Covered in plaster of Paris pretty much from head to toe, Buck itched all over.

A sympathetic lesbian nurse took pity on him and drew a rainbow over his cast-coated chest, putting the pot of gold about an inch from one of Buck’s five fractured ribs. Doctors told him he was lucky to be alive but wasn’t injured as seriously as he thought. The hospital’s head physician actually apologized for the emergency room physician who mistakenly ordered an almost full-body cast when just a neck brace and sling would have done the trick. Shortly after admitting Buck, the ER physician took a leave of absence to enter rehab for a Molly and magic mushroom addiction, the nurse said.

Working under heavy stress, most doctors at the hospital helped on the packed COVID-19 ward, stealing precious time from other patients suffering from disease, ailments and injuries including heart surgery, strokes and cancer, all getting short shrift due to an overworked system that was getting worse.

Buck wanted to die.

Having worked as an Amazon driver would be as good as it got for him. No hope existed for a more stellar career. He didn’t even want to be gay anymore, not that he ever enjoyed the feeling of coming out, being accepted or even having a peach daiquiri at a gay bar.

Goddamn JayJay Bone ruined everything.

Big Bob made it worse.

Trying his best to be one of the guys making America great again just didn’t work out. Truthfully, except for Bill Cosby, he really didn’t mind Black people. Growing the Hitler moustache and firing off the straight-armed salute was just cover for his inadequacies and severe insecurity. Militia membership in Big Bob’s Boys felt phony, like a small boy playing dress-up in his old man’s work clothes.

Buck had to admit he liked the Hawaiian shirts. But the way life looked from his body cast, he wouldn’t be dressing for luaus any time soon. Still, he would someday like to take hula lessons.

The woman’s voice drifted into Buck’s semi-consciousness from where she stood in the doorway. Strong scents of bargain-counter perfume followed. She spoke in a husky whisper.

How are you feeling?

Buck couldn’t turn his head.

With a pile of natural inky black hair piled into a beehive that trailed curls down her back, Doreen stood with both hands on her round hips, looking as enticing as a professional rassling queen. Green eyes that burned like generic mouthwash stared at Buck who squirmed like a mealy worm writhing away from her piercing gaze.

I understand you identify as a redneck queer, she said.

Buck whispered.

Yes ma’am, he said.

That’s like being a jumbo shrimp, Doreen said.

They tried to cure me, Buck said.

Of being a redneck?

Of being a queer.

These bad ol’ boys you thought were your friends are in a whole bunch of trouble, Doreen said.

Buck’s voice grew stronger.

We just wanted to take a stand for ‘Merica against anarchists, troublemakers, activists, rioters and looters, he said.

By destroying our human and civil rights?

In the name of freedom, Buck said.

You really don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?

No ma’am, I sure don’t.

I’m here to make you a deal. My colleagues on the federal strike force anti-crime team have video surveillance of you loading and unloading pounds of pot off your Amazon truck, she said.

Buck moaned.

Ten years minimum, Doreen said.

Buck moaned louder.

Your government will forgive the weed as long as you help us find the racist hate killers on the loose and identify the brains behind Big Bob’s Boys.

There are no brains behind Big Bob’s Boys, Buck said.

You ain’t just whistling Dixie, Doreen said. But there’s a whole lot of hatred going on that will only lead to more violence if we don’t shut ‘em down. Guess who’s going to be Uncle Sam’s newest confidential informant.

Just call me CI the Rat, he said.

A shadow blocked the overhead fluorescent light from the doorway. Big Bob stood shifting his weight from his left foot to his right, holding a small bouquet of flowers. A fat knot of Red Man chewing tobacco packed his left cheek like a hungry squirrel that escaped from the nut house.

I imagine you people like pansies so I brought you these, he said to Buck.

Stepping forward from the corner of the dim room, Doreen reached out and took the flowers.

You shouldn’t have, she said.

Nerves in Big Bob’s legs started to twitch.

You’re cute, Doreen said.