Duck: The Complete Story
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1: Hey, Where’s MY Drink Package?
Chapter 2: Aristoclub
Chapter 3. Sgt. Rockhopper
Chapter 4: Sittin’ With A Duck On A Bay
Chapter 1: Hey, Where’s MY Drink Package?
“I’ll have another!” D.D. Duck put up his hand.
The barkeep squinted at him. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
The pour wasn’t too generous, but more than a strictly measured shot. Typical for a big city bar. Duck downed it quickly, but it didn’t drown out his regret.
“I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have gone there. I should’ve kept quiet. Then the whole thing never would’ve happened.”
The barkeep nodded. “Rough day?”
“Rough month.” Duck played with the empty shot glass. “Could have just kept my head down. Gone somewhere else. But nooooooo, I had to go there.”
The bartender nodded while serving other patrons.
Duck stared at the empty glass again. “I had a job. I had a life. It was boring, yeah, but it was fine,” he tried to convince himself, “before this…incident.”
The bartender caught his eye. “Where you from?”
Duck sighed. “South Georgia Island.”
“Huh. Never heard of it.”
Duck’s father’s face flashed before his eyes. What would he think of me now? Would he think it was right, what I just did? Was that what he was trying to say, all those times?
“Gimme one more.”
“You’re gettin’ close to the line, Buddy.” The barkeep stared into Duck’s eyes. Duck glared back, insistent. “OK, one more. Just one.”
The bartender served up another shot in a tumbler, which he slid down the bar. Duck caught it without flinching. The barkeep’s eyebrows shot up, taken aback by his patron’s reflexes. Then Duck opened up his bill and made the shot disappear.
Where am I going to go? What am I going to do?
* * * * * * *
Thirty minutes later, Duck was still staring down at the bar, muttering to himself. He looked up and noticed a sign on the wall for the first time.
DELICIOUS DRINK PACKAGE PAIRINGS!
$40
The picture displayed two different pairs of frosty beer/shot glass combos. Everything looked golden brown and delicious. To a drinker.
Duck raised his hand once again, and pointed at the sign. “I’ll have one of those!” he shouted.
“Oh no you won’t. You’re over the line already, Ducko.”
Duck’s feathers bristled a bit. “Oh give me a break, you’re in the Get People Drunk business and I wanna get drunk. Are you a bartender or a hall monitor?”
The bartender stood up straight and rolled up his sleeves. “One more line like that and you’re outta here.”
Duck knew he’d mouthed off and reached for that familiar instinct – keep quiet– but the alcohol bucked it. “One more line like what?”
The bartender snapped his fingers twice. A burly bouncer twice Duck’s size came bounding over. “Show him the street. He seems to want to see it up close.”
The bouncer yanked Duck airborne and dragged him towards the exit. Angry and despondent, Duck kept thinking to himself, I was having a pretty good time just a little while ago….
Chapter 2: Aristoclub
*** FIVE HOURS EARLIER ***
A long foghorn blared. A group of seagulls squawked and flew away from the large boat pulling into the big-city harbor.
“FREEDOM! Thank god I’m finally off this thing!”
Duck ran down the gangway and into the harbor neighborhood. It was a wild frenzy of activity: random yelling back and forth across a busy intersection, cars and trucks honking as they snaked through the street.
“Hey, look out!” A small figure wearing a cap pulled him back to the curb as a car whizzed past.
Duck was shaken. “Wow, thanks.”
“You better watch where you’re goin’. Watch the signals!” A little rough, Duck thought, but at least the guy helped him out. Duck turned to thank him, but he’d already disappeared into the hum of the city.
Duck gathered himself as the traffic roared around him. This is nothing like home. I wonder how far away I am? I was running so fast to make the boat I didn’t have time to look at the destination…I just needed to get out of there.
A police car drove close by. Duck gulped. The car slowed down for a bit, then turned on its lights and sped off, siren blaring. Exhale.
Duck walked a few more blocks, taking in the surreal dazzle of the city lights at dusk, the hustle and bustle. Then he saw a sign:
ARISTOCLUB
fancy food
killer cocktails
and good company
all Ducks welcome
Oh yeah. This is just what the doctor ordered. I’m doing this.
