MR. ED CHRONICLES: talk three with Marty

Mr. Ed needs to blow off steam and he heads straight for the establishment where he hung out on a few other occasions. Decent food and drinks that are endless and cheap abound, but best of all there are no nosy people around that are in this habit of asking too many questions. 

Mr. Ed had this nagging feeling that his stay in Martossa had made him docile. It didn’t make sense though, because he had unleashed his fury on that poor unsuspecting fellow that was finished by Victor Vaughn, who in turn was killed in a double murder by that other bad character named Malcolm Thompson. 

The nagging feeling that he had was more about Mr. Ed’s Frozen Pizza: he wanted to be back on the floor with all the hustle and bustle. He had lived in the big city his whole life, and even though a small town by the sea was nice and all, it didn’t really feel like it was his town and it simply wouldn’t be enough in the long run. 

1

It was almost as if those few nights that Mr. Ed had spend liquoring up had made him a regular. There were a few guys that nodded when he came in, the bartender asked him if he wanted a beer and the stool next to Marty was still empty.

Mr. Ed taps Marty on the shoulder.

“You again,” Marty says, “I wondered where you had been.”

“I needed to lay low for a while,” Mr. Ed says, deciding how much he was willing to tell, “Sometimes there are circumstances that dictate that kind of action.”

“Too much work, or too little money.”

“A nagging wife….”

“No….” they both say.

Mr. Ed sizes up the bar and he waits for his beer.

“You ever got this feeling as if you have got luck on your side.”

“Aaaah,” Marty says, “One in a thousand.”

Mr. Ed gives the number a thought. The bartender places the cold beer in front of him and Mr. Ed asks him to get another beer for Marty.

“I have had years like that,” Mr. Ed says, “But this last year it seems like I got at least ten in one year.”

“Getting a raise? Attention from a nice girl? Getting away with murder?”

“It really is that kind of lucky,” Mr Ed says cryptically. 

Marty thinks: he finally did it – he finally went apeshit and started slashing away….

“Explain,” Marty says, not sure how much he wanted to know exactly. 

“Maybe it’s more like winning the lottery.”

“….”

“Let’s just say that it has to do with business….”

“As long as you keep some cold ones floating towards me, I don’t care where the dough comes from….”

*

Mr. Ed needed to talk about what had happened, but he fully well realized that it would be more prudent to keep most of it to himself. 

“There’s something on my mind though,” Mr. Ed begins.

“Shoot,” Marty says.

“You know about this question that has been asked a million times by a million different people: can a man do the bad thing for the right reason?”

“It kind of sounds like a contradiction.”

“That’s what I thought,” Mr. Ed says, “But let’s say that something like this happens: you’re working late one night and you’re the last one in the office. Then an intruder comes in. This character holds a gun to your head and he says he wants all the money. Then there’s some sound outside and he let’s his attention slide for a split second. You manage to get his gun and shoothim then and there. He then dies of the injuries. Later on it’s ruled to be self-defense and you get out blame free.”

“I’d say it’s self-defense.”

“A guy is dead.”

“In that moment you don’t know what else he had up his sleeve. Maybe a second gun? A knife?” Marty says, “We simply don’t need those kind of elements running around.”

“In other words: it’s possible to do the bad thing for the right reason.”

“It’s murky,” Marty says.

“Ok,” Mr. Ed says, “Let’s say this happened back than in the Gulf War. You’re on sentry duty and after a few hours your mind starts to shut down. Your eyes are getting tired, you’re feeling fatigue, you’re getting thirsty, hungry —all that. Now let’s say that there was this Iraqi that was watching you for let’s say the last two hours. This guy patiently waits for an opportunity to get close to knife you down.”

“My fellow soldiers can’t see me….” Marty says, “I’d say that the same kind of struggle ensues and it ends with the death of that Iraqi soldier.”

“Same basic situation.”

“Same outcome,” Marty says.

“And I must say I feel as bad for this Iraqi soldier as I do for this mugger,” Mr. Ed says, “Meaning: not at all.”

Mr. Ed takes a sip from his beer and he thinks it over. 

“One more,” Mr. Ed says, “This one is from an old movie. There’s this guy. A rich guy. He has this younger secretary and she comes with him on business trips and it’s not long until they have an affair. From the beginning this guy kept telling himself that he shouldn’t let things get out of hand —but then they do. Now this secretary is getting fidgety and she has come to believe that there’s more going on than there actually is: she believes that this guy will leave his wife over her.”

“This is about you?”

