Complete Match

The Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #2
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The Handouts versus The Tin Ringers

EAST SIDE
The Alternate Novel

Chapter 1

"You've been coming in now, what, like two years?" Hank said. "It gets to where it's an insult, to be honest."

Jerry, red in the face, turned from the T and took off his protective goggles. "Come again?"

"You can't hit three balls in a row down the wall," Hank said. "Why do I even take your money? At least a hundred times, I've told you to lead with the butt of the goddamn racquet."

"Well I apologize then," Jerry said. "I didn't realize my performance meant that much to you. The lessons, I enjoy them, they take the edge off my day is all."

Hank felt stupid. "I'm sorry man, it's not you."

Jerry said, "You done for the night? After me?"

"Nah, I got a seven and an eight. Unfortunately."

"Will a drink get in the way?"

"Fine," Hank said.


The table in the club lounge overlooked East 86th Street. People were pouring up out of the subway and bracing themselves against the February cold snap.

"My favorite window on the world," Hank said. "See that newsstand? You'd see Mick Jagger there sometimes trying to quick-browse the magazines until the guy said something, just like everyone else. He was a member here back then."

"Jeez, really?" Jerry said.

"Lot of history in this place," Hank said. "Someone could write a book. There's things would have to be left out of course."

"There always are. But like what?"

"Like the guy once who showed up from the airport and got a teaching job on the spot, because of the New Zealand accent. He couldn't hit the ball much better than you, but that didn't matter. Guy's name was Pike. He eventually worked his way through the 10 am round robin, woman by woman."

"You're kidding . . .  What happened to him?"

"Ah, they threw him out. Not before a husband confronted him one day on Court 3. He's resurfaced a couple times at different clubs. Just like I'll be having to do."

"Wait a minute, what?" Jerry said.

"You didn't hear they sold the place?" Hank said. "Big corporate transaction, got a mention in the Times."

"Wow, no. They gonna run it the same then, or what?"

"When I started here we had fifteen courts. We're down to six, on account of first the Nautilus craze and then the yoga and other insanity taking over. Still, the six we have, they're like gold . . . Answer your question, no, fuckers are bulldozing it."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jerry said.

Hank finished his drink. "No you're not," he said. "You're in real estate. You'd do the same thing."

"You're right, I probably would. But as an outsider this feels wrong on so many levels. They've closed on it?"

"It's in escrow. May is when we're supposed to be cleared out. Year, year and a half, you'll have a sparkling condominium tower gracing the sidewalk."

The Tuesday evening business league matches were winding down, and players were filtering into the lounge. Some of them were out of shape, but everyone seemed upbeat. Hank noticed Yvette talking to a young guy at the bar. He'd given her a couple of lessons and was impressed with her focus, the way she looked him in the eye and listened and then ran her ass off. He wondered a few times what might be underneath the surface.

Jerry said, "What happened when the husband confronted that guy Pike?"

"It was interesting," Hank said. "The husband was a big bodybuilder type guy. I was doing some sprints on Court 7 and heard this commotion, the guy shouting. Then it was over."

"The guy clocked Pike?"

"No, Pike clocked the guy. Out cold. EMS, the works. Wiry little dude, but he had a fury to him."

"Dang. And that was it then for the wife, no more round robins?"

"No, she was back the next morning. In fact she's still a member, you see her around."

"Oh."

Hank said, "I gotta go. Next lesson's on me. I was out of line saying you can't even hit the ball down the forehand wall. Even though it's true."

"Forget that, I deserved it . . . Listen, why don't you think about coming to work for me?"

"You mean your office, on Lex?"

"Yeah, there, out on the island, a little Westchester, whatever."

"Jeez, even thinking about shifting gears like that after all this time . . . but what would I be doing?"

"You know, property management type stuff. More or less. There are some unique incentives. You can start part-time, see how it goes."

Hank realized he didn't know much about Jerry, despite sitting in his box at a Jets game and attending a Labor Day party at his spread in the Hamptons. He did know the guy grew up in a one-bedroom apartment in Brighton Beach with the train rumbling past and rattling the windows every few minutes, and that he had a degree from City College.

"I appreciate it," Hank said. "For the moment, I'm going to stay put and help this place die peacefully."

"You know what?" Jerry said. "Let me take a look at that. Maybe there's a way to screw 'em up somehow, file some shit, who knows?"

"Jerry, these are corporations, they know what they're doing."

"Like I said," Jerry said.


Hank lived in a five-story walk-up on Third Avenue and 25th Street. On brisk nights he liked to walk home - it was a little over three miles but it went by quickly, and his mind loosened up.

He'd fallen in love with the sport as a teenager twenty-two years ago in Gainesville, Florida, when he heard an unusual sound coming from an outdoor cement court at Chapman's Park and went to investigate.

Now he was thinking it would be good to have a farewell reunion, people who passed through the club over the years. There were so many though - how would you set something like that up?

At 75th Street three women were getting into a cab in front of a bar called McKeown's. One of them looked like Kate. Hank was tired and half a block away and it couldn't be, but it sure looked like Kate.

Chapter 2

Kate
by Roland Jacopetti
Hank poised on the sidewalk, juggling “could be” and “couldn't be”, watching maybe-Kate standing at the curb in obvious cab-searching posture. Back in the day, when Hank had been a much more active private investigator and Kate his partner, they'd spent large portions of their waking hours together, finally becoming partners in more than just business. Then the demon Squash had sunk its talons more securely into Hank to the detriment of his work time, until finally Kate pulled out of the partnership, and left New York for...where was it? Portland? Los Angeles? Silicon Valley? Had he really forgotten, in only three years?

The trio of women was obviously on the verge of attracting a cab, and Hank made his move. “Hey, Kate!” he called, dangerously jaywalking crowded 75th, and approaching the three, as did a cab. Kate looked up and, after a moment of indecision, flashed the smile that had always tugged his heart-strings.

“Wouldn't you know it?” she laughed. “I thought you'd be knee deep in squash at this hour of the afternoon, but noooo!” She pointed to her companions. “Kids, this is Hank Meredith. You remember...my New York former partner? Hank, meet my San Francisco co-conspirators, Lori Leeman and Maggie Shea.”

(San Francisco! That was it!)

“Where are you guys off to?”

“Unfortunately, to the airport. This was a four-hour visit, or I'd have contacted you.  Actually, you were on my phone call list, once I got back to S.F. Listen...want to share this cab with us while I fill you in on what's happening? This nice gentleman holding the door for us looks like a gypsy cabbie, and I'm sure you can talk him in to taking you back here from JFK for less than the price of a Japanese sub-compact.”

“Done!”

In moments, they'd piled into the cab, and were off into traffic. Lori and Maggie were soon deep in discussion, leaving Kate and Hank to a renew-old-acquaintance conversation. What-ever-happened-to didn't take much time, and they reached one of those inevitable moments when ex-lovers have come back to close proximity.

“So...how's your life?” asked Kate. “Doing any investigation? Or still wrapped up in squash?”

“I'm still being a little lax,” admitted Hank. “Keeping the office open and taking on an occasional client. Actually, I'm right on the verge of getting back into the biz.” And he filled Kate in on the impending demise of the club. She reacted with a good deal more surprise than he'd expected.

“Damn!” she said. “Talk about coincidence! I knew I should have gotten in touch with you before we left New York, but I've got appointments tomorrow I just can't miss.”

“And miles to go before you sleep?”

“That, too. We've got a few minutes, though, so let me fill you in real quick, and we can continue on the phone tomorrow.” Something changed in her eyes. “Or maybe...maybe you'll find what I've got to tell you interesting enough to warrant an appointment at MY office.  Maybe even soon.”

There was that smile again.

“So...what's up, Kate?”

“Well...a fast update. I floundered for the first year in San Francisco, making a shocking hole in my savings, and not doing much more than learning how to get around the city and finding an apartment that's even expensive by New York standards. About the time I started thinking about moving on, I met Lori and Maggie. They have an agency called Gate Investigations, which was doing well after seven years, but they were about to lose a partner, an old-time ex-cop-turned-P.I., who decided to retire. They'd been talking it over, and had pretty much decided that the time was ripe for an all-woman agency. Then yours truly came along with my paltry four years in the saddle and lots of New York charisma...”

Maggie looked up. “Really, Hank,” she threw in, “It was her honest face and her Cow Hollow apartment that swung the deal.”

“She's right,” said Kate, “Private eyes are a dime a dozen, but three bedrooms in the Hollow is a genuine rarity.”

“See, she's just a greenhorn,” scoffed Maggie. “Private eye, indeed! We always refer to ourselves as Private Dicks.”

“Ignore them,” said Kate. “Listen, let's get on with this. We're close to the airport. So the three of us have been together for almost two years, and it's working out. Last week, we got a call from a potential client, and I immediately thought of you. This is a guy who owns a health club in the Financial District...”

“A club? Squash? Do they play squash in California?”

“Of course they do, but not at this club. It's hard to believe, but the joint has been in existence for nearly a hundred years, started back in the early 'twenties in one of the old Montgomery Street office buildings. It's a small club with a fairly small membership. Not all the modern amenities, but a nice shower room and sauna, enough machines for the current membership, and a high initiation fee. And one detail that's possibly its main selling point. A handball court.”

“Handball? You mean like against the side of a building? How can you have a handball court in an indoor athletic club?”

“You can, and it's so cool. Picture this. Over in one corner of the main exercise room is a narrow stairway leading up to a trap door set in the ceiling. You push this door up, and the stairway continues up into a small room with no windows, only a skylight and artificial lighting. The door comes down, and the room is sealed off from the rest of the club. A handball court.”

“Really, kind of like a squash court.”

“Right! I've tried it. You play with gloves on both hands, and it's amazing how quickly you develop facility. Slap the ball into the back wall, take shots off the walls as the ball caroms around the room...it's great fun.”

“So...why an investigation?”

The cab slowed, approaching the airport.

“Briefly, there's a group of business types, members of the club, and investors as well, who are going for a hostile takeover. They want to make it into your basic modern cookie-cutter club. And...they want to get rid of the handball court.”

“Who are they?”

“I can't remember names...and here we are. Listen, Hank, I'm so glad I saw you before we left. Here's a card. I'll call you first thing tomorrow morning. Be well, sweetie.”

“Wait a minute. Be sure to get me the names of these co-conspirators. Maybe I can do a little research.”

“Oh, wait a minute. I just remembered one, I think. Let me see...right! An odd character named...Pike.”


Chapter 3

Ringing Ears
by Will Gens

"Yep," said Hank, "that sure is him. Weird, I guess some coincidence."

Jerry added, "You think there's a connection to the Pike incident a couple of years back? One way of getting even, especially if the wife is still at the club, is to buy it out and tear it down."

"But Pike hasn't been here for a long time."

"I know, but the wife is still coming here, maybe she’s screwing someone else or still screwing Pike. Maybe in his mind squash turned his wife into a cheating two-faced harlot. I don't know. But it can't be just coincidence."

"Jerry, from the hearing schedule, what's your angle, how you going to stall this thing?"

"The City Review Board for permits is probably the one agency that’s made up of untouchables—"

"What do you mean 'untouchables'?”

"I mean incorruptible: they are watchdogs and vehement about policing the contract awarding and bidding process. If there's any hint of payoffs, bribery, or the like, or they suspect there is, they’ll investigate."

"Have they ever stopped construction or prevented projects?”

"Yes, but not often, mostly because these contractors and deal makers are clever and many of them very corrupt. I know, I’m in the business."

"So you just have to get them to investigate some impropriety or suspicion of such..."

"That's it, my man, and an investigation can drag on and on. You have to understand that deals often fall through, signed and sealed deals, because of something like this. They can't have all this do, re, mi tied up in a deal under investigation. Investors pull out and put their money elsewhere, the whole enchilada collapses."

