Accident Prone: A Novel

by Kelly M. Logue

having trouble remembering how to use the ladder to get to the top bunk. Eventually he gave up and fell on the floor laughing his ass off.

  They laughed, God only knows how long. When their laughing jig passed Jesus crawled over to the Duke and unbuckled his pants. Before the Duke could protest Jesus had the Duke’s thing in his mouth.

  Now, the Duke had never even been with a woman. But as he began to stiffen down there— and as he became more and more excited— the Duke didn’t care. This was the best moment in his life.

  The next day was Sunday, the Lord’s day of rest, and the Duke hoped that he and Jesus could spend the day together. But come the morning, Jesus was nowhere to be found.

  The Duke stayed in his quarters for most of that Sunday, but Jesus never returned. In the days that followed, Jesus seemed to be avoiding the Duke. He never returned to the quarters they shared.

  The time apart only increased the Duke’s desire. He’d lay awake at night thinking about Jesus and those beautiful lips. Each night, the Duke hoped that Jesus would return. On the third sleepless night the Duke couldn’t stand it anymore so he went in search of Jesus.

  It wasn’t long before the Duke found him. His one true love leaned over one of a rapidly spinning gear in the engine room. Luck was with the Duke as they were in a dimly lit corner, which was good. They wouldn’t be seen by prying eyes. Given the early hour no one was likely to come snooping around and spoil the Duke’s fun.

  He approached. When he was close enough, he slapped Jesus hard on the rear.

  Jesus jumped. His back arched. He spun around with a large wrench in his hand and an even larger scowl on his face. Jesus’ features soften and he lowered the wrench when he saw the Duke.

  “Oh, it’s you.” Jesus said.

  “Damn right it’s me.” The Duke answered. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I’ve been busy.” Jesus answered. His voice was barely audible.

  “You seem awfully jumpy. I figured you could use some company.”

  “I have a lot of work to do...” Jesus answered in that same quiet far away voice.

  “You can take a break can’t you?” The Duke said. As he talked he began unbuckling his pants. “Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

  Jesus backed away, and held up his hand. “That was a mistake.”

  “Felt right to me.” The Duke said, as he took a step forward.

  “I have a wife and a baby girl,” Jesus protested.

  “They’re not here now, are you they?”

  “I can’t...”

  “You will...”

  Before Jesus could protest further, the Duke lunged forward. He hit Jesus hard under the ribs. Jesus sucked in air. The Duke moved like a cat: quick and sharp. He pushed Jesus down and kicked Jesus in the privates. There was a loud gasp. The Duke ignored this. Instead he unbuckled Jesus’s pants and pulled them down. The Duke gave Jesus another kick in the privates then rolled his prey over onto his stomach.

  Jesus’ butt now stood exposed. The Duke greedily moved in for his reward. As he started to enter, he prayed that this would hurt his friend: hurt his friend a lot.

  But before his prayers could be answered, a voice called out.

  “What the hell are you guys doing?”

  It was security. The Duke and Jesus were hauled, half naked, to the brig. They were placed in separate cells that faced each other. By all accounts Jesus probably should have gone to sick bay, but that would have been a lot of hassle, especially at this early hour. Instead security left Jesus to sleep off his injuries, telling him to lay on either his side or stomach so that he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit before morning.

  About an hour or so later-- after things had settled down and security had left them to their own devices— the Duke called out “Hey-Zeus.”

  Jesus sat bolt upright in his bunk. He watched in horror as the Duke grabbed his stiff member and began to tug. The Duke had gone wild. He grunted and sweated as he tugged and tugged until that great moment of beautiful release. His release spilled out of the bars and onto the floor that separated the two cells.

  Satisfied, the Duke crawled into his bunk and slept the sleep of the innocent.

  The next morning they were given a set of clothes, ordered to dress (while the guard watched), then they were taken off the ship to the nearest military base. They were put in prison again. This time Jesus’ cell was down the hall from his former friend. Not that the Duke cared. The Duke had lost all interest in Jesus.

  Military justice was swift. In short order Jesus was taken away to be court martialed.

