Johnny didn’t remember, but he did think Jerry shouldn’t actually have punched him. “That wasn’t a make-believe punch, Jer,” he said. “That was a real punch.”
“So give me a real punch back, or are you too lily-livered, you big pussy?”
Johnny frowned. He didn’t like the way this fight was going. “I don’t want to hit you, Jer,” he repeated. “You’re my friend and I don’t like to hit my friends.”
“You mean like this?” said Jerry, and gave Johnny another needle punch in the gut that made the big guy go all ‘Oof!’ “Or like this?” Jerry continued, and hit his friend on the nose!
“Hey—no fair!” said Johnny. “You said you weren’t going to hit for real—only fake!”
“Oh, stop whining and start hitting,” Jerry growled. “Do some damage, you big lummox!”
Finally, after the third kick to the stomach—a sensitive area for the big man—Johnny had finally had enough. So he raised his great big fist and gave his friend a light tap against the temple. Jerry flew through the prison cell, hit the wall, and slumped to the floor, out for the count. And when moments later the guard came to check on them and found Jerry knocked out on the floor, he shook his head and sighed the sigh of a long-suffering guard. “I’ll call the doc. Again.”
“I didn’t even hit him that hard,” said Johnny, still surprised by this turn of events.
“That’s what they all say,” said the guard, and took out his phone to call the doctor.
When Jerry finally regained consciousness, and stared up into the face of Dr. Tex Poole, he said, “Am I out? Did I escape?”
“No, you didn’t escape, Mr. Vale,” said Tex, “but if I were you I’d take it easy for a couple of days. And no more tussles, you hear?”
“I didn’t even hit that hard,” Johnny repeated. “I only nudged him with my fist.”
“Well, that seems to have done the trick,” said Tex, helping Jerry up from the floor. “No lasting damage, though. Not even a concussion. But don’t do it again, Mr. Carew.” The doctor gave him a reproachful look that hit Johnny like a punch to the gut.
“But he asked me to hit him, Doc. He really did.”
“You mean like in Fight Club?” asked the doctor, who seemed to know his movies.
“Yeah, exactly like in Fight Club.”
“So who were you supposed to be? Brad Pitt or Edward Norton?”
“I’m not sure,” said Johnny. He glanced at Jerry, then at the doctor. “Brad Pitt?”
The doctor smiled and clapped him on the back. “Of course, Mr. Carew. Of course.”
Once they were alone again, Jerry snarled, “That’s another fine mess you got us into, Johnny.”
Johnny gave his friend a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, Jer. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”
“Yeah, well,” said his partner, laying back on his bunk. “That’s it for me. I give up. If the universe wants to keep us confined to this prison cell, that’s all right by me.”
“So you don’t want me to hit you again, Jer?”
“No, I don’t want you to hit me again, Brad Pitt.”
Johnny smiled at this. “Do you really think I look like Brad Pitt?”
Jerry smiled, too. “Sure, Johnny. Sure.”
For a moment, both men were silent, then Johnny said, “I’m sorry for knocking you out, Jer.”
“That’s all right, buddy. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have needled you like that.” He sighed. “I swear to God, if we ever make it out of this place I’m giving up the life of crime.”
“We’ll go to Hollywood,” said Johnny. “I’ll be Brad Pitt and you can be Leo DiCaprio.”
Jerry laughed at this, then stopped and groaned and reached for his head.
“Please don’t make me laugh, buddy. It hurts.”
Chapter 38
The evening had come and our humans had returned home from their respective places of business. And finally we’d all been allowed back inside.
“I’ll tell Blanche that she shouldn’t forget to unlock the pet flap again,” said Odelia after she let us in. “She must have forgotten.”
I didn’t think the evil cleaner had forgotten at all, though. I think she’d done it on purpose, to give us a first taste of the new rules that she was instigating. Three days a week we’d be locked out of our own homes, and if it was up to Blanche and her sister that period would be extended to the entire week, and possibly the nights, too!
Clearly they had their own ideas about how to treat pets, and felt cats didn’t have a place inside the home. And when it came down to a battle of wills, I feared that the war might just be won by the cleaners, and not by mild-mannered Odelia or Marge.
When Gran arrived home therefore, after a long day spent furthering the interests of her neighborhood watch, and breezed in, I decided to have a word with her. As I saw it, she was the only member of the family tough enough to take a stand against the terror of the cleaning ladies, and avoid disaster.
But Gran didn’t have time for us. Clearly she had other things on her mind, for she looked troubled. “Odelia,” she said as she swept into the house, where Odelia was checking the fridge in search of something edible to cook for dinner. “I need to have a word with you. It’s important,” she added when Odelia took out a piece of lamb roast and took a tentative sniff.
“What is it?” asked Odelia. “More burglaries?”
“It’s your uncle,” said Gran, and took a seat at the kitchen counter. “I’ve been hearing funny stories about him and Charlene Butterwick. It’s all over town that the two of them have been sneaking off together during working hours, and neglecting their jobs. It’s come so far that people are thinking about launching a petition for the Mayor to be replaced by another member of the town council, and for Alec to be replaced by Chase.”
Odelia frowned. “Surely you must have misheard.”
“I’m not so sure. When Scarlett and I dropped by the station this afternoon Alec was nowhere to be seen, and Dolores told us it’s been like that for the past two weeks. He comes in in the morning, then goes out for lunch and stays out. And when we went to see Charlene about it, her secretary said she was out and didn’t say when she’d be back.”
“What are they up to?” asked Odelia, as she also took a seat.
Gran shrugged. “I don’t know. People say they’ve got a love nest in town, and that they keep sneaking off for some nookie any chance they get. And I’m the first one to applaud Alec for having the good sense to hook up with Charlene. She’s a great gal and I wish them all the best and future happiness and yadda yadda. But not at the expense of their jobs.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“I think an intervention is in order,” said Gran gravely.
“What’s an intervention, Max?” asked Dooley, who’d been listening with rapt attention, as had I.
“It’s when members of a person’s family or circle of friends decide to sit the person down and give him or her a good talking-to,” I said.
“I’ve already talked to Marge, and she’s agreed. Tonight we’re going over to Alec’s house and we’re going to have a word with him,” said Gran.
Odelia nodded. “All right. If that’s what you think is best.”
“I do. This cannot go on.” She shook her head. “I never thought I’d say this, but his libido is clearly out of control and needs to be checked.”
“What’s a libido, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Um…”
“He does seem to have a healthy sex drive,” said Odelia with a giggle.
“What’s a sex drive, Max?”
Gran shrugged. “Of course he does. He’s my son, after all,” she said, which made both women burst out laughing.
“What are they saying, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Well, Uncle Alec likes Charlene so much that he has started to neglect his work,” I explained. “His libido, which is the part of a person making them, um… love a lot, makes him love Charlene… a little too much.”
“And makes him drive his sex to her house when he should be driving his sex to his office?”