by Tom Schreck
"He's coming for us. He told me. He's coming to Crawford. He said we're making too much noise and there's too much at stake. He's coming to eliminate us."
"Hold it-you talked to him?"
"Yeah."
"The same guy that a few days ago had so much of an effect on you, you almost killed yourself?"
"Yeah."
"How the hell do you explain that?"
"He switched gears; there were people around. I don't know; it's the way he is. He's unpredictable, he has no emotion. He knows the suicide didn't work, so he moves on."
"What has he moved on to?"
"He's coming for us. He's coming to Crawford."
"For what?"
"To eliminate us while carrying out his other plans."
"What plans?"
"The massacre didn't happen at Notre Dame. He's bringing it here and wants to take care of us with it," Karl raised his eyebrows.
"Look Karl, I got arrested in Indiana. Everyone thinks I'm Looney-tunes and I'm exhausted from traveling. I think it might be time for me to give up my battle with the NOW."
"Sure, I don't blame you," Karl said it flatly and he wouldn't look me in the eye. He did blame me.
I couldn't just sit there feeling like a shit, so I went to the kitchen. I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat back on the couch while Karl looked out the window with Al. It was sad, but things had gotten out of hand I was going to take Rudy's advice. The phone rang.
"Dombrowski?" The voice hushed, almost whispering.
"Yeah."
"Karl is being eliminated because he creates too much attention. It's up to you whether we eliminate you or not. We don't have to, we don't want to, but if you're along for the ride, we will."
"Who is this? Who the hell is this!"
"Separate yourself now." The voice disconnected. I hung up the phone and sat there. Karl turned toward me.
"It was him wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"He's going to kill me," It was not a question. I didn't say anything.
"And he's going to kill you if you stay with me." I didn't say anything.
"Duff, I never told you I wasn't crazy, but this shit is real. You know it and you feel it." He looked right at me. I didn't say anything.
32
I didn't want to call in sick for Friday, but I figured Trina would cover me. I didn't want to push my luck, so I called in and told her I wouldn't be in today, maybe not for a few days, because my head was bothering me. She warned me calling in wasn't going to help my situation, but it didn't matter. There was just no way I could go in there today.
I dropped by Ray's to see if I could catch up with Kelley. It wasn't his official haircut day, but he didn't pick up at his apartment or his cell, so by the process of elimination, I went to the barbershop. He usually gets there around 9:15, but I didn't want to chance missing him so I got there at 8:55. Right by the front door they had their own 'Snack Attack' can collection box.
"Duff, what're you doin' out? I thought they had you in the hospital; you know like locked up, you know what I'm fuckin' sayin'," Junior said by way of greeting.
"Yeah, Duff, I didn't think, once they said you had, you know, psychotrayic stuff, that they had to like wrap you up in sheets and give you some of the Protrack or sometin,'" Jackpot said.
"What are you guys talking about?" I said. The guys at Ray's didn't make a ton of sense but they were going out of their way this morning to be weird.
"Holy shit. He hasn't seen the paper, you know what I'm fuckin' sayin'," Junior said.
Jackpot went to the counter, by the mirror behind his chair, and fiddled around with the newspaper. He pulled out a section and walked over and handed it to me.
"You're famous, Duff, but not the kind of notoriousness you were looking for," Jackpot said.
I read the lead story of the Local section of the UnionTimes. Local Boxer Arrested At Notre Dame: Released Into Psychiatric Care
Crawford journeyman pro boxer and social worker at Jewish Unified Services, Duff Dombrowski, was arrested on the campus of the University of Notre Dame during the pep rally before the Notre Dame-Michigan game. Dombrowski, whose boxing career can best be described as mediocre, assaulted a Notre Dame student in a Joyce Center restroom during the pep rally.