“It ain’t,” Mr. Ed says, and he reads the expression on Marty’s face, “What can I say: it’s complicated.”

“…..”

“So this secretary wants to go public and she gives this guy an ultimatum: tell the wife before the end of the month, or she will,” Mr. Ed says, “So on the ride home this guy’s mind is on his predicament, because this woman has become a serious jeopardy.He can only think of one way out of it.”

“So this is where it becomes the same story as the one with the mugger and the Iraqi,” Marty says, “But still this one is different.”

“Because there’s a young lady that’s good in the sack?” Mr. Ed asks, “It will destroy his life: his wife will divorce him and go with half of the money and he’s convinced that she might even drag down the company with her.”

Mr. Ed gives it a thought.

“Never come clean,” Mr. Ed says, “That’s about the only advise that my old man gave that was any use to me. And that’s the only thing that I can make of this strange story.”

“It’s interesting,” Marty says, “I mean I would never be in a position to have a secretary, so this situation would never come up —for me. But still it’s tempting to imagine that it does.”

“My point exactly.”

“I would like to say that I would do the right thing, because that’s what we’re programmed to do,” Marty says, “But I doubt that I will...”

*

“Back to my initial predicament,” Mr. Ed says, “It isn’t like the mugger, the Iraqi and the broad, but it’ssomething like it. There was a situation that I had to deal with and then it resolved itself right before my eyes.”

“No loose ends?”

“Not one string.”

2

Marty hadn’t given Mr. Ed’s predicament much thought until the next day. After all, how much did he really tell? Then his mind started going over the way he said right before my eyes.

The glimpse that was in Mr. Ed’s eyes revealed that he still saw it before him and that’s when Marty realized that it wasn’t just a figure of speech. All of a sudden it gave him this eery feeling. A few months ago, this guy Mr. Ed comes to town. His gut tells him that this guy is bad news, but then nothing really happens. 

What if he was a witness or he had something to do with those two bad elements that murdered each other at the edge of town. That in itself was the kind of bad thing that became good. What was it that this Mr. Ed guy had to do with those two?

MR. ED CHRONICLES - talk two with Marty

Mr. Ed had done so much good that he almost couldn’t believe it: he was sure that he had affected and made a difference in the lives of those that he talked with.The talks with Bradley and Jep had been more interesting than he anticipated, but it were the talks with the women and most notably Michelle, that had moved him on a much deeper level. Throughout it all he had almost forgotten that he had exiled himself from Moac to this small sea-side town by the name of Martossa. 

The life had been slow enough though, much slower than what he was used to in Moac, being the boss of a frozen pizza plant. It might not sound like much, but staying on top of the market took more heft and leaning intothan just making a good pizza. Itwas a shady business with bribes, intimidations and the whole lot. 

The only business more dirty would be that of a mob or politics. There were some in Moac who believed that Mr. Ed’s was a front of one of the big mobs that pulled a lot of the strings in town.

1

Mr. Ed had resisted the temptation to open the bottle at home. Then Friday came and Mr. Ed needed to blow off some steam. He knew from experience that if he did this at home– he would stay in and drink most of the bottleuntil sleep kicked in. Resisting thiswas a test of character, one of the things that only the strongest men were able to do. It fit in with the way Mr. Ed had always thought about life in general terms: men like Mr. Ed were the ones that did the things that normal men wouldn’t do. 

Mr. Ed walked the town that Friday night, looking for an indistinct establishment and when he passed the bar where he had hung out the previous week, he didn’t think twice. The food was simple, but filling. The liquor was endless and cheap. 

2

Mr. Ed walked straight to the bar and the stool that he had occupied was empty. On the one next to it was the guy that he chatted with the previous time he was here.

Mr. Ed taps his shoulder, and says, “Martee.”

Marty already had a few cold ones and despite his resolution to keep Mr. Ed at an arms length, he greets Mr. Ed like an old friend.

“Indeed,” Marty says, “Take a seat, man.”

“You want a next one?” Mr. Ed asks.

“Keep them coming, I always say,” Marty says, “My girlfriend would like me to say no more often though.”

Mr. Ed sits back and sizes up the bar. 

“Women keep us in check,” Mr. Edsays.

“Now that is true,” Marty says, “Or at least they try.”

“So what’s new?”

“Same old, same old,” Marty says, “An old lady died, someones car was stolen (and returned), kids picked some fruit off a tree without permission, there was a kitchen fire someplace.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Mr. Ed looks at the menu.

“I’m gonna order,” he says, “You want something?”

“I got it right here,” Marty says, pointing at his beer.

