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Bald Cheater - 5
Bald Cheater - 5
I sit at the only available table. Of course, it’s the wobbly one, up against
the window. Setting down my coffee, my leg bangs the glass and the greasy
homeless guy sitting on the other side turns. His girl, who looks about twelve
years old, plays guitar beside him. Her hair looks like corn stalks, and, given its
green color, I think it’s on purpose. At least the glass buffers her singing. On my
way in, I thought someone was choking a walrus, but it turned out to be the chick
with the green locks and eyebrow piercings serenading Forty-second Street.
There’s a little mutt sitting between them. I can’t see him from here, but he looked
Old Bald Cheater / Hiebert / 2
up at me and whined when I passed, pleading to be rescued. I paused at the hat full
of loose change sitting beside his margarine dish of kibble and said, “Sorry pup, it's
pressure until the pain returns to being tolerable. I unclip my fanny pack from my
waist and drop it onto the table, completely forgetting about the unbalanced legs.
Coffee sloshes over the side of my cup, running through the grooves of graffiti
carved into the Arborite top before dripping into my lap. The coffee’s barely
lukewarm, and I am torn between being happy I wasn’t burnt or being pissed off at
I unzip my bag and remove a pill bottle, making a mental note that the
baggie of crystalmeth beneath it is still there. I pop four of the pills in my mouth,
chasing them with tepid coffee and I nearly gag. I forgot the fucking sugar.
Slinging the sugar bowl from across the table, I drag it back. My hand
shakes as I lift the ceramic top and take out four cubes. Holding them above my
cup, I drop them one by one. With each plop, I quietly sing the words to the most
turns and I instantly recognize him from the Old Days and, like everybody I run
into, he’s aged far better than me. Other than the grey hair, he looks exactly as he
did twenty years ago. Just like back then, seeing him makes me want to puke.
He searches for somewhere to sit and I turn my head, avoiding eye contact.
Not that I need to. Time spent the last twenty years chasing me through the sewers
Old Bald Cheater / Hiebert / 3
and beating the shit out of me with the ugly stick. Even I don't even recognize me
anymore.
Pain erupts behind my eyes, and I know he’s on his way over. I twist the
cap onto the pill bottle and shove it back into the fanny pack, zipping it shut as he
sets his cup down across from me. I take a deep breath and wonder why God hates
me so much.
“Petey!” He grips my hand, shaking it so hard he pulls me to my feet.
“How the hell are you?” His arms lock me in a bear hug and I expect my bones to
“Hi Clarke,” I say, and we sit. His gorilla-like forearm causes another table
wobble but somehow he manages to lift both our cups before they spill.
He places some folded napkins under the table’s broken leg, and tries to
wobble the top. It doesn’t. “That’s better,” he grins. I want to knock out every
He pulls the jacket so I can read the patch. “Port Authority. How about
He sips his drink, leaving whipped cream on his lip. I don’t tell him. I drink
“Allow me.” Red beams of energy shoot out his eyes, focusing on my
“Dude, please don't. I'll end up with inoperable brain cancer or something
He laughs.
“I'm serious. You don’t know. Look what happened to Reed and Ben!”
Both of us instinctively glance out the window in the direction of the Baxter
Building, but it’s too dark to see past Sid and Nancy.
I shake my head. “I didn’t really know them that well.” It’s a lie.
“Not yet,” I sigh, lifting my cup to my lips. “But probably soon. Fucking
cosmic radiation.”
My eyes fall to the tabletop. Nobody’s safe from the big C. My hand
“It's nothing.” I say, my gaze drifting to my fanny pack before I can stop
myself.
His eyes follow and, of course, I know what's coming. “That cocaine?”
“Nothing fucking happened to me. Life’s a big pile of shit and you deal
with it. I don’t need to explain anything to you, Mr. Port Authority. A bit of a step
I expect him to leave, but he doesn't even seem angry. We both watch a
woman pushing a shopping cart full of bottles and cans stop and pat the homeless
dog on the head. She pulls something from her pocket and feeds it to him. I try
lucky to make rent. Retirement?” I laugh and another surge of pain blasts my skull.
“I get bad headaches. It's this fucking city. So much crime the,” I point to
“Thing?”
“You know.” I hold my open palms on either side of my face and shake
them theatrically. “My Spidey-Sense.” Sounds just as stupid any way I say it.
He frowns. No super fucking sense of humor, that’s for sure. “You alright
He stares.
“What?”
I look down. You can’t tell, but he’s right. It is under my clothes like it
always is because without the suit there is no me. Without Spiderman, I’m just one
more fucking loser who pissed and snorted away fifty years of his life.
Old Bald Cheater / Hiebert / 6
than a speeding bullet' powers that brought in the big bucks. Not the x-ray vision.”
“Nah technology’s made me obsolete. Mankind has all the speed and
I didn’t know those two words, “enjoy” and “work”, could be used
together. “It’s gotta beat working for Jamieson.” I almost add, “the shit eating
goose fucker” but hold back, thinking I might sound unbalanced. Instead I ask,
“Had a JLA reunion last year. Oh, and Diana’s article,” he winks, “but that
“Oh yes, I didn’t miss that. Wonder Woman can tie me up with her golden
lariat anytime she likes!” I don’t mention that her centerfold from that issue of
“He wasn't there. He bought an island somewhere and just shipped out.
“IRS trouble?” Many super heroes and villains were plagued by tax
problems once the NSA managed to uncover everyone’s secret identities. Failure
to disclose assets landed a lot of them in prison - the Kingpin’s currently doing
twenty years.
Clarke shakes his head. “No, the rich ones like him and Tony Stark had
accountants. Did you hear about Bruce Banner? He's on trial in LA - road rage.”
“Guy behind him wouldn’t stop honking and doc just snapped. Next thing
you know cars and trucks are flying everywhere.” Clarke checks the time again.
“Listen, why don't I grab Lois and we’ll take you out for drinks? She’d love
“I already have plans,” I say. “But next time for sure. I’ll keep in touch.”
Seriously. The world isn't your fault.” For the second time tonight he makes me
After wishing me another happy birthday, he leaves the shop, giving a final
wave through the window when he stops to put money in the dog's hat.
Grabbing my fanny pack, I go into the shitter, lock the door and remove the
baggie of jib. I dump some onto the counter and, taking my transit pass from my
pocket, use it to crush the crystals into a rail. Bending over, I snort the line and
stand up. The eyes of Peter Parker in the mirror meet with mine, and he follows as
I slowly undo my top shirt buttons and reveal the worn red Lycra with the black
spider. The drugs start working and I sing, almost in a whisper: “Spiderman,
Collecting my crap off the counter, I continue the tune as I button back up
and leave the can. The words about being strong with radioactive blood make me
think of Reed, Sue, Johnny and Ben - every member of the Fantastic Four - either
dead or dying from cancer. Walking onto the street, I smell the dank repulsive
odor of my home city and suddenly wish I had told Clarke the real reason why I
My fingers touch my hand where that fucking spider bit me. Eventually, I
convince myself that the lump hasn’t grown since breakfast and I move on,
thankful that the girl is smoking a cigarette instead of playing guitar as I pass.
A block later, I turn down a darker, but no less familiar, street. A woman
leans against a brick wall. The thick nipples of her hefty breasts poke through the
Her black flowing hair and red lips remind me of the centerfold by my bed,
and the thought cinches the deal. We hold hands, walk to my apartment, and I hum
In my room, I pay her and watch her undress to a pink thong. She lies back
“By the way, I'm Alexis,” she says, licking her lips. Her right hand slides
down her stomach and into her panties. “What's your name?”
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