creep, but at the same time I can’t just give them to any women I know as a gift. That would be weird. And it feels like a waste of money to burn them, so I just keep them in a drawer.


But that’s not the point. The point is I had no use for them. So the first, second, and third drawers contained clothing. I opened up the bottom drawer and found a loaded shotgun. Bingo. I picked it up, shut off the safety, and made my way back to the window. “You wanna piece of me?! This is my house! This is my castle, home-dogs! Get ready for some greek fire!” I shouted, establishing my presence in this particular fight.


I pointed my gun out the window and fired off some random shots. Then I took cover back inside to avoid getting shot. The Thugs shot up my car, shattering the windshield, which caused the little bits and pieces of glass to slide down the hood and fall onto the shivering Steve who was curled up in a ball for protection. Dougman was in the kitchen, desperately searching the cabinets for a weapon I might have hidden and Jumbo Jim had locked himself in the bathroom.


“Ya’ll punks gonna get served today!” Cinnamon Smack shouted in between shots.


“Kiss my grits!” I shout back, firing a few shots out the window again.


Now, I don’t know how long that battle would have lasted. Probably not long considering that those few shots were the last I had. But just then, in the heat of battle, there was a sudden light in the distance. And as they got closer, it turned out to be several people driving motorcycles down the street towards the Butterflies. 9 or so tough looking, seasoned thugs wearing pitch black, shiny leather vests riding Harley Davidson Valhallan Chariots. The majority of them were dudes, but there was one woman in the gang, and she was leading the charge.


I glanced out the window just in time to see them coming. That’s when I saw her face. I knew instantly who it was, which is strange because I had never seen her face before. She and her gang of motorcycle maniacs usually drove so fast they were just a blur. But they were riding just fast enough down the road that we could see them clearly. As they approached, she smiled and lifted up an empty beer bottle. All the guys behind her held up individual bottles like they were torches.


The Eastside Butterflies didn’t realize what was approaching them from their left flank until it was too late. Many of them glanced over to see that driving towards them were a gang of fast moving road hogs. But as the gang passed right by, they each threw a bottle a different thug. Each individual bottle shattered across the foreheads of the thugs like my television screen, and before you could say “ouch! That looks like it hurt!” the gang was gone; disappeared down the road.


The thugs dropped their guns and collapsed to the ground; suffering from the concession given to them by the glass bottles. Even Cinnamon Smack fell too, dropping his favorite pistol on the cold asphalt road. After that, there was silence.


Angry Steve peeked over the hood. “Yo...I think they’re out for the count!”


Dougman stepped out of the house, examining the damage. He saw several bodies littering the road along with two shot up cars and several shattered windows on the side of my house. “Wow...how did that happen? Who beat those guys down?” He asked.


Angry Steve jumped up. “Dude, you should have seen it! It was that deranged motorcycle gang! You know that one that’s run by that crazy chick? What’s her name?” He asked.


I stepped out of the house beside Dougman, effectively making me part of the conversation. “That crazy chick...was none other than No-Face Lacey.” I said.


“Ah, I’ve heard about her. They say she drives her motorcycle so fast that her face is just a blur and that’s why the cops can’t catch her. What was she doing in the neighborhood? Shouldn’t she be like on a long stretch of road or something?” Dougman said.


“I don’t know. Maybe tonight Lacey and her gang felt like riding around town. But she definitely did a number on Cinnamon Smack and his gang of thuggish pricks.” I said.


“Should we...call an ambulance or something? These guys might have concussions...” Angry Steve pointed out.


“Naw, I don’t want the cops to show up and ask why there are 6 to 8 black men and 1 white guy knocked out in my yard in front of my house which has been coated in a fine layer of bullet holes. Let’s just pick them up, carry them down the street, and let them roll down the sloped concrete walls of the canal into that shallow run-off stream at the bottom. You know what I’m talking about, right?” I asked.


“Ooh! Let me get my video camera.” Angry Steve said before disappearing into the house.


“Hmm...I dunno. I’m not sure that I’m in the mood to pick up a bunch of thugs and carry them...anywhere really. Maybe Jumbo Jim could do all the work....” Dougman said. I wasn’t really listening to him though. I was too busy thinking. One of the things I should be looking out for is people who would make good additions to our team. And of all the people I know, the most hardcore person that came to mind what No-Face Lacey, and I didn’t even really know her. I just knew her name, and her face at this point. If only I could convince her to join us on our team, that would be awesome. But only time would tell whether or not that would actually happen. Especially considering that I noticed she was pretty when I got a split second look at her face, and I have trouble talking to pretty girls sometimes.






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