The Knockout Game
The old man stood there with tears running down his face, as he watched the funeral director close the casket for the last time. His wife of 50 years was in that box, and he had said his last good byes. The tears that flowed now though, were the tears of anger, an anger so deep he could not express it without destroying everything around him, but he knew suppressing it was going to kill him eventually.
It was not true anger, but a righteous indignation at a system that had released its honest citizens into the clutches of the monsters. It was a deep seated hatred for the paragon's of virtue that stood at the gates of madness. It was something he could no longer express, he had to become one with it, absorb it, become the physical manifestation of an injustice so heinous, that it could not be expressed in mere words. Thus he knew, he had to become justice itself, since justice was no longer blind, but willingly so. Turning its blind eye away from injustice that his world had become.
It began that lazy Monday night when his wife was walking home from the bus stop after a long day at work. She was simply walking the last block to the safety of their home when a horde of black monsters came out of the dark to play a game with her. A gang of black thugs that reveled in their manly animal natures, but displayed the ultimate cowardice of bullies by playing something called The Knockout game, on an old lady walking alone. The thug that 'won' the Game, unknowing and uncaring about her bone problems, just ran up to her, and before she knew what hit her, threw all his weight into The Knockout punch. He won, she was knocked out, permanently. And as he had prepared dinner that night, as a nice surprise, he had heard the monsters yelling as they left the neighborhood. Giving praise to the new Knockout king, and when he looked out the window he saw the rear end of a crowd of 20 or more hoodies, escaping into the dark.
Fear had gripped his heart at that moment and he had known, it was her time to be walking down that lonely unlit street. He had grabbed his cell as he ran out the door, just to be sure...if nothing else, he was going to wait for her at the bus stop... but he never made it to the bus stop He found her, lying there in a beaten broken heap. The thugs had not just knocked her down, but the muddy foot prints on her fancy white shirt, had showed the fullness of their crime. They had knocked her down and kicked and stomped on her, and not just one of them.
He had been afraid to move her, and as he checked her neck for a pulse with one hand while dialing 911 with the other, the tears had started, the scream had come when there was no pulse. His tears of outrage and loss hadn't really stopped until the day of the funeral, when the change came. As he stood there watching the casket be delivered under the grass, as she had been fond of saying, The Plan had come to him like a bolt of lighting, like a message from God, as he felt the Holy Spirit itself impress upon him the need for Justice. He thought he had even heard the words in his ears; "Send them to Me".
The old police detective was pitiful, understanding his loss, and able to offer no comfort as the word had come down from on high to tread lightly. The politicians, the cop had told him, were wetting their pants with fear and didn't want to start a race war in their city. They would investigate, he said. They might even know who the perp was, since these guys had been bragging about their conquests, but he was not going to say they would be able to lock them up. He told him that there were no witnesses outside the gang, and the only evidence they had was circumstantial. The policeman had been sorry for his loss, but as much as said there would probably not be a conviction, and that he should move on with his life.
When he asked the cop if he had any inkling of which group had done this, the cop had replied 'sure, the Crib's up on 3rd st. We have a CI in there, that's a confidential informant, and he says the new Knockout king was given a party and a 'bitch' to celebrate with ... but, just because we know who he is, doesn't mean we can do much about it, we'll haul 'em all in, and they'll be back out on the street in a few hours. I'm sorry, but, that's just the way it is."
'Move on'? the old man thought, laughing to himself as he saw the Light, the spirit was right, there was no justice in this. Even the newspapers had hidden the perpetrators true identity in a cloud of political correctness, a horde of black monsters had become an innocuous 'gang of youths', out for a good time and things just got a little out of hand, that's all. The perps knew, the white's were afraid of them and that did nothing but stoke their hatefulness to new heights. They knew even if they were hauled in, they could get to any witnesses, they could practically turn off any and all investigations by simple methods, and the crackers were powerless to stop them.
That day, standing beside her new grave, he felt the Spirit of God give him his new mission in life, to deliver justice to animals, and an animal system that helped them, enabled them, emboldened them. He had proceeded at that point to go through the motions of paperwork, cashing out all her insurance, his 401k, all nothing but a tool now he thought, a tool of righteousness. Then he began the slow and steady accumulation of the things he would need, as his plan required quite a bit of work. It helped that he liked to hobby around with homemade fireworks, he smiled as he began the process of acquiring the makings of even bigger bangs. Then one day his labor of love was complete, and he sat in his shop looking at her, "you're an ugly bitch" he smiled outloud, as he mentally prepared to go down the road of avenging angel.
He didn't know where it would lead, but he knew it was a road only he could travel as he laid out his target grid on the big map on the wall of his shop. As he drove around for days, taking pictures of houses and leaving little reflective stickers as markers in various places. He tried to be very meticulate in his planning, couldn't have any mistakes or collateral damage. He had said a silent prayer that first night as he prepared to visit justice upon the animals and their system, he had wondered how many 'missions' the Lord would allow, so he always left home base with the Lord's prayer on his lips.
