by Tom Schreck
"Blackgard."
"Hang on; let me see what comes up when I look them up." Jerry started hitting keys, making faces, nodding. He smiled.
"What's so funny?"
"Blackgard is in the top five of the website Compwatch. com."
"What's that?"
"It's a watchdog group about companies that benefit from defense contracting. They're huge. They do private security, which is pretty much mercenary stuff, but they also are into field food service, logistics and ancillary healthcare."
"So there's no question they benefit from a big defense budget."
"Yeah, but Duff, you could say the same thing about three quarters of the Fortune 500."
"Are they big enough and powerful enough to even pull off what Karl is saying?"
Jerry typed a few things into his laptop, smiled, and spun it around so I could look at the screen.
"Jerry, what the hell am I looking at?" he showed me some sort of financial statement and it made my eyes glaze over.
"The bottom line with all the zeroes."
"18.3 million dollars. That is a shitload of money."
"Duff, look a little closer."
"What? Oh shit. That's 18.3 billion dollars."
"The answer to your question is 'yes'. They can pretty much do anything they want to do."
"But Jerry…how? Is it all the shit that Karl is crazy about: mind control, drugs, post hypnotic suggestion. That's comic book stuff, isn't it? Is it even possible?"
"It's pretty common knowledge the military did experiments with LSD on soldiers without their knowledge to see what they could use it for. They didn't treat a bunch of black men with syphilis because they wanted to see how their bodies reacted to it, and thousands of guys who got exposed to Agent Orange are all fucked up and the VA says the stuff was harmless."
"So that would be a 'yes' it is possible," Jerry just raised his eyebrows and smiled.
25
Trina watered my favorite plant when I came in the door. God, how I loved that plant.
"Where have you been?" Trina said.
"I had a lunch meeting with a community member."
"How is Kelley?"
"He's good. He's got a girlfriend, some sort of forester or nature cop, or something."
"Hard to picture him being lovey-dovey."
"Well, they can probably work police procedural stuff into their foreplay or something."
"Hand cuffs, up against the wall frisks, and what not-ooooh," Trina winked.
" Hmmm…" Was all I could think of saying. She held my look for a little while and then went back to her botany. I wasn't sure if she looked at me with pity because of Rene or was sending available signals now I was out of the matrimonial game. Frankly, I wasn't confident about any of my thoughts. My voice mail light flashed. When I checked it, it was a call from the Veteran's Administration. Always a little on the anal retentive side, I guessed they were calling to confirm the receipt of Karl's chart. I called the number the male voice left.
"Lieutenant Koniuto," the voiced said by way of telephone greeting.
"Yeah, this is Duffy Dombrowski returning your call. I'm a counselor at Jewish Unified Services."
"One moment please, Duffy." I heard through the phone the sound of him getting up, closing a door, and returning.
"Yes, Duffy, how are you?" He said. He seemed a little too chipper for a military type.
"I'm good."
"Good, good, good. Look I'm calling just to check on Karl Greene's aftercare since he came to you guys."
"Well, Karl…hang on just a second and let me double check I have a release to talk with you."
"That's not necessary. I got one on this end."
"I still have to have one." Even though I didn't follow the rules, it didn't mean I didn't know them. I flipped through the chart to find the release. There wasn't one there. In fact, not surprisingly, Karl hadn't signed any releases.
"Sorry, Lieutenant, I can't talk to you."
"Sure you can, it's no biggie," he said, again a little too cheerfully.
"No, I really can't. I can call you back if-" He hung up. Releases are routine stuff in human services. Everyone knows about them and knows the score. It shouldn't have been any surprise to this military guy.
I could hear Monique humming along with whatever was jamming on her IPod.
"Hey 'Nique," I said just loud enough for her to hear. She didn't answer, but rolled her eyes up as if to say 'what', and pulled out an ear bud.
"Do you know this guy at the VA?" I showed her the 'While you were out memo.'
