The knock on my apartment door woke me from a dead sleep. I craned my neck and squinted my eyes to read the red numbers on the digital alarm clock: 1:35am. "Who in the hell knocks on my door at 1:35 am," I said to myself. Another knock.
"Hold on. I'm coming," I said loud enough for the visitor to hear, followed by a, "goddammit," under my breath. I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and stood. My boxers were going to have to be a decent enough outfit for whomever was bugging me at this hour. I scuffed my way out of my bedroom and to the door. This had better be important.
I peered through the peep-hole. It was my neighbor, Lindsey. I unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door. She appeared quite shaken.
"Thank god you are home, Tom. Can you please help me? Greg followed me home from work, again. He is waiting in the parking lot. I'm scared." She gestured over the edge of the walkway. Sure enough, there was the familiar red camaro. I had a couple of run-ins with the asshole before tonight. He was rough with her. I had to step in once or twice to stop him from slapping her around. Last time, I warned him that next time I would kick his ass. Now that he had interrupted my sleep, my patience was gone.
He stepped out of the driver's side and leaned against the car. "Hey - you gonna kick my ass now? C'mon big man. C'mon down and kick my ass, you faggot!" The bastard was bating me. I pulled Lindsey into the apartment and opened the coat closet.
One of the most beautiful items that I own is my ash wood Louisville Slugger with a hickory finish. The syrupy red color shone in the entryway light. "Wait here," I said.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. "Do you want me to call the cops? He is violating the restraining order..."
"Forget the cops. They haven't done anything to stop him before. I'm gonna fix his little red wagon once and for all." I turned to leave, but she grabbed my elbow.
"His car? He loves that thing! Be careful, I think he is drunk. If you damage his car, he'll go crazy," she warned me.
"Yep. I know he will," I finally spun to leave and descended the stairs in my bare feet. The bat was comfortable in my hands. I held it like I was about to approach home plate. I took a couple of practice swings when I got to the parking lot.
"What - you gonna hit me with the bat? That isn't fair, you fucker!" He was screaming and scrambled back toward the car door.
"You are right," I put the bat down. "Let's do this fairly."
"Alright," He pulled up his sleeves and started to charge at me. The moment he was close enough to reach, I cold-cocked him in the nose. Blood spurted over his mouth and chin. He took a big sloppy swing and I ducked. Then I hit him in the nose again - this time it broke against my knuckles.
"Ah shit!" He spit blood onto the ground and held his face. "You sucker-punched me, asshole!"
"I punched you, yes. And you are a sucker. So, I guess that makes it a sucker punch." I was going to have fun with this. I walked over to where I left the bat. I grabbed it and approached the car. "I have had enough of you bothering Lindsey. The next time I hear that you have even thought about her, I am going to do this to your face." I reached the bat high over my head to get good momentum and it came down like an axe on the hood. The resounding crack left a massive bow in the car's gleaming cherry finish.
"My car! What the fuck are you doing?" He was screaming through his smashed nose.
Then I wound up and smashed the head lights, one at a time. Then, quite athletically (if I do say so myself) I leapt up onto the hood. Planting my foot in the dent, I would up and smashed the windshield. On the second swing, the glass shattered into the car. Then I jumped down and started in on the doors.
"Stop it! Stop! What the fuck! I'm gonna call the cops," he took out his cell phone and fumbled it open.
"Good. Call them," I said. "You have just violated your restraining order for the second time. I'll keep you company as we wait from them to arrive." I smiled a broad smile and leaned gallantly on the bat as if it were a cane. He slowly folded the phone and put it back in his pocket.
"Okay. I won't call them. But, please, stop hitting my baby!" He was begging me.
"Well," I said. "Let's talk. Lindsey broke up with you 6 weeks ago, right?"
"Yeah, fucking bitch..." he said. I wound up and hit the car again. "Sorry! No, please!"
"Let's try this again," I said. " Lindsey broke up with you 6 weeks ago, right? - Think carefully before answering this time."
