It Was Elvis! (standard:drama, 2267 words)
Author: Gerald Sheagren	Added: Dec 22 2003	Views/Reads: 3348/2125	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
When a girl is sexually attacked by a man she insists looks just like Elvis, it leads her brother on a quest for revenge, which, in the end, will have terrible consequences.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Nadine bristled, reaching for the door knob.  “Well, if you don't
believe me, let's end this stupid vengeance quest, right here and now!” 


“Okay, okay, okay.  Elvis it is.  If the creep is still out there, he'll
be sticking out like a sore thumb, won't he?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“There's no guessing about it.”  Richie threw the Camaro into first,
stomped on the accelerator and zipped away from the curb with a long 
screech of rubber.  “Once I'm finished with this jerk and the cops 
scrape him off the pavement, he'll be singing the ‘Jailhouse Rock.'” 

“And you too, maybe.” 

Richie sped onto Main Street, down-shifting and weaving through traffic,
ignoring the honks and shouts from the drivers he nearly broad-sided.  
He switched on the radio and wouldn't you know it; “Love Me Tender” by 
none other than the King.  Nadine sank lower in the seat, unleashing a 
near hysterical laugh.  To Richie, the syrupy voice had taken on the 
unpleasant sound of fingernails being raked across a blackboard.  
Cursing, he whacked the radio with a fist, wincing and sucking the 
blood from a ripped knuckle.  Stuck behind a slow-moving delivery 
truck, he shot to the right, cutting off a car and causing the driver 
to slam on the brakes. 

“Slow down for Pete's-sake, Richie!  What's the sense of this whole deal
if you get us both killed?” 

“You just keep your eyes open for the jerk!  If you see him, gimme a
shout.” 

“You mean ‘eye'.  If you've failed to notice, I have only one good one
at the moment.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.  I can't help you any.  I have to pay attention
to traffic.” 

“Oh, really?  Is that what you've been doing?” 

“Just remember, Nadine; this whole thing's for you.” 

Nadine cackled a laugh.  “Bull crap it is!  This whole thing is for you
and your precious big brother ego.  “You, Richie!  You and only you.” 

“There are plenty of chicks, out there, who wished they had a big
brother like me. Hundreds of them, thousands, millions.” 

“Oh, pleaseeeee!” 

Once they hit the center of the city, the traffic became
bumper-to-bumper, carbon monoxide sickly thick on the humid air.  It 
was a little after noontime and the sidewalks were crammed with people, 
rushing off for a quick lunch; men in suits and women scurrying on high 
heels.  Horns blared and tempers mounted.  Engines roared impatiently.  
Nadine spotted a policeman and debated calling him over to blurt out 
her whole sordid story, but thought better of the idea, fretfully 
twisting her hands in her lap. 

“Have you seem him yet, Nadine?” 

“If I did, I think I would have said something, no?” 

“Yeah, no, who knows.  Maybe you want to avoid a scene.” 

And, then, as if summoned up by thought, she saw the guy!  My God, what
were the chances?  There he was, white jumpsuit and all, just walking 
into the underground garage of the Ramada Inn!  Should she say 
something or keep her mouth shut?  But it was too late.  Richie's head 
snapped as he heard her suck in a breath. 

“Do you see him, Nadine?” 

“Uh -----.” 

“Nadine, for Christ-sakes; did'ja see the creep?” 

A weary sigh. 

“Answer me, Nadine!” 

“Yes, yes, yes!  Yeeeessss!  Please, Richie; let's call the cops.” 

“Where?  Where, Nadine?” 

“He just went into the garage of the Ramada Inn.” 

Richie slammed on the brakes, shifted into reverse and backed between
two approaching cars, fishtailing and nearly clipping a fender.  He 
spun the wheel to the right, thudding over a speed bump as he zipped 
into the garage.  With squealing rubber echoing off cement walls, he 
braked alongside the ticket dispenser, his front bumper nudging the 
yellow security arm.  Growling as he waited impatiently for the ticket, 
he yanked it free and nearly nailed the security arm again as he 
tromped on the gas. 

“Do you see him, Nadine?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where, where, where?  Talk to me!” 

“He just disappeared up ahead.” 

And, then, as they squealed around a corner, Richie saw Elvis for
himself, walking around a vintage nineteen-fifty-seven Cadillac. 

“Wow!  Look at that Caddy, Richie.” 

“Man, this creep goes whole hog!  The King lives!”  Richie pulled into
an empty slot and kept the motor idling.  “Okay, Nadine.  You just stay 
put while I take care of matters.  Shouldn't be long; the asshole looks 
like a pussy.” 

“Don't hurt him too badly, please.” 

“After what he did to you, you should be hoping I split his skull.” 

Shaking Nadine's hand from his arm, Richie flung open the door and
jumped out, pushing it quietly shut.  Boy, was he ever primed for this! 
 Left, right, uppercut, roundhouse!  The guy was going to wish he'd 
never been born!  He could see him, now; bleeding and on his knees, 
pleading for mercy.  But “mercy” wasn't in Richie's dictionary, not on 
this particular day.  Running silently on his toes like a ballet 
dancer, he quickly closed the gap separating them. 

“Hey, you, scumbag!” 

