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The Dark Avenger Begins - Chapter 2
South Campus Garage. Level 4. Space 128. This is what makes
a superhero.
The junior manning the parking table during Freshman Orientation had handed me
the placard and told me that for an extra $250 a semester for the next four
years, space 128 on level four in the south campus garage would be mine and
only mine.
I looked at the slip of paper and the parking sticker I was supposed to affix
to my windshield. "What happens if someone not me parks there?"
"We tow," the guy said, flipping a page of his Cather novel.
"Next!"
They don't tow. I found this out within the first week. My job as a human
blood courier required use of my rusting '87 Volvo, so I needed the
space. Of course, every other cretin with a car in a 10-mile radius also
needed a space, and they all thought mine would do nicely. That was the problem
with the citizens of Duke City; they don't respect the reserved parking.
Almost nightly, I'd come back from blood running and find a car parked in my
space and it made my blood boil.
At first, I did what any other well brought up young man would do: I keyed door
panels, deflated tires, and crack a tail light before parking in the first
vacant space I could find.
But after awhile, petty vandalism and his own parking thefts didn't leave me
with the same sense of satisfaction and adrenaline rush. Also, though I didn't
have any proof, I was fairly certain the girl who owned the white Neon had
bashed in my passenger window after I scrawled "I AM AN UGLY
AMERICAN" across her paint job in black Sharpie.
I decided to escalate my efforts.
The first step was to complain to an indifferent Parking Services. "I'm
sorry, sir," the bored senior accounting major said from behind the
reception desk. "All parking violations must be reported to Parking Services
between the hours of 7 a.m. and 6 p.m. Monday through Friday."
"But I don't have a problem between 7 a.m. and 6 p.m.," I said
through clenched teeth. "The problem is when I come back from my job
SAVING LIVES and I find some moron in a Neon's parked in my space because she's
too cheap to shell out for her own space."
She didn't even flinch. "May I suggest finding on campus employment?"
I flexed my fingers and counted to ten. "You're telling me there's nothing
you can do?"
"That's what I'm telling you," she said.
"What if I called the towing company myself?" I asked.
She flipped a page in her textbook. "The towing company must be given a
top secret password before they'll dispatch a truck to remove an illegally
parked vehicle," she recited. "Without that password validation, they
are not authorized to tow vehicles. I'm sorry, but there is nothing you as an
individual can do."
I sucked the corners of my lips into my face and left Parking Services. As I
stalked across the Duke City University campus, a plan began to take shape in
my head. First, I would need my roommate, Darin. The ladies couldn't resist
Darin. Second, I was going to need a backup plan, in case Darin fucked things
up.
"Dude," I said when we were studying in our commons room that evening.
"I need you to do me a favor."
"Whuzzat?" Darin asked from his perch on the floor. He was frowning
at his psychology textbook.
I outlined my plan, twirling a pencil between my fingers. "Basically, I
need you to go into Parking Services and charm the panties off the bitch behind
the desk. With any luck, the super secret towing company password will be
written in indelible ink on the waistband, and I can start towing that fucking
Neon."
"Why don't you just use your mad hacking skills and break into the
computer?" Darin asked, not unreasonably.
"Because it's illegal," I shrugged. "And I don't want to be
thrown out of school for something as stupid as hacking into the Parking
Services system."
"But you're willing to be thrown out of school for illegally towing cars
from your parking structure," Darin said.
I threw a book at him. "Would you just do it?"
Our third roommate, Ivan, chose that minute to wander into the conversation.
"Just do what?" he asked.
Darin flopped onto his stomach. "Oh, Peter wants me to charm the panties
off some chick in Parking Services so he can start towing anyone who parks in
his space."
"Okay," Ivan said. "I don't see what one has to do with the
other, but I'm kind of offended you didn't ask me to help."
