Tom Schreck - TKO

“It’s not that I don’t remember it, it’s that I didn’t ever know it. I only came in two times a week and then I saw patients back to back. I just remember the rumors.”

I thanked the doctor for his help, and he thanked me again for helping Sanchez.

“Please remember me when you need a favor,” he said.

In all the years I’ve been training in either karate or boxing, I never took much time off. I never saw it so much as dedication as just something I did, like taking a shower or going to the bathroom. Not going felt weird, and I felt out of sorts both physically and mentally.

On the way back from Dr. Pacquoa’s I found myself down by the Y. I didn’t get there on purpose or totally by accident-it was more like I got there on instinct. I went past the parking lot and saw Smitty’s Olds, and I got a sick feeling in my stomach, kind of like when you see an old girlfriend with someone new. He wouldn’t call me; I’d have to show up or call him, not because Smitty was stubborn but because he always contended that boxing wasn’t for everyone. He’d often say that it wasn’t the healthiest way to spend your free time and the minute you wanted to leave it behind that was okay with him. He didn’t like guys who were ambivalent, but he respected people who made clear decisions based on their conscience.

Right now, I was feeling ambivalent and that’s what was keeping me out of the gym. I circled the block to kill time and to think, and as I came around Union Street on the back side of the Y, I came across the karate guys again. This time they were talking to someone in another SUV, and I parked far enough away so they wouldn’t see me. Both their heads were close to the driver’s side window so I couldn’t see whom they were talking to. They kept up the conversation for a few minutes and then the driver handed Mitchell a shoebox. The three shook hands, and as the driver pulled away I got a look at him.

It was Abadon.

I followed him as he drove off, making sure to stay back a fair distance so he couldn’t spot me. He headed onto I-90 and then to 787 and took it as far as it would go. At Waterford he went up Route 44 and turned down a country road called Schemerhorn Lane. I didn’t make the turn because there was no way I could follow him and not get spotted, so I pulled over on the shoulder and waited five minutes. I knew there was a good chance that I lost him, but I had nothing better to do, so after my break I went down Schemerhorn.

The road was lined with swampland and heavy brush with an occasional farm but otherwise it was pretty much uninhabited. I was the only one on the road, and after about four miles or so I started to think about turning back. Before I stopped, I came upon a homemade wooden street sign at the end of a dirt road called Toachung Road. I remembered toachung from my karate days as the Korean word for sacred training area.

I slowed down as I passed it and all I could see was a long dirt road that eventually wound through the brush. I didn’t want to chance driving down it, so I drove ahead and parked the Eldorado on the side of the road in a dirt area behind some trees. I set off on foot toward Toachung Road.

I stayed to the side of the road so that if I needed to I could dive into the brush for some cover. I was on the road for a full twenty minutes when I came upon a clearing and what looked like a training camp of some sort. There was a log cabin, a pavilion with free weights and weight machines, and a corrugated steel building with a single pipe chimney emitting smoke. To get in the steel building, you had to enter an area that was covered with stones and gravel and surrounded by a ten-foot-high fence. The stone area was set up with a large statue of the Buddha, maybe six feet high and four feet around. Surrounding the statue were heavy stone benches. The whole area was circular with a locked door at one end that was the entrance to the steel building. It was about thirty feet in diameter, and there were several other Asian-themed stone figures of dragons and tigers.

When I looked closer, I could see that Mitchell and Harter’s pit bull was asleep on the gravel just in front of the Buddha statue. Abadon’s SUV was parked just outside the fence, and after a few minutes he came out in a sweatshirt and shorts and headed over to the weight-training pavilion. I watched him lift for a few minutes and decided to head out before I got caught trespassing. The place had an eerie feel to it and I wanted to get out.

So, Abadon and the karate guys were training buddies, maybe close training buddies? What the hell would a self-proclaimed Christian be doing with friends like these guys? Who knows, but maybe they were into the whole Christian thing too. The place gave me the creeps, as did this bizarre friendship. I was walking out of the place, feeling a bit uneasy, and I noticed a half-pungent, half-sweet odor in the air.

It added to the creepy feel of the place.

At AJ’s, the brain trust was discussing several topics at once.

“Ripken was so upset, they canceled the game,” Rocco said.

“They canceled the game because his wife was having sex with Kevin Costner?” TC said.

“Were they humping on the mound?” Jerry Number Two asked.

“It was on her mound anyway,” Jerry Number One said.

“Maybe it was in the batter’s box,” TC said.

“Costner was clearly in the batter’s box and Ripken was on deck,” Jerry Number Two said.

“You know Marilyn Monroe had six toes on each foot,” TC said.

“What does that have to do with Ripken’s wife?” Rocco said.

“She had six toes too?” Jerry Number One asked.

“I don’t know, but you could see the extra toes in that scene where she’s standing on the subway grate,” TC said.

“Who was looking at her toes?” Jerry Number One said.

“Certainly not DiMaggio. He was pissed because you could see right through to her mound,” Rocco said.

“Hey-grass on the infield. Play ball!” TC said.

“That’s what Kevin Costner always said,” Jerry Number Two said.

“You know one of the Bond girls used to be a guy,” Rocco said.

“Huh?” TC couldn’t keep up. “A transmitter?”

“Yep,” Rocco said.

“How many toes?” Jerry Number One asked.

“I bet you didn’t see her mound in that movie,” TC said.

“I would cancel a game over that,” Jerry Number One said. “I’d refuse to even get in the batter’s box.”

“You screwball,” Rocco said.

Kelley was in his usual spot, turned away from the Foursome. ESPN Classic was showing that old home-run derby show and Hank Aaron was up against Moose Skowron.

“Hey, who’s on the mound?” I said.

“Please…,” Kelley said.

AJ slid a Schlitz to me and a Coors Light in front of Kelley.

“Any news about Howard?” I asked.

“No, they don’t have anything new.”

“I think it might have something to do with that prison overdose. Dr. Pacquoa said that around the same time that the inmates died, a graduate intern abruptly stopped coming to the prison.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Rudy knows a guy who did some psychiatric consultation in the prison during that time and I went to talk to him. He’s a Filipino doc and he told me about some things.”

“Oh really?”

“Maybe you could suggest to Morris and his bunch that they should look in to that?”

“Maybe you should go screw that Bond girl-what are you, nuts?”

“Hey-I’m just trying to help.”

“That’s the problem. Once again you’re out of your league and in over your head. They have no interest in proving Howard is innocent; they’re interested in finding him as fast as they can. Until kids stop showing up dead, the cops and the general public don’t find Howard a terribly sympathetic character,” Kelley said.