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A Fine Line
Casey Criswell
Sometimes the name they give you is all wrong. Sometimes your folks might name you Lawrence, but everybody else thinks you look like a Steve. Sometimes you screw up in front of your friends just once, and they give you a name that sticks forever. Something like ‘Booger’ for that one time in sixth grade that they caught you eating one. And again, sometimes you work hard for years to get a title but when you finally get there, they manage to muck it all up.
When I started out back in ninety-four, I took it as a calling. I felt an itch you could say. There were problems in this world, and somebody needed to take care of it. Sure, I was young back then at twenty. A lot of people figured I was just naïve and that I would lose focus in a year or two. This wasn’t the case though; you see I had a plan.
I had some grand ideals and yeah, maybe a little too much confidence. My pops didn’t raise an idiot though; I knew my vision was going to take a lot of messy work. I figured with enough training, research, and planning, I could come up with the perfect business model. There were some crooked people out there getting away scot free, and that hardly seemed fair.
With a plan in mind I put my destiny in motion. First I started hitting the gym; I was going to have to hold my own out there. My vision was always more of a solo effort as opposed to a team, so I made sure I was strong and had the stamina I needed. In between those times, I studied. Whether it was law, religion, or anatomy, you name it; I was probably studying it that year.
Many people would probably think, “Wow that sounds pretty lonely.” They’re right. I spent all of my time working out or studying and that left no time whatsoever for socializing. Don’t get me wrong…I loved chicks, and wanted a girlfriend in the worst way. But, I also wanted to prove the naysayers wrong and to show them that I was going to do this. So, girls and friends, they fell to the wayside. They would all be back once they saw my name in the paper.
All of that prep work; that took about the first two years. I took a few test runs here and there, but nothing big enough to grab the media’s attention. A purse snatcher here, a vandalizing vagrant there, all under the radar; I knew I wasn’t ready for the lime light yet. When ninety-six rolled around though, I was ready for my shot.
In June of ninety-six, some small crimes caught my attention. Someone was jacking cars in the old section of downtown. Car jackings happen all the time, especially in that part of town, but this one was special. This guy only took cars from women driving by themselves with kids in tow. The cops, they figured the crimes were connected but they couldn’t trace it. Naturally, I figured this would make a great first impression once the media picked it up.
I stalked around downtown for a couple of days playing private dick. I visited seedy bars, I asked questions, and I even roughed a couple people up. Eventually I got some solid leads on the guy’s looks and his target spots, so I set up camp and started to wait. He was due for another job, and I was going to be there. On my fourth night, he did indeed strike.
I could see the scene pretty clearly, and from the sounds of the screams, it was definitely going down. In my excitement I nearly dropped my gear as I stumbled out of my hiding spot. Fortunately, I recovered fairly quickly and with a minimum amount of noise. I took a deep breath, got my focus, and snuck in behind to go to work. And go to work I did.
It was glorious. I clocked him pretty good the first time around so I was able to work him over without too much fight. Like I had figured when I started down this road, it was pretty messy work. A little bit of blood, maybe even a little bit of vomit, but the feeling of righting a wrong was so exhilarating. It was so worth it.
When I got done with ‘The Pledge’ as I like to call him, I stood back to admire my work. What caught my attention was the deathly quiet. That lady was screaming bloody murder a minute ago when this guy pulled her door open, but now she sat stone silent behind the wheel of her car. I turned towards her and was greeted with a wide-eyed stare. She obviously had never seen a hero in action before and was quite visibly overwhelmed. I smiled my most reassuring smile and approached the car to make sure she was okay. As I reached up to straighten my mask and to make sure I looked slick for my first introduction to the public, I realized my first mistake. In my rush of nerves and excitement I forgot to put on my mask. This lady was staring straight at my face; she knew who I was. It’s kind of hard to keep a secret identity like that. As I faltered in my steps over the magnitude of this goof, I stared blankly back at the lady but didn’t really focus on her. That’s when I realized mistake number two; I had the wrong guy. There weren’t any kids in the back seat.
I became slack jawed in shock myself. My first ‘starring role’ and I had made a huge mess of it. While standing about sulking, matters became even worse when the driver broke her silence. Screaming louder than before she managed to fumble open her door and run down the nearest alley. Not only did I subdue the wrong guy, but the eyewitness to this little fiasco was tearing off into the darkness; I knew I was in for a long night. I couldn’t let her tell the press about some idiot that jumped a car jacker from behind all while wearing a costume. It took a while, but finally I managed to chase her down on a side street and set to work convincing her I was there to help. She was pretty freaked out. She took a lot of convincing too.
I didn’t let that first night keep me down though. I bucked up, worked harder, and learned from my mistakes. In the ten years since, I like to think I’ve done a lot of good. I helped bring down many a bad person; child molesters, rapists, adulterers, shoplifters, the works. The media caught on too, just as I’d hoped. “Former child molester brought down by masked assailant”, lots of stories like that.
When I look back on my career, I really do feel fulfilled by my work. There’s still a small part of me that has a twinge of regret though. All of those naysayers twelve years ago that said I would never carry through? The ones that said I would eventually lose focus? I’ll never be able to prove to them that I was right. Sometimes you work hard for years to get a title, but when you finally get there they manage to muck it up. Sometimes the name they give you is all wrong. Those so called friends back in ninety-four? They could have told me that super heroes don’t kill people. Now, instead of newspapers calling me a superhero, now they call me a serial killer. In all my days of planning and training I always saw myself as more of a “Mr. Mysterio”; instead, I got “The Midtown Mangler”. Still, my pops always told me, ”when you’re good at something, might as well run with it.” What’s in a name anyways?
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