I finished up at the gym and headed home. Once again, Al gave me his customary greeting at the door, but this time I was ready. I intercepted his paws and moved gracefully to my left, deflecting his testicle-seeking charge. Already, I was emphasizing movement.
It had been a productive day for Al. In between couch gnawing sessions, he busied himself by making a mess with every single newspaper and periodical he could find in the Blue. He got halfway through the second cushion on my couch. I now had one half of a cushion to sit and unwind on at the end of the day. I couldn’t tell if I was imagining it or not, but Al’s early-morning activity that made its way between my toes seemed to linger in the air like some evil potpourri that you’d find in a very special ring of hell.
I didn’t feel at all like straightening the place up or, for that matter, deodorizing it, so I headed to AJ’s. I was hoping to find Kelley to see what he could tell me about Walanda and jail. I took Al with me in an attempt to minimize the damage to my home. For whatever reason, he seemed to be easier on the Eldorado, that is, if you consider barf in velour easier. Come to think of it, the barf from his last ride had formed somewhat crunchy concentric circles on the passenger seat. Perhaps I could find some mystic palm reader to tell me what the circles could tell me about my future. Suffice it to say, the Eldorado was no longer what I’d describe as “daisy fresh.”
I left Al sleeping on the front seat with his head on the center armrest. I slid the eight-tracks under the seats so he’d be less tempted and headed into the bar. The Fearsome Foursome were all in their places and so was Kelley, in his usual slot, one seat removed. The Foursome were already deep into it.
“The guy who played Sergeant Schultz was a Nazi in real life,” Rocco said. “I saw it on the E! True Hollywood Story.”
“I never heard that. I know that the Hogan guy got killed by Colonel Klink after he filmed the two of them having gay sex,” said TC.
“That’s not true, is it?” Jerry Number Two seemed genuinely disturbed by the revelation.
“No, it’s not true,” said Jerry Number One. “It was the French guy he was having sex with. His name was Pepe Le Pew.”
AJ had the Yanks on TV with the sound down and a radio going. The Foursome were about to move on to their next topic when AJ shushed them.
“Fellas,” AJ said. “It’s the bottom of the fifth.”
The talking ceased and AJ turned up the radio as everyone set their eyes on the TV. John Sterling had the call.
“Well, here it is. The end of five and you know what that means. It’s time to flush out the Clogger-and here he is, right on time, the pride of the real Windy City, Crawford, New York… Clogger McGraw!”
The Yankee Stadium crowd was on its feet like it always was waiting for the Clog to do his thing. Sterling waited, giving the Clogster an exaggerated pause, and then did it.
“… aaaaaand Clogger cannnnnns it!”
The bar roared right along with the crowd at the stadium. It was great to see a local guy make good.
I took the seat next to Kelley, and AJ opened a Schlitz for me. I asked him to back everybody up. The Yanks were beating Tampa Bay eleven to nothing and it wasn’t much of a game, so I figured Kelley was approachable. At least he was as approachable as he got.
“What’s up, Kel?” I said.
“Hey Duff,” he said. “Thanks for the drink.”
That was pretty talkative for Kelley. I decided to take a chance.
“You mind if I pick your brain about Walanda?”
“Go ahead, Duff, but I got to tell you, I don’t know a whole hell of a lot.”
“Did anything ever come of the Webster stuff she mentioned?”
“Not that I heard of. Walanda has said a lot of shit to the both of us over the years,” he took a sip of his Coors Light. “I wouldn’t put a lot into it, Duff. Who knows what she meant.”
“How’s the investigation going on her murder?” I asked.
“Duff, I’m a beat cop,” he put his bottle on the bar with some force. “I don’t decide what the department does. They’ll send someone over and ask some questions. The COs will keep their eyes open, and it might eventually come out who did it. But to be honest, it isn’t a big deal at the station.”
“Does that feel right to you?” I said. It came out more confrontational than I wanted it to.
“Duff, this is all day, every day for me,” he turned to look at me. “The answer is no, it doesn’t feel right, but keep it in perspective. Walanda has no family to speak of looking for answers. She didn’t have a lot going on that was positive, and-let’s be honest-the society as whole probably won’t miss her. I don’t like the way that sounds, but it’s true.”
Kelley was, of course, right. He wasn’t being a jerk about it; he was being pragmatic in the reality he has to deal with every day of his life.
“Did anything about her stepdaughter turn up?” I asked.
“Not that I heard of but, Duff, that girl could have gone thirty different places and still be with family,” he said.
“Would you think I was crazy if I looked into this whole deal a little bit?”
“Looked into?”
“You know,” I said. “Tried to get some answers.”
Kel shot me a look that was part disbelief, part disdain.
“What are you, fuckin’ ‘Duffy for Hire, Private Eye’ all of a sudden?”
“No-nothing like that. I just want to look into it a little bit.”
“Look, Duff, I know you’re a tough guy,” he said. “I know you can take a punch, but you don’t know anything about being a cop.”
“Cop?” I said. “Who said anything about being a cop?”
“Duff-don’t mess around with this. It’s not a good idea.”
“I’ll be fine-I’m just going to get enough answers to settle my mind. I feel I owe her.”
He rolled his eyes, clearly not approving my plan, but as was his way, he didn’t say I shouldn’t or couldn’t. He did go back to watching the TV. The way Kelley reacted, I didn’t dare get into Mikey and Eli; it just wasn’t the right time. I finished the Schlitz and headed to the door. The Foursome had dropped the Hogan’s Heroes debate and had moved on to Green Acres.
“You know,” TC said, “they all wound up eating Arnold Ziffel in the last episode.”
“You mean they were cannibals?” said Jerry Number Two.
“What are you-an idiot?” Rocco said. “Arnold was a pig!”
“That’s not very nice,” Jerry Number Two said. “And it’s no reason to perform a cannibalization.”
Though I tended to agree with Jerry Number Two, it was late and I headed home.
8
I got through work on Friday, met Smitty at the gym, and headed to the airport. Al was staying in the Moody Blue for the weekend and Jerry Number Two and Trina both agreed to check in on him. Between the two of them, they would stop by three times a day to record what damage he had done to my worldly possessions.
In the car on the way over, Smitty talked nonstop about strategy and attitude. It was what he did building up to fight time, and sometimes I wondered if it was his way of dealing with his own butterflies. Smitty’s whole life was regimented; he did the same things every day in the same ways. It made him a good trainer because he drilled you on the same stuff over and over and over.
Repetition is important in boxing. You might bring your guard back to the side of your head ninety-nine times out of a hundred, but the one time you don’t, you’re liable to get knocked unconscious. Smitty’s tendency to go over things a lot helped in the ring, but it tended to make you crazy when he was a travel companion.
In some ways, Smitty’s strategy repetition was a relief because it prevented me from thinking about Walanda, Shondeneisha, Mikey, Eli, Lisa, or about getting fired from my job. Just the same, even if everything wasn’t on my mind persistently, the uneasy feelings along with the fight jitters were there. There was something incredibly fucked up about people putting hurt on other people for stupid reasons. That may sound strange coming from a guy whose main hobby is punching other men in the face, but it’s the way I feel. There was a certain meanness in this world and I didn’t like it when it got to people I cared about.