Duval Dirtbag
Murder on the Base
Chapter 34 - Bill’s Self Care (I am Batman)
“I can’t believe this thing is supposed to take three days to beat.” Bill exclaimed to no one in particular. No one was listening anyway. And if they were listening, they were pretending they couldn’t hear him. Bill had found himself to be the loneliest number.
Part of the Pack, ha! Bill thought to himself. He cut his eyes to all the closed doors around him. He sat in the center of the common room, Playstation controller in his hand. Maybe Mike is part of “the Pack”, I’m just his two-bit sidekick? His Robin? His Sancho Pizza? Or whatever the fuck his name was.
Fuck that.
I’ve had a full life without Michael. I’m not second fiddle to anybody.
I am Batman.
Bill stood up from the sectional and put his hands on his hips. He almost pulled the PS4 from the entertainment center when he did so. He immediately gave the remote some slack so he wouldn’t yank the Playstation completely off and stepped forward to push it back to its place. He then unplugged the cord. “It’s probably charged enough anyway.” He looked around to make sure no one saw him then put his hands to his hips, “I am Batman,” he said aloud.
Bill sat back down and continued taking turns with the screen-sized monster for another minute or two before he resigned himself and the Final Fantasy game he was playing. “Man, this sucks.” He turned off the TV and went back to the room he shared with Michael.
He looked at his side of the room. His sheets were disheveled. His clothes had made a stinky mound in his laundry basket. Papers were strewn about on various flat surfaces. There were two or three Taco Bell cups half filled with watered down sodas. He saw where one cup had spilled on a spread of papers and breathed a slow, sullen “Fuck.” He took another, more cleansing breath and got to work.
Bill grabbed some dirty socks that hadn’t made their way to the laundry basket yet and dabbed at the spilt drink. Saw that that was fruitless and picked the soggy papers up to throw them into a trashcan. He gave the wet floor a half assed swipe with the socks and tossed them with the rest of the mound of clothes. He tore the bedsheets off of his mattress tiredly, capping the laundry basket in doing so, grabbed the basket at the handles and put it on his bare bed. He took a laundry bag to cover the lip of the basket and overturned the whole thing. He tightened the string and swung it toward the door. He picked up the plastic cups, poured them into one cup and stacked the others under the newly filled one. He took them to the latrine and dumped its contents down the sink. He gave the cups a toss into the trashcan in the bathroom. He covered his mouth and made faded crowd-cheering noises, whispering to himself, “three points.” Coming back into his room, he picked up the loose papers, licking his fingertip to better grip the bottom ones and slid them into a pile that stopped on his stomach; he put them on a side table he’d crammed in at the foot of his bed.
Through some careful fat man acrobatics, Bill wrangled a fresh fitted sheet on his bed. He unfurled a fresh top sheet and tucked the bottom corners in hospital style. He grabbed his Batman comforter out from storage under his bed and let it float into place. I am Batman. He looked over to Michael’s side of the bed. It needed some similar help as well, but fuck him Bill thought, grabbing the string of the laundry bag, slinging it over his shoulder and made his way out to the wash.
Into the common room, still seeing closed doors, he looked back into his room. I feel better, Bill mused, no matter what anyone else thinks about me.
Walking loosened his thoughts as well. How did I get here? This fucker, Mikey, was going through his own shit show and I, Batman, stepped in and suggested he become my roommate. We were doing fine for a bit, I had to batwinch him up from the sorrows a bit with some liquid courage and we hunted for short skirts. Then he got us involved with the Shil’vati. Bill shook his head and took a deep breath. Looking around he continued, And here we are on the fucking Shil’vati base! I was out of the game thanks to that IED that broke my back. I didn’t want a desk job. But here I fucking am working a desk for an alien military. Goddamn.
Bill carried his laundry and trash bags to just outside of their pod of rooms to the grounds. Bobbling shadows made him turn his head toward the tight military bodies jogging along the inside border of the base. There are some perks to be sure. Bill smiled to himself thinking pervertedly, Privates.