During dinner they talk along much of the same lines as the previous time: the Gulf war and how the armymakes and destroys men. Marty isn’t sure though how much Mr. Ed remembers of what he revealed that other night. He doesn’t want to pry, but then he does.

“No one went completely crazy in your platoon?” Marty asks.

“We went all went that direction in one way or other,” Mr. Ed says, “I still think about some of those experiences even to this day.”

“We had a guy once who started butchering civilians without any immediate threat,” Marty says, “That one was pretty extreme.”

“I bet,” Mr. Ed says.

Marty thinks: he doesn’t remember what he told the other night.

“There’s no hunting going on around here?”

“You hunt?” Marty asks.

“If I hunt?” Mr. Ed asks, “I carry my own rifle.”

“….”

“Once in a while I need to go out in the wild and shoot something,” Mr. Ed says, “I mean, nothing too much, but I just like the thrill.”

*

On the screen there is a live fight, somewhere far off. It’s only now though that they pay attention to it, because the barkeep just turned up the sound.

“Things just got better….” Mr. Ed says, and they turn their attention to the screen.

“O yes,” Marty says, “I got a kid who’s into that stuff.”

“I used to fight myself,” Mr. Ed says, “Back in the days.”

“The army?”

“Before,” Mr. Ed says, “Way before…. I grew up in a tough neighborhood, so it was either learn how to fight or be the underdog for the rest of your days.”

“Huh.”

“You can’t relate, huh?”

“Not really,” Marty says, “I did some boxing in the army, but it never really was my thing.”

“The Dance with the fists,” Mr. Ed says, “Man, you don’t know what you have been missing….”

*

The fight is between a North-African and an Irish-man. The North-African is a good bit older and like most good fights it’s heavy weight boxing. Judging from the way they movearound the ring, it must be one of the later rounds. The two men keep zoning in and out on each other with a certain fatigue and heaviness. The older fighter has the upper hand, because it seems that he’s fighting out of a necessity. The question now is who has a surprise combo in store.

“Like I said,” Mr. Ed says, “I like to hunt from time to time. I like the rush, because it’s a bit like that of killing a man in combat…. But watered down, if you catch my drift…. It’s like boxing, but then with protective gear: same movements, but less thrill.”

“I got to disappoint you again, chief,” Marty says, “I have been in close combat, but I never came that close that I needed to kill another man. And I must say that I’m kind of grateful for that.”

“….”

“I hear too many stories,” Marty says, “It changes a man; you’re never the same after that. Some say it’s what plunges a lot of guys into PTSD. That’s something I don’t need to experience first hand.”

“Muscle and steel,” Mr. Ed says, “That’s what my unit commander used to say.”

“Just like those guys,” Marty says, while keeping his eye on the screen, “AUOWWW.” 

The older fighter just knocked down the younger one to the floor.

“That young kid might be fitter and stronger, but he lacks the proper motivation,” Martysays, “You can see: for the old guy it’s everything or nothing. Food on the table or dry bread.”

“The fight is not over,” Mr. Edsays, “I say the young guy is gonna wear out the old one.”

“You kidding me?” Martysays, “That guy looks as tough as nails. Even if it’s the last thing he does: he’s there to win….”

“I’m telling you,” Mr. Edsays, “You can see his left hand drop the whole time. He didn’t do that at the start of the fight.”

“That’s beside the point,” Marty says, “He has got the look: he’s there to do one thing and that’s to give that other guy a good beating….”

“I thought you didn’t like boxing….”

“Not doing,” Marty says, “But I do like to watch.”

“Twenty dollars on the youngguy,” Mr. Ed says.

“O you’re on,” Marty says, “It’s going to be the easiest twenty dollar I ever made….”

*

The North-African throws a few punches and the Irish-man wobbles on his feet.

“That’s it,” Marty says.

The other guy doesn’t come back up.

“I told you,” Marty says, “Pay up, loser.”

“It was a good thrill,” Mr. Ed says, while putting a twenty on the counter, “But you have to admit: it was an interesting fight.”

Marty holds up the twenty and checks whether it’s real.

“Sure,” he says, “What’s next?”

“It looks like that was the last one,” Mr. Ed says, “Or maybe not.”

*

After the commercials another fight starts. These are the super-heavyweights. They are both strong, but also slow and they seem bend on causing major damage to each other. The bigger looks like a hillbilly, the slightly shorter one isaMexican.

“ThoseMexicanscan fight,” Mr. Ed says. 

“Let’s see,” Marty says, “I assume that not all of them are cut from the same wood.”

