Dark Suit Punchernaut vs. An Old Nemesis

I went on a date the other night with the young lady who came to visit me. Nothing fancy. Dinner and a movie, with a stop by a comic book shop.

Thing is, we dressed up for it anyway, despite the fact that we were just going to a movie and then to Denny's. I was wearing black pants, a black shirt, and a silver tie.

The date went well. Great movie, even better company, all that. When she and I got home, she went to the bathroom to wash off her makeup. I settled back on the couch and flipped on the TV to see if anything good was on.

In a fashion that is true to my luck, the second I got interested in Ninja Warrior, the screen went black and there was a piercing tone. Then, black letters appeared on the screen reading "EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM."

"WARNING! The following is an alert from the Vincennes and Knox County Police Departments. Residents are advised to remain in their homes until further notice. The downtown area of Vincennes, Indiana is off-limits due to blah blah blah who cares."

Downtown area off-limits? That can only mean one thing, and I really should show my face down there.

One problem, though

My costume is in the bathroom hamper.

My ladyfriend is in the bathroom washing her makeup off.

Crap.

It's not like I can knock on the door and say, "Honey, hand me my top secret superhero uniform. I need to go fight a monster downtown real quick."

Crap, crap, crap.

No time to wait for her and sneak out, either. I loosen my tie, undo the top button on my shirt. I'm pulling my eyepatch on as I'm going out the door, yelling something about how I forgot my wallet at Denny's and I'll be right back.

On the way there, I realize I look pretty cool. I'm like Spider-Man when he wears his black suit. Maybe I should switch it up and wear this sometimes when I go out on patrol. Makes me more mysterious and creepy. Plus, the all black with the silver accent is pretty cool.

I almost run into a parked car because I'm too busy checking myself out in the rearview mirror.

Come on, Punchernaut. Time to focus.

I drive downtown and park a few blocks away from the roadblock the police have set up. I can see what's going on from here.

Looming over the downtown skyline is a great, furry beast. Even from this far away, leathery paws shake the ground beneath my feet. I can hear the constant sniff-sniff-sniffing as the beast pushes his nose against the windows of buildings, and I can hear the muffled screams from the people inside. The beast bats a paw at one of the stores on Main Street, shattering glass with just the slightest of nudges, crumbling bricks as though they were a child's building blocks. It picks at the crushed stone with its teeth, chomping and gnawing. The beast then pulls its head up and, with a mouthfull of crunched up bricks and cement, causes the air to tremble with an ear-splitting roar.

"HURRFF HURRFF!"

It's Willie the Giant Dog.

Willie is, obviously, a giant dog. A chocolate lab, I think. Maybe some kind of mutt, but he looks like a chocolate lab. Nobody really knows how he became a giant dog. He may have just started out that way. I don't even really know how he got to be called Willie, but he answers to it. All I really know about Willie is this: He's about 30 feet tall and he and I have been in a few scuffles before.

Willie isn't bad. He's just a dog, and dogs are... well, dumb. I mean, I've got two dogs myself, and I love them to death, but ask anybody. Dogs are pretty stupid. Willie is no exception.

As far as I can figure, Willie is some kind of mutant, because he lives in the river that runs along the outskirts of town. Once in a great while he'll come out and start goofing around in town, and of course, everybody freaks out because they think he's a monster. He's just curious. I think he might still be a puppy. It's hard to tell how old something is when it's 10 times taller than you are.

I sneak off down the narrow alley between buildings, making my way to Willie. Approaching sirens tell me that more squad cars are on the way. The majority of the city police are blocking the streets to downtown, so these are probably state police.

I hate state police.

Despite that, I don't want them getting hurt. Mostly for Willie's sake. If he hurts a cop, they'll paint a big target on his head, and they'll probably have him killed.

I love dogs.

So, once again, it's up to me to show him who's boss.

I step out from the shadows of the alley and into the parking lot outside of the Old Towne Tavern. Willie is gnawing on a tree in the little recreation area the city uses for public events and bazaars. One thing I can say for the local news: They've already got a chopper in the air. They're circling the area, shining a light down on Willie, who casts a wary eye at the light once in a while. Twice, the light shines on the ground and Willie lets go of the tree and tires to bite the light shining on the ground. Twice, he comes back empty handed (mouthed?) and confused before going back to gnawing on the trunk of his tree.

"Willie! Hey!" I shout. The dog stops and looks at me from the side of his eye. He spins and does a play bow, his butt in the air, his tail wagging. He remembers me. It's kind of cute. I walk right up to him and pat him on the nose. "What are you doing, big guy? You gotta get out of here. The cops are coming, and they're not as nice as me."

Willie licks my face. Well, tries to. His tongue is so big it gets most of me and almost knocks me off my feet. "Hey hey hey, cut it out! Come on, man. Just get back in the river." The sirens are getting closer and Willie's ears perk up. He's looking at something over my shoulder. Oh, God, they're here.

With an excited bark that rattles my eardrums, he stands and runs past me, almost crushing me with one of his massive feet, directly at one of the approaching state police cars. He's got his nose to the ground, and his tail trails in the grass. He's not going to hurt those cops. I say a little apology and I grab him by the tail and yank. He digs his heels into the concrete and I drag him back.

"WILLIE STAY AWAY FROM THERE!"

Almost too fast, a giant head flips back at me and bites at my arms. If he'd have gotten me, I'd have to change my name to the Kickernaut. I let go and he's after the car again, his tail in the air this time.