When Bill’s eyes eventually made their way to theirs, he saw that they were all scowling at him. What did I do? He lugged his laundry over from one shoulder to the other. Oh yeah, they think I’m a murderer. Surely the murder investigators didn’t just out with their suspects, but there are only two new kids on the block and I’m the one with the weapons who also happens to be lecherously leering at the Privates. Hmm…But, like, I didn’t do it. Everyone here may think that I did, but I know I didn’t.
Speaking of people assuming I did something wrong, what the fuck did I do to Fala and Harley? We were having a good time, I thought, and then we weren’t. Women, sheesh! But they cut me off before the murder. So what gives? I mean, they helped make my room a mess, so that’s not it. My room. Their room. The couch in the common room. Bill rolled his eyes, I’m getting off track.
If those closest to me are keeping their distance and other random personnel on the base have their doubts as well; then that probably means that the interviews won’t go well for a bit. Maybe that’s why I decided to take a sick day today. Maybe I knew that I was the turd in the punchbowl.
Bill growled to himself before he opened the door to the base laundry. But I didn’t do it, no matter what anyone else thinks; how do I prove it? He opened the door and found himself face to face with a giant snake-faced figure. “Gah!”, he shouted involuntarily and dropped his laundry bag.
The Helkan backed away from the counter. “Excuse me?”
“Oh shit, sorry, I just–I was preoccupied. I wasn’t prepared to see a non-Shil’vati manning the desk.” Bill apologized, scrambling to pick up his laundry, half making sure he didn’t need to add the pants he was wearing to the bag.
The attendant hissed, “I’m jussst as much a part of the Imperium as you are, Pink Dick.”
Once he was certain he was unsoiled enough to continue, he continued, “Yeah, yeah, my bad. I’m sorry. My mind was somewhere else. What’s your name?”
The Helkan crossed her arms, maintaining her disappointed stance, “Yo’Landa, but you ought to know that. We’ve met. You and Michael spoke to me last week.”
Bill gave his forehead a thud with his open palm, “Of course, Yolanda, I-”
“Yo’Landa,” the Helkan woman corrected.
“Yo’Landa?” Bill enunciated, “Not ‘Yolanda’?”
Yo’Landa’s tongue flicked out as if that were a sufficient answer.
Bill gave his own pained smile that he tried to make not look like a grimace, “Yo’Landa, of course…I need to drop off some clothes. Can you tell me when they might be ready?”
Yo’Landa took the bag as he slid it across the counter to her, tore off a ticket and handed it to him, saying, “Maybe the end of the day.” She pulled it over to another table behind her, “Depends on if there’s any evidence in here. Like a bloody shirt or something like that.”
Bill stiffened but gave no further reaction. “Best of luck with that.” He held up his end of the ticket in the air in salute before planting it in one of his pants pockets and stepping outside.
You’re all alone on this one, Batman. Time to use those detective skills to find the perpetrator of this dastardly deed. Bang! Boom. Bill shadowboxed his unknown adversary who stood outside of the base laundry. His eyes shifted from the guilty party’s beatdown in his mind to what was really in front of him: Michael was practically running out of the office.
Michael had no reason to look in Bill’s direction, but there they were, not 20 yards apart. Michael started closing that distance when he happened to turn and see Bill.
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Bill tried to seem nonplussed, “Hey Mikey, what’s up, dude?”
Michael huffed a bit but was trying to not show it. “Hey, huh, you, uh, you doing some laundry?”
Bill retrieved the ticket he’d just put in his pocket to show as proof of action, “Yessir.”
“Cool.” Michael tried to take a settling breath, “You grab anything of mine while you were at it?”
“Nope, just the one ticket.” Bill stated matter of factly.
Michael gave Bill a jocular smile. What’s gotten into him, Bill wondered.
Michael came out with a question, “You think maybe we could get the heck out of Dodge?”
Bill frowned, “Who’s taking care of the office if you’re running out of there?”
Michael chuckled, “Joph’rena. She’s an intelligence officer. She can do our job without us for a day or two. Right?”
Bill shrugged, “Why not?” Then he looked around before starting, “I’ve been thinking, Michael, the last time I saw my KBAR was–”
Michael cut him off. “Yeah, well, I think that’s something we need to keep to ourselves for now. Is there someplace we could go where you could feel safe?”
