Page 45 of Undefeated

“What are ya sayin?” he asked.

“Calories are calories,” I said.

“95 a bottle. That’s it. Hell, I drink a dozen of these fuckers, it ain’t gonna hurt me. That’s 1200 calories. So, no big deal. I bet I only drink five or six anyway,” he said.

“1140. But yeah, 95 calories isn’t many. You sure about that?” I asked.

“Fucking smart-ass. The Ultra’s haven’t got much, but damn they taste like it. Want one?” he chuckled.

“No, I’ll stick with this,” I said as I leaned over and grabbed my half-full glass of water from the table at the corner of the deck.

“I’m going in for some ice, need anything?” I asked as I stood up from my chair.

“No, I’m golden,” he said as he stood up.

I’ve enjoyed Ripp’s routine of cooking chicken on Saturdays. It gives me something to look forward to. I have always liked routines, and become almost reliant on the routines that I have in place. When they don’t happen for some reason, I feel deprived. I walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer. As I looked into it, I realized that he’d dumped all of the ice I had purchased into his beer cooler.

I reached to the back of the freezer to grab the plastic ice trays. A small plastic Zip-Loc style plastic bag was lying on top of the ice trays. As I picked it up to move it, I realized what it contained.

“Ripp, you sick fucker,” I screamed, knowing he couldn’t hear me.

I tossed the bag to the side and pulled the tray from the freezer. I dumped half of the cubes into my cup and re-filled the tray and my glass with water. I slammed the freezer door, and walked back outside to the deck.

“Ripp, you sick fuck,” I said as I closed the door behind me.

“What’s up, Dekk?” he said over his shoulder as he moved the chicken around on the grill.

“Well, I noticed you used all the ice I bought for one,” I began.

“What’s sick about that?” he chuckled as he closed the lid to the grill.

“Well, nothing. But it was all gone. So I grabbed an ice tray. Well, I started to. There was a Zip-Lock bag on top of the ice, so I grabbed it to move it and…” I paused to see what he had to say.

“And…?” he asked.

“Well? The Zip-Lock bag. What the fuck, Ripp?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, “Dude, I got nothing.”

“The finger, Ripp. It had a finger in it,” I mumbled as I sat down.

“Oh shit, I forgot about that fucker. It’s been in there for a bit. Let’s get it outta there and look at it,” he said as he wiped his hands on his shorts.

“Dude, I just saw it, I don’t want to see it again,” I complained.

“Well, fuck. I probably ought to get rid of it. Maybe the garbage disposal?’ he asked.

“Hell, I don’t know. It’s kind of small,” I responded.

“Yeah, but basically, it’s ice. It ought to just get ground up and melt in there, huh?” he asked.

“No. Fuck Ripp, it’s meat,” I responded.

He nodded his head slowly, “Yeah, suppose so - meat and a little piece of bone.”

“Alright, I’m done talking about it,” I said as I rubbed my stomach and made a face like I’d eaten something rotten.

“You beat people half to death, and knock out every son of a bitch under the sun, and you wanna get sick over a little finger. Shit, it ain’t no bigger than a Vienna sausage,” he laughed.