Death by Any Other Name (Is Still the Same)
Grabber was restless by the end of act one. By the middle of act two it was all he could do to stay in his seat. He shifted one way and the other, his date now and then softly admonishing him. On the stage actors carried out the seemingly endless story of two lovers, Romeo and Juliet, and what appeared to be their very tragic romance. Maybe Grabber would have liked it if it wasn’t in another language. Probably even then he wouldn’t. It wasn’t that Grabber could never be interested in the topic of romantic love. It was that he wasn’t even aware that the topic existed. To fall in love, even briefly, one had to stay in the same country for more than a day at a time. Not so with Grabber. He looked back at the stage. They were still prancing around like idiots and making a huge to-do. Boring. The perfect time to make a move. He yawned and moved his arm up, over her head and across her shoulders. She smiled. He knew she would. The girl next to her smiled too because his long, muscled arm encompassed her as well. The boy next to her didn’t smile but nor did he make any attempt to do anything about his displeasure. Smart kid, Grabber thought. He copped a feel.
The second act had ended. Grabber got up and told his date he would grab them a couple hot dogs. “What? There are no hot dog vendors – this is a theatre,” she said. “F*CK,” he yelled. “Well, then, I’m going for a little walk to clear my mind, I guess.” Most of the audience was out in the hallway, probably buying cotton candy and nachos with that drizzled cheese and jalapeno peppers, so Grabber walked up toward the stage. He hoisted himself up and looked around at the scenery. In the audience he had thought it was a real castle but up close he could see it was just flimsy fiber board. He put a fist through it effortlessly. He was right. He wandered across to the other side and picked up a sword. He was adept at knife fighting but had never studied swordsmanship. He swung it a few times in the air and then slashed at the drapery around Juliet’s window. Not even sharp enough to cut the fabric. Grabber pulled the drapes down and began distractedly tearing them in shreds while wandering around the rest of the stage. He wondered where Tybalt had gone, briefly considering kicking his ass. And then he saw it. Up in the balcony, indistinctly, but distinctly enough. A familiar face. A tanned face. A trustworthy face. A friend’s face. The face of alleged rapist, Samir Godot.
Grabber smiled and yelled out a hello. It caused some commotion because act three had started almost ten minutes ago. The actors were doing their best to perform around the huge man as he wandered distractedly from side to side on the stage. The crowd stirred but Godot didn’t acknowledge him. Just kept staring blankly forward from his seat at the front of the balcony. “What, you don’t say hello to your friend any more?”, Grabber thundered beginning to get very angry. After all, when Godot had been falsely accused it had been Grabber’s testimony alone that had gotten Godot off the charges in the face of overwhelming evidence. It was Grabber’s keen instinct for justice alone that had been able to bribe the military judge and force a not guilty verdict. It had been Grabber’s physical silencing of a military chaplain who swore that Godot had confessed to him the night before. Godot had been drunk that night, anyone would know that. And drunks did stupid things sometimes. Had the whole jury never been drunk? How could they not know that? Well they knew it after he had threatened their children. Behind him Juliet was buying some Tylenol or something from an old geezer with a beard. He remembered what he had been thinking about. Godot! He looked back at his friend and was about to yell “talk to me you asshole” but something was happening. The man sitting behind Samir got up, face covered in shadows and rapidly walked up the aisle toward the exit. Godot’s body slumped forward, his muscular torso hanging over the edge of the balcony rail and then falling over onto the crowd below.
Grabber did several things before the body even hit the ground. First, he screamed “noooooooooooooooo!” so loud audience members that should have been shielding their necks against the blow instead were holding their ears. Not good for them. Second, he imagined the nachos and cotton candy flying everywhere when the lifeless body hit. Third, he grabbed Romeo’s dagger and clubbed Juliet hard across her right ear with a closed fist. Fourth, he balanced his checkbook. Fifth, he jumped into the crowd, and waded through them toward the exit to catch the killer, grabbing Godot’s body along the way and dragging it by one arm like he had dragged his favorite doll as a child.
He shoved his way into the lobby. The assassin was almost to the door, almost into the street. ALMOST. Grabber tensed his back muscles, rocking his arm back and then threw Godot’s body with all his might towards the fleeing man. The legs and arms spiraled in the air like a Chinese star. “In the case, an Iraqi star,” Grabber thought, smiling. Impact came soon and forcefully, knocking the assassin off his feet and half-severing one arm just under the shoulder. The assassin tried to rise. “STAY DOWN”, Grabber roared. The assassin complied – white-faced with fear. Grabber stood towering above him and picked up Godot’s body, hugging it against his. “This was my only friend” he half yelled, half sobbed. “He deserved to live. HE DESERVED RESPECT”. With these last words Grabber swung Godot’s body over his head and brought it down on the man like a hammer. Over and over and over and over and over until he there was nothing left and he was tired and depressed and sleepy. It looked like a giant can of Campell’s soup had blown up in the lobby. Grabber sat down, his head sagging between his knees. “Clean-up on aisle two”, he said to no one in particular.