"Nope," she handed it back to me.
"He just called and asked about Karl and tried to convince me it was okay to talk without a release." Monique pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. She asked to see the note again.
"Duff, why would a Lieutenant, or for that matter, any conventional Army guy call on a social work matter? They have a civilian counseling crew there."
"Yeah, I didn't think of that."
Monique went through her Rolodex.
"What are you looking for?" Monique kept looking without answering. She pulled out a card and looked at it.
"What's up 'Nique?"
"This isn't a VA number."
"Huh?"
"In fact, I'm pretty sure it's a cell phone number."
"Maybe the guy used his cell."
"When was the last time a civil servant used their own dime to call anyone or for that matter, when have you heard about a federal agency giving out cell phones?"
"Never."
"Uh-huh," Monique said.
Before I could get too worked up about the identity my fake VA man, Trina buzzed me and let me know Sparky arrived for his 3:30. I didn't remember him having an appointment today, but I chalked that up to shots to the head.
I went out to greet the Sparkman. He sat with his elbows resting on his thighs, holding both sides of his head.
"Spark?"
He looked up, sniffled, and wiped his eyes.
I motioned him to come back to the counseling room, and he sniffled his way back. I didn't acknowledge his tears or ignore them. Spark was the kind of guy you just didn't do that to.
"She won't even return my calls," Sparky, looking at the wall. "And you know legally she doesn't have to."
"Uh…"
"Meanwhile, my daughter grows up day by day without knowing who I am."
"Don't let it make you drink." I had to say something. Sparky nodded and was polite about my ineffectiveness to give him anything inspirational or helpful. We moved on and filled up the rest of the hour with stuff that wasn't terribly emotional. I felt he needed a break. I also felt like I had to be honest with him about my job.
"Sparky, there's something I have to tell you," I felt my head throb a little bit.
He just raised his eyebrows and looked at me.
"There's a good chance I might not be working here in a week or so."
"Huh?"
"I've got myself in a little trouble that I might not be able to get out of. I don't do real good at paperwork and I might get fired because of it." I didn't see any point in mentioning his ex's role in my problems.
"Paperwork? Who gives a shit about paperwork?"
"It's important, trust me." I hesitated. "I'm going to try to not let it happen, Sparky, but I don't know if I can pull it off." Sparky just looked confused.
"Paperwork seems like a stupid reason to fire a counselor," he said.
"I just didn't want you showing up here and me not be here without any explanation."
"When would this go down?"
"If I don't get this shit done-a week from Monday at the latest." I felt shitty.
He nodded and didn't say anything. It wouldn't be like a guy like Sparky to say something about it.
That just made me feel worse.
26
I pulled up to the Blue, my head throbbing. I felt a little nauseous and jittery, but tried to tell myself not to worry about it because I'd get ove
r it. It didn't make a really convincing argument.
Elvis neared the end of It Hurts Me, the '68 Special version, not the studio one. I stayed to listen to him finish it before getting out of the car. When I opened the door I immediately heard Al making a sick moan. Even though he was inside, it came through loud and clear.
I raced into the trailer. Al stopped his moaning for a second when I came through the door. He sat in front of a slumped Karl, who was in a T-shirt and shorts and soaked in sweat. His head slumped down on his chest and he acted like he had passed out.
"Karl, Karl, Are you all right!" I yelled while grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me.
"Nestrrr…" Something unintelligible came out of his mouth.
"Karl, say it again."
"Newstr…"
"New what?"
"Newstrr.."
He began to cry, but it was slowed by whatever else he had taken.
"Karl, what did you take?"
"Lotta shit…" he slurred.
"Karl-why did you do this to yourself?"
"Him…"
"Who?"
"News…told me to."
"Newstrom? The guy from the Army?"
Karl nodded and began to cry again. I looked at Al who had furrowed his brow.
"He came here?"
"Phone…"
"Are you in danger?"
Karl nodded, tears streaming down.