“If you fight for king and country: does it really matter?”

“….?”

“A far away place, in their strangeness maybe even further then Martossa and the whole lot,” Mr. Ed says, “Coming from such a place I imagine there rests a lot on a man’s shoulders.”

“Maybe,” Marty says, “But they might be of a different mentality over there.”

“I believe people are much of the same all over the place,” Mr. Ed says, “Subjected to kings, despots, presidents, monarchs; it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“Good bye Charlie!” Marty says when the Mexicanlands a direct hit in the face of the Hillbilly, “You see all thatin a fight.”

“Boxing, sports in general, it’s all about the same thing,” Mr. Ed says, “At the surface it’s about blowing of steam.”

“And underneath is the primitive?”

“Naah,” Mr. Ed says, “We have come too far: underneath of it we fight for our throne…. Our piece of the pie…. Our seat at the table…. Whatever you want to call it…. It’s all much of the same thing: to fight is to conquer.”

“How about this,” Marty says, “The guy that wins that fight tonight…. I bet he just wants to drink a few cold ones and then he goes back to his girl…. She’s all riled up and I guess you can imagine the rest….”

“Then what you’re saying is this: there are two kinds of men; the primitive; and the conquerer.”

“They might be two sides of the coin,” Marty says, “Which side were you on when you were in the army?”

“Ultimately to conquer,” Mr. Ed says, “But at the time, when I was behind the gun, I must admit: I was the primitive.”

“You fought forthe king,” Marty says, “But ultimately…. I think we haven’t advanced that much since the age of cave-men.”

Mr. Ed orders two more beers.

“Then what about this,” Mr. Ed says, “If we’re so primitive and all, how come the most primitive act of men these day is to hole up in joint like this and to liquor up.”

“….”

“We have become domesticated,” Mr. Ed says, conniving and for a moment Marty can see the blood lust behind Mr. Ed’s eyes, “That’s why I have my rifle and I sometimes just need to go out and shoot something.”

*

Mr. Ed’s thoughts don’t go back to the wild, but they go back to his office building in Moac and the alley next to it. Two weeks before his departure to Martossa he had a meeting with a competitor in that alley. He had wanted to to talk with Mr. Ed and they took him to the alley when things got tough. Mr. Ed’s bodyguards had secured both ends. 

Mr. Ed had lost control that day. He had tried to intimidate the guy with words, but he just kept grinning with this smug look on his face. 

“What do you plan to do, old man?” the guy said, “You gonna rough me up?”

The guy had his guard down and he didn’t see the low uppercut that Mr. Ed placed on his liver. The guy buckled and never saw the left cornerlandon his temple. His lights went out, and Mr. Ed had just gottenstarted. The guy was defenseless on the floor and there was no referee to call Mr. Ed to order. 

*

Marty saw the change in Mr. Ed’s face.

“Yeah, how about that….” Marty says, and much like the previous week, his opinion about Mr. Ed was clear: this guy is a sociopath, don’t know how, and to what he does, but this is The Real Deal. 

*

TheMexicanhad gotten too confident and lowered his guard. The Hillbilly saw it and knocked him out then and there.

“Oooowww,” Mr. Ed says, “You saw that coming?”

Marty thinks: a million miles awayand he says, “I guess that the other guy got lucky.”

“Maybe,” Mr. Ed says, “He saw an opportunity and he seized it.”

Marty also thinks something else: this Mr. Ed guy might start babbling again after some more beers. What if this time he remembers the next day that he told certain things that were better kept private? To Marty it seems that this Mr. Ed guy is crazy enough to go haywire if the opportunity arose. 

*

It was the last fight of that evening and the music came back on. 

“That’s it for me,” Marty said after he had finished his beer, “See you later buddy.”

Mr. Ed nodded, and said, “Yeah, sure.”

*

When Marty was around the corner he had forgotten about Mr. Ed. Martossa had always struggled with its bad elements and the simple fact was that they had struggled with things that were worse, much worse.

Marty put his earphones on and the track that he listened to continued with The Police and by coincidence Murder by numberswas on. It was almost a premonition of what would happen later that year and his role in the whole thing. Mr. Ed would be long gone by then, but something much worse would have taken its place. At this point in time it was just an eerie feeling that something bad was going to go down. Bradley had heard its voice. 

That’s what the return of a history came down to in Martossa: an eerie feeling and a crazy voice, heard and felt by some.

---

LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS BELOW! NEXT WEEK MR. ED WILL TALK WITH PHYLLIS. AVAILABLE FRIDAY MARCH 1.