The Outlaw: No Heroes Read online

  The Outlaw

  Copyright © 2014 by Alan Janney

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  @alanjanney

  @ChaseTheOutlaw

  [email protected]

  First Edition

  Printed in USA

  Cover by MS Corley

  Artwork by Anne Pierson

  ISBN: 978-0-9962293-2-6

  Sparkle Press

  For Sarah

  For Always

  Prologue

  Los Angeles Times. March 1st. 2018.

  “My Night with the Outlaw.” By Teresa Triplett.

  The man in the mask is late.

  And then he is here without warning and, despite myself, I gasp. I am forbidden to disclose the location of our rendezvous, but it is dark, it is the middle of the night, and I’m terrified.

  Superheroes are, of course, fake. They do not exist in our reality outside of a movie screen. I am skeptical and even offended by the growing legend surrounding the Outlaw. It’s ludicrous. However, even if he is a fraud, it’s still the story of the year, maybe even of the decade. Although that doesn’t explain why I’m so scared I can barely breathe.

  I don’t know why he agreed to meet me, this man the entire world wants to interview. In fact, I never even asked him and perhaps that is why I was chosen, when ranks of more celebrated and prestigious reporters have already been rebuffed. The Editor-in-Chief of the Times is holding the front page, waiting on this story you’re reading, even though I’m not a writer for the paper; I am a television reporter, but the Outlaw wanted the story out immediately. I’m trembling now as we regard each other in silence. I’ve already decided that I won’t ask him, ‘Why me?’

  I can feel him more than I can see him. Witnesses claim he is a big man, and that doesn’t do him justice. He takes up the whole sky. CNN aired an Outlaw special and their experts were able to measure him using various photographs, so I know he’s not as immense as the naked-eye perceives.

  “Hello,” I say, timidly, pathetically. He nods in reply, and it is at this moment I realize how woefully unprepared I am. In my defense, the Outlaw only gave me an hour’s notice but I cannot think of a single thing to say. As the silence between us lengthens and the conversational burden on me increases, I relent and betray myself. “So why me?”

  He shrugs and he says, “I don’t know that many reporters.”

  He knows me? We’ll be pouring over that tidbit for weeks because his identity is still a mystery. But you know this, and if you’re like the rest of us then you don’t even have an educated guess.

  His voice is deep. Darth Vadar deep, although I can tell he’s masking his voice somehow. His words are slow and the vowels are elongated, and the mask falsifies it even further. Oh yes. He’s wearing the infamous mask that covers his mouth and holds his hair back from his furious eyes. Like every other eye-witness, I’m struck by the eyes. His gaze is hard to return and I find myself fidgeting.

  I make a few more feeble attempts at small talk, trying to gauge his reactions (of which there are none), and then I wonder how Natalie North has maintained a relationship with this stoic dark mystery man. Not only has she withstood his unnerving stare and imposing presence but according to the stories she has fallen for him and vise-versa, making them the most unlikely couple and hottest gossip column topic…ever. Beauty and the beast. Of course it could be a publicity stunt, and rumors persist that there’s another girl in his life. A real girl, and a real relationship beyond the mask. I imagine that topic’s off-limits tonight.

  “I have to ask a question which will sound absurd even to my ears. Are you able to do things physically that I can’t? That no one else can?”

  He doesn’t answer, but I can tell he’s turning the question over in his mind.

  “Like a super hero?” I press further.

  “No,” he scoffs. “There’s no such thing. In fact, I’m sick.”

  “You’re sick?”

  “Very. Possibly fatal.”

  “Fatal?” I repeat stupidly, incredulously. “How… from what?”

  “That’s not why I’m here,” he says. He growls his words and he waves my question away with his hand.

  “Then why?” I ask.

  “I need you to pass along a message. To everyone.”

  “What message?”

  (continued on page 6A)

  The Outlaw

  No heroes

  The thorns which I have reap’d are of the tree

  I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed.

