There ain’t anything out there quite like the feeling you have when you’re way up high, looking down on some unsuspecting bastard that you’re about to destroy.
I'd known all day that it would happen … I had spent the morning imagining it, fantasizing about it, tasting it. Over the course of the past week I'd studied Tommy’s patterns, watched where he hung out, noticed the paths he took. He’s pretty savvy, really … never walks anywhere that ain’t well lit, always keeps quiet and alert, like he’s expecting something bad to happen any second.
Makes it kind of tough for guys like me, who have been told to make something bad happen to guys like him.
See, that’s the thing that puzzled me about Tommy … it just didn’t add up. How exactly could this punk who seemed kind of smart and street-wise be so stupid, and end up screwing his own self as bad as he did? To mess up bad enough that someone like me has to actually do something about it?
It’s like this, see - in unfamiliar territory, you play it safe. You don’t just walk up to the female of the species and start pawing her, just like that … okay? That’s plain dumb. I mean, you have no idea who that ass might belong to.
On top of that, when one of the local boys comes up to gently break it to you, tell you the way things are done, you don’t get pissed off and try to rough him up. Riff was just doing the polite thing for some fool who didn’t know any better. Turns out, the kid didn’t want to know any better, let Riff have an earful. And even I know better than to jack ol’ Riff like that. That’s like beggin’ for death.
Idiot. Just one look at his coat and you could tell he came from money. I dunno, maybe coming down here was how he got his kicks … slummin’ it. Getting back to his “roots”, finding out how the other half lived. Acting tough and hanging out with the bad boys, until he needed to catch some sleep, or until things suddenly got to be too much for him, and “keeping it real” didn't feel safe no more.
Yeah, you got a nice little escape route there, Chuckles. If only the rest of us could be so lucky. Me, I’ve got a place up the street. It ain’t much, it’s hard to get to, and it barely keeps out the wind, but at least I can have company over and not feel ashamed. Hell, half of the guys I know don’t even have their own places. From time to time, I let ‘em crash at mine because I know they got nowhere else.
That’s the real difference between one of those guys and someone like Tommy… it’s like comparing apples to beer cans. You can immerse yourself in the scene all you want, pretend like you understand it ... tell yourself you’re empathizing so that you can broaden your own experience and become better for it. But you don’t get it … not really. It’s one thing to visit, but quite another thing to live that sort of life. Sleeping in a corner of some alley, keeping one eye open in case some lowlife tries to take something you don’t happen to wanna part with. Eating sometimes; sometimes not. And the cold fear - taking in the blank, empty stares around you that say “You ain’t nothin’. I could kill you, but I ain’t got a reason to just yet. Stick around.”
Bottom line, if you know in the back of your mind that you’ve got a place where you can score some food, be warm, and put walls between you and the street, you ain’t livin’ the life we are. You’re pretending.
And some of the guys tolerate it. See, that’s the thing that really bugs me. He’s not really “in” my crowd or taken seriously by any of the guys, but some of them give Tommy the occasional nod, like he’s one of us, y’know? Like he’s one of the crew. Maybe he thinks he is, but he ain’t. There’s more to living on these streets than hanging around, flexing the occasional muscle and acting tough.
Jackass poseur.
Heh. The tough act vanished pretty quick, though … didn’t it, Tommy boy? One minute you’re just walking down the street with your usual pretend-boy bad-ass swagger, the next you’re running for your life as fast as you can, scared, shaking, and trying to keep your food in.
Death from above, man … that was me. I grin when I think about it, and feel this kind of all-over body satisfaction.
See, I had picked out this place on the one-story ledge of a building he always walks next to. There’s a little grassy area on a slight hill, and its highest point is right next to the wall of this place. Standing on this hill, you can see around you for what seems like miles, see what’s going on nearby and whether or not you want to be a part of it. Not a bad little vantage point for someone wanting to play it safe. He usually went right to this spot and stopped to look around.
Stupid bastard never, ever, looked up.
So he walked up to the usual spot and he paused, just like he did all the times before when I was watching, just kind of standing there looking around. Slowly, so I didn’t make any noise or jostle anything off the ledge, I just kind of allowed myself to fall. Just rolled right off the ledge and steered towards the top of Tommy’s head, where most of my weight would come down on him and do the most damage.
It was beautiful. In his whole life, the kid probably never expected anything like that to happen, ever. One second you’re standing around thinking you’re safe. The next second, pow - you’re finding out how dirt smells.
He was stunned for a second, and let out a short hiss of surprise. I took the opportunity to launch myself at his stomach and get him a few times there. When he tried covering up, I went after his head. His eyes became wide and desperate, and I must have got a good nine or ten shots off before he finally managed to claw himself away from me, howling pathetically. I think I even got a bite in, I can’t really remember. When it was over I was hurting, but judging from the parts of me that hurt and how much, I figured he was in considerably more pain than I was. Mission accomplished.
He just stared at me, bleeding slightly from his face, looking like he didn’t know what was going on. I decided to help him with his confusion.
I locked eyes with him and balled myself up in what I figured would be a dangerous fashion. Then, I took a deep breath and let out the kind of sound that lets a guy know he’s about to become very, very damaged soon.
I will say this about Tommy - he’s got some skill when it comes to leaving a place in a hurry.
After he was gone, I went back up to the ledge to find a comfortable spot where I could wind down and relax. I started to clean myself off and check for injuries, knowing it would take a few minutes for my back and tail to stop being all poofy, which I hate. While washing my paws, I realized I was purring.
Some cats are just born to it, I guess.