Here you go again with the recklessness, Duck thought. Isn’t that how you ended up here? How about just finding a place to sleep? Or connecting with some other friendly ducks? Years of Head Down, Steady As She Goes, everything was fine. OK, a little boring maybe, but fine. It worked well enough. You don’t need to go in there.
Nah, screw that. This has been a hard trip and I need to blow off some steam and have some fun for once in my life. The other stuff can wait.
Duck arrived at the front door. There was a velvet rope. A line to get in. Doormen with earpieces. It looked fancy. There was even a sign that said “No Penguins Allowed”.
Duck thought to himself: Considering what happened back on the island, that’s the best news I’ve gotten in a while.
The doorman – a large, fancy city duck, with iridescent violet feather markings and a stern visage – stood at the entrance. “We need to check that backpack.”
Duck took it off and poured the contents out on a small table. A couple of outfits, some basic personal supplies, a picture of his parents.
The doorman snickered. “You always carry pictures of your Mommy and Daddy when you go out?”
Keep it together. Head down. “I…have had a long couple of weeks.”
The doorman touched his earpiece and nodded slowly. Then he waved Duck through.
Everything was dark and loud. Duck felt the rush of huge subwoofers pulsing through his body. His ears caught shimmering, crystalline, high-pitched sequences. A bright strobe flashed randomly – enough to see other figures, and just a bit of facial detail.
This. Is. GREAT.
Duck found his way to the dance floor. He didn’t even really know how to dance, but he didn’t care. He closed his eyes, and a month’s worth of tension poured out of him with every frantic, awkward move.
* * * * * * *
Fifteen minutes later, Duck was exhausted, thirsty, and hungry. He maneuvered his way to the crowded bar. It was a mob scene of cosmopolitan duck energy: a kaleidoscope of crazy, flashy colored feathers; all manner of bills, some painted with custom colors; even the shapes of some feathers were uniquely groomed. They were all pushing up against the rail, screaming out their orders. Duck did his best to be heard over the din – hands up and yelling – but it wasn’t working. He found himself standing in a sea of city strangers.
Hey, are those guys looking at me?
Duck spotted two figures at the other end of the bar. Square-looking ducks. They didn’t fit the scene. The strobe flashed. They were staring at him, and talking to each other about something. Their faces betrayed urgency.
The crowd around the bar shifted like a sea, shoving Duck forward. He lost his footing and fell. When he got back up, the figures at the end of the bar were gone.
Am I being followed? He felt queasy. Maybe this just isn’t the place for me.
Duck finally managed to get the bartender’s attention and scream out an order of a single shot of well scotch, which he got minutes later and drank instantly. It was just enough to give him the strength and courage to work back through the crowd toward the front door exit. He walked out as quickly as he’d walked in.
Duck stood in the street facing the club, watching the hipsters laughing to each other while standing in the rope line. He didn’t belong there and he knew it. What he really needed was a nice, quiet bar – somewhere he could have another drink or two, and gather his thoughts about what to do next.
But as he walked farther, his mind turned back to the past, and the incident that led him here – lost in a big city, thousands of miles from home….
Chapter 3: Sgt. Rockhopper
*** 30 DAYS EARLIER ***
* SOUTH GEORGIA ISLAND, SOUTHERN ATLANTIC OCEAN *
Please respond in timely fashion, and thank you for your attention to this matter.
Best regards,
D.D. Duck
Duck Department of Administration
D.D.’s cubicle was third from the right wall, fourth row back. Certain things needed to be filed properly by all ducks on the island, and it was D.D.’s job to make sure everyone complied. He’d hit his quota for seven consecutive months now. He got a plaque after the sixth, which sat on his desk, under a few stacks of paper. Some other desks had pictures of a sweetheart, or kids. D.D.’s had none of that.
He mostly kept quiet and avoided office chatter. Things had worked better that way for him: head down, stay out of trouble. Some other ducks had gotten a little loud during breaks a few weeks back. Their desks were empty now.