  I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

  - Lord Byron

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Tuesday, August 28. 2017

  Chapter 2: Monday, September 3. 2017

  Chapter 3: Tuesday, September 4. 2017

  Chapter 4: Wednesday, September 5. 2017 Midnight

  Chapter 5: Thursday and Friday, September 6/7. 2017

  Chapter 6: Monday, September 10. 2017

  Chapter 7: Tuesday, September 11. 2017

  Chapter 8: Thursday, September 13. 2017

  Chapter 9: Friday, September 14. 2017

  Chapter 10: Saturday, September 15. 2017

  Chapter 11: Monday, September 17. 2017

  Chapter 12: Tuesday, September 18. 2017

  Chapter 13: Wednesday, September 19. 2017

  Chapter 14: Thursday, September 20. 2017

  Chapter 15: Friday, September 21. 2017

  Chapter 16: Friday, September 28. 2017

  Chapter 17: Saturday, September 29. 2017

  Chapter 18: Monday, October 1. 2017

  Chapter 19: Wednesday, October 3. 2017

  Chapter 20: Thursday, October 4. 2017

  Chapter 21: Friday, October 5. 2017

  Chapter 22: Monday, October 8. 2017

  Chapter 23: Wednesday, October 10. 2017

  Chapter 24: Thursday, October 11. 2017

  Chapter 25: Friday, October 12. 2017

  Chapter 26: Monday, October 15. 2017

  Chapter 27: Tuesday, October 16. 2017

  Chapter 28: Thursday, October 18. 2017

  Chapter 29: Friday, October 19. 2017

  Chapter 30: Monday, October 22. 2017

  Chapter 31: Tuesday, October 23. 2017

  Chapter 32: Friday, October 26. 2017

  Chapter 33: Monday, October 29. 2017

  Chapter 34: Thursday, October 31. 2017

  Chapter 35: Thursday Night, October 31. 2017

  Chapter 36: Friday, November 1. 2017

  Chapter 37: Friday night, November 1. 2017

  Chapter One

  Tuesday, August 28. 2017

  No one was more surprised I could throw a football than me. Most of the startled Varsity team didn’t even know my name when I was announced as their new second-string quarterback on August 1st. It’s not often a Nobody walks onto a nationally ranked Varsity football team.

  August. The headaches began that month. So did the other symptoms. And so did my football career.

  A news van came to our football practice that day, but they weren’t here for me. They were here for Andy Babington, the starting quarterback and hero of the northern Los Angeles suburbs. Backup quarterbacks, like me, don’t get interviewed by Channel Four.

  The television crew arrived late. Another riot had spontaneously erupted in downtown Los Angeles and the shiny Channel Four news van
had been diverted to cover it. But they were here now, better late than never, unloading production equipment in the hot August sun.

  “Babington! Ballerina! Get over here,” Coach Garrett yelled at us. Ugh. Ballerina was my nickname. I hated it. I used to be a gymnast, which someone had confused with a ballerina when I was in middle school. My peers thought that was a riot and so the nickname stuck. It was a subtle reminder that wimps like me don’t belong on a football team.

  The Hidden Spring High Varsity Eagles halted their exercises and looked our way. I hadn’t been expecting the summons and I was suddenly queasy. I didn’t like attention. I deposited the football into the green metal hopper and trotted behind Andy across the field to Coach Garrett, who stood with arms crossed and sunglasses firmly entrenched under his ball cap. Beside him was a pretty lady that’d arrived in the news van.

  “Yes sir,” Andy reported, his sparkling smile in place.

  “Babington, I want you to meet Teresa Triplett,” Coach Garret said, indicating her with his thick thumb. “I’m sure you know her, everyone does, the sports reporter for Channel Four. Teresa Triplett, meet Andy Babington.”

  They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

  “And this is Chase Jackson, his backup.”

  I took off my sunglasses and shook her hand when she thrust it forwards.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Triplett,” I said.

  “The pleasure is mine, Chase Jackson, and call me Teresa,” she beamed. Teresa Triplett was Los Angeles personified. Pretty, plastic and packaged for television. “Do you two have a few minutes to speak with me?”

  “Certainly,” Andy announced, and she led us to a set of canvas director chairs flanked by cameras and an audience of adults near the stadium seats. The producer shifted us until the sun caught Teresa’s best angle, and then Teresa sat, crossed her legs, and indicated we should take the chairs opposite. I looked puny next to Andy, who was taller and broader than me.

  “This report will air tomorrow on the six o’clock news during the sports segment,” she explained, her bright smile unfaltering. “The entire team will be featured, but then we’ll profile you specifically, Andy. The production guys will run a ten second video clip introducing you and then roll our interview.”

  “I get it.”

  “After her interview,” a heavyset mustached man interrupted, “We’re going to ask you some questions for the paper too.” He had an ink pen and a legal pad, and a digital camera was draped around his neck over a slowly spreading sweat stain. “And then you’ll be throwing for the scouts. Both local and national, you know? Trying to predict the upcoming season and rank the stars.”

  “The more you elaborate the better you’ll appear on camera,” Teresa began talking over him. “You probably know the drill already, Andy. I’ve seen you on television before. You know it’s important to make a strong impression.”

  “You bet,” he grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

  “I bet you will,” she laughed. “I like you, I like this kid!” she said, pointing at Andy. I nodded politely. I liked him too. Usually.

  Behind us Coach Garrett blew his harsh whistle for practice to resume. The producer began waving everyone out of the shot while Teresa shuffled her notes. A third video camera started filming the team practice and the newspaper reporter wandered over to talk with the coaches.

  I was learning that High School Football is an overwhelmingly popular fixture in the American ethos. Victories and college scholarships are everything. There are approximately 30,000 high schools in America, both public and private. This means that there are around a million football players on Varsity teams and almost all of them want to play in college. However, there are only 600 college football teams, and of those only a few hundred produce players that go on to the NFL.

  How can a handful of scouts from those college football teams evaluate one million players? They can’t. The enormous football pool is too vast. To stand out, you have to be exceptional or be on an exceptional team. Gaining media attention is everything. Careers and lives depend on the team remaining in the public eye.