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Each night when Hank left the club and walked the three miles home, he passed the liquor store he used to stop at when he was drinking heavily. Just before his marriage broke up. He eventually stopped drinking completely, but it was too late. Margaret and Kate had seen the dissolution of the marriage with his drinking. He never thought his drinking bothered anyone; he often did it late at night when everyone was asleep, when he’d work on his book into the wee hours of the morning. He hadn't written anything since he stopped drinking. He just couldn't push past the methodical, predictable, and depressing turn his life had taken. By not drinking he was punishing himself: he felt alive and vibrant only after a few drinks of his favorite vodka. He couldn't even stomach the sight of his unfinished manuscript, which he’d worked on with passion and discipline. He'd published short stories before, so he was a “writer” and they were always favorably received, but this manuscript was his baby, first novel. It was special. Sometimes he'd just pull it out, stare at it, and then think if he started writing he'd not be able to stop and he would stay up and not sleep and would drink to get to sleep and then what? Maybe it wasn't good, maybe he really didn't have a writer's spark of that passion and dedication.

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The voicemail from Margaret hit him like a sledgehammer. She had called to tell him his Kate, his "gud gurl," as he used to call her until she hated it, was getting married in a few weeks. That was okay, but what hurt a ton more was Margaret telling him he wasn't invited to the wedding.

“Sorry, Hank, I tried to get her to invite you but she said no, she didn't want you there. I'm sorry, Hank, and she made me swear not to give you any of her contact information."

Hank played the message back again, and again, and again. Each time "she didn't want you there" seemed to hit him harder than before. 

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It was snowing heavily when he left the club. He hadn’t even realized a storm was coming. They anticipated a huge snowfall of one to two feet. Hank knew the club would close, they always closed the club whenever they had the slightest opportunity, even though the members complained vehemently. His seven and eight pm lessons cancelled. Jerry left him a voice mail, he wasn’t sure he'd make it for his six pm lesson. Hank didn’t want to hang around waiting to see if Jerry showed up so he left.

"She didn't want you there." It hurt him, Margaret knew it would hurt him. "Damn," he muttered as he braced the wind and the snow and headed down Third Avenue. He tried to fight the feeling—it had been tugging at him all day—that familiar giddiness when he knew he was done for the day and that he could stop in at Manhattan Wine and Spirits and buy a liter of Sobieski, Polish Vodka with a real kick. All he could think about…. "What the hell," he said aloud as he leaned into the wind, "what the hell, being good, being sober hasn't done me anything, I can't fucking even go to my daughter's wedding. I can't sleep, I'm middle-aged, soon to be unemployed, divorced, alone, a mediocre coach and writer, fucking wallowing in mediocrity." As he entered the liquor store, he heard the familiar tingle of the door chimes ring beautifully in his ears, like music.

------------------------------------------------------------

He woke up and it was still dark out, he was so thirsty, he could see the snow falling heavily. He turned over to get out of bed but bumped into what was a body that groaned next to him. He almost jumped out of his skin; he couldn’t place this room, it wasn’t his apartment, and he had no idea where he was. His head was still spinning, he was still drunk. The place wasn’t even vaguely familiar and the room was dark except for the light from the street lights. He pulled the covers back, and there lying next to him was Yvette from the club. She was snoring a bit, her lipstick smeared all over her mouth and her two eyes like a raccoon. She was completely nude, and he noticed the dried drool out the side of her mouth. He had to pee so badly ... he tried to wake her, he too was naked and the cold floor jolted him as he stepped out of bed. He couldn’t find his clothes. “Shit,” he looked around, he didn’t want to turn on the light, but he could follow a trail of clothes leading into what surely must be the bathroom.  He fumbled for the light switch and finally turned on the light to the bathroom. He stared into the mirror while he went, trying to piece it all together. “Shit,” he said as he thought about Yvette’s husband. He didn’t seem to care much about the husband, who was probably away, he traveled a lot she once told him.

He vaguely remembers seeing her in Gristedes where he went for his limes. She invited him for dinner, yes, her husband’s flight from Atlanta had been cancelled because of the storm, and she didn’t want to be alone. She had paid for his limes and that’s the last he remembered. He was still drunk, the room was spinning, he wanted to get out of there before she woke, and he mostly wanted to see Kate.


Chapter 4

Tightrope Walkers
by Richard Millman

Yevgheni Karmalov—Jerry Carl to the world—had done very well in his professional life. A successful lawyer, he had tamed both the Real Estate market and had met with what some might say was notorious success in the world of corporate litigation. Either way, few people of influence were unaware of Jerry Carl.

As the child of the murdered Ivan Karmalov, the notorious 'Czar of Brighton Beach' in the early sixties, Yevgheni had been left to the care of his maternal grandfather Grigor, who had quietly guided the boy away from the streets toward an education. Not that Jerry was unaware of his father's business and not that Jerry had decried his father; he had simply chosen a life that had allowed him to build on the powerful traits that he had inherited, but in a world where legality brought greater rewards than crime.

Jerry chuckled to himself as he strolled back to his locker from the steam room at the club. "What would you have thought of Squash, Papa?"

He changed into his lightweight Italian suit, checked he was presentable in the mirror, carefully ordered his locker, and walked out of the club's back door. He headed for his penthouse law offices on Avenue of the Americas instead of his real estate office on Lex. As he enjoyed the light spring air, he pulled out his cell phone and hit a speed dial number. One of his trusted investigators answered, a man who skillfully trod the knife edge between the legal and criminal worlds.
 
"Bernard," Jerry began, "I have two matters for your attention."

"Certainly, Mr Carl," the gravelly voice on the other end intoned with a mixture of respect and affection.

"First, I would be grateful if you could discover how Mr. Luther Holland is spending his day. I am sending a picture to your cell phone. You will see he is a well-built muscular gentleman. You may find him at his property development business offices."

"Next, I would like you to find Kate Crawford. She is twenty-three, daughter of Hank, the squash pro at my club. I believe the ex-wife's name is Margaret—I don't know the last name. Kate has gone AWOL. I'd like to know why she isn't communicating with her father. Contact me anytime by the usual methods."

"I will move on both items immediately," Bernard said smoothly.

"Thank you, Bernard." Jerry hit “End.”
 
Now for the zoning board meetings. Jerry appreciated the Hanks of the world and every once in a while it was his pleasure to give people he cared about a helping hand.

……

Luther Holland twirled the heavy crystal tumbler in his hand, swirling the Maker's Mark 46 that remained in it around and around as he watched the kaleidoscope of Margaret's naked body, her buttocks and breasts twisting this way and that, contorted by the prisms in the glass.

"I hope you're pleased with the view," she purred, purposely over-accentuating each movement that she made.

"You're here, aren't you?" he said, trying to sound disdainful, though it was impossible for him to hide his arousal.

He looked at his watch. Twelve forty-five. The next zoning board meeting was at three-thirty. He had better hurry.

…….

Steve Pike was perplexed. He had met the girl about six months ago in a bar on the upper West side. She was young and he didn't go for young. She was single and he didn't go for single. And yet, here he was six months later, inexplicably infatuated with the antithesis of his regular quarry. Also, he was starting to wonder where she went when she wasn't with him, what she did when she wasn't with him. Who she was with when she wasn't with him.

Not good. Not good at all.

What the hell's wrong with you, Pikey? he muttered to himself. He shuddered and felt himself involuntarily duck. Was it his imagination or had he just felt that ugly wordlove fly over him like some CIA drone stealing a view of his innermost thoughts.

"Brr," he shivered, opened the stall door and went to wash his hands.

His next lesson was a slightly overweight brunette, thirty-eight, with a lovely twinkle in her eye.

"Mrs. Swanson, how are you?" Pike winked as he came out of the men's locker room.

"Fine, thank you, Steve. How are you?" Emphasis on the you gave away more than a little of Mrs Swanson's interest in the Club Altesse squash pro.

"Shall we play, Mrs Swanson?" Steve asked with a smile.

"Yes, let's," Mrs Swanson concurred and they walked toward the hard-backed court at the back of the club.

This is more like it, thought Steve—but his earlier thoughts just wouldn't leave him alone.

……

Hank stood in the Pro Shop, monotonously threading Supernick XL pro through the O3 Prince racket on the stringing machine in front of him. His heart wasn't in it, as indeed his heart hadn't been in anything for some time. Still, perhaps his plan with Yvette this evening might bring some respite. Yvette was the sort of girl that liked the places that he thought Kate would be drawn to. He felt it was a forlorn hope, but forlorn was better than none and he had to try something!

He leaned back against the wall behind him and gave up any pretense of stringing the racket. Come back to me sweetheart, he thought, hoping that by some miracle, she would hear his wish—wherever she was. If she still was.

A big salty tear rolled down his cheek, and he sucked in an empty breath that did nothing to ease the hollow pain in his chest.

…….

Less than a fifteen-minute cab ride across the park from where Hank Crawford stood helplessly searching in vain for answers, Kate Crawford lay in bed, her head resting on her hands, which were clasped behind her on the propped up pillow. Her golden hair flowed in unruly tresses over the top of her lovely porcelain-white neck as she stared at her olive skinned lover, Sid Christodolou.

"Don't go, darling." Kate pleaded. She knew where Sid was going. It was the deal and had been since they had first gotten together. That had been about eighteen months ago and it had been the most extraordinary eighteen months of Kate's life. Extraordinary, complex, ecstatic, painful, life-changing, challenging.

Sid blew her a kiss. "Don't moan honey, you know what my gig is."

"I know, I know," said Kate. "I get it," she said blowing a kiss back as Sid floated out the door, an early-evening apparition.

"I get it," Kate repeated in the sudden solitude, "but how can I get Hank to get it?" she asked the snapshot of herself and Sid on the nightstand. "How can I get Hank to get that I share a lover and that, for now, I’m okay with that?"

She looked again at the picture of herself and Sid. "God I love that girl," she said. And what would Hank say to that?

…….

Sid jogged lightly up the subway steps. As she got near McKeown's she saw Pikey standing in the doorway. She laughed to herself. He was looking up and down the street anxiously. Then he saw her and his expression visibly brightened. So much for the hard-assed womanizer. She waved and ran the rest of the way.


Chapter 5

The Devil in the Detail
by Kathryn Dysart

“Why did you marry a Shrewish American Princess? She sounds awful. No wonder Kate severed ties,” said Yvette.

Hank nursed a glass of his favorite scotch, a fifteen year old Balvenie. He shredded his cocktail napkin into tiny pieces while telling Yvette about Kate. Margaret was not the main character in this recounting of his estranged relationship with his daughter although somehow instead of arousing sympathy for his plight he managed to distract the conversation away from Kate and on to Margaret.

On arriving at Mckeown’s a booth had opened up and Hank grabbed it thinking it would be conducive for what he wanted to propose to Yvette.  She had ordered her new “favorite drink,” Widow Jane neat, rocks on the side. All excited, she told Hank that putting a few drops of water into the bourbon would change the taste a “slight bit” and on adding the rocks it would change it even more.  She insisted he taste all three states of her drink.

The mood shifted when Hanks told Yvette he was worried about his daughter. All thoughts of planning a farewell club bash vanished. The alcohol-fueled chat seemed to spike Hank’s pain over his daughter’s dismissal of him. Yvette’s probing questions were not helping; although they seemed genuine, they left Hank feeling vulnerable. Looking her straight in the eye, he asked. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, Margaret seems so different from you. I can’t imagine the two of you together, much less raising a child under the same roof. How did you end up with her?”

Hank sat there for several seconds looking down at his drink. “We were kids. I got her pregnant.” 

“But, I thought you grew up in Florida? How did you get a Lawn-Guy-Land girl pregnant?”

Hank wondered if Yvette’s direct carefree nature was due to her youth or her being French. On the court she wore a bright pink cotton bandana loosely tied around her neck. Hank got a kick out of hearing, “Merde!”, when she missed a tough shot.  He had become somewhat of a Francophile over the last ten years, ever since he took that one game off Thierry Lincou in 2004. It was the highlight of his professional career.  He felt a camaraderie with Lincou due, in his mind, to their closeness in age and the fact that neither had grown up playing squash as so many of the elite players had done. Nor had either gone to prep school.