When late afternoon finally came, Duck walked to the window and looked outside. “Whoa, really nice day,” he whispered to himself. He thought for a moment and then nodded. “Ice shelf.”
“Does it look like break time on that clock to you?” His supervisor pointed at the wall. The question had edge on it.
D.D. felt a long-suppressed impulse racing from his brain to his mouth. “It’s five minutes to closing,” D.D. protested. “And I hit my quota today already.”
The words landed with a clunk, followed by silence. D.D. could hardly believe he let them out.
“Really? I’d expect that attitude from some of the others, but not from you, D.D. You know the rules. Back to the desk.”
Weird, Duck thought, as he trudged back to his cubicle. It’s been years since I acted like that.
Confused and annoyed, he said to himself once again as he sat down: “Ice shelf.”
The ice shelf was a special place his father used to take him, elevated from the frozen ground, with one of the best vistas on the whole island. It had become his chosen refuge, a place where he often gathered his thoughts, took in the beauty of the sunset gleaming on the ice, and appreciated the simple things instead of staying upset about this or that. The best part: No one else was ever there.
* * * * * * *
The walk from work to the ice shelf was about twenty minutes. D.D. had done it many times since he’d last seen his father a couple of years back. The loss stung a little less each time.
Duck kept going. His mind was scattered, fragmented. He was still rattled from the encounter with his boss at work. It was so unlike him. Where did that come from?
That’s ok, he thought. I’ll sort it out on the ice shelf, like I always do. In solitude.
But when Duck got close enough to see it, his stomach sank. Four penguins were standing in his special spot, kicking the ice around and making a boisterous racket.
Why do they have to be there today, of all days? I really need that spot right now. They’re not gonna stop me.
Whoa big guy, Duck thought to himself. Slow down. They don’t look too friendly. Let’s find another spot and keep your head down for now. We can come back tomorrow.
Something arose in him, just as it had at work a half hour before. Duck thought of his father.
I…just…want…to go there. NOW.
Almost involuntarily, he began marching up the incline towards the ice shelf. The group of penguins saw him coming.
“Well, lookee here,” the tallest penguin snarled. “It’s Duck McDork.” They all laughed, dripping with derision.
A second penguin chimed in. “Yeah, loser. What are you doing here? Can’t you see this is a penguin hang? Why don’t you go on home?”
Duck’s inner voices were imploring him from both sides:
They have no right, and I need this place right now.
Are you nuts? Get out of here! Keep your head down and walk away!
No. I can manage this.
Duck spoke quietly and firmly. “Listen, I just want to spend a few minutes here. It’s a special place for me. Alright?”
“NOT alright.” The tall penguin drew closer. “This is a special place for us now. Isn’t that right boys?” They all chuckled and nodded in agreement.
Duck froze. His feathers were rising. He knew what he wanted to do. But he stopped himself. No way was he going to do that. Here, of all places.
“So, get going then.” The tall penguin pushed Duck’s shoulder. “Now.”
Duck stumbled back, then regained his footing and stood his ground.
“Check out Mr. Stubborn here!” A second penguin pushed him from the side. Duck felt his feathers bristling. He knew that feeling.
The tall penguin stood inches away. “You want to play Tough Guy, is that it?”
The penguin moved in to shove Duck once again. Without thinking, Duck grabbed the penguin’s arm and pulled him forward across his outstretched leg. Duck let go and the penguin flew face first onto the ice. Two of the other penguins charged him. Duck instinctively went low and swept his feet underneath them both, sending them airborne. The penguins landed on their heads.
The fourth and only remaining upright penguin stared at Duck, first in shock, then in smoldering anger. “You’re gonna regret this.”
The penguin grabbed a rock off the ice and went for Duck’s head. Duck blocked his arm. They struggled, pushing with all their strength against each other. Duck looked down, then stomped on the penguin’s foot, distracting him for long enough to pry the rock loose. Duck grabbed it and quickly struck the penguin hard across the head. He went down and didn’t get up.
Duck stood over the four fallen penguins, in disbelief at what he’d just done.
The tall penguin was injured, laying on the ice, looking over at his fallen comrades. “You are going to pay for this, you stupid freak duck! You have no idea who you’re messing with!” He writhed forward.
