Doctor Bong in…

LESTER VERDE GETS PUNCHED IN THE FACE

By Anthony Bianco

Cleveland, Ohio
Coleman’s Cat Food Manufacturing Center
Yesterday

“So, have you ever worked in pet food manufacturing, mister…er…uh,” the man trailed off as he shuffled through a pile of papers on the desk in front of him. The flimsy name tag he wore on his sweat stained dress shirt read Gerald Donovan. He was squat, balding, with thick black glasses and a ragged, pinched face. He seemed to barely clear the desk he was currently sitting at. To Lester Verde, the man could very well be some kind of turtle. Or mole.

“Verde. Lester Verde,” Lester replied anxiously. “We spoke on the telephone yesterday.”

“Oh yeah,” Gerald sighed. “The loud talker.”

“Er, right,” Lester stammered. “And no, to answer your question, I’ve never worked with pet food in the past. However, I am quite brilliant and should be able to master any task or conundrum you present to me with relative ease and dare I say, finesse?”

Gerald Donovan, the turtle-ish, mole-like man, did not seem impressed.

Lester could barely contain the smug smile that crept across his lips as he shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair. This was the third job interview the unemployment agency had sent him on this week, and by far the most promising. Mother would definitely be pleased. Coleman’s Cat food had no idea that in their midst lurked the greatest mind of this generation, or any! The unbridled, infinite brilliance of Lester Verde, once known to the world, or at least to the greater Cleveland metropolitan area, as Dr. Bong!

And at the moment, Dr. Bong was a desperate, desperate man.

The humidity that hung in the office was unbearable and Lester could feel the sweat pouring down his back. The noticeable lack of air conditioning made the tiny office feel oppressive. Its white walls were lit by three overhead fluorescent lights and there were no windows to speak of, save for the glass panels that made up the wall to his right. This allowed Lester to peer out and down onto the factory’s work floor through a set of dusty blinds. Below, a cluster of people in white lab coats stood huddled around a computer screen and every so often he could hear an eruption of muffled laughter come from them. Lester reached into the pocket of his plaid blazer with his right hand, and retrieved a few wadded up tissues which he used to dab the sweat from his forehead.

“I apologize for the heat, Mr. Verde,” Gerald began, brushing the sweat from his own forehead. “We’re currently renovating a few of the office spaces here in the factory, and the air conditioning had to be shut off in most of them. With this damned heat wave that Cleveland has been having, I don’t think there is a spot on the premises that doesn’t feel like it’s hell-adjacent. Please continue.”

“Not a problem in the very slightest, Mr. Donovan,” Lester lied, forcing a weak laugh and feeling his ass beginning to adhere to the seat. “Like I mentioned on the telephone, as a potential employee I bring nearly limitless scientific know-how and experience to your humble company. Biology and genetics; chemistry, physics, you name it! Quite frankly,” Lester continued with a cocky snort, “I’m certain that not hiring me would be the greatest mistake of your professional life!”

Gerald raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the resume before him. “I see here you got your degree in…journalism?”

Another muffled laugh rose up from the factory floor.

“I’m also pursuing my doctorate in Psychiatry,” Lester quickly added, “But that process is currently on hold. My post graduate life however, has been consumed with independent scientific study and investigation. If I could just show you some of the work I’ve done,” he began, reaching for his briefcase, “I have a feeling that you will be very convinced I possess the aptitude you require to work on your fine, fine product.”

As Lester raised the briefcase to meet him, it suddenly fell open, spilling assorted papers and folders onto the office floor. To Lester it felt as though it were happening in slow motion, the papers pouring out in an endless stream into infinity. “Quite sorry,” he gasped as he leapt from his chair and began crawling on the floor. “I have a very detailed study here on feline biology that I think you will find most interesting,” he exclaimed as he stuffed papers back into the briefcase. “It’s here….somewhere, I…I just need a moment.”

Gerald audibly sighed from behind the desk, “I wouldn’t bother Mr. Verde. I believe we’re done here.”

Lester stopped packing the briefcase and slowly pulled himself up from the floor. He brushed dust and debris from his plaid suit pants and stared quizzically at Gerald. “What do you mean, done?!” he asked, his blue eyes flashing and the annoyance in his voice starting to rise. His dress shirt felt as though it were tightening around his neck. He was sure the temperature in the room had grown to one hundred degrees. He violently ripped his plaid blazer off and threw it on the ground amongst the papers still lying there. “You haven’t even seen my symposium on feline evolution, yet! I’m convinced that in another seventy years they will develop vocal chords like our own. Imagine that Mr. Donovan! Cats that could talk and…” he dropped his voice down to a reverent whisper, “sing.”

