A Mind Not Worth Controlling
A Captain Rescue Short Story
(The Annals of Absurdity)
By Joshua Price
Copyright © 2012 by Joshua Price
For the Interrobang,
You haven’t had your day, yet, but you will. Oh you will.
Despite Captain Rescue’s most valiant efforts—or perhaps due to them—the crime rates of his fair city were thirty times those of its nearest neighbors. These constantly stoked criminal fires made finding a safe place to work tricky. But the young Bridget found such a bastion at the Westside Funeral Home. This mortuary specialized in making the passing of a loved one quick, painless, and, most of all, damned expensive.
The majority of families paid for these costly funerals with credit or lump sums of life insurance. Westside rarely had enough cash on hand to make a robbery worthwhile. That’s why Bridget got a job there. She was only a teenager, but after having a gun shoved in her face countless times, she jumped at the opportunity to work at a place this boring and safe. But as she was about to learn, life was just plain mean.
“Hand over the money and I won’t put a bullet in ya!” one of the masked robbers commanded.
Bridget’s eyes pierced the dark recesses of the revolver barrel. After experiencing situations like this so many times, she wasn’t scared—just annoyed. “This is a funeral home. Nobody’s paid for a service with cash in months; everything’s electronic. So unless you and your friend would like to help yourself to one of our very heavy caskets, I recommend you get lost before the cops show up, or worse… Captain Rescue.”
The two robbers looked at each other and laughed.
“We’re not afraid of that two-bit hero,” the lead one said.
“Well, maybe you should be. Captain Rescue is a great crime-fighter, and you guys are just a couple of two-bit criminals.”
The gun clicked. “Just give us the money, kid.”
With a frustrated smack, she opened the register. Bridget spun it around, showing the would-be thieves the seven dollars in cash and cobwebs contained within. “Take it. It’s yours! Enjoy your five-dollar burger.”
He pointed at the cash-register tray. “Lift it.”
She did as told, but all that was hidden beneath were more cobwebs.
Grumbling, the leader pocketed the cash and turned to his buddy. “This is the last time I come to you for suggestions on places to rob.”
His partner threw his arms up. “When Momma died we had to spend almost six grand on her funeral, and we paid it in cash!”
Bridget laughed hard. “You paid in cash because you probably haven’t had an honest job in decades. And six grand? Make arrangements next time. You got ripped off.”
The trembling robber pointed the revolver at her. “Don’t you talk about Momma like that! I’ll shoot you myself, girl!”
Bridget, noting the fact she hadn’t said a word about his mother, rolled her eyes and stepped to the side.
To quell this spiraling situation, the lead robber fired his gun at the ceiling. His partner flinched, but Bridget stood with crossed arms. “She’s right,” the thief conceded. “When’s the last time you even had a bank account?”
With his finger resting gently upon the trigger, the crook of subpar intelligence scratched his head with the firearm. “Summer of ninety-seven, I reckon.”
“Exactly.” The lead robber pushed the gun away before his buddy accidentally pulled the trigger. “She wasn’t trying to insult your momma. She was just saying that in our line of work, we don’t have much use for bank accounts or credit cards like normal people do.”
He turned to Bridget, who had begun to wonder if these guys were still trying to rob her, or if they had moved on to the friendship portion of the crime.
“Well,” he began, “I guess we ought to get out of here, and find somewhere—”
Off in the lobby, bells jingled. They had visitors. The lead thief pressed the gun’s barrel against his lips, instructing Bridget to keep quiet. He glanced to his partner and motioned for the door. The second robber nodded and marched out of the room, revolver at the ready.
As the patter of his partner’s footsteps faded, the head burglar stared Bridget down. His eyes conveyed a simple message. Try anything and die. The young girl slammed the cash register shut just as yelling erupted from the other room; a scuffle had begun. Seconds later a single gunshot brought it to an end. Bridget stepped to the side, putting the register between the two of them, a less-than-adequate armor.
The head robber swung around, ignoring her for the moment. With both hands gripping the pistol, he waited for the wooden door to open, but it didn’t—not in the traditional sense. Instead, it cried out with a resounding crack. Someone had forgotten that doorknobs existed. The wood splintered, but the door remained standing. Another hefty crack knocked it to the floor.
The head robber grumbled as his subdued partner waddled into the room. He had a purple spandex arm wrapped around his neck. The robber had apparently been disarmed, and now his captor held the gun against his temple. Striking swiftly, he cracked the crook upside the head, and he crumpled to the ground. Captain Rescue had arrived.
The hero pointed the gun at the other criminal. “Am I going to have to shoot you?”
“What are you doing?” the robber asked. “Since when do you use guns? Heroes ain’t supposed to use guns. It’s unspoken law!”
“I guess I am gonna have to shoot you,” Captain Rescue said as his finger tightened around the trigger. With a bright flash and a loud bang, the robber hit the ground. He screamed and gripped his leg as the blood flowed.
“You’re not supposed to shoot people!” the criminal cried out. “You’re the good guy! I’m supposed to shoot you!”
Captain Rescue gave a hearty laugh, stepped up to the criminal, and ground his ankle into the gruesome wound. The robber cried out in agony, struggling to pull his leg out from under the foot.
The armed hero pointed the gun at Bridget. “Did you do anything wrong? Am I going to have to shoot you too?”
Suppressing a hysterical giggle, she shook her head. “No, I’m innocent. I work here.”
With a chuckle, Captain Rescue released the robber’s leg. The crook ripped off his denim jacket and fought hard to keep the blood from painting the ground red.
“You shot me! You really shot me,” he whimpered.
“Quiet down or I’ll shoot you again,” Captain Rescue said as he fired a warning shot. The robber nodded once and put more pressure on his leg wound.
“That’s better.” Captain Rescue turned to Bridget. “Well… let’s get going.”
She coughed. “Let’s?”
He slid the gun underneath his chrome utility belt. “Uh… yeah. I can’t just leave you here.”
She glanced at the robber. “I mean, aside from the fact there’s a man bleeding to death on the ground, I do work here.”
Captain Rescue just shrugged. “That wasn’t a request. Let’s skedaddle, kiddo, before the cops show up.”
Bridget had seen various interviews and footage of Captain Rescue on television. While he did have a distinct air of goofiness about him, he never seemed angry or violent. His actions today were peculiar. She knew following him out of the building would not be the wisest of decisions, but he didn’t seem to be in any mood to argue. Bridget took a deep breath and stepped out from behind her counter. Smiling foolishly at her, Captain Rescue set off with his new friend.
Upon exiting through the funeral home’s knocked-down front door— Captain Rescue apparently having an aversion to doorknobs altogether—Bridge
t saw his Rescue Machine. He hadn't bothered with the driveway, using the lawn instead, leaving a trail of dirt tracks in his wake. The tiny two-door vehicle sat with both doors ajar—even though he had probably used only one of them to get out.
“So, what’s your name, kid?” he asked.
“Bridget,” she replied, keeping her distance from the foreboding vehicle.
He motioned to the passenger side door and gave her a wicked smile. “Let’s go fight crime!”
For some reason, she thought it might be safer to stick with the dangerous criminal. But that didn’t exactly seem like an option. Bridget glanced back at the funeral parlor one last time, hoping she wouldn’t need its services, then climbed into the vehicle, and gulped.