"Order up... where are those fries?" Corey's obese manager said before looking down at her. Corey pulled her glove back to wipe the sweat from her brow, before fixing the hairnet holding back her shoulder length locks of raven colored hair. "Just put them in." Corey responded, distantly. She felt her managers disgusted look, even though she didn't turn to see it. "You gotta be fast to work in fast food, sweetie. It's not called slow food. You're never going to get anywhere in life, going slow." The manager said. Corey could feel the indignation in his voice as he passed down his judgment upon her.
She glanced at Alex, the pretty blonde pretending to work as she fidgeted in the kitchen. The manager rarely called Alex out on her work ethics, and she was far worse at her job then she was. She turned back to her manager and nodded in faux agreement, looking down at his shiny chin. "Sorry, I'm trying my best..." She said. The manager nodded, giving her his mock sympathy. She was just a lowly employee after all, its not like he should expect the levels of excellence he's put as the standard around here, right?
She turned to watch Alex out of the corner of her eyes, as she began chopping onions. In a way she was impressed at the way Alex could wrap the fat man around her little finger with a wink and a smile, well Corey hoped that was all she did. She didn't really want to think about any after work activities the manager might have had in mind for her and Alex, so she pushed such ideas out of her head.
She decided to help while she waited for the fries to be done, sliding next to Alex and her pile of onions. When she reached for the knife with a little heart sticker on it, Alex slammed her fingers across the handle before shooting her a dangerous look. "That one is mine." Alex said. Corey blinked and nodded, averting her eyes and reaching out for a different knife. Alex always had a scary streak in her, Corey knew that from the time they served together, in the war.
The war... little good that did anyone. If anything it only slowed things down a bit, so the Russians could conquer them from within, slowly, while the politicians turned their heads and opened their palms. Corey muttered something under her breath, she was starting to sound like Mark. The big guy was easy going enough, until you got him talking about the Russians or politics... then you couldn't shut him up.
Corey cleared her head in time to realize the fries should be done by now. She prepared the meal and bagged it quickly, or as quickly as she could, with her mind fantasizing about being elsewhere. She walked to the front counter and called out "Number seven?"
The frustrated yuppy who had been waiting, snatched the bag from her hand before throwing down a ten dollar bill. "Took you long enough." He muttered before walking off, leaving his change. Corey pocketed the remaining money, before continuing to work... or rather, she wiped the counter absent-mindedly, as she continued to day dream. Her hard work was interrupted when the yuppy returned.
The familiar look of annoyance on his face turned Corey's stomach. He threw the bag down on the counter and spoke in a calm voice. "I specifically asked... no onions." Corey winced, she had added it at the last minute while she was pretending she was anywhere then here. She snatched up the bag of food and nodded, keeping her eyes down on his tie. "Sorry, I'll take care of it right away..." The yuppy gave a condescending look. "I'm sure you will..."
Corey picked off the onions from the burger, then stared at the naked patty before her. She wadded the mucus in the back of her throat, and hovered above it for several moments. Eventually though, she swallowed her mouth full of spit, and placed the bun back on top of the patty, wrapping it back up and shoving it in the bag. She caught a glimpse of Alex out of the corner of her eyes, and realizing she was watching her the entire time. The look in Alex's eyes said it all. "Pathetic."
Corey shoved her hands in her pockets, as she followed Alex out the door of the restaurant. Another day, another dollar, as they say. She walked aimlessly in the general direction of the bus stop, her mind was occupied with the activities she had been planning for tonight. Her body tensed as a familiar, but unwelcome voice behind her woke her from her mindless walking. "Hey Corey, long time no see." She turned her head and confirmed, it was who she thought it was.
Tony... the large, belligerent, roid head, approached her from behind. His bare biceps bulged from his tight t-shirt, barely able to contain the vein filled muscles underneath. If it wasnt for the scar on his face, his predatory eyes, and his shaven head, Corey might have found the well sculpted man attractive... if she hadn't already gotten to know him that is.
Another "hero" of the war, now an unemployed thug, living off welfare and food stamps. He was related to a local crime family, before the Russian's moved in. The Italians and the Irish never stood a chance, as if the treaty signed by the American politicians was a green light for the Russian mob to take over all of organized crime in this country. Any relation to former criminal connection, were better left forgotten, or at the bottom of Tampa Bay, with the rest of the wise guys who didn't take the hint.