“I did, Gainesville. My parents had a friend who owned a frozen custard shop in Key West on Duval Street. I worked there one summer so they let me return on my spring vacation, junior year in high school. Margaret’s grandparents rented a house there that winter and her mom sent her to visit them over her spring break.  She came in the shop, ordered peanut butter custard and gave me her number.  I called her the first chance I had and asked her to meet me on the beach after work. The rest is history.”

“Just like that? Did you date? What was the attraction? You were so young,” Yvette said.

“Yep, too young,” Hank said. 

He looked up from his drink and over at Yvette who was staring at him with a concerned look on her face.

“I’m sorry Hank.”

“Don’t be, she got a serious sand burn on her ass that night and Kate is a great kid.”

“Wait a minute. You fucked once and she got pregnant,” Yvette said.

“I thought you had a hankering for a cigar?”

“I do, but Hank, this is important. This girl, your ex, changed the direction of your life before it had a chance to get off the ground.  When did you start playing squash and how did you end up in New York?”

Yvette had only taken a few sips of her third drink. Hank got the waiter’s attention and ordered another Balvenie to keep her company while contemplating how much to reveal.

He did not want to seem like a complete sap and yet he was feeling a connection with her. It had been years since he had discussed this with anyone.  Hearing himself talk about meeting Margaret felt different than how he remembered. This time he spoke as observer rather than as a victim of his early life, which in the past brought up anger and resentment toward Margaret.  He had used that anger on the court when he was competing on the circuit. It gave him the power and focus he needed to win against opponents whom he imagined had the advantage of years of coaching and training. Hank was self taught, a natural athlete who worked hard.  Using a strategy of patience during a wicked fast game, shot after shot, he would wait for his opponent to slip up before making an irretrevable shot.  

“Margaret said her mother wanted her to have an abortion. The only reason they told me was to get money.  I was a kid, a romantic; I wanted her to keep the baby. I was relentless, calling and calling until she began to have second thoughts.  Her mother, of course, was against the idea. She said if she wanted to keep the baby she would have to move out. She was not going to be responsible for feeding another ‘mouth’.  Margaret ended up moving to my parent’s home in Gainesville. I finished high school and she worked as a cashier at Wal-Mart’s until Kate’s was born.”

“Quelle domage!”

“What,” said Hank.

“Oh, I just feel bad for you.”

“Don’t feel bad.  If it wasn’t for Kate, I’d never have become a squash player.”

“What do you mean?”

Hank told her about strolling with Kate to Chapman’s Park to give Margaret some time to herself. On one of their first visits he heard a whipping sound come from an outdoor cement court. He pushed the carriage around to the back of the court where a four foot back wall allowed him to watch. Two men were playing what he learned was the game of squash. 

Strolling to the squash court became routine. Kate slept and Hank watched people play. Between games he asked the players questions. After about a week an older man, who later became his mentor, gave him a used racquet. His first missed shot intrigued and hooked him. It was during Kate’s infancy that he learned the game.

Over the next five years, Margaret worked at Wal-Mart, which had great insurance, and Hank enrolled at the University of Florida. With the support of his parents he spent every free minute playing squash. Margaret didn’t mind. Watching him play was her recreation. His world began expanding, not only from school and becoming a proud father, but it seemed there was no end to the life lessons he could learn from playing squash. The metaphors among his squash friends were bandied about as seriously as they took their wins and losses.

After graduation, Hank’s mentor encouraged him to move to New York to pursue squash professionally. There would be more clubs and better players for practice. Squash was the vehicle that took Hank, Margaret and Kate to New York.

In front of McKeown’s Hank hailed a cab. They climbed in the back seat.  Yvette said, “I’d like to meet your daughter.”  As they drove off he said, “I was hoping you might help me find her.”


 Chapter 6

The Night is Young
by Georgetta L. Morque

 Margaret arrived at the designated luxury apartment on Central Park South in her sheared mink jacket with chinchilla trim somewhat early for her 7 p.m. meeting. Her client had rescheduled his noon appointment due to some unforeseen work conflict. But Margaret didn’t mind. This left her more time in the city to roam about, check out some Madison Avenue boutiques and pop into her favorite hair salon where the famous Austin shuffled his schedule around to accommodate her. Although she’d been to her stylist on the Island in the morning, her travels throughout the windy winter day caused havoc to her hair. But Austin would fix that, making sure that her thick streaked blonde mane fell just so, with a sweep over the left side, revealing her most flattering features and strategically placing wisps to downplay the ones less so.

Margaret also had plenty of time to make sure the apartment was up to the highest standards. If not, all she had to do was ring a buzzer for the concierge.

Chilled champagne - check,

Plush bathrobes – check,

Working Jacuzzi spa tub – check,

Fully stocked bar - check. 

She admired her reflection in the large mirror in the Italian marble powder room and thought, not half bad, as she refreshed her makeup.

She had gotten into the habit of afternoon appointments mainly because of Kate who was in school during the day. Now that Kate was older and out of the house, Margaret was free to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. At first Margaret didn’t want Kate to know about her escort service business for high level male executives. “Why can’t you be a normal mother,” Kate had shouted at Margaret when she ultimately learned what she had suspected for quite some time. But Margaret wasn’t too concerned about Kate’s reaction. It wasn’t the first time Kate expressed anger at her mother. Besides, she was bringing in big bucks for both of them.

Hank with his squash pro salary could never support Margaret’s busy lifestyle of at-home personal training and massages, regular Botox, facials and eyelash extensions, an ever-changing wardrobe from top designers and constant redecorating, let alone maid service and gardeners.

Margaret pulled open the gold brocade drapes of the floor to ceiling windows in the living room to look down at Central Park, which was alive with people in spite of the cold night.  Even without sunshine, warmth and greenery, horse and carriage rides made their rounds, and runners and bikers took laps under a sky lit by traffic lights and street lamps. Up on the 14th floor, Margaret could still hear horns, sirens and the hum of buses and trucks, the wacky jazzy beat of the city.

After adjusting the sound system to a cocktail type mix to muffle the noise outside, she sat down and stretched her long legs on an oriental ottoman in the parlor room, gazed at the eclectic mix of paintings on the walls and glanced at her Cartier watch. It was 6:55 p.m. Soon her company would arrive. Margaret didn’t know too much about this particular client except that he was known as a New York real estate tycoon.
------------------------------------------------------------------
“That should wrap it up,” said Logan, New Look Magazine’s talented young photographer from Brooklyn. Kate was pleased since it was her first fashion shoot and it went well, thanks in part to Logan, whose upbeat personality had put her at ease. She had been instrumental in choosing the models and arranging the clothes and accessories. Her suggestions had impressed her boss at High Design, as well as the creative director at New Look, who booked the shoot in the club room of a new luxury high rise condo in West Chelsea. The pool and ping-pong tables provided the perfect background for High Design’s new line of active wear for beyond the gym. Colorful crop top sweat shirts matched with striped leggings worked well with the room’s ultra modern decor of black and red walls, black tiled tables and red lounge chairs. Black and white murals depicted scenes from the neighborhood in a minimalist style, while exotic plants soared out of large shiny black pots.

“Would you like to see the rest of the facility?” asked the condo’s marketing assistant Tess, a tall curvy redhead and an aspiring actress from Greenleaf, Idaho. “I’m happy to show you all around,” she said to the group since the shoot was finished.

“Thanks Tess,” said Logan, “but we need to head on back to the office – deadlines, you know,” he replied, packing up with the rest of the New Look staff, who said goodbye and thank you to Tess.

 “I’d love a tour,” said Kate, who along with her colleagues and the models, followed Tess past the colorful children’s play room and then downstairs to the swimming pool, hot tub and fitness center, which was filled with every type of cardio equipment imaginable, a separate weight room and something else that totally surprised Kate.

“A squash court!”

“You know about squash?” asked Tess. “I’d never heard of it before. I think it must be kind of like racquetball.”

“I do know squash,” said Kate, without elaborating.

Then they took a long elevator ride to the top floor party room and terrace that overlooked the Hudson.

“There’s a party here tonight hosted by one of our partners for a radio executive, our first tenant,” explained Tess. “If you want to go, I can put your names on the list.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “That’s going to be the signature cocktail,” noted Tess as a bartender whipped up a concoction in multiple blenders. “It’s called the Ryder.”           
        .
And there in the corner was Ryder himself, one of Manhattan’s more popular DJs getting ready for the evening. Two techies were setting up strobe lights while shirtless male waiters with body art on their chests and backs were getting instructions from a head waiter and a female hostess in a gold mini skirt and sequin halter top raced around with a clip board. Two maintenance men were assembling a dance floor.

“As you can see,” said Tess. It’s going to be amazing.”
------------------------------------------
Yvette looked at her phone. She would have to text Hank. The traffic on Lexington Avenue wasn’t moving an inch. She would be later than she expected. She could just jump out and hop on the no. 6 train and walk a couple of blocks, but Yvette wasn’t a subway girl. She preferred to cab it everywhere. Besides, it was cold.


Chapter 7

Yvette
by Jeanne Woods

Henry Arthur O’Keefe awoke, only slightly under the weather, in his tastefully put-together apartment. He wondered if he’d made the wrong response to Yvette’s oblique invitation. Given the amount of alcohol they’d consumed, the late hour and the dawning sense that something special might be afoot, he’d kissed her lightly and said “That’s an elevator ride I very much want to take, and soon, but let’s savor this moment. I don’t want to have a hang-over the first time I wake up with you. Besides, we’ve done my story, now it’s your turn.” He signaled for another round.

Her immediate reaction was what the hell…? accompanied by a small wince that she hoped had gone unnoticed. Turned down for a headache that wasn’t yet a reality? Tear out the front page!  Then, recognizing his sincerity, she thought this is an actual nice guy I’m dealing with here. He wants this to be special—cool.

Or, maybe he’s gay. She tried to imagine Hank in a gay bar. With a guy. With several guys. Maybe... In any case, his response had migrated from the debit side of her ledger to the credit side.
 
Hank was finding Yvette more interesting than he’d anticipated. She’d grown up in Albany where her parents taught at a small private academy. Monsieur Duval taught mathematics and French, Madame taught art and art history. While Yvette had followed her brothers through public schools, all four spoke impeccable French and had undergone considerable supplemental education at home.

Even by middle school Yvette was clearly focused on becoming an architect. She fell in love with Alan during her third year at Columbia. He was a charming first-year architecture grad student. Alan wanted to get married right off the bat and Yvette agreed. She did receive her Bachelor of Architecture, but found herself delaying graduate school to work, “just for a semester,” and then “just until Alan finishes his degree… his internship...” The same day Alan landed the job with a prestigious firm, Yvette learned she was pregnant--about four years ahead of schedule. Within six months Alan had fallen in love with a leggy blond colleague and left the marriage before Gabrielle was born.

Enter Yvette Duval, working single mom, devoted to her sweet-natured, bright and talented daughter. She had been happy enough for the past twelve years as the lead architectural technician at Roget and Associates, a good-sized Manhattan firm with an office in Paris. The boss, Bernard Roget, had liked her and found her indispensible, but he had recently retired, passing the baton to his smirking son, whom the office staff privately referred to as “Junior.” Junior had a highly developed sense of entitlement and a great deal to prove. He was uncomfortable with the amount of power wielded by Yvette and had set out to rein her in. Early in her employment there she rebuffed his pass and he was apparently still stinging from it.

Gabrielle, it seems, had just completed her first semester at Harvard, thanks to Alan’s urging and largesse. Alan and leggy Linda lived in Cambridge, and Gabi loved their two boys. Yvette was finally adjusting to the empty nest and had been considering going back for her M. Arch. Degree.

