Incelbordination, Chapter 20

Oswald Crow hated the man he saw in the mirror. He could forgive the fact that he had to stand on a footstool to see that image. He could forgive his own inability to attract women (despite his latest crush being married). He could forgive the idea that he’d caused all of his own worst problems. But the part that really made him stare bullets into the mirror…was his hair and his beard. He stroked his long, greasy locks with so much force that he damned near pulled out the follicles. He gripped his shaggy beard like he was making a fist, as if the thought of punching himself in the face was his greatest idea yet.

“No more…no more of this garbage…” he said with a menacing scowl. He gingerly stepped down from the footstool and put his medical boot back on. Walking had gotten a hell of a lot easier since his (hopefully) final encounter with Antero. He didn’t limp nearly as much and his speed had picked up just a little bit. All that was left was for him to find a better shirt to wear and out on the town he would go. How about Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt with prism, rainbow, and all?

When Oswald went for his trek downtown, he still played it safe and walked at a tender pace. Any residual pain he suffered in his foot was downplayed by one long glance around the misty city. A terrorist attack happened not too long ago and people still carried on with their daily lives. Some still shook with fear. Some still had the color drained from their faces. Some even shed a few tears. But even with all of this latent fear, Valerie’s prophecy came true: life went on. Oswald expected the results to be no different when he entered Two Bits Barber Shop.

But even for customer service standards, the barbers looked somewhat happy, just minding their own business and accumulating a pile of hair on the ground like nothing had happened. The blond lady at the service desk smiled a warm smile down at Oswald and asked, “Can I help you?”

“Do you take walk-ins?”

“We sure do. In fact, we have an opening right now if you’re ready.”

“Cool.”

“Can I get your name, please?”

“Oswald Crow.” He said his name with slight trepidation, as if it was as blasphemous to say as Jesus fucking Christ in a crowded mega church. But it turned out his name held no such weight in this strange barber shop. He wasn’t as big of a villain as he imagined himself to be.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the woman penciled his name in her schedule and never lost her happy expression. “Alright, Oswald, looks like I’ll be taking care of you today. My name is Callie. Do you need any help getting set up?”

“Nah, I’ve got this,” he said as he struggled to get into the barber’s chair. There were a few instances where he slipped and slid, much to the head shaking, hands-on-hips chagrin of Callie. She grabbed him by the hand and lifted him into the chair with minimal effort. “Guess I needed help after all.”

“You really shouldn’t be shy about accepting help from others. It’s what brings us all together,” said Callie while running her fingers through Oswald’s hair. “So what are we doing today?”

The little guy really didn’t think this one through. What would he look good with? A Mohawk? A high fade? A bald head? All he could muster up was a long, “Uh” and this got a giggle from Callie. She said, “How about if I surprise you with something? I think you’re going to like what I have in mind.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Oswald said, “Sure, why not?”

With that Callie got right to work on Oz-Man’s new hairstyle. Lots of spraying, lots of buzz-cutting, and lots of scissor snipping. There was enough hair on the ground to create another Oswald Crow and two Burmese kitties.

“So what do you do for a living?” asked Callie.

“I’m unemployed.”

“Oh,” said Callie with a twisted mouth and shifting eyes. “Okay.”

“I take that back. I’m a sex surrogate at a funeral home.”

The barber made a flat tire noise and shook her head at the joke. “See, that would have been a better response than saying you’re unemployed.”

“But it’s a lie.”

“Of course it was. I don’t think anybody here would willingly believe you get paid to do…that. The important thing here is that you have a sense of humor about it. Employers like that kind of thing. Granted, I wouldn’t use that particular joke, but you get the idea.”

“I don’t even know what I’m going to do once I get out of college.”

“Wait a minute, you’re in college? Why didn’t you say that when I asked you what you did for a living?”

“Because I don’t get paid for it. I’m the one making all the payments here.”