Duck backed away. He looked around to make sure no one else was watching. Then, after a deep breath of mourning for the loss of his special place, he ran from the ice shelf in a panic.
* * * * * * *
Duck burst into his living room and slammed the front door shut behind him. Charged with adrenaline, he paced from room to room.
The penguin’s warning rattled his brain. You have no idea who you’re messing with.
Duck spoke aloud to himself: “What was he talking about? This is a small island. That sort of thing doesn’t happen here. Does it? Maybe that penguin was just talking tough. Or…?”
He reached for a familiar distraction – the TV remote. The local sports team was playing. That worked well enough to stop his pacing. He sat down, incredulous at what he’d just been through.
Barely five minutes passed before the regular programming was interrupted:
SPECIAL BULLETIN: SERGEANT ROCKHOPPER ISSUES ARREST WARRANT FOR D.D. DUCK REGARDING A VIOLENT ATTACK ON A GROUP OF INNOCENT PENGUINS AT THE ICE SHELF. ANYONE WITH INFORMATION SHOULD COME FORWARD AND SPEAK WITH AUTHORITIES ASAP. THOSE WHO ATTEMPT TO GIVE SHELTER TO D.D. DUCK, OR REFUSE TO COOPERATE WITH THIS INVESTIGATION, WILL FACE ADDITIONAL PENALTIES.
Ohhhh noooo. Duck’s heart sank. He knew he was in a lot of trouble. He’d only heard bad things about the island’s powerful police penguin.
Then his anger boiled over. Group of innocent penguins, my duck ass!
It dawned on Duck that those penguins might have been Rockhopper’s friends. Or even relatives. Who knew?
What a mess, he thought. What am I going to tell my boss at the Duck Department of Administration? Ugh. I should have kept my head down.
Oh shut UP. You can self-punish later. We have to get out of here!
Duck grabbed his backpack, a couple of outfits, and some basic personal supplies. Then he saw a picture of his Mom and Dad on a table in his bedroom. He stopped and stared at it. His breath caught, and his eyes welled up.
Not now. Let’s GO!
Duck took the small framed picture, stuffed it into the backpack while sniffling, and ran out the door with a makeshift plan. He’d get on the first boat leaving the harbor. He didn’t care which one. He just didn’t want the police penguins to catch him.
As he headed toward the main road to the landing, Duck heard snowmobiles buzzing closeby. Police sirens blaring. Megaphones blasting urgent voices into neighborhoods.
Better take the back way. The one Dad showed me.
Duck navigated a route through a series of ice trails well off the beaten path. His father used to walk with him there for fun, back when he was little. Most folks on the island didn’t even know they existed. The secret knowledge had always been a bit of a thrill.
An hour later, D.D. reached the harbor. It seemed quiet. No police activity. The signs over the entrance showed the next boat leaving in three minutes.
A long foghorn filled the air, marking the vessel’s imminent departure.
Duck looked both ways from behind a snowbank, saw a clear path, and ran for the harbor entrance. Seconds later he was at the ticket counter.
“One ticket for that boat right there.” He pointed towards the harbor while panting.
The teller looked Duck up and down. “That’s, uh, not much of a bag you got there. You sure you—”
“YES! One ticket please!”
“Okaaaay.” The teller looked down and started stamping things. “You got it.”
Duck didn’t even bother to check the destination, though he was a bit surprised at how expensive the ticket was. It cost him a good chunk of what he was carrying.
As the boat pulled away, Duck finally stopped running and turned back to look at his island home. He’d hoped for a sentimental moment. Instead, he saw a huge, menacing police penguin figure with his fist in the air, shouting threats in his direction. Three of his penguin associates were standing with him. They didn’t look much happier.
Whatever the ticket cost, Duck thought, it was worth it.
Chapter 4: Sittin’ With A Duck On A Bay
* PRESENT MOMENT *
“Show him the street. He seems to want to see it up close.”
The bouncer picked D.D. Duck up with both hands and flung him towards the curb. He landed on the pavement and tumbled end over end, finally sliding to a stop. D.D. examined the damage, trying to get his eyes to focus. His knees were scraped and his feathers were bent. This was going to hurt in the morning.
