CHAPTER TWO: Kick-Ass Returns
It's nice to hang with your buddies.
As much as I hate to admit it, I had become one of those whipped sort of dudes who does everything with his girlfriend as of late. The last time I had really done something with Marty and Todd was when we tried Four Locos over the Christmas break. It was a great experience beyond waking up in a ditch by the turnpike. At least I didn't have to explain why my clothes had disappeared that time. Still, it was cool when Katie would let me have lunch with the boys. It almost made me nostalgic for the days when I was sad, single and lonely.
"So Dave, we need you to settle this for us," Marty finished explaining. I had been daydreaming and waxing so poetic about my friends that I had completely missed what they were talking about.
"Settle what, again?" I asked. Marty and Todd gave each other a glance like they were living in a Judd Apatow comedy.
"Just who do you think is hotter: Black Cat or Catwoman?" Todd asked in a demanding voice that suggested a sense of urgency to this query.
"Ummm, I don't know," I said, looking for the words. "I mean I like the silvery white hair thing on one and—," their blank stares duly notified me that I was blowing it. "Y'know they're just two dimensional drawings on paper, right?"
"You were a lot more fun when you were gay, Dave," Marty deadpanned.
"Like way more fun. I wish you never went back into the closet," Todd said with the assist.
"C'mon guys, I'm trying, but after a while superheroes just seem less super-y is all I'm saying."
"Hey dad," Marty said, mimicking a South Park voice. "Dave Lizewski won't come out of my closet!"
"Wait just a second," I pleaded.
"Mr. Lizewski, you come out of that closet right this instance," yelled an overly excited Todd.
"Fine, I'll wait." I folded my arms in resignation.
"Seriously Dave, I get you wanting to go balls deep, but why'd you leave 'em in there?" smirked Marty.
"Because they're gone," Todd agreed. "It's like talking to a eunuch."
"We're done," I said in an even voice. They can bust my balls all they want, but when I see Marty bring Katie into it, just so he can hate on Erika by proxy, I am done. We made eye contact for a half a second and then he dropped his gaze. Point taken.
"I know what you need," Marty said with enough enthusiasm to change the subject. "You need to come with us to the reopening of Atomic Comics!" I looked at both him and Todd. Have I really been this far out of the loop that I didn't realize our store was coming back?
"Atomic Comics? I thought that closed half a year ago," I mumbled.
"Yeah, they did," piped in Todd. "But remember that sketch ass Chris D'Amico kid? He came back to New York and his first business interest is to buy a dying comic book store! It opened this morning."
"Once a geek always a geek, right Dave?" Marty said. My head was spinning. Red Mist was back and he owned my store? Fuck that noise.
"Look, I'd love to come to the opening with you but I already scheduled this thing for after school."
"Oh great," mocked Marty in a nasally voice, "He's got a date to get physical with Katie." I rolled my eyes. I had a date of sorts, with a mildly psychopathic pixie who was going to beat the shit out of me in a dilapidated dojo in hopes that one day I can actually kick ass in a fight. Besides, fuck Chris D'Amico.
"Look guys—rain check," I said and left it at that.
During a hideously boring Spanish class where I was learning how to say I have to take a dump in your restaurant, my phone buzzed and I asked to be excused. It was Mindy.
"So, your sure you can't meet for a training session today," I asked/begged.
"I told you already Dave, Marcus found out. I don't know when our next training session will be," Mindy patiently explained again to me, as if she was talking to Forrest Gump.
Mindy walked me through how Marcus was waiting for her to return last night. He had found her secret stash of guns that could probably arm a small-to-medium sized army. "Props for getting an AK-47 into a teddy bear, by the way" he said, appraising her ingenuity. Unfortunately, this meant it was less likely she would be able to train me into a real badass.
"Is Marcus there?" I asked.
"He's standing over me right now as he figures out how I got a fully assembled M-16 into a pillow case." I groaned to myself.
"Well, I'll….I'll see you around, Mindy."
"See you, Dave." I could have sworn that I heard a touch of sadness and regret in her voice.
I sighed and stared at the door leading back to Spanish boredom. I flipped the cell phone open and texted Marty. "Coming 2 Comix Store."
When the door opened, it became abundantly clear that Chris had changed the décor of the place. Everywhere we looked there were posters of Red Mist. The fact that nobody there put together the images of him and the owner greeting people at the register vindicated the Clark Kent glasses thing for me. Even the coffee bar was now red and black with the words above it: MISTY COFFEE BAR. I was ready to go immediately. Yet, it was cool to be around all these comics again.
"Welcome to the new and improved Atomic Comics," beamed a happy Chris D'Amico.
"Let's go say hi to him," urged Todd. I resisted as Marty pushed me to the counter with the cash register.