Patting Oz-Man’s shoulders, Callie said, “Listen, you don’t have to get paid in order to call something your profession. It could be something as simple as a hobby like building things or writing stories or carving soap.”

“Or sitting on my ass watching television.”

Callie let out a hearty laugh and struggled to compose herself. “Wow. You are something else, Oswald. On second thought, maybe being your delightful self is just what you need to land a job.”

He smiled, “I’m not as delightful as you think.”

“Oh really? Is that how you scared me off just now?” The little man didn’t have an answer for that except for a small sigh. “The fact that you’re willing to come in here and get a nice haircut shows me you care at least just a little bit what the world thinks of you.”

“Maybe I don’t care enough.”

“That’s something you need to find a balance with. You should care just enough to get your foot in the door and just little enough that you don’t lose yourself along the way. It takes work, but as a college student, you’re more than ready for it. I know it.”

Oswald kept quiet the rest of the time he was getting his haircut. Hating small talk aside, he didn’t want to get pieces of his locks in his mouth. He may have spit out a few strands here and there. But before he knew it, Oswald truly was a new man underneath all of that Wookie fur. The top of his head had short spikes, he had a low fade just underneath, and his beard was just short enough to not resemble an African jungle. The next time he looked in the mirror, he felt less and less like punching himself in the face. He ran his fingers through his remaining hair and said in a soft voice, “I look good.”

“You sure do,” said Callie with her sweet smile. “But we’re not done yet.”

As the barber walked away, a much taller presence in the form of a longhaired young man approached Oswald from the rear. At first the little guy swallowed a lump in his throat, thinking this guy was going to crush him with his massive hands. But instead the man with Damian on his nametag gently squeezed the tension out of Oswald’s shoulders and scalp. All the injuries, the bruises, and the cuts he received throughout his journey melted away from him like butter on popcorn. He could have transformed into a puddle right there on the chair.

No small talk, no frills, no gimmicks of any kind, just a gentle massage Oswald never knew he needed until then. He closed his eyes and allowed his healing mind to take him to faraway places. Tingles washed over his upper body. And then Damian grabbed little Oz-Man by the jaw and quickly twisted his neck in both directions. The crunching and popping noises echoed throughout the barbershop and managed to get a few stares from the customers. Oswald shook his jowls at the one second pain, but immediately relaxed again. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a massage and an adjustment.”

A smile etched on Damian’s pale face. “You should get them more often. It’s not unheard of for customers to come in here just for the massage.”

“Really?” Damian nodded. It took every ounce of strength in Oz-Man’s body (and assistance from Damian) to help himself down. He thought this could be a new treatment option for his mental illnesses, even if it only provided temporary relief. Maybe if he did it long enough…

He snapped back to reality when Callie ran his bill up for him. “That’ll be twenty dollars even.” Oswald pulled his wallet out and gave his barber and massage therapist an extra fifteen, but Callie waved the overpayment away. “We don’t accept tips here. We’re unionized, so we get paid well.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding. Just the twenty dollars will do. Plus, you’re going to need that extra fifteen dollars for Jessica Bradley’s roses.”

Oswald’s eyes widened. She knew about that? His name was public knowledge and she didn’t let on the entire time? Was he really a big celebrity? Or a social pariah? What the hell was going on?

“Have a nice day!” said Callie as she and Damian waved at him with smiles on their faces. Oswald left the twenty dollar bill on the counter and hightailed it out of there.

Fire and Fury

Ronis Wakizashi chewed his breakfast steak and savored every juicy bite before the heavenly meal slid down his throat. It had been a while since he’d eaten at The Buffalo Brunch. Catching his latest criminal called for a celebration: tender sirloin steak, fluffy scrambled eggs, butter-drenched English muffins, and crispy hash browns. Ronis ate his meal without regard for the contents tangling into his scraggly beard or splattering on his bulletproof vest and blue jeans. He even managed to get a bite of scrambled egg on his cowboy hat, which took some serious talent.

