Karl said he felt okay, just like he had a pretty good hangover. I asked him what had gotten into him that made him OD.
"Newstrom can push the right buttons, man." He stopped, looked down, and shook his head. "He started on some shit about it would be easier for me to do myself in than to have him come for me and terrorize me. For whatever reason, I bought it."
"The guy is that powerful?"
"Yeah, Duff, believe it or not he is," We both sat in silence until it felt awkward. I decided to move ahead.
"You sure he said 'Shake Down the Thunder'?" I tried to get a handle Karl's latest prediction and its level of craziness. Al wasn't, he slept with a complete lack of curiosity about anything Karl had to say.
"Yep. No question."
"And you think this guy is nuts enough and powerful enough to set off a college type massacre?"
"You've already seen what he can do."
"We've seen what you've said he's done."
"I know," Karl folded his arms.
"Karl, there's one thing I don't get. I still don't get how this guy, Newstrom, gets other people to do this shit for him. I mean, he's not the one pulling the trigger in any of this stuff."
"Look Duff, Newstrom was special forces. He trained in all sorts of psychological shit. He explained it to me once. He doesn't create monsters, he just feeds them."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means he scouts people, situations, environments, whatever. Then he gets a feel for it, takes the pulse, and fertilizes whatever he wants to grow."
"How?"
"Think about it Duff. You think it's hard to find people who hate the government, the system or the situation they're in? You just find the people, bring them along, finance their craziness, and give them what they need. Newstrom used to call it gassing them up."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"He's a motivator. He's like Bill Parcels or Joe Torre or some Fortune 500 exec. He knows how to get people to do what he wants."
"That's it? He gives them a rah-rah speech and they're ready to kill?"
Karl frowned and scrunched up his forehead.
"Let me ask you this Duff. You think it would be hard to find a kid stressed out with pressure on a college campus?"
"No."
"How about a violent kid?"
"No"
"A kid with some mental illness, who maybe likes what drugs do to him?"
"Easy."
"How about a kid who listens to a charismatic leader, who gasses him up?"
I didn't say anything. It made too much sense and I started to wonder if I was as nuts as people said.
"Newstrom is expert at finding the right people, assessing the situation, and giving them the tools. It's like the cops say-he finds motive, helps the opportunity along and then he does what he's best at."
"What?"
"He creates capability."
"I guess I kind of see it."
"You saw me on the floor filled with enough drugs to stop a rhino didn't you? That was Newstrom's work."
"So you think we should take an 800 mile trip to Notre Dame to somehow see what Newstrom has in store?"
"We can always go to the game."
The next morning we loaded up the El Dorado with a cooler full of snacks and Schlitz, and headed west. Karl asked Al if he wanted the front or the back. Al responded by jumping in the front seat and crawling over the arm rest to the back. I doublechecked I had all the Elvis 8-tracks I needed because it was going to be about a 12 hour ride.
Between Karl's New World order bullshit and Al's flatulence, it was going to be a hell of a trip.
"All right Karl, how do you want to do this? We can listen to the Elvis catalog in chronological order, frontwards or backwards. We can start with the movies, do all the live concerts, or go alphabetically," I said.
I took Al's snoring as an abstention.
"I'm really more of a Zeppelin guy," Karl said. "So, I guess it's your choice Duff."
"Zeppelin?"
"Yeah, Guns and Roses, Clapton and some folk stuff. Don't get me wrong…I respect the King, especially after, you know, that stuff we went over."
We traveled only about 45 minutes out of Crawford when Karl asked if I minded getting off the Thruway. He reasoned surveillance would be easier on the major highway and we ought to break up our road trip by using some smaller country route. Never mind it would add hours to an already long trip. Somewhere between Amsterdam and Utica we saw a crowd of people with signs and placards. They were outside a gate and a couple of police cars with their lights on parked nearby.
"Pull over," Karl said without shifting his stare from the window.
"Karl, we got a long trip ahead of us."
