Drunken Baby — Birth of a Hero

Chicago – Out­side the Theodore Roosevelt Bank, 9.14AM

The doors of the bank slam open and a trio of rob­bers run out. They have tights over their heads. Two carry shot­guns and the third has two bags stuffed full of hun­dred dol­lar bills. One fires at the police cars main­tain­ing a peri­meter: BANG! Like that.

The man with the bags throws them into their wait­ing car. “Hurry up, man!” says the driver, “they’ve got a chop­per comin’!” The three are in and the car speeds away.

All ok?” asked the driver.

Yeah, went smooth. Rob shot a guy.”

Makes ‘em think I’m dangerous.”

You are dangerous.”

Makes ‘em know it though.”

The car screeches around a corner, cops just behind. “Take care of them,” says the driver. The two with the guns lean out the car win­dows, fir­ing back at the cop cars. One swerves wildly to the left. A second ploughs into it. The sirens wail and die. The two rob­bers sit back inside.

Slow ‘em down.”

Yup.”

The car speeds on. It turns down a slope and the wheels leave the tar­mac a moment. The cops are hanging back, reel­ing and con­fused from los­ing two of their number.

Shit!” yells the driver, swerving. He gets con­trol of the car again and accelerates.

The fuck?!” yells the guy with the bags.

There was sick,” he says, “vomit. In the road.”

No!”

I saw it.”

Fuck. Drive! Fast!”

The car rounds another corner. This time the driver isn’t quick enough. A front wheel skids through a patch of puke. The car starts slid­ing, spin­ning out of con­trol. It hits a curb side on, flip­ping into the air as ped­es­tri­ans scream and dive out of its path. There’s a ter­rible scrap­ing of metal on brick as the car grinds past a build­ing, becom­ing wedged upright in an alley.

The two in the front are dead. One of the guys in the back is uncon­scious. One rob­ber grabs his shot­gun, the other grabs the bags and they hop out of the car.

Fucker should have driven better.”

Shut up.”

His own damn fault.”

Shut up! He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

They edge down the alley, gaz­ing fear­fully behind every trash can and into each door­way. The guy hold­ing the bags sees some­thing ahead. Freezes. “Up ahead,” he whispers.

Sat in the alley, twenty metres ahead, is a vomit-stained baby car­rier. In it sits an infant, not more than ten months old, wear­ing only a nappy and with dried sick run­ning down his chin onto his belly. He’s star­ing right at the rob­bers and block­ing the exit.

You piece of shit, drunken baby! You killed two of my friends, you bas­tard!” the guy with the shot­gun raises it and pulls the trig­ger, but the blast goes wide and marks the pave­ment behind the baby car­rier. He pulls it again but it just clicks. “Let’s get the fucker!” he yells.

The two rush for­ward, they’re about to reach the baby when he starts drunk­enly bawl­ing. He sobs, wails, hic­cups and occa­sion­ally spits out vomit and saliva. It echoes down the alley, boun­cing off walls, through win­dows, out onto the road.

The rob­bers halt, they real­ise too late that they’ve put them­selves in view of the main street.

Hey, what are those guys doing to that baby?” yells a passerby.

He’s cry­ing up a storm, and look at all that vomit!” another.

Smells like they’ve been giv­ing him alcohol!”

Pae­dos! Get ‘em!”

The street erupts. People desert their cars, char­ging towards the alley. Shop keep­ers aban­don their coun­ters to join in. Even the home­less grab whatever weapons are to hand and go for the kill. Before the two rob­bers have even had a chance to scream they’re tackled to the ground and fall under a rain of bru­tal blows. Some­body walks up to them with a can of pet­rol and a lighter. The baby car­rier is nowhere to be seen.

At the entrance of the alley, two police­men lean against their car. “Mob justice” says the first, “The best kind of justice.”

God bless you, drunken baby,” says the second, “God bless you.”

Read Part Two: A Villain’s Begin­ning!

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2 thoughts on “Drunken Baby — Birth of a Hero

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