Daniel Bennet's Little Big Man

Daniel Bennet’s
Little Big Man

Saturday night, 11:35pm.
October 14 …

I think that was the first time I saw him. He wasn’t a particularly big fella, not even six feet tall; I don’t think. But there was something about him that drew my attention. Among the others on the train there was an older woman, obviously a Jehovah’s Witness by the large handbag filled with Witness propaganda. She had a little girl with her. Also, there was a heavy-set guy in his late 40’s, early 50’s; and some other guy asleep on the end. You could tell from the smell and his loud snoring that he had more than a few drinks. He may have even passed his stop; twice. Sometimes when people were really intoxicated, drivers would let them ride all the way through and drop them on the way back; you know, sleep it off. The train was never really full during this time of night. I was on my way home from a party that probably shouldn’t have been to anyway. I was listening to my headphones, mentally reading all the other passengers, my usual routine. And this one guy in particular kept my attention. I tried to size him up without staring or drawing attention to myself. He had on some type of soft running shoe, some black, nylon type sweats and a terry-cloth top with some sort of sports insignia on it. He didn’t appear terribly threatening or psycho or anything like that. I’m not even quite sure why he held my attention. About the time I got around to noticing what he was reading was when the trouble started.

They got on the train with war on the mind. You could smell it in the air, the musk with a stench of alcohol. Looking like something out of Hollywood murder movie, they were looking for death. The big one stood out. Not so much because of his size but his demeanor didn’t match his name... Homicide. He sat quietly; smiling at whatever he thought was amusing. The other three, they were of a different sort, loud and rowdy.
Everyone on the train could sense where this ride was going. For what seemed like an eternity, the next twenty-five minutes of our lives were forever altered. Juice, the most mouthy in the bunch, had an appropriate saying he kept repeating “the dust gon’ settle”. And that it did.

Just then, the young man in the sweats got up and approached the three of them. He nodded at the big one and then spoke, “what’s up?” Two of them spoke, the one they called Juice just sat and stared intently. “Can y’all take it down a notch? No disrespect, but you know they think all everybody under twenty-five wants to do is rape, steal and listen to loud music.” One guy seemed pretty cool for the moment and said, “It’s cool”. As the young guy made his way back to his seat, Juice stood up and shouted, “Well maybe they’re right!” The young guy continued to his sat and Juice walked up behind him still yelling, “Well maybe they’re right!” Juice stopped just in front of the older lady and the little girl. He then grabbed the head of her doll and snatched it away from the girl so hard he could have pulled her arm out of socket. Juice stood there staring at the young guy, twisted the doll apart, threw it to the ground and smashed it under his feet. He then walked to the young guy and stood over him. “What now mutha-fucka”, he screamed. He had a look on his face of total revenge, as if he’d just caught up with someone that killed his loved ones. He said again,” what now”… more softly, more devious, “mutha-fucka”. The other men had quietly moved in around the situation. I noticed the big one pulled something out of his hoodi and wanted to say something but of course something, probably fear stopped me.

The young guy stood up to look Juice in the eyes but not standing eye-to-eye. As he stood, you could tell that that seemed to be what Juice was waiting for. We could hear him muttering, “Oh you a big man now.” Juice then pulled back to swing and everything seemed to move in slow motion. As Juice’s hand came forward the young guy dipped his head to the left and grabbed his arm. He then twisted his body a full three hundred and sixty degree turn, somehow got behind Juice and slung him forward slamming his head against a pole. The sight of this must have shocked the other two because they stood frozen for a moment. After a brief moment, the big one, Homicide swung a wild swing at his head. He had something metallic in his hand; it was hard to tell quite what it was. The young guy ducked and somehow simultaneously kicked another guy. The third guy raised his foot to kick him but the young guy caught it. Unfortunately, as he rose to make a move, Homicide hit him in the back of his head. Although Homicide didn’t hit him with the object, he did fall to his knees from the blow. I’d swear this guy was some kinda superhero or something because he rolled away and back to his feet before he could have possibly recovered. As the guys were running toward him, he then straddled the holding rails, raised himself swinging forward and kicking the tallest guy in the chest. The three guys fell into each other like dominos.

