Chapter IX

IX

 

I seldom sweat from the sauce on wings, and I’ve never ordered anything that I wasn’t able to stomach.  That being said; those wings were hot.

“I’m burning up,” I told Madigan.

“In the fires of Hell,” he laughed.

“That’s why we don’t advertise,” said Lisa.

The Mudder Muckin Xtreme and the Double are not on the menu.  I found that somewhat disconcerting at first, but Madigan swore by them. 

“Besides, not just anybody can order them,” he said.

“And you can?” I asked.

“It’s a rite of passage,” he replied.

I don’t know where he was going with that, but I do know the instant my tongue touched that first wing I began to perspire.  I can only imagine how hot Madigan’s Double must’ve been.  His face was flushed.  I was feeling the burn when Lisa arrived with another round.  I welcomed the martini.  Madigan dared me to eat another wing.  I did.

He nudged Lisa and then pointed at me, “His face is changing color.”

“Hot aren’t they,” she said.

“There’s fire in there,” I said, fanning my mouth.

I put it out with what was left of the martini I was drinking and some of the one Lisa had just put in front of me.

“That’s just wrong,” I told her.

“You going to be alright?” she asked.

“I feel like death warmed over,” I replied.

“Good thing you didn’t get a double,” she said; and, pointing at Madigan’s plate, said, “Now that’s killer.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” I said.

“No,” she continued, “I don’t mean it like that.  I mean someone actually died.”

“Someone died,” I repeated. 

“I’m not kidding,” she went on, “Those wings killed’em dead.”

“Get out of here,” I said, waving her off.

“I swear on a stack of Bibles,” she said.

“Is she for real?” I asked Madigan.

He nodded.

“The guy ordered a party platter,” said Lisa.

I pointed at Madigan’s plate, “Those Double Muckers?”

She nodded, “Except, twice as many.”

“And a couple pitchers of beer,” said Madigan.

“They found him face down on the table,” said Lisa.

“What caused his death?” I asked.

“A heart attack,” replied Madigan.

“A massive one from what I hear,” said Lisa.

“He was overweight,” said Madigan.  “In fact, way I hear it, he was experiencing chest pains before he even arrived.”

“He sat right at that table over there,” pointed Lisa.

“You were here?” I asked.

She shook her head, “About a year before I got here.”

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“Four years ago,” she said.

I looked at Madigan.

“That was before my time,” he said.

“They quit serving the Double until Madigan came along,” said Lisa.

“How did you know about it?” I asked him.

“The internet,” he replied. 

 “He’s only one I know that can stomach them,” said Lisa, patting him out the shoulder.

“Try one,” offered Madigan.

“That’s alright,” I said, raising my hand, “Mine are hot enough.”

“Maybe, I should get another pitcher of water,” said Lisa.

Madigan raised his finger, “And another martini.”

“And another Coke for you?” she asked me.

“Yes,” I replied, “And a martini.”

“Alright,” she said, “Two key lime martinis, another Coke, and pitcher of ice water.”

I held off on the rest of the wings until she came back.  Madigan sent off a couple of texts as he ate his wings.  When he was done he grabbed his cell phone and headed off to the men’s room.  He was in there long enough for Lisa to clear off our table; and time enough for a young woman and her little son to take one of the two open tables by us�"the one closest to the older guy.  He chatted with them.  Madigan even stepped in the conversation on his way back to the table.  He didn’t say too much.  He had spotted a much older couple approaching the other open high-top next to us.  They almost took it but chose to sit in the dining area.

“What was that?” I asked Madigan.

He sat down.

“What was what?” he asked.

“You know,” I replied.  “I saw the way you looked at them as you came up to the table.”

“What was wrong with the way I looked at them?”

“You didn’t want them sitting there,” I replied. 

He took a sip of his martini.

“The dining room is better suited for them,” said Madigan; and then glancing at the little boy, added, “And he would drive them crazy.”

“You don’t know that,” I said. 

“No, I don’t,” he said, “But they didn’t want to sit there.”

“That’s because you didn’t want them to,” I said.  “You must be saving that table for someone.  Anyone I know?”

He didn’t respond.  His attention was drawn to the game.  The Reds’ batter had a full count.  The pitcher threw the ball.  The Reds’ player hit a long drive.  He watched.  So did the center fielder and the catcher.  The pitcher just lowered his face into his mitt.  Madigan jumped out of his stool. 

“Yah baby,” he shouted, pumping his fist into the air.  Then he turned to the old guy, “Did you see that?”

He nodded.  The entire place was up in cheers.  The Reds’ rookie had hit a walk-off homerun.   The older guy gave Madigan a fist.

He pointed back, “What did I say.”

“You called it,” said the older guy.  “The kid can play.”

Madigan pumped his fist and shot it above his head.

“He’s money,” he said.

“They’ll lose him when he becomes a free agent,” said the old guy.

Madigan frowned at the pessimist.  Then he fisted a couple of guys sitting by the bar and bought a round of shots.  The whole place was up in jubilation.  After the replays and a bookie paying off Madigan, he came back and ordered another round. 

