'Not physically. What hurts is they get away with it, over and over and over.'
'Yeah,' I said, without really knowing what I affirmed.
'You don't believe me. You think I'm a doped up whack job.'
'How could you say that Karl?' The word hypocrite came to mind.
'Because I am a doped up whack job. I know it; we don't have to pretend I'm not.'
'Karl…'
'I wasn't always though. You can look it up.' Karl raised his eyes and grinned a resigned smile.
'Karl, take it-'
'Just remember Duffy, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean people aren't out to get you.' He closed his eyes.
'Karl, take it easy. Just get some rest. It's not worth…' He was already asleep. I touched his hand and said goodbye.
I drove back to the clinic knowing I was in Michelin's shithouse and it probably wasn't the time to start blowing off work. A quick cruise around the parking lot though told me her car wasn't in. That's when I remembered she had her monthly podiatry appointment and the county planning meeting. I thanked God for Claudia's recurring corns, and decided to try to find out a little bit more about the shit Karl was going on about. It was Wednesday afternoon and the day Kelley, my cop friend, got his haircut. I had a few cop-type questions for him. Even though he wasn't always thrilled to be answering them, he eventually did.
'You know what I'm fuckin' sayin'? You know what I'm fuckin' sayin?' Junior, the young barber, was sayin' when I came in. It wasn't a coincidence because Junior punctuated everything he said with 'You know what I'm fuckin' sayin?' After awhile it became the white background noise of Ray's.
Kelley was there, next in line. Before I could speak to him, there barbershop protocol demanded the exchange the inane conversation with both barbers before addressing anyone else.
'Hey, Duff,' Junior stopped cutting some cop's hair. 'We got the new Penthouse in. It's got some real fuckin' snatch in it. You gotta check that shit out. You know what I'm fuckin sayin'!'
'Junior, you know I can't look at that shit in the middle of the day. Next thing you know I'll be borrowing some hair gel and heading off to your bathroom-then my day is shot.'
'Duff, you're a pisser, you know what I'm fuckin' sayin.'
'Hey, Duff,' Jackpot, Ray's other barber, said without looking up from the racing form.
'How you doin' with the trotters, Jackpot?'
'I hit the superfecta at Vernon Downs-a nice pot.'
'Wow, again?'
'No, that's the same fuckin superfecta he told you about two months ago, you know what I'm fuckin' sayin'. Fuckin' Jackpot keeps bringing it up like it was this morning. You know what I'm fuckin' sayin'?' Junior said.
Jackpot rolled his eyes and shook his head without saying anything.
'Duffy you here for a cut?' Jackpot said.
'No, I'm just here to see Kelley.'
I sat down next to Kelley, who was reading an article about the Yankees latest losing streak and why it spelled the end for life as we know it.
'Not looking at Penthouse?' I said.
'Why don't you borrow some of Junior's hair gel,' Kelley said without looking up.
'Hey, let me ask you something,' I said. Kelley didn't look up from The Post. A lot of conversations with Kelley started out with me doing all the talking.
'One of my guys has gotten beat up twice in the last two days or so. One time it was in the park and this last time I'm not sure where he got beat, but someone tried to slit his throat.'
'Guy's name is Greene?' Kelley said. He read about the Yankees woeful middle relief issues.
'Yeah, how'd you know?'
'A guy gets his throat slit, it draws attention.'
'What do you know about it?'
'I just told you all I know about.'
'Is it weird the same guy gets rolled in such a short period of time?'
'No, maybe someone out on the street is pissed off at him. Maybe he owes money or stiffed someone on a deal. It could be a whole host of things.'
'He's also paranoid schizophrenic,' I said.
'Here we go. What does that mean in cop terms?'
'Well, for instance he wore a Redskins helmet and rubber gloves the last time he got attacked.'
Kelley laid the paper down in his lap and looked at me for the first time.
'That'll get your ass kicked, just on general principles.'
'He also tends to go on and on about conspiracies and how the government is always doing things to us, and we have to wake up from our ignorance.'
'So this guy is hangin' on the streets of Crawford sportin'
Redskins gear and telling everyone they're ignorant. Hard to figure why some of Crawford's finest citizens might find that offensive.'
'The thing is, Kell, in his ramblings, he's kind of predicted a few things that have come true.'
'Here we go…'
'I'm serious. The ROTC fire and that WACO thing in Alabama.'
'He said they were going to happen?'
'Well, sort of. He said something like it would happen.'
'Duff-something like that shit happens every day.'
'I probably should mention he is paranoid schizophrenic.' Kelley looked at me for the second time in the conversation. He didn't say anything-just looked at me.
'What?'
'You just said that.'
'So'
'I mean you just repeated yourself.' I didn't say anything. I had gotten a little tired of people pointing this sort of thing out to me.
'Look, Kelley, I guess what I'm asking, is there any chance some bigger force is out there against Greene, and they're making it look like random street beatings?'
'There's a chance there's a Bigfoot.'
'Never mind,' I said.
'Kelley, you're up. How about those Yankees?' Junior snapped the apron from the last guy's cut. 'They gotta get some relief, you, know what the fuck I'm sayin'?' I started to feel like the Yankees weren't the only ones.
11
I got back to the office a little after lunch, and, lucky for me, the Michelin Woman remained at the County Planning meeting. It was one of the myriad of meetings she went to on a daily basis with a host of other social workers cut from the exact same cloth. I had a vision of the group of them sitting around a table eating donuts and drooling over the chance-and the power-to create a new form.
In the parking lot I tried giving Rene a call and her voice message picked up immediately. I left a message for her to call me and I got a creepy feeling something wasn't right. Rene was one of those people who almost surgically attached herself to her cell phone and if you got her voice mail she'd always call right back.
I sat in the car for fifteen minutes listening to Mad Dog Russo go on and on about the Yankees overpaying for players and how it was bad for baseball. A caller from Yonkers countered with the fact the Yankees were good for baseball no matter what and the Dog should understand that by now. Fifteen minutes went by and there was no call from Rene. I headed into the clinic, comfortable in knowing Claudia was out, and I beat this system once again.
