"Duffy, you know where you are?" Stan Cummings said. My head felt soupy.
"Duff, you all right?" Stan said again. I was on my back, squinting to figure out what was going on. The top left part of my head ached and I felt like I when I came out of a deep sleep.
Maybe hibernation.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said and began to sit up. When I did, it felt like my brain rushed to the front of my head and I felt like I throwing up.
"You know where you at?" Stan asked.
"Sure," I said. I was at Gleason's but it didn't look right.
"You're at Ravenwood, remember?"
"Fuck you, Billy. I know where I am. I just got caught." I started to stand up. When I did it didn't seem like all the circuits fired. My legs were a little slow on the uptake.
"Easy, easy," Stan said.
"Oh fuck you, Stan. I'm all right," I said. "Smitty didn't call an ambulance or anything did he? Smitty! Where is he?"
"Duffy, Smitty ain't here."
"Huh?"
"You're at Ravenwood, remember?"
"Billy, stop the dramatics. I know where I am." A tall wiry black kid stood on the other side of the ring, looking at me like I just landed from Uranus.
"Nice shot, kid," I said and walked over to touch gloves.
"I hardly hit you, man," the kid said. He didn't say it to brag.
He said it out of confusion.
"That's the way it happens sometimes." I stepped out of the ring and walked carefully down the steps of the ring.
"Duff-You wanna go to the hospital?" Stan said.
"Stan, c'mon will ya," I said.
Instead I went to my own treatment center-AJ's. I'm not trying to say I felt fine. There's no question I got my bell rung. It wasn't the first time and it damn sure wasn't going to be the last time, at least as long as I stayed a fighter. It's not as macho as it sounds, it's just something over the years you get a little used to, or your muscles and joints get used to it, and it's not a big a deal. Big deal or not, I had a pretty good headache and it was starting to feel like a bourbon night. I'm mostly a Schlitz man, but when medicinally called for, I'll prescribe myself some of the brown elixir. Getting out of the car got it throbbing a bit, which wasn't pleasant. As I headed into AJ's, the Foursome were already throbbing about something else.
"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.