“I’ll be waiting.”
Those three words plagued Timo as he perched on a rooftop in the run down district of town. Dalton Grey had offered amnesty to Timo Bolamba’s crimes in return for helping the Chief District Attorney of Motor City clean the streets up a little bit.
The spark of interest was there, manifesting itself from the moment he had left until he eventually was forced to call the old jailer back to his cell and approach Dalton again.
The wire minded attorney was waiting, this time in an office. His desk was littered with fresh papers and the occasional coffee cup. The Samoan stood before his last hope and bastion, or so it appeared, ready to succumb to his whims.
He need only say the word now, and Timo was his.
Becoming
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A soft and somewhat bitter breeze blew down and wisped the loose hair on Timo Bolamba’s head as he waited patiently. He could not forget the fact that he was free on the streets now, when only twelve hours prior he had been incarcerated. He peered down, waiting, silently observing the goings on below him.
He had made his way up an old fire escape and procured a good vantage point for the mission that Dalton had sent him on. The job was fairly simple, yet seemed to have a feeling of impending disaster following with it.
Timo knew people like Dalton; he knew that there had to be an ulterior motive behind what was going on here. No politician has ever simply wanted to get results, especially not by procuring them under the table. Secretly he wondered if this was a way for Dalton Grey to gain notoriety.
It made sense. If Timo was successful, then Dalton’s crime prevention campaign seemingly would get a boost. If not, then he is responsible for cleaning the streets of a crackpot former professional wrestler turned vigilante. Dalton prevails either way.
Again Timo reflected and thought there was something about this man that reminded him of Tyler Nelson, though he couldn’t quite place it.
None of that seemed to matter at this point ant time. The only thing that was going through the Samoan’s head was the thought of exhuming his record and how he was going to accomplish it. He didn’t fully understand what it was Dalton saw in him, but he figured this was worth a shot. He had been training for a couple years in fighting skills at a local dojo; why not put them to the test?
Very soon, his marks arrived.
He slunk down to barely see over the rooftop as two men walked down an alleyway, making very sure not to be seen. A large dumpster concealed the efforts of the two men, who Timo recognize almost immediately.
Joseph “Little Joey” Gianni and his associate for the day Ray Ray Clements sidled into the small alleyway and began to shovel small handfuls of things back and forth. These two small timers were working for a bigger group, or even pair of groups. The Samoan really didn’t know or care what it was; he just knew that Dalton wanted these guys off the streets as an example. Timo was just the Samoan for the job.
As he leaned over the edge of the rooftop, he could hear the two men talking in hushed voices, and he knew his time wouldn’t be long now. It was now or never, and he prepared himself for the next few minutes.
The Cold Sweat
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“Hey Samoan, what are you going to do?”
The voice was cold…dark…burned.
“How far will you take it? Will you put them in the hospital too Samoan?” a greedy laugh emanated from all around. “I bet you’ve already planned to kill one of them you violent brute. The Monster is coming.”
Timo shook his head and looked for Clyde, but he couldn’t see the visual manifestation anywhere. He had tarried only a few seconds from his goal, but in that time, both his marks had grown skittish and began to look nervous.
The moment was now.
One leap was all it took, and he fell with force. Calling upon years of experience, Timo twisted his body into a full somersault in mid air, and landed with authority on Ray Ray’s shoulders. The thug had about enough time to mouth “What the fuck?” before Timo snapped his weight backwards sharply and pulled his target with him.
The Hurricanrana was beautiful and it felt amazing to spike that poor fuckers head into the asphalt below. The sickening crunch of bone on hard surface was one that Timo longed for, and he actually smiled a little when he heard it. Ray Ray grabbed his head and rolled around in pain, screaming like he had been bitten by a demon.
And why not? As Timo stood and turned to face his opponent “Little Joey” he must have looked like one in his face paint and white eyed stare. Well, he would have, had he been in the ring still. “Little Joey” instead saw a crazy old Samoan in a pair of Haggar slacks and a button up shirt spike his business partner into the ground, and did what came natural.
The knife was out in an instant and traced a line across Timo’s arm. Joey wasted no time in following up with another slash, not nearly as wild as The Samoan would have liked, and ran the blade across his chest. It was Timo’s turn to grow wide eyed as he realized very suddenly this wasn’t a wrestling match.
Ray Ray began to get up and quickly reached into his jacket for something that The Samoan assumed was a pistol. Quickly thinking, Timo turned his back to Joey and delivered a spot on kick to Ray’s chest, knocking him backwards and launching him into a pile of trash. Joey was on him in an instant, driving the knife toward The Samoan’s back. He turned and dove out of time in enough time to only catch the tip in his shoulder.
Slowly standing and wincing with pain from the bleeding cuts, Timo suddenly realized the gravity of the situation and looked back and forth at his enemies coming toward him. Ray had recovered from the separate blows and now pulled out a knife of his own. The Samoan silently thanked god it wasn’t a pistol after all.
“Don’t you think this has gone on far enough?” Clyde was standing between them, examining the blade in Ray’s hand. The Burned Man smiled and ran his imaginary hand down the thugs face. “What an amateur, using a switchblade. A real man would have brought something with more beef.”
As Timo watches the two men look at one another to correlate an attack, he can’t help but wondering what he is going to do. This was no cage match, this was no hardcore show, this was real and he was about to die.
“Let go Samoan.”
As Joey thrust in, Timo grabbed his arm and suddenly twisted it, causing him to drop the knife in pain. The Samoan flipped Joey and stomped at his face hard, opening a small wound in the assailants face and temporarily disorienting him.
“Good, good, you are almost there!” Clyde’s words needled him like hellfire, but it was too late.