Dombrowski claimed the student was part of a plot to start a massacre during the pep rally, similar to the incident at Virginia Tech in 2007. The college sophomore, Wan Lu, had a knapsack filled with canned goods for the soldier drive that was going on campus-wide. Dombrowski said he had heard the rattle of cans and believed they were explosive devices or assault weapons.
He was released into the medical care of Dr. Rudy Villone, a Crawford internist, who stated he would place the fighter under inpatient psychiatric care. The police at Notre Dame, along with the district attorney in South Bend, agreed to the arrangement after the student expressed he did not want to press charges. The student suffered bumps and bruises, but was not hurt seriously.
"What the hell…," I said.
"I hear that campus is beautiful, Duff. All that tradition and whatnot, you know what I'm fuckin' sayin'," Junior said.
"This is this morning's paper, right?" I said. Both of the guys nodded. It was quiet and a little uncomfortable in a place that didn't have many lapses of silence. Neither of the guys had anyone's hair to cut yet, so it made the silence that much more awkward.
"Duff, you want a cut? I guess maybe you ought to, seeing as you'll be going some place to, you know, psycho-recover. The fuckin' barbers in those joints suck, you know what I'm fuckin' sayin'," Junior said.
I sat down, just staring at the paper. My chest started to pound and my head throbbed. I started having problems breathing. My hands started to shake and I could see only the floor in front of me, but it was blurry. It felt like something was sitting on my chest and the walls seemed to be pushing in on me.
"Duff, Duff!" Something shook me hard by both shoulders.
"Duff, Duff!" Something cracked me in the face. Instinctively, I countered with a left cross. There was a loud thud followed by someone yelling.
"He fuckin' punched me, you know what I'm fuckin' sayin'." Came through my senses.
Abruptly, there was a figure, a person, in front of me. It, he, whatever, had his hands lightly on my shoulders and he spoke to me in a quiet voice.
"Duffy, it's Kelley. You're having a panic reaction. You're safe. Breathe and sit back,"
I don't know why, but I followed the directions. My chest heaved, but it slowly began heaving less. The throb throbbed, but it did it lighter. The room was started to come in to view. Kelley slowly came into view. Little by little the room came into focus. Junior and Jackpot were standing behind their chairs, with their eyes wide. Junior was rubbing his jaw.
"What the hell happened?" I was exhausted.
"You had some sort of panic reaction," Kelley said. "We've gotten some training on spotting them. You should apologize to Junior."
"For what?"
"How 'bout for fuckin' hittin' me with a left cross, you know what I'm fuckin' sayin'," Junior said.
Tom Schreck
Out Cold: Round Three of the Duffy Dombrowski Mysteries
"No, I did? No." I looked at Junior. "Man Junior, I'm sorry, man. I had no idea."
The three guys in the room stared at me. Their faces showed a combination of fear and confusion.
"Duff, don't take this the wrong way, man, but you're losing your fuckin' marbles, you know what I'm fuckin' sayin.'" Junior rubbed his jaw.
"Kell, the guy who's been after Karl is coming and he's coming for both of us this time. The next thing is a high school massacre and they're going to make it happen at McDonough. I saw the guy. I-" Kelly held up a hand.
Kelley didn't say anything. He frowned just a little bit at first, looked down and then out Junior's front window. He stood up, remaining quiet, and so did Junior and Jackpot. They looked anywhere but at me The shop was quieter than I ever remember it being.
> "Kell-"
"Duff, we've known each other forever. You know I tell you the truth, maybe even too much." He paused and looked down. He looked up at me. "You're fucked up. You're not in your right head and it's not just a little bit any more. You've been arrested, you're having attacks, and the stuff you're talking about is delusional."
I could tell he didn't want to say what he just did. I sat there and looked at Kelley, then Junior, then Jackpot and then back to Kelley. I don't know the word for what I felt because embarrassed wasn't enough.
33
I didn't know what to do. I didn't feel crazy, but isn't that part of being crazy-You didn't know it? Karl seemed to be aware of being nuts. Did it make him a higher functioning fruitcake than I had become? Scary.
