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Barry works at a gas station. A thief wearing a ski mask enters the gas station and confronts him.
“Give me all the cash!”
“What?”
“Give me all the cash, man! The cash!”
“How much do you want?”
“I said give me all of it!” He points the gun at the register.
“Do you want all that’s in the register or do you want all that’s in the safe?” Barry pauses. “Or do you just want both?”
“Jesus, man, what’s with all the questions? Just give me the cash!”
“I can’t give you the cash, man, until you tell me if you want the ‘register cash’ or the ‘safe cash.’”
“Gimme both, you derelict!”
Barry begins to gather the cash. Suddenly, glass from the skylight rains down on Barry and the thief. They fall to the floor, dazed. A man wearing a rat costume descends through the skylight. He cuffs the thief to a rack of Little Debbie snack cakes.
“Have no fear!” shouts the man in the rat costume.
Barry gets up and asks, “Who are you?”
“It is I! Superhero: Ratman!”
“Batman?”
“No,” Ratman says, annoyed. “Ratman.”
“I feel like you keep saying Batman.”
“No, you’re just hearing me incorrectly. I’m Ratman. Not Batman.”
“…All right.”
“Why does everybody always say Batman after I introduce myself? I don’t even look remotely close to a bat!” Ratman points at the rat tail on his costume. “Does this look like a bat tail to you, man?”
Barry points at the tail. “Why do you have a tail?”
“What?”
“Why do you have a tail, man?”
“Because I’m a rat. God, what is it with you people?”
“I thought you said you were a superhero.”
“What?”
“When you crashed through the roof you said you were Superhero Ratman.”
“Well, yes, I am a superhero. But I’m also a rat.”
Barry blinks at Ratman, mouth open.
“You see, while I’m Ratman the superhero, I must also have a secret identity. The rat costume is my secret identity.”
“Yeah, I realize that. But why did you choose to be a rat?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, rats are lame.”
“Rats aren’t lame.”
“I don’t know,” Barry says. “Rats are pretty lame.”
“No, they’re not. Rats are great hunters. They have great instincts. What exactly is lame about a rat?”
“They just seem to put people off, man. Nobody likes rats. Rats are like beets. Nobody likes beets.”
“Everybody likes beets, you imbecile!”
“All right, man.”
“Everybody likes beets and everybody likes rats, okay?”
“I said I got it, man. No worries.” Barry scratches his nose, assesses the damage to the skylight. “You sure did a number on this place, man.”
Ratman looks up. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“I mean, you couldn’t have just come in through the front door?”
“What’s that?”
“It just seems like you could have easily run in through the front door while he had his gun on me and just grabbed him. If anything, you exploding through the skylight seemed like a giant distraction.”
“Exactly!”
“No, not a distraction in a good way.”
“There are no bad distractions in the superhero world!” Ratman declares, pounding his chest with a closed fist.
“What do you mean? I just named a bad distraction.”
“And I told you—“
“—You jumping through a skylight to capture a thief stealing eighteen dollars is the bad distraction I just named.”
“I don’t undertand.”
“You caused like fifteen hundred dollars worth of damages, man. Not to mention insurance premiums going up. So what if this poor schlub gets away with eighteen dollars? Ain’t no skin off anybody’s nose, you know what I mean. I probably wouldn’t’ve even reported it.”
“But…” Ratman says timidly, “then your till would have been all mucked up at the end of the night.”
Barry shrugs. “It’s eighteen dollars, man. Who cares?”
Ratman glares through his mask. “Hey, what’s your deal, man?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why are you coming at me like this?”
“Like what?” Barry asks, still breathing out of his mouth.
“I just saved your life and you’re treating me like a buffoon.”
“Hey, man, I thought superheroes would be a bit more receptive to constructive criticism.”
“Constructive! You’re not being constructive, you’re just being an ass!”
“Whoa, take it easy will ya?”
“I am easy!”
“You’re easy?”
“No, that’s not what I meant! You know that’s not what I meant!”
“Hey, man, there’s no shame in being easy. Some of my best friends are easy.”
“I JUST TOLD YOU THAT WASN’T WHAT I MEANT!”
“You’re about a nine on the tension scale, Ratman.”
Ratman picks up the unconscious thief, tipping Little Debbie’s everywhere. He says quietly, “There’s not a lot left.”
“There’s not a lot left of what?”
“There aren’t a whole lot of options left. For superhero names, I mean.”
“Oh.”
