mesmerized by the Foursome, who were kicking around an idea about what cloning would do to the pet industry. I peeled Rocco away from a point he was making about Pablo’s dog and how he died from eating that annoying little bell that Pablo kept ringing in his ear. I briefed Rocco, Sanchez, and Pacquoa and asked AJ for the key to the basement, which he gave me after rolling his eyes about my plan.
AJ’s cellar smelled like eighty-five years of spilt beer. There was a bare lightbulb hanging off a cord and I lined up a few cases of beer for the guys to sit on. I went over everyone’s lines again and they all seemed to be onboard and actually kind of happy about the plan.
I had run through everything a second time and it wasn’t a half a minute after I finished that I heard the basement door creak open. I nodded everyone into place as Billy came down the stairs with the same look on his face that he would’ve had if he had landed on Mars. Kelley walked behind him, rolling his eyes.
“Sir, wha-,” Billy said, his eyes checking out his company.
“Silence!” I led Billy to a spot directly under the lightbulb. “Come to attention!” Billy snapped into a formal attention stance and he look terrified.
The four guys followed their cue and stood in formal karate attention.
Sanchez called out his lines. “Student! Attention! Bow!”
Billy did as he was told and the group, with their best hard-ass faces, returned his bow.
“Mr. Dombrowski.” Sanchez nodded. That was my cue and I couldn’t remember a more important speech.
“Mr. Cramer, as your instructor I have given you very little information about my karate heritage. I am from an eclectic training background, but more importantly from an organization that keeps itself out of the public eye. You are here today because of a special caucus I have called on your behalf,” I said.
I wasn’t sure if “caucus” was the right word, but it sounded cooler than “meeting.”
“Caucus, sir?” Billy said.
“Silence!” Sanchez barked. He was so good it was scary.
I continued.
“The IBOSK, the International Brotherhood of Silent Karateka, is headed by Tenth-Degree Grand Master Javier Sanchez.” I motioned toward Sanchez.
Billy’s eyes were saucers and he swallowed hard.
“Its officers include Dr. Manny Pacquoa, fifth degree, Mr. Kelley, fourth degree, and Rocco Manuccucci, third degree.”
Billy was trembling.
“Unlike other karate organizations, the IBOSK sees training as a component of life and life as a component of training. One cannot be separated from another, yet, real life is where a man’s real dojo reigns,” I said.
This shit was coming off better than I expected.
Dr. Pacquoa took over.
“Mr. Cramer, I was informed by Mr. Dombrowski about your actions in the last few days and your dedication to training. I brought this to Grand Master Sanchez’s attention.” Pacquoa was flawless.
“You would be an asset to our organization,” Rocco said, employing his best badass face.
“Mr. Dombrowski.” Sanchez nodded in my direction.
“Mr. Cramer, if you choose to be recognized by the IBOSK, you must keep your training secret. You must not appear as a karateka to the outside world, except in the way you carry yourself. In that way you must be a karateka at all times, understand?” I said.
“I think so, sir.” Billy looked as confused as Mike Tyson at a spelling bee.
“In that case, by virtue of your intense commitment to training but to a greater degree because of your character, selflessness, and bravery to help your fellow man…” I paused for dramatic effect while I fished it out of my pocket.
“The IBOSK confers upon you the rank of first-degree black belt,” I said, and I held the black belt I had gotten as a teenager.
I didn’t think it was possible for Billy’s eyes to get wider but they did. He was visibly shaking and his eyes welled up. He wasn’t the only one with overactive tear ducts at the moment.
I approached Billy and tied the belt around his waist while tears streaked both our cheeks.
“Mr. Cramer, sir. Welcome to the rank of black belt!” I said then I turned to the group and yelled the command “Attention! Bow!”
“WASABIIIII!!!!!” the group yelled out in unison as they bowed to the IBOSK’s newest black belt.
Billy came to attention and bowed with as much pride as I’d ever seen on a human being’s face.
And he deserved every bit of it.
45
Rocco convened the IBOSK to their first-floor clubhouse where the group threw down the ceremonial shot of Jameson’s. Grandmaster Sanchez pulled rank and made Rocco buy him three more, which because of the IBOSK’s protocol, he had to do.
I put my arm around Billy and welcomed him to the club. He couldn’t stop thanking me.
“Sir, I don’t know-” I didn’t let him finish.
“It’s not ‘sir’ anymore. We’re the same rank,” I said, smiling.
“Sir?”
“Ahhh.” I waved my finger at him.
“Duff?”
“Yeah, that works,” I said.
Then, I told him how his new rank meant no more Bad-Breath Karateka Ninja suits and how in the IBOSK we wore our rank on the inside and carried it in our hearts. He got it and didn’t seem at all upset about his wardrobe. I figured getting Billy out of those goofy outfits would go a long way toward him not getting picked on. That, and what he now genuinely carried inside.
Billy’s black-belt reception went on for another hour. When it was time for him to leave, he told me he wanted to walk home and make the day last. We shook hands and then I hugged him as hard as I ever hugged anyone.
Billy tucked his folded belt in his pocket and headed home. He already had a different walk. I thanked all the guys and bought a round for everyone.
“How come I’m only a second degree?” Rocco said. “I want a promotion.”
“You not ready, yet,” Sanchez said. He was a full head shorter than Rocco. “Buy your master another Jameson,” Sanchez said.
“Duff, you’re an interesting fellow,” Dr. Pacquoa said.
“Doc, thanks for helping out. Sorry about the stereotyping,” I said.
“Not at all. I happen to carry a rank in Kendo anyway.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but I think I’d rather be in the IBOSK.” He laughed. “Don’t forget, if I can do you a favor sometime.”
“You just did,” I said.
“This was something else. If I can do something for you, I’d like to.” I thought for a second and figured, what the hell…
“Actually, Dr. Pacquoa, there is something…”
As it turned out, September 2, the day my work suspension ended, fell the next day. The good news was the suspension was over and the bad news was the Michelin Woman was going to fire me. She’d had a month to get the approvals and to get her angry little ducks in a row, and I just knew she was drooling with anticipatory delight at the prospect of looking me straight in the eyes and letting me know I was canned.
“Hey, Duff.” Just my luck that Sam would be the first guy to greet me when I came through the clinic’s door. “Did you hear about the Polack who confronted the ventriloquist about making Polack jokes?”