I walked through town trying to sort it all out. I guess that's what we mental health guys do. We wander through city streets talking to ourselves, trying to make sense. Crazy or not, it was time to organize my head. Oddly enough, when it came time to do that in the past, I sought out Jerry Number Two. Jerry was smart, knew a lot of what other people didn't, and had access to the world through his computers. Jerry also loved Dungeons and Dragons, Star Trek and other things, but hey, nobody's perfect. Jerry lived in the college section of town, in a basement apartment. He prefers the damp basement because it helps his horticultural hobby flourish. That is, his pot plants grew really well and no one could spot them. Jerry never seemed to mind an unannounced visit.
"Duff…what brings you here in the middle of the afternoon?" Jerry's doorbell played 'Keep On Truckin' by The Dead.
"You got a few minutes to help me understand something?"
"Sure, Duff. I was doing some online gaming, but I'll just commit suicide. It will take just a minute." I didn't ask.
I took a seat in a big round rattan chair, struggling to get comfortable. Jerry came back with some dark, odd looking tea, and sat in front of me on a floor pillow with his legs crossed.
"All right, Duff. Shoot."
"Jerry, I know everyone thinks I'm crazy, so you don't have to pretend otherwise. I want to lay some shit out to you and I want you to tell me what you think."
Jerry nodded.
"First of all, let me run down what I know; Number One: Karl, who by the way is nuts, believes that defense contractors, specifically private security firms, are benefiting from a large national defense budget."
"So far no one will argue," Jerry said.
"Two, Karl claims he, after he had a horrible time accidentally killing some children, was recruited by an old high school buddy to be part of a private security firm."
"Ditto. Sounds very possible."
"Three, Karl claims his buddy, in an effort to sell the job, showed him some highly classified documentation this firm or somebody had a plan to influence…bring about…create the right atmosphere…I don't know how to say it. To perpetuate terrorist acts within the United States so the public would be both distracted and remain scared enough to stay positive about funding a huge defense budget."
Jerry sipped his tea, looking deep in thought.
"Alright, Duff let's break this down with what we know and what we don't know." He sipped his tea, wiped a dribble of it on his chin." Fact: there is at least 25 billion-that's with a 'B'-in US funds unaccounted for in Iraq and Afghanistan. There's no doubt many, many people have gotten rich in the last 10 years."
"Twenty-five billion? That's hard to conceptualize."
"Yeah, which works to their advantage."
"Yeah."
"All right, do the security firms have a history of nefarious conduct to guarantee they continue to get the bucks? No question. There's documentation of pay-offs, people disappearing. You name it. The problem is, they operate outside any laws so there's only speculation on how far they'd go." Jerry sipped and thought.
"Is domestic terrorism out of the question?"
"Do you realize how many people get rich on multiple billions? I think it's entirely possible."
"Is there any precedent for this happening? Anything we can prove?"
"Like we talked about at the bar, there's plenty of evidence. There's certainly plenty of evidence of people in power screwing those who aren't in power, for money. There's no question. I told you before, that our own government now admits it considered bombing ourselves and making it look like Castro did it, so there would be support for invading Cuba. That got out. Can you imagine what we don't know?" Jerry slurped some tea.
"Here's the thing I don't get. How do they get people to do the terrorism for them? Karl says they find people ripe for it and they take it from there. Is it even possible." Jerry raised his eyebrows and thought for a moment.
"Duff, we have to assume they have unlimited financial resources, which means they have unlimited resources, period. There are those who claim brainwashing techniques exist and are effective on the right-especially troubled-people. There are also drugs that make people more suggestible, but I think it might be even easier than we think."
"How so?"
"Duff, you work with troubled people. You know there are no shortage of pissed off, angry people who've been kicked around for their whole lives. Is it really inconceivable with the right prompting, and maybe some pharmacological influence, a charismatic figure could get them to pull a trigger, set off a bomb or poison the forces that have treated them so badly?"
