...THE HARD WAY by Tyrone V. Banks (read me like a book .txt) 📕

Breathe...just breathe

Something told him not to go down that dark alley, but he had to do it. He pressed his bare back against the soiled wall riddled with graffiti and miscellaneous slimy substances. He held one of his 9mm hand-guns low and pointed to the ground as he honed his hearing and sight to determine where that low-life was hiding.

On many occasions his bare feet would slide over substances of various consistencies. He could feel pieces of broken glass slice through the soles of his feet and the sting of alcoholic residue infiltrating his wounds. For a brief second a wave of sanity would wash over him as he asked himself many important questions that he promptly refused to answer.

Why was he here? He won't answer, but I will.

It started out as a nice evening with the "babe of the day" as he would call them. He couldn't remember her name and she will surely try to forget his - as hard as that would be. It was almost 1 a.m. and she had just left his yacht that was secured in an exclusive dock located just outside of Hollywood.

She had fallen for the dream that turned out to be a misconception. Kyle Hardaway's bad boy image intrigued her. In spite of her better judgment, she gave in to his predictable seduction routine and agreed to meet him at what he called a "trendy" eatery that evening.

The food was horrible but the drinks were strong and free-flowing. Trendy florescent colored drinks served in weird-looking glasses with various pieces of fruit, umbrellas and stirrers placed meticulously...still turned out to be moonshine served in paper-cups in her opinion.

She could see through the facade. In his inebriated state she could sense that he was confused. He didn't know who he really was and he didn't know his limits. Little by little he was becoming unraveled. Reminiscent of a Jekyll and Hyde story he began to unfold as his handsome exterior was encompassed by a being that was overtaking the character that he played that evening.

She had the displeasure of trying to follow him to his place as he blasted through the streets as if he was still on a movie set. Traffic signals were ignored and the speed limit was nonexistent. After a five minute drive to his place, followed by five minutes of pill-popping and a four minute encounter under the sheets, she had finally reached her breaking point. She looked at him sprawled out across his bed, drunk and drugged.

At approximately 12:30 in the morning she gathered her things and stormed out of his place. She took the short walk to the dock, got into her car and smoked a cigarette to calm her nerves. She was genuinely ashamed of herself for letting him have his way with her. She had become one of his conquests and she prayed that he would forget about that evening and never call her again. She started her engine and peeled away from his yacht. She felt as if the further away from him that she was, the better things would get. However, nothing could be further from the truth.

Kyle was awakened from his slumber just as she peeled away from his place. This would set off a chain of events seen one way through Kyle’s eyes and another way through the eyes of the rest of the world.

Kyle awakened with a start and yelled; “I’ve been robbed!”

He grabbed his pants off of the floor and fumbled to zip them up. It would have been easier if he actually put on his underpants. He grabbed a bottle of a prescription medication off of his night stand and popped a handful into his mouth, washing them down with a cup of warm tequila. He ran into his closet and pulled two 9mm handguns out of a duffle bag and dashed out of his yacht.

He stopped, smelled the air and raised his hands to the sky. He looked around and mumbled; “We can do this the easy way or the Hardaway.”

He ran to his car and got in. About two seconds later he exited the car and ran back to his yacht to grab his car keys. The door was locked.

He looked around and saw his neighbor’s motorcycle, sprinted over and leapt onto the seat…

“Kyle!”

Kyle looked at a yacht parked next to his and responded to his neighbor’s call.

“Charles, I don’t have time to talk…I’m in pursuit of a dangerous suspect!”

Charles heard; “Talk…pursue…suspect.”

Charles knew from past experiences that it was useless to try to talk Kyle out of whatever he thought that he was doing. At least three times a week Kyle pulled the same stunt and Charles knew that the police department would bring his motorcycle back either way. It got to the point that he just left his keys in the ignition for Kyle to use.

Kyle raced through the empty streets, the wind flowing through his hair and his eyes focused on an objective. What that objective was, even he didn't know, but away he went!

As he passed by a dark alley he could see a shadow moving slowly across the wall. He slammed on the brake, swerved around and charged towards the alley. He parked the cycle and paused for a moment.

He felt uneasy about going down that alley, but he had a job to do. He eased down the alley and came about fifty feet from a large wooden door. The door flung open and a nauseating blast of foul air emerged as someone threw a large pot of hot water onto the ground.

Kyle huffed; “They’re trying to cook her!”

As the door began to close Kyle sprinted down the alley and slid on his back across the slippery ground and into the room. He stood up cautiously pointing his weapons in front of him. He wasn't going to be taken by surprise!

A voice called out in a thick Asian accent; "Oh, it's you again! Why you come here so much?"

Kyle stood toe to toe with his opponent and announced; “We can do this the easy way or the Hardaway.”

With that, Kyle launched at his opponent. The man stepped to the side and Kyle crashed to the floor.

As he was struggling to his feet he growled; "Where is she? What have you done to her?"

The man laughed and replied; "I guess this means the hard way!"

Kyle swung one of his pistols at the man and it came crashing down on his shoulder.

"Mr. Hardaway, it's a plastic gun...it's just a toy!"

Kyle replied; "Can a toy do this?"

He fired point blank at the man's head with both pistols and two streams of water splashed on his face.

"Yes, it can...you have to leave or I'll call the cops!"

Kyle replied; "I am the law in this town!"

"Mr. Hardaway, you are a drunk...you need professional help!"

The man touched his shoulder gently and Kyle crumbled to the floor.

"You got me...tell my wife...that I love her..."

"Kyle, you're not married!"

Kyle passed out and the man pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number.

"Hello, Police? This is Mr. Huang, Kyle Hardaway's back - can you send someone to come and get him?"

Another night in my crazy life. I am Kyle Hardaway and I'm trapped in the body of a complete idiot. Usually after boozing it up and totally disgusting any woman who would dare enter my sham of a life.

When I get this way I feel as if I'm watching my body acting out a script that I have no control over. I used to be called a "bad-boy"; now, I'm usually called a wash-up.

My name is Kyle Hardaway...and I'm an addict…

Text: Copyright 2011 Tyrone Vincent Banks
Publication Date: 06-10-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
Dedicated to God.