Tony never did anything to Corey personally, but his primitive demeanor had convinced her to keep a safe distance from him. A sickening smile spread across his lips, as his brownish orange eyes followed the curves of her body up and down. "Looking fucking good, better then you did in combat boots anyway. Waitressing suits you." He said with an antagonizing smirk on his face.
Oh yea, now she remembered. She kept her distance, because he was a degenerate with a constant "hard case" attitude, who didn't give a damn what anyone else thought. If Corey was more empathetic, she might sympathize with Tony. After all, someone who made a constant effort to keep people at arms length, was probably afraid of letting themselves get hurt. Of course, Corey wasn't very empathetic.
Tony frowned, and looked down the street, looking for the bus. He looked back to her, annoyed, and she realized she failed to answer him. She gave him a cool, indifferent look, before responding. "Thanks..." Tony jammed his thumbs, through his belt loops and narrowed his brow. He got the hint.
Corey was oddly pleased with herself, that she managed to upset the big bully with a single word and an icy stare. Perhaps this was how her hero felt, when staring down a man twice his size, letting him know he was the one who stood no chance. Tony scowled, and spit at her feat. "Oops" She forgot to break eye contact, before fantasizing, and had been staring at him, dead eyed, for nearly a minute. Tony cast her a hostile look before going back on his way to nowhere. Corey smiled to herself as she watched him walk away. "I bet that's exactly what it felt like." She whispered under her breath.
Corey opened the door to her small, cluttered apartment. "Home sweet home." She muttered to herself, throwing her jacket over the back of her couch. She pulled off her damp, work shirt next, tossing it on the floor on her way to the bathroom. The lukewarm shower helped melt the hot, sticky day away. The thoughts of it being replaced by an equally soul rending one in a few hours, slowly began to creep into her mind.
She worried the package would be late, that tonight would be just as any other night, pizza delivery and a full night of bad TV. She turned the water off and dried herself, before heading to her bedroom to change. Corey slipped on a purple sports bra and orange jogging pants, before turning from her closet.
She smiled as she looked at wall in front of her. No longer a simple wall, Corey had transformed it into a work of art. News clippings, hand drawn pictures, photographs, all taped to the wall with pain staking care and detail. She walks over to her wall and stroked one of the articles. "Miami Maniac" the headline read. She dragged her fingers over another headline. "Miami Animal." "The Midnight Animal." It seemed like every news branch had a different name for the man. The man who became legend.
She ran her fingers affectionately over an obscure name a tabloid had given him. While not very creative, it was by far her favorite. "Jacket" She knew the reason behind the name was a silly one. It was his letterman jacket, that distinguished him from the other 50 Blessings killers. Well... as far as the tabloid writer was concerned. Jacket would prove to them all, that was more to him then just a mask or an article of clothing. Even after she had learned of his true identity, he would always be "Jacket" to her, as evident with any mention to his real name, had been met by angry scribbles from her censoring pen.
She looked to the news clipping of a headline article, a picture of Jacket himself being lead in handcuffs by police in his letterman Jacket, his hands taped up and covered in blood. It was not just any blood either, it was Russian blood. Corey looked up at the small blurry picture with reverence. Just to the right of it, a small clipping reads "Estimated 400 Russian mobsters slain."
Four hundred... to think, she had served in the same unit as the man... though she would be the first to admit they were never very close. She grimaced. Truth be told, she barely spoke more then few words to the man. The only thing she truly remembered saying to him was "No I don't have any smokes, sorry."
She blushed, as she glanced at the large photograph, taped to the wall amongst the rest of the exhibit. It was a picture of her and her and her unit from the war. She had taken some creative liberties with the photo, taping it so it was folded, so she and Jacket were standing side by side. "Sorry Mark..." In actuality it was Mark who was standing next to her in the photo, his big mitt of a hand clamped over her shoulder. She bit her bottom lip and imagined it was him touching her, tightly holding her against his side. She smiled bitterly. "Keep dreaming Corey..." She doubted he'd find anything interesting about her. She was nothing special, at least not yet.
She studied the wall before her, trying to absorb whatever it was about the man that made him so special. Newspaper headlines showing the wild tenaciousness his attacks that were still evident even after the police had the bodies bagged and tagged. It showed that he was a man of primal passion.
