Since the first of the year, I’ve been working on a new novel/novella. I workshopped the content using Tim Clare’s Couch to 80K Writing Course. (It’s free on his website, FYI) The impetus for this was the following idea:what would a modern day version of Doc Savage look like?

I came up with the concept of DJ Blank and the Furious Five. The idea behind the name was that most DJ names suck(no one is ever going to beat DJ Pink Glazed Donut With a Glass of Milk from the group Bloodhound Gang), and that the first time the main character was asked for one, he couldn’t come up with one.

I’m still writing it as we speak, and all I can say is that the story will involve Nazi artifacts, a pissed off Ojibwe crime lord, secret societies, and the fate of Chicago. Today’s post is not from that book. Rather, this is an interlude, part of the character’s origin. I came up with this idea while getting drenched by rain out walking on Saturday. I hope you like it, or at the very least, are entertained by it.

John Cisewski’s last thoughts before he passed out were that those were some amazing shoes. The shoes were, like John, in front of Fritz’s Corner. Fritz’s sat on the edge of Zion, a dry city, doing a busy trade in people escaping to and from there.

Said shoes were boots, covered in silver glitter. If John had bothered to stay conscious, he would have wondered what those boots were doing at Fritz’s. These were not suburban boots, these were boots for clubbing, dancing, and other things foreign to this patch of the Midwest.

A tall man was attached to the boots, his clothes further placing him as not local. Versace suits were rare here. His brown skin also suggested an otherness to him. Not to say that the people at Fritz’s were racist. But the head of the Illinois Klan lived right down the road in Winthrop Harbor, and anybody who wasn’t a WASP wasn’t safe there after dark.

But all of this was unknown to the brownish man with long black hair. All he knew was that they needed a DJ here. And a DJ was what he wanted to be. Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door, stepped over John, and peered into the darkness.

Inside, a couple of heads turned as Edward walked in. A couple others glanced over, then went back to their beers.  They were engrossed in that afternoon’s Cubs game, playing on a small TV above the bar. The two with their heads turned stared, their faces stone. Edward stared back, then smiled. Neither of them smiled back.

“Can I help you?” A woman in her late forties was behind the bar, pouring a shot for someone. Edward smiled at her, trying to be impressive and polite.

“Hello. My name is Edward. I saw your ad in the News-Sun about needing a DJ.”

She looked Edward over. “Where did you come from?”

Edward smiled. “I’m from Chicago, born and bred. I’m just starting out, but I went to school for this, and I have references.” Edward reached into his coat, withdrew an envelope.

“Inside are my references and resume. Are you the manager?” Without a word, the woman took a stein out from under the bar and set it on the envelope.

“Sonny, I don’t know what sort of DJing you were hoping to do here, but I can take one look and tell you won’t work out.” She picked up a nozzle and streamed beer into the stein. She slid both he beer and the envelope back to Edward.

“The beer is on the house for your troubles. I just don’t think you’re what we’re looking for.” And with that, she turned and headed back down the bar, where one of the lumps was waving some money at her.

Edward took a seat, then picked up his wet envelope and peeled it off the beer. He took a sip of the beer and made a face. He preferred European beer, not this watered-down crap. But free is free. While he sipped, he pondered his options for the rest of the day, trying to think of any other places to ply his trade at.

He’d about made up his mind when someone sat down next to him, hard. The man’s bulk bumped into Edward, almost spilling his beer. Edward turned to say something, then noticed the muscles. The man was a solid brick of them. There was a thin layer of fat, but this was someone who’d spent some serious time on the weights.

A dirty ball cap covered his head, some car brand barely visible through the grime. He had the Midwest spring uniform of t-shirt and jean jacket, though the jacket looked like it might burst. Alcohol and sweat competed to fight out of his pores.

Edward was a hair over six foot, but this guy had at least four or five inches on him. The man looked down at him and fixed him with a glare.

“What are you looking at, boy? Never seen a real man before?” Edward seethed. He didn’t need this, not today. Time to be elsewhere.

Edward thought about picking up his beer and clocking the guy, but he was at least a good half hour from anywhere he’d feel safe. Instead he stood, pushing back his chair. He reached in his coat to get his keys and bumped the living wall again.

“God damn, don’t you vegan sissy boys know how to walk?”

Edward stared. “Excuse me?”

The bulk stood. “You’re dressed way too nice for here, so you must have gotten lost on your date. You smell like flowers, so that makes you either a limp wristed sissy, or a wimpy little vegetarian boy.” Edward watched him crack weathered knuckles almost as big as his head. “Been a while since I kicked a vegan’s ass.”

Edward had been called many names, growing up mixed race. But this was a first: he was about to get his ass kicked over diet. Rumors would spread later that the man’s last girlfriend had left him for a yoga instructor at a local natural foods store, but this was never confirmed.

Many people have that moment where they truly become who they are. It may happen at work, it may happen to them, or be caused by them. To his close friends, this was the moment where Edward became DJ Blank.