I'm running past him just as he starts pushing the car around with his nose. The cops inside are yelling, trying to get out, but every time they go for the door, Willie's massive snout presses against it and knocks the car around the street. He's going to flip it.

I get to the trunk of the car and take the bumper in both of my hands. I'm pulling it away from Willie, but he just follows. He thinks I'm playing with him. "WILLIE! Willie, LEAVE IT! No!"

Then the cop does something stupid. He opens his window and fires a single, blind shot from his 9mm into Willie's neck.

Willie.

Goes.

CRAZY!

I'm hit with a wave of dog breath, balmy and thick, as Willie opens wide and chomps down on the hood of the car. A low growl comes out through his clenched teeth and he starts to lift the car. I grip the bumper so tight the steel bends, leaving handprints in the car. I hear the doors of the cop cars behind me opening and leather shoes hitting the concrete.

"Stand down!" one of the cops yells at me through the loudspeaker on his car.

"Oh for God's sake." Willie lifts the car with his teeth and I hang on for dear life. He has his front heels dug into the pavement, pulling it up like loose carpet. His butt is up in the air again and he's inching (footing?) backwards with his front legs, trying to wrench the car from my grasp. I jerk on the car and his teeth just rip through the hood of the car and the engine like we're playing tug-of-war with an old sock, rather than a police vehicle. The doors open and two bewildered and terrified-looking police tumble out into the street. They crawl on all fours away from the car, back behind me to their comrades.

Nobody's saying anything now. I shake my arms wildly, trying to wrench the car from Willie's grasp. The bottoms of my sneakers feel like they're going to rip out, and I can hear the pavement I'm standing on cracking as I dig my heels in and pull harder.

Shaking the car was a mistake.

You know what happens when you shake something while you're playing tug-of-war with a dog.

I realize my mistake about 60 feet in the air. I'm flipping end-over-end, the bumper of a police car still in my arms. I hurl the car into the river and wait for gravity to pull me back down to Willie. He's already sniffing at another car. I feel myself slowing and I feel that sinking feeling in my gut just as I slam into the WTWO Channel 2 News Team Action Chopper, or whatever the heck they call it. Surprised, the wind knocked out of me, I grip at the runners at the bottom of the chopper as it rocks back and forth in the air like a boat on troubled water. Frantically, I scramble to keep from falling. I know I'd survive the fall, but I really don't want to fall 60 feet. I hear gunshots down below, and I hear Willie barking. This is bad.

But at least now I have a plan.

I claw my way into the chopper and I'm greeted by a stunned pilot, some faceless field reporter I've never seen before and a cameraman.

Flustered, the reporter begins, "I-I-We-We've just been j-joined here in the chopper by, um, the, um, P-Punchernaut, and um --"

"Hey, shut up." I turn to the pilot and pull one side of his headset off. "Can you land this bird on top of the tavern?"

"You bet I can," and already, he's steering the copter that way. "I'm a big fan, by the way. They say you're a menace, but my kids love you."

"I get that a lot."

"So what's the plan now, Punchernaut?" The reporter shoves a microphone in my face.

"The plan now," I say as the helicopter delicately touches down on top of the tavern, "Is you shut up for a minute. And you," I point at the cameraman, "Keep that pointed at me. Mr. Pilot, kill the engine." He does and everybody piles out onto the roof of Old Towne.

"And what now?" the reporter asks. He's nervous.

"I told you to shut up." I pull the back rotor off the helicopter and drop it on the roof. It was spinning so fast it hurt my hand when I stopped it. That might leave a bruise. I snap my fingers at the cameraman. "Hey, Jethro. Point the camera at the dog."

He does as I tell him. "So what now?" he asks.

"I make you three stars." And with that, I grab the helicopter by the tail skid and leap off the roof, swinging it high above my head. Willie's got another car flipped over, and he's ripping the pipes and things out of the bottom fo it. Other officers are firing round after round, shouting, pleading with him. I think one of the guys up front might be crying. I can hear the officers inside the car screaming. Willie's shrugging the bullets off like they're nothing. I bend my knees and grit my teeth as I sail through the air, closing the distance, the tiny helicopter held over my shoulder like a club.

Willie flips his head back, tossing the axle of the car over the back of his head, just as I swing the helicopter and bust him across the nose with the bottom of the helicopter. The helicopter rips in half like a cardboard tube and pieces go flying every which direction. The blades on top break off and fly in different directions, one smashing into the building Willie smashed in earlier, two of them landing in the river, the fourth hitting the dirt at Willie's feet like a javeline. I land on my feet right next to it. I point an accusitory finger at Willie.

"NOO!!" I roar at him. "BAD!"

Willie recoils in horror and backs off.

"BACK INTO THE RIVER, WILLIE!" I point at the river and stamp my foot, glaring at him. He breaks eye contact and whimpers, reluctantly walking toward the river. I follow him, stamping my feet and puffing my chest up, making myself look bigger. I bark at him: "GET IN THERE NOW!"

Willie steps into the water and casts one look over his shoulder, as if apologizing. I cock my head at him and scowl. He looks away and slowly, tail between his legs, head down, he descends into the murky depths from wence he came.

I make my way back to the car Willie was just destroying and I pull the door open. Inside is a familiar face.

"Hey. You're one of the assholes who shot me last week!"

"I-I didn't me-mean anythi--"

I slam the door and then kick it, breaking the handle mechanism. "Better call the fire department to get him out of there," I say as I shove past the gaggle of cops who've come around to gawk at the destruction. I get past them and I crouch, then I take to the air.

I love flying.

I hate landing.

I bounce off the hood of my car and hit the sidewalk.

God I hate landing.