By this time the rest of us had moved to the far corner of the train, near the door. I hadn’t noticed, but in all this time the ringleader, Juice, hadn’t moved. As the tall one and Homicide stepped over Juice, the smallest guy stopped to check on Juice. The young guy seeming possessed ran toward them, fell to one knee and kicked the tall guy in his lower region. He then quickly jumped to his feet, guarded against an oncoming blow from Homicide with his forearm and threw a shot of his own in Homicide’s gut. I wouldn’t think this guy could do much to hurt Homicide from the size advantage but the punch was just hard enough to make Homicide pause. That seemed to be all he needed as he grabbed on to the pole and swung himself sideways and kicked the tall guy in the throat. The tall guy grabbed his throat and immediately fell to the ground. In all this time the smallest guy took no action. He just kept looking back and forth from the door to Juice.

Suddenly all the action stopped. Homicide had the gun. “Game over”. We were all about take a trip to the other side. Just then the train came to a stop. The young guy, catching Homicide off his guard, reached in, grabbed the gun and his wrist then we all heard a bang. It screamed so loud that it literally pulled my head back. My mind began to race as I scanned the other passengers for a sign. Permission to move, to do something. Once I caught hold of my consciousness I noticed Homicide was on the ground holding his knee. The smallest one was gone and the young guy was walking toward us. Thirty seconds later, the transit cops showed up, he got off and walked away leaving the rest to us. I learned something that day. Big men stand up while little men sit quietly by.


His~story

I guess I should begin by introducing myself. My name is Daniel Bennett, assistant coach of the chess team, editor and chief reporter for the Rising Star at North City High. I’m a senior now and have been writing for the paper for about two years now; I guess I’m pretty good at it. Right now I’m working on an out-of-class project. Maybe I should try to pick up where I left off the last time.
I think I left off with the subway incident and I thought that was it. About two months had passed when I found myself pulled into another situation. It was on a Friday night. I was coming from a late horror movie; horror movies are always best watched late. My mom, of course, had no idea I would be this late or I would not have been there and this tale would not be told.
On my walk home, I found myself walking through a dark alley but isn’t that how it always happens. Anyway, as I said, I was on my way home when I noticed something going on near the other end of the alley. Normally, I would have turned around and looked for help but one of the people looked familiar. I moved in a bit closer and recognized the young hero from the subway incident. There were two other guys they were also big, heavy dudes, one with a hood on his head. The other wore a fleece jump suit, the kind that always makes that squeaky noise when you’re walking and clings to the skin when it gets wet. I couldn’t really hear what was being said but the two big guys didn’t look like friends of his. I wanted to get a bit closer so that I could hear what was being said but again, the action took place so fast I could barely gather myself.
One second, they were standing there talking and the next, the guy with the hood was on the ground and the other guy was stumbling backward. Since I don’t know his name, as of yet, I will just call the guy from the subway “hero”. And that’s just what he appeared to be, like straight out of a comic book. Somehow, he managed to wrestle a gun from one guy while keeping the other at bay. Once he had the gun, hero made the other two guys strip to their underwear and run out of the alley. He then simply threw all of their things, gun included, into a dumpster and walked away.
I was thoroughly intrigued by this point and already “way late” as far as home was concerned, so I followed him home. Somehow, he didn’t seem to notice me although I am quite a novice at this detective work. Looking at my watch, I know my mom is going to ground me for, like… ever. Anyway, I followed for about six blocks. It seemed like every path he chose was through some dark alley. I wonder if he knew I was following. If so, he never let on. We ended up at an old gas station. I watched him go in and waited for a while, then found my way home.
For two days my brain was stuck on what to do about my infatuation with this guy. I knew there was something special about him but at this point I wasn’t sure how far to take this or from what angle I should approach it. I could go to him and try treating it as a kind of interview but then how would he react? What if he, himself were some kind of criminal, hiding out from the police. In any case, I decided to do a little more self-investigation. I’m not really good with remembering directions, especially at night, so I make it a habit of writing everything down. I found my way back to his place and before taking a chance on approaching him; I watched the place and tried to learn his habits for a few days.