The old police detective had been inwardly fuming about this situation, and being hamstrung by a system that had let the good people of this city down, and a political class that was nothing more than a bunch of panty waist clowns going through the motions of keeping the lid on a situation that was getting out of control. If he had his druthers, they would go into those gang hangouts and just clean up the mess. But he knew that was never gonna happen. He had been wondering how the old man was getting along, so he had dropped by for a visit just to check up on the old guy. The old man hadn't been home at the time, and he considered that kind of odd, since he was retired. He had shaken it off figuring the old guy had gotten a night life since his wife was murdered, he had no idea how right he was, as he had turned to go back to his car.
At that very moment the car radio had lit up with an all cars in the area proceed to a mass casualty event. As he had sped over to the bad part of town, fuming that the gangs were having another party that got out of hand again, he had noticed a flash or reflection above the street light at the corner. Just a hint, a glimpse of a moving black shadow, but it was gone before it had registered on his conscious mind, and he didn't think anything about it, until much later. Then he had arrived on scene, and it was a scene of carnage. There were bodies scattered everywhere, great holes in the pavement, bricks and parts of buildings, glass, and blood, everywhere. "Jesus" he remarked as he had exited his vehicle.
The newspaper reporter, was interviewing some of the survivors of the carnage, the bodies were scattered over half a block of pavement, surrounded by the ubiquitous yellow police tape. As crowds of gawkers pressed against the tape, their mouths agape, totally silent. He was talking to an eye witness "They hadn't done nuthin' man. Dey was jus' standin' 'round chillin', ya know? An...an...all o' a suddin', the street jus' blew up man...it was like a bomb 'r sumpin'...ya feel me? Then it happin'd agin' and agin' and...man.. I jus' turned and ran man, then I heard dis laughin', in, the SKY man! An I...I stop'd and look up, and it was like...a...a black angel man! Man..then I heard it again, this wooshing in the sky, and I saw it man! I saw it, its wings was a flappin'! It was a angel man, a big black angel, like a shadow in da sky...man...it was da Angel o' Death man.." as the youngster looked up at the reporter, shaking, scared..."Da Angel of Death man...and den, and den it was gon'...and all dem folks was jus'...dead..."
The newpaper reporter talked to a few more that night, with various stories, but none so good as the youngsters. The cops were mystified, saying it did look like the street had been bombed in a crowd of uh...citizens. He had his story and he ran with it. The next day the headlines, and the City, exploded with the banner "Racist Angel of Death? ", and the storyline of a shadow in the night, wreaking havok, and that the result was '24 murdered innocent citizens'. No mention of the fact that the 3rd Street Cribs, had been virtually eliminated as a force on the street.
The cops had pieced it together, but they would only give a 'no comment'. Internally however there was a mixture of shock, outrage and a vendetta mindset, mixed with the faction who were quite pleased with the outcome, they knew what happened. They knew they had a new thing, a flying vigilante who was able to rain down death from the air. The evidence was conclusive, and jived with the eye witnesses. They had been told by their chief's to just stick to the no comment line, it was obvious the politicians were wetting their pants when all they had to say was no comment. As the weeks went on, more incidents of death from the air happened, and the body count rose, all gang members. Another thing happened that nobody noticed, the Knockout game came to screeching halt, not one incident of that deadly pastime had been reported in at least two weeks. The cops had begun to get the picture, they variously called him the Angel, Batman or the Shadow, but they all knew they couldn't argue with results. They weren't too keen on finding the guy either, in fact, most of them were happy with the night time scene becoming much more calm, almost serene. It appeared the gangs didn't want to come out and play at night anymore.
The old police detective had been on the job too many years, and was getting ready to put in his paper work for retirement, when all this had started. He sat thinking in his car outside the old man's house, where he was sitting on a sort of personal stakeout. His reverie was interupted by an APB, all points bulletin, "...mass casualty event at..." he smiled, another one...'ok' he thought as he turned off the radio, and spoke out loud "here we go." He donned his night vision infrared enhanced goggles and stepped out of the car. Proceeding to hide in a bunch of bushes across the street from his quarry.
Soon, he saw him, swooping down from the heights in a lazy spiral. A wonderful sight! How does he do that? Then he noticed the back of the old man's garage, a mechanical noise, a light in the back yard, and he saw the angel, settling straight down with a couple flaps of his wings, settling down in the back yard. Immediately, the light went out and the mechanical door closed, and that was it. "Slick" the old police detective laughed under his breath. He took his goggles off, placed them back in their box and lit a cigarette. Sitting there, thinking about his next move, when he saw the door from the garage open, close and a dark figure walk slowly to the house. He put out his cigarette and walked up to the old man's door, and knocked.
