Shadowman, page 5
part #1 of The Valiant Universe Series
To protect her son from any emotional issues resulting from the baseless neighborhood gossip, Helena was sure to impress upon him that his father was a good man. “Far better than most.”
Fondly locked in Jack’s memory was the exact moment Josiah began establishing himself as a constant presence in their home.
It had been almost seven years since that day.
Young Jack was awakened by the sound of his father playing the saxophone, an occurrence rarer than his visits. He had remained in bed wondering why his father would practice so early in the day; he had always preferred discretion when seeing them. Jack’s eyes widened as the saxophone belted out its final note, cartoonish and off-key.
His confusion became intolerable when he heard the uncharacteristic sounds of his mother’s laughter, and finally got out of bed. The scent of food filled the house as he moved toward the noises emanating from their dining room. Jack could not believe his eyes as he saw both his parents seated at the table, preparing to eat breakfast.
Jack’s parents merely engaged him in conversation without explanation, like this was completely natural for them. The behavior was such that any potential awkwardness or confusion felt completely unwarranted and, eventually, foolish.
From that day onward, it continued like this without interruption. They were definitely a normal family now, and while Helena’s constant reassurances were appreciated, her son had come to know his father for himself.
Even during intermittent visitations, Jack determined that his father’s personality was incongruous with the rumors, and he instinctually disregarded them.
This attitude proved passive yet unwavering.
His disinterest in the town’s gossip was so pronounced that his neighbors started calling him “Too Good.”
The neighborhood nickname served two purposes: It accused the boy of thinking too highly of himself while simultaneously belittling him for doing so. Jack found the title humorous because it was only accurate by chance, ultimately proving to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
While he was convinced that the culture of New Orleans eroded the intelligence of all who had the misfortune of inheriting it, he had come to regard his father as the pinnacle of sagacity.
Josiah had consistently exhibited a standard of patience and understanding far beyond anything his son, now a young adult, could compare it to.
“Far better than most.”
This was the reason behind Jack’s careful consideration of his father’s question that afternoon in his room.
“I’m not sure,” he finally replied. “They’re either stupid or on the take.”
Josiah shrugged at this. “Take your pick, boy, either one should be enough to keep you awake at night.”
Unable to summon a worthy retort, Jack winced as he grabbed the suitcase handle, silently pulling it upward in defeat. His contorted expression shifted into a strained smile as he reached out his hand.
“You got me, Dad, fair and square.”
Josiah’s initial look of confusion broke into a grin as he accepted the handshake. “Of course I got you, son,” he said. “It’s my primary responsibility, after all.”
He flashed a wink at his wife, having noticed her at the door. She turned toward Jack as he released his father’s hand.
“You two done saying goodbye?” she asked. “Let the boy go, Josiah. You not likely to change his mind no matter how clever you go about it.”
Josiah laughed briefly as he looked back to Jack, making way for him in the doorway. “He knows that wasn’t my intention,” he replied. The grin was gone now, though his tone suggested he was only semiserious. “You know that, don’t you?”
Jack remained silent, his smile becoming more genuine as he looked at his parents.
“It doesn’t matter what you do with your life,” Josiah continued, “if you’re looking for Truth, you’ll find It.” He leaned toward Jack, eye level but not uncomfortable. “My only intention is to make damn sure you’re one of the few capable of accepting Its invitation at your appointed time.” He stepped backward, never taking his eyes off his son as he gently brought an arm around his wife and pulled her close. “Shit, even I failed, so trust me when I say the invitation isn’t something to shake a stick at. Luckily for you, my failure also allowed me to see the answers to the test. I got you, son.”
Jack gasped. “You’re advocating that your son cheat?”
“Damn right,” Josiah replied. “No hope of you succeeding otherwise . . .” He trailed off. “And boy, you will succeed.” Placing her arm around his waist, Helena appeared primed to cut him off, but Josiah quickly began to speak again. “Remember these words: Giving up my life to ensure you become more than I can ever hope to be, that is my greatest accomplishment.”
Jack saw his mother subtly pinch his father’s side.
Seemingly defying her prodding, Josiah began talking again, pretending to be baffled. “Or does ‘will be my greatest’ sound better? They both sound good, and they’re both true. Just make sure you never forget that it’s better to die standing than to grovel.” He tapped the side of his head. “As long as you keep that in mind, you’ll be unstoppable.”
Somehow sensing the beginnings of some private disagreement, Jack moved to cut it short.
“I know, Dad,” he replied. “You’ve expressed that same idea in different ways going on forever. I won’t forget it. If I wasn’t absolutely sure that I wouldn’t fail you, then I wouldn’t pursue this.” He looked at his mother and then his father. “Do you believe me?”
Josiah smiled and turned toward Helena, her face already mirroring his own. “You hear your boy?” he asked, before suddenly reaching toward Jack with an outstretched arm.
Nodding in response, Helena was swept into the embrace Josiah was giving their son. She looked at Jack’s expression, his youthful face resting on her husband’s broad shoulders.
Not appearing smug or annoyed, he wore a smile she had never seen before; it was more in his eyes than his mouth.
