No More Mr Nice Guy
Created | Updated Dec 28, 2024
No More Mr Nice Guy
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Leonard hated being a good guy.
Despised his helpful nature, his kindly disposition, and his sunny bloody outlook.
Leonard spent most of his down-time bingeing anti-hero movies and novels.
Always being enthralled by bad guys doing bad things and seemingly never, ever, regretting their terrible deeds.
Gangster movies, horror romps, sci-fi thrillers. He beamed when Pacino triumphed, laughed at Freddy Kruger and his antics, even thrilled at the exploits of Henry Letterbox.
Leonard longed to be bad.
Even a little naughty would suffice.
He'd tried littering last week. Dropped a piece of his lunchtime sandwich on the pavement (obviously biodegradable or food for the birds), but a whole 45 seconds later, Leonard stopped in his tracks, bent down and picked up the tiny crust.
Clutching the bread in his guilty, sweaty palm until he found a litter bin. (Also tidying up several more items that careless people had allowed to escape from the trash.)
A month before, Leonard struggled to calm his nerves, slow his thumping heartbeat, as he stood at the door to his office. Squinting dizzily at his watch as he forced himself to become one minute late for work.
Leonard skipped lunch and stayed on an extra hour to atone for his crime that day, refusing to put in for overtime.
Today he decided to up the stakes. Shuffling along in the grey masses of the rush hour commute, Leonard pulled his hat lower and his collar higher, nervous of the ever-present CCTV cameras at the bus station.
His devious master-plan was perfectly executed as he boarded the bus. Hand hovering an inch away from the ticket validating machine, fingers trembling as he looked at the red circle.
Leonard pulling his arm away before it turned green. Sitting at the window seat, chest aching as he refused to breathe, nervous glances at the driver. The bus moved away from the stop. Ten seconds.
Releasing his breath, Leonard politely (and apologetically) asked the lady who had sat next to him to allow him to stand up. Hand, as if it had a mind of its own, sneaking out to press his bus pass firmly and lawfully against the pad. Relief as the green light confirmed his fare had been deducted.
Leonard got off at the next stop, the two-hour (and very rain-soaked) walk home a fitting punishment for his attempted crime.
A faint cry from the alleyway on his left.
Leonard squinted against the rain and the growing twilight. Another feeble cry.
Ten yards into the alley, a dark shape on the floor, a hand reached out, imploring him to help.
Leonard bent over the figure. The man grasping his trouser leg, words garbled as dark redness bubbled from his mouth.
Leonard carefully, gently turned the man over, fingers searching for any obvious injury. Hands becoming slick, warm blood against the cold downpour.
The man gasped as Leonard touched the blade protruding from his stomach.
Leonard panicked, doing the one thing all his first aid training (training that he'd personally paid for – just in case somebody may need his help one day) told him not to do.
The knife free, blood flowing freer.
Leonard froze as the blue and red lights illuminated the scene.
'Police! Drop the weapon!' echoed in his ears.
Leonard turned towards the patrol car, bloody knife still in his hand.
Leonard had enough time to realise just how bad this actually looked before the shot rang out.