  Which was why Coach Garrett and the entire roster were so keenly interested in Andy’s interview. I still didn’t know why I was here.

  “This is fun,” Teresa Triplett whispered, leaning forwards and arching her eyebrow at us. “Are you nervous?”

  “Not at all! Getting to speak with you is a real honor,” Andy said.

  “How about you, Chase?” she asked me, winking at Andy.

  “A little,” I smiled. “Not much. Maybe I don’t realize what I’m getting myself into.”

  “It’s all a game, bud,” Andy laughed, and slapped me on the back. “I was nervous my first time too, but after you appear in magazines and on the television, you get used to it. You’ll figure it out. I did.”

  “Yes you did, Andy,” she said. “I can tell you’ve got it all figured out. Chase, do you mind if we ask about your mother?”

  “Oh…well, no. I don’t mind,” I said, and my heart sank a little. So that’s why I’d been invited to the interview. This was no longer fun.

  “Good. We think it’ll be a good special interest story.” She drank from a water bottle, fanned herself, checked her makeup, and received the Okay from the producer.

  “Here we go,” she said. “So, Andy Babington, how has practice been this summer?”

  “Very productive,” he replied, smiling first at her and then at the camera. He and Teresa had instant chemistry and over the next five minutes they wove a narrative about hard work and the redemption of last year’s Championship loss. He bragged about Coach Garrett and the elite summer quarterback camp he’d attended, and he expressed confidence that this year we’d advance to the state playoffs.

  “Your football rival, the Patrick Henry Dragons, is supposed to be even better this year. They have several players projected to be blue chip college recruits, and you have another showdown with them at the end of this season. That game will most likely determine the district championship. Are you worried about them?”

  Yes! I wanted to shout, but instead Andy replied, “One game at a time. They are our last regular season opponent.”

  “Do you lose sleep at night thinking about their star defensive player? He’s projected to break the state sack record!”

  “Never heard of him,” Andy sneered, but that was a lie. That other kid was rumored to be a monster.

  “Chase,” she said, turning to me. “You didn’t even play football last year, did you?” she asked, cocking her head inquisitively.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “So tell me, Chase,” she said, playful conspiracy spiking her voice. “How does a young man with hardly any experience at football jump to being the backup on a Varsity team that’s expected to be ranked nationally?”

  “Well,” I chuckled. This was the question everyone kept asking. “It’s been crazy…”

  “I’ll tell you how!” Andy roared, and slapped me on the back again. “Because this little guy has a cannon of an arm! You wouldn’t believe it, Teresa. He showed up a nobody, just trying to walk-on as a defensive replacement. But then he started chucking a football around, and broke one of our receiver’s damn fingers! I’m going to play every game so we really don’t even need a backup, but he’s the only guy on the team that can throw almost as hard as I can, so he is useful in warm-ups. I’ve taught him as much as I can.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Andy,” Teresa said. “Right, Chase?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I nodded sheepishly. Andy’s version was more or less correct, except that he’d never mentored me. Just told me to ‘get out of the way’ a lot.

  “My little brother is starting for the JV team,” Andy interjected, “and he’ll be moved up to Varsity next year, so Chase won’t get to start next year either. That’s a shame, cause he’s better than he looks.”

  “Chase, you said this year is your first playing football,” she said, glancing at her notes. “What were
you doing before that?”

  “I was a gymnast.”

  “What happened?”

  “I wasn’t good enough,” I smiled. “I got a little too tall.”

  “You’re listed as a junior. But you’re an old junior.”

  “I’m 17. I’ll be 18 in a few weeks,” I said.

  “Can you tell us why you’re almost 18 but still in eleventh grade?” she asked, her voice dropping into a somber tone.

  “My mother died two years ago. That was a tough year. I failed every single class,” I said. Behind her some of the crew fidgeted, which was what everyone did when I mentioned my mom’s death. “She was in a car accident. A drunk driver hit her as she drove home from work.”

  “How did you cope?”

  “I didn’t. I failed every class.”

  “But,” she said, checking her paper. “Your GPA is a 3.5.”

  “Right,” I agreed. “I took all the classes over. Therefore I’m a year behind.”

  “One last question, boys,” she said slyly. “I’m sure all the girls want to know. Do either of you have a girlfriend?”

  “No, Teresa,” Andy laughed, and gave her a gentle push. “I’m a single guy. Too busy to settle down.”

  My mouth almost fell open. Andy Babington was single? Since when? He’d been dating the hottest girl in school for years.

  “And Chase? How about you? Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked me.

  “I…well,” I stammered, embarrassed. “…no.”

  After that, Andy was grilled with questions from the scrum of newspaper reporters grunting questions around sunflower seeds. They shot a few my way too.

  I’m five feet, nine inches tall.

  No, I don’t have a favorite receiver.

  I run the forty yard dash in 4.7 seconds.

  I don’t know how much I can bench. Not much.

  My favorite professional team is the 49ers.

  Yes, I’d like to play college ball, but I know I’m not good enough.

  My favorite subject is English.

  My GPA is around a 3.5.