Contentment.
Jack gave his father his undivided attention as he spoke.
“I believe you, Jack,” Josiah said, his voice now devoid of any humor. “After all, it is doubtful you would be able to phrase it that way if you were faking it.”
Jack gasped and pulled back from the family hug.
“Exactly!” he said. “That’s exactly it!” His wide eyes darted between them excitedly. “So you don’t need any further convincing, right?”
Josiah shook his head in response, his stoic demeanor giving away a most subtle bit of amusement. “No,” he replied. “I am convinced you are ready. If I was not absolutely sure that you wouldn’t fail, then I wouldn’t let you go. Do you believe me?”
Rather than finding the seriousness within his father’s delivery unsettling, Jack began grinning all the more.
Josiah motioned toward the door. “Now, begone.”
Jack’s good humor was short-lived when he remembered that streetcar service had been temporarily suspended citywide, upon seeing the orange sign posted at his stop.
It was unlikely Josiah had forgotten, though.
Jack considered returning home until service resumed, but could not shake the suspicion that this was some sort of test orchestrated by his father.
Recalling his parting words, Jack snorted with amusement. It did kinda feel like he was rushing me out the door.
The sun already felt oppressive, prompting him to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead as he made his way through his neighborhood, known as Black Pearl, situated about five miles from the city’s main bus terminal.
Jack’s slight frame progressed with a disciplined stride as he lugged the duffel bag and rolling luggage that made up the entirety of his belongings.
One last character-building lesson, eh, Dad?
Looking around, he saw various townsfolk gathered in the shaded portions of the sidewalk, seeking respite from the heat.
The sounds caused by the wheels of his suitcase got the attention of those nearest him.
“You leavin’ already, Too Good?” one of them asked.
Jack nodded, smiling at their predictability. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m gonna miss you guys . . . sike.”
The young men howled in amusement.
“Look y’all!” another exclaimed. “Too Good’s bouncing on us!”
Hearing this, the group began to draw near, offering a mix of jokes and words of encouragement.
“It was only a matter of time.”
“Betta not forget where you came from, Jack.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, “I know.”
Jack’s childhood friend, Jester, elbowed him. “Damn, bro,” he began, “you walking all the way to the bus with all this? Ya pops be doing you dirty.”
Still smiling, Jack rolled his eyes and pressed onward.
Jester moved in front of him. “Nah, my fault, my fault,” he said, reaching to relieve Jack of his belongings. “I was just messing witchu.”
“So what are you going to do?” Jack asked, releasing the luggage’s handle. “Walk with me to the Greyhound?”
“Greyhound?” Jester scoffed as he returned the handle. “Oh nah, that’s all the way at the main bus terminal! I thought you was just goin’ down the block.”
“The trolleys are out of commish.”
“The local buses still workin’ though.”
Though Jack had forgotten this, he was already determined to walk the whole way, unsure if his father would have eyes on him. “It’s complicated,” he replied.
The group stared at him in confusion.
“Of course, Too Good’s too good for the bus!”
“Y’all need a car then.”
Jack gently dismissed the suggestion. “It’s all good guys.”
“Don’t nobody got a whip?” someone said, shouting incredulously.
“Stop,” Jack said, fearing a prolonged send-off, “it’s not a big—”
“Wait,” Jester cut Jack off, “don’t McMullen got a whip?”
The multitude groaned, with looks of annoyance on the faces of some.
Jester was immediately met with scoldings from every side.
“Why you gotta bring up Jamal though?” one of their neighbors asked.
“He stupid as hell, is why.”
Unabashed, Jester defiantly swatted away their contempt. “What?” he asked. “Y’all still trippin’ about the time he went in on Jack’s face?”
Jack chuckled. Jamal McMullen had been the neighborhood tough guy for more than ten years before inexplicably deciding to become Jack’s bully. Jack suspected the troubled youth had somehow become jealous of the rumors surrounding his family.
Juice is what they called it.
Being the son of a returned criminal of renowned infamy came with unearned advantages, which Jack had long been indulging. Prior to Jamal, he was mostly regarded as one not to be messed with, despite no one having witnessed him fight.
To his dismay, Jamal became wise to this.
Capitalizing on the fact that he lived on the main drag of St. Charles Avenue, Jamal’s bullying began as mere taunts whenever Jack happened to pass his house. They started indirectly enough but intensified until there could be no doubt as to who he was talking to.
“Ya daddy got you walkin’ around here feeling like a bad dude,” Jamal had shouted from his porch, “but I bet you a pussy. I put a stack on it.” Continuing past, Jack stared back when he realized Jamal was talking to him.
Some of the onlookers told Jamal to stop, but he would not.
“This fraud got all y’all trippin’ and I’m gonna prove it.” A furrow formed on Jack’s brow as Jamal continued his threat. “Sooner or later I’m gonna expose you, Jack Boniface.”
Breaking eye contact and feeling humiliated, Jack maintained his composure as he turned his back.
Jamal guffawed loudly. “See? He not even gonna do nothing!”