 

I’ve always prided myself on having a good memory, but I come to the admission that my retention has serious limitations�"too much drinking is one of them.  At Bradley, I found out that I can get stupid when I’m trashed and act the fool�"like streaking across the campus grounds and twisting my ankle that crazy night the basketball team punched their ticket to the Sweet Sixteen.  I have no recollection of my behavior. Not long after the team lost that game; I went to a party and got so drunk I ended up in emergency with alcohol poisoning. 

End result; I dropped out a semester and went to a local junior college; and returned to my roots with the help of an old friend from high school.  She got me on the wagon.  I even went to meetings.  By the start of the following school year, I returned to Bradley and added a second major.  Mind you, I’d still drink a traditional glass of wine with my parents at holiday meals; but other than that I abstained.  I take pride in that sobriety�"or, at least, I did before I went out with Madigan. 

One evening with him made me realize I’m not as resolute as I’d thought.  And, as for my fabulous memory�"well; I forgot about a designated driver.  That’s not something I take lightly.  It’s a rule that I never broke at Bradley.  Yet, there I was making Madigan the exception to the rule.  I was getting s**t-faced; not the least bit concerned about his condition. 

“Did you drive?” Lisa asked me.

I looked at Madigan.

“Ritchie’s with me,” he said.

“Just making sure,” said Lisa.

She didn’t say another word, and I didn’t give it any thought.  I had a problem with being called Ritchie.  I definitely remember that.  I mean that’s where I draw the line.  Richard is an important birthright. 

“I’m named after my father, his father, my great grandfather; dating back several more generations,” I told Madigan.

He just looked at me..

“So my name means a lot.”

“And so it should,” he said.

I don’t know what came over me, but I grabbed his wrist.

“What?” he demanded; eyes wide open.

“My name,” I told him.  “I’m Richard.”

“I heard you,” he said, prying my hand away.

“Then quit calling me Ritchie.”

“Why didn’t you say something back on the hill?”

“I left to shower.”

“As I recall,” he chuckled, “You ran off.”

“So I didn’t have time,” I told him. 

He agreed.

“And you said it again when you introduced me to Lisa.”

“I did?”

I nodded, “And I spoke up.”

“I must’ve had something on my mind,” he said.  “I’m sorry Richard.”

“Apology accepted,” I said.  “Call me Rich.”

“Alright,” he said, picking up his glass.

We sat there quietly for a while; I don’t even think we looked at each other.  He finished off his martini in the span of several sent texts and ordered another one.  I went to the restroom.  When I came back his eyes were drawn to that little boy nearby. 

He was three or four and full of energy.  I mean he couldn’t sit still.  His antics amused Madigan.  He was taken by the boy’s behavior. 

“Look at him,” said Madigan.

The boy ran around the table pretending to be an airplane.

“You remember doing that?” asked Madigan.

I shook my head.  Then I glanced at the boy.  His mother grabbed him and wiped his face.  He made it difficult, squirming back and forth.

“He’s a handful,” I said.  “I feel sorry for his poor mother.”

“Don’t,” he said. 

“Don’t,” I repeated.

“She’ll look back on this with a smile,” he laughed, “It’s like throwing an egg in the air and watching it splatter on the living room carpet.”

“How do you know he did that?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” he said.

“I’ve never heard that one.”

“I just made it up,” he said, stopping the server for their table.

Madigan whispered something in her ear.  She nodded.  Then she went over to the table where the young woman sat.  The server pointed at Madigan and relayed his message.  The boy’s mother glanced at Madigan and, turning to the server, shook her head.  He went over to the table and spoke to the lady.  She shook her head again.  He said something else and then thanked the lady.  She smiled and glanced up at the server and nodded.  Then she got up, picked up her son, and headed for the door.

“There goes a good woman,” said Madigan when he got back to the table.

“What was all that about?” I asked.

“I told the server to let her know I’ve got the bill,” said Madigan. 

“I assume all that head shaking was her turning it down,” I said.

He nodded.

“She didn’t know me,” he said.

“She probably thought you were making a move on her.”

“I’m sure she did,” he said.

“How did you persuade her differently?” I asked.

“I told her I’m a brother,” he replied.

“What do you mean brother?” I asked.  “Is that some kind of military thing?”

Madigan nodded.

“I served,” he said. 

“And her husband served over there?” I asked.

Madigan nodded, “And, taking care of her tab is my way of saying thank you for your sacrifice.  He’s stationed in Europe now and hopped a flight here so he could see her and the boy for a few days. 

“Where’s he at?”

“He left earlier today.”

“How noble of you,” I said.

“It’s the least I can do,” he said. 

“She’s done her fair share in all of this.”

“You’re absolutely correct,” said Madigan.

“Do you think our country could do more for those family members left behind?”

“Without a doubt,” replied Madigan.  “But I’d rather hear what you think of me.”

There were plenty of things I could’ve said, but I remembered what Gus told me and chose not to go there.  Besides, I didn’t know Madigan well enough to start throwing stones�"not even after that crazy ride. 

A drink later, I had to go to the restroom.  When I came back I was pretty much done.