Tales of a Bisexual Vigilante

"Beat it, Prowler," said Officer Samantha Lee, and the tall, curvy young Asian woman, perhaps the youngest Detective in Ontario Provincial Police history, shook her head as I took my leave. I'd just taken out three Neo-Nazis, one of whom was wanted across Canada for setting a Calgary church ablaze. I left these three bozos alive, but not well. Vigilantism is frowned upon even in liberal Canada, but I don't lose sleep over what society thinks of me.

I could hear the police sirens in the distance, and knew that Detective Samantha Lee was going to catch hell from the OPP brass for being the first cop on the scene, on her supposed day off. I know a lot about how law enforcement works, and there's a reason for that. The Detective scowled, and I sensed now was not the time to push my luck. Sometimes, it's best to quit while one is ahead...

"Don't got to ask me twice," I replied, and just like that, I took off. The Ottawa Sun newspaper and even good old Metro, back in the day, consider me to be a dangerous lunatic. Ottawa folks are torn over what to do with me. Some think I'm a folk hero, and others feel I ought to be imprisoned. A grown man who wears a purple costume and mask, and fights hate crimes. That's yours truly. Someone has to stand up to the bigots, and it might as well be me. Hate crimes too often get a pass in today's society, and that's not okay with me.

I wish I could say that I had super powers, or that I'm an ex-soldier with combat skills, or perhaps, a martial artist. Nope, I'm just an average guy in a costume and mask, one armed with stone cold logic and a certain amount of fearlessness that comes with being slightly crazy. I make a beeline through the darkness, slipping from Bank Street, and disappearing down a corner of Metcalfe. I change in the tiny parking lot behind an antique store, and just like that, I'm just another man on the street.

A tall, skinny black man with a bald head, wearing a raincoat, red turtleneck shirt, black cargo pants and steel-toe boots, that's me. I cannot and will not tell you who I am. I am dead serious. I don't do this to be cool. I do it because I can't afford to have the cops, or the criminals, find out who I am. Prison isn't my thing.

If you're a bisexual gentleman like myself, prison is the last place you should ever end up in. Trust me when I tell you that prison is a nightmare for men who like men, or men who like both sexes. Joke about the whole shower and soap dropping thing all you want, it's not funny to me. Come to think of it, sex crimes shouldn't be funny to you, regardless of whom the victim or the perpetrators might be, but I won't preach morality to you. I'm a fucking vigilante, not your Sunday school preacher.

I hop in a cab, and head home. I live in a seedy part of Ottawa, a working class neighborhood full of poor folks who barely get by. One thing I like about my neighborhood is that it's diverse. Lots of Black folks, Arabs, Chinese, Indians, and First Nations people. For the most part, the only white folks I see on a daily basis in the area are French Canadians, and most of them are alright. We make an effort to get along out here in the hood, and that's how I like it.

I return to my apartment, and take a look at tonight's bill. What is the bill? There's always a cost to everything in this life. As the Prowler, I fight thugs, and criminals, especially the ones who commit hate crimes. Last month, I tracked down a creep who roughed up his ex-girlfriend, and violated a restraining order she'd taken out against him. The cops are too lenient with such scum. I tracked him down and busted his kneecaps with a baseball bat. I bet he'll think twice before stalking or abusing another woman.

Prior to that, I dealt with another kind of creep. An older man who haunts the libraries of various colleges and universities right here in Ottawa. He likes to befriend confused, unsuspecting young men and lure them to his place. He plies them with alcohol and drugs, and has his way with them. This creep targets young men, the one demographic that's least likely to report sex crimes. Folks, I identify as a bisexual man, as previously stated, and fully support sexual diversity. Still, I have even more respect for the rules of consent. An inebriated or drugged out male can no more consent to sex than an inebriated or drugged out female could under those same circumstances. The creep crossed the line, and had to pay.

When I caught up with this particular creep, I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. If this bozo enjoys violating young men so much, he should know what it's like to be violated. I approached him under the guise of a college student, and he lured me back to his place. I let him think he had me right where he wanted me, drugged out and ready to be violated. Like many male victims of male predators, I would be expected to be silent, out of shame or pride or whatever.

"Got a surprise for you, bozo," I told the creep as I spat out the pills he'd given me. You should have seen the look on his face. I grabbed him and overpowered him. After knocking him out, I took my baseball bat, and introduced him to it in a most intimate way. The bozo lived through the ordeal, but he'll be hard pressed to violate any unsuspecting and unwilling young men ever again. I took away his ability to violate. The way I figure it, it's what the bozo deserves. Folks, I don't kill. As the Prowler, I have my limits. I don't kill but I do everything else, though. Let that sink in.

I stand in front of the mirror, and look at my bruised, battered but not broken body. Tonight's fight with the three Neo-Nazis almost cost me my life. I am not a superhero. I am not a soldier. I am not a martial artist. I am just a crazy guy in a full-body costume and mask. I leave not an inch of my body exposed when I go out as the Prowler. Not even my eyes. I hide them behind an inscrutable, reinforced visor. I take no chances. I must be completely anonymous, lest disaster strike. Got it?

As I get ready to sleep, I take a look at some pictures on my living room wall. Pictures of my father and mother, happily retired in the Caribbean. Photos of my former girlfriend Lily, before our split. She is happily married to James, a man who worships her. He's given her the life I wish I could have given her. I also take a look at my first, and last, male lover Victor, the man who helped me discover my bisexuality. We had some great times before his tragic death at the hands of a bigot named Finn Wright.

We are defined both by what we love and what we hate, seriously. I have loved many women and had a few crushes on certain men in my three decades of life upon this planet. I have lived in the Caribbean, and America before settling down in the Capital of Canada. Those I've loved and lost give my existence meaning. That's what this is all about. Victor's murder must be avenged. I will never forgive, nor will I ever forget. Someday, I will catch the son of a bitch responsible for Victor's death. For now, he's in prison, safe from me. That won't always be the case, though. Mark my words.

I lie in bed, and find myself unable to sleep. I check my voicemail, and then head to my laptop. I check out the news. As expected, the Ottawa Sun newspaper raves about my exploits as the Prowler, and the Police Chief promises to have me apprehended and jailed. The cops rant about how vigilantism has no place in the City of Ottawa, or any civilized society. I don't care what they think. I'm a man on a mission. I will fight the forces of evil until a final wrong is righted, then and only then can I die. Until then, the mission is not over.