“Safe?” Bill scoffed, I’m Batman, “What were you thinking?”
“I don’t know, I was thinking we could take a field trip. You, me and the rest of the Pack.”
A field trip, huh? With the Pack? I don’t know that I’d want to take them all with us, but fuck it, the more the fucking merrier right? Bill’s conspiratorial thoughts considered the choices he had: stay here and wallow in my sadness, go drink it all away, or maybe there’s someone we could see who could make things a lot better or a lot worse. We shall see…
“Sure thing, Bud.” Bill stepped closer to Michael and put his hand on Michael’s shoulder and thought, Maybe I’m not Batman after all. “You know what we ought to do? Let’s go visit Mom.”
***
‘Twas Shel and the Pack was ready to roll. Michael asked one last time before they all piled into what amounted to a Shil’vati version of a Ford Transit, “Anybody gotta go potty before we go?”
Fala shook her head dismissively, “Michael, we have traversed the stars; distances inconceivable to you and your world less than a decade ago; been stationed around planets that have never graced Human eyes with a catalog so extensive that not all of it has not even been translated into a Human language. Trust that we know how to ready ourselves for travel.” She was dressed casually but seemed less put upon than the other Rakiri who were still strapping luggage to the side and back of the vehicle.
The luggage were all matching pink with tiny repeated designs that looked like hound's tooth, though a closer inspection would reveal tiny overlapping crowns and dog bones. Ssgt Remington gave a resounding tug at the tie down and gave it a final pluck. He looked at Bill and gave him a wink. Bill replied to Remy with finger pistols and turned to Michael, “Those bad boys ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Michael pursed his lips and made his way to the very back seat of the van. “Sure. But I promise you that if I were driving, I’d make you hold it until we got to our destination.”
Linnet gave Michael an amused look, “Hold it?”
Michael scrunched his face, “Hold your pee!”
Linnet reached for Michael’s crotch but he swerved a little so her fingernail made a zipping sound as it ran over the thigh of his jorts. “I’ll hold your pee.”
“That’s my ‘Pee pee’ and no you will not.” Michael protested.
“Maybe later.” Linnet grinned. Michael drew his eyebrows together in faux disapproval but said nothing more.
“Why do you call it a ‘Pee pee’?” Bel’a inquired.
“That’s not what Billy calls his,” Harley interjected, “He calls his ‘His Little Soldier’. It wears a helmet and everything.”
"What do you call yours?" Fala asked Ssgt Remington.
Bill smirked at him, “I bet you’re packin’, huh, big man?”
Ssgt Remington turned the key in the ignition. “No comment.” He said curtly.
Bill cracked open a coke bottle and put his eyes on the road, “Yeah, I bet.”
“The Red Rocket!” Finley blurted out of nowhere. All eyes turned to him. He shook severely at the onrushing attention. “That’s uh, what I call mine.” The retinue quickly averted their eyes from where he was seated in the middle right seat as he was the last one in the van and dropped the subject completely.
The van soon ran out of base roadway and they were on the Buckman on their way south to Daytona. Michael noted the change in intensity of the van noises, as though someone had turned the fans from high to low suddenly and then it resumed at a speed still below where it was before.
“Have you ever been to Daytona, Michael?” Linnet asked.
“Once, when I was young. Maybe 11.” Michael recalled writing about the trip he took with his parents to Disney world before he went into middle school. He remembered the delicious breakfast he had had every morning. He recalled that his mother had said something along the lines of “we must’ve burned all those calories standing in line” she had reported after weighing herself when they got back home. He remembered a later time when friends and family had commented that the picture Michael had taken off his father on the skyline with the castle in the background was one of the best ever taken of him at his funeral.
Linnet saw the sadness pass through Michael’s eyes and held his hand. “Oh, I made you sad. That wasn’t my intent.”
“Oh no, it's not your fault at all. Damn this noggin and its content.” Michael took a deep breath and tried to not cry.
Linnet squeezed his hand, “Maybe a talk for another time then,” she suggested as she could tell he felt suddenly claustrophobic.
Michael smiled sadly and nodded his head.
