became such a success, the boy would answer that it was all thanks to the Duke. The Duke knew that the boy was destined for great things, and didn’t need some drunken bitch of a mother trying to tear him down. The boy belonged to the Duke, and to the Duke alone.
The girl, on the other hand, was a whore. That wasn’t some exaggeration on the Duke’s part, neither. It was the God’s honest truth. The Duke had proof. About a month ago, the girl had brought home a note from one of her teachers. At first the Duke was overjoyed. Finally, the little cunt was getting in trouble for something. But, when Ruthie actually showed him the note, the Duke’s BS detector went on full alert. The part that really set him off was the following:
“...is an excellent student, and a joy to have in class. Her recent essay 'My Life’ was of such a professional quality I would like to submit it for publication....”
The Duke couldn’t read anymore. Someone was obviously fucking with him. For one thing, no teacher, especially an English teacher, could have such horrible handwriting. The note was a fake! There was no other explanation. The girl clearly had stolen some of the school’s stationary and written the note herself. That would, of course also explained the horrible handwriting. It made the Duke uneasy. The girl was running some kind of scam, but he couldn't figure out what it was. It became clear a week later when she had brought home her report card.
“Look all A’s,” Ruthie beamed.
“Bullshit!” The Duke cried.
The girl was too stupid and lazy to be doing this well in school. The Duke was bound and determined to expose the girl for the cheating whore she was. His first step was to set up a meeting with the principal. The Duke knew right away he was going to have a problem when the principal turned out to be a woman. God damn don’t woman know their place anymore? Of course all men now-a-days are a bunch of pussies, so no big surprise.
The ugly old bitch was all smiles as she told the Duke a handful of lies:
His stepdaughter was a very bright student. LIE!
She excelled at her studies. LIE!
The school was lucky to have such a promising student. LIE!
Mr. Olson, her English teacher, recommended that she placed in an Advanced English Class. CRAZY TALK!
The school was considering letting her skip a grade. MORE CRAZY TALK!
The only real problem they had had was that she seemed withdrawn from the rest of the students. HALF TRUE. HIS DAUGHTER WAS, IN FACT, BAT SHIT CRAZY!
But the ugly old bitch assured him, this was often the case with bright people. WHAT THE FUCK?! WAS EVERYBODY A GOD DAMN LUNATIC!
The Duke had put up with this bullshit long enough. He demanded to see the real grade book.
The woman looked at him stupidly. The Duke had no patience for stupid people. He spoke slowly now, as you do with stupid people: “Show... me... the... real... grade... book... you... fucking.... cunt!”
Later, nursing a drink at the bar, the Duke realized he had shown his hand too soon. He wished he had played it cool. He wished he had led the woman on so that he could have gathered more ammunition about girl.
Being blunt and getting thrown out had served its purpose, though. They had not shown him the real grade book, which meant the school was covering for the girl. To the Duke it was obvious what was going on. The girl was whoring herself out. She was spreading her legs for good grades. And, of course, the school was covering their ass by giving him some cock and bull story. At least he had the proof he needed. It was hard, though, being always right about everything. The Duke could only pray that the Good Lord would someday help everyone else see the world like he did.
Before he left for work that night, the Duke punched Ruthie in the eye. He couldn’t be blamed that his wife was too stupid to see the truth! That was her fault, not his.
Now the girl sat on the bench, openly mocking him. For a brief moment, the Duke thought about doing the world a favor. All he had to do was take the prong he held and stab the girl in the throat. That would show her, and make the world a better place in the bargain. The thought made him hard again.
It was long after the barbecue— but not too long after Ruthie accidentally broke her arm on the metal bed frame— that the Duke’s constant vigilance for the Communist menace finally paid off.
The Duke had taken a job in academia. The job served two purposes. First, the Duke wanted to control the purse strings, so to speak. It didn’t look good for a wife to provide for her husband. People would gossip about that. And, if he was the sole breadwinner she would have to come to him for money. It would make it harder for that bitch to leave him. It would also mean being away from his ugly stupid wife five days a week, and eight hours a day, which was no great loss to the Duke. At least he would have time to think. Ruthie seemed agreeable to this, and quit her job immediately. He only had to knock two of her teeth out to convince her.