----

Hank was thirsty and had to pee too bad to roll over and go back to sleep. He padded heavily toward the bathroom thinking this is not exactly how we train for the 40s Nationals. It’s four weeks out, Amigo, so let us get our shit together. A long, hot shower often led to some of his best thinking; “mulling time” he called it. Forty five minutes later, shaved and dressed, he had a plan that began with two aspirin, a pot of coffee and a smoothie with a raw egg in it. Maybe he’d call Yvette. Then he’d jog to Central Park where he’d start his quarter mile interval training around the reservoir, weather notwithstanding. He’d bring it inside for court sprints on alternate days for the next three weeks then taper off and concentrate on his ball skills with drills and patterns for the last week. He needed another trophy like a case of Athlete’s Foot, but his resume could use the boost.

----
Pike sat thinking about the clever things he’d say next while Kate tried not to think about her dad. She missed him increasingly, but he had to have known all along that her mom was prostituting herself. Or could he have turned a blind eye to the obvious, just as she had? She hadn’t spoken to either of them since the day she arrived home unexpectedly, eager to tell her mom about the new job. Margaret was just getting into a cab, decked out like a high end call girl. Kate said “God, Mom, you look like a fancy hooker!” and Margaret had erupted.

“Tell me, Katherine,” she began at a hiss, “do you think you’d have lived in this beautiful home with your outrageous college expenses and your precious squash habit with me coaching flabby geezers and bored house wives in some second rate club?” She had come up several decibels, “And no thanks to Hank and his “chicken shit squash bum finances! I notice you’ve been only too willing to spend all the money I’ve so generously given you, you greedy little bitch.” Shouting now, “You can shove your moral high ground right up your judgmental little ass!” Margaret climbed the rest of the way into the cab and, barking a destination at the cabbie, slammed the door as the cab sped off.

Kate was stunned. She called Marie in tears to see if she could crash there for a few days and moved out on the spot. The more time that went by the harder it became for her to call her dad. Margaret could rot in hell, but she knew her dad would be worried.

“You’re awfully quiet, Pet. Are you sitting there dreaming up togs for your tattooed dykes on wheels?

“Just tired I guess,” she sighed. “It’s time for me to call it a night. Thanks for the game and the beer.”

“Fine, I’ll see you home and tuck you in all nice and cozy,” said Pike, leaning in for a kiss that Kate saw coming and dodged as she stood and shouldered her squash bag.

“Thanks, Thomas, no need, I’ll see myself home. Goodnight.”

“Hey, wait. What about the Roller Derby thing on Saturday?” he asked, trying to salvage the moment. Kate shot him a withering look.

“Just like that, then, Luv?” Pike was on his feet, incredulous.

“Yup, just like that.” Kate called over her shoulder. A piece seemed to fall into place as she exited the bar, but she wasn’t as yet sure what piece it was.
CHAPTER 8

Of Love, Lucre, and Learning
By Margot Comstock

Hank’s night at Yvette’s surprised both of them by being much better than either had imagined. The two were so compatible. And gentle and passionate—daring and inventive too….. They finally fell asleep, happily spent, in each others arms.

When Yvette woke, and remembered, she looked in amazement at the sleeping Hank. He'd been thoughtful and adept, so good. How did she not see this before?

She disengaged herself carefully, pulled on a light shift, and went to the kitchen. She started coffee and put croissants in the oven. Then back to the bedroom and into the shower. On the way she caught herself in the mirror and laughed. I look idiotic! No sane person walks around smiling like this! But she didn’t feel idiotic, or laughable—just really good. Still smiling, she shrugged off her shift and stepped into the shower.

When she finished rinsing her hair and opened her eyes, Hank was in the doorway. His smile matched hers, with a bit of mischief added.

“Company?” he said.

“Yes.” 

Hank entered the shower, let the water envelop him, and took her in his arms.

“You were wonderful,” he said. “Magical. So lovely.”

“I feel the same way about you,” Yvette said. “What happened to us?”

“I don’t know, Yvette, but I don’t want it to stop.”

She pulled him to her.

Eventually they dressed and repaired to the kitchen, drank hot, dark coffee, and ate almond croissants. Everything tasted special.

At last they set out for the club. Yvette had planned to work on finding old members for the reunion, but now she upped finding Kate to her first priority. I can work on both goals at the same time, she thought.

Hank gave a lesson. He found Jerry waiting when he finished.

******

By the time Kate got home, she was sober. She thought about the evening. She didn’t like Pike, she realized, and she was having a strange reaction to Pike’s knowing of Hank. Pike had met Hank, she could see it, and for some reason, that made Pike uncomfortable.

She was proud of herself for saying no even when she was a little drunk

And there was something else. The whole business had made her long to see her father. Why was she so angry at him? It was her mother who was the problem; it’s hard to dislike your own mother, but Kate did. She guessed she loved Margaret, in a way. But she didn’t like her at all, really. Yet even just thinking this made her feel so lonely. 

But Kate was strong, and she knew she was strong. She would get on with her life—the life she was building—and yes, Mr. Pike, without drama.

At the very time Kate was eschewing drama, drama was about to arrive at her door.

*****

There were some things Jerry seldom missed. That Hank’s evening had been good was one of those things. Hank looked happier than Jerry had ever seen him. And now I have good news for him too, Jerry thought—well, positive action if not done-deal good yet.

The two men went to the snack bar, found a corner, ordered coffee, and Jerry talked.

“Hank, next week I’ll be going to a zoning board hearing. There are quite a few issues in dispute; that favors us. I have a meeting set up with a honcho in the most affected union, and I’ve identified the top man in the corporation trying to buy and build. The plans are a matter of record and I see major holes in them.

“In short, I think we have a case, at least a good chance.”

Hank stared and frowned. “How did you do all this?”

Jerry smiled. “It’s what I do. It’s what I enjoy most.”

Slowly, Hank smiled.

“I’m afraid to get my hopes up, Jerry. But it sounds, well, maybe….”

“No, it’s not nearly a done deal. But there’s definitely hope.”

*****

Pike was not so comfortable with the way his evening had gone. In fact, he was damn disgusted, mad even. It wasn’t Kate’s turning him down so much—although he hated that! It was her father—the squash coach, hot-dog bloke who’d caused the fight that he, Pike, had won. No one wanted the jerk who’d started it around. So why were they so pissed off at Pike’s solving it? And he’d had to give up going to that club, not that it wasn’t replaceable; it wasn’t so great. But it was convenient. And now he wouldn’t be comfortable at his new club because the creep’s daughter went there and he didn’t want to see her again. Maybe he should just go back home. There were lots of good things about New Zealand.

Pike found it easy to direct his mind, and he’d directed it to forget the trouble with him and New Zealand. Still, he knew he wouldn’t go home. He’d just have to deal with the problems here in New York.

Right now, he had a quatrain of dogs to walk. At least you could count on dogs.

*****

This morning, Margaret was still pissed off at Hank, at Kate, at, well, life. She liked her profession because it gave her freedom, which she equated with money. And attention. When her cell rang yet again, she picked it up instantly.

“What the hell do you want now!” she screeched. 

“Margaret?”

Shit. It wasn’t Hank. 

Margaret changed her voice.

“Who’s calling?” she said in a terrible attempt at a Brooklyn accent.

Silence.

“I must have the wrong number,” her best client said. “I was just calling to say I couldn’t make our appointment, and that I wouldn’t be around again.”

And he hung up.

“Oh my god,” Margaret said to herself. “Oh jesus.”

Her fury grew. She pulled over to the shoulder of the road and stopped, trying to think what she could do.

Suddenly there was a car behind her, a highway patrol officer at her window. She turned on the car and lowered the window. The officer was a woman. 

“Sorry, just having a bad day,” Margaret said, trying to make her grimace into a smile.

But the officer was having none of it, not from this designer-dressed woman driving a luxury car.

“Sorry about that, but you can’t park on the shoulder unless you're having car trouble.” The policewoman looked pointedly at Margaret. “Are you having car trouble?”

Margaret glared at her for a long ten seconds. Then,

“Fuck, no!” She turned on the engine, stepped on the gas. Somehow she managed to stay on the shoulder until there was enough room to enter the highway. She took the next exit and laughed nastily when she heard the patrol car, still on the highway, pass the exit with siren screaming.


Chapter 9

The Best Laid Plans
by David Smith

Pike was not unfamiliar with the situation at hand.   When you are constantly on the prowl you tended to piss a few people off.    Husbands, in particular, tended to be sensitive about their wives’ “activities.”  

As he and Kucinich’s brother-in-law stepped toward the door, he quickly sized up this latest distraction.   The guy was not much larger than Pike, but he appeared to be in pretty good shape.  His relative sobriety would give him a distinct advantage over the Kiwi.    Damn it, he would have to use his guile to get himself out of this one. 
   
Before they stepped outside, he quickly stepped over to the bartender.   “Do me a favor, would you?  Let us go out the door and step out just about 20 seconds behind us?  Just check on us and call 911 if I need it.”

The bartender didn’t want to get involved, but he did want them out of the bar, so he agreed.  

As they went through the front door, Pike started talking. “You say you are related to this woman. What did you say her name was?”

“Kucinich.  Marlene Kucinich.  And she is my sister, you twisted piece of crap.”

“Ah, Marlene.  Leopard print outfits.” Pike wanted to push this dude’s buttons. “Man, she looked hot in that outfit.  Didn’t live up to the expectations, however.” 
  
That was all it took.   As Kucinich-in-law started to lunge at him, the bartender came out of the bar.   The distraction was just enough.  As Pike’s attacker turned his head toward the door, Pike hit him with right cross and dropped him.   Considering his blood alcohol level, it was a lucky shot.  One shot, down and out.   

Pike looked over at the amazed barkeep.  “Thanks, mate.   I think I better take you up on your offer some other night.   Looks like it is time for me to move on.  Good night.” 

With that said, Pike moved down the street in a hurry and flagged the first cab.  The encounter with Marlene’s brother and his escape from serious injury had done nothing to dissipate his anger at Kate’s rejection.   He smiled as he remembered Kate’s invitation to roller derby.   He used his phone to look up the Manhattan Mayhem website.   He clicked through the site until he found a picture of Kate’s tattooed-shower-friend, April.   The raven-haired beauty that stared back at him looked like pure trouble---just the kind of trouble Pike enjoyed.   As his mind worked its way through the Kate and April fantasies, he texted Kate.   “Thx 4 grt evening.  Would love to go with you Sat. to see April skate.”   

He leaned back in the cab and chuckled.  He laughed even louder as he thought of the roofies that he had hidden away at home.  His laugh was an evil sound.  The cab driver glanced in the rear view mirror at the sound of Pikes laugh and shivered.   It truly was an evil sound.
_______________________________

Kate awoke to New York’s unnatural, yet ubiquitous alarm clock—the chorus of horns which signaled the morning rush hour.  Since she had a bit of time this morning she stretched out and rolled over.   Marie came into her bedroom and stretched out on the bed beside her.   She leaned over a gently kissed her roommate.  

“Good morning. Did you have fun last night?” 

Though she enjoyed the smell of citrus as Marie nuzzled into her neck, she pushed herself away and sat up in bed. “And good morning to you.”   

As she recapped her evening for Marie, she reached over, turned on her phone and saw the message from Pike.   “Looks like I didn’t totally piss off this Kiwi last night.  He wants to go out on Saturday.”   Her voice betrayed her misgivings.

“How do you feel about that?” 

“Aw, Marie.   You know that I am so confused right now.   I did have a nice time last night.  He was quite cute and charming, but I was definitely getting some weird vibes toward the end of the night.    It may have been him, or it just might have been me.  Anyways, it doesn’t matter.   I invited him for Saturday, so I can’t back out now.”   

Her roommate eyed her pensively.  

“What?  You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“Kate, listen.  I just want to see you happy.  I really think you should see a therapist to talk through your issues.   Have you been with any man since you found out your mom was a hooker?  No.   And should I mention us?  Was that evening just a lark?   And most importantly, have you called your dad, yet?   

