Accident Prone: A Novel

by Kelly M. Logue

inside the liquor store the Duke got to thinking. Something wasn't right about those kids.

  The Duke, being a real American hero, was ever vigilant for Communist threats. And now that his mind was clear, he could see threats everywhere. Threats like the welfare queens who would have a bunch of kids out of wedlock just so they could suck on the government tit. Then there were the deadbeats. Scumbags who poor Uncle Sam had to support while they sat around doing nothing but collecting a disability check. No sir, the Duke was not fooled. Not fooled even for a second. Anybody who needed a handout to not work was a fella who should be dragged out in the street and shot. America was only for the strong! And the Duke's America was not a place for the lazy and weak. You work, or go back to Mother Russia— simple as that.

  As he was making his rounds, the Duke couldn't stop thinking about those kids. They were too innocent. The thought was a troubling one, and followed him all around the store.

  Once outside, the Duke decided to do something about it. He took his pills and washed them down with vodka. His mind exploded with perfect clarity. When the storm passed in his mind, the Duke saw the truth through burning red eyes.

  The Duke approached the park. It wasn't much of a park, just a basketball court surrounded by a small patch of brown grass. The Duke carefully set his supplies down on the greenest part of the grass and strolled triumphantly onto the court.

  The children were still there: an older boy who looked about ten or eleven, a girl who looked about seven or eight, and a younger boy of about five or six. They resembled each other somewhat, so the Duke figured they must be related. That or they were Hebes, since all Hebes looked alike.

  The Duke asked if he could show the kids some moves. The older boy shrugged and passed the ball over.

  The Duke began to dribble the ball. He had a big old smile on his face.

  “I know what you are,” the Duke said quietly. He was still dribbling and wearing his big old smile. “You can't fool me. No sir. I'm too smart for you.”

  The older boy sensed something was wrong, and quickly ran to protect his younger brother.

  But the Duke, being smarter, had tricked the kids.

  He took careful aim, and threw the basketball with all his might.

  A geyser of Commie red blood shot out of the girl's nose. The basketball lay at her feet.

  The older boy came after the Duke now. The Duke set him straight. The boy doubled over as the Duke punched him hard in the guts.

  The older boy was on his knees puking his guts out. The girl was sobbing and bleeding. Yes sir, the Duke had earned his pay today.

  As the Duke exited the court, he paused to give the little boy a knowing wink.

  That little boy might have a future now, the Duke thought. The Duke knew the score. The kids were serving as look outs for a Communist group— probably a nest of welfare queens. Now they had seen what happens when you help out the Commies. The Duke had sent the Commies a warning, and figured those Commie bastards would now take their business elsewhere.

  The Duke knew that the little boy would grow up to be president someday. The Duke could see a future where his brave deed was cherished by a grateful nation. The American people would whisper silent prayers to the mysterious stranger who had led this country back on the road of the straight and narrow.

  A warm glow began to fill his soul. His blessed work done, the Duke headed off into the sunset. Little did the Duke suspect that his greatest act was still to come.

  Like all good things, the idea came while he was watching Monday Night Football. The TV had become his enemy in recent months. All the programs were filled with lies. The Commie Media had even once had the balls to show a sketch that looked an awful lot like him on the local evening news. It was all lies of course, and those kids were liars too. It was just some Commie propaganda to portray him as a villain so all the little pussies can sleep better at night. But they’d better keep one eye open, the Duke thought. He was a warrior: a warrior for Uncle Sam. Petty rules didn’t apply to him. He was a servant of a higher power, and working toward a better America: a safer America where kids wouldn’t be afraid to play out in the street.

  Monday Night Football was the last bastion of real America left on TV. The Duke had the game turned up full blast. This was a benefit for his neighbors. They were a couple of hippy assholes who kept banging on the walls to get him to turn it down. The Duke figured a blast of what the real America was like would set them straight. He had just finished satisfying himself for the third time and was taking a little rest before he started a fourth (one squirt for every quarter, the Duke thought) when his mind began to rage.

