Excerpt #1: The Best of Thunder Johnson

This is the first in a series of excerpts of my upcoming novel, The Best of Thunder Johnson, which will be out this September.

A few weeks ago…

“Just settle down sir, we’re gonna get you some help.”
The man in the back of the squad car thrashed around, as much as he could under restraint. What the hell’s happening?
“It’ll be okay, sir, just settle down.”
Shaking, rocking back and forth, the man muttered “Lights out, lights out, who do you wanna live with , Mommy or Daddy, c’mon Ronny, Mommy or Daddy…”
The car rolled through the streets of Hartsburg, past Lake Runoff, just across from the Cable Access station.
“What’s his deal?” the driver said to his partner.
“Dunno. That’s for the shrinks at HMHF to figure out. We couldn’t just leave ‘em there in that parking lot.”
“Christ, this town…it’s got all the nuts.”
“Yeah, well…‘to serve and protect,’ right?”
“Jesus…”
The man screamed “Lights out!”
“Shut up!” the officer yelled.
“Fuck it, turn on the radio.”
*
Do you ever actually try to talk to people out there? A lot of people believe some really crazy things. It’s why most things on TV are so heavily scripted, why you never see ugly, fat, or retarded people. But people believe really crazy shit--most don’t have their facts straight, or are operating under some delusion that rules their lives…like somehow someone’s going to come along and save us, Gandhi, Jesus, Obama, somebody. We engage in bizarre superstitions, offer prayers to a God we never see, hope that one day it’ll all make sense.
The reality is we’re a huge collection of fucked up people with fucked up ideas who are just lucky that no one ever listens to us or cares about what we actually have to say.
*
“Sir? Can you hear me?”
Ron found himself on an exam table behind a curtain. He could hear the sounds of people in the emergency room, phones ringing and nurses talking. He could barely remember how he got here. He was just trying to buy some video tape when they got him.
“I have a few questions to ask you, can you answer for me?” The Doctor wore a sweater over a shirt and tie, and spoke in a soft, reassuring voice.

Ronaldson grunted.
“Name?”
“…Ron Ronaldson.”
“Good, Ron. Do you know where you are?”
“…Here. Hospital.”
“That’s right. Do you know what day it is?”
“…Monday.”
“That’s right. And do you know what month it is?”
“…September.”
“All right. Sounds good.” The ER Doctor picked up his clipboard and made some notes.
And finally,
“Ron, can you tell me: How old are you?”
The look in his eyes suddenly turned back to anger.

“I know how old I am!” he spat back at the Doctor. “I know how old I am! Lights out! I know how old I am, how old are you!”
“Ron--”
“How old are you?”
“How old are you!!!”