“No.”

“Damn it, Kate.  You told me you would call him.  He is the one stable person in your life.  You need him. You can talk to him.  And you know that he is not responsible for what your mother has done.  Give him a break and call him.”

“Yeah, sure.  Hi, Dad.  Need your advice.  What do you think, do I like guys or girls?    Do you think I am turned off to sex because my Mother is screwing anyone with enough money?  That conversation’s not gonna happen.”

“You still need him in your life.   You love him.  And he must be worried sick about you.”

Tears began to trickle down Kate’s face.    As Marie pulled Kate into her arms, Kate’s anguish escalated until she was racked with sobs.   They held each other until Kate tears stopped and, worn out by the emotion, she fell back to sleep.   

Kate awoke about an hour later and reached immediately for her phone.   She punched in the number from memory even though she had not called it in almost a year.   She felt at peace as she listened to the ring.  She leaned over and kissed Marie tenderly on the cheek and whispered, “Thanks.”
_______________________________

Hank was getting warmed-up for his first lesson of the day when his phone rang.  He glanced at the number as he answered, but he didn’t recognize the caller.

“Daddy?”  Kate’s tears re-started immediately at the sound of her father’s voice, and this time they were equally matched by Hank’s own tears.   They quickly exchanged hellos, how are you's, I’m sorrys, and where are yous in a breathtaking hurry.  Once Kate told her father that she wanted to see him, they discussed how and when they could get together.  They decided on Sunday morning for coffee and an early walk in Central Park.  Kate thought that commitment would also give her an easy excuse to make it an early evening on Saturday.    

“I love you, Kate.  I have really missed you sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.  I can’t wait until Sunday.”

As Hank wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, he spotted Jerry sitting in the bar area meeting with a man that Hank did not know.   As he started over to say hello, Jerry spotted him and subtly but emphatically shook his head “NO!”   Taking the cue that Jerry did not want to be interrupted, Hank veered off and headed to his court.   He wondering what Jerry was up to.  

Hank’s attention quickly shifted back to Kate.   What a joy it was to hear from her.   He felt like a new man as the weight of months of worry was lifted from his shoulders.   He couldn’t wait to see his girl again on Sunday.  

Never could he have dreamed the anguish that awaited.     


Chapter 10

“And Here’s To You, Mrs. Robinson…”
by Will Gens

While Hank was contemplating seeing precious Kate, Jerry texted him saying he had some "incredible news".

Hank really didn't want to talk to Jerry right now, he wanted to think about seeing Kate. He wondered what prompted her to join Village, especially after all this time. And why use his squash stuff -- but inside Hank knew that once squash got a hold of you it was usually for life. She was a lifer, he had pushed her too hard, but she had so much talent. He thought often and even spoke to her about someday going “pro”. Margaret just laughed and as usual belittled the whole thing; with Margaret -- if it wasn't about money or what you can get out of something, as in material success it had little or no value. Margaret used to sit at Kate's junior tournaments decked out as if she were going clubbing; and always talking on her cell phone. Hank never did figure out whom she was talking to nor did he really care.
________________________________

Margaret often used her friend Lexi's apartment in the Village when Lexi was away. Lexi was pretty much a twenty something version of Margaret. She had clients all over the world, clients who would fly her to Paris, Rome, Italy and Dubai. She was drop dead gorgeous, and had this Mona Lisa face with lips and eyes that could be all things to all men -- especially those who could pay a lot of money for her undivided attention. Margaret usually picked up Lexi's “locals” when she was away. Most of them wealthy businessmen, older, established, but all commonly very lonely. Margaret had a real advantage with men (except men like Hank). She could feign sympathy and concern and deliver it sexually -- which seemed to turn men on and keep them coming back again and again. She had a regular clientele out on The Island and then she had the ones in the city Lexi forwarded to her. Lexi mostly wanted her around when the dog walker came, she didn't really trust the dog walker that much and thought he might rob her or torture her bichon frise dog, Oscar.  Lexi thought Joe the walker was cute if you liked the serial killer type. Margaret thought him lowly, slovenly and worst of all poor.

Margaret was unpacking a few things, checking her schedule on her iPhone when the bell rang. Joe, she thought, a bit late, he's usually very punctual. She opened the door and to her surprise stood Pike, grinning at her. He said, 
"Hi Luv, you must be Lexi, I've heard so much about you but nothing prepared me for this goddess stuff. I’m substituting for Joe." His New Zealand accent meant to dazzle her.

Margaret, looked at him and as if reminded of the moment said, "Sorry, I'm not Lexi but her friend, she's out of the country, so I stay at her place."

"My lucky day no doubt. You remind me --"

"Let me guess Catherine Zeta Jo--"

"No, actually I was going to say my mother."

"Oh, hmm, what does that mean, I wonder?"

"Just kidding, I just didn't want to say the expected," he laughed.

Oscar was barking loudly by now... Pike kept pushing him aside focusing instead on Margaret. Margaret liked the attention of younger men. Her clients were rarely younger men. Pike definitely had a way about him.

"The dog is talking -- I mean yelling at you."

"Yeah…Oscar, let's get your business done."

Margaret answered her cell; her demeanor changed. She spoke with a soft sexy voice, "Charles, yes tonight, and oh, by the way only if you misbehave." she shot Pike a glance and winked at him.

Pike stood not knowing whether to just go take the dog out or continue the flirtation. He decided he'd make a play for her when he got back. Play this one cool, he thought. Margaret checked out Pike's tight jeans as he exited with Oscar. Pike had been around enough to know this afternoon was a gift from the gods and meant to get his mind off his troubles.
________________________________

"You won't believe this. Hank, seriously, this little shit Pike has got himself into some bad stuff. I got to hand it to him, little did we know --"

"Jerry hold on, slow down, what does Pike have to do with anything?"

"Okay you remember that incident with Marlene and her husband, the guy that Pike knocked out in the first round?"

"Yeah sure."

"Well it turns out that Pike had a lot of shit on this guy through Marlene, like Mr. Marlene sways both ways. The big muscle, macho, stiff hard on man likes boys too.  Marlene made videos of her and her husband's escapades with you know the three-some-free-some types. Right on tape this muscle guy, her husband, being banged up the ole --- while his wife is watching and filming." 

"How do you know this?"

"How do I know? Word gets around. The worst part, Pike was blackmailing the guy and screwing his wife at the same time.”

“Damn, Jerry, are you saying Pike is involved in this whole buyout and development thing? I don’t get it what’s his angle."

"Not sure, maybe he wants in on the deal.  He’s in way over his head. I heard Mr. Marlene has real connections, dangerous connections, now they're after Pike.
________________________________

"Luv, I don't even know your name, but that was incredible."

"Oscar, you little shit, shut up." Oscar was at the foot of the bed barking at Pike and nipping at his feet.

"Damn dog, he must be jealous."

Margaret rolled over lit a cigarette, took a couple of puffs, put it out on the nightstand,
"See if you can do that again, Joe, sorry not Joe but P----"

"Pike!"

"Oh yeah, Pike, Pike -- see if you can do that again."

"What die and go to heaven, not likely, but, Luv, will give it a go."
________________________________

It was raining out. The Lexington subway line had police activity in one of the downtown stations so service was suspended.

Hank tried to get a cab, he was sure he'd miss Kate's match and his chance of reconciling. He could take a bus but they were packed full. He thought about jogging and hope for the best. Maybe jog over to the B or the D line that would get him close enough to the club there. 

"Damn this city, sometimes I hate it." The D train conductor gave everyone trying to get on second and third chances -- each local stop is torture, he thought. He kept looking at his watch. He didn't think he would make her match. And he didn't. When he finally arrived he saw Kate getting into a cab with of all people, Pike, yes that was Pike! He felt his face turn red and that all too familiar rage. What was Pike doing with Kate, how does Kate even know him?


Chapter 11

Brown Sugar 

by Richard Millman


Kate looked at the text that April had sent her. 

The address of April's team owner's office was 86th Street.

Not just 86th Street but the building that Eastside was situated in.

A little bead of white hot sweat ran down her neck. 

She had no sketches, no story and now there was a decidedly risky chance that by showing up to an appointment and making a complete fool of herself, she would seal the deal by bumping into her estranged father Hank.

Run away, she muttered to herself. Far away.

But that was not who Kate Reynolds was. 

”Fuck it,” she said fatalistically, walked out of the hallway, and hailed a cab.

***

It was a few years since he had stood on this corner. In times past he had enjoyed standing here and stealing a few precious moments of incognito existence, as he watched the world go by. Not so long as to allow the passersby enough time to recognize him, but long enough to remember what life had been like before celebrity. 

Having perused a magazine or two he would leap up the stairs, two by two, into the club and run himself to near exhaustion, frequently ending up in a loud argument over a ridiculous let situation, as he and one of his regular opponents all but killed each other on the squash court. 

Eventually the game would disintegrate into raucous laughter as both he and his opponent realized that it was ”all bollocks” anyway.

He turned away from the magazine stall with a nostalgic look up to the windows of the club and trotted up the steps of the private entrance.

He smiled in acknowledgement as the Irish transplant doorman touched his finger to his ostentatious top hat and said conspiratorially under his breath, "Good afternoon, Mr Jagger.”

The man nodded and slipped into the elevator.

***

About twenty minutes later the doorman inquired as to the business of an attractive but distracted young lady who climbed the same stairs as had the legend of the music industry.

”Help ya, Miss?” he asked with just a slightly forbidding tone.

“I have an appointment. With...” She paused uncertainly,   ”Stormy is it?'”

The doorman moved smoothly toward a barely visible 1950s style phone set that was hidden behind one of the columns of the impressive entrance.

”Name Miss?”

”Kate Reynolds.”

There was a quick exchange and the doorman turned and flashed Kate a fine grin. 

”Tenth floor, elevator's just inside the lobby on your right. Good luck to you Miss!”

”Thanks,” thought Kate flatly, “I'll need it.”

***

Hank gave up on the Village and made his way back to 86th street.

When he got back to his office he looked disdainfully at the pile of re-strings that had inevitably appeared in the corner, then flopped down in his favorite overstuffed chair—which had seen much better days.

He was still coming to terms with his fruitless labors, when Jesus Alvarez knocked on the frame of the open door.

”Hey, Mr Hank, how are you?”

”Been better, Jesus, to tell the truth. What's up?”

Jesus had been the locker room attendant at the club since it had opened. He knew everyone and everyone liked him. 

Another sad victim of the club's demise, Hank reflected.

”Well, I think maybe I'm going a little crazy.“

”How's that?” said Hank.

”Well' continued Alvarez,” about an hour and a half ago, I was cleaning the window sill looking over 86th and I swore I saw Mick Jagger—in the flesh—just like the old days. Then I went to get a new bottle of cleaner and I came back a few minutes later and the next time I looked down I thought I saw your Katie! I couldn't see exactly where they were going but....” He trailed off because the club pro had leaped from his chair like a man of twenty and sped from the room.

***

Dermot, the Irish doorman was smiling.

He had just hailed a cab for the young lady that, only an hour since, had appeared at the door looking as though she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She’d emerged, with the second young lady who’d rushed up a quarter of an hour after the first girl had gone up to the Van Alstyne's private offices.

The pair of them had been giggling, high-fiving, and generally carrying on as if they’d just won the lottery.

He overheard the first young lady say to the second, “Whatever made you scan all my sketches Marie?”

To which the other replied, “When you are dealing with priceless artifacts, you record everything and copy what you can. To me your sketches were priceless, so I thought I'd scan them for safety's sake.”

”And since when have you been my 'executive assistant’?” the first girl said.

”Since I needed to save your life, roomie!”

They both erupted into peels of laughter.

A wonderful day, Dermot thought to himself, just lovely.

***

Hank burst onto the street and charged over to the magazine stall. Farrukh, the owner, was just closing up for the day.

