Fatal Flaws

by Clyde Lawrence

  “I’ve got this,” I said, as I handed Hank the grocery bags. I had never had many occasions which called for violent behavior, but I’d been in a few fights and I was comfortable with my ability to defend myself. Even when sparring with friends, as all teenage boys do, I had always been able to read my opponents and respond almost reflexively as I blocked an attack and launched into an effective counterattack. I certainly wasn’t looking for a fight, but there was no way I was going to run away from this redneck asshole, who seemed to be intent on doing me harm. To be honest, I knew Hank was somewhat of a badass, with his military and Tae Kwon Do training, and I had fantasized about being able to impress him by handling a physical confrontation admirably. I relished the thought of him watching as I beat the shit out of someone who honestly deserved to have his teeth knocked down his throat. I knew Hank valued courage and strength, and showing him I could handle myself physically would impress him, which I was anxious to do. The sorry son of a bitch who was approaching me with clenched fists and a menacing look on his face was giving me a chance to live out my fantasy. All these thoughts raced through my head as I turned to face this would be gay basher, and I found myself muttering the phrase, “Winner, winner—chicken dinner.”

  I never learned this guy’s name, so I shall refer to him henceforth as Billy Bob. This seems like an appropriate name for a redneck homosexual hater who would be looking for a fight in a discount store parking lot at noon on a Sunday, so why not put an appropriate label on this southern fried turd.

  Billy Bob looked to me like he knew his way around a scuffle. He also gave the impression he might even have a conviction or two under his belt. Based the behavior and demeanor he had demonstrated so far, he didn’t look like he was afraid to re-enter the penal system, having been convicted of the assault and battery of the pretty little cocksucker he had mistaken me for. He decided to go for a ‘one and done’ right hook with the intention of taking my head off before I had a chance to pull his hair, bite him, or scratch his eyes out. My aforementioned reflexes allowed me to anticipate his swing, which he had advertised like furniture store having a ‘going out of business’ sale. I ducked under his right hook as I spread my thumb and forefinger, making taut the webbing between the first two digits of my right hand. As I rapidly recoiled and returned to a standing-position, I caught him in the thyroid cartilage, commonly known as the Adam’s apple. This was not meant to bring about a TKO, but instead to quickly stun him, leave him struggling to move air in and out of his trachea, and let him know he had, just possibly, fucked with the wrong pretty boy.

  He staggered back for a few seconds as I looked him in the eye and tried to nonverbally communicate that his day was about to take a major turn for the worse. We both put up our proverbial ‘dukes’ and prepared for the next volley. Billy Bob shook his head from left to right as if trying to clear his head of some cobwebs which had started to form there and spat out, “I’ll give you that one, but that’s it, you little faggot.”

  “Listen, you hillbilly, white trash, piece of shit. Let me clear up a couple of things you seem to be confused about,” I nonchalantly said. “First, I don’t know why you keep calling me little, because I am as big as you if you subtract out your beer belly, your double chin, and the layer of shit on your redneck undies. You probably see all homos as ‘little fairies,’ I suppose,” I said as I made quotation marks in the air. “Second point, and this is the kind of ironic one,” I said, as I shared the most obvious shit eating grin I could muster, “I’m not gay and neither is my ex-Marine, Taekwondo Black Belt friend over there.”

  My adrenaline had literally begun surging through my system and my muscles were starting to vibrate as they begged me to attack. My limited actual experience with fighting and my vast experience sparring and playing grab ass (as my Dad always called it) had taught me, however, I do better starting on the defensive, then switching to a relentless offensive attack after waiting for my opponent to overcommit and expose himself to a disabling blow. My strategy worked. Billy Bob ran at me with the intention of tackling me to the ground where, I assume, he would try to straddle me and rain down punches upon my face. I was able to move briskly to my right, sweep his grasping arms away from my chest with a downward arc of my left arm and hit him with a quick right jab right on the corner of his jaw. This made him stumble to his right and lose his step. As his stubble covered jaw rotated away from me he began to trip on his own feet, and, within a fraction of a second, the ne’er-be-washed, greasy hair atop his head was making contact with the black plastic over the side view mirror of Mandy’s Explorer as his head crashed through it and into the driver’s side window.