His beautiful breakfast was interrupted at the sounds of heavy breathing from across the restaurant. Among all the patrons, the female navy sailor with the jittery hands and splashing coffee cup got his attention. Her breathing patterns included some slight squeaks. Ronis stared at her for a while then shook his head in annoyance before digging right back into his breakfast.

The sailor’s breathing deepened as tears flowed from her eyes ever so lightly. Ronis slammed his fork down on his plate and gave her another annoyed look, but she was too pumped on nervous adrenaline to notice. Even the waitress had to ask the sailor five or six times whether she wanted a refill on her coffee before she snapped out of her trance and said yes.

Ronis watched as the waitress poured coffee into the sailor’s mug. The navy soldier finally snapped when a splash of coffee burned her fingers. She shot up and let out a lengthy blood-curdling scream while shaking the burn out of her hand. The waitress apologized relentlessly and scanned the restaurant for other patrons staring at her, to which she gave them an awkward smile.

The sailor pulled a knife from her belt and wrapped one arm around the waitress’s throat. When the hostess screamed, the navy soldier snapped, “Shut up! Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch! If I hear so much as a pin drop in this fucking place, I’ll carve your ass up from ear to ear!”

The waitress’s wailing was reduced to childish whimpering and a stream of heavy tears. Everybody stared at the knife-wielder, including Ronis, who kept a steady grip on his shotgun underneath the table. The Sheriff even had the nerve to keep eating his breakfast, gnashing a piece of English muffin with those smelly teeth of his.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing, old man?!” screamed the sailor. “Breakfast is over! Now you all are going to listen to me before I slash this bitch’s throat!”

“I don’t think so, you stupid whore,” said Ronis with a scarily calm demeanor. He stood right up and pointed his shotgun at the sailor, who proceeded to press her blade tightly against the sobbing waitress’s throat. “Put the knife down, navy chick. You’re not going to win this fight. I’m the one with the shotgun and all you have is a little tinker toy. Are you ready to give up or do I have to splatter your brains all over the table?”

“You want to shoot me?” the sailor stammered. “You want to kill my ass? Go ahead! Anything’s better than living with this shit inside my brain! You’d be doing me a favor!”

“Alright, I get it,” said Ronis halfheartedly. “You’re a soldier who saw a whole bunch of nasty stuff overseas and now you can’t get it out of your mind. Hell, if I went through half of what you guys go through every day, I’d be messed up in the head too. Put you’ve got to put the knife down. Carving up that sweet thing isn’t going to give you relief.”

“No, it won’t,” admitted the sailor in a somewhat calmer voice. “But it’ll make people listen. You know why people like to show up at political rallies with cardboard signs? Because they want to be heard. And now I want to be heard too. If I didn’t have this knife in my hands, you’d be sitting there finishing your goddamn breakfast.”

“You got my attention, princess,” said Ronis. “Now tell me what you want. I ain’t got all day. You’re right: I do want to eat my breakfast, so make it quick.”

“Please!” begged the waitress through horrified tears. “Don’t make her angry! Just give her what she wants so that we can all go home!”

“Shut the fuck up, you skinny bitch, this ain’t any of your goddamn business!” Ronis shouted. He returned his attention to the traumatized sailor and said, “Now, you have the floor. Say something and say it fast. Otherwise, my trigger finger’s going to get really itchy. Are we clear?” No response. “Do you want a microphone and a stage or what? Talk, damn it!”

“You want me to talk?” asked the sailor. “Fine, let’s talk. After all, if I don’t say anything, I’ll just be another statistic on a government chart. I’ll just be another homeless bum on the streets who can’t find a goddamn job. Yeah, you think you know what I’m going through? Of course you don’t. You can sleep easy at night without having to worry if you’re going to die in your dreams. You don’t have to think about exploding land mines or gunfire blowing out your eardrums or your supervisor not giving a shit either way! I don’t want to fight this war any longer. I want to know what true comfort really is.”

