“Smitty, if it wasn’t for you, where would I be-shit, who would I be?” I said.
Rudy came in from getting a beer and joined us.
“Hey, let’s get out of here and celebrate. I don’t feel like watching another three hours of boxing. Let’s get to AJ’s,” Rudy said, and I couldn’t have agreed more.
The hour-and-half ride was the best time I ever spent in a car-a few cold Schlitz travelers and fresh memories of something special. We were almost to the front door of AJ’s when I remembered the fact that I hadn’t divulged to anyone that I had gotten a phone call from a suspected serial killer the day before. Sooner or later I’d figure out what to do about all that, but for now all I knew was that it was Schlitz City.
Smitty passed on beers, as he often did, and shook my hand before Rudy and I went inside. He pulled away smiling from ear to ear.
“No, I ain’t buying it,” TC said.
“I’m tellin’ you, it’s the truth,” Rocco said.
“Hold it.” Jerry Number One was now involved. “You believe that men think of sex every seven seconds?”
“That’s what they say,” TC said.
Jerry Number Two was already counting.
“Five… six… seven… All right, Rocco, what are you thinking of?” Jerry Number Two asked.
“That you’re an asshole,” Rocco said.
“That could be considered sexual,” TC said.
“Hey, what are you saying, asshole?” Rocco said.
“He didn’t wait another seven seconds that time,” Jerry Number One said.
Jerry Number Two was counting again.
“Six… seven… TC, what are you thinking of?” Jerry Number Two asked. TC was in the process of ordering.
“AJ, I need another B amp;B,” TC said.
“Hmm… what does that tell us?” Jerry Number Two said.
“Huh, were you talking to me?” TC said.
“What sexual thought did you just have?” Rocco asked.
“I was just thinking about a drink. You can’t count those seven seconds.”
Jerry Number Two was into another cycle.
“Five… six… seven… TC, what sexual thought are you having right now?”
“I wasn’t ready. Maybe tits,” TC said.
“Whatyamean ‘maybe tits’?” Rocco said.
“It wasn’t a deep thought. Do they have to be deep thoughts?” TC said.
“Define deep,” Jerry Number One said.
“Six… seven… Jerry, what sexual thought are you having?” Jerry Number Two said.
“Huh? Uh… uh… tits, I guess,” Jerry Number Two said.
Everyone groaned.
“Hey, no one said they had to be original thoughts,” Jerry Number One said.
Due to the intense intellectual demands of the discussion, my entrance wasn’t noticed until I sat next to Kelley. He did notice me, even though it looked like he’d been around for a while and the Coors Lights had slowed him a tad.
“Hey, Duff. How’d it go?”
“I won.”
“No, seriously.”
“Fuckin’ A-I am serious. I cut him and won the TKO,” I said.
“Holy shit! Congratulations!”
The Foursome heard Kelley’s exclamation and cut off Jerry Number Two’s counting at three.
“What’s up, Kell?” TC said.
“Duffy beat the undefeated stud kid in the Garden tonight!”
“Seriously?” Rocco said.
“Yep,” I said. “This is cause for a celebration. AJ, set up everyone with a shot of Jameson.”
Everyone threw the shots back and slapped me on the back. I let Rudy fill in the guys with the details, which he happily did. I enjoyed the Jameson and the Schlitzes that followed it. Kelley was watching an ESPN Classic hockey game from the ’80s and I knew he hated hockey, so I didn’t feel that I would be interrupting him.
“What ya hear about Howard?” I asked.
“I think they know where he is.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, yesterday I heard something about them being able to trace his calls,” Kelley said.
“Yesterday? Shit-”
“Don’t tell me.”
“He called me at four thirty and I had to get to the Garden. It wasn’t like I was going to hide anything.”
“Duff, the guy’s a fuckin’ serial killer.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Ugh… you’re fuckin’ nuts, you know that? People at the station know you know me, and when you do shit like that it makes me look like an asshole.”
“I’ll call Morris first thing in the morning. I’m sorry, really,” I said.
It was tough to evaluate how pissed off Kelley ever got because he always looked annoyed, but I understood that tonight his annoyance was legit.
It was heading toward five in the morning and I figured I had crammed enough into a single day. I really wanted to stay up and have this day last forever, but I knew it wasn’t possible, so when everyone else called it a night, I did too.
11
Marquason’s screwdriver shots started to hurt and between the Schlitz and the endorphins wearing off, sleep didn’t come easy. I was in and out, sort of hovering around sleep when the phone rang. I looked up at the nightstand and the alarm clock with Elvis and the hound dog said 7:15.
In general, Al objected to phones and he was not pleased when they rang because they interrupted part of the twenty-two hours he slept each day. The woofing commenced. I tried to answer the damn thing and knocked it to the ground. When I reached over to pick it up, Al half licked, half nibbled on my ear, the sound violently bouncing off my eardrum. The Schlitz-induced blood ran to my head. I tried to say hello but the woofing was getting intense.
I opened the drawer to the nightstand and retrieved my side arm. The rapid-fire Israeli-looking piece was my trusty companion and something I brought out only when absolutely necessary. I aimed and fired, the shots catching Al right between the eyes. He spun around from the force of the blast and laid down whimpering.
The water Uzi was the only thing that would shut Al up. He would try to control his barking for a few minutes after taking fire, but I didn’t like to use it because he really did get shot in the head once and I didn’t want to bring back any bad trauma for the guy. A Schlitz hangover was an exception.
“Hello,” I finally got to say into the receiver.
“Duff?”
“Who is this?”
“Howard,” he said, and nothing else, as if he was expecting me to scold him.
“Howard-what’s going on? You’ve got to come see the cops and clear things up,” I said.
“Duff, I don’t expect you to understand, but I can’t. I can’t trust the police.”
“I know what you’ve been through, but I have a friend who’s a cop and he’s a good man.”
“I don’t think so, Duff.”