D.D. summoned the will to move. As he started crawling to get upright, he heard a footstep. He looked up. An older duck was standing over him. He was wearing a knit cap. His clothes were worn, and his feathers were discolored and tinged with soot.
The older duck cocked his head. “Rough night?” he asked.
“You have no idea.” D.D. brushed himself off, trying to act sober.
“Maybe I do.” The older duck reached into his pocket for a cigarette and lit it. D.D. took a nervous step back and looked around. The older duck laughed and shook his head. “You worried about me? Relax. I’m just an old tired city duck. And I know how those big city bartenders can be. Ornery sometimes.”
D.D. tried assessing his situation. Bartenders. Alcohol. Who’s this old duck? How did he know…? Confusion was plastered all over his face.
“Really, I’m not gonna hurt you. I might even be able to help you. The name’s Dodger.”
“I’m D.D. Whaddya want with me?” He puffed up his chest feathers, projecting Tough Duck. Then, his right leg wobbled and he stumbled sideways.
Dodger sighed. “Let’s take a walk. I know a spot by the harbor. We’ll be safe there.”
“I should just go with you, huh? To be safe? From what? You think I was hatched yesterday?” D.D. hiccuped, then staggered forward and nearly fell.
Dodger shook his head. “Just come with me, will you?”
D.D. relented, but only after silently swearing to himself. Yeah, he knows I’m drunk, but I could still take this old duck if he gets weird on me. I know what to do. If I have to. I can hack it.
They walked silently for about twenty minutes, D.D. slowly following Dodger’s lead, looking carefully around every corner and willing himself alert. They reached an opening in the city grid. The river was lit up with the lights of the skyline. It wasn’t the ice shelf, D.D. thought, but it had its charms.
Dodger led D.D. to the edge of the dock, and they found an empty bench. D.D. looked at Dodger and nodded confidently. Then he went to sit down and misjudged the distance, nearly falling over before landing. Dodger took his time, carefully settling into the bench. D.D. sneered to himself, look at Mr. Smooth over here.
“So,” Dodger said, “do you want to tell me how you got here, or do you want me to tell you how you got here?”
D.D.’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “No way. You’re bluffing. How would you know, anyway?”
“What, you think you’re the only Duck in the city from some small island? We heard you had some trouble with the penguins down south.”
D.D.’s eyes re-widened. Did he say ‘we’? Who is we?
“Who are you? And who’s we? The hell with this, I don’t need this…” D.D. tried to push himself up off the bench.
Dodger barely moved. “Sit. Down.”
D.D.’s first thought was to flip him off and walk away. Then another thought surfaced, with flickering clarity. Slow down. Yeah, he’s weird, but he could have left me in the street. I don’t have to give him my wallet to hear him out. Maybe he knows something useful. Slow. Down. I think my father said something about that?
D.D. sat back down, without misjudging the bench.
“Listen,” D.D. groaned, “I’ve had a weird last few weeks, and an even weirder last few hours. I know you’re trying to help me here. Well, I thinkyou are?”
Dodger nodded. “I am. Apology accepted.” He took off his cap and rubbed his head. “Did you see anyone in the dance club watching you?”
D.D. laughed and looked skyward, no longer surprised. “Of course you knew I was there. It was mostly a bunch of hipster weirdos, but there were these two ducks who didn’t fit in. And I thought maybe they were watching me, but then I thought I was crazy for thinking it.”
“You’re not.” Dodger put his cap back on and lit another cigarette. “You smoke?”
“No, never did. I heard it’s not good for ducks.”
“It’s not good for anyone,” Dodger said, inhaling and exhaling the smoke. “Takes the edge off though.”
D.D. lowered his head. “My dad liked it.”
“He quit?”
“He’s gone now.”
Dodger tipped his cap. “Ah. I’m sorry to hear that.”
They sat quietly, watching the boats move slowly on the water, the occasional foghorn breaking the silence.
“So,” D.D. said, “I’m all ears.”
