Kelly picked up the comic book from the spinner rack in the corner of the Dash Mart. The new Spider-Man wasn’t out yet so he read Daredevil instead. Look at that cover. DD’s arm in a cast. Red costume ripped up holding his billy club. Just messed up but look whose head is twisted the wrong way on the ground. The guy that killed Daredevil’s girl. Bullseye.
“You should read Superman, kid,’ called from over by the register past the slushie machines by the door.
“Truth, justice, and the American…” Kelly made a fart noise.
Tony owned the convenience store and always worked the late shift. Since his wife died, he worked all the shifts. Might as well sell his home and sleep in his office. He poked his chest.
“Bullets bounce off of him.” He flexed his bicep. “He could lift a bus with one hand.”
Kelly muttered, “He could lift his dick.”
“What’s that?” Tony was nearly deaf which saved Kelly from being banned from the store more often than not.
“Old guys always go with Superman. Ain’t hard to be a hero when nothing can hurt you. Spidey and Daredevil. Their neighborhood guys. They take a beating and still do the right thing.”
Tony huffed and went back to checking the daily receipts. Kelly flipped through some more pages. How cool would it be to be the local Highview protector? Free cokes at the Hitching Post. Rides on the volunteer fire engine. His Mom would see his name on TV. She would have to come back home for that. Maybe then his Dad wouldn’t look at him like spit anymore.
Tony said, “Closing soon, kid.”
He dug his hand in his pocket knowing what he would find already. One quarter, a dime, and some pennies. He couldn’t scrounge up a lousy sixty cents for the new Daredevil issue. Reaganomics wasn’t helping him right now. Couldn’t mow any lawns in November to make any cash. Recycling bottles and cans was the only way to get candy and comic book money. Dad called his comics a waste of money. If Kelly ever left any out on a table, Dad tossed them in the garbage can.
Bulldog. That would be Kelly’s superhero identity. Taking a bite for justice. Patrolling the streets and back alleys. Not that the working-class suburb of Highview had any alleys but still. Ding! The door opening broke his wild thoughts of crimefighting. The stocky man in the hooded sweatshirt didn’t even notice Kelly. He walked up to the counter.
Before Tony could say how can I help you, the guy stuck a pistol in his face. Kelly slid behind the spinner rack into a crouch. The robber yelled, “Give me everything, old man.”
Kelly heard Tony stammer and the click of the old register keys. The robber hadn’t seen him. He should grab that glass bottle of Budweiser off the end cap and smash him in the head. That’s what Bulldog would do. The hero of Highview. He inched out from behind the rack of comic books when he saw the robber punch at Tony. Kelly froze then slunk back into hiding.
Down the last row of shelves, he saw the back door. He looked back and knew he couldn’t reach the bottle then get to the crook before he shot. He glanced at the door again. The gunman shouted at Tony to hurry. The old man sounded so scared that Kelly took off for the exit.
He burst through the door so fast that his forearms stung. The ruckus the door made was nothing compared to that single gunshot Kelly heard retort on the cold night of November. He wasn’t Bulldog. He wasn’t Daredevil or Superman. Kelly ran home as fast as he could. Faster than a speeding bullet.
~ fin ~
Rob D. Smith is a common man attempting to write uncommon fiction in Louisville, KY. His work has appeared in Apex Magazine, Shotgun Honey, The Arcanist, Thriller Magazine, Rock and a Hard Place Magazine, Tough, Maelstroms, and several other crime, horror, and speculative magazines, anthologies, and online publications. Find his work at https://robdsmith.carrd.co/
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