So this is chapter three of the book I wrote. In case you didn't and have the time to read the first two chapters, they are in links below
1: https://steemit.com/book/@diezeldiddy/the-book-i-wrote-manifest-destiny-chapter-1
2: https://steemit.com/book/@diezeldiddy/the-book-i-wrote-manifest-destiny-chapter-2

Enjoy!

3

“Brrring……….Briiing”... The phone rattled violently on its' consul; startling me from the groggy state of my mourning routine. Usually, I reserved that wakeup for my three cups of coffee. I snatched the phone off the system. Holding it to my ear, I heard a familiar voice echo through.

“Hello…?” Oh yes hey Chris how’s it been?

Ya? Well that’s good to hear. My voice started to perk up.

Say your wife and kids healthy? I know you had the flu last week.

I gotta run to the office soon, how about dinner and a few drinks tomorrow night?…yupp…. Mulberry's at 8 sounds fine to me, I’ll see you then, take care. “click”

Chris and I tired to get together at least once every other week. We use to more often, but a couple years ago he packed up and moved his family to New York City where he had received a job offer as a sergeant in the 23rd precinct. He hated the daily commute, so the decision was a no brainer. Along with that, he had never been too fond of Jersey anyway.

Chris moved here when he was eight from New York, and he’s missed that city ever since. I asked him once why he missed New York so badly. Our past wasn't a subject we usually dwelled on.

He had paused with a beer at his lips, his eyes slowly worked their way from the ceiling to me. Gently returning the beverage to the table, he let out a deep sigh while settling back into his chair.

"Are you kidding me"? I remember the question like crystal. It was said with such conviction it left me baffled.

"Well I--" I couldn't even get my words out properly.

"Well you what? He was smiling.

"I mean you never told--- I was searching the space around me like I was going to find a better answer.

Chris threw his arms up in the air.

"I talk about that place like it's the city of gold, what do you mean I never told you"? I was worried he was offended.

I still had no answer to offer him. I had nervously begun to fiddle with my glass.

"I'm just giving you a hard time, well kinda". Chris chuckled. "I thought pulling your chain would've been a little funnier...". He took another sip. "No, when my father was alive we had the fondest memories going on adventures all over the city. Whether it be food, folk, or weird, there was never a dull moment. I want to recreate that with the boys".

I took a sip from my mug, breaking my obliviousness to the dial tone coming from the phone. I presumed to scarf down a banana between the sips of joe, then proceeded with another mundane day at the office. After the dull day, I settled down at one of my usual watering holes to unwind with a couple during happy hour.

Taking my first sip, I felt my shoulders slump and the tension melt like butter. There was nothing like Captain and Dr.Pepper. Taking another sip, the heavenly mixture tickled as it went down my throat. Ohh the bubbly warmth when it hits the stomach, was unrivaled. I let out a smile for the first time all day along with a deep breath. I enjoyed the last few minutes of the Happy Days rerun that played overhead.

It wasn't too long before I made it back to my apartment. Once there, I kicked back with another drink, wrestled the tv tray over with my leg and whipped out a deck of cards from the side pocket of the recliner. I shuffled quickly, fumbling on the bridge, then dealt out my spreadsheet. The slick cards spewed out quickly and twenty eight of them later my solitaire setup was complete. It was my favorite card game and regularly consumed my late nights on the weekday. I always got frustrated. I come so close to beating the game, but am left just a couple cards short. I would’ve rather not even come close. I took another swig of my mixer, damn that never got old.

The drink fleetingly reminds me of the first time I ever avenged someone. I was seated at dive bar 14 years ago nearly this day, mulling over my drink and searing with anger. No other day of the year gets me so distraught. At that point I was an angry young adult still consumed with my father's death. The anger had been building for three years, and was at a breaking point.

The bar was called Rails. It was small and known for its cheap drinks, hence the name. The night wasn't busy, but most were. I was a regular, getting a drink or two and watching the rest of the patrons. The bar was filled with the usual crowd except for one bunch towards the end of the bar. They were obnoxiously loud and were getting stares while they shouted and hollered for some inane reason. The far side of the bar was their domain except for a scrawny college aged student nestled between the group. He looked so out of place, and seemed to do his best to ignore the brutes behind him. Focusing his attention instead on the football game broadcasting overhead. Though I caught him, a couple times wincing when hearing the yells, or perhaps a crude joke. He was also getting jostled around, at one point even getting spilled on without so much as a apology from the group. A couple times it looked as though he was about to speak up, but at second thought held his tongue. That was the smart choice for his sake.