I didn't want to take any chances, so I rushed Karl to the emergency room. I knew Karl hated the hospital, but he probably wouldn't like dying much either. They took him someplace as soon as I brought him in. I had to sit in the little waiting room with the vinyl chairs. I found myself praying for the first time in as long as I could remember.
Two hours later a doctor with freckles and shaggy red hair, who looked about 14 years old, called my name from a clipboard. Dr. Picard introduced himself in a hurried way and you could tell he concentrated on being empathic, but really didn't have the energy for it. He told me Karl had taken an overdose of Valium and some anti-depressants and they would make him pretty sick, but they wouldn't cause him any permanent harm. He went on to tell me he would have to stay in the mental health unit and be evaluated before he could be released. At a minimum they would have to wait until the drugs had cleared his system. I got asked to wait until they admitted him to that unit before I could talk to him and then it would only be for a few minutes. I made myself as comfortable as possible on the orange vinyl.
Two hours and twenty minutes later a young and attractive, but exhausted looking nurse called my name. She wore bright yellow Crocs and had her straight brown hair pulled back into a hastily thrown together bun. Her name badge said 'Shea' and she certainly looked Irish.
"You can talk to Karl, but please only for a few minutes," she looked me right in the eye. "We want him to sleep soon." I nodded and went around the curtains to talk to my buddy. He sat in a wheelchair. Other than looking pale and sleepy, he looked all right.
"He called me, Duffy," Karl said slowly, without slurring.
"He told me to kill myself like I wanted to in Germany, because it would be easier than what he intended to put me through."
"Karl-"
"I tried, Duff. He got to me enough that I tried to do it." Karl started to weep and brought a hand up to his eyes. "I can't believe what this man can do. I tried to kill myself because he said to." He went back to crying.
My neck started to twitch and my head throbbed. I looked down at my hands. They were fists.
"He had me try to kill myself!" Karl said again through the tears.
"Karl, stop it. He may have tried, but you didn't take enough to carry it out. And you know how to do it. You didn't want to," I knew it was a weak argument.
"He told me about his plans, too."
"What plans?"
"He laughed and bragged about getting away with whatever he wanted to. That no one even knew enough to want to stop him. That everyone knew I was a nut job."
"Did he tell you his plans, Karl?"
"There will be a college-type massacre Saturday."
"What!"
"Yeah, he said to keep my eye on the sports page for college football Saturday."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"He said something about 'Shaking down the thunder' for real."
"He used those words…'Shaking down the thunder'?"
"Yeah, I have no idea what that means."
"I do," It sent a shiver through me. "That's part of the Notre Dame fight song."
"Notre Dame?"
"Yeah, they open with Michigan this Saturday."
27
"Notre Dame? The Notre Dame?" Kelley said. I'd stopped off at AJ's after leaving Karl to get some rest on the happy unit.
"Yeah. It makes sense. National TV, the most famous program, a prestigious University," I said. Kelley stared at me.
"What?"
"How's your head?" Kelley let the condensation run down the side of his Coors' Light.
"Oh, fuck you, Kel."
"Do you have any idea how ridiculous this sounds? It makes the Foursome sound sane and rational."
I sipped my Schlitz and got more and more angry. I don't know if anyone ever looked at you like they really believed you're crazy or not, but it's not fun.
"Check it out Duff. Let me ask the brain trust what they think."
I just sat there and shook my head. I finished off the Schlitz and AJ slid another in front of me.
"Uh, excuse me fellas." The Foursome stopped their conversation. In all the time I've been coming to AJ's, I don't think Kelley ever started a conversation with the Foursome.
"What's up Kel?" Rocco said.
"You know Duffy's friend, Karl?" The Foursome nodded, almost in unison. "He's told Duffy a sniper is going to shoot up the Notre-Dame Michigan game. Says it's going to be another Virginia Tech," Kelley said.
"Notre Dame has got Asian students," TC said.
