Tyrone had grown up in a weakened state all his young life. He was born with a faulty heart valve, thus he had to very careful not to exert himself. He never developed very well, being light and thinly built. This kept him from being popular with most of the girls, and those that liked him were the smart ones that didn't have much to show in face or figure. But at least they were intelligent, and they could understand the fascinations that filled Tyrone's mind, and they had ideas that he hadn't yet thought about that interested him. As a teen, this made him unhappy, and he would often storm inside, angry that he was always having to step aside for others, in the halls, in the lunch line, in conversations with girls.
      Tyrone had desires, just like any other guy, but he hadn't a prayer of fulfilling them. It probably would have broken his heart, literally. Tyrone grew weaker as his valve deteriorated more quickly and his other valves had suffered from the strain on his circulatory system. The doctors didn't have much hope for Tyrone without surgery. They put him on the waiting list for a donor heart.
      In the hall before math class, Bud Fraizer laughed when he heard. "Toothpick is gonna kick the bucket. Ha! About time. God, I'm sick of looking at him. Gives me the creeps! He's such a dork. Always has been!"
      Tyrone overheard the remarks and slumped, trying not to cry. He felt weak in the knees as his blood pressure rose. But the faintness didn't relieve the anger he felt at the words of the bully who had tormented him both physically and verbally since the first grade.
      When school let out, Bud got on his bike and threw the throttle open wide as he started it, the blast of the engine rising up in the red for a moment, then repeated. Tyrone watched, thinking what an idiot he was, ruining rings and cylinders, just to show off. The sound bothered him and made him shiver, adding to the still smoldering anger.
      Bud went out of the parking lot and smashed head-on with a delivery truck about three miles down the road. Bud, as a sick joke, had filled out a donor card. Thus when his body was delivered DOA to the city trauma center, they made a search for organs that were intact.
      Three hours later, Tyrone's parents were notified that a heart had been located. Tyrone was to be admitted to the hospital immediately to prepare him for transplant surgery.

  

 
      Tyrone took a year to heal completely and recover physically, as weak as he had been when he had surgery. There were times in the week following the surgery that his survival was in serious question. The long recovery made for a sever atrophying of his muscles, and it took time to build himself back into his health. Once that year was over, Tyrone developed an enormous appetite for protein, primarily meat, rare. Tyrone began to put on mass and fill out as he had never done in the past. Back in school, set two years back because of his ordeal, he was in a new class and the girls started noticing him.
      Tyrone changed with his growth. At first, he was shy, Tyrone of old. He made short of his medical experience, but he had little else to talk about in the way of personal experiences. His life had been colored by necessity, and that was changing. Once he hit the books, he had class to talk about with people. He started becoming more popular, being older as he was, but not the usual flunk out older that was usually seen. He was bright and he had learned a good deal of medicine at an early age.
      As the year rolled on, girls found him more and more attractive. He started working out in the school's weight room, doing a special program with the coach in connection with his doctors. There were plenty of follow-up appointments that he kept to measure his stress capacity, breathing, strength, endurance. Working out made Tyrone grow sleek and hard. He ceased being the boy with someone else's heart and became something that no one had dreamed of him being. He became someone to be reckoned with.
      Tyrone took instantly to the power, hungrily making up for lost time. Being old enough to drive, he got his license, and he was the only kid in his class that could drive a car. Tyrone's parents were not well to do, but they did have friends that put together a public fund for his medical expenses. As it turned out, there was a surplus of generosity, and part of that bought Tyrone a car. He began to modify the engine for more output at the high end of the power curve. He replaced parts of the suspension for tighter control. It wasn't long before he had the hottest machine in the neighborhood. Everybody wanted a ride. Everybody that was willing to pay Tyrone's price rode.
      If a girl didn't at least make out heavy, she didn't ride. A fill up was worth a short ride to the filling station and back, strictly demo. He took to wearing a leather jacket that he thought looked good on him, and shades, the dark kind. People no longer pushed Tyrone aside, not and talked for the next day or so with a busted lip.
      His parents were so happy to see him taking interest in normal things that they really didn't see these darker changes in Tyrone. At home, he was still quiet and introverted, not saying much, not drawing attention to himself . But away from home, he transformed into something bent on destruction, releasing all the frustrations of the past, now that he was no longer chained to a failing body.
      Tyrone was as smart as he ever was, and he began to see a whole new set of applications for his knowledge, things that would have killed him in the past. He started running track, now finished with his weights. He grew leaner and stronger, hardening the muscles mass that he had already gained into enduring and maturing strength. He became fast and he could run for distance by the end of the year. Tyrone was now an athlete, and he ruled the campus. He had everybody in line with nobody adult the wiser.
      Whatever he ordered was done, quietly, quickly, and he never felt any of the consequence for his actions. Someone was always there as a scapegoat to buffer any blame. He no longer had to drag anybody behind the bleachers for a lesson after school.
      Thus he was never suspect. He was a golden child, surviving a medical miracle, applying himself and making A's in most of his classes, elected into many of the class offices. He was big man on campus, even if he wasn't a senior yet. The teachers loved him, the kids obeyed him, the girls spread their legs for him on command. Nothing was ever said. No one dared. Tyrone was mean, not just halfway, and smart. Tyrone could read the fear he inspired, and he was quick to deduce when someone had stepped out of line and for what. His punishment never had witnesses and didn't take long to enforce. Tyrone was easily the strongest student in school. He was smart enough to make sure that his punishment didn't show. All his classmates looked forward to graduation.
      Tyrone realized he needed to start making his mark outside of school. He started making runs to the beach in a senior's custom van, loading the five prettiest girls in his class into it and taking them down and pimping them into working for him. They got to keep none of the money, just their health. The check up at the clinic was their responsibility. He started making connections and taking names of the customers when he could, putting them on a list for further investigation to see if blackmail was plausible.
      Now that he started making a tidy profit, he began branching out, moving commodities, hot or illegal. He never did business over the phone, claiming not to have one. By the end of the summer before his senior year, he was ready to leave school, but he stuck around, knowing better than to leave a good thing while it was ripe for plucking.
      Seeing the value of delegating authority, he expanded to thirty well trained girls in ten vans, demanding a minimum daily profit and taking the deficits out of hides in a way that didn't detract from business. Tyrone was putting his medical knowledge to profitable use. He had a tendency to hold onto certain items that came his way, turning collector of certain medical instruments and equipment. A crash cart was his favorite toy when money came due. He was very creative in where he used it, having taken a serious interest in the central nervous system.
      He had an apartment away from home that was rented in someone else's name. Here he set up his headquarters for operations. No one entered or left smiling, unless it was nervously. He never ran merchandise through the house. He let others handle the dangerous stuff for him. He never touched anything that would get him arrested, other than a few under-aged girls, and they came and went from there all the time. Tyrone went through a couple of dozen during his senior year.

