"What the hell are you going to do with a truck from World War Two?" Jerry Number One asked Rocco.
"It's not just any truck it's a 'Deuce and a Half,'" Rocco said.
"The Beach Boys had a song about it," TC said.
"No that was 'My Little Douche Cup," Jerry Number One started to sing. "She's my little douche cup. You don't know what it's for…"
"I think it was 'My Little Deuce Coupe-Coupe, Jerry, Coupe," Jerry Number two said.
"You guys are assholes. The Deuce and a Half was the most versatile truck in World War Two. It could haul equipment, troops, equipment…you name it," Rocco said.
"What are you going to do with it?" Jerry Number Two asked.
"Refurbish it and restore to its original grandeur," Rocco said.
"Grandeur?" Jerry Number one asked.
"Yeah 'Grandeur.' You gotta problem with 'Grandeur'?" Rocco said.
My head really throbbed now. AJ slid the long neck in front of me without me saying a word.
"Had a few already, huh, Duff?" AJ said.
"No, just came from the gym."
"You sure?"
"What're you talking about?"
"I don't know. You kind wobbled in and your eyes are glassy like you had a bourbon or two."
"I'm tired and I got a bit of headache is all. You know what though, the bourbon sidecar sounds pretty good. Can you throw a cheeseburger on for me too?"
"Sure," AJ said without a smile. He was softly singing 'My Little Douche Cup.'
The carbonation in the Schlitz tickled the back of my neck and felt cool all the way down to my stomach. A hit of the bourbon brought a little warm glow on top of that and life seemed to be getting better.
Rocco was halfway through a knock-knock joke involving Oprah and forty pounds of crack when Jerry Number One shouted, "Yo, AJ can we get some sound?" The news was reporting on the nationwide drive to get snack foods and other items to the overseas soldiers. They showed several cut-aways to boxes at malls and schools and other places filled with snack foods, CD's and books.
"AJ, you should set up a 'Snack Attack' box in here," Rocco said.
"A box of what?" AJ said.
"They're collecting Spam and what-not for the soldiers," TC said.
AJ just stared at TC.
"Well, it's not just Spam. It's other shit. They got them Vietnamese sausages."
AJ kept starring.
"Vienna," Jerry Number Two said.
"She's the one on 'Wheel of Fortune'," Jerry Number One said.
AJ continued to stare.
"Hey, AJ, I wanted that burger rare," I said. He rolled his eyes, started whistling 'My Little Douche Cup' through his teeth and got my very well-done burger. Accompanying it were the bottom of the bag potato chip crumbles and a pickle from a jar as old as the Beach Boys' last hit.
"Yum," I said to no one in particular. AJ disappeared into the kitchen and came back with an empty box that said on the side '124 count quarter pound hamburger. 72 % beef.'
I said, "Yum" again.
"Hey, that place is only about thirty miles from here," Rocco said. The Northeast can depository, or whatever the hell it was, at a local farm that was also a dog kennel and rod and gun club. The guy talking on camera had a flattop and looked about as ex-Marine as you could get. He talked about supporting troops, loving America, and knowing what it's like. They were panning the farm and the cans collected when the camera abruptly cut away and the 'Special Report' graphic appeared without sound.
AJ's stilled.
There was nothing the brain trust liked more than the drama of a special report.
"…Reminiscent of Ruby Ridge and Waco, an organization just outside Tuscaloosa, Alabama has been raided by U.S. Marshals. We are gathering information as we speak, but we do know this: The farmhouse you see pictured here is the home base for an organization known as The People of God's Kingdom. It is a fundamentalist Christian organization that takes in drug addicts, street people and the mentally ill, and rehabilitates them. The organization has come under criticism as cult-like and has been accused of brain-washing their members. Some have speculated they are supported by, and receive financial backing from, anti-US organizations outside of the country. The organization is now headed by Jeremy Rukhaber, an ex-Marine, highly decorated in Iraq, who was dishonorably discharged from the military following the Abu Gahrib scandal.
"You can see on your screen the U.S. Marshall special tactical unit, those large armed trucks, circling the farmhouse where Rukhaber and an estimated 17–20 of his followers are holed up. This stand off is now in its twelfth hour and…" There was a large explosion and cascading dark gray smoke. The sound of rumbling came through the correspondent's microphone.
"Holy shit!" the correspondent screamed, unaware of still being on the air.
Holy shit was right.
8
The corpse is stuck in the door jam and I'm throwing punch after punch into his head. With each punch his head becomes more and more disfigured, like it's not human. There are little girls all around begging me to stop. I pay no attention and keep throwing punch after punch into the corpse. I keep throwing punches over and over. As I do I realize though I'm punching the corpse, the girls start to bleed as if I'm punching them. Their screams and shrieks go right through me and I feel the nausea, but I keep throwing my combinations. Their screams get louder and more intense and still my hands go.
I feel the sickening vomit feeling and I punch through it until…
The wet scratchy feeling goes across my face, followed by an ear piercing bark. Al is on my chest again, looking worried. I push him out of the way and run to the bathroom and throw up.
"Morning Duff," Sam, from the business office, said.
"Good morning, Sam," I said.
"Duff, what's the name of the guy who works in the forest, wears a forest ranger's hat and carries a can of kerosene?" Sam never ran out of Polish jokes. I've gotten used to them like people get used to annoying ringing in their ears.
"Geez, Sam, I can't wait to hear."
"You sure, Duff?"
"Go ahead, Sam?"
"Stanislaus the Fire Prevention Bear of the Polish National
Forest Service." Sam laughed way harder than what the joke called for and headed back to the business office. Showing up at work wasn't a slice of heaven on most days, let alone days with a throbbing headache, but Sam's morning greeting made even the below average day much more below average. The Advil wasn't touching the throb. I reconsidered my previous night's use of bourbon as an analgesic. I grabbed some files and headed to my cubicle. Just to sweeten the pot on this bright sunny morning, there was a note from Claudia.
Please see me when you get in immediately and bring the following records…
She asked for Eli's file and a few others, but Eli's alone was worth getting me in a shit load of Michelin Woman trouble. The woman lived for the by-the-book paperwork stuff I hated. It had been awhile since I had gotten in trouble for paper work negligence, not so much because I had got much more conscientious about it, but more because I had been lucky enough not to get caught.
I headed into Claudia's office, dreading what was about to happen.