He caught the bartenders attention for another drink, upgrading from his beer to some sort of mixer. I didn’t blame him. He needed something stiffer. Right as he reached for the glass, another jolt from behind threw him forward causing his drink to spill some on the wood bar top. The sigh that proceeded summed up his night. The bartender, noticing, quickly rushed over with a napkin and made apologetic eye contact, even topping off his glass. It was that point he decided to say something, I pleaded in my mind for him not too.

“Excuse me guys,” the man said, “would you mind calming down a little?”

A nuke had just exploded at the end of the bar. The group looked like they couldn't believe what they had just heard. There was a befuddled disbelief among them and everyone looked around for some indication on how they should react. After a couple tense seconds the largest of the group stepped forward. I decided Bruiser was an appropriate name. He looked the part of bar drunk that’s itching for a fight, someone that for motives unclear to me, crave the beatings they dish out to unsuspecting patrons.

“I will calm down, if you would step outside with me and my friends.” Bruiser sneered, edging closer and closer to his victim.

At this point the young man realized what he was getting into, but it was too late, he had little choice. It was either quietly step out and take his beating, or create a scene that would probably end much worse. I felt bad for the kid. He sighed and nodded, already looking defeated. Getting up, he slammed his drink for the last ounce of courage, then slumped out of the bar followed by bruiser and his friends who were jeering and cheering the whole way out. A small group of us took notice to the whole situation, and sneaked outside for what was sure to be a beat down. The participants in the fight readied themselves like it was world war 3. One guy was stretching his calves, another one was talking to himself, a third guy got gloves on, like what the hell. After about 30 seconds of this nonsense Bruiser took the circle for the little audience.

“Listen kid I will give you one chance to run away like a puss.”

The college kid meekly replied, “no thank you”

Then thud! He socked Bruiser smack in the nose. My jaw dropped. All the air was sucked out of the circle. Bruiser staggered back slowly reeling from the surprise attack. He covered his nose and his friends stood wide eyed as blood dripped out between his fingers and down his face. The crimson liquid an indication of his mortality.

Then thud, another strike, this one to bruisers stomach, he buckled over in pain collapsing to the pavement. Now the college student brook loose kicking Bruiser ferociously. The fierce kicks unleashing unexpected power and emitting a mean mashing sound. He got in three to the ribs before Bruisers friends swarmed him. After that quick start the college student was overpowered. Two restrained him, locking down his hands as he thrashed violently against their control. The restraint let the third assailant start to get strikes in. A heavy gut shot forced the air out and left him gasping. He was getting beat, but for numbers advantage his resistance was impressive. The cronies wailed mercilessly until Bruiser finally resurrected. I had barely noticed his slow rebirth. By now the blood had soaked into his shirt and the red sea that was his friends parted, exposing his defeated victim. Embarrassed and pissed, the fire in his eyes could’ve melted glaciers.

”Step aside!” he yelled staggering over towards the group. His friends parted further and revealed a limp young man, bloody and curled up.

“You're done kid”.

He wailed on the kid until his face was unrecognizable. Blow after blow landed without restraint. At multiple points the assailant momentarily paused to check his knuckles. I had never seen someone beat so badly, and the longer the onslaught went, the more disgusted I became. The other onlookers faces were a mix between horrified and mesmerized. Why was no one doing anything? I could feel my anger coming on tenfold, how could we all let this happen!? This kid was just trying to enjoy his night, he didn't ask for this. This was an injustice, and Bruiser was just going to walk away from it…..I couldn’t let him.

Sirens arose from the distance breaking the sound of fist on flesh and scattering those in the circle. I kept my eyes on Bruiser fighting through two of his friends running the opposite way. He wasn't going to leave my sight. Much to my surprise, he moved like a nimble bear and wasn't easy to keep up with. Intramural basketball hadn't done me justice and I found myself sucking wind before the second block. After three blocks his movement slowed to a slight jog and the gradually declined to a speed walk. He was tired, and his loud laboring breathing was my evidence. His wheezing was audible from half a block away.

