“No.” Harry knew where this was going. “Why’s that?”
“To keep the Cardinals on their toes.”
Everyone laughed, even the neutrals. With the exception of Carson; he felt like smashing the remainder of his sandwich in Hessler’s face. But even Carson could recognize that, on the one hand, the provocation was not yet outrageous enough and, on the other, that Hessler would keep it up until the provocation was sufficient.
The six employees resumed their meal. They had all been through this routine often enough to know that the war was strictly between Hessler and Carson. It did not pay either to intervene or take sides. Eventually the two men would be shouting at each other, and a supervisor, hearing the noise, would come in, restore order, and clear the room.
“Hey, Harry,” Hessler called out again to his straight man, “did you hear that the Pope announced that the Church has just discovered a first-class relic of Jesus Christ?”
“No kidding. I thought he ascended into heaven.”
“He left part of himself on earth.”
“What?”
“His foreskin.”
The laughter was a bit more hearty. Again Carson restrained himself.
He bit into his sandwich and chewed it until the laughter subsided. Then he spoke, almost offhandedly. “I didn’t hear about that, Hessler. But I can understand how they could have found the relic.”
“Why?” Hessler taunted. “Because your Jesus Christ was a Jewboy?”
“No, not really. Because, unlike yours, his was big enough to find.”
No laughter. A little sniggering. It was heating up for personal attacks early on. Not much longer to wait for the yelling and shouting.
Carson had scored. Hessler’s beet-red face attested to that.
Hessler was a member of no faith and had no faith. He would have been labeled an atheist or at very least, an agnostic, if he’d bothered to consider faith in any fashion whatsoever. But he did not. He merely despised all organized religion and particularly hated religious fanatics. And of these, Arnold Carson ranked at the very top of Hessler’s list.
“I wouldn’t talk about a little pecker if I was you, Carson,” Hessler said. “At least I’m married and I got three kids. Which is one wife and three kids more than you got. Carson, you gotta take your hands off your pecker sometime or you’re gonna be dead and there won’t be any little Carsons around to bore the hell out of everybody.”
Laughter, albeit strained.
“I’ve seen your kids, Hessler.…” Carson leaned forward. “Two of ’em look like the garbage collector and the third is a dead ringer for your brother. Cute little bastards.”
He had reached Hessler. Veins were bulging in the big man’s neck. “Why don’t you go screw the blessed Virgin Mary?” Hessler almost screamed across the small room, “Amateurs like you should start with a whore!”
That did it.
Carson hurled what was left of his sandwich at Hessler. It disintegrated in flight. Most of it fell to the floor. Some of it hit some of the bystanders. But the battle was joined and for the first time in their hostilities it was going to go beyond verbal abuse.
They charged at each other. Even before they met near the middle of the room, the bystanders were cheering and urging them on.
Hessler was so much bigger than Carson that this did not promise to be a long, drawn-out affair. If there had been an opportunity to wager before the battle, Hessler would have been the unanimous pick of the small fight crowd.
But there was no way to measure Carson’s inspired wrath. He was not simply drawn into a fistfight, he was off on his own private crusade.
The first blow went to Hessler. In an unconventional move, he swung both arms in an inward arc, smashing Carson on either side of the head. Hessler had used this tactic before to paralyzing effect. Ordinarily, after this somewhat premature coup de grace, Hessler’s opponent folded, ears ringing as if a demented hunchback were swinging bells inside his head.
But bells were not ringing in Carson’s head. Rather, he heard a thundering angelic choir chanting, “God’s will! God’s will! God’s holy will! Flatten this heathen!”
Carson was all over him. It was as if Hessler were trying to fight off a swarm of angry bees, and just about as effective. In only a few seconds, Hessler had irretrievably lost the initiative and was reeling backward.
Hessler fell heavily onto the table at which just seconds before he’d been eating. The table, near splintering, collapsed under the weight of the two men, who tumbled to the floor in a heap. Instantly Carson, flailing away like a frenzied windmill, was on top, punishing Hessler mercilessly. Carson gave no quarter.
At this point the bystanders intervened, if for no other reason than to save Hessler’s life. With great difficulty they pulled Carson off. Even then, it took their combined strength to hold him back from attacking Hessler again.
For Hessler, dazed, breathless, and bloodied, the fight would have been over and done with and lost at that point but for one final strategy. As he scrambled to his feet, he drew a knife from his pocket, and flipped the blade open. The sight of the weapon and its size so startled the men that all, even Carson, involuntarily stepped back.
For Carson, the retreating step was instinctive. Instantly regaining his holy mission, Carson prepared to dive back into battle. knife or not, when a shout from the doorway froze him and everyone else in the room.
The supervisor’s attention had been drawn by the sound of the table shattering under the two combatants. Now, eye caught by the impressive knife in Hessler’s hand, he shouted several furious obscenities that stopped them all in their tracks.
“Hessler!” the supervisor roared. “Get rid of that knife! This minute!”
It was over, at least for now Hessler closed the knife, pressing the dull side of the blade against his thigh, and slid the weapon into his pocket. Later, in a more composed moment, he would recognize that the fight would not be resumed. He’d been in lots of fights before, against men of just about every size, although not many his size or better. But this jerk Carson was a madman. If the guys had not pulled Carson off, he might have bitten off one of Hessler’s ears or his nose. Carson was that crazy!
The supervisor got the two men into separate offices, told them to cool it, then called the police.
It was standard procedure. Because the post office is a federal agency, the structure a federal building, and the workers federal employees, the local police lacked jurisdiction in a matter such as this. However, the police served the essential function of getting the two combatants out of the building and away from each other. From that point on, postal inspectors would handle the case.
Due to the seriousness of his offense-wielding a deadly weapon-Hessler would appear before the sectional center, where the process of firing him would begin. Eventually, using every grievance procedure available to him, he would survive with a lengthy suspension. All would be duly noted in his work record.
As for Carson, the onlookers testified that Hessler had begun the altercation with remarks aimed at riling Carson. They further affirmed that it had been a fair fight until Hessler pulled the knife.
Carson’s file was clean. In fact, he had an exemplary record. No one could think of a single rule he had ever violated.
So Carson was issued a letter of warning and given a one-month suspension. And that was bargained down to ten days.
Actually, Carson was pleased with the outcome. For one, word quickly spread that he had taken Hessler apart. And hitherto, Hessler had had the reputation as a virtually invincible bully. Thus, Carson now became known as a force to be reckoned with. His reputation as a latter-day David who smote Goliath was enhanced.
For another, he could use the ten-day suspension productively. He needed the time to make further refinements in a plan he hoped would save the Church in Detroit and the world from itself.