BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 112
helluva punch. When we got there and started watching, I noticed something funny. “T”
was only feinting with his right hand. He‟s a southpaw, so his right‟s the one he‟d use to
jab and set up. His left was reserved for doing serious damage and knocking a man out.
He was purposely not making contact with his right. Using it only to keep the
other guy off him until he saw a chance to unload the left. I watched for at least a full
minute before I figured it out. “T” broke his right hand when he hit the guy and couldn‟t
throw a punch with it. Every time he‟d feint at the guy, “T” laughed. A weird cackle he
must‟ve pulled from a Halloween movie.
Finally, not interested in seeing someone I loved be hurt, I stepped in. “„T‟, if it‟s
okay with you, can I fuck this guy up for ya?”
“T” started laughing again. I‟m sure he was about to “give permission”, when his
opponent got scared. “Not two of you assholes! No way! C‟mon, guys, let‟s haul ass!”
Helping each other, the three jerks got back in the car and took off.
We took “T” back to Jan‟s to put ice on his hand. He never stopped his loony
laughing until after we arrived at her place. That‟s just “T”.
Only for comparison do I include this tidbit. In my lifetime, from one date
meetings, to relationships, to some regrettable marriages, I‟ve met more than two-
thousand women. To my knowledge, every damned one of „em is more capable of
working on a car than “T” Townsend. That man has to be the most incompetent auto
repair person on the planet.
I wouldn‟t tell you this part if I hadn‟t seen it myself. It‟s almost too much to
believe. “T” had a car in high school, a 1961 Olds F-85. The early version of the
Cutlass, a two door. What Mom called shit-brindle brown. To a high school kid,
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