Tom Schreck: On the Ropes

“I just remembered, I get fired. Monday is a month since my extra-special written warning, and they’re charging me with looking at porn on my computer.”

“Aw man, Duff. You and Rudy losing your jobs, and on the same day, no less.”

“What are you talking about? Did Rudy hear something?”

“I’m sorry, Duff. I thought you knew. According to Rocco, he was in AJ’s yesterday afternoon, bombed out of his mind, saying he had to go in front of the administrator and the board on Monday.”

“Shit, that ain’t right.”

“Duff, I heard it was awful. Rudy was carrying on, they had to get him a cab and help him in it. He was crying so hard, it was pitiful.”

“We’re going to have to do something,” I said.

“Duff, you’ve done enough saving for a while. You need to rest and let some things go.”

“Not this, Kel. Not Rudy.”

I said good night to Kelley and Al and I got into bed. I was exhausted and everything hurt. Tomorrow was Sunday and I had a day to help Rudy out before I got my ass fired on Monday.

I got up around noon and, walking through the Blue, I found new parts of my body that ached. Al opened his eyes just enough to see me and then went right back to sleep. I looked at the paper and the only thing that made it from last night was an arrest of a Lawrence Espidera for promoting prostitution and for kidnapping, and several arrests of the women for soliciting. There was also a mention of the parties resisting arrest and assaulting an officer. Seemed to me that they were missing a whole bunch of minor details, like the deployment of a radioactive bomb in the Bronx and the local connections to an international terrorist organization by a prominent area oncologist. Thank God, I didn’t make the news.

I poured myself some coffee and flipped on the TV. I forgot about Duffy’s cable world of “All Lifetime, All the Time,” but I didn’t have the energy or motivation to get up and do anything about it.

It was early afternoon on Sunday, which meant there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of programming on Lifetime except for infomercials. The one on in front of me was from Crawford Medical Center, and it was advertising their new state-of-the-art Incontinence Treatment Center. I didn’t really want to form any visuals about the state of the art of incontinence care, so, despite my fatigue and pain, I started to get up to change the channel. No amount of pain would be worse than a half hour of incontinence treatment.

I got up and was at the TV when the hospital administrator, Dr. Broseph, came on. He was at his desk with his white lab coat on, talking about the pain and suffering that comes with incontinence. This was the asshole that was getting Rudy fired, and I felt my hand ball up in a fist as I listened to his saccharin-laced speech about person-centered patient care.

“… at Crawford, our mission is caring for the body and the spirit,” Broseph said. “It’s what makes the difference at Crawford. We care about you.”

I looked at his white coat and thought about the expression, “body and the spirit.”

I had an idea.

I threw on some clothes, took half a dozen Advil, woke up Al, and headed to AJ’s. The NFL season had started, and the Foursome would be there-they’d be hungover and miserable-but they’d be there.

I got there at halftime of the first game, which was good because I had a chance of getting some of their attention. They kept quiet during the game, but at the half they usually got right back into it.

“It fucks up the entire water supply for weeks,” Rocco said. He was clearly angry that Jerry Number One seemed to be doubting him. “Everyone is flushing at the same time during the commercials and the water pressure gets dangerously low.”

“I’ve taken a shit during a commercial on Super Bowl Sunday and everything went down okay,” Jerry Number Two said.

“It’s not that it won’t go down-” Rocco didn’t have time to finish before TC interrupted.

“You know, in South America the water swirls down the toilet the opposite way,” TC said.

“The opposite of what?” Jerry Number One said.

I decided it was as good a time as any to break in.

“Uh, fellas, I need some help,” I said. The Foursome stopped and looked at me.

“Rudy’s going to lose his job tomorrow unless we do something,” I said.

“Look, Duff, I like Rudy as much as the next guy, but what can we do to save a doctor from the hospital bigwig that has it in for him?” Rocco asked.

I had the Foursome huddle up and let them in on my plan. To a man they were all in. Rocco went home to get his hunting fatigues, portable generator, and high intensity lamp. TC went to get his boom box and the Boston Pops Fourth of July CD. Jerry Number One went to his son-in-law’s to borrow the deejay’s PA system, and Jerry Number Two went to get some of his high-end computer stuff. We were to meet back at AJ’s at 7:30 for a pre-game meal, actually several pre-game shots, with a plan of attack for 8:45.

I had a few phone calls to make and went back to the Blue to make them. The first was to Rudy, and I got his machine. I kept shouting into the receiver for him to pick up, but he was either out or too depressed to deal with me. I tried one last time, and after yelling “hey, pick up!” a few times, I just said, “Rudy, don’t worry about your job. We’re about to take care of things.” And I hung up.

The next call was to set things up. I made the call to my contact discreetly and agreed on a code phrase to let everyone know when to get things started. I wasn’t sure if this was going to work, but it was going to be fun trying. It was the least I could do for Rudy.

I got to AJ’s half an hour early and with the pain I was in, I had doctor AJ write me a prescription for a couple of Jim Beams. Within minutes, the Foursome were in and they were ready to go to work. We all got into the Eldorado, and although Rocco wasn’t pleased to have Al step on his balls, he was happy when Al decided to sit on TC’s lap.

We parked a half-mile away from where things were going to happen because I didn’t want the headlights to alert anyone ahead of time or scare anyone away. Rocco was in charge of reconnaissance and he went on ahead, walking the first quarter-mile and then crawling commando-style on his belly to get in position just ten feet from the spot. Through the darkness, I could see him set up the generator and have the lights in position.

TC gave me the thumbs-up with the boom box cued to the right track. Jerry Number One saluted me, letting me know the PA was ready and Jerry Number Two, at my right flank, said the battery was charged and everything was a go.

We waited in silence as I kept my eyes on my watch and counted down the time. The only sound in the pitch-black park was the tapping of Al’s tail on the grass.

We listened and waited. There was a stirring and a rustle in the bushes. I looked at my watch, and it was right on schedule. The Foursome were quiet and I could feel the intensity of the anticipation. Then the call came, albeit in a slightly lisped voice.

“The doctor is in!” Froggy yelled.

Rocco hit the switch and flooded the bushes with light. TC hit the boom box and John Williams led the most resounding version of “The Stars and Stripes Forever” that you ever wanted to hear. Jerry Number Two quietly but officially said, “Rolling tape.”

Right on cue, Jerry Number One began announcing.

“Ladies and gentleman, I present to you the administrator of Crawford Medical Center, the one, the only… Doctor Albert Broseph… uh, and his friend Froggy! Hey, Doc, it really sucks to be you tonight!”

There in the bushes, on his knees, doing unmentionables to a very happy Froggy, was Rudy’s arch nemesis. He was frozen and looked like he was going to choke, but not for the reasons you might think. I guess after tonight, no one could ever accuse him of not giving person-centered service to the Medicaid population. Jerry handed me the mic.