This short story was published in October of 2021 in the pages of the AHOY Comics book Second Coming: Only Begotten Son # 6. It is set in the same continuity as my stories "The Last Ride Of The Copperhead Kid," "The Copperhead Strikes!," and "The Copperhead Affair," plus the forthcoming "Flight Of The Copperhead."
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| Illustration by Ed Catto |
by Carl Cafarelli
She was just 17, if you know what I mean.
Her name was Copper; I didn't know if that was her real name, or just a nickname inspired by her close-cropped red hair. As she pogo-strutted on the stage, playing a bass guitar as if it deserved a sound thrashing, singing Beatles and Kinks songs with a teenage punk rock group that seemed to think it was still 1965, I stood in the small and sweaty crowd, transfixed. It was the summer of 1983. I was a week shy of my own 18th birthday, and a cosmic truth struck me with unshakable certainty:
I was in love.
My name’s Maisie, and everyone calls me Maze. This was my first slammin' visit to The Copperhead Club. I didn't need my fake ID; The Copperhead did all-ages shows, and I didn't care about booze anyway. Gimme a cup of coffee, and gimme some rock 'n' roll, loud and fast. Copper was on stage, I was in my heaven, and if all wasn't right in the world, I woulda said, "Close enough!"
I had heard about this place, and I had heard about Copper. She ran The Copperhead Club, owned it and operated it, even though she was just a minor. People knew not to mess with her. The stories about Copper were crazy, rumors that she came from a long line of...I dunno, crusaders or something. Her great grandfather was, like, the fastest gun in the old West. Her grandmother was, get this, supposed to have been a masked vigilante during the Depression, kicking Nazi ass and cracking a poisoned whip. Her dad was some kind of James Bond type of guy in the '60s. Nuts, right? I don't know if anyone really believed that nonsense, but it didn't matter. Everyone deferred to Copper as if they believed.
Watching her perform was the first time I realized that I liked girls, not boys. I was gay? I was gay. I'd had no idea until that moment.
Which was precisely the moment when some jock decided to start hitting on me.
I tried to shrug him off, even tried to do it politely at first. He was drunk. Duh. I slapped him, hard, lighting a dim spark of anger in his gray and stupid eyes. He raised his hand....
And Copper was there.
The rest of the band never stopped playing. I guess they'd seen this all before. Copper had jumped from the stage, unplugged bass in hand, and gotten right in Drunk Jock's face. "Shove off, asshole," she said in an even tone. "I don't like bullies." It was as close to a warning as the dummy was going to get.
He didn't take it.
He raised his hand again. He was rewarded with a bass guitar smashing into his face, freeing a few of his teeth in the process. He staggered back in pain, his mouth bleeding. Furious, he lunged at Copper with all the force of his chuckleheaded rage.
Copper twitched her hip. I swear to God, that's all I could see her do. Her swift kick to his head was so fast it was invisible, but it hit like a friggin' neutron bomb. Dumb Jock was sprawled on the floor, unable to pick himself up.
He had friends with him. Of course. Jackals travel in packs. One had a switchblade, one was built like an entire offensive line, and one broke a bottle--just like in the movies!--as they converged on Copper. Copper smiled. And Copper jumped.
It was aerial ballet. Copper somersaulted, landing feet-first on Dumb Jock's stomach. Actually, she might have landed a little south of his stomach, given how he screamed when she touched down. She bounced off him and seemed to float in mid air as she kicked two of his moron buds senseless, sending their blade and bottle flying, and sending them both into bruised slumber. Her bass still in her hand, Copper brought its body into the biggest thug's belly, and as he doubled over her head butted his and her free hand chopped into his neck. He folded like a cheese omelet.
With four bad guys now prone and defeated on the floor, the band still had not missed a note. With a short leap, Copper returned to the stage, plugged her bass back in, and resumed singing into the mic as if there had been no interruption. It was a song by the Kinks.
Girl, you really got me goin'....
From the stage, Copper looked at me, and our eyes met. And all I could think was, My hero!
As the set finished, the cops came in. I expected more trouble, but the police all knew Copper, and they deferred to her, too. Maybe the weird rumors about her were true. The thugs were carted off without incident.
Copper walked over to me. "Ya okay there, sis?" I nodded, unable to summon speech.
She smiled at me. "Wanna get another cup of coffee? On the house, sis." I stammered my name in introduction. That earned a wink, and Copper draped an arm over my shoulder. "Please to meet ya, Maze. Welcome to The Copperhead Club." Music played on the jukebox. Music played in my heart. Girl, you really got me. My hero, indeed.
More Copperhead stories to come.
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