Gerald’s face twisted into a horrified expression, and he nervously adjusted his glasses. “I’ll put it simply, Mr. Verde. Coleman’s Cat food is not interested. I’m not interested. You’re rude. And loud. And arrogant. You don’t have any previous work experience on file except for a job you held writing for some long dead tabloid magazine, no degrees in any of the sciences you’ve claimed to study, no letters of recommendation, and no references except for one, a Mrs. Vera Verde, who, I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume, is your mother?”

More laughter from below.

“Please, Mr. Donovan,” Lester pleaded through gritted teeth, “just give me a chance. I…I really need this job. I’ve got kids. Five of them!”

He hated himself. Oh, how he hated himself. Groveling at the feet of this pathetic little turtle-ish, mole like tyrant was almost too much for Lester to bear.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Verde. We’re going to have to pass on your application.”

“HOW DARE YOU!” Lester snapped, bringing himself to his full height. “YOU’RE A FOOL NOT TO HIRE ME! A FOOL! I AM A GENIUS,” he shrieked pointing his prosthetic left hand accusingly at Mr. Donovan and raising his right fist to the ceiling. “I AM THE SMARTEST MAN IN THIS STATE! THE COUNTRY! THE WORLD, EVEN!”

Hearing the shouting, the cluster of lab workers from the factory floor and two women walking together in the hall outside the office, all stopped what they were doing and stared in at Lester, who was now entirely soaked through his dress shirt, large pit stains having formed.

Mr. Donovan stamped the application and handed it across the desk.

“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Verde. Did you need me to validate your parking?

Cleveland, Ohio
The Suburbs
Today

Lester’s alarm clock began to buzz loudly.

He lifted his head just barely enough to read the blurry numbers.

4:32 PM

He groaned, rolled over onto his back and let the room come into view. The basement. The basement of his mother’s house in Cleveland. The same basement he used to be afraid to descend into as a child, for fear that something monstrous dwelled there. When he moved back in with his mother several months ago, he converted the basement into a laboratory so that he might continue his experiments and keep them safe from the mischievous little hands of his five young, genetically cloned “sons”; Lester Jr., Chester, Nestor, Fester and Howie. It was a quiet place where Lester could escape from the mind-numbing monotony and misery of his days. But as the weeks passed and his passion for life began to wane so too did the quality of his work, until the basement had become almost nothing more than a pizza box strewn shame hole. A place for him to crawl into when his heart grew too heavy and the light too bright. He had become the monster in the basement.

He scratched at his crotch through his pinstripe boxer shorts.

How he longed for the comforts of his glorious mobile castle! His evolvochamber! All of his brilliant creations! All of it, gone. Liquefied to pay off a debt. How could he have been so stupid as to play poker with a coven of psychic witches? Visions of that final hand still haunted him. That was the last time he’d ever drink bottom shelf scotch on an empty stomach.

Sitting up slowly, he reached for the prosthetic hand laying on his nightstand and quickly fastened it to his left wrist. He rose from the bed and slumped towards the dirty sink stationed next to a washing machine, which was currently whirring merrily along. He turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water in his face, staring at himself in the cracked mirror fastened above the sink. Even in the dimly lit basement, he could see the deep lines in his puffy face. His strawberry blonde hair seemed to have grown darker and dirtier over the years and his blue eyes looked almost gray. He placed his hand on the rounded, considerable paunch of his stomach and sighed. Once upon a time he had possessed the chiseled physique of a Greek god, however the years had taken their toll, and raising five children by himself left precious few moments for exercise.

