The Scarf

Disclaimer - I only put adventure because it was the closest thing to action I could find, and the funny stuff is mild.

Is it really a crime to stop crime? When does a concerned citizen become a vigilante? How long will this last?

These are the questions I ask myself practically every night, out on patrol, stopping a mugger, taking said mugger's wallet. I would’ve thought that vigilante stress would come from not wanting to die, not not wanting to get caught.

Anyway, I'm The Scarf, can't tell you my real name or where I live for obvious reasons. I'm a teen (can't get more specific than that) vigilante with an eye for ninjutsu. Yes, it's real, kinda.

Anyway, it’s a half-hour past midnight and I’m in full gear, from the shinobi on my feet, to the shuriken on my utility belt, and, of course, my black Domino mask with my signature black-and-white scarf as my fukumen. 

Why, you ask. Because APPARENTLY, my informant heard from a guy, who knew a guy, whose brother-in-law’s stepmom’s second cousin (gosh I hope I got that right) was shot because he found a warehouse filled with coke, and not the kind you drink.

If my informant’s right, this could be the biggest bust of my (one-year old) career. The cop’s will have to accept me after something like that, right?

Now, with my parents asleep and the streetlights on the main road “malfunctioning” (read: sabotaged), I could get my bike and get going. I pull up my scarf, and make sure my eye-black and wireless earbuds (courtesy of last month’s would-be school-shooter, may she have a full recovery) are still in place. My bike is set to the highest speed, for less noise, more speed, and easier passage over hills.

I go to the address my informant gave me and stop my bike about half a mile away, far enough where it’s unsuspecting, close enough for a quick getaway. The warehouse was big, that’s for sure, with a regular, no barbed wire, super-easy climb, chain-link fence. I climb over the fence like the Mexican that I am and get my kunai ready, feeling a trap is waiting for me.

“EL ZORRO OSCURO! EL ZORRO-!” I spot the watchman and the kunai impale his jugular before he could finish waking up the rest of the gang. El Zorro Oscuro is one of my other names, The Shadow Fox. They obviously don’t know I’m Mexican, or they would’ve just tried a silent alarm instead of trying to make it sound like a screaming, drunk, Mexican.

I move quickly and silently, using my black get-up to hide amongst the shadows. About three or four guards pass by, not noticing the darkest shadow, the only one with a satchel full of spray-scent bombs.

I get to one of the support beams and start placing the bombs, using duct tape to stick them on. I do this as quickly and quietly as possible, making sure that the bombs themselves are hidden, the fuses are varying in length and easy to light. Once I’m done setting the support beams, I leave my calling card, a red and white bandana this time, making sure no prints or hairs are on it except for those of my targets. This is so that the police, if they’re smart enough, can use it to gain a warrant and bust guys that are too big for me to take on by myself.

I turn around and pull out my matchbox and a sparkler, about to light all the fuses. However, waiting for me with a gun, is Big Jim, my first guess for the head of this group. “Hey Big Jim,” I say gruffly.

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” he responds in his fun, Texan/Italian accent, referring to my assassination attempt on him. This was, of course, before I found out he was an undercover cop. His mission, simply put, is to try and get all the kingpins in one place for a one-bust takedown of all the major gangs, mobs, and mafias in the state. Naturally, we became good friends.

“The warehouse is going to burn Bigs, I suggest you-”

“I suggest ya shaddup before I blast yer head!” He interrupts me, waving his gun in a gesture like “I still have the gun, therefore I’m in charge,” so naive. “Now just why are you gonna do a thing like that?” he continues, like it’s a perfectly normal question to ask why I wanna blow the place.

“I know about the cocaine Jim,” I tell him, “so tell me, why do you have a gun aimed at me?” I make sure to make my voice as deep and grim as possible, if this is going where I think it’s going, I don’t want him knowing my real voice.

“You know exactly why I’m pointing a gun at you,” he starts, I reach for my kunai as subtly as possible, making it look like I’m going for my matches. “I found out about the bounty on yer head, the cops are workin’ hard to keep it hush. So, ya wanna do this the easy way or the- I SEE YER HANDS, STICK EM’ UP OR I’LL-” he never had the chance to finish. My kunai plugged the nozzle of his gun, and he fired before he registered this obviously important detail. Long story short, gun go boom, but so does his hand and most of his face.

The explosion, plus his screaming, alerted the guards of my location, so I had to make a quick getaway. I strike a match, light a sparkler, and get going, lighting all the fuses I pass by. As I reach the exit, there’s a lot of yelling, and as I look behind me, I see about a dozen gangsters with an impressive array of weapons. I turn and take the regular entrance through the fence making sure to use my last two kunai to take out the only guard posted there.

I jump the car barrier, turn mid-air, and throw as many shuriken as I can in one throw, with deadly accuracy. Of the dozen men chasing me, only four aren’t busy bleeding out, or yelling in pain over an impaled knee, or dead.

It was at this point they decided to stop chasing me and fire their guns, the four of them I mean, the rest were obviously unfit. I ducked behind the guards’ station, making sure I wasn’t in a place where I could get hit. Bullets whizzed by but luckily, none of them hit me. I pulled out the rest of my shuriken, five in total, and threw them to the best of my ability. I heard a curse, then hopping, then a fall, then more cursing, gottem. I start to poke my head out cautiously, when the wall above my head gets peppered with gunfire. 

I start crawling out of there before their reinforcements can arrive, but suddenly, the air is filled with the sound of an explosion. More bombs detonate shortly afterwards and I have a feeling their reinforcements won’t be arriving anytime soon.

I run out of there while the gunmen are still distracted, reach my bike, and head home. I’m all grins as I ride home, knowing that a blow like that could cripple their organization. Even as I reach home, sneak in, and hide all my gear, I can’t shake the feeling of a job well done. I walk into my room, knowing well that there’s no way on Earth that I’ll be able to fall asleep, when I hear the creaking of floorboards. I turn around, and standing in the hallway connecting my room with the house, is my little brother, looking sleepy with his blanket wrapped around him.

I had forgotten about his nightmares! He just recently started having some bad ones, and my parents usually lock their room, so he usually just comes to sleep in my bed.

He yawns, then asks in his cute, mumbling tone, “where were you?” 

As soon the words escape his mouth, the lights of my room light up and I hear the voice of my dad, obviously mad, but too tired to be loud about it: “what and EXCELLENT question Tony!”

I turn around slowly, and as I do, one thought keeps replaying through my head, “Holy.Mother-”