Al greeted me with his usual flair at the Moody Blue. He brought me the chewed-up remote and I couldn’t tell if he did that to flaunt how he wounded it, to present me with a gift, or just as some sort of pacifier he employed to calm himself when he felt overcome with joy at the sight of me.
Smitty was on the machine, wondering where I was. He had some sparring for me with some young heavyweight and it sounded like there might be some money in it. Monique called from the office, checking on me, and someone else called wanting to sell me some aluminum siding, which was interesting considering I lived in an all-metal Airstream.
I wanted to give Hymie a call, but realized, when I gave it some thought, that my story might not be believable. In a few days, things might sort themselves out and a call wouldn’t be necessary. I had no idea how that actually could happen, but I decided that’s what I wanted to believe.
Lifetime was showing a movie about a pair of pathological twins who seduced women and stole their money. Meredith Baxter Birney was resolving to not let them get away with it when I left the couch to change the station. ESPN Classic was showing Ray Robinson and Jake LaMotta and even though I’d seen it a hundred times, it was the best thing on and I didn’t feel like getting up to change the channel anymore. Tomorrow, I’d get a new remote.
It was after ten and between the day I’d had and the fact that the TV didn’t hold my interests, I faded off on the couch. Some nights I stayed on the couch, never making it to bed, which I usually regretted the next day when my back was all twisted into knots. Tonight, I didn’t care about what the morning was going to bring; I was content letting the day end quietly on the couch.
I was jarred out of sleep by a series of loud bangs followed by the sound of my side door flying open and banging against the wall. Next, I heard Al barking and growling like I’ve never heard him before. I was trying to get my bearings, still bleary-eyed from sleep, when I saw this huge form in front of me swing something. The form, which developed into man, was standing over Al and whacking him with something short and black.
I leaped off the couch and right into the swinging arm of whatever or whoever had invaded my home. In one motion, he whacked Al with the object and backhanded me right on the left temple. I saw a flash of white and a fiery pain went all through my head. I was on my knees. I could hear a half howl, half cry coming from Al when I felt a kick in the ribs. The guy was wearing steel-toed boots, and he kicked me hard three or four times in the floating ribs and a couple of times in the gut.
I rolled over on my back, struggling to breathe and not being able to, with a searing pain in my head, when whoever my visitor was knelt on my chest. The knee sent a convulsive flinch through my body. He was wearing a leather vest, old jeans, and big motorcycle boots, and he also wore a stocking mask over his bald head. I noticed tattoos on his arm. Everything was coming in and out of focus.
“Stay off the fucking Internet. You hear me?” He adjusted his stance and kicked me one more time for good measure. “Stay off the fucking Internet or the next time you’ll get more than a beating,” he said.
The beating stopped and he went out the door. I heard a car start up and I got up in time to see a white pickup truck pulling out of my front yard. Parked on the other side of Route 9R was the Crown Vic, and when the pickup pulled out, the Crown Vic fell in behind it. That was all I saw. I leaned into the wall, coming to the realization that it hurt to breathe. My mouth was full of blood and I was bleeding from the head. My concentration was rattled by the sound coming from the back of the Blue.
I found Al in the bedroom. He was shaking, convulsing really. He had blood coming out of his mouth and when he saw me, he let out a moan like I’ve never heard an animal make. He was in trouble and in a lot of pain.
I scooped him into my arms, which sent an excruciating pain into my ribs and a rush to my head that made me stagger. He cried harder from the pain of being lifted. I struggled to the car and laid Al down on the front seat. The moving around made his pain worse and he let out another one of those sick, pained howls.
I started the car and I had to drive hunched over because I couldn’t sit up right. There was an emergency vet clinic near the Y that was open twenty-four hours. I ran every light and made it there in just about ten minutes. I lifted Al out of the front seat and noticed his nose was covered in blood and a puddle of his blood had formed on the front seat. He yelped again as I got him in.
I handed him to an assistant and they rushed him somewhere to the back of the building. I was breathing fast but with very shallow breaths and I felt the dried blood crusting to the side of my face. I heard another assistant say:
“Sir, why don’t you sit down?”
“Will he be okay?” I heard myself say. Things were getting fuzzy.
“The doctor is checking on him. Sir, you’re bleeding.”
“Make sure my dog’s okay. Make sure he’s in no pain.” I felt nauseous and dizzy.
That’s all I remember.
I came to in a hospital bed with Rudy standing over me. Rudy was checking on some of his patients and had seen my name on the admissions list.
“What the hell’s going on?’’ I said.
“Don’t sit up,” Rudy said.
I ignored him, sat up, and puked all down the front of me.
“Where’s my dog?”
“What are you talking about?” Rudy said.
“Al, my dog, where the hell is he?”
“Duffy, you don’t even have a dog.”
“Yes I do. He was Walanda’s. He’s at that emergency vet.”
I swung my feet around to get off the bed and threw up again, this time on the floor.
“You’re not going anywhere. You’ve got a concussion and some cracked ribs,” Rudy said.
“I got to check on Al,” I said.
“No way-no fucking way am I discharging you.”
“Look, Rudy, I’m leaving. I appreciate you being here, but I gotta go. Hand me my pants.”
“No, you ain’t getting your pants. You’re not leaving.”
“Rudy,” I motioned at him with my finger. “Give me my fuckin’ pants.”
“Nope-you got no business leaving this hospital.”
“Fine. You should know me better. You think I need my fuckin’ pants to leave? Watch me,” I said.
I headed out of my room barefoot with that stupid half-dress thing they give you with no back. The nurses were a bit startled when I blew past them and I was all the way to the elevator when Rudy caught up to me with my pants, shirt, and shoes.
“Fuckin’ stubborn Mick-Pollack,” he said.
“I need a ride to that vet by the gym,” I told him.
“Let’s go,” Rudy said.
I puked in the parking lot just before climbing into Rudy’s SUV. I’ve been concussed before and I knew what to expect. The mid-morning traffic was making me crazy. We pulled into the vet’s lot twenty minutes later and I bounded in the door and went right to the counter.
“Where’s Al? Is he okay?” I said to a vet assistant. I didn’t remember her from last night, but considering my state then, that didn’t mean much.
“I’ll get Dr. Perkins to speak with you,” she answered.
I paced the small waiting room, waiting for the vet.
“Mr. Dombrowski?” the vet said.
“Is he all right?” I said.
“He’s going to be, but it’s going to take a while. He’s had some internal bleeding along with the cracked ribs. He also was hit on the head pretty hard. I think he probably has a concussion.”
“Can I see him?”
“Sure, he’s still groggy from the pain medication. We bandaged him up and he’ll be okay, but he’s going to be in some pain for a while.”
I walked into a small room off the examination room and there was Al in a small cage. His eyes were closed; he had a bandage on his head that was soaked through with blood, and his midsection was all wrapped up in gauze.