"Yeah." He looked down and kicked some dirt. Blood dripped onto his shirt.
"Okay. She doesn't want you coming around here anymore. I need you to abide. Do you understand?" I was going to give him a shot to walk away from this.
"But, I need to tell her something..." He kicked some more dirt.
"Then let's get this over with now. Lindsey? Can you come out here for a moment?" She peaked around the door frame. "It's okay, Linds," I said. "He wants to just say something to you. And then we will leave you alone." She slowly and cautiously came down the stairs.
"Lindsey," he said. "Give me just one more chance. I promise I'll be better this time." He was pleading with her. This was especially pathetic since he was bleeding all over himself.
"No. You were abusive. I need to be with someone who cares for me; not someone who scares me." She was being firm. I was impressed.
"But, Linds, I promise..."
She cut him off, "You've promised before. I'm not going through this again. It is over." I was really impressed, now.
"Okay. I think that does it," I said. "It is time for you to go home, Greg. Let me call you a cab. I'll have your car towed to your house tomorrow. But if you come back, your car will be scrap metal, and you will need an entire team of doctors to put you back together. Do you understand?"
He kicked dirt again and then started to cry. "But I love her. I wanna be with her."
"I know Greg. But, you screwed up too many times. Now you need to move on. Lindsey, can you go up to my place and call Greg a cab, please?" I turned to her. She stood there strongly.
"Yes. Bye, Greg." She spun on her heel and began climbing the stairs.
"Wait! Lindsey, wait! I'm am begging you for another chance. You gotta give it to me." He was starting to blubber.
"No, Greg. I don't. I don't want to see you anymore." She turned back and went into my apartment.
"Okay, Greg. I think that was very clear. You can wait here for the cab. If you'd like, I can get you some ice for your nose." I thought I'd be a gentleman.
"Fuck." He was deflated. "You broke my fuckin' nose and busted up my fuckin' car, and now you wanna give me ice? You are fuckin' weird." He half laughed and then spit up more blood.
"I've been called worse. Suit yourself. The cab should be here soon." I rested the bat against my shoulder. "Goodbye, Greg. But remember: I meant what I said. I will completely fuck up you AND your car if you bother her again. Got it?"
"Yeah. I fuckin' got it." He spit more blood on the ground. I left.
When I got back into the house, Lindsey was nowhere to be found. "Linds? You okay?"
"Best I've felt in years." She came out of the kitchen with a cup of hot tea. "I hope you don't mind, but I needed something to calm me down and I don't drink anymore. So, I helped myself to some camomile."
"I don't mind at all. I don't think he will be back. It seemed to finally sink in - boy, is he thick." I really was surprised at his inability to hear what anyone told him.
"I am really sorry that I woke you up. I was really scared. I will go home now." She grabbed her bag and headed to the door.
"Lindsey. Why don't you wait until he is gone. He might rethink his position." I peaked out the window to see him inspecting the damage to his car.
"But, I feel bad. You have done so much to help me. And now I've woken you up." She saw the swelling on my knuckles. "Oh geeze. That doesn't look good. Let me get you some ice."
"Thanks. I know not to hit with my knuckles. But, the few times that I have had to fight, outside of work, I have messed up my hands." I opened and closed my fist. The knuckles were red and getting larger by the minute.
"You are a bouncer, right?" She was wrapping a few ice cubes in a towel.
I sat down at the kitchen table. "Yeah. I work at the Brass Monkey on route 1."
"Isn't that a strip club?" She gently took my hand and placed the ice on top of it.
"Yep. It's pretty gross. But, it pays the bills." I tried not to wince, but my hand hurt like hell.
"Gross? What do you mean?" She sat in the chair next to mine.
"Well, imagine working around guys like Greg all the time. They're always drooling all over the dancers and trying to touch them... It's just gross. Half of the dancers are gay - I don't see how the ones that aren't can carry on relationships with men after what they see every day."