Dodger took a deep drag on his cigarette, and exhaled the smoke slowly. “I’m from a southern island as well. Got in a bit of trouble and had to leave. Sound familiar?”
“It sure does.” D.D. half-smiled. The feathers on his back smoothed out as his shoulders fell. “Let me guess. Were there penguins involved?”
Dodger nodded. “Indeed there were.”
Another foghorn blared in the distance.
“I thought about trying to go back,” Dodger said, “but it’s probably best I don’t. Besides, I’ve been here too long. I’m a city duck now. I figured it’s better for me to stick around and help out new ducks like you. There’s a few of us. We keep quiet about it.”
“Wait,” D.D. said. “There’s a secret network? Of city ducks?”
“Yep. And we heard about your little incident back on South Georgia Island. If the info I got is true, I’m impressed.”
“How in the world did you find out about that all the way up here?”
“You’d be surprised what us city ducks can find out. Besides, news like that travels pretty fast.” Dodger looked D.D. up and down. “Not every day some island duck stands up to four of Rockhopper’s penguins all on their own.”
D.D. felt a swell of pride deep inside him, somewhere beneath his buzz. Maybe this old Duck gets it after all, he thought. He’s definitely plugged in somehow.
“You even know about Sgt. Rockhopper. Unbelievable. How big is this? What the hell did I get myself into?” D.D. shook his head, drawing more intense breaths. “It’s just so typical. Every time I act on any impulse I have, everything just goes haywire. I kept my head down for almost my entire life. I should have just kept on doing it and none of this would have happened!”
Dodger stared D.D. straight in the eyes. “Sometimes that’s not what life has planned for us.”
The beep-beep-beep and low roar of a construction site echoed in the distance.
“You sound like my father, saying that.” D.D. looked away, back at the water. The fog in his mind momentarily cleared. “My Dad….he always tried to find the best in me, even when I was screwing up. He showed me a few things about taking care of myself, like self-defense. He thought it was important, with life on the island and all. But I kind of lost it a couple of times and got in trouble with it, started a couple of bad fights, even when I was younger. I’m not sure I ever really understood all of what he was tryin to teach me. So I never really trusted my instincts around it, and I just tried to keep my head down and steer clear of anything difficult. And still I ended up in this mess. Not sure what he’d say now.”
“Well, sounds like he was a good and decent duck. I bet you miss him.”
“I do,” D.D. said quietly. His mind was flittering between sadness and worry. “You said ‘Rockhopper’s Penguins’? What do you mean by that?”
“It’s complicated. But that island you were on, there’s some stuff going on that’s not too cool. Maybe you were keeping your head down and somehow didn’t notice?”
D.D. hung his head: “I don’t know. I feel like I’m a slow learner sometimes. And I’m exhausted.” His head started pounding. “What do I need to know?”
Dodger’s stare turned serious, and he spoke more softly. “For now, just stay safe and be careful. The city has a lot of odd ducks in it. Watch your step, keep an eye out, don’t walk towards trouble. If you feel like something’s off, it probably is. We’ll do our best to keep an eye on you.”
“How?”
“We have our ways.”
D.D. shifted back and forth. “I feel like you’re not telling me everything.” “When you’re ready,” Dodger said, “I can tell you more.”
“What, I’m not ready now?”
Dodger paused and took D.D.’s full measure before answering. The ragged clothes. The dirty feathers. The swaying. “Nope.”
Another foghorn blared. D.D. held his hands over his ears, protecting his pounding headache.
“You need rest,” said Dodger. “I can tell you haven’t slept in a while. And you’re gonna need to sleep off that buzz. I can smell the booze from here. If you can’t rest, you can’t think. Not think straight, anyway.”
“You sound like my Dad again. ‘Being tired is the enemy of presence,’ he always said.”
“He’s not wrong.”
Dodger stood up slowly. Then he helped D.D. to his feet, and pointed back into the city.
“Go two blocks that way, then three blocks to the left, and there’s a park. You should find a quiet grassy place to rest for a while. Watch your back.” Dodger started walking away, then turned his head back. “And your front.”
Stay tuned for five more chapters in the complete story of DUCK!
Special thanks to Marcy Beller Paul, story editor.