Second, and more important, it would allow him to appear under the radar, so to speak—to be a spy behind enemy lines. For it was an open secret that most universities were a hot bed of Communist activity. One only needed to look at those whinny pussies over at Berkley to know that. Pulling the old disabled veteran routine got him the job quickly without too much trouble. The Duke didn’t think they would even bother to check his background, and he was right they didn’t. Funny how being well spoken and polite, got you so far in this world even if what you say is total bullshit.
The Duke kept his head down and his eyes open. He was just a nobody mopping the floors and emptying the trash, but what they didn’t suspect was the Duke was always watching.
And one glorious day it all paid off.
He was emptying the trash in a classroom. Now, the Duke was never one to put much faith in a college education, and as such his gaze rarely drifted up to the chalk board. The Duke’s opinion of college was plain and simple like the man himself. He didn’t think much of it. To get by in this life all you need to do was trust your gut. Your gut would never steer you wrong. And you didn’t need no fancy ass diploma for that either.
But the good Lord must have told him to give the board a second look. And there it was! Written as plain as day: JOSEPH STALIN.
There was a lot of other gobbled gook, mostly dates and a few other names. But there it was. The thing he had been searching for all of these years. He had found himself a nest of Commies, and they weren’t’ even trying to hide it.
The Duke made a note of the professor’s name and room number, and then quickly finished emptying the trash in the other class rooms.
The Duke had his job down to a science. He didn’t bother to mop or clean the bathrooms— but truth be told, he only really did that once a month anyway. The Duke preferred to spend most of his shift on more important things—like drinking vodka in the supply closet. But tonight he was so giddy that he finished emptying the trash in record time.
He found some official college letterhead and sat down to write a letter.
“Mr. Hoover,” the Duke began, “I was a Captain in the United States Navy during the great war in Vietnam. For the last few years, I have been working undercover to root out the Communist threat in this Great Nation of Ours...”
The Duke wrote with feverish determination. By the time he was done he was drenched in sweat but was quite pleased with the result. The letter topped out to nearly fifty pages but the Duke felt it was a well-crafted chronical of his adventures as a spy with only a few embellishments added here and there so that he wouldn’t be dismissed as a crank.
He found a big envelope, and with great reverence at the thing he had wrought, he carefully put the letter in the outgoing mail slot in the admin office.
The Duke was proud. The president would probably give him the Medal of Freedom, and maybe even a Purple Heart. The boy would be proud. The girl would be envious, much too his delight. And, Ruthie would naturally be too stupid to realize what was going on. He was sure the night’s work would finally bring some sanity back to this troubled nation.
Tricky Dick,
after all, had been forced out. The Duke guessed that the Commie-o-crats couldn’t handle their lies being exposed. Ford had bravely pardoned Nixon of his “crimes”, and that was right and proper. The Duke shook his head. Funny how so many good men like Nixon, McCarthy and Roy Cohen were so vilified by the public. But, the Duke really wasn’t surprised— what with the media being controlled by a bunch of Commie Hebes.
Still he had done God’s work tonight, and decided to celebrate. The vodka bottle was there waiting for him in the supply closet.
But nothing came of the letter. Had the Commies stolen it? It was certainly a possibility. He had found evidence of a major Commie ring operating in the open. Should he be worried that the Commies would try to assassinate him? He wished he had made a copy of the letter. He could write another, he supposed, but he wasn’t very enthusiastic about the prospect. A man did what he had to do, and then moved on— that’s what his daddy had taught him. Besides the details were all fuzzy now...
Meanwhile, his home life was falling apart. Ruthie and the kids spent less and less time at home. They were more like roommates than a family. His only friend was the bottle, but that was alright. He could give two shits about Ruthie or the girl, but the Duke missed the boy deeply. Ruthie was clearly jealous of the relationship he had with the boy, and was trying to keep them apart. And the
Accident Prone: A Novel Page 11