Chris was standing there in a smart suit—black design, black shoes, black shirt and an orange tie that featured black trim. A little too nice for a comic book shop, but about right for a mobster's son. We shook hands as I resisted puking.
"You've really done something with the place," I said.
"Thank you," Chris said in his high-pitched, pre-pubescent voice that indicated his desperate need for reaffirmation of not being completely worthless was still there.
"So, what made you decide to go into the comic biz? I keep hearing print is dead," I said. I glanced over at the disapproving stares I was getting from Marty and Todd.
"Sometimes, it's not about the money," Chris said. "It's about doing what you love. And like you, I love me some comic books." I gave a quarter of a nod. "For example, whose you favorite superhero?"
"Spider-Man," I managed to mutter out.
"Yeah, me too. I love Spidey," said Chris. "But it is also about the character of Peter Parker. What makes him a great protagonist is his supporting cast and with the right writers it can approach literary levels." I raised my eyebrows to that assertion. "Seriously, there is something Greek about the curse of villainy Norman Osborn passes on to his son, Harry. Harry loves Pete, but he has to fulfill his destiny and complete the sins of his father. It's great stuff." You know, if Chris hadn't tried to kill me and helped murder Big Daddy, I think I'd like the kid. Even now in our civvies talking as two geeks (only one of whom knows of our alter-egos), he's an affable bastard.
"You try our Misty Coffee Bar?" he asked us.
"No," said Todd, "But it looks great."
"What you recommend, a mocha frappuccino?" I said as half-a-joke.
"No, man. Cappuccino is where it's at, you should—," Chris started to say. He was interrupted when we heard gunshots from across the street. Some poor asshole had just been capped in the leg and three thugs were wailing on him. From out the window they looked like strung out junkies in ripped jeans and hoodies. One had a gun while the others were using their coked up hands and feet as weapons.
"Oh shit," squeaked Marty. "What do we do?"
"Quick let's get out the back door, it leads to an alley the other side," Chris said. "You know it, right?" We nodded as the three of us, plus Cappuccino Mike from behind the other counter, slinked out. As we rounded the corner, I stopped.
"Hey guys, y'all keep going, I'm headed this way." Marty and Todd stared at me blankly. "That kid could die. I gotta' call 911."
"Use your phone, dipshit," shouted Marty.
"Battery's dead, but there's a payphone this way," I yelled back as I ran down a different alley. In truth I had no idea if there was a pay phone down here or not because it's not the fucking '80s. What I did know was that that kid could die and if ever there was an opportunity to try out Mindy's new moves, this was it. Call it ego, boredom with daily life, narcissism or a naive sense of altruism, but it felt so good to put on the green and yellow again. Kick-Ass is back and it's time to do some good.
I rounded the corner and saw the guy on the ground was unconscious, but his attackers were too high or too stupid to care. They were still going.
"Hey assholes," I yelled in my most heroic voice. "Stop this bullshit right now and you'll leave in one piece." They looked at me for a moment.
"Is that that Kick-Ass kid?" said Thug A.
"I thought he retired," said confused Thug B.
"Well now he's gonna' fucking die," said Thug C who was pulling his knife.
As the third thug was finishing his thought, I had run up to him with my green batons out. I smashed one against his wrist and heard the joint crack from the blow. He dropped the knife as I spun around and landed the other baton in his neck. As he fell to his knees gasping for air I pivoted to my left, managing to dodge a haymaker Thug B had telegraphed in from Nebraska. I smashed the green stick across his nose and watched as the blood spurted out from his face. At this time I noticed the first thug was reloading his gun behind me. I gave him a rear donkey kick in the balls without turning around (I never said I fight clean). I then raised the baton up and smashed it across the skull of the kneeling third junkie who was still gasping for air and holding his throat, suggesting I shattered his windpipe. I looked to my right in time to see Thug B about to come at me one last time. I shoved my baton so far down his throat it tore teeth out of his gum line when I pulled it back out. I don't care what Freud would have made of that, because it felt so damn good.
"Holy shit," I said looking at the two now-crippled schmucks at my feet. "Hit-Girl has turned me into a monster!" Just then I felt a painful smash against the back of my skull and I fell to my feet. It turns out that I forgot about Thug A and he had just pistol-whipped me like it was a game of Call of Duty. I looked up and saw a blurry image of a pussy cradling his balls and holding a gun.
"Eat shit and die," he said. Just at that moment a large, metal pipe crashed against the backside of his skull. The junkie's blood splashed around in a six ft. radius. I'm pretty sure I saw bone and brain fragments as well. As he collapsed, in a way that hinted he might never rise again, I saw a tall, muscular and totally imposing black guy in a red and white body suit. He even had cool orange-tinted sunglasses to complete his mask.
"Doctor Gravity at your service, Kick-Ass" he said, offering his hand. He pulled me up and we met eye to eye. This was a totally awesome team-up.