Blood, Bullets, and Broccoli: Issue #2
Tactical Warfare?
COMBAT LOG #2
Thursday afternoon: 1500hrs.
Weather: Raining.
Note to self: Call to select a new long distance plan.
Supper tonight: Lentil loaf. Salad. Kombucha.
Mood: Things That Make You Go Hmmm.
Sipping ginger and honey herbal tea, listening to the rain hit the window, I look up from my cup and say, “Go already, Charlie.”
Charlie is looking down at the table with a look reserved for Astro physicists after an all night math bender. His young Rubik’s Cube brain shifting back and forth trying to solve the algorithm.
“If this was real combat, Charlie you’d be worm food.” Slamming my fist onto the table I say, “You don’t think, you react for frig sakes.” I pause, grind my teeth and say, “Fuck sakes, for fuck sakes. Do you see what your feeble Canadian sensitivities have done to me, Charlie?”
Mr. Mojo sits on my lap purring. I scratch under his furry chin and whisper, “Go you sonofabitch, Charlie.”
Finally, Charlie says, “You need to chill out, Remington. You’ll give yourself a heart attack. I should hook you up with my pot dealer, Dallas. B5.”
I laugh, base echoes through the kitchen. I say, “First of all, I’m like an octopus, Charlie. I have three hearts so bring it on, and B5? It took you twenty minutes to launch a missile into the ocean? Do you really think I’d park my battleship at B5? And don’t even think about introducing me to your hippie pot dealer. Dallas sounds like an asshole. You do know weed is legal in this country, right?”
“Dude,” Charlie says, “that’s government weed. They put microscopic trackers in that stuff. And like, I’ve never played this ancient game before. Who plays games without wires attached? Dude, you’re so weird.”
I pause, quietly laugh and then shuffle the salt, pepper, and sugar that are sitting on the kitchen table into the proper order, which is sugar, pepper, and then salt. I say, “I’m weird? You were the one with fire oozing out from your eyes, Charlie. Mr. Mojo started floating when he brushed up against you. You showed up at my door covered in blood, your eyes glowing and wearing a cowboy hat. That’s the definition of weird, Charlie. I mean, we’re friends and all, but not that good of friends I’m going to tolerate you showing up at my door possessed. It’s more of an obligation seeing that I ran you over that one time. And maybe you should ask your dealer what he's putting in your weed. A2.”
“Dallas is a girl, dude. Hit,” Charlie says.
Charlie takes a sip from his cup of tea and says, “Dude, that weird stuff hasn’t happened in two days and it wasn’t my blood I keep telling you. B5.”
“You just called that one, Charlie. You need to stop playing Battleship drunk.”
Charlie says, “I’m not drunk dude. E10 then.”
“Miss,” I say, shaking my head. “Not being your blood is what’s worrying me, Charlie. Clearly a crime has been committed and you haven’t told me squat. You know that I spent my entire career putting away smarter guys than you committing the most heinous, batshit crazy crimes ever concocted, right? B2.”
Charlie says, “Hit.”
“Dude,” Charlie says, “I told you already. You don’t listen to me. It’s because of that group of hobo’s living in the woods promising people super powers. One dude exploded some other dude while I was having a dart with him. He got all over me by proxy. No big deal. B9.”
"Hit. Charlie, first of all, it’s a cigarette, not a dart. Second of all, hobo’s with superpowers? Thirdly, I’ve had lots of people exploded over me mostly after I exploded them in CQC, and I didn’t cry like a little girl. And yes, it is a big deal. C2.”
Charlie says, “Dude, I wasn’t crying. Miss. What’s CQC?”
I say, “Close-quarters combat.” Looking at the board I say, “Miss?”
“Miss, dude.”
“Charlie, you had a river of tears and snot the likes I have never seen and it took you three mason jars of overnight chia and two cups of herbal tea to calm you down. You drained my entire inventory. Mr. Mojo was floating for two days. He pissed all over the celling.”
Charlie says, “E9.”
I whisper, “Hit.”
Charlie says, “What’s that dude?”
I say, “Hit.”
Petting Mr. Mojo I say, “So, there’s crazy magicians living in the woods swindling people out of their hard earned money promising them something as ridiculous as super powers. It’s a little less than I’m used to but a problem nonetheless. You people are the most gullible folk around, Charlie. And when I say, you people I mean Canadians. A3."
Charlie says, “Hit. He’s not asking for money, dude and it’s pretty hard to fake explode a dude.”
I say, “Nothing a little C4 wouldn’t handle, Charlie my man. Remote detonation. Easy peasy.”
“C4? No, it’s my turn dude.”
“Charlie,” I say, “I’m talking about the C4 explosive, not Battleship, you idiot.”
“Oh, my bad dude,” Looking down at the board Charlie says, “Well how do you explain me being all messed up then, dude.”
Mr. Mojo jumps down and I say, “Hmmmmmmmmmmmm. Dumb as you are Charlie, you do have a point. But first things first. No one goes exploding people in my town, Charlie. Not unless it’s me.” I pick an apple from the fruit bowl. I gaze upon it’s beauty and then sink my teeth into its firm body as Charlie says, “C9.”
I say, “Nu huh, not in my town.”
“I said, C9 Remington.”
“Hit, Charlie, hit, goddamit. A4.”
“That’s a hit, dude.” Charlie says, “What do you mean about people not exploding other people in town?” Charlie says.
“Shit’s about to go squirrelly. Fetch me my gun, Charlie. The really big one. No, make that the really, really big one. And the shotty. And a knife. The Rambo looking one. And don’t forget my badge.”
Charlie says, "Isn't your badge expired? And we have strict gun rules here, dude. Don’t we?"
I say, “Meh, It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is permission, but I suppose I could just as easily kill a man with that spatula over there. And the badge, well it’s for moral support."
On the way to my room to gather supplies I snap my fingers at the fridge and say, “Do me a favor Charlie. Write, apples, band-aids and pledge on the grocery list and pull that delicious lentil loaf out from the freezer for tonight’s supper. It will be a victory feast.”
“Remington,” Charlie calls back.”
I turn and say, “Yeah?”
“B9.”
“Charlie, you asshole. You just sunk my battleship.”