“Did you see Mick Jagger here this afternoon, Farrukh?” Hank demanded.

Farrukh said nothing and continued locking down the shutters of the stall while looking sideways at Hank.

"And a pretty young women in her twenties a few minutes later?"

“It's possible.” he said after a moment or two.

Farrukh threw his hands in the air and raised his eyebrows.

”You think I notice every person who comes by my stall?”

Hank narrowed his eyes.

”Yes I do, Farrukh, and I happen to know that the NYPD do also. So do me a favor, cut the bullshit and help me out here. I think she was my daughter and I've lost touch with her.”

Behind Hank a somehow familiar accented voice interrupted his interview with the magazine stall owner.

“Hallo Mate, longtime no see.”

Hank whirled around and came face to face with the most iconic pair of lips in the world.

Jesus wasn't going mad. There before him stood Mick Jagger, large as life and in the flesh.

”Hello Mick,” Hank stammered. “Haven't see you around here in years.” 
He wanted to ask why he was here, but didn't have the nerve.

”Nah, I know. I miss the place. But the old bones can't stand the Squash court anymore. I just popped in to see Jaapie Van Alstyne. His pops Henrik is an old marrer of mine. They're thinking of selling the building and I might be interested.”

Hank took a few minutes to register all this new information. 

”Thinking of selling? I thought it was a done deal.”

'Apparently not. Anyway great to see you after all these years. Hope everything is OK with you.' Mick smiled, turned and walked toward an immaculately polished black Lincoln stretch, where an enormous black driver was holding the passenger door open for him.

Hank swallowed hard and took a chance. ”Mick!” he shouted. 

The icon turned.

”Sorry to trouble you, but you didn't happen to notice a young woman when you were arriving here this afternoon, did you?” 

Jagger smiled. “I always notice young women, Hank.”

Hank nodded and smiled himself. Then he described Katie.

”Funnily enough I did see a girl like that. In Jaapie's offices. I think she was waiting for Jaapie's sister Stormy. Does that help?”

”Fantastic, Mick, you're a star.” Hank said, and quickly realized the irony.

”You're welcome, mate. Perhaps I'll see you again soon.” And the legend disappeared into the limo.


Chapter 12

Courting Drama
By Georgetta L. Morque

Yvette arrived at Eastside early for her 2:30 p.m. match in the Masters tournament.  As she checked in at the players’ registration table, she observed the flurry of activities underway to transform the club into a tournament site. The staff rushed about with new squash balls, score sheets and towels and took special care in cleaning the glass on the exhibition court 1.  Upstairs, a new craft brewing company was setting up for the players’ party that evening. Multiple languages could be heard as players greeted one another and gathered at the bulletin board to study the draw sheets. Yvette’s adrenaline started to kick in.

Before heading to court 3 to warm up, she popped in on Hank who had a bye in the first round of the 40s draw and was busy fielding phone calls from players and members about the tournament.

 “Hey there. Wish me luck,” she whispered with a smile and a wave.

Hank enthusiastically gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Need to talk later - Kate.”

“OK,” acknowledged Yvette quietly.

Yvette set her squash bag down by the court and took a few deep breaths before going through her warm up of dynamic stretching. She was wearing her white skirt and favorite Eastside t-shirt that for some reason usually brought her good luck.  She then grabbed her racquet to hit some rails for a few minutes until her opponent, Marlene Kucinich, arrived. 

To Yvette’s surprise, Marlene had ditched her leopard look and instead wore a very short black Nike dress with a plunging neckline. She’s all about cleavage, isn’t she, thought Yvette. The two women greeted each other with feigned cordiality and Marlene picked up her pink Black Knight racquet, stepped inside the court and began nailing rails. 

Back downstairs, Hank was anxiously checking his cell phone in between taking club calls and booking lessons. He had texted Kate in response to her note and suggested she meet him for dinner later and even come to the party if she was up to it. She hadn’t responded.  He did hear from Jerry who was trying to get the Van Alstyne family to come to the matches. It would be great to show them the club with the tournament going on, thought Hank.

Outside, the light snow that started falling around midday had become heavier. Sidewalks were cumbersome to navigate and traffic was slow. The familiar honking of horns was louder than usual. Tournament officials looked out the window and rechecked the forecast on their phones; they weren’t too worried yet. Weather rarely stops anything in New York. 
---------------
Marie and Kate were still reeling from the horror they had witnessed on the Nanny Cam. 

 “Once the lock is changed, I’ll get the new key to Joe,” said Marie, “but we don’t want him giving it to that monster.”

“Then what happens when Joe can’t make it?” asked Kate. “I think you should just find a new dog walker altogether.”

“But I like Joe,” said Marie. “What do I do?” she started crying again.

 “What about other dog owners in the building or the neighborhood, maybe they can help?” replied Kate.

 “Well, Sassy needs a walk now, so I suppose I’ll take her out and maybe find someone to tell my sad story to. Want to come?” she sniffled.

 “I would,” said Kate, but I have to work on these designs. I’m way behind since so much was trashed. Plus my dad wants to get together later.”

“Your dad? I didn’t think you were speaking to your parents. And what are you going to do about Pike and the derby tonight? I hope you’ve gotten yourself out of that.” 

“Well, I do want to see my dad, so I contacted him and he wants to see me too. I guess this whole mess with Pike really got to me. I took my dad’s racquets back.  As for Pike, I texted him a legitimate excuse that something important came up with my dad.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Marie. “Then maybe I’ll see you when I get back.  I have some errands to run though, hopefully before the snow gets worse. Although Sassy loves the snow.” 

“I wish that locksmith would call back,” said Kate.
-------------
“Mr. Reynolds, you should come to court 3,” said one of the junior volunteers. “There’s some sort of a fight going on.”

Hank raced over to find Yvette in tears and Marlene enraged with her Black Knight racquet cracked on the floor.   A crowd had gathered despite the fact the number 4 seed in the men’s 35s was on court 2. But court 3 seemed to be the focus of attention. 

The referee, an older gentleman, was at his wits end. “I awarded a much deserved conduct stroke to this lady,” gesturing to Yvette, “because her opponent threw her racquet,” looking at Marlene. “Now, I’ve been physically threatened. In all the matches I’ve refereed, I’ve never seen something thing quite like this one,” he told Hank.

 “Ms. Kucinich,” said the referee. “One more incident and you’ll have to forfeit the match. Look, games are now 2-2. Could you please just settle down and play?”

“She keeps blocking me,” shouted Marlene loudly. 

“That’s not true,” said Yvette, wiping a mixture of tears and sweat from her face. “I’ve been clearing.”

At that moment,  Jerry appeared with Margarethe and Henrik Van Alstyne.  The three had just arrived and snow was still clinging to their coats and scarves. 

What the hell, thought Jerry, in a panic, quickly trying to push the two Van Alstynes in the direction of court 2.  A hissy fit on the court, that’s all we need.

Finally Marlene took out a second racquet. Yvette composed herself and play resumed.  Although both players were rattled and exhausted, the pressure was on Marlene to keep her cool, the biggest challenge of all. They each made a series of errors bringing the score to 5-5. In her frustration, Marlene’s power game started losing its effect and Yvette remained the steadier of the two.  A successful drop shot and a couple of lucky nicks and Yvette took the game 11-8 to win the match. 

Hank was happy for Yvette and annoyed with Marlene for causing such a commotion, but his focus was on his latest text message. Kate was coming.
------------------------------------------
Kate worked hard until late in the day. She was even more pleased with this batch of drawings than the ones Pike had destroyed and was in a pretty good place for heading out to meet her dad. It will be strange after all these months, she thought.

 She heard sounds at the door. 

“Marie?”


CHAPTER 13

Bruises
By David Bickford


Before Hank can interject a bit of common sense, Jerry is on his cell phone, “Mr. Kucinich…. Jerome? …Jerry, of course.  My names Jerry, too, actually.  You once gave me your card, so I had your number… No, actually I’m looking for your wife.   What?  Oh, I’m calling from the Eastside Racquet Club.  There’s a fellow here looking for her.  Can you give her a message?” 
 
Shooting Hank and Kate a big wink, he continues, “His name is Pike, Thomas Pike.  That’s P-I-   oh you know him?  Good.  Just tell her he’s waiting out in front of the…  Okay bye.”  

Jerry pockets his phone and looks at Hank.  “Sounded like he was in a hurry to get off the phone.”

“You sure that was a good idea?” mused Hank, shaking his head.  

“Have you got room in your schedule to postpone our usual Saturday time a bit?  I think there’s going to be a show out front I don’t want to miss."

“Actually, I do.  They guy who usually comes after you is out of town this weekend.”  

The three of them headed to the lounge area to get a clear view of 86th Street, and Kate quickly spotted Pike off to one side, lurking in dark doorway.  

Hank was burning to ask Kate what her involvement with Pike was, but this new reconnection was still too new and fragile.  Talk about something else, he told himself.  He thought of mentioning he’d gone to see her play in the Village last evening and was disappointed she hadn’t showed.  But then how to explain he knew she was supposed to play without sounding like he was stalking her?   He went for a safer topic.  

“So, you have been using the Head Competition racquet?"

“Oh, you need that back…?”

“No!  No, it’s yours.  Keep it.  I was just happy to hear you still play.” 

“Incoming!”  Jerry had spotted the looming bulk of Jerome Kucinich rounding the corner.   It didn’t take Kucinich long to spot Pike.  They couldn’t hear the words, but the dynamic was very easy to follow.  Kucinich was angry and Pike was vehemently in denial mode.  

“Poor Pike, he’s actually telling the truth, but of course Kucinich expects him to say exactly what he’s saying,” laughed Jerry.  

Just when it looked like they would come to blows, Pike suddenly bolted around Jerome and sprinted up the street.  “Moves pretty good for an old guy,” observed Hank.  Kucinich was in pursuit, but did not have the speed Pike did.   

A patrol car had pulled to the curb at the intersection and, just as the officer emerged from Starbucks carrying his Venti Latte, Pike chose to look back over his shoulder to check his pursuer’s progress.   Bam!  Right into the cop, whose coffee cup made a great looping arc through air before exploding in the street. 
 
Kucinich, observing this from about 30 feet back suddenly acted like a fellow who’d forgotten something important, turned and casually walked away in the opposite direction, blending into the crowd.  

“Looks like old Pike is going to be busy for a while.” observed Jerry.   Indeed, Pike’s body language suggested a pilgrim who had just reached the holy shrine at the end of a long journey, he did everything but fall to his knees.

“I almost feel bad for him, but trust me, he deserves it,” said Kate.

Hank couldn’t stand it any longer.  “What happened with you and Pike?  I mean, have you two been… you know….”
 
“Oh God, no.  Not that he didn’t try.  The guy is a wacko.  It’s kind of complicated, and I’m not sure even I understand.  But there isn’t time to go into all that now, you two have a lesson to catch up on and I’ve got some work to do before I…” and then it hit her.  “Dad?  Are you free tonight?  I’ve got two comp tickets waiting for me at a roller derby bout, and, let’s just say my date is indisposed.” 

And indisposed he was.  Pike had been invited to the local precinct to explain all about the invisible man who he claimed was chasing him.  His day was not going well, and it was about to get worse, as Marie was on the phone with Joe Rizzo explaining why they needed someone else to walk her dog.
  
Jerry and Hank managed to have a lesson.  Jerry tried to pitch more of his plan to help Hank set up the Community Outreach program, but Hank had too much on his mind to focus on what he was saying.  

After the lesson, Hank let Yvette know he would be spending the evening with his daughter.  Yvette, true to form, was completely understanding and supportive about the change in plans.   Hank was tempted to call Margaret, too, and let her know he was back in touch with Kate, but decided that could wait…and probably should wait.  If he gave Margaret any opportunity to poison the well, she would certainly grasp at that straw.  

