Another Wild Christmas in Reno

An Old Friend Getting Fucked Up

With bourbon and blowjobs on my mind I entered the Devil’s Lounge where I asked St. Nick for another Wild Turkey neat and then asked, “When’d you say you get off work?”

“Midnight, but I have a dinner break from 19:00 to 20:00 hours.”

“You’re ex-military?” I asked.

“Yes Sir, Staff Sergeant, Force Recon Marine, Iraq and Afghanistan.”

We continued to converse about our military experiences in the Middle East wars and our jobs. I learned Nick and I had been through some of the same toughest advanced military skill schools as well as military freefall training at Yuma, Arizona. I asked, “Can I buy you dinner tonight Marine?”

Before St. Nick could respond, out of my peripheral vision, I spotted a lanky disheveled appearing guy about my age stumble into the bar from outside. The guy with flowing blonde tresses slammed his hand down on the bar, looks over at me and nods. Then he looks back at St. Nick and shouts, “Couple of those,” pointing to my bottle of Wild Turkey, “Doubles with rocks…And keep em comin…I plan on gettin fuuuuucked up tonight.”

More than the man’s boisterous off-putting nature, the familiar call caught my ear. Not many people order Wild Turkey, especially to get drunk.

Wild Turkey is one of the finest Kentucky bourbon whiskeys around: smooth with an acquired taste. It’s also known for being the favorite drink of the late Gonzo journalist and writer Hunter S. Thompson.

Since my youth I’d admired Thompson, the counterculture icon. Maybe that’s why I’d come to enjoy Wild Turkey as my favorite bourbon. His suicide in 2005 at a fairly young age of 67 saddened me. Nick poured two doubles and slid the glasses across to the stranger.

The new arrival threw a hundred dollar bill down on the bar. Then raised his first glass in a salute, “Merry Fuckin Christmas and Happy Birthday God wherever you are!”  

I smiled at the man, raising my glass, I returned the salute. He then downed the drink in one swallow after which he slammed the old fashion glass upside down on the bar. He shook his head violently from side to side before bellowing, “Woooooooooo!” A great imitation of Ric Flair’s woo.

Seeking repose and safety I moved away from the bar to a more secluded table. The man kept looking at me with a curious smile. After a couple minutes I suggested, “Join me if you dare.”

Glad to help the bartender get the boisterous drinking man away from the bar so as to not discourage other patrons from ordering I prepared for an earful of woe.

The man pickup his second glass of bourbon from the bar. As he got to his feet he stumbled in my direction, spilling a little bourbon from the glass, before flopping into the chair across the table from me. He extended his hand saying, “Name’s Boyd.” Not giving me a chance to reply he said, “You know sumthin Major…Just caught my wife cheatin.” He finished his drink, again shaking his head, before he said, “Yup, fuckin some dude in my bed…Dude…In my fuckin bed…On Christmas Eve you believe that shit?”

“Sorry to hear the distressing news. Did you shoot the fucker in his ass?” I asked as I signaled the bar tender for two more rounds.

“Nah, just walked out ‘n left ‘em fuckin…The vindictive bitch,” Boyd said before he downed the fresh glass of bourbon in his hand in one swallow and again bellowed, “Woooooooooo, good shit!” He exclaimed shaking his head once again. “Keep ‘em comin.”

Not wanting to explain to Boyd the proper etiquette for consuming good bourbon I interjected some humor, “You know, I caught a Taliban in bed one night bangin fugly old Afghani bitch.”

“Really,” Boyd replied. “What’d you do?”

“Yep, kicked the door and there they were in the beam of my light and gun sight, fuckin on a dirty mattress on the floor, breedin another little terrorist bastard—ugly fuckin sight.”

“Oh yeah,” Nick commented. “Fugly bitches them sands.”

“Her legs up in the air, she’s screamin some shit I don’t understand…His big ugly hairy ass shinin at me while he’s plowin the bitch full bore.”

 “You shoot the Taliban?” Nick asked from the bar lightheartedly.

We all laughed before I said, “No, but I did prod his asshole just a little with the suppressor on my M4…You know, to get his attention.”

Both men laughed, imaging me sticking the suppressor of my weapon up the Taliban’s ass, and then I said, “Left the poor fucker cowerin and quakin on the mattress on the floor…Should’ve pissed all over them before I left…All them Al-Qaeda and Taliban muthafuckers are fuckin suck ass turds…Yep, never before seen such an ugly sight.”

Again we all joked and laughed about my story; however, after the joking and laughter died out Boyd said, “Better go see if I can get a room for the night ‘fore I get too fucked up to drive or sign my name…Ah Hell, let’s have another round of drinks on me before I do that…Your story makes me laugh Major…I need some laughter this afternoon.”

After Boyd downed another glass to ease the pain he licked the inside of his glass before ordering another round for the two of us. Nick rolled his eyes. I thought to myself if Boyd kept throwing back Wild Turkeys the way he was drinking them he’d be laughing at anything I said. I could see him starting to get shit-faced.