“And you think you’re going to get true comfort by slashing a waitress’s throat?” asked Ronis. “There are only two kinds of comfort that will get you: sleeping easy in a six-by-nine cell or sleeping easy in a coffin. In the end, it doesn’t matter if your message is right or wrong. What matters is that you’re putting people in danger with your reckless behavior.”

The sailor’s facial features softened to a contemplative expression, generating silence between her, the captive, and Sheriff Wakizashi. It was a calming silence for all parties involved, but it was really just complacency when the sailor shouted, “Reckless behavior my ass! You haven’t seen shit yet!”

The soldier raised her dagger and forced a shriek out of the waitress as it came down with a quickness. The waitress bowed down on the floor with her ears covered after Ronis pulled the trigger, knocking the sailor to the ground and freeing the server from captivity. The waitress still screamed bloody murder while the other patrons watched in wide-eyed shock and horror.

Ronis, without a hint of remorse, trudged over to the waitress and the sailor’s body with his cowboy boots clicking against the brick floor. He fished several five dollar bills out of his jeans pocket and dropped them on the waitress, who looked up at him with puppy dog eyes and more hysterical sobbing. The Sheriff said, “There’s your tip for putting up with all of this bullshit. I’m proud of you.” No response. “What are you waiting for?”

The waitress scooped up her “gratuity” and ran out of the restaurant in a big blubbering hurry, which was amazing since she wore high heeled shoes the entire time. Ronis looked coldly at the sailor’s prone body and said, “You can stop acting now. That was just a beanbag shot.” The sailor slowly regained consciousness after acquiring a huge purple bump on her forehead. She tenderly touched the bruise and winced in pain after the slightest poke.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” asked Ronis.

“Julie Clay. Seaman Julie Clay,” she said in a dizzied hush.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Sheriff Ronis Wakizashi. I should be taking you to jail right now to serve a long ass sentence. But I’m not going to.” He knelt beside her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “That tough guy talk was just to see how far you’d really go. Intimidation has always worked for me in the past. It didn’t work with you, so I had to shoot you with that beanbag. Sorry about that. You really did have something to say and you weren’t going down without getting your voice out there. I admire that. You really are the dictionary definition of a soldier, Miss Clay.”

“What happens now?” asked Julie. “Do I need to turn around and put my hands behind my back?”

“I’m afraid so, Miss Clay. The handcuffs are a precautionary measure and I never leave home without them. The beanbag gun was optional. I don’t like shooting people when I don’t have to. My father was shot during a traffic stop, not by a crook, but by another cop. I’ve had to live with that shit for a long, long time. I wouldn’t know what comfort was if it came up and bit me on the ass. So I joined the force hoping I could make a difference with just this beanbag gun. But you, it’s not too late for you to make a difference. Hell, you’ve done a lot already with your military career. But before we can turn the clock back, you have to come with me.”

Julie’s breathing got progressively heavier as she held her hands up together and whispered, “Get me out of here. I don’t care where we go from here, just get me the hell out of this place.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t care where we’re going, because I’m not taking you to jail. Jail is for people who have nothing but evil and negativity in their hearts. You’ve got something more than that. I’m taking you to the hospital to be treated. You can’t walk around town with this kind of violent force. I know you don’t mean to do it. I know you don’t want to do it. So come on, let’s get you out of here,” said Ronis before hooking the handcuffs around Julie’s wrists and gently pulling her up.

As the two of them walked slowly toward the exit with Ronis’s arms draped over Julie’s shoulders, she asked, “Why are you doing all of this for me? I almost killed someone and you’re giving me an easy way out.”

“There’s nothing easy about any of this, Miss Clay,” said Ronis in a gentle voice. “But just because your road to recovery is a long one, doesn’t mean that the US Department of Justice has to be an oxymoron.”