“Fellas, you mind if I have a word alone with Duff?” Kelley said.
We walked about fifteen feet away and out of earshot, at least temporarily, from everyone else.
“You’re fuckin’ nuts, you know that?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“This shit’s going to hit you hard eventually, you know.”
“Yeah, I realize that.”
“You going to be all right?”
“Nothing that a Schlitz and the love of a fine basset hound won’t cure.”
Kelley just shook his head and walked back to his cruiser.
Late that afternoon they let us go. I had told everything I knew and how if it wasn’t for Billy Cramer and Howard Rheinhart, I’d be dead. Billy’s mom came and got him at the police station. She was crying and all disheveled and sick with worry. She looked at me, taking me for the lunatic that I am, and went to hurry Billy away. I broke away from whatever cop was processing my paperwork at that moment and ran to catch up with them.
“Whoa, whoa… just a second, Mrs. Cramer,” I said.
“Please, let us go home,” she said.
“Just a second.” I stopped and looked Billy right in the eye. “Kid, you saved my life,” I extended my hand and he shook it. It wasn’t enough though, and I pulled him to me and hugged him.
“It was a pleasure, sir,” Billy said.
“Oh God, we have to go-,” Billy’s mom said, and she ran down the corridor with him.
That left me and Howard and Al, and we left together with Kelley as an escort. The reporters were waiting for us outside and they crowded us and shouted questions, but we forced past them and got in Kelley’s cruiser and headed home. The three of us were in the back seat with Al sitting on my lap, and I believe the complete exhaustion hit us. We were silent for most of the ride to Howard’s halfway house and Kelley pulled into his driveway. Howard had his hand on the door to get out, but he stopped and put his head down.
“Duff,” he said. “Why?”
“Why what?” I said.
“Why did you come for me? Even after Abadon made me confess, you still kept after me. With my history, why would you do that?”
“I guess everyone deserves a second chance, Howard.”
Howard nodded, though I’m not sure he believed me. He got out and headed toward his front door. Kelley threw it in reverse and started to back down the driveway when I asked him to stop. I lowered the window.
“Hey, Howard,” I said, and he turned.
“You saved my life, you know,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said and then headed inside.
Kelley dropped Al and me off, and I grabbed a beer and filled Al’s dish. The beer went down easy, as did the next four or five and maybe more. I’m not sure because I went to sleep and slept hard for I don’t know how long.
The deadness of the sleep was overtaken by a vivid image of a huge Abadon head with rivers of blood pouring out of every hole in his head and all over me. I awoke and I felt cold, and when my head cleared I noticed I was trembling all over. The last mess I stuck my head into gave me nightmares for a long time. Here we go again, I thought to myself.
The idea of sleep didn’t much appeal to me, though it didn’t seem to lose its appeal at all with Al. He was on his back with all four legs pointing straight up and his head cocked to one side, both ears acting as an eye mask. Pain in the ass that he was, I couldn’t imagine a better friend.
I made coffee and flipped on the TV, but stayed far away from any channel that could have possibly reported any news. I didn’t read the paper but I sat down to watch a Classic SportsCentury feature on Greg Louganis. I was exhausted and found myself unable to think of anything.
An hour or so later Al stirred, shook the drool out of his mouth and onto my bedspread, and joined me on the couch. We sat for a while but I was really struggling with just sitting, so I threw Al in the car and headed for the park. It made sense to give Al a chance to unwind and for both of us to head someplace outside of the walls of the Blue.
We took a leisurely stroll through the park, and I noticed that the cuts and scratches all over my body stung as my body moved. We came up on the dog park and I wanted to sit and stop the stinging. The snooty brunette and her Corgi were there though at first I didn’t see them because she was on her back on her yoga mat with headphones. The Corgi was sitting alone in the fenced-in dog run.
Al took notice and started to pull hard on the leash. I struggled to keep him under control because I didn’t really want to take shit from the blue-blooded, uppity yogi. Al looked up at me and it dawned on me that with what I’d been through and what Al had been through, who was I to worry about a snooty chick, especially one with headphones on with her eyes closed.
I put my hand over my lips to shush Al and it worked. It never had before, but to Al the stakes were probably never like this before either. I lifted Al, which made my whole body feel like it was ripping and plopped him over the side of the fence. I avoided the gate because it was too close to my meditating friend to chance it.
Al wasted no time and headed right over to his own cute brunette. He sniffed for a while and in turn let himself be sniffed. Then, without even a Barry White soundtrack to set the mood, Al let loose with the Allah-King love-tron.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen a basset hound make love to a Corgi, but if you haven’t, don’t rush to. Al was using muscles I’ve never seen him use before, and I swear his brown eyes rolled back just before he closed them for his final drives. Apparently, Al had it going on because Ms. Corgi started to bark in what I could only imagine was some sort of canine bliss. Good for Ms. Corgi, not good for her yogasizing mother and unfortunate for me.
“Oh my God, Matisse!” she screamed. “What has he done to you?”
Al, meanwhile, kind of slumped down in the middle of the park and looked at me like he wanted a Kool Menthol. Matisse ran toward her traumatized mother with what I thought was an extra little spring in her short step.
“You pig, you, you, you… keep that thing away from my Matisse!” she continued to yell, her face flushed and her hair coming out of place. I wondered what happened to her meditative state.
“C’mere, Al,” I said, and Al slowly rose and stretched and then waddled to the fence where I lifted him over and put him back on his leash. I swear he looked up and winked at me. I decided not to try to say anything.
We walked back to the Eldorado, and I noticed the sun was starting to set and thought that it might be a good time to head to AJ’s. Who was I kidding? It was almost always a good time to go to AJ’s.
I wasn’t sure if the Foursome had gotten wind of the news. Coverage was all over the place, but you never could tell what was hitting the brain trust’s radar. My questions were answered the second I walked through the door.
“There he is, our favorite Mick/Polack superhero!” Jerry Number One said before I got a foot in the joint. The four of them gave me a standing ovation.
“Don’t forget his kemosabe, Al, the frog dog,” Rocco said.
“Actually, that would be his Tonto,” Jerry Number Two said.
“Tonto? I know Al’s short, but I don’t think he looks like one of those toy trucks,” TC said.
“No, no, no. Tonto was Dorothy’s little dog in The Wizard of Oz,” Rocco said.
“He wasn’t a basket hound,” TC said.
“That’s bastard hound. Remember, because of the drool? They swim underwater to find explosives,” Jerry Number One said.
“No, they don’t. They’re French, not underwater swimmers,” Jerry Number Two said.
“What do you got against the French and what makes you think the French can’t swim?” TC asked.
“I got plenty against the French,” Rocco said.
“Like what?” Jerry Number Two said.
“First of all, making their bastard hounds swim underwater,” Rocco said.
“Tonto wasn’t French, he was Indian,” Jerry Number One said.