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I am not a nosy kind of guy—I keep to myself as much as possible. Keep my head down and put my nose to the grind-stone and just keep pluggin’ along. That’s how I stay safe. That’s how I keep safe for my Betsy.
But this Daredevil guy? Well, I guess I sort of consider him a pal. After all, he’s the only guy who’s ever offered Betsy and me protection and pays me real good for the suit I made and the special weapons. He’s got a kind heart—guess that’s why he can’t stay out of trouble. He shows up almost every other day, now, requesting fast repairs. (I know I could do better, if he’d just be patient, maybe give me a full day?) And shit. D.D.’s always got a new gash on what little I can see of his face. He’s hobbling, usually—one day favoring his right leg, the next day favoring his left. He’s always getting beat near to death and making up some excuse as to why he can’t take it easy for a few. I do my best work given the time constraints and the circumstances and do the repairs as requested. On the side, I work on adjustments and new materials so that when he does come in I can just install them right into the suit or helmet.
I was kind of glad for him when the Punisher guy and him joined forces. Figured, at least someone will be out there, in the field, watching his back. But when D.D. requested to bring him in to the shop? No, no, no way man. I didn’t go for that right away. D.D. swears this Punisher dude just wants to get fitted for a vest, says he knows it’s a lot to ask…like hell he does! The majority of my former clients are six feet under due to this “Punisher” and I don’t want to be next! A few weeks of tuggin’ my chain and I finally give in, but ONLY with D.D.’s promise that they won’t bring in weapons from the outside…though I doubt this guy would need that much fire power to take down a piss-ant like me.
They are only in the shop long enough for me to get some quick measurements. (This Punisher guy is a lot cooler than I expected him to be; very polite, says lots of “please”s and “thank-you”s. Admires my work, commenting on the finer details that only a man with a military background would notice. That gets me grinning.) Yes, he will do just fine. Watch D.D.’s back, keep him safe. D.D. will keep me and my Betsy safe. Everybody will be safe and okay.
I smile to myself a little when they say their goodbyes and turn to leave—just before the door shuts behind them, I catch a glimpse of this Punisher guy tracing his hand down the back line of D.D.’s red suit, his fingers sweeping over the spot where his ass starts. OH. OH, so it’s like THAT….
Nearly makes me blush.
I shrug and get back to work. I figure, it’s none of my business and if those two are getting frisky on the sidelines, well, all the more incentive to keep each other out of harm’s way.
I keep my head down, you see. Keepin’ safe for my Betsy. She is my lifeline.
That’s when people start talking, though. The kitchen is ten blocks of the closest-knit kind of people you ever did see. Everyone’s noses up everyone else’s ass. Doesn’t take long for me to catch wind of Frank—I guess that’s Punsher’s real name—dating the blind lawyer guy from Nelson and Murdock. Guess he figures, why not? He has nothing to hide. Nobody’s going to say shit about anything that man does, by pain of getting a mouthful of bullets. But this doesn’t sit well with me. This is not okay. I let it gnaw away at me for the next few days, until D.D. stops in again. This time he doesn’t look so ragged—he is standing a little straighter, the cut lines on his face faded and pink—no fresh blood, just a bright purple bruise barely visible under the red mask.
I try to keep my head down…but…
Sometimes it fails me.
“I gotta tell you somethin,” I blurt out. Before I can stop myself, the words tumble out of my mouth and my hands start shaking.
Immediately, D.D.’s eyes flash and he lunges forward, hand outstretched as if I tripped or something. “What is it, Melvin? Is Betsy—“
“No, no, it’s not Betsy. She’s fine. It’s about…it’s about the uh, Punisher guy.”
Even under the mask, I can see his brow furl. “What happened.”
“He uh…” I fumble with the threads of the new vest—it’s almost finished. In a deep black, with the extra pockets, just like the Punisher guy insisted.
/Keep your head down, Mel, you idiot…/
“I guess…I guess he’s been hanging around that Lawyer from Nelson and Murdock…you know…the blind guy? I guess…I just thought you should know.”
He lets out a soft half-laugh and smiles uneasily. “Why? I mean, did you think..?”
“I, uh…saw you and him kinda…uhm…you looked like you two were a ‘thing’.”
He blinks and pauses, shifting his weight, almost as if he is trying to figure out what expression to land on. I immediately feel like crap. Oh, god, I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have just let it go. Kept quiet, kept out of it. “Good,” he finally says, his lips curling into an uneasy smile. “Good for him.”
Now I’m the one blinking, following him around my shop as he paces in the black boots I designed for him. “Good? You’re not mad about it? The Gothamist even had a column where they caught those two sucking face. You mean, you two aren’t a…you know…a thing?” My face is so beet red it is pulsating. He is oddly relaxed, a thumb slipped easily into his belt, the other hand swinging freely at his side.
I would not be so calm and collected. I would be clawing at the walls and cursing the bastard’s name if anyone had cheated on me. I second-guess myself for a moment, thinking, maybe I didn’t see what I thought I saw? Maybe I misunderstood? “Did I do bad?,” I ask stupidly. Stupid speech impediment. I always revert to sounding like a 3-year-old whenever I’m on edge.
“No,” D.D. says reassuringly, but I can tell he’s holding back. “It’s just…Melvin, I appreciate your concern, but Frank and I…we aren’t…”
“…You’re not?”
“No,” he says finally and I blow out a sigh of relief.
“Oh thank GOD!” I slap my knees and suddenly I can breathe again. “I’m sorry, dude. I thought…”
“It’s okay.” He clamps a gloved hand on my shoulder and I pat it. “I am really glad you told me.”
“I don’t want you to be hurt.”
“Thank you.” D.D. looks genuinely touched. The first actual smile I have ever seen on the guy. Just under the ridge of the mask, even in the low light of the shop, his cheeks glow a bright pink. “You don’t have to worry about me. Frank is a good guy.” Then, his smile widening, he adds, “That lawyer is a lucky man.”
“Nah,” I shrug, going back to my desk and picking up my Dremel. “Seems to me, that Punisher dude is passing up the real thing. I like you better.”
He lets out a soft laugh and pats me once on the back before disappearing out the door and into the shadows of the night. I instantly feel better. Nobody better hurt my D.D. He keeps my Betsy safe, and he is my good friend.
Meticulously, one by one, I remove the galvanized steel nails that I hid inside of the tactical vest’s lining. Guess I won’t be needing these after all.