Edward smiled at the man, which confused him. “I bet you’ve kicked a lot of vegan ass. Bet you could kick any vegan’s ass in town.”

The man smiled, a horror of rotted teeth and cigarette stained lumps. “I can kick any vegan’s ass, anywhere, any time. Pansy asses don’t have any strength.”

“I disagree. In fact, I know a vegan that can kick your ass, and I don’t even have to leave the state.” Edward voiced this at the top of his lungs, loud as he could.

Stillness snapped into place, as all eyes now focused on Edward. They all thought Edward was going to try and fight the large man, and with practiced barfly eyes, they all knew Edward would not fare well.

“Really? A shiny ass little boy like you? You going to kick my ass? Edward could swear the man was drooling. He stared in fascination as one string slid down an unshaved cheek. Then he shook his head. Knowing he had to stay on top of this, or he was going to the hospital, if not the morgue.

“No sir, you’d break me.” Edward winked, knowing full well, this would piss the guy off.

“Where is he then? I’ll go kick his ass!” Edward could see the glass starting to crack in the man’s hand.

Edward pulled out his (now useless) envelope, scribbled down an address. “Meet me here tonight, at 9 PM sharp. Don’t be late.”

Edward ran out the door and jumped in his tiny Nissan Sentra. The man had his address and phone number, so Edward had to come through. He smiled to himself, knowing that if he pulled this off, it would be one hell of a story.

North Avenue Beach was normally crowded, but only during the day. The best beach in Chicago, it was jam packed on weekend days during the summer and even some spring and fall days. But this had been a cold day, and the beach was mostly deserted.

This was where Edward was sitting, perched on the bumper of a one-ton rental truck. He’d told the large man to meet him here by the north corner of the volleyball courts. Most nights they’d be interrupted by police patrols, but Edward had arranged for a friend who was sweet on the park cop pick tonight to follow him around. They would not be interrupted.

A Humvee pulled in next to the truck. Edward smirked. Of course, this guy would have a car as big and obnoxious as he was. And out of the vehicle the man emerged, cleaner than earlier, wearing loose shorts and a Marlboro shirt. He strode over to where Edward sat.  Edward smelled the booze again, but no sweat. He wondered what shower could fit this man.

“I’m here.” The man spat brown juice on Edward’s shoes. “Where is this mystery fighter?” He looked at the truck. “Is the wimp in there?”

Edward looked down, annoyed. He’d never get these clean.  In a quick move, he turned around and pulled up the back door of the truck.

The behemoth peered into the unlit rear compartment, then his eyes went wide.

“What the fuck is that?”

A large mass of fur strode out of the darkness, then jumped down onto the ground.

“Asshole, meet Samson. He’s the newest silverback gorilla to be added to the nationally renowned Lincoln Park Zoo. “

“Why the fuck is he here?” Samson sniffed at the air, then bared his teeth at the large man.

“Why, you said you could beat any weak ass vegetarian in the state. He’s a vegetarian. Kick his ass.” The massive man was shaking, making Edward think of his mother’s gelatin desserts.

“I meant humans!” The shout came with the stench of urine, as the man’s bladder failed him. “This isn’t fair!”

“Fuck your fair, you bigoted pile of shit.” The man turned away from Samson, trying to flee. Samson caught up with him after about fifteen steps. pouncing on his back. Piteous cries rose from the man as Samson began raining blows on his back. Edward let him beat on the man for about two minutes, calmly walking to the front of his truck and then back, retrieving a dart pistol from the passenger seat.

Edward took aim and fired. Samson turned, enraged at the surprise attack. He lunged toward him, loping forward until the drugs took hold. With a soft moan, Samson fell over.  Edward wondered how he was going to get him back in the truck.  He’d call his friend from the zoo, who’d taken Edward’s cash without question. It had made Edward uneasy how quickly the guy had agreed, but it wasn’t his concern right now.

He walked over to the behemoth, now bleeding from a broken nose among other places. The man was wheezing, might have popped a rib or two. Edward crouched down by the man’s head.

“Now, I want you to think about this the next time you open your mouth. If I ever hear about you so much as breathing wrong on somebody, this will seem like a fraternity hazing.”

Edward stood, planning to just walk away, then the man-made gurgling noises. They didn’t seem happy.  Edward turned and kicked the guy in his ribs, which caused the man to start sobbing. Edward almost felt sorry for him. He went to the truck, called his friend and waited.

It was the next day that the police came for him. He made the news, of course. The papers implied he’d tried to kill the man, which wasn’t true. It’d have been a bigger story, maybe even made the front page, if not for a crew punching a hole in the bottom of the Chicago River and flooding the downtown.

A month later, he stood in front of the judge. He’d already made a deal to go serve his country in return for probation. The judge believed in doing things the old-fashioned way.

His story was odd enough that he attracted attention and rumors from his first day in basic. It was those rumors and stories that attracted the people who would become the Furious Five.