  I actually became much angrier at this point, because this motherfucker had just caused serious damage to the best vehicle Mandy and I had ever owned. He landed on his hands and knees after sliding down the side of the door.

  I screamed, “You goddamn, motherfucking, piece of shit!” Grabbing him by the long hair at the back of his mullet, I hauled him far enough away from the vehicle to ensure that it would receive no further damage. He was able to keep up with me on his hands and knees initially, but after seven or eight feet, his arms could no longer keep up the pace and he went down on his face, leaving me with several locks of his disgusting hair in my hands, which I immediately shook free. I gave him a second to start turning over before I stomped his head into the ground. I then came around his side, went into a straddling position across his abdomen, and started pounding him in whichever part of his face he could not cover up. After ten or so solid blows, I felt Hank’s restraining arms hook my own and he lifted me off of my victim.

  “That’s enough, man. We don’t want you to kill the son of a bitch. He is definitely down for the count.”

  I was still resisting him, only hearing some of what he was saying. Hank was a big guy, though, and I was not going to break his restraining hold. As I stared at Billy Bob, rocking back and forth on the ground as blood came from his mouth, nose, and several facial lacerations, I slowly realized it was over and forced myself to slow my breathing as Hank’s grip became looser on my arms. Eventually he turned me to face him and quoted from one of the videos our families had watched together. “That’ll do pig. That’ll do.” Then he looked proudly into my eyes and quoted from another movie we both knew well. “You, you’re still dangerous—but you can be my wingman anytime!”

  Reflexively, I quoted the response Tom Cruise had given to Val Kilmer in the movie Top Gun. “Bullshit. You can be mine!” We held each other’s gaze for a few seconds to see who would break first. Then, both cracked up and I said, “Let’s get the hell out of here. Damn. Look what he did to Mandy’s car.” I couldn’t stand the temptation, so I turned around and kicked Billy Bob in the ribs and said, “That’s for the Explorer, biotch!” Then, I ran to the superficially damaged vehicle, picked up the broken pieces of the side view mirror mechanism and cover, and jumped into the driver’s seat. It was time to get out of there and start working on our story.

  When we had driven several blocks away in order to escape the scene of the ass-beating I had put on Billy Bob, we pulled over into a car wash parking lot. We sat for a few minutes and tried to decide whether I needed to come up with a cover story to keep from freaking Mandy out, or if I should just come clean. Hank looked at me and very sincerely said, “Listen, Mark. You’re my best friend and I’ll always have your back. If that piece of shit back there would have gotten the upper hand, you know I would have jumped in and ripped his head off. I could see you had matters well in hand, though. Just know this. I would never sell you out. If you need me to support a story that will keep you out of trouble, I won’t let you down. Hell, even if you do something stupid and the cops are on your case about it, I’ll be your alibi. If you had really injured that shit for brains back there, I’d make sure that our stories lined up so that the cops would have to see it as self-defense, even if I had to plant a knife in his hand or something. Bottom line, you can count on me. Hopefully, you feel the
same.”

  “Geez, thanks bro,” I said, having really felt the power of what he was saying, and sincerely believing that he was a true friend, the likes of which I’d never previously known. “That’s really cool. I think I can make the same promise to you, although I don’t carry any throw down weapons to plant on dead or dying assholes. But hell, maybe I should! That’s beside the point though. Seriously, dude, I really appreciate that. I’ve never had someone who I could absolutely count on in any situation. I really do think of you as my brother, although I’m way closer to you than I’ve ever been to my real one.”

  “Okay, then. I think we understand each other. Now, how do we deal with this? I personally think Mandy would much rather know that this happened while you were kicking the crap out of that loser, as opposed to you being involved in some type of motor vehicle accident. I also don’t think she is going to believe that we came out of the store to find her minivan messed up like this.”

