Lionel

 

Lionel

By 

Paul Vonasek

 “I started out on burgundy but, soon hit the harder stuff.”

Bob Dylan  Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues

Lionel’s life was a tumble down hill after that first drop of morphine hit his veins in a hospital in Saigon. His wife left with the kids in 79’ and his parents died three years later. He was able to keep up with the mortgage payments by himself until two years ago when the factory shut down. Now In light of the morning his house was to be repossessed. Lionel watched himself deteriorate in his bathroom mirror. No longer a husband, a father, or a son, he cried. Tears streamed down the withered face of the Vietnam veteran into the dirty sink below. He carefully buttoned up his service khaki uniform one last time. Taking a deep breath with every button to restrain another tear.

Lionel waited for the taxi outside of his home to take him to the shelter downtown. He was able to stay there from time to time but he soon learned he would be sleeping on the street more often then not. He spent most of his days roaming the streets of downtown Los Angeles eating what others had thrown away. Clutching on tight to what little cash he had left from his previous life, until one day he was roughed up and robbed by a gruff homeless man that dwarfed scruffy little Lionel. He didn’t go down with out landing a left hook on the man’s bearded chin. 

Lionel started pan handling, saving up for something. But he did not know what it was. Food would be nice, but if he could save up enough for a tent that would be ideal. By the end of a week of scavenging for food and bagging Lionel had saved up only five dollars in mostly loose change. As he stumbled around aimlessly a wiry black man on a bike nearly ran him over.  “Watch the merch! Jackass!” yelled the peddling merchant before slamming on his brakes. “Unless, I could interest you in something.”  “I doubt your selling anything I would be interested in” mumbled Lionel.  “You never know. I sell a wide variety of goods,” cackled the merchant as he wheeled back towards Lionel. “A man in your situation could use quite a few things that I might be selling.” “Sorry, I’m not interested,” Lionel scuffed back. “I’ve got knives.” With the utterance of those three syllables Lionel halted and fully acknowledged the merchant. “ I thought that might get your attention.” “What kind of knives?” Lionel replied quietly. “Sharp ones, ones that pop out in a jiffy, ones with little serrated bits and ones you can unfold carefully. But this one might interest you the most.” The merchant reaches into his coat and pulls out a medium sized hunting knife in an olive green sheath.  Lionel’s eyes glowed at the sight of it. “I can tell you love it.” “No, I shouldn’t.” Lionel let out as he shook his head.  “A man in your position needs his protection. How many scrapes have you gotten into since you found yourself of the streets?” “One,” admitted Lionel. “One too many or one of many? And I can give a military man like you a good deal since I figure you already know how to use one of these.” Bantered the merchant.

Lionel fiddled around in his pocket then asked “How much?” “How much you got?” quipped the merchant. “I figure around five bucks.”  Lionel said humbly. “I usually sell these for five but for you, three. We’ll call it the veterans discount.” In the blink of an eye the merchant became three dollars richer and Lionel became more dangerous to himself and those around him. That night Lionel slept in a tent while the tent’s owner slept as far away as he could run.

Lionel slept soundly until he awoke to hear his tent’s door being unzipped. “Who the fuck are you new boy!?” Shouted the intruder. “This is Jimmy’s ten-“ Lionel’s hand wrapped around the intruders throat.  “I think the last time I fought for anything was in Nam. I didn’t even put up a fight when my wife left with the kids. It is my time to fight for what little I have left. And start taking what I need. Because everyone else has always taken from me, my entire life. No more. No more.” he said as he loosened his grip on the intruder’s throat. The intruder backed out slowly and let Lionel be.

The next day Lionel packed up his new tent in a backpack that he stole and walked with confidence. Lionel hadn’t taken such long strides since he first signed up for the Navy.  He didn’t pander for much cash that day or any of the following days. Instead, he took what he thought was owed to him at knife point. He tried to blend in with the rest of the citizens by day and terrorized his new colleagues by night, trying to regain some new sense of normalcy. Walking briskly down Hill Street towards Pershing Square, Lionel is struck by a shopping cart. Lionel glances up at the befuddled old cart owner, a frail old woman.

“I wanted to be in picture shows.” She hollers.

“This is a nice cart.” Hisses Lionel.

“I had a agent. He told me I would be a star.”

“I’m sure you were quite the looker. How much for the cart?”

“Before I knew it I was homeless at 32.”

“I’m trying to help you. I want to buy your cart. How much for the cart.”

“I don’t need your money as long as I can still sing for my money.”

“But, wouldn’t a little extra cash help you out?”

“All of my things are in this cart.”

“And you can keep your things. This backpack has all of my things but it’s getting heavy and this cart would help me out so much. How much for the cart?” Snarls Lionel as he flashes her the knife.  “This is my cart and they are easy to come by. I could find you a brand new cart.” Whimpers the woman. “I’m tired of waiting. I want this cart.” Lionel slashed outward cutting the woman’s hand. She loses her grip and the cart slides towards Lionel.  He tips the cart over and pours out the contents. “You can have your things.” He stated as he walked away pushing the cart in front of him, leaving the woman sobbing on the crumbling sidewalk.

Lionel ventured for a little while longer until the night got darker and he grew tired. He eventually settled under the 101 just a few blocks from the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels.  Lost in his thought, Lionel didn’t notice that he had been followed several blocks.  The word of his wrong doings had traveled as fast as he did.

Lionel slept like a stone until RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP, knife blades came down through the nylon towards him. Then the six ghoulish faces of those he hurt leered through the cuts pulling themselves in. Lionel desperately grasped for his blade as he felt cold metal piercing his body. Gasping in pain and confusion, he finally locates his knife, and gripping hard he began to swing violently at his attackers as they covered him with their steely blades. Lionel squirmed trying to fight back but a mixture of blood-drenched hands pinned him to the ground. “Look what you made us do!” one of the attackers howled as they exited, leaving Lionel to die alone.

Lionel lay there a few seconds trying to gather up his strength. Then he struggled out of his tent and stumbled down W 1^st Street Road a soaking red mess using whatever he could find for support. Frightening the few passers-by. He dragged himself upon the steps of Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels genuflected and gasped, “forgive me.”

 (c) Paul Vonasek 2012