The Monster had arrived.
Do Not Disturb
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He turned to see Ray coming at him with a wild swing and as suddenly as he had gotten himself into this mess, he blinked his eyes and his entire world changed. The Samoan turned Joey’s arm once more, eliciting a scream, right before he planted his right foot into the back of the straight armed elbow and broke it at the joint.
The snarling Timo let go and had just enough time to grab Ray’s knife hand and use the assailant’s momentum, swinging him hard into a brick wall. The Samoan looked at his quarry and though in the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t possible, Dave Gibson stood before him, his eyes pleading for mercy.
“Oh Davey, there will be no mercy for the wicked tonight!”
The Samoan howled in fury and drove a knee into the ribs of Ray, then another. He grabbed the thug by the neck and lifted him, spinning and slamming the poor fool into the concrete with the unusual slam he called “Toa Tu Mal” (“To Destroy” in Samoan).
He stood firmly, his blood dripping from open wounds, and his eyes glazed over as the two men screamed in pain. The sound of their howling only served to enrage the furious Monster even more and he began looking for a way to stop it. Timo grabbed one of the “Gibsons” and turned him over on his back.
A quick mount and hammer fists made the man try to roll away, but there would be none of that. A short series of elbow strikes splattered blood up and onto the Samoan’s face. As he looked to the ground and saw Gibson completely incapacitated, the corner of his mouth curled into a smile.
“Aren’t you for forgetting something Samoan?” Clyde’s voice rang out shockingly.
“Rrrrrr….” The growling response came as he turned and saw another fresh Gibson standing behind him holding his ribs.
“I guess today aint so good for you Gibbo.” Clyde’s maniacal laugh cut into The Monster as he watched Gibson try to run from him. He picked up a chunk of brick and without thinking, lobbed it through the air, spiking “Mr. Old School” in the head.
“Not exactly the approach I expected, but oh so effective.” The Burned Man cackled incessantly.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the air behind Timo and he turned, seeing a local looking over the carnage. He shook his head and tried to blink away the insanity, but it would not stop. Sudden flashes made him scream and turn from the alley, running away in blind fury mixed with agony.
He had no choice, it was kill or be killed, and he certainly did his best to stay alive. The Monster inside of Timo slowly began to recede as he ran, and he fought to control an indelible urge to allow tears to stream from his eyes.
As he ran blindly, he did not feel the pain from the cuts, nor the fear of the blade, or even the ache from destroying his foes.
He felt only one thing.
Freedom.
For This, I’ve Waited Forever
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Timo Bolamba sat alone in his room, with only one a flashlight piercing the darkness. In front of him, he had a box that was sealed tightly. Teardrops had fallen and occasionally washed away small bits of the dust that had gathered on top of the taped container.
“Why did it have to come to this?” his sad and gravel laced voice cut the silence. “I left you to die two years ago when Gibson ended my career. Why do I need you now?”
“We all need help sometimes Timo.” A familiar and comforting voice soothed him. Six Finger Cisco stepped out from behind a door and sat down on the edge of the bed behind The Samoan. “There are reasons for everything in life, and today should have taught you why you need this.”
The Samoan rubbed his hand across the box, and wiped some of the buildup away. Under two years of dust, the words “Do Not Open” could be read. He looked at Cisco sullenly and with hurt in his eyes, Timo offered a question to his old chum.
“I really wish you were actually here instead of just being a figment of my imagination. If you really were though, what would you do?”
Cisco smiled.
“That seems like a silly question for me to answer, but I’ll try.” He paused, grabbing his chin with his malformed hand and tapping on it with his sixth digit. “It seems like your enemies didn’t fear you nearly as bad as you them. Maybe…”
He pauses and tosses Timo a knife.
“Maybe you need to cut that box open and give them something to be afraid of.”
I Can’t Make You Do It, But I Know You Want To
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A pair of silent feet land in Dalton Grey’s window sill and a pair of rough hewn hands open the pane of glass that separates the cool night air from the warm inviting office. Dalton turns as he hears the noise and blinks in awe as he sees a man very different from the prisoner he charged with a job only twenty four hours ago.
“You made a hell of a mess Timo.” Dalton’s words cut almost as deep as Joey’s knife.
“I did what I had to do. It was exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
The Chief District Attorney smiled coyly and raises a curious eye to his charge.
“In one night, the city began talking about the vicious hero that subdued two drug dealers and brought in a pair of wanted felons. I would say that you did your job well, yes.”
The sly Dalton looked over his new partner.
“I see you have changed.”
Timo returned his answer quickly, pre-calculated and raw.
“Again, I did what I had to do. These scumbags need to know there is something else out there to fear besides the crooked police. I thought about what you offered to me the other day Dalton, and though I’m not sure I trust you…”
He pauses and thinks his answer over.
“I have come to the decision that I do not care. These streets need an avenger. You need someone to make you shine for the election. I need a way to stay out of the laws grips.
We all win. In the end, the choice was simple.”
Dalton smiles.
“Excellent, when can I call you again?”
A light flashes by and standing before Dalton Grey is a man very different from the one he had incarcerated recently. Blood red pants with the words “Samoan” on one leg and “Silencer” on the other adorned his hips. Tattoos of different meaning were scrawled all over the top half of his torso. A necklace made of sharks teeth hung between his thick shoulders. His face was that of pure rage, red face paint covering his cheeks, fangs filling out his mouth and white contacts making his enemies see the unnerving glare of justice.
And in his right hand, a flaming instrument of destruction, his custom made hardwood, barbed wire wrapped tiki torch.
“The Samoan Silencer” Stood before Dalton, and he bared his fangs, daring any man to stand before him.
“I’ll be waiting.”