Behind him in his reflection he caught a glimpse of the human hand floating in an large cylinder, filled with glowing yellow liquid. A set of wires connected to the cylinder led to a small monitor, on which various equations and vital signs were displayed in real time. Lester reached down and rubbed his left wrist as though he felt a phantom ache. “Soon,” he thought, “soon I’ll be able to undo all these mad, mad years and begin anew! Soon I’ll be a man worthy of respect, worthy of love! Worthy of her love! ”

On the wall beside him, a beer advertisement featuring a beautiful red headed woman saying, “C’mere, Stud!” hung alongside a large charcoal drawing. The nude female figure in the drawing lay sprawled out on her back, her left arm draped above her head. Lester lifted his right hand and pressed it against the paper. Her name was Beverly Switzler and she was the most beautiful creature he had ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on. Her pale, slender body. Her mane of fiery red hair. Her green eyes that glittered like two large emeralds. Beverly was the life model for his figure drawing class back when he was still in college. It was where they met and where he fell in love with her. He spent a long time pining for her and constructing his life all in the name of impressing her, but it was all for naught. When they finally came face to face again years later she had forgotten all about him. And so he took her hostage. At one time she was even his wife, or so he was led to believe. But she spurned him at every advance. She used his own machines against him to create his five “sons.” She threatened his very reputation. She did all this for a duck.

Howard the Duck, to be exact.

Standing at a mighty two feet, seven inches tall, Howard became the walking, talking, cigar chomping web footed bane of Lester’s existence. He was also Beverly’s boyfriend. And to be bested by a mutant water fowl for Beverly’s heart left Lester a broken man. A man obsessed. As Dr. Bong, Lester had tried numerous times since to exact his revenge on Howard but the plucky little duck always managed to come out on top. So Lester gave up and then he lost everything. But even in his darkest moments since, and despite all the betrayal and heartbreak, he would still keep himself warm with thoughts of Beverly. He still loved her.

And soon he would have her again.

Returning to his mother’s house, he hoped he might be able to start his life over with his “sons” in Cleveland. Be a new man. Be a better man. Be a man that Beverly could love. He just had to find her, first. But he knew that to find Beverly, would be to find Howard, and he would have to eliminate the duck for good this time if he hoped to ever stand a chance.

It would be his last dark deed.

“Lester…” a voice in his head whispered.

A chill ran up his spine as he slowly turned around. All the light from the dim bulb dangling above him seemed to collect upon the bronze, bell shaped helmet that lay half-buried beneath a pile of dirty clothes and his plaid two piece suit. The helmet looked as though it were glowing. It’s tight, imperious expression remained unchanged yet he felt it beckoning him.

“Lester…” the voice continued, growing louder in his skull.

“Quiet you,” Lester shouted towards the helmet. “I won’t be ordered around by a figment of my imagination!”

“Put me on, Lester,” the voice in his head replied, letting out a dry, sinister laughter.

“You are a lie! You are a construct! A shadow!” Lester screamed stepping closer to the helmet. “You are simply a manifestation of my repressed subconscious mind and as such have no power over me or my actions—“

“You are gutless, Lester,” the voice interrupted him. “A sad, pathetic little man who will never, ever be able to exist out in the real world. You can’t get a job. You can’t get a date. You can barely manage to dress yourself, anymore. Look at you. You need me, Lester. You need Dr. Bong. You’ll never be able to get rid of the duck without me! Come now, don’t be any more of a disappointment to yourself and to everyone else. Put me on.” the voice hissed.

“You’re wrong! I am not Dr. Bong, I am Lester Verde! I am a genius! I am a success! And I do not need you! Begone! Begone begone begone!” Lester screamed, punting the helmet deep into an empty part of the basement. He stood silently for a moment, breathing heavily and staring mindlessly at the helmet from a distance. Suddenly, he cocked his head to the side as if a switch had been flipped inside his skull. Slowly, deliberately, he walked over and placed the helmet on his head.

“Much better,” he sighed.

In the house above his head, Lester could hear the sound of tiny feet racing back and forth.

“Lester!”

Lester ignored the insistent voice of his mother’s calls to him and hit the red button on his small digital recorder. He hunched over and peered into the microscope before him. Flipping the power switch, the stage lit to life and a small organism immediately began to twitch and dart around the width of the viewer, before quickly coming to a rest. “Spore is active,” he began, “and growing at an accelerated rate. I’ve been able to inject it with a potent cocktail of sodium pentothal and an assortment of benzodiazopenes. The spore should reach maturity within two to three days at which point the hallucinogenic compound will be viable.”

“Lester!”

He glanced at a pile of tiny, plastic vials to the right of the microscope and spoke louder into the device. “Once the spore has reached maturity it will have to be contained as its area of effect will be almost immediate, and, because I am a genius, I’ve been able to develop one-of-a-kind, crackable, collapsible, temporary casings for it, which I’m calling Bong Pops!”

Lester let out a haughty laugh and hit stop on the recording device.

After a brief moment of silence he hit record again.

“Note to self: Copyright Bong Pops.”

“Lester!”

