The corpse is stuck in the door jam and I'm throwing punch after punch into his head. With each punch his head becomes more and more disfigured, like it's not human. There are little girls all around begging me to stop. I pay no attention and keep throwing punch after punch into the corpse. I keep throwing punches over and over. As I do I realize though I'm punching the corpse, the girls start to bleed as if I'm punching them. Their screams and shrieks go right through me and I feel the nausea, but I keep throwing my combinations. Their screams get louder and more intense and still my hands go.
I feel the sickening vomit feeling and I punch through it until…
The wet scratchy feeling goes across my face, followed by an ear piercing bark. Al is on my chest again, looking worried. I push him out of the way and run to the bathroom and throw up.
"Morning Duff," Sam, from the business office, said.
"Good morning, Sam," I said.
"Duff, what's the name of the guy who works in the forest, wears a forest ranger's hat and carries a can of kerosene?" Sam never ran out of Polish jokes. I've gotten used to them like people get used to annoying ringing in their ears.
"Geez, Sam, I can't wait to hear."
"You sure, Duff?"
"Go ahead, Sam?"
"Stanislaus the Fire Prevention Bear of the Polish National
Forest Service." Sam laughed way harder than what the joke called for and headed back to the business office. Showing up at work wasn't a slice of heaven on most days, let alone days with a throbbing headache, but Sam's morning greeting made even the below average day much more below average. The Advil wasn't touching the throb. I reconsidered my previous night's use of bourbon as an analgesic. I grabbed some files and headed to my cubicle. Just to sweeten the pot on this bright sunny morning, there was a note from Claudia.
Please see me when you get in immediately and bring the following records…
She asked for Eli's file and a few others, but Eli's alone was worth getting me in a shit load of Michelin Woman trouble. The woman lived for the by-the-book paperwork stuff I hated. It had been awhile since I had gotten in trouble for paper work negligence, not so much because I had got much more conscientious about it, but more because I had been lucky enough not to get caught.
I headed into Claudia's office, dreading what was about to happen.
"Please close the door," she said without looking up from her day planner.
I sat down, not saying a word. I wanted this to get over as soon as possible, and I knew talking wasn't going to slow it down, so I kept my mouth shut.
"I did my regular review of charts. I am dismayed at the state yours are in." She looked up at me. I just shrugged.
"Do you realize you haven't updated Eli's chart in six weeks."
"I thought it was five."
"Five is just as unacceptable."
"Technically, five weeks late would be a little better than six weeks late, wouldn't it?" I said.
"No. You are either in compliance or out of compliance, and you are definitely out of compliance."
"Story of my life," I said.
"This isn't something to be flip about Duffy. You are getting a written warning. I insist these charts get updated within seven days."
"Seven days? C'mon Claudia, you know that's not possible."
"Well then, it won't be possible for you to work here," she said. She slid a written warning form, for me to sign, across the desk.
My head throbbed and I just wanted to get out of her office. I've been behind before-some might say perpetually-so I knew the drill. Staying up all night writing in files sucked, but it didn't suck as much as listening to Claudia.
I headed back to the cubicle and saw Monique busy writing away at her charts. She was a disciplined character, but she was in no way a goody-goody or Michelin Woman butt girl. She just saw it as something she was responsible for. Today she had her IPOD ear buds in while she wrote.
"What are you listening to?" I said loud enough to be heard. She finished writing a sentence, pulled the ear buds out, and rolled back in her chair.
"Stan Getz."
"Stan Getz? Wasn't he the white saxophone player? What about Bird or Coltrane?"
"It's music, not a painting. It doesn't have color. It has to have soul not dark pigment."
"Gotcha."
"What were you in the office about?"
"What am I ever in the office about…?"
"Duff, why don't you just do the notes every day? It takes care of itself if you approach it that way."
"I don't know 'Niquey. I just don't have the discipline."
"Duff, you have discipline when you box."
"That's different."
"Only because you want it to be."
"You're right." And she was. She was almost always right, but spoke in a way that didn't make you resent it. My desk phone rang.
"This is Duffy," I said.
"What's the guy's name you were looking for the other day here that went AMA?" It was Rudy and he wasn't big on 'Hello and how are you doing?'
"Never mind, Rude. I found him."
"It's was Karl Greene, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"He's in here again. Someone tried to cut his throat."
"Is he dead?"
"No, no, no. Actually he got barely cut," Rudy paused for a second and spoke like he didn't quite believe what he was about to say. "He wore a football helmet and they couldn't get a good angle on his throat, but they still beat the shit out of him. Any idea why the guy wore a football helmet?"
"To render the governmental homing device, placed in his brain the last time he want to the hospital, ineffective."
"Seriously, Duff. Why'd the guy have a helmet on?"
"I was serious."
"This guy's nuts, huh?"
"The helmet saved him, right?"
"Yeah, but Duff…"
"Nuts is a relative thing," I said.
I finished up with Rudy, decided I would start getting disciplined on files tomorrow, and headed to the hospital. On my way out, the lobby TV was replaying the explosion at the People of God's Kingdom.