"I thought they were the Fighting Irish," Jerry Number One said.
"Not in the math department," Jerry Number Two said.
"Uh, fellas-do you think our buddy Duffy ought to take it seriously?"
"Hell no," Jerry Number One said. "No offense, Duff, but your buddy is a little out there."
"You said yourself. Shit, he told me himself, he's a paranoical schizomaniac," Rocco said. "Probably just a delusion."
"He's the one who meditates in the nude with Al, wasn't he?" TC said.
"Duffy, your head okay?" Jerry Number One said. I didn't say anything. I just sat and drank my beer. The only one who wasn't laughing at me was Jerry Number Two.
"So Duff…when are you leaving for South Bend? Maybe Knute Rockne will speak to you from the grave and clue you in," Jerry Number One said.
"Or, the Gipper or better yet, Ronald Reagan as the Gipper," Rocco said.
"Is he the hunchback guy?" TC said.
I had heard enough. I felt my blood pulse through my neck and my head throbbed. I swallowed half of the Schlitz and slammed the bottle down on the bar with enough force it shattered and glass went all over the place. All the guys stopped laughing and got quiet, real quiet.
"Fuck you guys," I said and headed for the door.
My head went spinning. People I trusted told me I was crazy. A doctor friend told me to keep an eye on myself because he thought I'd get a little loopy. Trina even told me to get some help.
The only guy who seemed to share my sentiments wore a Redskins helmet and meditated in the nude with my basset hound.
After work the next day, I picked up Al and we headed back to the Medical Center to see if Karl was ready to be discharged. Elvis sang Help Me from '74 and I dueted for the entire ride. Usually when someone ODed, the hospitals would discharge them to a psychiatric appointment, but I called them and able to convinced them because Karl was my client they could send him home in my care.
We stopped at the reception desk to find out where to pick Karl up this time. To my chagrin, the same recept
ionist sat there. Before I could brace myself Al did his stink-seeking missile routine and went right between the legs of the gravitationally challenged woman behind the massive phone system.
"There's my buddy!" she said while trying to lift Al's head from her nether regions. "You're such a good boy!" The good boy sneezed.
The fat lady yelped.
"Uh, I'm here to pick up Karl Greene," I said because I could think of nothing else.
The receptionist looked at her monitor, which took two hands and Al's nose torpedoed to its prize.
Al sneezed again.
The fat lady yelped.
"He's on the fifth floor and you'll have to meet with his social worker before he's discharged," she said with less enthusiasm then before.
I pulled Al out from between her legs. He did the tornado thing to get the slobber from out of his jowls. Apparently, he had worked up a bunch from his spelunking adventure. Logiest flew all over the place and Al sneezed again.
Another socially awkward interaction.
Up on the fifth floor I had to meet with another receptionist who thanked me and said 'please' and 'thank you' and all that kind of stuff while at the same time managing to give me the feeling she held me in contempt. Al barked at her like he wanted to tell her to loosen up and she frowned at him.
"Dogs aren't allowed on the unit."
"He's a therapy dog."
"We don't allow therapy dogs on the mental health unit."
"Well, we won't be here long."
"I will call security and they can watch him."
"We really won't be here long," I said and watched her call security.
A twenty-something guy dressed like a cop, who looked liked he just woke up came and took Al by the leash. Al didn't care for that.
" Gerri," Al said.
"Is he, like, you know, dangerous?" The hospital rent-a-cop said.
"Not usually," I said. "Al, take it easy buddy. It's okay." The security guard walked-actually, more like dragged Al down the corridor. Al kept looking over his shoulder while the security cop talked on his radio.
A social worker, who looked like she got out of social work school that morning, came out with Karl and a clipboard.
"Good Morning. I'm Cynthia O'Hara-Rodriquez," she said and offered her hand. She was pretty, but looked like she tried hard not to be. She had short hair made to look unkempt, a faded green t-shit, and way too baggy cargo pants.