"Pull over. This is the people fighting back." Against what I knew to be my better judgment, I pulled over. Thirty or so people with signs marched in front of the gates. As I got closer I saw a banner they had spread out and hung on the fence surrounding whatever it was they protested. It said PETA, and the group had broken in to a chant. Al had woken up and made some weird noises in the back seat. He did that whistling thing through his nose he does when he wants something. It's almost like crying, but maybe not as bad. I went to get him out of the backseat and he marched in place nervously. He looked like he really wanted to get out of the car.
The three of us walked toward the protestors, trying to make out what they said. A couple of them had signs saying 'Close Down Puppy Mills' and 'Animal Freedom' and things like along those lines.
Finally, we could hear them chanting,
"No more puppy mills! No more puppy mills." A lady, wearing army fatigues and Birkenstocks, handed Karl and me fliers. Al had lowered his head and neck and pulled me with all of his force toward the main gate. He went out of control, making a really strange sound that seemed to be half anger, half sadness.
"Look, there's one of the survivors!" A guy with a ponytail and glasses yelled at Al. A bunch of these crunchy protestor types gathered around Al and started petting and stroking him and talking to him. Al had his front paws on the fence and was doing his best to see in.
"He probably remembers," The ponytail guy said.
"No doubt-it isn't something you forget," the lady who handed us the flier said. I had no idea what they were talking about. Karl had worked his way into the crowd and was now holding a sign. He pumped a fist in the air and yelling something sounding like "Kill the man."
Al wouldn't calm down and the group of protestors wasn't helping. I pulled really hard and started heading back to the car. I didn't know what the hell was going on, but I knew Al didn't like it. When we got about fifty feet from the fence Al chilled out a little, but he continued looking over his shoulder and whimpering a bit. Karl came running up behind me with his new friend, the ponytail guy.
"Duff, you gotta hear this. Listen to what this brother has to say." It was like being in a bad TV movie about the 60's.
"This is a puppy mill, where they are breeding dogs under deplorable conditions. We are set on shutting them down. Your dog might have come from here," The ponytail guy said.
"What?" I said.
"He's a basset-one of the breeds they breed here. Where did you buy this dog?"
"I didn't. He belonged to a friend who has since died. I have no idea where he came from."
"The way he acted at the fence looked to me like he was familiar with the place. These places are horrible, horrible places. They over-breed the bitches and the place is unsanitary. If you like dogs, you would join our cause."
"Yeah, Duff, let's help out," Karl said
"Is it illegal?"
"Technically no, but there's no question it is immoral," Pony tail said. "This particular place wraps itself in the flag and hides behind bullshit patriotism."
"What?"
"It's some sort of ultra right wing organization and they use this place as their clubhouse," Pony tail said.
"C'mon Duff, we gotta join in," Karl said.
"I don't know, Karl, Can't we solve one of the world's problems at a time? We've got someplace to get to. Remember?"
"Yeah, I know, man but we're coming back here to stop this shit," Karl said. He had Al by the leash now. Al was doing that marching in place thing he did when he was nervous. The crowd suddenly got louder as a big red pickup truck approached. The truck was one of those extra heavy duty ones with the extra back tires. It had a flag design all over its fenders, a sign on the passenger door that said: 'Give The Soldiers A Snack Attack-Give Can Goods!' I realized this was one of the places collecting all the goddamn canned goods that were all over the place.
The crowd chanted louder and the three crew-cut guys in the truck laughed. The protesters reluctantly parted and the guys went through the heavily armored gate. On the other side of the gate, two scrawny shaved-head types, with big black Doc Martens boots on and a load of tattoos, did their best to look quietly menacing at the protestors.
In all the confusion I felt my head do the throb thing. It was worse than it had been in the last few days. I got a little sick to my stomach, but I took a breath and stabilized it.
"Duff, you all right?"
"Yeah, I just got this weird feeling like something about this was familiar and then I got the head thing."
"Was it from getting Al?"
"No. I've never been here before," I said. Karl turned his attention to Al who did the whimpering thing and marched in place.
"You remember huh, Al?" Karl said. He got down on his knees massaging Al's ears. "Breath my brother, breathe." My head kept throbbing, but we had to get on the road.