I went by in the mornings on my way to school and in the afternoons on my way home. His habits in the morning were pretty much the same; jogging every morning was a routine then he stopped at this small diner for some tea and a bagel with nothing on it. One afternoon I decided to leave school early to see if I could check his spot. When I got there he was just leaving, great timing. I thought it weird to live in an old gas station but when I got inside his place kinda interesting; actually, kinda nice; like something off one of those design shows. There were plants in several places and not just ordinary houseplants. He had orchids and those bonsai trees like from the “Karate Kid” movie. There was a leather love seat near the front window with what looked like, at least to me, a real oriental rug in front of it and two tables on either end. On the tables sat chessboards; one was a Star Trek set made of glass and the other had Egyptian pieces. There were columns throughout and a painting or two of abstract facial images. There was also a lower level with an ’85 wild cat’, no engine. Even the bathroom was designer. He had one of those jet toilets and a fancy sink, a medicine cabinet built into the wall and mirror on the ceiling. There was a bookshelf built into the bathroom wall with all sorts of books from auto repair to politics to witchcraft. There seemed to be more and more to learn about this guy. In the bedroom there was no bed just a closet that spanned the wall and a rolled up mat. I found military dog tags hanging on a money tree that sat on a small table in the corner. There were also incents and couple of other trinkets; it must have been some type of meditation spot. On the wall over where the mat was rolled up there was a sword hanging. There was no T.V., no radio and no computer. This guy was really a piece of work. I did find a name; on a wall leading to a kitchen area was a diploma and a certificate both with the same name, “Sty Hues”.
The next few days I spent plotting out what to do next. And the more I thought, the more I wondered. Friday morning I went to school and it came to me; with the help of Gregory Carlotta, he was the resident geek. I think Gregory had a comic book collection bigger than Marvel. Anyway, this particular Friday, he was reading a Night Wing comic. That’s when I thought to myself that a guy like this probably does heroic things on a regular basis. I needed to do more research. I needed to find out exactly who Sty Hues really was, as a person. So after some Internet research, some extensive detective work and lots of interviews this is what I came up with.
Serious Alejandro Luis Cesar Jones… that was the name of the homeless guy I met near Sty’s place. He says “People call me Serious Jones because of my affect on the ladies.” He seemed to have an inside track on everything and everyone in the neighborhood. When he noticed me sitting outside near Sty’s, he felt the need to fill me in on a few details; for a price of course. “A hot cup of coffee and a box of cancer sticks” as he would say, was the price for some information in the form of a drawn out story. Serious told me of how Sty’s mom, a strung out crack addict, was killed by her boyfriend while Sty sat outside the door and heard everything. He was nine years old then. He’s been, for all intense purposes, homeless ever since. With no other family and only his anger to keep him driven, Sty learned how to survive on the streets on his own.
I had to question, “Am I supposed to believe that a nine year old boy, not only survived on the streets for more than ten years alone but educated himself all the things I’ve seen him do?”
“Hey, ju can believe what ju want homeboy. And I didn’t say no-ting ‘bout ejucatin’ himself. Dat…as he blows smoke in the air… is a story for another day.”
He means another pay-day. I spent the next few days at the library doing some research to see if any of Serious Jones’ story could be true. Over the years, there had been plenty of stories about drug addicts found dead so with no real names or addresses to back me up, I came up dry. Feeling stuck, I was forced to go back to Mr. Jones for some more info.
“Oooh… newsboy, ju want addresses and such? Well I can’t help you there. I can tell ju the ole house was somewhere over by sizteen and clyzdale? Somewhere around there. I’m pretty sure but ju check it out.” He said real nonchalant.
I asked if Sty had any relatives, cousins, aunts, grandparents, something.
“Ey chicka!!… come see sometine. Lemme make you feel special.” He blurts out as this lady hurry by, apparently trying to get home from work. “No one that I can think of off hand.”
I was feeling at a loss but he came at me with another bit of intriguing information.
“Aye, little man… he does have some family” as he waved me closer and lowered his voice. “But this family goes a bit deeper than blood.”
Then he switches right back into jovial mode. “That my friend, is a story for anoder day. Right now, I gotta go find me some Spanish rice and collard greens; ju know?”
I went straight to the old neighborhood where Serious said Sty grew up. At first information was hard to come by but then I met a girl that let me know I was looking for the wrong person. He had a nick name which everybody knew him by, Smoke. He was called Smoke because of his ability to walk up on you without being noticed. Once I started asking questions about smoke, I got all the information I could handle. One boy,
named Cheech told me the story of how Sty’s mother died, which had to be second hand because there was no way he could have been around for it let alone remember it at his age.
“Ya see, Harmond, Smoke’s step-pop used to beat Mrs. Hues up all the time cause he was some kinda sicko from one of those wars. Smoke too, if he tried to get in it. night, they was both getting’ high, you know, Harmond and Mrs. Hues when all of a sudden, Harmond starts flippin’ out. He starts throwin’ shit and beatin’ Mrs. Hues all upside the head and whatnot. Meanwhile, Smoke is sittin’ outside in the rain cause he didn’t like to be around when they was doin’ that stuff…”
“But why was he outside in the rain?” I had to interject.
“Cause was the spot they was livin’ in was ‘bout big as a closet. Two rooms; you know? Just a living room and kitchen. Anyway, Smoke was outside when he heard a bunch of shit breakin’ and whatnot. So he tries to get in but they got him locked out. So he goes around the side to see Harmond wailin’ on his mom throwin’ stuff, the whole nine. Only he can’t break the window or nothin’ cause its that thick glass. You know, that block glass. So he runs back around to the front and starts bangin’ on the door, both tryna get in and attract some attention to get some help.”
I could tell this boy liked to talk. It was a lot easier to get information from him than dealing with Serious. I just needed a way to verify his information and I would be set.
Not stopping for a breath, the boy continued, “After it was all said and done, Mrs. Hues was dead and Harmond just walked out the door, looked at Smoke and said, “She wasn’t worth shit and you ain’t worth the effort.”, then he just walked away and disappeared. What you wanna know all this for anyway?”
Thinking quickly, I told him, “it’s for special school project on hometown heroes.”
He seemed to accept that, so we went from there. I was told lots of stories in the neighborhood about Sty or Smoke as they call him. All very colorful and elaborate stories, most filled with tragedy and heartache but all ending around the same point. Something happened in his early teens where people seem to lose track of him. So it was back to Serious.
Two days later, he was in the same spot, heckling passersby. I tried to creep by, I’ve been late to school twice this week already, but he spotted me. I have to find a way to shorten this conversation before I’m late; again.
“Hey, newsy boy! Come, come. Tell me, what you know good?”
“I’m not newsy.” I said as I tried to continue on.
“Don’t be so girlie. Come; let me get in your ear.” He made space on the window ledge he was sitting on for me to sit next to him. Being that he didn’t smell too good today, coupled with fact that I was in a hurry, I chose not to sit.
“Hey, what’s up Serious?” I tried to sound genuinely interested.
“Tell me, he said, did you find anything of interest? Anything I could add to my knowledge?”
“Yeah; I said turning to walk off, but it’s at school. I’ll stop by on my way home and fill you in.” I hurried off as quickly as I could before he could call me back for more. What I heard later that day on the news made me wish I had hung around a bit longer.