That evening, Hank and Kate met up at City College, where a gymnasium floor had been taped out with a track outline.  “Jammers, they’re the ones who actually score the points, by passing opposing players” Kate explained, trying to share her rudimentary knowledge of the game.  She’d been given the Derby 411 by April, but she was sure there was more to it.  

Hank couldn’t help but think of the bruises he’d had from accidental contact while playing, mostly from aggressive new students who hadn’t grasped the concept of “Let.”  In contrast, these women were seriously trying to slam into each other.   Kate, meanwhile, was rethinking her design concepts.  A little less frilly and a little more serious athlete, she decided.  But, damn, it did look like fun, she thought.   

Hank and Kate both felt they had some serious catching up to do, but this wasn’t the time or place.  The excitement level and crowd noise interrupted most serious conversation.  Especially when her new friend April took to the track, which Kate was pleased to discover.  “Spring Fever” was apparently a big star for the Manhattan team, and the crowd buzz went up a notch every time she lined up to jam. 
 
While Hank and Kate were enjoying the game, Pike finally made it home from his long misadventure, only to find a message he had been terminated from the dog walking job.   His bruises today were emotional and financial, but he still blamed Kate for this beating, too.  Not one to own up to his responsibility in this mess, someone had to be blamed.  And for Pike, that someone was Kate.  If she had just gone home with him that evening none of this would have happened.  Yes, one thing Pike was sure of, that Reynolds girl had to pay.  


CHAPTER 14
 
Uptown & Eastside
By Roland Jacopetti
 
 
“So talk. I'm listening.”
 
“Kuch?”
 
“It's a wonderful country, ain't it? Ninety-nine times a bozo calls you up at the same number, and the hundredth time he goes, 'Kuch?'. Like, who the hell else is it gonna be?”
 
“Jesus, don't be so crabby. What, she kicked you outa bed last night?”
 
“Never mind my bed. I been waiting for you to call for two friggin' days. Have you been followin' up on this Kiwi scumbag, like I told you? You know, the guy that sucker-punched me that time? Man, I can still feel that one. And listen...what is a Kiwi, for Christ's sake?”
 
“What’s a Kiwi? A turkey from Tasmahoochistan or New Australia or some hole like that, out in the middle of the ocean. Yeah, I looked him up. Pike is the guy's name.”
 
“Pike, huh? What's his story? He's becoming a major pain in my ass. Nobody punches the Kuch out. All of a sudden I'm flat on my back and he's long gone. And his name keeps croppin' up, and every time it's some kinda trouble. So who is he?
 
“Tell yuh the truth, Boss, he's kind of a mystery. Nobody seems to know him. He comes to this country, bums around town, gets a job in a health club, loses that one, and all of a sudden he's workin' as a dog walker. Do you believe that? What kinda chump change can you make towin' dogs around? Outside of that, he gets in fights and hits on broads. And the broads are all turnin' him down. Me, I think he's some kinda weirdo.”
 
“Pike, the weirdo. Sal, you know what I want from you?”
 
“What?”
 
“What this guy is, he's a parasite, am I right? A bug that gets under your skin, makes it hard for you to concentrate. You understand?”
 
“Yeah, yeah.”
 
“When you got a parasite, you go to the store and you pick up a jug of parasite remover. Then, next time you spot the parasite, you yell at him, ‘Hey, buddy, come over here! You're gonna love this!’ And, when he comes over, bang! Your parasite is history. And all the other parasites say, ‘Jesus! Let's get the hell outta Dodge.’ You catch my meaning?”
 
“I got you, big guy. Pike the Parasite goes bye-bye.”
 
“That's my boy. And listen. I told you about that health club deal, the one with Marlon Boyd.”
 
“Yeah. I didn't quite understand what it's all about.”
 
“You understand as much as you need to understand. Keep your eyes and ears open on the street. I'm lookin' to do some major league stuff with this Marlon, and I wanna keep close track of him. Get back to me in a coupla days.”
 
“Right, Boss. I'm on the job. One Boyd, one parasite.”
 
----------
 
“Mr. Boyd's office. How may I direct your call?”
 
“Yeah, I'm callin' Marlon. Tell him it's Kuch.”
 
“Please hold, Mr. Kuch.”
 
“Well, well. Am I speaking to Mr. Kucinich, the former national political figure and current Fox News commentator? To what do I owe this honor?”
 
“Very funny, Marlon. No, as a matter of fact, this is the size extra-large Kucinich, with the office six blocks away from where you're sittin' right now. Man! All my life, any Kucinich I ever knew was related to me. Now this little Dennis squirt comes along, and he's the only one in the phone book. None of my cousins ever heard of him, either.”
 
“So how’s the construction business?”
 
“Slow, like always. Listen, Marlon, I been talking to some of my subs about that Van Alstyne Building job, and those boys are ready to go. What's happening on your end? I thought we’d be farther along by now.”
 
“Kuch, I've been getting the same questions from my business partners. The accountants did some number crunching and, believe me, I was on the edge of my chair. Deals like this don't come along very often, so I was pretty pleased with their report. I've got to be frank with you, though. There's some talk around town that some of your building jobs have been bending the rules a bit.”
 
“No, Marlon, don't pay any attention to stuff like that. Yeah, I had some problems, but it was a long time ago. Destiny Living is strictly kosher, I guarantee it, and I can give you more names of satisfied customers if you want.”
 
“No need. I think we understand each other. So here's where we are so far. I've been dealing with Henrik and Margarethe Van Alstyne, the current owners. The father Pieter, who built the building, was the founder of the club, and he was a lifelong fan of squash, just like my dad. Those two old guys were mortal enemies. I remember walking into a bar with my dad. I saw Pieter at the counter and I grabbed Pop by the shoulder, gave him a spin and headed him right back out the door before he could even ask why. But that's ancient history. Henrik and Margarethe are being pressured by their kids to sell the property. They’re sentimental about Pieter's building and the club but the kids are out for the bucks. Right now we're hung up in the permit process and I’m afraid the deal will crash if we loose our forward momentum.”
 
“So what's next?”
 
“Once I close escrow on the building, you start work. Even if we can't raze the building we'll do a major remodel on the club and condo-ize the rest of it. Then I've got both clubs; we tailor one for CEOs and wealthy retirees, the other for the young Wall Street hotshots and the like."
 
“So what’s Destiny Living’s place in the deal, besides as general contractor?”
 
"Here's the thing, Kuch, we've done some projections on the growing interest in squash, and the feeling is that a whole new wave of popularity is just a matter of marketing. I can see another couple of clubs in The City, then maybe one in D.C., Philadelphia... And that's when we take it coast-to-coast. There's a movement afoot to make it an Olympic sport, so we tap into that energy in our marketing. We're thinking condos and apartments and offices connected with the clubs. The high-enders will line up for luxury living with an ultra-modern club on the premises.”
 
“I'm thinkin', Marlon, and I like what I'm thinkin'. When do we start movin'?”
 
“Well, it all looks good, but there's one problem. It's critical that we keep the whole project hushed up until we're completely through the permit process. Even as quiet as we've been, there's been some rumbling in the real estate community and that's not good. If the realtors start smelling eight figure commissions, and the wrong people in city government look too hard at this, it could be a major catastrophe."
 
“So who's making the problems?”
 
“We haven't figured it out yet. There’s someone who's keeping very low to the ground. All we know so far is there's a real estate broker who's been doing a lot of digging lately. Nobody seems able to identify him or trace his office. We do know there's someone asking a lot of pointed questions named Jerry...something.”


Chapter 15
An Arresting Development
By Kathryn Dysart

Just as Novak was easing into the only open, albeit illegal, spot on the narrow one-way street in front of Joe Rizzo’s apartment building, he saw a flashing light atop an unmarked car speeding down the street in his side view mirror. The police car came to a screeching halt right next to their car. The cop sitting shotgun rolled down his window.

“Move it,” he said, waving his hand with a sweeping motion directing them out of the spot. “Now!” he yelled as the driver backed up getting out of Novak’s way.

“Okay, man.  I’m going,” Novak called out as he pulled away from the fire hydrant.

The cop car moved forward again, making a sharp right turn, pulling in on an angle almost perpendicular to the fire hydrant, blocking the street.  Leaving the flashing light on, four policemen jumped out of the car and raced to the front door.

“Whoa… Boss.  What’s happening?”

Kucinich, in the backseat with his iPad still on his lap, turned around just in time to see out of the rear window the frantic commotion of the hustling police officers running into the building.

“There must be more going on in there than a hot-headed, low life little scum bag playing with himself. Let’s go around the block. Hurry,” Kucinich said.

The police car was still blocking the street when they finally made it around the block. By this time, a small crowd of pedestrians was hanging around to see who or what would be coming outside. 

“We’ll have to wait until the cops finish what they’re doing before we take care of our business. It’s probably some guy beating up his girlfriend or, in this neighborhood, his boyfriend,” Kucinich said.               
________

Kate sat at her makeshift design table in the middle of her bedroom until the wee hours of the morning working on the Manhattan Mayhem team uniforms.  Not being able to afford a tilting worktable, she had bought a large piece of plywood and put it on top of the small desk that she inherited from one of the ex-roommates.  To tilt the board she had used a bar stool placed behind the desk.  It wasn’t ideal but it worked.

It was almost noon when Kate woke up the next morning. She felt great. For the first time in months she allowed herself to dream of a future with her own line of women’s sports clothing. In her fantasy, all the manufacturing would take place in a warehouse in Brooklyn with her design offices in the same building. Just like Stella McCartney, she wanted to support the local economy and be an environmentally friendly company. Every aspect of her clothing line would be from the “good ol’ US of A.”  She might be a tad more pricey than her competitors at first, but the quality would be exceptional, closely monitored by her.               

“Marie…” she called out.  “Are you here?” 

Kate looked on the table where they sometimes left notes for one another.  There was no sign of Marie. 

“Darn,” she thought.  “Why didn’t I ask her about her plans for today?”

Looking around for her phone to text Marie, she thought about the concerned look on Marie’s face when she got off the phone with Joe the night before.  Kate had been so anxious to start on the new designs she let the look slide and filed a mental note to ask her about it later. 

“Where r u?” was the text.         
________ 

At Eastside, Hank was leaning on the reception desk thinking about where he and Yvette could have dinner.  He wanted an intimate restaurant with good food where they could share a nice bottle of wine over dinner.  He was feeling at a loss for a decent idea when Marlene Kucinich sauntered by the desk.

“Hank, how are you?” she asked. “I heard your daughter and I have something in common.”

Surprised by this announcement that triggered a sharp pang of protective parent instinct, Hank said, “What’s that?” 

She gave a little tug downward on the zipper of her leopard warm-up suit jacket revealing her neckline and moved in closer to Hank. 

“My sources tell me Pike doesn’t discriminate. Apparently, he likes women of all ages,” she said.

Now Hank was pissed.  His better judgment though told him, do not engage, although he was curious to know who was talking to her about Kate.  

“Not sure what you’re referring to but I could use a good recommendation for an intimate restaurant,” he said.

She took the bait and jumped into a soliloquy about a place in the West Village she had just been to called Mas La Grillade.

“My friend says taking a girlfriend to this restaurant is a total power play. It’s by far one of the best, most sensual eating experiences you can have in the city. When you walk in the lighting sets a crazy sexy mood. The wood smell and fire from the grill make it feel really cozy.  They have grilled oysters, earthy tasting Hen of the Woods mushrooms… it’s all ridiculously delicious grilled food.  You have to go,” she said.        
________

Pike stood for a few seconds, a little dumbfounded, looking at the door that Joe closed in his face after he fired him and kicked him out of his apartment.  The dog threat was too much and Pike’s anger was starting to register.

Oh shit, bloody hell, he thought before turning around and walking back to the elevator. On second thought, seeing the exit sign, he decided to take the stairs. This would be preferable to staring at himself in those damn elevator mirrors. His steam fueled descent made him miss the first floor, landing him in the basement laundry room. He took the exit door in this room, putting him on an unfamiliar street. He picked a direction and started walking at a fast clip to the nearest bar.
________

 It took about fifteen minutes before the four police officers exited the building where Kucinich was waiting to enter to look for Pike.

