Chapter 1: Desmond

There is nothing like being surrounded by a mob, and getting the beating of your life. Take it from me, it isn't very pleasant. Two young guys visit the Gay Pride parade, and expect a night of fun. They turned in the wrong direction, and were greeted by some very unsavory characters. You might expect a white hat to swoop in at any moment—to save the day and all. But that's not how the story always goes.

The mob consisted of four douche bags—that can only be described as caricatures of someone else. You got your "Vin Diesel," "Goldberg," "Rourke," and "Caan." What, no religious fundamentalists? It would have made the scene more interesting. Of course, everybody is having fun, except for the two teenagers that craved a night of decadence. Getting gay bashed was probably not on their agenda. The men were just getting started. First, they would be gentlemen and start with their fists. Then, the baseball bats would be put to use. Somebody should have told the mob that outnumbering, and attacking unarmed people with blunt objects, isn't very gentlemanly after all.

"I'm not that crazy about gay pride either…" said Desmond.

Cue the Western theme. The closest thing to a white hat has arrived. Desmond Stock A.K.A. "Little Indian." If those men were wise, they would just walk away. To a casual observer, he's just a forty-something year old man with a face only a mother could love. We girls used to joke about the deep lines on his face because Desmond never liked the sun. Don't let his slight stature fool you.

"…But the beer isn't that bad, and I won't wake up tomorrow alone. So, don't fuck up my evening. Step away from the fudgepackers and nobody gets hurt," finished Desmond.

"Are you talking to us, queer?" asked the leader. He let go of the guy he was holding, and kicked him away. "Stan, give me my bat. I'm about to bust this fucker's ass."

The teenaged boys huddled against a wall. Their pride beads were cracked, pieces scattered on the ground.

"What the fuck are you going to do, faggot? Bring out the fucking pink triangle posse?" He motioned to the two guys against the wall. The entire mob laughed.

"Bitch, this is my fucking pink triangle," said Desmond, showcasing his Beretta pistol, "And here is my rainbow flag." Desmond flashed a dagger with a silver-stripped handle.

The leader of the group backed off for a moment, then gave a hearty laugh.

"Okay, don't fuck me up with your S&M props. I already told you candyass…We're straight. We don't do that nasty shit."

The three guys surrounded Desmond.

With blinding speed, Desmond unsheathed his dagger, and began slicing methodically. He was precise, making sure to avoid any major arteries. Sure, the men were going to bleed a lot. But it wasn't like they were going to die.

He heard an assortment of screams and "fuck!" One of the guys ran away—like a little pussy.

Instinctively, Desmond fired his pistol at the leader. It caught his hand, as he was holding the baseball bat high to strike Desmond.

"It's really shitty to attack a guy from behind. Where's the honor in that?"

"Oh shit, please man!"

"Oh, so now I'm a man. What happened to faggot…candyass…queer?"

The guy was trying to stop the blood that gushed from his hand. Three of his fingers were twitching on the pavement.

Desmond continued walking towards the leader.

"You totally ruined my night, motherfucker. I was expecting to get major laid, but now I have to leave because of you fuckups."

"Sorry, man," said the guy, crouched on his knees and holding his hand in pain.

"Sorry, man…you know, it's not like my dick is going to suck itself."

"I could…"

"What?" asked Desmond, "Are you volunteering to blow me? I thought you were some badass gay basher. Did you forget something in the closet?"

"I…."

Desmond walked in back of the guy. "Okay, you want it…here it comes."

He unleashed a solid kick to the guy's ass. "Your cherry is officially popped. Now get the fuck out of here!"

The guy ran off, leaving his fingers behind.

The twinks stood up in unison. One of them, a cute blond, spoke up: "Thank you so much. If there's something we can do for you…?"

"Damn right there is something you can do for me…"

"Okay," said the other guy.

"You can give me your alcohol bracelets, and go home."

"What…we're 21…"

"Look kid, I just sliced up some guys because you dumbfucks walked into the wrong alley. Don't fucking lie to me. Bracelets, now."

"Hold on, you can't…" The blond guy put his hand up to his friend's mouth.

After they surrendered their bracelets, and walked off, Desmond decided to call it a night.

Aw, so you might say that Desmond is not such a bad guy after all. A flawed hero wandering the streets with his gun and dagger. But I already told you…don't let Desmond's slight stature fool you. Remember how Bill found me in that church. It was more than just him "being the man." He had some help, and Sophie was out of town. Can you guess who stepped in? I'll give you a clue…the name begins with a "D."