"So let me get this straight. This guy, Newstrom, finds people ready to explode, or who have the potential, and the make up to do it, and he pushes them over the edge. But it can't work on everybody he tries can it?"
"I doubt it and it probably explains why the events occur at unpredictable intervals."
"So, Jerry, I might be nuts, but not necessarily. I mean, there's a chance this shit could be true."
"Well, Duff there's a chance, but you also have to look at some other things."
"I don't understand."
"You've been subject to severe stress, some of it for years. You've had clearly diagnosable head trauma-multiple trauma, and you've been experiencing dissociative episodes-panic reactions whatever."
"So?"
"You might be right on with this shit or…"
"Or what?'"
"You might be fuckin' nuts," Jerry said.
34
"He's been here," Karl said. I had just walked in the door. Al wasn't even barking. His eyes just went back and forth from me to Karl.
"How do you know?" I felt a throb go to the front of my forehead.
Karl handed me a single page of paper. There was a single paragraph typed on it.
I tried to help you out after your trouble. If you had come along, you could've been better by now and had enough money in your pocket to be set for life. Instead you made your choices. The thing is, there's always going to be the military whether it's needed, sort of needed, or not needed at all. There's just too much money in it, and if it's just going to be, you should've come on board. It's too late for all that now, buddy. I'm here and it's over. You made too much noise and continue to make too much noise. You've been discredited, but now I'm afraid with your new social work friend, people may start to listen. We're working on Dombrowski and he's already being seen as an idiot. Anyway, the mission will be carried on. You used to speak of suicide and how you'd like to have at least that kind of control. You may want to give that some thought again because we're here and we're coming for you. It's up to you how you go out. In the mean time, we need to get to school — If you know what I mean. N.
"He wants you to kill yourself again? Is that what this all means?"
"He was around when I got suicidal. I used to say I'd rather go out on my own doing than have them get me. I still feel that way," he said.
"So he's in town to carry out the next part of his plan, isn't he?"
"Yeah."
"Which is a Columbine type thing?"
"That's what he wants us to believe."
"How do we know when? Where? Who?"
"We don't." Karl looked down. A
l looked up, smacking his tail on the floor. It wasn't a happy wag, more like a nervous one.
"What do you want to do?" My head throbbed at a pretty steady rate now.
Karl paused. I wondered if he thought of killing himself. I had a little dose lately about what your mind can do to you. I was at the point where such decisions didn't seem illogical.
"Duff, I'd rather die fighting these bastards than giving in." Karl looked up, right in my eyes.
"You sure?"
"As sure as I've ever been at anything." I nodded and looked down at Al, formerly 'Elvis.'
"You don't have to be a part of it, Duff. There's a good chance we'll die. They're better at this than we are, have more resources, and they have the advantage of knowing all the details."
"Yeah, there's that."
It got quiet for a few seconds, except for Al's tail action.
"Well, what else is there, Duff?"
I smiled and laughed, mostly to my self.
"Karl, I don't like being sucker-punched and having someone get away with it."
"Me either," Karl said.
I called Jamal, who still worked as a hall monitor and assistant football coach, and asked him if I could come visit him at school and bring my buddy Karl. He said it would be no problem and to come around lunchtime when we could talk. We skipped the main office, even though there were signs imploring us to stop and badge up before we went any further. I figured as an alumnus I had special rights. It didn't, of course, but I kind of went through life believing I had special rights.
"You really think Newstrom would come here and not back to his alma mater?" I asked Karl as we turned down a corridor toward the cafeteria.
"Strange as it sounds. I gotta believe he's still rah-rah on all the football crap and class presidency shit," Karl said.
"I don't get it Karl. Was he straight up back in the day or crooked and looking for greedy angles even then?"
"Duff, he was truly the all-American boy, pure as the driven snow."
"What happened?"
"War, killing people, people trying to kill you, and the corruption of the military can get in you and become you."