She wondered how if it was possible she could have missed it during the war. How she couldnt see the burning animal, barely contained, behind his cool, relaxed gaze. Or maybe, she simply never looked. "You can relate to that, can't you Corey?" She glanced at a courtroom artists, rendition of Jacket in the courtroom she had pinned up. He was holding some green sphere in his fingertips, as he looked straight ahead, his face calm, almost gentle. She wondered if it was similar to the distant, detached look that must have been on her own face, as she bled her life away, day by day, at that dead end job. She hoped so... That the unrelenting mediocrity had been brewing something inside of her for a awhile now. Something remarkable.
A knock on the door startled her, and she grabbed the baseball bat leaning in the corner of the her room just in case. She bolted to the front door and checked the peep hole. A delivery man, holding what looked to be... a brown cardboard box! She grinned. This was a far better sight then a group of gang bangers or junkies waiting outside her door.
She unlocked the door and threw it aside, quickly taking the box, then awkwardly holding it with one hand to sign for it with the other. Being nearly ambidextrous, she had only a little trouble signing her name neatly with her right hand. She closed and re locking the door before bringing the box to the table in front of the couch. She could barely contain herself as she tore the box open, sending its packaging every which way, before she held the rubber treasure in her hands.
She held her breath, as she raised the rubber mask from its sifting bed of Styrofoam peanuts. A rubber zebra mask she had ordered from a costume shop in New York. It was more beautiful then she could have imagined. She finally let out a breath as she turned and examined her treasure from every angle. She held the mask upside down, and lowered her face into the opening. She recoiled in disgust before giggling. The strong smell of rubber and chemicals was wretched, but she was sure it would air out. Perhaps, she would learn to love the smell?
She stood in front of the standing mirror in her room, bat in one hand, mask in the other. She stared at herself. She wasn't sure what to expect or even how to begin. Finally, she slid the mask over her head. Her vision was instantly obstructed. "Ill have to open these eye holes a bit." She said to herself, readjusting the mask on her face.
She stopped, when she realized she was looking at herself, with the mask on in the mirror, for the first time. She stood straight, and swung the bat over her shoulder, feeling confident, as she leaned foreword menacingly. She smiled under the mask, maybe it was the chemicals in this mask going to her head, but she swore, it made her feel somehow powerful and free.
She brought the head of the bat down against her palm, making a satisfying slapping sensation. She gripped the bat aggressively, and twisted her wrists, before tapping the bat against her open palm, a warning to anyone who would dare mess with her. She let the bat drop so it hung loosely from her hand, so the large end rested on the floor in front of her foot. She placed her right hand behind the back of her masked head and attempted a sexy pose. She giggled, feeling equal parts idiotic, and empowered. Corey didn't have a terrible body, she was in better shape then most, taller at least... but she would need some kind of transformation before she could consider herself anything other then ordinary.
Transformation... Jacket went through such a change so he could kill hundreds of people. Something no mere human could accomplish. Killing during times of war or under the command of some gang boss was one thing... but to go into a building unarmed, using only your bare hands and the weapons of your enemies... it was nothing short of spectacular.
She had killed during the war, but it wasn't anything like she saw on TV. She fired from her gun, at shapes, at movement, at figures in the distance. When the smoke had cleared and the deafening noises stopped, they counted the dead, and told her she killed these two here, or these three there. It was nothing as intimate as one of Jacket's kills. Only once, did she encounter the enemy, "Up close and personal" It used to fill her with anxiety just thinking about it. She tried to block the memory entirely and buried it deep in her mind, but that was before. Before Jacket had opened her eyes. Now, she could recall the incident as if it had happened yesterday.
When she was sent to check a warehouse for signs of traps or ambushes, a young Russian soldiers jumped her, knife in hand. He was fast and came from the side, but Corey surprised herself. She brought the barrel of her rifle across the young man's forehead and dropped him to the ground. She slammed the stock of her rifle against the Russian youth's head again and again, stopping only when the young man's blood had splashed up on her jacket, and the fire burning in her heart began to subside. Whether the burning sensation was fear or excitement, she could not answer to herself, not at the time. Now, she liked to think it was a mixture of the two.
The blood was so very red, more vibrant then any other color she had seen before. She was no stranger to blood, even before the war she had seen drive-bys, witnessed mugging turned murders, but it was nothing compared to the body at her feet, to the blood on her clothing, on her hands, and in her hair. So red. She imagined blood was only this color, when you had spilled it with your own two hands. She never saw red that brilliant again. Perhaps, that all would change soon. Perhaps, she would see that color red again.