  The Duke heard tell that Jesus cried like a pussy at his trial then threw himself on the mercy of the court. That seemed to do the trick, though. Jesus was allowed to keep his post with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.

  The Duke, stewing in his tiny cell, decided he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  His advocate came by occasionally and tried to speak to him about his case, but, the Duke remained tight lipped. The Duke already knew exactly what he was going to say. He didn’t need some Commie Jew lawyer like Liam O’Sullivan putting fancy words in his mouth, no sir.

  He was going to strut up to the stand and tell everybody the score. Here he was: one brave man standing up to the bloated government fat cats that were ruining this great country just so they could make a profit. That was the story people would tell when all was said and done. Briefly the Duke wondered if Saint John Wayne would play him in a movie. After all, it hadn’t been that long ago when Wayne had played a Green Beret.

  True to his word, the Duke did strut up to the stand, and against his advocate’s advice, told everybody the score.

  “You fuckers!” He began. With such a promising opening, the Duke couldn’t help but continue. “You just don’t get it, do you? I’m the one shot that America has against the Commies! And, all you’re doing is dicking me around! Let me go! Give me my own ship, and I’ll show you bastards how to win this war!”

  And, god damn if that didn’t work. The case against the Duke was immediately dismissed.

  The next day, the Duke was shipped off to the psych ward.

  The Duke may not have had much book smarts, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that he had been setup just like his daddy. Clearly what happened was the Commies had infiltrated the Military (just like old Joe McCarthy had warned us about). Those bastards had no intention of winning this war in Vietnam. No, it was just a distraction so they could implement their Socialist agenda under cover. But, when they heard that the Duke had entered the fight—son of Donald Lewis one of the world’s foremost Commie hunters—well they had to act fast or risk all their plans being ruined.

  The Duke realized that the mistake he had made was to show his hand too soon. Perhaps, if he had thrown himself on the mercy of the court— like Jesus had done— maybe he would be on his way to becoming fleet admiral by now. Course, that would have been the pussy way out. And, the Duke was many things: a hero; a fighter; a lover of freedom; a champion of justice. The one thing he was not was a pussy.

  So it was that the Duke spent the rest of his service in the psych ward. He used his time wisely: to plot, to plan and to scheme. He knew that he would have to go it alone. But that was alright. The military was of no use to him. They had proven what a bunch of fuck ups they were. It didn’t matter. He worked better alone.

  He’d be a secret agent. He would blend in, appear normal, but all the while gather information. And, when no one was looking he’d stab those fuckers in the back. Yep, the Duke going to be a real life hero, just like John Wayne.

  The Duke figured if he did a good job old Dick Nixon would have to give him the Medal of Freedom; the American people would demand it. His time in the psych ward earned the Duke a dishonorable discharge. The Duke responded with a big old “Fuck you too!” when handed his walking papers. War in Vietnam dragged on and on, and the Duke couldn’t help but take a little bit of satisfaction in that. He offered to help,
but some folks just can’t get their collective shit together. What are you going to do?

  Now, this was a dark time for the Duke. He wandered the streets of Seattle a bit of a lost soul. The problem was he didn’t fit in with all the long haired freaks who just sat around smoking their dope. That was a vice, thank the Lord, that the Duke never succumbed to. He slept on the streets most nights. This was still a time when you could do that and remain relatively unmolested. This was a few years before the crackheads and wackjobs fresh out of the mental hospital claimed the streets as their own.

  Whenever he was able to get a little money, he’d go to one of the bars and stay until closing. The bars were still moderately respectable at the time, even the dives, and would kick out anyone who didn’t buy at least a couple of drinks. This was largely to keep the hippies out, who were always trying to bum something off of you. They never paid for anything, not even their own dope. One day, the Duke hit upon an idea that ended up paying off. People rarely gave the hippies money, and the hippies really didn’t seem to care either way. However, maybe a fella pretending to be a disabled war veteran would enlist people’s sympathies, and in turn maybe they would be more willing to part with their money. Pretending to be a disabled war veteran was close enough to the truth, anyway, that the Duke had no trouble sleeping at night. And, if you pepper your speech with a lot of “sirs” or “ma’ams” then folks didn’t feel as