For some reason Boyd looked familiar, but even more than his looks, his voice, and his laugh sounded eerily familiar.

The bartender walked over to the table with two more sets of Wild Turkeys and said, “I overheard your conversation about gettin a room. I think the hotel is full, but I’ll check with the desk.”

“Thanks,” Boyd said.

Finally, I couldn’t contain my curiosity any longer so I ask, “You look and sound familiar.”

“You know, I was gonna say the same about you Major,” Boyd said. “Where you from?”

“Born in Pennsylvania, grew up in Long Beach, now I call Army my family and world home.”

“I’m from Long Beach too. There was a McNaughton family lived down the street years ago, but the man and his wife got killed in a plane crash.”

“My folks,” I said stoically. “They were on the way to Las Vegas.”

“Paladin!” Boyd exclaimed.

“Yep.”

I’ll be damned,” Boyd said as he reached over to clasp my hand with his larger paw. “Man, you’ve changed. For the better I might add. I remember you as just a skinny ass kid back in the day.”

“Buzz Henderson!” I exclaimed. “So have you, but your voice hasn’t. Last time I saw you we were teenagers.”

“Yeah, what happened?” Boyd asked. “Don’t go by Buzz much anymore.”

“You’re still Buzz to me.”

“Yeah, I suppose and you’re still Paladin to me,” Buzz said. “Bartender this here’s Wayne Paladin McNaughton. Remember the TV show Have Gun-Will Travel?”

“Nope.”

“The show was a big hit back in the mid 50s.”

“A little before my time,” Nick said.

“Me too,” Boyd replied. “Nevertheless, Wayne’s dad worked in film and television industry. He was a big fan of the show as well as Richard Boone, so he gave his son the middle name Paladin…Cool huh?”

“Yeah.”

“We we’re best buds until the summer between junior and senior year,” Buzz said. “What happened?”

“I got my drivers license, car, and started chasin, surfin…I think we just drifted apart…You know, hangin with different crowds.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Buzz said. “So what you been up to since we last seen each other, beside the Army?”

“Fall after high school graduation I left for Cal Poly at San Luis Obispo and then my folks got killed couple months later. After their death I was lost, so I signed up for the ROTC program and ended up graduating with a double major and a commission in the Army.”

“Wow!” Nick exclaimed.

“Been in and out of at least a dozen relationships, married and divorced twice, no kids. The rest is history my friend, and you?”

“After high school, remember I was a semester behind you, something about our birthdates,” Buzz said. “Fucked around college for couple years working part-time at ski shops up at Big Bear.”

“Cool,” I said.

“Then I dropped out of college to become a full-time Ski Bum…You know, teaching skiing and snowboarding up in the Sierras between the 50 and 80 corridors as well as Lake Tahoe area until I got the job here in Reno.”

“Sounds exciting and a lot safer than my job.”

“I guess, but my girl friend at the time, later my wife tamed me, so she claims. She did help get me my job at the VA.” Buzz continued. “She pushed me to finish my degree at the university here in Reno and then we got married…Oh yeah, you already know I’m married or was until a couple hours ago with no kids, but do have a dog.”

About the time Buzz finished his story the bartender walked over with four fresh glasses of Wild Turkey to say, “The hotel is full Sir.”

I took a sip of my bourbon while Buzz tossed his back. We continued to talk about old times and conquests. After finishing our drinks Buzz stood up to leave. I noticed he was a little wobbly, so I suggested, “Hey, instead of gettin in your car drivin around tryin to find a place to stay for the night, spend the night here with me. Rooms paid for and there’re two beds in my suite.”

“Damn Dude don’t wanna cause no problems. Besides, you probably got pussy lined up for the night,” Buzz said.

“I wish, but no pussy tonight, not yet.” I said. “I insist, at least until tomorrow. No sense doin somethin stupid like gettin caught in a DUI check point…Besides, we got a bunch of catchin up to do.”

“Okay, just until tomorrow,” Buzz said. “We can spend the night drinkin and reminiscin.”

Before I settled up with Nick and tipped him and said, “Oh, see you for dinner.”

“Will do,” Nick said as he quietly thanked me on the way out for not letting Buzz out on the street to drive as well as confirming dinner. We shook hands as we separated and again Nick’s middle finger lingered in my palm. As we made our way to my room I couldn’t help but remember Buzz and I were more than best friends back in the day. We’d also been what are referred to as jack off buddies in school.

My phone rang snapping me back to reality: my supervisor from work. Surprisingly, his timing spot-on, questioning me about my intentions with regard to Christmas leave. He was working Saturday morning on the upcoming duty schedule; therefore, he was calling all officers and senior NCOs in the section to coordinate Christmas or New Year’s leaves. Sure I wanted leave.

Although the section chief was aware I was under investigation he called me first. I’d kept my nose clean since reporting to Fort Lewis ten months earlier; furthermore, during that time I’d cultivated a sense of trust and accomplishment in my section and with other leaders at Fort Lewis. I’d been called upon to give intelligence briefings to field grade and general officers at brigade, division, corps and higher. I’d even briefed foreign dignitaries.