Page 38 of The Man I Hate

“Fuck you, Pratt.”

“Mark my words,” he said. “This shit’s going to sweep across the nation like a plague. The Chinese were lying about their death count, who’s at risk, and the long-term complications associated with it. Now our government knows the truth about China’s lies, and they’re running scared because the only statistics they have available aren’t worth a shit. They’re saying, ‘Stay at home, everything will be fine in 30 days.’ It won’t be fine in 30 days. I doubt it’ll be fine ever again. This one’s going to be a game changer, Brother.”

Pratt was a conspiracy theorist. I was a realist. While he clung to theories, possibilities, and the most far-fetched of notions, I embraced nothing but facts and statistics.

I glanced at the open website on my laptop. “80,000 people were infected in China and there were 3,000 deaths, total. Keep in mind they have a population of 1.4 billion and that they all live on fucking top of one another like canned sardines.” I grabbed my phone and did some quick math. “That’s roughly fifty people infected per million. At that rate, the United States will see about…” I pressed the keys on my phone’s calculator. “Applying China’s math, the USA will see 16,400 infected, and 660 deaths. Hell, 30,000 people died last year from the flu. This is a political ploy if I’ve ever seen one. They didn’t get him impeached, so they’re going to do whatever they must to get him out of office.”

“Brother, we’ll see 660 deaths a day once this gets going,” Pratt warned. “This isn’t about politics.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’ll be a healthy idiot,” he said with a laugh. “I’m going to get a 100,000-volt cattle prod and carry it with me when I go get groceries. If anyone gets within six feet of me, I’ll shove the end of it against their neck and shock them so hard they’ll piss down their leg. Anti-social distancing is what I’m going to practice.”

Knowing Pratt, he was serious. It was just like him to do something drastic while trying to protect his odd system beliefs.

“If you shock someone with a stock prod, you’ll end up getting arrested,” I said.

“I might be arrested, but I’ll be alive and uninfected.”

“You think you’ll be able to maintain a safe distance in the county jail?” I asked. “Do you think they’re practicing social distancing in there?”

“Hadn’t given that much thought.”

In my opinion, no one had given any of it much thought. That was the problem. No thinking, and too much knee-jerk reacting.

“What the fuck are you going to do?” I asked. “Big picture? Cower in fear?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m being serious.”

“Stay home, practice good hygiene, and maintain a safe distance from anyone I have to encounter. It’s only fair to everyone else.”

“What the fuck does that mean? Fair to everyone else?”

“I could be a carrier. Hell, one man can get this shit and not know it, and the next gets it and dies. If I’m out running around, I could be carrying it from place to place, infecting hundreds. Maybe thousands. It’s my responsibility to be responsible.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I might be wrong,” he said in a sarcastic tone. “But I don’t think being a low-level thug qualifies as an essential business. Why don’t you call the governor’s office and ask ‘em what they think? Tell ‘em we kidnap people, stage murders, and manipulate evidence for whoever pays us the most. See what they say. Hell, who knows? Maybe we are essential. I’ll warn ya, though. If you get within six feet of me, I’m shocking your big dumb ass.”

“He can’t force businesses to close,” I argued. “That’s on the cusp of communism.”

“Call it what you want,” he said. “But it’s already done. He signed an executive order under a state of emergency. Groups of more than ten people, anywhere, aren’t allowed. Restaurants are closed, bars are closed, hell, after tonight you won’t even be able to go to Best Buy and get a big screen TV. If it’s not food or drugs they’re closing at midnight tonight. Oh, and they cancelled the entire NBA season. Baseball, too.”

“This is fucking ridiculous,” I snarled.

“If you don’t pay attention to this, you’ll be saying that from your grave.”

“I’m healthy,” I argued. “I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Kid in Washington died, and he was 32. Left a wife and two little kids wondering what the hell they did wrong.”

“He probably had lungs that were burned out from smoking meth. Either that, or he died from something totally unrelated, and they claimed it was this shit, just to put the scare in us.”

“Man can’t win an argument with you, Rourke,” he complained. “That’s for sure.”

“There’s nothing to argue about,” I said. “Like I said. Statistics. That’s all I’m interested in talking about.”