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 1st 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