Six o’clock news

Earlier this afternoon there was a fire in which two small children were trapped inside. Firefighter’s after rescued an elderly lady learned of the children and couldn’t find a safe way to re-enter the burning building. We turn now to news correspondent Michael Romano on the scene.
“Thanks Trish. The scene is not too good at this point. Although fire-fighters have rescued one elderly woman, they are unable to reenter the building. We are told that it could collapse at any moment. The big drama at this point is that there happens to be two small children caught somewhere inside.”
Trish, forced to interject, “So to understand this correctly, firefighters are forced to either risk the losing the lives of… how ever many men that may try to enter or watch as the building collapses with children inside.”
“That’s just it, Trish. Firefighters are scrambling to find a safe way in. The major issue here is its unknown just how long this building will remain standing. Could be minutes, could be seconds.”
“It’s also possible, god forbid that the children could already be dead inside; is it not?”
“Unfortunately, so true. Let’s pray not. In any case we’ll be right here till we have an answer on way or the … wait. Someone is coming from the side of the building. We’re going to try to move in a bit closer.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was him again. Either this guy had some kinda hero complex or he was the real deal; Superman brought to life. He was coming from the back of the burning building with kids in hand. I had to get down there. This time there was no escape. The place was swarmed with reporters, police and firemen and not to mention the onlookers. He couldn’t possibly try to avoid getting questioned by at least the police in this instance.
By the time I reached the area most of the excitement had died down but there were a few reporters left on the scene. The police were questioning some witnesses, the firemen were securing the area and victims were at the hospital. Somehow, Sty was nowhere to be found. I listened in on some sidebars to find that he somehow evaded the news reporters and police and disappeared in the crowd. But it wouldn’t be that easy this time. His face was on the television screen so that meant that someone somewhere would know who he was and how to find him. The police were looking for him to check any possible connection to the fire itself and that wouldn’t soon go away.

