Part Three
Night settled over the city. It reminded him of a foot, both for the crushing darkness and the smell. The daylight at least seemed to burn away the stench of hopelessness and the worst of humanity's dregs. The darkness brought them back like so many rats and cockroaches.
Downtown was the place to go when you wanted to find trouble. Not the innocent trouble of a night spent out too late, fearing the sunrise and the day of work it would bring. It was the trouble that came at you with guns and knives, clubs and broken bottles, demanding your wallet and taking your life to leave behind no witnesses. It was bad enough that even the cops didn't often dare tread into many areas. Those that did were either paid off by the pushers, pimps, or punks that roamed in the open. That or they were young and foolhardy, trying to make a name for themselves. They didn't last long, becoming corrupted themselves or made to disappear.
The man in black rode through the area, looking for the opportunity to make his name. The few people that were in the open scuttled into the shadows when he rode by. He scanned the alleyways and the storefronts, looking for someone who would be foolish enough to make their move in his sight. As he rode down the avenue he saw an what appeared to be three young men in jeans, t-shirts, boots, and suspenders. They ducked into an alley and he stopped short of riding directly up on them. He killed the engine, popped out the kickstand, and made his approach.
The three skinheads began to menace one of the area's many homeless. The homeless man had just begun to stir from his makeshift nest as they had been walking by, and they saw him as an easy target. The skinhead acting as a lookout had a chain in his left hand; the one in the middle had some sort of fixed blade knife. The third, making the closest advance on the bum looked to be unarmed. As the SuperSadist approached the lookout saw his outfit and had figured another of his brothers had come to join him.
"Heil Hitler," he shouted as the SuperSadist approached, giving the Roman Salute. The SuperSadist quickly raised his arm, at the same time letting the pipe hidden up his sleeve slip into his hand. The resulting crack from the metal into flesh and bone was sickening. With a horizontal swing the SuperSadist hit the one in the middle across the neck. The skinhead fell into a twisted, lifeless heap, his neck bent at a most unnatural angle. The third, realizing the situating, pulled out a silenced 9mm pistol. Without any thought the SuperSadist threw a kick into the gunman's midsection. A single shot was fired, sending the bullet ricocheting off the alley wall. Having lost his strength from the kick to his gut, the third dropped his gun. The SuperSadist picked it up and calmly pumped one round into the back of his head, sending bits of bone, brain, and blood flying. The man in black tucked the pistol into his waistband and approached the one laying on the ground with a broken jaw.
"Hu kih muh fweh! Hu fuhha!"
The SuperSadist leaned in close, speaking in only a low whisper. "Yes, I killed your friends. In fact, I liked killing them. But you... you have something better in store."
The skinhead tried to get up but was quickly leveled with a knee to his back, losing his breath. The SuperSadist positioned the punk's arm into his mouth, which helped to muffle the scream that escaped as his right hip was smashed in with the pipe. He had blacked out with pain for his left hip being shattered. The SuperSadist looked back to the first man he had killed and grabbed the knife. It was a replica Hitler Youth blade, and not a good job at that. Our hero carved a swastika in the skinhead's back. Blood began to ooze out, but he didn't mind. The SuperSadist pulled out the skinhead's wallet and took out all the cash. He did the same to his other two victims and counted his haul. $136. Nothing great. He turned his still living enemy onto his back and woke him with a bottle of what he could only assume was urine that was left in the alley. He leaned in closely and waited.
"I'm not going to kill you," he said. "After what I've done to you you'll wish I had. But no, you'll be forced to live out the rest of your life in a cell. You'll try to watch your back, but you're going to find that hard to do very shortly."
With that the SuperSadist took a screwdriver from his belt and gouged out the eyes of the man on the ground. He had passed out again, and he was going to be left that way until the police came. The SuperSadist walked up to the trembling homeless man. The vagrant was wide-eyed and had very fresh stains of piss and shit in his pants. The SUperSadist leaned down to him, counted out $50, and gave it to him. Between his sputters and stutters the bum managed to get out a simple query.
"Wh-who a-are you?"
"I want you to take that money and get some food. And some new clothes. Then I want you to get the cops. When they ask what happened, you tell them that I am the embodiment of evil. I have come to do what good men cannot. They can call me what they want, but I am the SuperSadist."
With that the man in black went back to his bike and rode off.
The next morning was bright and sunny in some parts of the state. People made their way to work. Kids went out and played. One girl decided to go for a walk in a park and was never seen alive again. A man slept through the day, exhausted from his first night as the world's only true hero.