Tom Schreck - Out Cold

"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.

Karl laid in restraints in his hospital room. His Redskins helmet sat on the vinyl chair with his rubber gloves neatly folded next to him. His eyes were closed and a bandage stuffed with gauze wrapped around his neck. The TV was fixed on CNN and the coverage was all about the People of God's Kingdom, although now it was being referred to as 'Massacre at God's Kingdom.' Ironically, the post-traumatic stress-debriefing guy was going on about the same shit he spouted about at the ROTC fire.

I whispered Karl's name to see if he was aware of my presence and got nothing. I put my hand lightly on his wrist being careful to avoid the IV tubing taped there. I whispered again while I slightly tightened my grip. Nothing.

"Kid, he's out of it. They got him on Haldol," Rudy said. He sweated and he had deep pit stains under his arms. He always did. He also had his customary stains down the front of his shirt made up largely of the menu of his last meal.

"Haldol? That's pretty heavy duty in the tranquilizer family, isn't it?" I said.

"Yeah, from what I heard it was warranted."

"Why?"

"He wouldn't let anyone touch him; he was flailing around so bad. He was mostly incoherent and getting dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"He was throwing karate kicks and what not. The first orderly that came near him wound up in some sort of hold and got a broken wrist."

"Score one for the underdog,"

"Yeah, except this was an innocent orderly making about eight bucks an hour trying to help a guy with a slit throat."

"Probably not in Karl's perception."

"True, 'Course Karl believed he was with the government and wanted to check on the chip that was already implanted in his brain."

"Yeah, he talks a lot about that shit."

"He keeps up with current events, though. I'll give him that." Rudy took a second to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his tie. From the looks of the tie I could tell it wasn't the first time.

"Current events?"

"Yeah, he talked about this shit," Rudy said and pointed to the TV and the CNN coverage.

"Really, how so?"

"He knew it was coming, the CIA, same story as Waco…that kind of shit."

I didn't say anything. I just thought about things for a second. The room got quiet except for one of Karl's monitors and they beeped continually at three-second intervals.

"Hey, kid, you all right?"

"Huh?"

"You're swaying back and forth."

"Just tired."

"What do they have Karl on that makes him so out of it anyway?"

Rudy just looked at me. His face lost expression and he walked over to me.

"What?"

He took out that little pen thing with the light on it and shined it in my eyes until I pulled away. I hate that thing.

"You get knocked out recently?"

"What?"

"Don't bullshit me, kid. When did it happen?"

"When did what happen?"

"Fuck you Duffy. When did it happen?"

"I took one last night over at Ravenwood. Got me on the point of the chin-nothing really, just one of those shots."

"Uh-huh. And at Ravenwood-why were you at Ravenwood and not at the

"I don't know."

"Was Smitty there?"

"No, I-"

"So you got knocked out before and Smitty wouldn't let you spar…"

I didn't say anything.

"Stupid ass. Duffy, you ever hear of post-concussive syndrome? You know better than to mess with this shit," Rudy was pissed. "Now, you're standing there all wobbly, eyes fucked up, and repeating yourself like a mental case. Damn, you piss me off."

"C'mon Rude. I've been doing this for years…"

"Exactly. Who would ever think getting hit in the head over and over could be bad for you…" Rudy shook his head. "Get your head out of your ass while you still can." Rudy walked out of the room.

Rudy knew me and he knew boxing. A lot of people don't get boxing, but Rudy did, at least on some level. It got me thinking.

"They got to me," I heard Karl rasp. It brought me back out of my head.

"Easy Karl," I said.

"They got to me."

"Who are they?"

"The usual. Call them what you want." Before I ran out and got my own Redskins headgear, I reminded myself Karl was schizophrenic, fried from years of drug use, and was currently on painkillers and the massive tranquilizer Haldol. It kind of made me pause before I went with his theories.

"Take it easy, Karl. Does it hurt much?"

"Not physically. What hurts is they get away with it, over and over and over."

"Yeah," I said, without really knowing what I affirmed.

"You don't believe me. You think I'm a doped up whack job."

"How could you say that Karl?" The word hypocrite came to mind.

"Because I am a doped up whack job. I know it; we don't have to pretend I'm not."