  “You know, I think you’re right. Let’s just tell her how it went down. It’s not like I was out looking for a fight. Frankly, she would have been there cheering me on if she had seen how that douche bag was acting. So, we had a little collateral damage—I can live with that,” I said, as I settled on the idea of coming clean with Mandy. I was still enjoying the adrenaline rush and my feeling of conquest, but as we drove back to Hank’s house that day—and every time I revisited the experience in my mind after that—what I really focused on was the friendship that Hank and I had developed, and the level of commitment we had to each other.

  Chapter 10

  I was sitting in Hank’s home office as he was pulling up the Polaris website so that he could show me the 600 cc four-wheel drive beast he had ordered at the dealership. We had been doing a lot of ATV riding on the trails around Paris. Interestingly, Mandy and I had just purchased two Yamaha Kodiak 400 cc four-wheelers, which delivered more than enough performance for us as novice off-roaders. This indulgence represented our first purchase of relatively expensive recreational equipment. In order to afford such an extravagance, I was picking up extra moonlighting shifts to augment my meager resident salary. And now Hank, who had only bought his first ATV less than a year ago, was upgrading to the aforementioned all-terrain beast. He was going to make sure everyone knew whose ATV ruled. But hey, I was excited about his new toy and certainly didn’t feel like my dick was getting shorter every time he outspent me (even though I was certain he believed his got a bit longer). Had this actually been the case, his manhood would have grown several yards over the years we had been hanging out together.

  “Oh my God,” he exclaimed, “I forgot to tell you what happened the other night. I was sitting in here at my desk checking out some porn on my laptop and Patti walked in.”

  “Did she shit?” I inquired.

  “No, she started talking about going to see her sister in Ogden for Thanksgiving. I just looked up at her over my screen and she never came around the desk to where she could see what I was ‘working’ on,” he said, as he made air quotes with his fingers.

  “What were you watching, a couple of mutes having sex? How come she didn’t hear any moaning and shit?” I asked. I mean, what kind of weirdo watches porn without the audio, right?

  “I had my earphones in, dipshit! For all she knew I was just listening to music while I was working.”

  “Yeah. Working with a big stiffy. What were you going to do, jack off right there at your desk as Patti and the kids walked back and forth through the house?”

  “Listen, I don’t watch porn just so I can bust a nut. It wakes me up and gets my blood circulating. Except, of course, for the blood that gets stuck in my cock. But my brain is used to not having access to that blood. I was about to get back to working on my taxes and shit.”

  “Yeah, I can see how your circulatory system has adapted to function without the tablespoon of blood that it takes to engorge your tiny cock,” I quipped with the sarcastic grin on my face that he had come to know very well. “It wakes you up, huh? Oh well, to each his own.”

  “Very funny, Marky-Mark. You know that the volume of blood it takes to support my unit during one hard-on is more than your tiny prick sees in a year. Anyway, I don’t have to spank it every time I watch a couple of chicks going down on each other. It just gets my juices flowing, so to speak. Plus, I get a kick out of telling Jodi what I’m watching when she calls to check in. That chick wants me—bigtime. She knows I’m a sexual Tyrannosaurus and it drives her crazy to know that she can’t have me. I love torturing her. Have you seen her lately? She is looking better every time I see her. I think I’ve kind of inspired her to work on herself. She probably thinks she’s going to get me to leave Patti for her eventually.”

  I wondered what could have possibly put that in her head. Hank had hired a 25-year-old, single mother of two to help him run his many businesses, including a 200 unit apartment complex he had recently closed on. He was doing very well investing in diverse businesses to create the ‘multiple streams of income’ that he often lectured me about, and, from what he’d told me, his personal assistant Jodi was doing a good job helping him as he struggled to keep all of his proverbial balls up in the air. Jodi was fairly attractive when I first met her about six months previously, but she was about 30 pounds overweight at the time and her teeth were as crooked as a politician. Since then, she had been dieting and working out (utilizing a workout plan that Hank had put together for her) and it looked like she had dropped most of the extra fluff. From the little I’d seen of her, she seemed to be slimming down and firming up nicely.