Early Monday morning and Mike Romano was not looking forward to the coming day. He knew he would get the assignment for finding out just who the mystery hero was and the task was not a welcomed one. It would seem that this would be easy for Mike especially since he not only knew just who the mystery hero was, but exactly how to find him and most everything about him. Mike was one of the few people that did know something about Sty. While I had to do a lot of footwork and investigation to find the little that I could find out, Mike on the other hand had an intimate history with Sty, which is an interesting story within itself.
It seems Michael Romano is the oldest son of reputed mob under-boss Vincent Romano. I wonder how someone in “the family” was allowed a career in the media but then again if done right anything can be used to an advantage. Getting back to the issue at hand, it seems that Michael and Sty grew up together. After the death of Sty’s mother, he met the Romano’s.
Vincent Romano made every attempt to make the lives of his three children, Michael, Natasha and William seems as “normal” as possible. There were weekly trips to the park, skating and other such activities. One particular day, Vince happened to be conducting some sort of business while the kids were playing in the park. Little Tasha at about 8yrs old fell into the river and Sty happened to sitting near by reading and without hesitation jumped in to save her. After that episode he was pretty much adopted by the Romano family. He and Michael being around the same age grew to be close enough to despise each other. Over time, I learned a lot about Sty through Michael and vice versa.
Today, Michael had a dilemma; how to best approach the aforementioned assignment. He came up with a plan that would help bring him into the spotlight while attempting to blemish this perfect son his father always thought Sty could be.

For some days after the fire incident, I hung around Sty’s place and he never showed up. I talked to Serious a few times and he confirmed that Sty was nowhere to be found. Everything else was still in place where he lived. Everything was still there except for Sty; or so I thought. After several days of hanging out, even played hooky a few times just to be sure it wasn’t a timing issue, I did spot Sty on the roof of the building but he was coming out not going in. This was my perfect opportunity so I followed him. As usual, he traveled side streets and back alleys which I’m trying to get accustomed to. I followed him through a damp alley way where everything looked kind of gritty and dingy. Somewhere in the alley I lost track of him although there was no way out; he seemed to have just vanished. I slowed my pace and quietly continued into the alleyway looking for some type door or something I may have missed but there was nothing.
I walked slowly over a large puddle where some rats were ripping apart a bag and suddenly something grabbed my leg and I felt myself spiraling downward. By the time I could gather myself I was being hand-cuffed to a pipe or something and Sty was standing over me with some sort of sharp object pointed in my back.

“Kid, you’ve been hanging around and following me for weeks, what’s the deal?” he spoke in a soft, deep tone. After the things I’ve seen from him, I should’ve been terrified but for some reason I didn’t feel especially threatened. I did know not to try him.

“Listen” I said trying to stay calm, “I…I just wanted to find out who you were? I mean since you saved my life and all.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t even know you.”
“I know. That’s what made me follow you. I was on the train a while back when you beat those guys down. You disappeared so quickly no one had the chance to thank you.”
“I have no clue what you are talking about. You need to stop following me and the next time you go in my place; I’ll come looking for you.”

“Wait a minute. What’s your story? Why are you hiding out?”

“Nobody’s hiding out. What’s your name, and where the heck are you coming from with all this stuff?”

“Well the truth is…. I… I’ve been following you for over a month now. I began to break the whole story down. “It all started quite innocent. I just wanted to thank you for, you know, the whole train thing, and I was kinda’ intrigued by the way you just disappeared. And the more I found out the more I wanted to know.”

“I get it; so basically what you’re saying is you’re a nose little bastard.” He was about to be on the move again.

