Being BaldBil

A little something I put together some time back. You can decide for yourself how much of it is real or not.

A NIGHTS WORK ON WEST STREET

The night was cold and the sky was dark and clear. My breath rose visibly into the night sky. Walking slowly on West Street wearing a cammo jacket, blue jeans and a new pair of corcoran jump boots I felt like there was business to be conducted. In a shoulder holster I carried a Llama .22 caliber semi-automatic pistol with a full clip of stingers and one in the chamber. The safety was off. A Beretta .380 rested snugly in the small of my back. It too was ready to go. In my left sleeve, in a quick -release holster I had made myself was my favorite weapon, a Fairbairn commando dagger.

I was approaching a large park with a ball field. My eyes scanned both sides of the street as I approached the access road that led to the main gate. I had adjusted to the available light, the street lamps were not very good and a few did not work at all. Two characters sat on some steps a few blocks down. They were exactly where I expected them to be. Seemingly aware of me they remained on the steps. Feigning ignorance of their presence I turned onto the access road and strode with purpose to the gate by the backstop. This road was the only quick way out from the back of the park. I stopped to lace a boot when I got close to the gate. With a furtive glance back I verified that my two friends had taken the bait. They were following me in to the park. Like true miscreants, they had intent but no plan. Of that I was sure. My heart rate increased but only for a moment. A few slow deep breaths did the trick. Focusing on the task at hand I entered the park and walked to a bench alongside the third base line. A building behind the bench that created a night shadow. West Street was 350 feet away. Whatever transpired here would be seen by no one. I sat at the far end of the metal bench and waited for their approach.

The minutes passed slowly. I sat with my head down,my hands between my knees. They had stopped at the backstop to discuss things. I had them confused. A white guy, on foot, on West Street at three in the morning. Gringos were always in cars after dark. They would come in from Andover or southern New Hampshire looking for drugs or a blow job. Leaving the car was out of the question. Three or four streets connected West to Broadway which would bring them out of the city in minutes. My two friends chattered loud enough for me to hear smattering of Spanish and English. They began towards me still unsure of the situation. Now I was reeling them in. From the corner of my eye I saw them pass a bottle between each other. Their need for liquid courage only made my job easier. Thank goodness for stupidity. It often made things much easier. I dropped my head further and focused on listening to their footfalls. I relaxed as the moment neared and prepared for what was to come. My right hand quickly touched the sleeve that contained the fairbairn.

Finally they came near. My head remained down but I could see all I needed to see. The distant lights caused them to cast long thin shadows. They came close enough for me to smell the sweat of their long day on the steps. It was a foul pungent mix of evil intent and nervous tension. The taller one stopped right in front of me. He wore a short heavy coat and a dark Yankees cap with a straight brim. The other guy, shorter and stocky had on a pea coat but no hat. He looked to be the more nervous of the two. As I looked them over I offered a smile. It was meant as a warning. Looking directly at the taller one I held the smile and said nothing. He then stepped to my right a bit and then sat on the bench just a few inches from me. I could not have written a better script than what I now was experiencing.

He looked down at me and asked in a belligerent street tone; "What you want man, why you here in the park?" he then took a seat on the bench. "Well" I replied; "I'm here to see you two."

The one on the bench turned to speak as soon as he sat down. As he did I quickly raised my right elbow up to my shoulder while keeping my hand close to my body, palm in, fingers curled in and loose. With a powerful sidewards strike I smashed his left ear and temple. He fell back ind out and whatever sense he possessed evaporated. Rising and rotating to my left I followed through with my forearm right into the face and head of his partner. He had no time to react and absorbed the strike completely. As he fell forward I arrested my forward motion, grabbed both of his shoulders and drove his face into the frozen ground. Straddling his back I

banged his head into the dirt two more times. Staying on him I looked left to his buddy. he lay behind the bench with one leg still resting on the seat. He moaned lowly but did not move.

Standing up I looked around and listened intently. A car drove slowly on West Street, probably looking for my two new found associates. I heard only a dog barking in the distance. The dull illumination of the streetlights provided a surreal background. I lowered myself to one knee, pulled out the knife and grabbed the second shit head by the hair. After driving his head into the ground one more time I turned his head to the left and used the Fairbairn to slice off his earlobe. He did not make a sound but his partner continued his low moaning. He had managed to crawl a small distance but was in condition to do much else.

Waking slowly to the back of the park I jumped the fence onto the railroad tracks that ran behind it. As I went down the tracks the dogs barking became louder and closer. There was a salvage yard next door to the park and the dog was there. I approached the fence and tossed the earlobe into the yard.