Leroy ain’t no punk

Leroy Johnson was not a punk, and he could prove it.

Leroy grew up in North Philadelphia, in one of the poorest, grimiest, crime-riddled neighborhoods imaginable. He had stared down more cops, case workers, drug dealers, crack addicts, and tough guys than anyone on his block, even more than Tyrone. He looked in the eyes of grammas without flinching. You could say that Leroy was a poster child for “anti-punk.”

Leroy had no tats; his body was a litany of battle scars, making body decoration superfluous. He had been shot, stabbed, scratched, punctured, scraped with a cheese grater, burned with a cigarette, scalded with a pot of boiling cream of tomato soup and sewn backed together when needed. His body was a history of his painful encounters with the not-so-nice denizens of his neighborhood. His nickname on the street was “Resistance”, because of his ability to take pain.

“It come wit’ da’ territory,” was his motto. For the headshots, Leroy would go shirtless; his thought was his fans would see he was real – ain’t no fakeness here, dog, I’m the real thing like Coke, other cats just mirrors and smoke, they ain’t never had an arm or leg broke, if they had an ounce of what I drank, they’d choke…

Leroy gave his kidney for his older brother, DeSean, who promptly drank through that meaningless gift. His gallbladder was destroyed by an overeager doctor at Saint Joseph's, who was supposed to repair it. One of Leroy’s dreams was to get a record deal, mainly so that he could get proper medical treatment. A man who ain’t healthy can’t take care of nobody else. Well, that plan was done; Tandem’s boys took care of that. Neatly, in Leroy’s case, not so neatly for Ty.

But through it all, Leroy never had a punk moment in his life. It was one of those things. Other people, they had moments of terror. Others cats just freeze up, like Captain Cold tapped them with his Cold Gun. Leroy ain’t never have no butterflies neither; school plays, recitals, he handled his business, you know? Other cats pissing their pants, losing their minds and shit. Leroy stayed frosty. Always.

Until now.

It was a delayed effect, actually. When he was in the presence of the Morning Star, he felt nothing. As usual. When he emptied his piece into the Son of Light, all Leroy felt was the kick of the firearm. He didn’t feel it when Lucifer broke his right arm in four places, nor did he feel anything when the Anointed One cracked his skull open like a too ripe cantaloupe against the dusty streets of the Mexican border town Charlie had sent Tyrone and Leroy to on their introductory mission – Kill Lucifer. When Leroy woke up dead again, he was in his white jumpsuit, in their loft, with Tyrone chain smoking like a coal-driven locomotive.

It had been the second time Tyrone had died, and known it was coming.

No. That wasn’t quite right.

When he was three, Leroy had gotten in the way of a rigorous argument between his Momma and Deadbeat #3 (He didn’t remember their names, so he gave his mother’s boyfriends numbers. At the time of his death, Momma was up to #9.) and was flung head first into the cast iron radiator. Had an ambulance arrived in a reasonable amount of time, the paramedic would have pronounced him dead at the scene and called for a coroner. As it was, Momma had to wait nearly forty-five minutes for the ambulance, giving her sufficient time to call on the name of Jesus to “save my baby, oh Lord, oh Jesus, save my baby, he can’t be dead, oh please Jesus, just save him…”

Now, if memory serves, Leroy was scared a split second before his head struck that radiator as if on purpose. And he remembered thinking just as he made contact that the fear had been driven from him. Yes, Fear drove away like a drunk from a hit and run.

Leroy never felt that twinge of fear ever again.

Until now.

Now, instead of calm, cool, calculating Leroy, Leroy was filled to the brim with that twinge, which he had only felt once in his painful, frustrated life, and he was overwhelmed by it. He had neither the tools nor the experience to process this feeling, staggering in its command, coloring every judgment, every decision Leroy would make from now until eternity. For the one thing Lucifer had done before dispatching the two devil killers was find Leroy’s childhood moment of fear and drive it back to the scene of the crime, guilt and all.

Miracles were meant to be broken, after all.

“Roy. What’s the matter wit’ you, man?”

“Nuthin’.”

“Roy. Don’t give me that. I know sumpthin’ wrong, so why don’t you just tell me?”

“Ain’t nuthin' wrong, man.”

“Roy. You can’t lie for shit. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Leroy looked at his lifelong friend, realized he loved him, and then violently shoved that thought away.

“Tyrone. I’m scared.”

“What you scared of?”

“I dunno. I’m just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“I dunno, man! I’m just scared, that’s all! Ain’t you never been scared before?”

Tyrone wasn’t smoking, and it was weird to see his hands without a cigarette in them. They were rough.

“Yeah, ‘Roy, I’ve been scared. In fact, I ain’t never not scared. All my life, man,” and his words hung naked, no second-hand smoke to hide his pain.

“What you mean?”

“We live in a scary world, doc. I’ve been scared my whole life. You get used to it, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, that’s you. I ain’t never scared.”

“That’s bullshit, ‘Roy.”

“Nah, man. I ain’t got no fear in me. Nothing that happens I’m afraid. You remember Holocaust?”

Tyrone started. The memory of that pit bull was vibrant, like a flash photograph.

“Yeah, Sweet Hazel’s crazy ass dog. Why you think of that?”

“That’s how I know I ain’t scared of nuthin’. That dog done bit me twice.”

“Shit! Yo, ‘Roy, you ain’t never tell me that!”

“I know,” and Leroy smiled, which loosened the fear a little. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

The two exchanged glances. “Man, ‘Roy. You one crazy motherfucker.”

“Don’t I know it. I’m still scared, though. And to tell you the truth, Ty, I don’t like it.”

“Why?”

Leroy shrugged. “I don’t think were on the winningest side, is all.”

“And?”

“And I can’t see the future. And that’s what scares me.”

“Well, I ain’t scared. In fact, this is the first I haven’t felt scared.”

“What’s that like?”

“You know how they say Lincoln freed the slaves, right?”

“We both know that’s bullshit, but I get your point. Go on.”

“Well, that’s how I feel. I feel free.”

“What, like a free slave?”

“Nah. I feel like I can do anything, and not be judged for it, or stopped by somebody because I did what I wanted because I wanted to. It’s like what God gave us."

“What?”

“Free will. But before, it was only a couple of words. Here? It means something.”

“Well, what?”

“Well, first, I’m gonna chill. Then, I’m gonna help you with this ‘fear thing’. Then, I gonna put a huge cap in Satan’s ass.”

Leroy froze.

“Roy.”

Leroy frozen solid.

“Roy!”

Leroy started to fade. It was gradual at first, but the fear was too much. He was drowning in a tub of terror, filling him from the inside and covering him on the outside. The world became dim, then dark, then total blackness.