The man turned and stared, a brow raised in question.  Oh, yeah, Elvis
for sure!  Jet-black hair, glistening with pomade and swirled into a 
pompadour.  The pouting lips, just like Nadine had said.  And a 
jumpsuit, white as snow, emblazoned with bright red rhinestones. 

“Are you talking to me? asked the jerk, in a syrupy Tennessee drawl. 

“Yeah, you pervert; I'm talking to you.” 

“Pervert?  Did I hear you correctly?” 

“What else would I call a sub-species who beats up on a
seventeen-year-old girl?  You didn't quite get all what you were after, 
did you?” 

“I ----- uh ----- don't know what you're talking about.  You, most
definitely, have me mixed up with someone else.” 

Richie barked a laugh.  “Oh, I don't think there's much chance of that,
pal.  Now it's time to get some of your own medicine.  More than ‘some' 
actually.  A whole frigging lot.” 

“If you don't leave me alone, I'm going to call the cops.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.  Those are the last dudes you want to see.” 

As the man slipped a key into the Caddy's lock, Richie rushed ahead and
grabbed hold of his arm.  And that was all it took to get the ball 
rolling.  With surprising speed, Elvis whirled and unleashed a punch 
which Richie managed to duck under right in the nick of time.  Aiming 
at a large rhinestone, he zeroed  a fist into the guy's midsection, 
following it up with a knee to the chin as he doubled over.  Elvis went 
reeling backwards, his arms pinwheeling to keep his balance.  There was 
a thud as his head struck the cement wall.  With a groan and a twitch, 
he slid to the floor, where he wound up in a sitting position, head 
bowed, his chin resting on chest. 

Dancing from foot-to-foot, bobbing and swaying, Richie lashed at the air
with his fists.  “C'mon, Elvie!  You aren't gonna get away that easy!  
Come on, get up!” 

Not a move. 

“Get on your feet, slime ball!  There's no playing possum with me!” 

Suddenly a terrible thought entered Richie's brain and he took a few
hesitant steps forward.  God, it didn't look as though the creep was 
breathing!  He knelt down, heart throbbing, and felt for a pulse on the 
man's limp wrist.  Nothing!  Dear, God, no!  He desperately switched 
his fingers from the wrist to the carotid artery.  Still nothing!  No!  
It couldn't be!  It had all happened in seconds, a few lousy seconds!  
Richie scuttled across the floor on his hands and knees, peering out 
from between the Caddy and a Land Rover.  There wasn't a soul to be 
seen.  Thank the Lord for small favors.  Jumping to his feet, he dashed 
to his car and scrambled behind the wheel, taking a few moments to 
quell his racing heart. 

“Richie, you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.” 

“Well, you don't look ‘fine'.  What happened?  You're as white as a
ghost.” 

“Nothing much happened.  I just gave the idiot a quick right and he went
down like ----- like a sack of potatoes.” 

“There's more to it than that, Richie.” 

“Nadine, please; just shut the hell up.  I'll tell you about it later, I
promise.” 

Throwing the Camaro into reverse, Richie burned rubber toward the exit,
trying to assume a nonchalant look for the attendant. 

The old man squinted at the ticket.  “You just got here, by the looks.” 

“Uh ----- yeah.  I remembered that I had a prior engagement. 
Alzheimer's at twenty-two, ya know.” 

“Well, be it one hour or one minute, it'll cost you five bucks.” 

Richie struggled out a five and fumbled it, catching it in midair.  His
hand was shaking so badly that the old man had to reach for the bill 
three times before plucking it from his fingers. 

“Shaking like that, you have Alzheimer's for sure.” 

“Yeah, yeah.  Take it easy, pops.” 

“You too.” 

Richie sped onto the street without looking, nearly broad-siding a city
bus.  With his sweaty palms clamped to the wheel, he felt dizzy-headed 
and sick to his stomach, finding it hard to concentrate.  A bead of 
sweat stung his eyes and he blinked it away, nearly colliding with the 
bus for a second time. 

“Come on, Richie; what happened back there?  You're a bundle of nerves.”
 Suddenly Nadine's head snapped toward the sidewalk, her eyes growing 
as wide as saucers.  “Wait a second!  Wait, wait, wait!  It ----- It 
wasn't that guy in the garage after all!  That's him!  That's the real 
guy, over there!” 

“What the be-Jesus are you talking about?” 

“Over there, Richie!  That's the man!  That's the guy who attacked me!” 

“Are you out of your frigging gourd?”  Richie looked to where Nadine was
pointing and spotted another Elvis; this one decked out in a purple 
jumpsuit festooned with pink rhinestones!  “Wha ----- What the hell is 
going on here?” 

“No, no!  It's not him either!  Over there, coming out of that
restaurant! That's him, that's him for sure!  There's no doubt about 
it, this time!  Oh yeah!  That's him!” 

Yet another Elvis; this one slipping on sunglasses, dressed in a
fifties-style sports coat and blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up! 

And, then, to cap off the insanity, Richie spotted the sign in front of
the Ramada Inn, slamming on his brakes so fast that a police cruiser 
smashed headlong into his rear bumper.  He could only stare, eyes 
bugging, his mouth flapping like a fish out of water. 

There, in big, bold letters: WELCOME ELVIS IMPERSONATORS OF THE WORLD! 

*** THE END *** 


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