'Maybe,' Jerry Number Two said. 'Or, it was all set up so we could argue about this and not the other stuff that happened today, or yesterday, or what will happen tomorrow,' Jerry said.
'This is some nutty bullshit,' Rocco said.
'You might be right, Rocco. But how come we keep having these near misses of terrorism every 60 to 90 days right around the time there's growing dissatisfaction with our military involvement, our defense budget, or something similar?' Jerry Number Two said.
'Are you saying the government could be actually doing this?' I said.
'I'm saying there's evidence to supports that. It's not all the evidence supports, but it is one explanation,' Jerry Number Two said.
Rudy came in through the front door. His underarm stains formed concentric circles down his dark blue shirt. I wondered if you could empirically measure his age by counting the circles like you could on a tree stump. It was far too disgusting to ponder. The group exchanged 'Hello's' with Rudy, and AJ slid a Hennessey in front of him.
'Your whack job buddy gets out tomorrow night,' Rudy said.
'How's he's doing?' I said.
'Well, he insists on wearing his Redskins helmet and he wants most of the monitors turned off so they don't emit mind erasing gamma rays or something. All in all, he sounds better to me.'
'Yeah, sounds like Karl is back to himself. Is anyone coming to pick him up?'
'I don't know. Who were you thinking, Sonny Jorgenson, Billy Kilmer or Doug Williams or one of the other retired
'Skins?'
'I'll get him. One thing about Karl is he's never boring.'
'Sure, it's probably because you're a double agent. Anyway, they're going to discharge him tomorrow night, so they can bill Medicaid for another half a day.' Rudy slurped his Hennessey, which kind of neutralized the upscale image of the cognac. I gotta believe the folks back at the Cognac distillery would wince if they knew Rudy was drinking their product in public.
'Hey, I almost forgot. How's the party plans going?'
'The pool's almost in; I got a caterer and some sort of string quartet. It's costing me a month's pay.'
'All this to get Maria back?'
'Yeah. Sad isn't it? I had my shot and I blew it for this goddamn job. No offense, kid, but hangin' out here with you and the brain trust isn't exactly how I want to spend my golden years.' He slurped again.
I raised my glass to salute Rudy and his plan. I hoped for his sake it worked out.
Meanwhile the Foursome was still transfixed by CNN. There was Dr. Theodore Martin, the talking head guy, going on about the psycho-emotional effects of a foiled terrorist act on a community. He said it tended to make people frightened and a little uneasy.
No shit.
After that the Foursome segued into a discussion about going over Niagara Falls in a drum.
'They use a drum because you can sit in it like a little tiny boat and because its floatacious,' TC said.
'Whatyamean you can sit in it?' Jerry Number One said.
'You know, the big bass drum, the one that has the band's name on it. Dennis Wilson's said 'The Beach Boys' on his,' TC said.
AJ started whistling 'My Little Douche Cup' on cue.
'You jack ass. They use industrial drums,' Rocco said.
'The kind of music isn't important,' TC said. Jerry Number Two started singing 'Little Douche Cup' under his breath.
'You're just an idiot,' Rocco said. 'I'm goin' home to paint another coat on 'The Deuce,'' he said.
TC started humming with the other three.
They kept awful time.
16
The next day at work figured to be a beaut. Without nearly enough caffeine I had to have a session with Suda-Fred, my long time client, who got himself addicted to over the counter cold medication. Fred wasn't doing so great in terms of his ability to stay off the little red devils. On this particular morning I had to call his sobriety into question.
'Hey, Duff, whatsgoinon? Everything good? Good. HowabouttheYanks? Phew, isithotinhere?' Suda-Fred said.
'Uh, Fred,' I started to say.
'Oh shit, hereitcomes. I'm busted, right? Damn, shit, piss.' Fred patted his wet forehead and then started to drum his fingers.
'Fred-'
'Sorry, Duff 'bout the language. Shit, piss. I've been tryin, really Duff, really. Shit piss.'
'Fred-'
'Duff, I just get the snots and then I can't breathe and that's what the shit is for. I gotta breathe, Duff. You unnerstand, right?' Fred's eyes were wide.
'How many did you take?' I asked. I tried to be soothing.
'Eleven…no, no…I ain't lyin' no more. It was more like 22.' Fred shook.
And so it went.
Right after Fred, there was Martha, whose last name happens to be Stewart. Martha struggles with food issues and sex issues-meaning she can't get enough of either. On this day, we worked through the grieving process of her having to give up 'Hog Wings' at Stan's Sports Bar.
'I've never heard of 'Hog Wings',' I said.
'They taste just like chicken wings but they're pork,' Martha said.
'When pigs fly!' I said and laughed a little bit. Martha just stared at me.
'Oh, this is funny to you? I loved those things.' Martha was wounded. I spent the rest of the session trying to be genuine, which is actually kind of tough when you're suppressing a laugh. Sparky was in after that, and he had a big smile on his face. He had just hit seven months clean and sober. Even though he didn't always connect with people at AA, they made a cake for him and toasted-er, saluted his achievement at the last meeting.
'It felt good, Duff.' He allowed himself a bit of a smile.
'Like the first time I've been on the right track and doing something positive.'
I didn't want to bring up the daughter thing and shit on his day. I didn't have to.
'If only…' Sparky put his hand up to his eyes and squinted hard. A couple fat tears ran down his face.
'If only I could make things right with Kristy.' He bent over and let more of a cry out.
Once again, I didn't have much to say in terms of anything worthwhile. I sat there while the guy cried. That's me, Mr. Therapeutic. It gave me a sick feeling to watch a guy, who life was giving a raw deal to. This whole counseling thing often seemed like bullshit, but on days like today it felt worse. Afterwards, I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed back to the cubicle. Doing paperwork after dealing with Sparky just didn't seem right and I just sat there and pondered my bulletin board. I don't know how long I had been looking into space when Trina broke me out of it.
'Hey, genius,' she said.
'Yeah?'
'Claudia's planning a full review of your charts this week.
You might want to get started soon.' She did that thing with her eyebrows, raising them up and making a face. It was a face that let me know she knew the potential trouble I was in.
'What else is new?' I said.
'That's it, good attitude. Go ahead and get your ass fired.' She headed back to her desk.
I took a less than half-assed stab at the paperwork and got through Fred's and Martha's. I did some old chart stuff on the Abermans, Sheila, and Eli. I picked up Sparky's and looked at it for a little while, then realized it was