He jumped up and started moving toward the door. He stopped, started again then looked back at me. “You comin’ or what?” I didn’t know what to expect next. I definitely wasn’t expecting an invitation on any type of mission. Well I guess it wasn’t a mission; or was it? Anyway, that’s definitely what it felt like. The first thing he did was to tell me not to expect anything and don’t ask any questions. Yeah right; that’s like Larry King having a chance to interview Hitler and saying no. I was full of questions. Like, where are we going, why do you do this… hero stuff, why did you start, who are you, really? None of these questions would get answered right away, nor were they answered by him directly. That night was spent with us walking around quietly, doing nothing in particular, just me watching him watching everything else. I got the sense that he knew when things were going to happen and he just waited.

The Interview

I was hanging out around Sty’s place early on a Saturday hoping he’d come around. It had weeks since I’d seen him that late night. That was also the last night I’d been allowed out of the house past six o’clock. “Go figure.” It was a quiet Saturday, no kids, no Serious, not a lot of things going on, other than the occasional fire truck. I figured I’d get some homework done when this guy pulled up in a car. Normally, it wouldn’t have attracted my attention but it was a really expensive car for this neighborhood. I mean really expensive. The driver got out, a tall guy, black hair, professional, Italian suit. He walked over to Sty’s place, looked around, made a phone call and hopped back in his car. He sat there for a while, about an hour. I was actually getting hungry but didn’t want to chance missing something while I ran to the store. Just then, he got out. He went to the back of the garage which gave me an opportunity to check the car out.

I had never seen a car, in person, like this in my life. For all I knew something like this only existed on the tube. It was creamy white, with leather seats and what looked like real wood on the inside. It was a hard top convertible that had these huge tires with shiny rims with spokes. I had seen enough car commercials to tell that this wasn’t in any of them. I took down the license plate number and was on my way to check and see where the driver disappeared when I suddenly felt jolted backward. A hand was over my mouth and I was dragged into some bushes. I just knew this was then end when I turned to see Sty.

“He’s on the inside.” He said crouched down next to me now. “He got in the same way you did. But I was expected him; sooner or later.” He never looked down at me or hinted to how he’d known I’d been in his place. His attention was perfectly focused on the garage and its intruder.

“Aren’t you gonna stop him or at least find out who he is?

“I know who he is. What I need to know is why he’s here?”

“Well…”

“Well, what? And before you ask, no. You’re gonna find out for me.”
“And how do you suppose I do that? I’m not going in there.

He gave me a sharp look and stare. Then he smiled. “Why not; you’re both looking for the same thing. No. Don’t stress I have another plan.”

From that point, I knew I was in trouble. He had me intercept the guy at his car, which I tried to do without touching it. When he came out of the garage, I played it low, kind of mixing the truth with omitted details. Sty told me he was a reporter so I used that for my in, using my school paper and own ambitions to play off. At first he wasn’t hearing a thing I said. He was constantly on and off the phone. I thought for sure I would get the brush off but just before he pulled off, he told me to hop in. This was going to be a wonderful day. At first, I rambled off a few nonessential questions like, how fast does the car go, how long he had to work to get a car like that, you know, that sort of stuff.
Of course, there weren’t many news reporters could afford that car and neither could he, if he were just a news reporter. He asked for my name and told me to call him Mike, told me to be sure my seatbelt was fastened. I don’t know why, I could jog faster than we were driving.

After a brief moment of awkward yet necessary silence, we simultaneously uttered the question, “So what do you know about this guy, Sty?”

I started off and gave him some premeditated information. I told him about the train and how I followed him and wanted to thank him for saving us. I got the sense that he was a bit irritated by the story I was telling; his right eye began to twitch. That’s when it came to me that I had seen him before. I told him that I saw the news report on the fire and noticed Sty which incited my interest. After I played up some admiration for his reporting persona, I asked if I could shadow him and learn the ropes. I was now intrigued and figured by hanging tight to him I would have access to more extensive information.

He started by telling me to careful of hero worship and the assuring me that Sty was no hero and was actually quite dangerous. He then began to back up his opinion was seemingly logical thinking, some of which I had already been thinking. Like, why would someone go out of their way to save someone, and then run away? What does he really have to hide? Little did I know but was soon to learn Mr. Romano’s own personal interest was based on envy and an overall detest for Sty. The things I learned of and through Sty Hues and Michael Romano would fill a novel. Although all things are not humanly possible, humans will test the possibility of all things. I learned the nature of man is but I testament of his wills, his won’ts and his reasons why.


© 2006 by nopoet. All rights reserved.