Tom Schreck: TKO

“He wasn’t a basket hound,” TC said.

“That’s bastard hound. Remember, because of the drool? They swim underwater to find explosives,” Jerry Number One said.

“No, they don’t. They’re French, not underwater swimmers,” Jerry Number Two said.

“What do you got against the French and what makes you think the French can’t swim?” TC asked.

“I got plenty against the French,” Rocco said.

“Like what?” Jerry Number Two said.

“First of all, making their bastard hounds swim underwater,” Rocco said.

“Tonto wasn’t French, he was Indian,” Jerry Number One said.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Rocco said.

I decided to break in.

“Thanks fellas. AJ, set everybody up with a Jameson and get a cheeseburger going for Al. It’s good to be here-shit, it’s good to be anywhere,” I said.

Kelley had his Coors Light in front of him and he took a sip after we all threw back the Jameson.

“How you feeling?” Kelley asked.

“Like I’m on Mars,” I said.

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean.”

“What happened to Mullings-what was that shit all about?”

“Turns out he was just overanxious to get Howard and was trying to break the case on his own. He was hiding evidence and investigating on his own free time.”

“Is he in big trouble?”

“Probably not a good career move-there will be hearings and whatnot.” We both paused to sip beer.

“Hey, here’s some news. Al got laid this afternoon.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Yeah, the guy interrupts me every time I get close and yet I turn him loose on some hot Corgi in the park.”

“Uh, Duff? Hot Corgi? I’m starting to worry about you,” Kelley said, shaking his head and taking a long chug of beer.

“Starting?” I said.

“Yeah, who am I kidding?”

“Hey Duff, what was the story on the karate kid?”

“He was the kid whose mother’s boyfriend was smacking them around. He’s a goofy kid who I think took on all the karate shit as a persona to make up for the lack of a dad and a real sense of who he is,” I said.

Kelley shook his head.

“Now you’re getting deep on me,” he said.

“Maybe, but you know what I mean. He’s sixteen and a goofy, pizza-faced kid who gets picked on all the time. So he goes into this kind of fantasyland of karate and works hard at it. In his own way, he’s a courageous and tough son of a bitch,” I said.

“I think I got you. The kid becomes a karate guy as a protection and to find some structure in his life. It’s kind of good but kind of sad at the same time-why should a kid like that have to try so hard?” Kelley said.

“Hey, maybe there’s a future in social work for you after all.”

“Yeah, not in this lifetime. That kid saved your ass, though.”

“No doubt. I wish I could pay him back.” I sat and looked at my Schlitz, as the Yanks’ game went on in the background. If it wasn’t for Billy, I’d be dead. Without a doubt, the kid was a hero’s hero and it was important that he feel that somehow.

Then it came to me.

“Kell, I need a favor,” I said.

“What else is new?” he said.

“Go get Billy and bring him here in about an hour.”

“What? Why?”

“Trust me on this, will you?”

“Geez, you’re nuts,” Kelley said and then finished his beer before getting up to go get Billy.

I called Dr. Pacquoa and told him what I was thinking. He said he would round up Javier Sanchez for help. Their participation was a must because with the way Billy perceived the world, appearance was going to be important. I filled Rocco in and he was psyched to be part of it-after all he did some hand-to-hand shit in Okinawa when he was in the service and he could bullshit with the rest of them. Most importantly, I went back to the Moody Blue because I had something to find.

The Moody Blue doesn’t come complete with walk-in closets, so when you go to look in your storage, there’s really only a couple of places that you have to look. In the living room that was built as an addition, there’s a small closet and there’s a few boxes where I kept various things in absolutely no order at all. Some things like my first set of gloves really meant something, but I also had an eighth-grade report card that I held on to for no other reason than the fact that I held on to it for years.

It took a while but I found what I was looking for. It was next to an empty Schlitz Tall Boy that I kept from the night in high school I went bush drinking with Delores Boyajin and, well, special things happened that night. I threw Al back in the car and raced back to AJ’s.

Billy and Kelley weren’t back but Dr. Pacquoa and Sanchez were already there and they were standing mesmerized by the Foursome, who were kicking around an idea about what cloning would do to the pet industry. I peeled Rocco away from a point he was making about Pablo’s dog and how he died from eating that annoying little bell that Pablo kept ringing in his ear. I briefed Rocco, Sanchez, and Pacquoa and asked AJ for the key to the basement, which he gave me after rolling his eyes about my plan.

AJ’s cellar smelled like eighty-five years of spilt beer. There was a bare lightbulb hanging off a cord and I lined up a few cases of beer for the guys to sit on. I went over everyone’s lines again and they all seemed to be onboard and actually kind of happy about the plan.

I had run through everything a second time and it wasn’t a half a minute after I finished that I heard the basement door creak open. I nodded everyone into place as Billy came down the stairs with the same look on his face that he would’ve had if he had landed on Mars. Kelley walked behind him, rolling his eyes.

“Sir, wha-,” Billy said, his eyes checking out his company.

“Silence!” I led Billy to a spot directly under the lightbulb. “Come to attention!” Billy snapped into a formal attention stance and he look terrified.

The four guys followed their cue and stood in formal karate attention.

Sanchez called out his lines. “Student! Attention! Bow!”

Billy did as he was told and the group, with their best hard-ass faces, returned his bow.

“Mr. Dombrowski.” Sanchez nodded. That was my cue and I couldn’t remember a more important speech.

“Mr. Cramer, as your instructor I have given you very little information about my karate heritage. I am from an eclectic training background, but more importantly from an organization that keeps itself out of the public eye. You are here today because of a special caucus I have called on your behalf,” I said.

I wasn’t sure if “caucus” was the right word, but it sounded cooler than “meeting.”

“Caucus, sir?” Billy said.

“Silence!” Sanchez barked. He was so good it was scary.

I continued.

“The IBOSK, the International Brotherhood of Silent Karateka, is headed by Tenth-Degree Grand Master Javier Sanchez.” I motioned toward Sanchez.

Billy’s eyes were saucers and he swallowed hard.

“Its officers include Dr. Manny Pacquoa, fifth degree, Mr. Kelley, fourth degree, and Rocco Manuccucci, third degree.”

Billy was trembling.

“Unlike other karate organizations, the IBOSK sees training as a component of life and life as a component of training. One cannot be separated from another, yet, real life is where a man’s real dojo reigns,” I said.

This shit was coming off better than I expected.

Dr. Pacquoa took over.

“Mr. Cramer, I was informed by Mr. Dombrowski about your actions in the last few days and your dedication to training. I brought this to Grand Master Sanchez’s attention.” Pacquoa was flawless.