“You know, like there’s Batman, and Antman, and Aquaman, and Wovlerine, and The Flash. There’s Superman, Marvelman, The Arrow, Spiderman. When you get down to brass tacks, there aren’t a whole lot of names left to pick from.”
“I understand.”
“I was behind my time, you know?”
“I was behind my time, you know?”
“Sure.”
“If I was a superhero in the 50s, I would’ve been golden.”
“I know, man, I know.”
“Fucking Marvel.”
“And D.C.”
“Yes! Thank you! And D.C.!”
Barry points at the rat tail again. “I still gotta be honest, though, that thing is just ridiculous. Plus, it’s gotta mess with your aerodynamics…especially with you jumping through skylights and all.”
“I don’t only jump through skylights.”
“Well then in this particular instance, the rat tail most likely altered your aerodynamics.”
“All right!” Ratman snaps. “Maybe I didn’t think through the costume all that well.”
Barry scratches the back of his head and looks closely at Ratman. “You sound familiar.”
“What?”
“You got a voice that sounds really familiar. It’s like I’m having deja vu or something.”
Ratman glances nervously about the room.
“Have we met somewhere before?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Yes you’re sure? Or yes we’ve met somewhere before.” Barry pauses, eyes grow wide. “Or yes you’re sure we’ve met somewhere before!”
Ratman thinks hard. “Stop making no sense!”
Barry thinks about that and decides, “That didn’t make too much sense, Ratman.”
“Yes it did, goddamn it! Yes it did!”
Barry leans over the counter, cocking his head at the man in the rat costume. “Dave?”
Ratman glances about nervously. “What?”
“Is that you, Dave?”
“It’s not me.”
“It’s not you? Or it’s not Dave?”
“Stop saying things like that!”
“Like what?”
“You know exactly what!”
“Dave, it’s cool, man. No need to get testy.”
“Dave, it’s cool, man. No need to get testy.”
“I’m not getting testy!” He pauses, then realizes, “And I’m not Dave!”
“Sure thing, Dave.”
“Stop saying my name! I mean, stop saying the name Dave. Not that that’s my name…Goddamn it!” Ratman takes a breath, collects himself. “What I’m saying is, I’m not Dave, all right? I want that to be clear.”
“That you’re saying you’re not Dave.”
“Yes.”
“But you really are Dave, you’re just saying that you’re not.”
“Goddamn it, Barry! You are such a little twat, you know that?”
Barry begins to laugh.
“What’s so funny!”
Barry continues to laugh.
“Stop continuing to laugh, Barry!”
But Barry continues to laugh.
“I mean it!”
“Dave, I’m fucking with you, man.”
A pause. “What?”
“I’m fucking with you!”
Ratman looks around one last time. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we know it’s you.”
“We?”
“Oh shit, yeah, oh man, I almost forgot. That’s Greg!”
“Who’s Greg?”
“That perp you’re holding! The dude you cuffed! That’s Greg. We knew it was you, man. We just did all of this to fuck with you.”
“Wait…But…What?”
Greg, still held by Ratman, opens his eyes. “Hi, Dave!”
Ratman drops Greg and yelps. Greg gets up.
“See, I told ya,” says Barry.
“How are you awake?” Ratman cries. “I drugged you with sodium thiopental. That’s impossible.”
Greg begins to laugh.
“Stop laughing, Greg!”
But Greg continues to laugh.
“What is going on?”
“You left your costume in my car,” says Barry.
“What?”
“You left your costume in my car after my bachelor party.”
Ratman thinks about it. “But your bachelor party was eighteen months ago.”
Greg steps proudly to Ratman. “Precisely! After we found the costume it was confirmed that Ratman was Dave. And Dave was Ratman. They were one in the same! So, for the past eighteen months we began to uncover more truths about the Ratman. One of these truths was that he loved to foil crooks with the use of sodium thiopental. Since we uncovered this little nugget of information, both Barry and I began building up an immunity to sodium thiopental.”
“You guys built up an immunity to sodium thiopental?”
“Correct.”
“But…why?”
“To fuck with you,” says Greg. “I thought Barry made that clear.” He turns to Barry. “You made that clear, didn’t you?”
“I thought I made it clear.”
“Will you two shut up?” Ratman thinks about the past eighteen months. “So everything you’ve done for the past year and a half…it’s all been a ruse…?”
“Also correct.”
“This doesn’t make any sense. Barry, you got this gas station job six months ago. You had a fake job for six months all for a prank?”
