The Man with the Violet Eyes
Cameron Karob Duncan walked into the park with the skill of a young, but practiced drunk. The last two shots for the road were taking hold. The joint he smoked them down with helped with his focus but not coordination. He stumbled forward and stopped regaining his balance. He stood at the edge of the tennis courts and debated, given his condition whether or not to retrace his steps and walk around down 18th street to his meeting on the other side at a café on the corner of Delorace.
He felt the weight of the small pack he carried on one shoulder. He slipped his other arm through the loop, adjusted the weight and reshifted his balance. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his lungs and head. It was a mistake to go to his meeting sober and a mistake to take a cab. A momentary flash of fear came to him. He would not walk along the street.
He unzipped his jacket started the sideways walk up the hill, past the flattened lit court. It was a warm night by San Francisco standards and in the Mission District he could look up and see the stars. He looked up and started to weave forward and back. These stars were familiar to him and he stepped further into the park away from the lights of the tennis courts.
He followed the trail up the triangular hill passing under a light, reducing his environment to shadows and dark. He stopped again looking up the hill, a few couples, sitting far away from other couples, one or two solo sitters, a homeless man or two.
He stumbled up to the crest and looked out over the tops of the mission district to the bay.
“Hey, man,” a voice said, “you got a joint?”
Cameron again stood in the light surrounded by moving shadows. He shook his head to clear it.
“No,” he said, “no joint.”
“You look pretty lit,” a second voice said behind him. Cameron turned to face the second voice and stumbled again. He felt a tightening in his chest and listened to their moving, circling him. Six maybe seven. They were young, thin, he could see that much by their outlines in the dark. Three of them wore white tee shirts, the rest black.
Cameron smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, he said, “heading home.”
“You ain’t going home,” the first voice said. Cameron heard voices sniggering in the dark.
“Going to your boyfriend’s,” from the peanut gallery, “You look like a bottom to me.”
“A big bottom.”
“Faggot bottom.”
“What’s in the bag, butt boy?” the one in front of him asked.
“You got your big gay dildo for shoving up your ass while you suck cock?”
“Just give us the bag and your wallet you dumb, drunk, faggot.”
They stepped closer into the light a circle no more than twenty feet round with Cameron in the middle. They were young and they were drinking beer, using their bottles and cans to threaten. Cam couldn’t deside if the homophobia bothered him more or his own drunkenness. They were kids. He had a delivery to make and they were in his way.
“How about,” Cam said, nodding to himself, “since none of you ladies have girlfriends or the looks, I fuck each and every one of your mothers.”
A bottle hit him on the side of head and he staggered sideways. One of the smaller boys charged forward at Cam, swinging wildly. Cam ducked under and picked him up and threw him at the lamp post.
The boy’s head hit with a sickening thunk and he fell to the ground.
The other boys stopped and stared at their fallen friend.
Cameron stumbled and fell to all fours. He looked at the boy moaning and sobbing.
Cam raised his right hand and gave the boy the finger.
“Fuck you,” he said, “fuck all of you.”
The six boys then pounced on Cam, hitting him with bottles, kicking him, beating him down.
Cameron rolled over onto his back and punched straight up with each hand. His left found someone’s balls and the other into a thigh. One of the boys, collapsed and the other fell back.
Cam rolled sideways to his feet, driving an elbow into the ribs of another attacker.
Another bottle smashed against his ear. Cam staggered again and reached inside his jacket.
“Shit,” one of them cried, “He’s got a gun grab him.”
Someone half pulled down his pack trapping his arms and wrapping his legs around Cameron’s. Another came at his side grabbing as throat. Another came at his front tearing open his shirt. Cameron’s knees buckled with four of the boys holding him in place.
The oldest of the group stepped forward and pulled a 9mm out of his pants, strode forward and pressed it to Cameron’s head.
The boy holding Cameron from behind dropped his head down out of the way.
The leader looked at his group, their hungry, fearful eyes. They had a gun between them and he held it. He had never killed before but knew now was the time. He was smaller than Cameron, but he had the power and his group would see that. He would be their protector without mercy. He looked at the boy under the lightpost sitting up, rubbing his eyes.