 

 
      Tyrone finally graduated and was now looking at starting over again in college. He wrapped up his business over the summer, selling off the franchises to others. The prostitution ring he let slide. His girls were going off to college next year and things were becoming noticeable. His stations were beginning to get raided by the police.
      So he entered college a self-made man, having picked up better than a half a million. College was a challenge. Here, things were much more sophisticated and complicated. The students were smarter and more outspoken against injustices. But Tyrone was smart and studied very hard. His early investments showed tremendous results. He soon learned that the key to a student was their ties to home. Off alone for the first time, no one wanted to blow it. He started off with a few girls that he picked carefully, being good looking but shy and self-conscious. All of them feared pain.
      He was careful to run things from a low key. He realized that a high profile would be his downfall, so he played it smooth. His wealth grew, and in his sophomore year, he had others doing his school work for him while he kept his mind to business. It was that year that he realized a million in assets. He had three million by the time that he had his degree, and hundreds of victims in his wake that never said a word.
      By now, Tyrone had some twenty offspring that he never knew about. He didn't care and would have been glad that he didn't know, had the matter ever come to his attention. He didn't want to worry about kids underfoot. With diploma in hand, he now faced the corporate world, and he did so with relish. He was rich and a force with which to be reckoned for all that crossed his path. Tyrone was hungry for a taste of the big time.
      He didn't opt to hire on with a company. With his assets, he created his own company. He became a venging angel and quickly got a reputation as a giant killer. He toppled companies in take-overs and sell-offs. He made presidents and boards uneasy when he was in town. Whenever he was told that he had no heart, he would reply that he was all heart, and laugh. No one understood him on this, not knowing of his past.
      Tyrone held over fifty five million in viable assets by his twenty fifth birthday. By the time that he was thirty, he was approaching an even billion, and he had an eye on the White House. Another five years were needed before he could run legally, and he was thinking ahead.
      He began unloading his assets in shrewd deals, never missing the chance to squeeze extra profit from a transaction. He was soon devoid of all holdings except cash, and he started a grass roots movement campaign, coming across as a concerned businessman that had seen enough suffering by the common man. He bought loads of air time that didn't mention him at first, but his messages always showed that he had paid for the message, as was required. He used that technique to get his name accepted.
      He made new friends with his orchestrated smile. He divorced himself from his past. He denied that he was the same man as he was rumored to have been, claiming that they were confusing him with someone else. He showed his excellent school record as proof, asking if it was the marks of tough goon. He put the past behind him effectively. He still had his core group on call, his private little army that got to the vocal opposition and ended their songs.
      He ran for congress and won easily. With the death of a Senator from his state in an unfortunate plane crash, Tyrone graciously stepped in to fill his shoes. He was a natural hero of the populace. Word soon began to spread that he would make an ideal president, started covertly by himself.
      He began to accept endorsements a year before the primary came around. He made speeches that it was not his intent to seek the presidency, but because there were so many urging him to do so, he was going to examine the possibility. Thus, his campaign was kicked off, even before he declared himself a candidate. He used his wiles and his money to make the call for him to run all the louder and more popular.
      After several months of him looking indecisive, he called for a press conference to announce his candidacy. The next day, he threw a kick off party for those that had promised support, and it was bedazzling. The affair had undergone years of planning refinement, and he came away looking like the people's choice, unaspiring but dedicated to giving people what they wanted, a better life. He had the ad campaign in gear, and he appeared across the US with a thirty minute broadcast explaining how he felt obligated to see to the public trust, and explained the platform for which he privately had no intent of following once elected.
      The next day, Tyrone was gunned down in the street following his first public appearance, shot repeatedly through the heart by a woman that was hysterically elated to see him dead. It was researched by the media and found that the woman had a police record for prostitution in Tyrone's hometown, dating back since her high school days. The next morning after the shooting, she was found dead in her cell, hanging from a electrical conduit on the ceiling. A story from her as to her motive was never heard, though there were questions as to how she'd managed to hang herself. Those questions never found answers.
      No one ever knew that she was one of the five that Tyrone had first taken down to the beach to whore for him. That knowledge was suppressed by Tyrone's army. They did not want to go down with the ship. No one ever came forward to explain Tyrone's past. Even dead, he was feared. Most of his victims were glad to see him dead and the terror ended at last. The others thought of their self-interest and stayed quiet. So Tyrone died the public hero, an image he had used ever since he had undergone surgery.
      But even in his grave, where his body was laid to rest, the shattered heart still beat a few occasional beats, still refusing to accept defeat, but no one noticed. Tyrone was history.