“Once I’ve successfully contained the spore it will only be a matter of testing it on a willing or not so willing subject, and I know just the fowl !” he continued, glancing up at the wall in front of him. In the center of a series of graphs, charts and endless notes written on envelopes and napkins, was a black and white surveillance photo of Howard.

“Lester!”

“That filthy little freak knows where Beverly is and he is going to tell me exactly how to get to her,” he spat into the recorder, the rage in his voice rising, “whether he likes it or not.” His rage turned to pleasure as he threw his head back and let out another series maniacal laughs.

The lights in the basement suddenly came on, and Lester whirled around to meet his mother’s stony gaze. Vera Verde was in her late fifties, with short silver hair and a pointed face that seemed to reach a head at the tip of her nose. She folded her arms over her long green dress and looked at Lester disapprovingly.

“I have been calling to you for ten minutes, Lester Verde! Did you have another terrible accident and lose your ears, too?” Her words dripped with acid as she casually motioned to Lester’s prosthetic left hand. She stared holes into her son, who stood before her wearing only his boxer shorts and a bell shaped helmet that covered his entire head.

“And you wonder why no one will hire you,” she sighed.

“What, mother?! What is so important you have the nerve to interrupt my work?” he asked, exasperatedly.

“Your children, for one thing,” she began. Lester, Jr. and Howie have been at it all afternoon and Nestor is coming down with something. They are all cranky what with this godforsaken heat and I’ve just about it had it. Meanwhile, you’re down here doing some kind of weird sex thing!”

“I am working, mother! Is that all you came down here for?” he snapped.

“No,” she continued. “Did you get that job? What was it? Making litter boxes?”

“Cat food, mother. It was making cat food. And no, I didn’t.”

Vera rolled her eyes.

“FOOLS! ALL OF THEM, FOOLS!” Lester screamed as he turned his back on his mother. “My brilliance could change the face of food science, itself, for both man and feline!”

“Your brilliance had better start paying some bills around here, Lester Verde!” Vera said, poking him in the back with her index finger. “You spend every waking moment you’re not shoveling food into your face, locked down here in this basement, doing your pointless science experiments! Meanwhile, your little boys barely have milk to drink. And what do I do? Chase after the lot of you sweeping up in your wake. I’m tired of it!”

Her eyes grew wet with tears and Lester let out an audibly annoyed sigh.

“You treat me so badly. This is no way for a son to behave.”

Lester turned around and robotically placed his arms around his weeping mother, just as he had countless times in the past. It was always the same routine. She’d begin to pretend to cry and he’d say, “I don’t mean to be this way, mother. You know my boys mean the world to me,” he continued through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry my experiments can make me a monster from time to time, but I don’t mean to hurt you. And I am looking for work. I just know I’ll find something soon.”

“Oh that reminds me,” his mother interrupted, immediately snapping to attention. Her tears had magically vanished. “You have a phone call.”

Lester stared at his mother through his helmet, incredulously.

“You waited this whole time to tell me I had a phone call!?”

Cleveland, Ohio
The City
One Hour Later

Lester briskly made his way down a bustling Cleveland sidewalk. The phone call had come from Patty Helmet, his case worker at the unemployment agency that was currently sending him out on interviews. She was also the only person in Cleveland he had entrusted with the unique circumstances of his life as Dr. Bong. The day they met, he promised Patty that he would use all the science he had at his disposal to give her anything she desired, if in return, she would use whatever resources she had in order to help him locate Beverly and Howard.

To both of these ends, their business relationship had remained fruitless for several weeks.

No job. No Beverly.

Patty sounded almost ecstatic over the phone, claiming there had been some major developments in their search before designating a place to meet, and hanging up. Something about the excitement in her voice set Lester’s heart racing. He stopped in front of the bank Patty had instructed him to wait at and two minutes later she emerged from within. Patty was in her mid-forties; short, obese, with close cropped brown hair. She wore a linen lavender top and a matching pair of pants. When she spotted Lester, she sauntered over and raised her sunglasses up onto her head. “Glad you could get here so quick. Did I wake you,” she asked gruffly between heavy breaths.

“I wouldn’t sleep until four in the afternoon if I had a job, Patty,” Lester shot back.

“And you might have a job if you’d stop choking on these interviews, Lester!” she replied. “What is it with you, anyway? Have you never had a conversation before? The feedback e-mail I got from your interview yesterday just said ‘no’ in it. What am I supposed to do with ‘no?’”