As my strides closed the gap between us I was certain he couldn’t hear my approach over his own heavy breathing. I watched the greasy assaulter saunter down the side street, no doubt a smug look on his face enjoying his escape. My anger rose to a blistering level. It started deep and rose until it encompassed me. Uncontrollable, but euphoric; alarming, yet invigorating. The empowerment was intoxicating. No one deserved to get away with a crime so heinous, and I was not about to let it happen.

Turning down an alley behind a closed food pantry, I saw my opportunity. Bruiser, still breathing heavily, had little idea what lurked behind him. I took a deep breath, focusing on the back of his sweaty mullet skull and then with the weight of my body behind me, struck him in the base of the head resulting in a dramatic fall to the ground. His arms flailed trying to catch himself and a grunt reflexed from his surprise. I barely hesitated before following him to the pavement. Wailing punches ensued. He put up some fight, but nothing I couldn’t handle. His hands were more of an obstacle then a defense. Left to the head, right to the chest, head, head, head. I was putting all my force into the blows, Bruisers head sounded like a splatter against the pavement. My anger from the last three years released with every blow. It was liberating. My dads killer was beneath me; absorbing the pain he caused me.

Before I realized it, he was lifeless on the ground, face mutilated, if you could even call it a face anymore. It was so swollen and bloody, it was more the look after throwing a skinned pig in a beehive. He was breathing though, thankfully. I stood over him for a long minute, mesmerized by what I was capable of. Never had I acted with such maliciousness. There was a short latency as my bewilderment soon turned to disgust. He wasn't too much older then myself.

I sulked out of the alley and walked to a convenience store down the block.I left my jacket splattered with blood outside and did my best to look less like a madman. Using their pay phone to call the police, I informed them there was a beaten man in an alley nearby. After I hung up, I stood at the phone for a minute, still confused on what I should be feeling. I held the phone by my side like I still had calls to make.

"You alright kid"? The clerks voice caught my attention. I hadn't even noticed him.

"Yah..I'm sorry, just a crazy night" barley glancing his way before heading to the back fridge and grabbing a familiar six pack. Checking out, I could feel the cashiers eyes bead down upon me. His slow checkout pace building a mounting anxiety. I needed out of there.

Outside, I hustled to my car which was only a couple blocks from the original bar. I made sure to take an extended route as to avoid any confrontations with the cops, who assuredly responded to my call by then. I opened the door to sit down placing the beer next to me. I toke a second to sink slightly into the firm seat then laid my head against the steering wheel. I finally took a deep breath and relaxed, letting my emotional guard down. The rush of anger I had felt a short while ago now saw a new emotion. At first I tried to hold it back, just sniffles, and a few tears. My teeth were clenched so hard my jaw would break if they slid apart. My eyes shut tight like a dam holding back an ocean. I resisted for a few moments, but it was all but inevitable. The reservoir broke and I began sobbing. The tears poured down my cheeks like a swift current on the rapids. The salty taste reached my tongue only adding to the disdain of my own tears. My nose drained its slimy waste to the back of my throat, pooling in a sticky gooey mass that I forced down knowing its texture would haunt me.

It was the first time crying since my father's death. The emotional reserve culminated in a euphoria after a while. Pain that had built up in the dark of my soul, now poured out in waves with my tears. In the midst of my breakdown I turned on the radio to some classic rock and the melodies struck a chord. The rivers turned to streams, which turned to trickles, which eventually gave way to a smile. A smile that felt genuine. Over the radio, The Grand Illusion played. I could feel the music, the words, the meaning. I invited the track to lull me into introspection. I couldn’t fully comprehend why I cried, or had such disgust for myself, but yet felt enjoyment for avenging the college kids beating. I suppose I was comforted knowing that the person I hurt, had hurt someone else. So what does that make me? A vigilante? Or perhaps I’m just as bad as Bruiser? I pushed the thoughts aside before they dampened my mood. That was enough for tonight. I fired up my 1970 Dodge challenger, and headed home to enjoy my amber nectar.

That was the spark that ignited a furnace inside me. I knew from that first night, this pattern would continue whether I intended it too or not. So I made a pact with myself. Every year on the date of my father's murder, I would punish an individual who committed a crime, by committing that same crime against the offender. It felt right to have that purpose. It felt right, it felt helpful. I had thoughts about becoming a semi hero, and avenging victims of crimes in which they have no closure from justice. Justice that should have been brought upon their assailant. Sadly, as often happens with bright intentions, the reality is much, much grimmer.