and throwing something at the tree in front of the Blue. Against my better judgment, I opened the door.
“Sir, good morning, sir,” Billy said.
“Billy, we’ve been over this,” I said.
“Sir?”
“Never mind. What are you throwing against my tree?”
“Sir, permission to demonstrate, sir?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Sir?”
“Throw the fuckin’ things, will ya!”
“Sir, yes sir.”
Billy reared back, yelled “WASABIIIIII!” and threw a metal object into my tree from about forty feet.
“Nice, kid, what are they?” I said.
“Sir, they’re Karateka-Brand Titanium Throwing Stars. This one is the six-pointed Okinawan Starfire and the one I just threw is the Yomiuri Four-Pointed Annihilator.”
“Kid, that shit is illegal as hell.”
“Actually, sir, as a practicing martial artist, I am allowed to practice with them.”
“If you say so. Look, kid, I’m going back to bed.”
“Sir, when will we train again?”
“Kid, I’ll let you know. I’m taking a bit of a break.”
“A break, sir?”
He looked at me in disbelief and sadness. It was tough to handle, but I didn’t feel up to heading to the gym and going through the motions with this kid. I didn’t feel like facing Smitty, and I certainly wasn’t up to the sensei routine.
“Yes, sir,” he said. He bowed and turned to head home, but today he walked.
I went back to bed and tried to sleep, but it was useless. Hungover and pissed off was not the ideal way to go to any job, but it was definitely not the best way for me to face the Michelin Woman and Abadon. On this particular Monday, we had a treatment team meeting and that meant a double dose of Claudia’s officiousness and Abadon’s patronizing arrogance.
The queasiness didn’t get better as the early morning wore on. In fact, it got worse. I felt carsick driving to the clinic, and I felt carsick walking to my cubicle.
“You all right?” Monique asked when she got a look at me.
“It wasn’t the best weekend I ever had,” I said.
“Didn’t you have a big fight?”
“Yeah, I got knocked out. Suffice to say, it didn’t go well.”
“I’m sorry, Duff,” Monique said.
I tried to round up the files I needed for the meeting, but I just couldn’t muster the energy or work through the apathy. I grabbed a handful of some of the charts and headed in ten minutes late. Claudia was at the head of the table with her ultra-cool clipboard with the calculator built in, and Abadon was at her right hand like some sort of twisted version of that last supper painting. I sat down, trying to minimize any attention, and Michelin flashed me a dirty look for being late.
Monique continued to present the case that I interrupted and updated us on Sabrina Shakala, a woman who was mandated to treatment for beating the shit out of her drug-dealing boyfriend. She was on probation and the boyfriend wound up in jail and frankly, I thought Sabrina was functioning pretty well. Anyone who can knock out a dealer’s front teeth with a portable CD player was all right with me.
I must’ve let my eyes close because I heard Abadon’s voice and it startled me.
“Duffy, are you with us or are you still on the canvas?” he said.
“What did you just say?” I felt my neck twitch.
“Sometimes an individual who has had a concussive episode will have delayed neurological reactions-like narcolepsy.”
Both sides of my neck twitched and my face felt on fire. Monique kicked me twice under the table. When I get angry enough it’s tough for me to speak, and that’s not a good thing because I wind up expressing myself physically.
“C’mon, Duff, or I’ll start counting to ten…,” Abadon said.
That was it.
I threw my hot cup of coffee at Abadon’s head. I missed but it smashed against the wall and splattered all over Claudia. I was on my feet and on my way toward him when Monique got in between me. At five foot four and a sleek 130 pounds, it wasn’t her physical presence but her innate authority that stopped me. Abadon was on his feet, beet red and breathing heavy.
“C’mon, asshole. I’ll show you some fuckin’ neurological damage,” I said, my ability to speak returned.
Abadon gritted his jaw and flexed his weight-room muscles but before he could say anything, Claudia ordered me into her office. Her big blousy polyester top was splattered with coffee. I didn’t move right away and neither did Abadon, but Monique touched my shoulder and sort of steered me out of the conference room toward Claudia’s office.
“Effective immediately, you are suspended pending termination approval from the board of directors. You are to go home immediately and not be on these premises until you are notified in writing,” Claudia said. She was even more humorless than usual.
I didn’t feel like saying anything.
Instead, I signed the suspension form and headed home. My blood pressure was up from the combination of alcohol withdrawal and dealing with Abadon. It wasn’t Claudia’s authority that kept me silent, it was the desire to get the hell out of the office and go home. I knew the consequences were significant, but in the immediate moment it was good to get out of there. I grabbed my keys and split.
I would’ve joined the Foursome for an early start on drinking, but the thought of it made my stomach flip. That, and I wasn’t crazy about the potential future I was developing as an alcoholic. I figured the safest thing to do would be to head home, get kicked in the nuts, lie on the couch, and do nothing until I could think straight.
Al was confused by my early arrival, but he quickly adjusted and we watched Hawaii Five-O together. It was one of the episodes where McGarrett is pitted against his archrival, Wo Fat, who was played by the same guy who I think wound up as the funky blind Kung Fu master on David Carradine’s Kung Fu TV show. I thought about why I knew that and also about how unfair it was that just because an actor was Asian it meant he was limited to playing stereotyped roles. Then, I thought, when you’re a short, fat, bald guy with slanted eyes, you really would struggle to get the Cary Grant roles, wouldn’t you?
I went in and out of sleep until about four when I must have really fallen out, because it was a knocking on the door followed by Al’s alarm system that rousted me at about eight thirty. I came to and dreaded seeing my pizza-faced ninja falling on his head on my front lawn. It took me a while to get off the couch, but when I went to the door I was pleasantly surprised. It was Trina.
“What are you doing here?” I said at the door.
“There’s a sweet greeting,” she said.
“Sorry, I’m just surprised. C’mon in, the place’s a mess.”
Al ran to Trina and snuggled up to her. Trina and I have a bit of a history. On more than one occasion we’ve gotten involved, usually when one or both of us has just gotten out of a failed relationship. My relationships failed regularly and Trina’s weren’t much better.
“Where’s Todd?” I said referring to her current BF.
“Todd’s an asshole,” she said.
“I always thought so, but I didn’t want to say anything.”
“How about Marcia?”
“She’s in therapy and her therapist says she can’t go out with me.”
We found our way to the couch and I wiped Al’s slobber off the cushions before Trina sat down.
“Duff, you’ve really done it this time, you know. I don’t know how you’re going to save your job,” she said.
“Yeah, I fucked up royally,” I said.