“He said I was arrogant,” Lester whined.

“You are arrogant, Lester,” she huffed. “Look, I didn’t call you down here to fight. In fact, I have some news that I think might ring your bell!”

Lester grumbled.

“See what I did?! Puns!” she said with a laugh. “I should never drink this early!”

“What’s the news, Patty?” He was starting to get impatient.

“Hey there, would either of you like to try a free Jerry’s hot dog sample?!!” came an excited voice from behind them.

They turned their heads to meet the gaze of a man in a giant, hot dog costume. He must have been no older than twenty three. Several feet away behind them, a small hot dog stand was set up on the corner in front of the bank. The man smiled wide and pushed a tray of tiny hot dogs in buns towards them. “Jerry guarantees that they are one hundred percent all-American beef and they are absolutely delicious!”

Lester shot the man a dark look. “I’m not eating a hot dog cooked by anyone who calls themselves Jerry!”

The man in the hot dog costume, taking this as a no, quietly slipped away.

“The duck, Lester,” Patty continued. “The Duck actually came into the office!”

Lester’s heart stopped. This was the moment he had prayed for.

“I couldn’t believe it when Mary told me, but apparently the duck came in last week. They got him set up driving a taxi here in the city, AND, I have his cab number,” she said, handing an envelope to Lester. “It’s all in there!”

He stared down at the crinkled envelope in his hands. This was it. Soon, Howard the duck would be nothing more than a faint memory and Beverly would be–

“Are you SURE you don’t want to try a Jerry’s hot dog sample?!” the man in the hot dog costume asked. He raised the tray higher to reach Lester’s nose.

“NO ONE WANTS YOUR DAMNED HOT DOGS, MAN! NOW WILL YOU LEAVE US?!” Lester shouted flipping the tray up into the air. Lester, Patty, and the man in the hot dog costume watched the tray come crashing down onto the ground, spilling tiny wieners all over the concrete.

The man in the hot dog costume turned to face Lester again. And his smile broke.

“You. Asshole,” he said, through clenched teeth.

The man in the hot dog costume pulled his fist back and punched Lester in the face.

Cleveland, Ohio
The Suburbs
Hours Later

Lester was greeted by his mother when he returned home, his hand covering his shiny new black eye.

“It’s quiet,” he said nonchalantly, as he entered the kitchen and opened the freezer door. He removed a cold compress from the door shelf and closed it.

“I put the boys down a half an hour ago,” his mother replied. “Nestor’s got a little fever so I gave him some ibuprofen and put a cold wash cloth on his forehead. He should be fine. What happened to you?”

“I had to meet with my case manager from the unemployment agency,” he replied, revealing his black eye to her and placing the cold compress over it.

“So she could punch you in the face?!” she replied, horrified.

“No,” Lester sighed. “The black eye was an accident. I…” he started, “…I walked into a door.”

“A door, huh,” his mother was replied. “I’m sure. So what did she want? Did she have some work for you?”

“Not exactly,” he replied, feeling the envelope in his pants pocket.

“Then what?!” she demanded.

“Forget it, mother it’s not important tonight. I’m going to bed,” he replied making his way towards the basement door.

“Fine! I do have some bad news however, the boys got down into the basement a little while ago and there was an accident!” his mother said following him towards the door.

Lester stopped cold. “What kind of accident?”

“They knocked over one of your little projects,” she said. “And it smashed into a bunch of pieces on the floor. I told you we should have had the basement carpeted!”

Lester threw open the basement door and rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping over his feet and falling down the last couple steps. He turned the lights on and frantically scanned the room looking for the mess. After a moment he saw it. The hand that had been contained in the cylinder now lay amongst the broken glass on the basement floor, the jelly like yellow fluid from within the case slowly spreading into a stain around it.

“No…” Lester whimpered. “No no no…” he continued to repeat this as he rushed over to kneel in front of the hand. He picked up the tiny, limp thing and cradled it in his arms.It was all he had been able to retain after he sold off his remaining equipment and projects to pay that debt to the witches. It had taken months of painstaking work to develop and grow it. It was going to be the ticket to his new beginning. His do-over. He was going to fix himself, he thought. But now that chance had been taken away from him, too.

Gone.

All gone.

Lester looked up towards his desk to find himself staring into the cold, dead face of his bell helmet and began to hear a crazy laughter from deep inside his head. The laughter grew louder and louder, finally bursting into the sound of bells.