“After we built up the immunity to sodium thiopental I met the manager about the night clerk position. Was I overqualified? Sure. But Greg and I had concocted a plan for him to rob this particular gas station on a night we knew Ratman—a.k.a. Dave—was patrolling these parts. At the right moment, he would enter this establishment, pretend to rob the register, Ratman would pull some preposterous stunt to foil the crime, thus, causing hundreds, if not thousands of dollars worth of damages, we would then berate Ratman—whom we’ve already establish is Dave—for an extended period of time until Dave would erupt into a volcano of irrational emotion and Greg and I would laugh.”
Ratman (who has been established as Dave, but for the intents and purposes of this story, will continue to be referred to as Ratman) steps away from Greg and Barry.
“So…” Barry says. “Mission accomplished.”
“So you know I’m Dave?”
“Yes,” they say.
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” they say.
“That came out of left field.”
“Yeah…”
“Classic prank, though.”
“We know.”
Ratman looks around at the damage. “So I guess there’s no crime fighting to be done here tonight.”
“Guess not.”
“All right…well I’m gonna get going.”
“Sure, man.”
“Crime to be fought and all.”
“We understand.”
Ratman heads for the front door. He turns back. “You know what’s funny though?”
Barry and Greg shrug.
“In the time that it took you to execute and explain your joke, I probably missed out on a lot of crime.”
Barry and Greg look at each other. “What?” they ask.
“What I’m saying is: in the time that it took you to do all of this—to get me here—to this exact position, at the exact time, at the exact right moment—had you not done that, I’d probably be somewhere else in the city, preventing some sort of crime. Helping the good and just of the city.”
Barry and Greg stare at him and begin to laugh again. “Dave, you’re such a loser!” declares Greg.
“You got a rat tail, man! A rat tail! Who gets a fucking rat tail anymore? What is this? 1986?”
“I don’t have a rat tail haircut!” screams Ratman. “It’s an actual rat tail!”
“Well, it’s not an actual rat tail,” says Greg.
“What?”
“I mean, only real rats can have actual rat tails. Your rat tail is a costume, thus, not an actual rat tail.”
“You know what I meant, Greg!”
Greg begins to laugh again. “I know, Dave. It’s just so easy to mess with you.”
“You guys are assholes!” Ratman pushes his way through the gas station’s exit.
“Dave, come back, man. Don’t be like that,” Barry calls.
“Yeah, we’re sorry, man. Hey, it’s cool, you can come back and hit us if you want.”
The gas station’s hum of fluorescent lights is the only response.
“Dave?”
Hum…
“Dave?”
“Ratman, dude,” says Barry.
“What?”
“Try saying Ratman.”
Greg rolls his eyes and asks, “Ratman?”
Hum…
And then, “Yeah?” comes from the darkness.
“Are you still gonna be at poker Friday night?”
Ratman says from the shadows, “This Friday or next Friday?”
“I think it’s this Friday.”
“Oh…”
“No, it’s not,” whispers Barry.
“It’s not?” asks Greg.
“No, Roger’s got that thing this Friday."
"Who?"
"Roger Donnell. The new guy."
"Ugh!" says Greg. "I hate that guy. He's so goddamn depressing."
"Hey, take it easy, man. His wife just left him."
"You're right, I'm sorry."
"It's cool. So, it’s next Friday we’re playing poker.”
“You're sure?”
“Big time.”
“Hey, Dave—I mean, Ratman?”
Silence before, “Yeah?”
“It’s actually next Friday. Not this Friday.”
“Next Friday?”
“Yeah, I was wrong.”
“Oh,” says Ratman. “Yeah, I’ll be at poker next Friday.”
“Cool, man.”
“Cool.”
Greg shakes the remaining shards of glass from his windbreaker. “I think I’ll go home now.” He heads for the exit.
“Hey, you should ask Dave for a ride.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I saw him park around the corner when I got here this morning. I’m sure it’s cool.”
“Nice. Thanks, man.”
“Oh, and if he does give you a ride home, check his car for me. I lent him my Marcy Playground CD ages ago and he still hasn’t given it back.”
“That’s a great CD.”
“Fuckin’ A right it’s a great CD!”
“What a dick!”
“I know, right?”
“Classic Dave.”
“Classic Ratman.”
“All right, one Marcy Playground CD, got it.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No worries.”
Greg leaves, ski-mask in tow, and catches a ride with Ratman. Barry writes out his letter of resignation and leaves. He walks home.