  She had also asked Hank to help her finance braces for her teeth, which she confided in him had always been a source of embarrassment for her. He was happy to help out. Hank had also given her a bonus after her first three months to be used on her wardrobe, so that she could ‘represent his businesses’ more professionally. He suggested high heels and tasteful skirts. I was half surprised that he hadn’t just ordered some schoolgirl and French maid outfits for her to wear. Hank, now in his early 40’s, made a point of acting in a paternalistic fashion with Jodi when Patti and the kids were around, but I had seen him acting increasingly flirtatious with her when I was the only witness to his pervy ogling and suggestive remarks.

  “Dude, do you realize she could bust you for sexual harassment. She is your employee, for shit’s sake! Have you even thought about what that would do to your family? Plus, if she does think you’re interested in her in that way, I’m sure it’s kind of messing with her head. She should be out trying to find someone who is going to want to make her happy and who is interested in helping her raise her kids, not someone just looking to nail her.”

  “First off, she can’t prove shit, and nothing has really happened for her to complain about. Secondly, she freakin’ worships me! I know she probably has her hand down her pants half the time when I’m on the phone with her. Thirdly, I don’t know, but I might kind of like her. By the way, I saw an attorney last week. I’m going to tell Patti that we are getting a divorce. I can’t wait around for her to figure out how to have fun. She is stuck in Leave it to Beaver land, just like Kevin Bacon’s friend said on Footloose. She doesn’t want to travel with me, she doesn’t want to do anything adventurous, and she doesn’t want to get freaky. She doesn’t want to do anything fun that is not sponsored by the Mormon Church, and I can’t take it anymore.”

  This was a much different Hank than the guy I had met at Church eight years previously. He had taken over the anesthesia group which he had been recruited by when he came to Paris. It was now made up of him, one other anesthesiologist, and five nurse anesthetists. When the previous founder and owner of the group developed kidney cancer less than three years after Hank had arrived, he offered the group to Hank, who was always looking for his next financial opportunity. With the impressive profit and loss statements of his other businesses, he was able to convince his bank to loan him the capital he needed to purchase the group. Soon thereafter, he acquired new contracts fo
r anesthesia coverage at a local surgery center and a large hospital in the nearby city of Sherman. He had also partnered with another group which was looking to open a pain clinic. Each of his acquisitions had proved highly profitable.

  Although my own career was going well and I would never have traded my wonderful family for any amount of success in the business world, I was constantly in awe of Hank’s economic prowess. I felt like he was like a money magnet and had to admit I was envious of his success at times. I mean, this was a guy who bought a used 1987 Nissan 4x4 pick-up truck for eight grand prior to medical school, drove it for eight years during school and residency, and then sold it for $6500 to a kid we knew at church when he was finally ready to buy a brand new vehicle. This was in sharp contrast to the questionable automobile purchase decisions that Mandy and I had made during the early years of our marriage. By the time I finished residency, for example, we had already lost tens of thousands due to negative equity on vehicles we’d purchased, traded in, and sold. Nobody would ever mistake me for the next Warren Buffet.

  Usually, though, I celebrated Hank’s successes along with him. I felt like anyone willing to put himself ‘out there’ and make some aggressive investments should be respected for their financial successes. Some of Hank’s entrepreneurial spirit had rubbed off on me as well. At his urging, Mandy and I were making some financial moves of our own. We had recently decided to become small business owners ourselves. At this point we had two rental properties and were the proud owners of a brand new, stand-alone ice and filtered water kiosk on a busy corner of Rockwall, Texas, where I had joined a busy OB/GYN practice two years previously. As far as businesses go, it wasn’t exactly Microsoft or Apple, but it turned a small, but consistent, profit and it was a simple way to get our feet wet in the world of small business. Without Hank’s example, we probably never would have stepped out of our comfort zone and looked for financial opportunities outside of my medical practice.