  He didn’t even need the pills anymore. He realized that the pills had simply been the gateway. The pills had opened his mind so he could receive the glorious word of the All Mighty. And what God was telling him now sent him into a frenzy.

  Of course. How could he have missed it? It was there staring at him the entire time. It was the girl. It had always been the girl. She was responsible for all the evil in this world. She had spread her legs and birthed the Communist plague upon this great nation of ours. She was dirty. She was sick. She was a whore. He had always known there was something wrong with that girl, but had never been able to figure it out. But God wasn’t holding anything back now, and the Duke realized the girl must have used her devilish powers to hypnotize him. That’s why he hadn’t seen her for what she was. The Duke saw it all now clear as day. The girl had done everything in her evil power to ruin his life. She had been the one to drive a wedge between him and the boy with her stupid comic books. She had poisoned Ruthie’s mind against the Duke. The girl had ensnared the Duke in her net, as well, bewitching him to do awful things to her at night. And while it had been his hand that had pushed his wife down the stairs, it was the girl’s force of will that had made him do it. And she hadn’t stopped there, had she? Oh no, the Duke thought. How many world leaders had she seduced over the years? How many political figures had she spread her legs for? How many had she corrupted? Debasing them, turning them into monsters that spat in the eye of freedom. She had turned the very ideas of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness into an ugly set of lies. In the hellish visions that flashed in his mind, God had laid it all out before him. The girl was nothing less than the Antichrist. The Duke was the only good man left that could stop her.

  The Duke was hard now— harder than had ever been in his life. He satisfied himself two more times in rapid succession. But his vision had been so inspiring that his erection just wouldn’t go down.

  The Duke was too excited to think anymore. Before the fourth quarter had even begun, the Duke was out the door and racing to the store. He would need his little green men to help him with the task ahead. And the best part, the Duke thought as the cool night air hit him, the very best part...

  Ruthie’s little girl was old enough now— old enough to have an accident of her own.

  Article XIII: “Psycho Killer…”

  Marion hadn’t given much thought to the person who was stomping up her stairs. It was probably just Sam trying to shake the snow off his boots. Nor had she given much thought when, a few seconds later, someone knocked on the door. Somewhat reluctantly she willed herself from the couch.

  She really didn’t want to go to Thanksgiving dinner with Sam. She had been avoiding both Sam and Allie though, and out of guilt had agreed to go. If it had just been Sam, Allie, and little baby Ruth she probably would have gone without hesitation. She owed them a lot, and they had seen her at her worst. Plus she missed her little baby cousin, and Sam said he had a gift for her, so that piqued her curiosity. But there would be other people there she didn’t know which made her nervous. A few cousins she barely knew, and people Allie had made friends with at the clinic. Marion worried that these strangers would ask her a lot of questions and want her to laugh at their stupid jokes. And it would devastate her when she would be too shy to say anything or not respond the way people wanted her to. For Marion, the abili
ty to simply fade into the background was heaven to her. To be invisible and not be seen by the world around her was bliss. It was why she had left college even though she loved the coursework. She always stuck out in a room full of strangers.

  The knocking was louder now and more persistent. She hoped she looked okay. She really hadn’t dressed up that much. She sighed, oh well, best get this over with.

  Without a thought, she opened the door.

  “Hello darlin’,” the stranger on her doorstep said.

  The stranger looked ridiculous. He was short, but wore a giant cowboy hat. On his feet he wore cowboy boots that really didn’t help him look any taller. It was like a kid playing dress-up. Was Sam playing a joke on her? Was this one of the guards from the prison? Or worse, was this someone who Allie had set her up with as a potential boyfriend. Marion almost laughed at the thought, but held her tongue. The man had a mean look about him. The stranger wheezed, and sweat poured from the brim of his hat down and his red cheeks. The climb up the stairs had obviously taken a lot out of him. The stranger fidgeted back and forth, like he had to go to the bathroom, waiting for her to answer. When she didn’t the stranger cried:

  “Don’t you recognize me?”

  And then she did. Jesus H. Christ she