The old man came to the door, in a towel "Well hi detective! " he said. "Hello sir. Can I come in? I have some news about your wifes attackers." the old detective was telling the truth, sort of. "Sure detective, do ya mind I was just gettin in the shower, grab a beer outa the fridge and have a seat, I'll be out in sec'". The detective smiled "no problem sir, I'll be right here, no hurry." When the old man got finished in the bathroom, he walked into the sitting room with a beer in his hand, "so what's up doc?" he smiled as he sat across from the detective. "Well sir, you been seeing the news, right?" The old man was a blank, unreadable, "yup, heard about that. Don't know what to make of it." The detective decided to just get to the point since it was late. "Now, don't you go pullin' my leg, you old coot." he smiled, "Why don't we go out to the garage and see what we see?"
The old man, having a hard time keeping his poker face now, simply looked down at the floor "You got a warrant detective? I mean...I...don't know wh..." The old detective stood and placed his half finished beer on the coffee table, walked over to the old man and placed his hand on his shoulder "look, I'm not here in an... um, 'official' capacity, ok? This is personal with me, and you, and..well...God...right?" The old man smiled and looked up. "You mean?" he asked, looking into the detective's eyes. The detective, took out his badge, and gun, and laid them on the table. "That's right.." he smiled "I'm not here to arrest you sir, I'm here to shake your ****in' hand.." he stuck out his hand and the old man took it. "I saw you comin' in for a landing, and you got to show me this thing." he grinned.
When the old man and the old detective entered the garage, the old man told the detective stand still, he then pulled the door shut behind them, turned and flipped a switch on the wall in the pitch black. The old detective turned and his jaw dropped. There it was, like an image out of damn movie or something. All black, beautiful lines, bat like wings, it filled the whole garage. "I was kinda lucky it fit in the garage, its kind of a tight fit getting her in and out, but it works. Good thing you're here, I was gonna wait until tomorrow to do this, but now that you're here.." the old man turned and walked over to a chalkboard hanging on the wall. The text at the top said simply; KOG.
"You know what the body count was detective? Never mind, I know about what it was.."as the old man picked up a piece of chalk, wrote an appoximation squigly and then proceeded to draw a set of vertical lines, four at a time and crossing them off for the fifth, three groups of five, or fifteen bodies tonight. "The mind can pick up groups of five, and I counted at least three groups from the air, so we'll say approximately fifteen, at least until I see the paper tomorrow..."
"K.O.G.?" the detective inquired staring at the board's tally. "Knight of God, or Knock Out Game" the old man smiled. "They wanna play, and God told me to be His hand of Justice, that's a knights job detective. Only the rules of God apply. An eye for an eye, anyone who's in one of those gang gaggles is not innocent... God told me to send them to Him for justice." The detective just smiled and nodded his head. "God huh. He talks to you I guess?" thinking the old man was off the deep end. "He talks to all of us detective, its just that most of us have forgotten how to hear that still small voice." The old man set the chalk down, then cheered up, "let me show you the KOG suit detective..."
After they had finished the nickle tour, the detective was impressed. The craft was a work of beauty and elegance, even the bombs and release mechanism were simplicity themselves. "Antigravity? WOG?" the detective was looking at a set of letters stenciled onto the kevlar reenforced pilot harness. "Wing of God, detective..."the old man smiled. He gave me the idea in a flash, I saw the whole thing, already designed, all I had to do was put it together... and it worked." the detective was impressed. "Kind of a hang glider on steroids, eh?" The old man smiled and sat down... "So why're you here detective, if you're not goin' to arrest me?"
The detective sat down in the chair next to the old wood stove in the corner across from the old man. "Well sir. I saw you that first night... just a flash over the street light, but thinking back on it, what I saw was, an angel, a black angel, an angel of death. I didn't register it at the time, but now I know it was heading straight for your house...so I put two and two together after that night...and...I just waited outside with a pair of infrared goggles... I had a hunch...then tonight I saw you coming in for a landing...and well...here I am." the old man was looking at the floor lost in thought. "So, what do the police think of me detective?" the old man asked, tentatively. "Sir, on the surface you're a vigilante, but under the covers there probably isn't one man in the department that would do anything but turn a blind eye. In fact, almost to a man, they're more pissed at the Mayor and his PC cronies for not allowing them to go after these scumbags. They're nothing but a bunch of pussy whipped feckless clowns marching around in suits. In fact, there's word inside the department, that the Mayor's been talking to some of these gang leaders in secret."
The old man stood, smiled and walked over to the desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a large roll of paper. Walking up to the wall he took two push pins and pinned the sheet up to the wall. At the top of it was written in big letters "Phase II". Then turning and looking at the detective he smiled, "Evil is evil detective, those that wear suits do not hide from the eyes of God." The detective looked at the paper, and immediately realized what he was looking at, a map, with certain coordinates marked. 'Wait', he thought to himself, pointing at one of the marked dots, "That one, that's...the Mayors mansion?"
"So, still not gonna arrest me?" the old man looked him square in the eyes. "No, I was thinking more of a, Franchise..." and they both smiled.
The End
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