"You weren't here, dude," I said, which was Guy Truth. Ivan bought it
and went into his room. Darin and I looked at each other and made a face. The
real truth was I didn't even think about asking Ivan, because you don't think
of asking a giant ass to take part of a plan, and Ivan was the King of All
Asses, at least in the DeVargas residence college. He'd come to Duke City
University with his ponytail and his guitar and his tie-dyed wardrobe, and
within twenty-four hours of moving into the third bedroom, proved that for all
his Peace and Love hippie affectations, he was a misogynistic, mean-spirited
asshole. I mean, I'm not the nicest person ever, but when this fuckin' poseur
started oinking at the not-so-svelte girl moving into the suite next door, I
knew he was Not A Good Person.
"I'll do it," Darin said after a minute. "But not because you're
being a giant pussy about the hacking, but because it'll piss the hell outta
that guy when I come back with some boobies."
The next afternoon, I kept watch from the campus coffee shop while Darin walked
across the quad and smooth-talked the gatekeeper. I waited through three
espressos, tapping out "DUDE HURRY UP" in Morse code on the side of
the cup with a spoon. Not that I’m a nerd or anything.
He came back after 45 minutes, triumphant. "I have greased the works,
lubed the gears, oiled the shafts,"
"I don't need to hear that," I said. Nerds weren't getting much play
at DCU in those days. Before the tech boom, you know. "Did you get
the password?"
Darin scoffed. "It's 'password.'"
I beat the table. "It's always 'password.'" I got up. "I've
gotta go, I'm late for work. But man, tonight, you want in?"
"I'll be there," he said. We smacked five and I started moving
towards the door. "Oh, one more thing!" he shouted. I turned around
and he rubber-banned a bit of material at my skull. I caught it. Silky pink
panties decorated with little black bunnies.
"You're the man, dude!" I shouted, holding them over my head like a
trophy, my Sixteen Candles moment. "You're the man!"
You never forget your first tow.
The Neon was back in my space that night. I couldn't contain my glee when the
surly guy on the other end picked up. "This is Art McAdams with DCU
Parking," I said. "I need ya to come do a late night pick up."
"Gonna need the password, 'Art.'"
"Password."
"I'll be right there."
I hung out in the shadows above my space, crouched on a concrete support beam.
Not once did the guy look up as he loaded the car onto his truck.
You never forget the glee as you hear a car's transmission go "CHUNK"
as it's pulled in a direction you don't want to go. And you don't ever forget
the rush of victory when the bubble-headed driver comes racing around the
corner shouting "No! Wait! I'm here! Don't tow! Don't tow!"
I had to bite down on my hand to keep from laughing out loud as the guy in the
greasy coveralls told her it would cost a semester's tuition to bail her car
out of hock. It was the best day of my life.
During my second semester, the towing guy got wise to my vigilante ways.
"Listen, 'Art,'" he said one night after I gave the password.
"I've been contractin' with DCU for fifteen years, and only the higher-ups
can give the password. And I know all the higher ups. When you join DCU
Parking, you stay with DCU Parking, you know what I'm sayin'?"
"Um," I said, trying to talk around the lump in my throat. Busted.
"But I like the way you think," he said. "So lemme cut you a
deal, eh? I'll come out there tonight and we'll talk. It costs these rich
college kids, no 'fence, rich college kids almost a grand to get their cars
outta my lot. Now, DCU gets 15%, but I'm thinkin' you know, rates could go up
and they wouldn't have to be told."
"Uh-huh," I said. My palms were still sweating, but I was feeling
more confident.
He continued. "I'll up my rates, okay? We'll split it fifty-fifty. Call it
a finder's fee on your part. At the endda da week, you come to the lot and I'll
give you an envelope. Cash under da table. You savvy?"
"I'm savvy," I said, breathing again.
"But on one condition," he cautioned. "You gotta hit all the
garages, otherwise, they're gonna get suspicious and think to start lookin' for
ya."
"I can do that," I said.
"Great. See ya Friday, 'Art.' "
That first Friday, I walked away with $800. I quit my job at the blood bank and
started scouring the other garages on campus, looking for violators. I became
brazen, doing daytime sweeps between classes. I got a cell phone, one of those
old-fashioned bricks, to make faster busts. I began fantasizing of the day I
had my own parking boot.
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