As soon as he got home, Jack approached his father for advice, being sure to detail Jamal’s weeklong series of vague provocations culminating in his act of direct intimidation.
“I feel for you, son,” Josiah had responded, “I really do, but you have to think long and hard on this. Only you know what your discernment is saying, and that is all you have to go by. If it tells you to engage, win or lose, then go nuts. But if it tells you that you will regret it, win or lose, then you better be able to stand down.” Jack anxiously clenched his jaw as he watched his father calmly assess the predicament. “Damn sure can’t go by what you imagine others would do. To arbitrarily assume they would obey what it’s saying to them is unwise, plus, it is unlikely their discernment would echo your own.”
Jack was unsure what to make of that, but he knew he was not angry enough to hit Jamal, so he decided to avoid him from then on and take the long way home the next day.
However, upon quickly being informed by Josiah that this would only serve to embolden his aggressor, increasing the chance of a fight the next time they meet, Jack bravely returned to his regular route.
Just as his father predicted, Jamal sprang to action upon seeing him, the hums and murmurs of the various onlookers standing by alerting him to Jack’s presence.
“Yeahhh,” Jamal began, his voice lively with anticipation, “I heard you took a detour the other day. What happened?”
Though Jack felt more annoyance than fear, he knew it was not enough to keep the fight short and prevent himself from getting injured. After all, Jack was of a moderate build, tending toward the lean. Jamal, however, looked like he had been curling weights since diapers.
He would undoubtedly have to shock the imposing bully into abandoning their brawl, convincing him it was no longer worth it.
Jamal aggressively came down from his porch, having noticed Jack had stopped and was now glaring at him. Stopping in front of his prey, Jamal got in his face, locking eyes.
Jack’s glare remained unaffected, seamlessly intimating his contempt. He noticed a flash of reluctance move across Jamal’s face and realized the requisite anger for a fight was not coming.
Damn it, man, he thought. The glare left his face while he defiantly maintained eye contact. All I can do now is ensure I don’t flinch.
On cue, Jamal moved with a start, pretending to hit him.
Jack was unresponsive, still as a statue.
Seeing that Jamal’s efforts were apparently insufficient to even trigger a blink, the onlookers erupted with jeers and howls of mockery.
Jack groaned inwardly, instinctively knowing what would be coming as a result. He’s gonna hit me for real now.
For a moment, Jamal’s face showed a mix of surprise and embarrassment before he bit down on his bottom lip in outrage.
Eyes still fixed ahead, Jack watched the rapid windup of the incoming blow. This is going to be the first time I feel a real punch from someone who knows what they’re doing. Even if he decides not to pull his punches, maybe it won’t hurt that much?
WHAM!
Jack’s vision became slightly distorted as he received a strike to the side of his head. Determined not to falter, he reflexively returned his head to its original position upon feeling Jamal’s fist follow through across his face.
Though it felt like his eyes were rattling in his head, outwardly, it appeared as if he had never looked away despite the blow.
The swiftness of this recovery, combined with Jack’s blank expression, was rather unsettling.
“What the?!” someone exclaimed. “Yo . . . he didn’t even move.”
Jack could see a brief wrinkle of concern form on Jamal’s forehead. As the initial shock wore off, he received the answer to his musings from a moment earlier.
The punch hurt.
A lot.
Normally, he would have felt some sense of satisfaction from Jamal’s brief look of reluctance, but all of Jack’s focus and attention was on ensuring he did not display any sign of the ensuing pain.
The tactless onlookers weren’t helping either.
“Damn, Jamal, he just ate that.”
“He mad skinny too.”
Jack wanted to scream at them to keep quiet, but it did not help the situation. He still could not muster the emotion to fight back.
He felt afraid.
He was not afraid of Jamal in the truest sense, as Jack was fairly certain he would be able to permanently injure the brute if necessary. The element of surprise alone would give him an opening, and he would only need one.
Rather, his fear was linked to the potential consequences that came with his “going nuts,” and though Jack was not entirely convinced that this was not cowardice, the concern effectively nullified his wrath.
He had no choice but to valiantly take the beating until something gave.
As Jack suspected, when subjected to the endless stream of smack talk from the crowd, Jamal’s pride compelled him to strike again.
The muscle-bound menace weirdly kept his eyes on Jack as he punched him, intently watching for any reaction.
Somehow, Jack returned from this strike even quicker, his cold expression unchanged.
“This dude a robot.”
Eyes now wide with indignation, Jamal grabbed Jack by his shirt and hit him again.
Though he was fairly certain this was not the most painful experience of his life, Jack had difficulty recalling what was.
Somehow maintaining eye contact, he could see Jamal’s determination begin to crack and quickly understood that this had become a battle of wills. His assailant was determined to make him submit, unaware Jack had already come too far to falter.
He readied himself, knowing his continued defiance would only cause things to escalate.
Continuously whipping his head against the repeated strikes, they had become noticeably less painful, leading Jack to wonder why. Maybe I’ve become brain damaged? Deriving genuine amusement from this thought, he unwittingly smiled upon his attacker.