Cameron smarled up at him.
The boy looked Cameron in the eyes. It was important that he do that. He turned the angle of his arm to better see Cameron’s face, the eyes go blank when he pulled the trigger. He looked down at Cameron’s chest and the amulet he wore. The boy nodded approvingly.
“Nice amulet,” he said.
“You’d better believe it,” Cameron said.
The boy pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He pulled the trigger again. Nothing. Cameron smiled.
“Hey,” one of the kids said, “Maybe the safety.”
The boy looked at the gun.
“Fuck you, retard,” he said, “The safety is not on.”
The boy pointed the gun at one of the boys and almost pulled the trigger but stopped himself. He leaned forward, there was something weird about the way Cameron’s eyes adjusted to the light, they didn’t.
He aimed at the ground and pulled the trigger. The gun fired.
The boys flinched but they did not release their grip on Cameron.
The boy again pointed the gun at Cameron’s head and pulled the trigger. Nothing.
They heard the approaching sirens. The boy nodded, they were only two blocks from a police station and no doubt some asshole called before the shooting started.
The boy pointed at the ground again and pulled the trigger. Again the gun fired.
He pointed at Cameron again, pulled the trigger and again nothing.
He lowered the gun, pressing it against the amulet. Cameron stiffened.
“I really fucking like your amulet,” he said and slammed the gun into Cameron’s head.
Cameron fell as the boys let him go. He felt the amulet coming off his neck and the back pack pulling away.
“Now lets see how you do,” the boy said and pulled the trigger. Nothing.
“Shit,” the boy said, “anybody got a knife?”
And then the shooting started.
The first boy hit fell face first, his head cracking against Cameron’s. Cameron lay still as the boy poured onto him.
Police were running up and down the hill towards them from three directions. Two other men, dressed in slacks and sport coats ran up the hill. Below on Delorace, police cars came and blocked off the street. Sirens surrounded the park as they closed off the routes of escape.
Dressed in a dark blue jacket, black running shoes and black pants, the shooter walked calmly into the light and shot and killed two more of the boys. The leader turned and ran towards the police at the bottom of the hill. The police running up let him pass without incident, then one turned and ran after him.
“Who the fuck are you guys?” one officer shouted at the two men.
“We’re on your side,” one answered.
The boy with the backpack dropped it and the shooter stepped further into the light and picked it up and put it on. Then he shot and killed the boy. And finally he shot the boy next to the lamp post.
The shooter pulled a long knife from his jacket and moved towards Cameron.
Cameron rolled over and stared into the face of the man with violet eyes.
The police started shooting at him, from running and standing positions.
The two men in sports coats were closing in fast and they too pulled long knives from their jackets. Violet turned and ran down the hill.
The police turned and ran after Violet as did the men in slacks.
Cameron sat up in the carnage as one of the officer’s ran up beside him.
“Don’t move,buddy,” he said said in a comforting tone, pressing Cameron to sit down. Then he saw the gun. “Freeze.”
Cameron neatly pulled the officer over his shoulder, hit him once, knocking him unconscious and then was up and running down the hill.
The police watched the boy run towards them with a gun in their hand. They saw the main chase talking place to their left and stayed put behind their cars. Then Cameron came charging down the hill behind the boy.
The boy stopped in front of the police begging for help. The police screamed at the boy to put down the gun. He looked uncomprehending at the weapon in his hand and then dropped it.
The police started to stand and close on the boy when Cameron shouted.
“Stand back.”
Cameron breathing heavily came up behind the boy.
Cameron placed his left hand on the boy’s shoulder. Then he took his gun from its holster and from behind shot the boy in the heart.
As the boy crumpled, Cameron raised his hands in frustration and threw the gun to the ground. The boy fell face forward dead.
The police screamed and told him to turn around and kneel with his hands on his head. He complied and looked up the hill. He watched as one of the boys got up and ran into the night. He looked down Delorace as one of the men fell to his knees, clutching his stomach with one hand, his cell phone with the other.
Cameron watched him send a message and as his stomach emptied onto the street.
Then the police were on him and they were not kind.