“So what’s up with Daytona?” Harley asked Bill.
“Oh you haven’t heard of it?” Bill turned from the navigator’s seat to face her excitedly, “There used to be a big race there. NASCAR.”
“NASCAR?” Harley and Bel’a leaned forward.
“The Daytona 500. Big time race.” Bill said wistfully.
“500 miles per hour was the top speed?” Ssgt Remington snickered.
“No, it was a race to 500 laps.”
“Ah, endurance as opposed to speed then?” Fala posited.
“Yeah,” Michael groaned, “I don’t know how people watched that shit. ‘Oh look, they're all turning left. And they’re turning left again. And again a left.’”
Bill looked through the mirror in the visor at Michael, “Man, you don’t understand the drama and the dance that is NASCAR racing.”
Harley looked into the middle distance out the window. “Imagine it, it’s just a woman in a car racing at a hundred miles per hour with another couple women.”
“Couple?” Bill countered rhetorically, “it’s like 30 cars!”
Harley was steadfast. “Still, my mind is not swayed.”
“And women? Ha!” Bill scoffed. “There’ve only been like two women in professional racing. And they sucked.”
“You mean to say that there were only men driving?”
“For a long time and for the most part, yeah.”
“But what about their families?”
“That’s how they kept their families. Their whole career was racing.”
“But that seems dangerous! Shouldn’t the more numerous members of the species be risking themselves for profit?”
“That may be how it works out in space, but here on Earth, the men have always done the riskier work.”
Harley balked, “That’s not logical.”
Bill retorted smugly, “Men never are.”
Men never are. Michael agreed, still not quite out of his memories. His dad had cancer, a rare kind of kidney cancer that overtook his body with a quickness. He was diagnosed in August and had passed away the next March. Seven months of sudden and awful agony. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t logical. Cancer never is either. Grief fluttered in Michael’s stomach. He looked up at the continuing discussion of gender and politics and mechanics of NASCAR and recalled Bill’s diagnosis. He had prostate cancer. It wasn’t going to take him as quickly as Michael’s father’s cancer did, but it wasn’t logical either. How does someone who volunteers himself to go into war and defend his people survive that, only to come home to find out that his body wants him dead as well. The battle never ended.
Having thought that, though, Michael took stock of himself right now. He was well enough. He was holding hands with a woman–let’s not quibble over the hairy details–who loved him. Well, she at least lusted after him. That could be enough for now, right? He squeezed her hand gently twice then let go of it so he could burrow himself into her for the remainder of the ride. He wasn’t much for napping, but at the moment, he needed to close his eyes, ignore the inane conversation happening around him and let the world turn around him.
The drive to Daytona took a little over an hour. Michael broke from his meditations when the vehicle slowed down from highway speeds when they got off on the exit. He wiped his mouth from the drool that accidentally escaped his mouth onto Linnet. He hoped she wouldn’t mind. He could tell that Bill and Ssgt Remington were navigating through the neighborhoods where Bill’s mother lived. Michael reflected as his ears came back into the tune of conversation that he hadn’t blocked out people like he’d used to do. He used to find people predictable and annoying, yet his current job was to make sure he took the time to listen to people. His job at the moment was to listen to people who felt like they weren’t being heard and do what he could to advocate for them. What a weird, wild life he was living. He hadn’t closed off the world on purpose like he’d just done in a while. It used to be so easy and now he had to put effort into it.
At Bill’s prompting, Ssgt Remington pulled into the driveway of a house that looked like any of the others in the neighborhood. Its stucco was painted a bright yellow with dulled red terra cotta tile on its roof. The grass was wellkept and the bushes trimmed. If it were any better kept one might confuse it for a Hobbit hole.
Soon after the van parked, a short old Asian woman came out of the garage. With an accent that stubbornly kept its hooks in her voice she exclaimed ”William!” Bill strode over to give her a hug. When he was finished, he kept her at his side but turned to the assembly who had gathered from the van. “Everybody, this is my mom.” Turning to his mother, “Mom, this is everyone.”
Bill’s mom addressed Bill quietly, “Taká, your friends are taller and hairier than I’d imagined.”