Retribution

My strength began to press on me. I needed an outlet. Political and social situations around me made me angry -- angry enough to take it out on someone.

I walked to the worst part of town. I wouldn't bring my car down there, but I wasn't worried. I looked for a particularly nasty place to settle. I made sure to wear as little as possible, both to show my power to anyone who might care to notice and to encourage a violent encounter from anyone who wanted one.

Frequenting one bar were a hundred or so men, a couple of rough looking women, and a prostitute or two. Heads turned as I walked in and sat down.

One nasty-looking guy walked up behind me. "You look like you could use some company," he cooed.

"Not interested. Why don't you take a hike?" I responded, deliberately provocative.

"Why not come with me?" he persisted. "I know how to make a broad like you feel good." (For a flash, I wished it were true.)

My tone grew colder. "Why don't you just fuck off?"

This time he was incensed -- insulted that any "girl" would talk to him like that. "Watch out, missy," he warned. "Talk like that can get you in trouble."

"I'm not afraid of you or your friends." I gestured at the cadre of patrons who were obviously egging him on.

He grabbed my shoulder roughly. "Oh, yeah?" came his highly original response.

I quickly turned around on my stool, grabbed his arm and twisted it within and eyelash of breaking it. "I said fuck off, shithead. I meant it."

My action had made him angrier. As he rubbed the pain out of his arm, he swore to get even. "I wouldn't suggest it," was my only response.

I downed my drink and got up. "I'm done at this popsickle stand," I said, and headed for the door. True to form, about a dozen burly characters waited for me outside, aching for a piece of me.

"Don't try it," I warned them. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."

"Neither do you, girlie," piped up the biggest of the bunch. "You can't insult our buddy and get away with it."

I tried one last time to reason with them. "I wouldn't have insulted him at all if he had simply left me alone."

My conciliatory tone made things worse. The first guy advanced on me, a look of sheer rage on his face. He started to punch me in the stomach. I simply crunched my abs and let his fist land on the concrete that remained. He yowled in pain, which (illogically) made him angrier. He threw another punch even harder this time, with the same result.

"Don't make me hit you," I pleaded. I noticed some of his buddies were picking up sticks and other implements of destruction. One held a tire iron.

My assailant started a punch to my face. I stopped his fist in midair, lifted him as though his weight were irrelevant (which it was). I gingerly tossed him at some of his companions. They cushioned his fall as they all went down together.

The remaining thugs smelled blood. I thought it useless to warn them that it was their own. Mr. Tire Iron advanced on me. He raised it to slam it down on my shoulder. I grabbed it before he had a chance, bent it into a pretzel shape and cuffed his hands together with it. Undiscouraged, he tried to hit me with his now shackled hands.

Calm though I had been, at that gesture I lost my temper. I slammed my fist (gently -- for me) directly into his chest. I felt the satisfying crack of his sternum and ribs. He crumbled to the pavement amid screams of pain. The next guy tried to kick me. I grabbed him by the ankle and twisted it until it wouldn't support his weight anymore, then pushed him hard. He flew several yards and tripped over his fallen companions. Five down, eight to go.

Another guy advanced on me with a tire iron. This time I grabbed it, bent it around his waist, picked him up by it and threw him into a nearby garbage heap. I would have preferred the side of the building, but I wasn't going to let them goad me into killing anyone. I grabbed his successor by the balls and squeezed him until he would be useless for awhile, then picked him up like a javelin and hurled him at the three guys coming up behind him. The remaining three finally got the hint and scattered.

I rubbed my hands together. "Thank you gentlemen. You helped my mood immensely tonight. I said you didn't know who you were dealing with." I walked up to the nearest car, put my right hand under the chassis, and lifted it until its front wheels stood several feet off the ground. "Not even good exercise." I set it down again. Amid gaping, screaming, and yelping, I turned and walked back down the street.