Two of the officers escorted a man in handcuffs to the unmarked police car, shoved him inside and drove off.  The other two officers were handling two very large, and a third very mean looking dog.

 Kucinich waited until the police officers with the dogs reached the curb before he went inside the building. Reaching the specified apartment he knocked on the door. Some of the other residents were mingling in the hallway talking.

One man called out, “You’re wasting your time, pal. He was just arrested.”

“For what?” Kucinich said.

“Not sure. Probably drugs. He had a dog-walking business. Must have been a front for whatever illicit dealings were going on. No wonder folks were always coming and going from the place.”

Kucinich was confused, wondering what kind of goose chase Jerry had sent him on. When he got back to his car, Novak said,“ Any luck?”

“No. What happened to those dogs?”

“The officers put them in a police van.  Musta been taking them to the pound,” Novak said.

A buzzing sound was repeating on Kucinich’s phone. He pulled it out of his pocket to look at his text messages:

“Your man Thomas Pike is trouble. Watch out. He was extradited from NZ. Police looking for him in US. Had something to do with the Christ Church embezzling scam.”


Chapter 16   
Again and Again
by Steve Hufford

Again and again the Mayhem circled the banked track.  April, in full bloom as  “Spring Fever”, cut a fine figure with Kate’s colorful design fluttering near her hips.  She skated in and out of view, sometimes high, sometimes low on the track, weaving among teammates and competitors.  Kate watched with interest, entranced by the athletes jockeying for position and advantage.  It was not so different from the territorial battles she knew in squash.

Again and again, but in a much quieter setting than the converted Sky Rink at Chelsea Piers where Kate was seeing similarities between roller derby and squash, the ball arced high and dropped into the back corner of the court.  Hank knew that at his age, there would come a time during some Master’s match when he would need to slow the pace.  And so he was drilling at East Side, hitting lobs, ironing out his tendency to graze the sidewall above the redline.  The challenge was to hit the shot perfectly, again and again, recovering smoothly to the “T” in a motion that built upon his follow-through.

So daughter and father spent their Saturday evening at sport not knowing that Margaret, who had pained them both, was now out of their lives forever.  No one other than Pike would know that until Monday morning and she would tell no one.

For the Van Alstyne’s, Saturday nights in New York had become a series of obligations scheduled well in advance.  At least, Henrik thought, this dinner would be in a pleasant setting, and not the usual routine.  He’d always enjoyed dining at The Brook.  The historic in-town gentlemen’s club, not far from the Racquet and Tennis, had long been known for its competent staff, quiet luxury and a membership roll that signified full acceptance among the privileged of New York society.

“Are you about ready, dear?” he asked his spouse of forty-five years.

Margarethe took one more look, and decided on the choker rather than the double-stranded pearls with the diamond clasp.  She knew they would be asked to fund yet another charity, so it was best to dress down.

“Yes, but won’t we be a bit early to The Brook?” she replied.

“Not really”, he said.  “We’ll have cocktails before dinner, and there’s a brief ceremony we’re supposed to attend.”

Henrik was secretly pleased.  He had kept Margarethe unaware of several important details.  The ceremony was to honor Pieter and enshrine a fine oil painting of the old man on the walls of the Brook’s library.  Select members of the New York squash community would be there to express their appreciation for Pieter’s role in creating and sustaining East Side.  They would honor his memory and the Van Alstyne name.

Listening to the association’s request for further patronage to establish a new squash development and education program for disadvantaged youth was a small price to pay for the expected pleasure of the evening.  Just as he had told his spouse, they would indeed be presented with yet another charitable opportunity.  But he was truly eager to see her surprise and satisfaction when Opa’s portrait would be unveiled and installed where it belonged, with appropriate ceremony.  Besides, it seemed a worthy cause.

The Brook was the perfect place for the squash leadership to solicit for a legacy.  Pieter’s picture would hang not far from the club logo and motto that also adorned the library walls.  The Brook’s emblem, sketched many years ago by descendants of early Dutch settlers, was a proudly standing windmill with its emphatic declaration:

We go on forever.

Unlike Margaret.

Long before her demise, she had established a practice to take no Sunday “appointments”.  It was not to honor any Sabbath.  Simply put, Margaret found that Sunday customers frequently wanted emotional intimacy and also conversation outside of the bedroom.  That was never to her liking, so her firm policy had been to take Sundays off.
 
Margaret’s professional scheduling practices were good luck for Pike, as was the fact that she had no friends who were likely to call or drop by.  Pike spent Saturday night and much of Sunday in an apartment with a corpse.  That was a first, even for him, but he needed time to develop his plan and he certainly had nowhere else to stay.

Pike inventoried the apartment on Sunday morning.  All the easily transported valuables were now his, and were quickly pawned.  By Sunday afternoon, he had a nice bankroll and the apartment had been stripped.  The bloodied marble statue had been thrown down the trash chute, and the doorknobs and other surfaces had been cleaned of prints.  He headed out on Sunday evening, leaving what he was sure was a clean crime scene.

It fell to Rosa, one of the maids Margaret had relied on to keep her professional décor professional, to be the first to find her on Monday morning. 

Rosa arrived on time at eight thirty, hoping the lady of the house wasn’t there, and was glad when no one answered the doorbell.  She could go about her routine unencumbered by the lady’s additional instructions and complaints.  Noting a slightly foul smell, she started as usual for the master bath on the far side of the bedroom.  Then the scene of horror assaulted her eyes as well as her nose.

“Ay Dios mio!” Rosa exclaimed.

Shaken by the gruesome sight, Rosa wondered what to do.  She considered calling the police, but her instincts told her not to… no papers, una problema.  After living undocumented for so many years in New York, she spoke with la policia only when necessary.  Rosa called her boss and begged off sick.  Let someone legal clean this up.  She kept her rubber gloves on, gathered her supplies, wiped the doorknob on her way out and headed back to the subway.

Pike was far away by Monday noon, en route to Wellington courtesy of Margaret’s pawned valuables, her healthy bank account and her habit of storing her PIN number in the desk beside her bank statements.  Pike began to relax on the flight.  He had a second rum and coke, convinced no one could find him once he got back home.  It had been so long since he left New Zealand that the authorities must have moved on to more recent concerns.  Yes, all would be well for Thomas Pike.  Good riddance to Kucinich, Joe, those damned dogs, and the whole Reynolds family, living and dead. 

He adjusted his seat back and settled in for a rest.  But it was fitful.  He couldn’t keep that image of the bloody Priapus figurine from flashing into his mind’s eye, again and again.


Chapter 17
Crystal Blue Persuasions
by Will Gens

“I’ll be okay, just let me…just let me...” She had the wind knocked out of her and was struggling to catch her breath.

“Okay, okay, just breathe….phew, okay.” They helped Kate up.

“You sure you don’t want to call –"

“No, I’m okay. I just need to call my dad.”

Hank was stunned. He stared into space a million miles away.  He had gotten off the phone with Nassau County Detective Peter Mets, who insisted he meet him at the Long Island Jewish Hospital, the head trauma unit where Margaret was undergoing emergency brain surgery. 

“Life threatening injuries,” he had told Hank. He immediately called Long Island Jewish and was passed around until he found a supervisor who said she couldn’t really give out much information other than to say “critical condition”.

The nurse as an aside told Hank, “Your wife is really on the edge. There’s a small chance she will make it, sorry but I think you should know. They don’t allow me to say things like that, but I overheard them say there was no brain activity.”

He immediately rang Kate, what would he say, “your mother is brain dead." Okay, he thought, under other circumstances that might be funny. He was mostly concerned about what this would do to Kate.

“Daddy, I was just going to call you—"

“Kate what’s wrong you okay? You don’t sound right”

“Pike came after me, I need to go to the police.”

“Kate, he attacked your mom too.”
______________

Hank came alongside Kate who was waiting for him outside her apartment.

“Get in, I’ll explain.”

When Hank told the driver Long Island Jewish Hospital in Lake Success just off exit 33 of the Long Island Expressway, the cabbie, in a thick island accent, said he couldn't go, he was going off duty.

"That is utter bullshit, listen you take us out there or I'll make sure you never drive this cab again. I know people."

"Daddy take it easy maybe he does have to go---"

"Kate, it's bullshit, they never like to go to Long Island or the outer boroughs. What do you say my friend, we get out -- I have your license, your cab number and I have friends who are tight with the Limousine and Taxi Commissioner."

"You not a good maan, mista."

"Actually I am, here’s $100--this should make me a better man ..."
____________

Kate finally broke the silence. "Daddy, what's happening? All these strange things, Pike, me, the break in, mom being attacked, me being attacked. He wanted to kill me."

"I don't know honey, I honestly don't know. It doesn't make sense -- Oh shit, I've been trying to make some connection. A few years back, your mom use to come in here, and I forgot, but she took some lessons from Pike. In fact, that winter she took a lot of lessons." Hank stopped short, he didn't want to go into it right now. He'd save all this for Detective Mets.
__________

"Where the hell is she that bitch?" Pike demanded. He had managed to get buzzed inside the building and had feigned a delivery. Marie knew Kate was waiting on a rush delivery of some Mayhem logo markups for the team jerseys so she wasn't thinking when she opened the door to find Pike, battered and enraged. Forcing his way in, he pinned her against the wall and brought a blade to her throat. Sassy was under the table barking and snarling but she was afraid of Pike.

He pressed up against her, the point of the blade drew some blood, a slight trickle of blood.

"Teeeelll mmeeee!"

"Her father picked her up, her mother had been in an accident or was attacked or something. They went out to Long Island."

Pike thought it wouldn't be long before they connected him. He didn't care, all he cared about was getting to Kate.

“Where on LONG ISLAND or I cut your bitch throat.”

“I, I heard her say Long Island Jewish.”

"Payback, Payback..." he murmured. “Shut up you little shit!” Sassy was barking and jumping about. Pike wanted to kill the dog.  But instead he stepped away from Marie and in the next split second cut Marie’s throat with a broad slash. She gasped and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She sank to the floor, the blood was squirting everywhere. Clutching her throat and on her knees she tottered then teetered from side to side until she eventually rolled over onto her back. While the blood oozed out of her, her eyes stared blankly into eternity.

After Pike left, Sassy came out from under the table. Whimpering, she kept nudging Marie’s lifeless body.

“Detective Mets. This is my daughter Kate, I’m Hank.  What happened? How is she, God, this is just awful.”

“She’s not good. She’s been in surgery for some time; the surgeon will speak to you at some point, but in the meantime I need to ask you some questions. I know this might be hard.”

“Pike! Pike! And it’s all my fault I should never ever have gotten involved with him.”

“Sorry, Miss, Pike? Who is this Pike?”

Kate proceeded to tell him how they met and about the break-in, the assault outside the Roller-Derby venue -- about everything. Hank filled him in with other details. Hank explained the connection to Margaret. Detective Mets made notes.

 Kate was beside herself.

“I brought this on us, I did, Daddy.” Kate cried in her father’s arms and Hank looked at Detective Mets as if to say they were done.

Just then the surgeon, Dr. Peter Meltzer (according to his name tag), came up and introduced himself.

Hank and the surgeon moved off to the side. Kate described Pike to Detective Mets, giving as many details as possible. In the course of the conversation, Hank’s face changed from concerned to grim.

“What must we face, I’m not sure I understand,” Hank said loudly.

Kate let out a scream.

“Marie!"

Speeding through the Queens Midtown tunnel in Margaret’s black Denali, Pike keyed Long Island Jewish into the GPS. He ran the toll booth and accelerated past a parked NYPD cruiser. The police officers didn’t notice Pike, or they didn’t seem to care.

“Enjoy your donuts, you lazy good for nothings –"
 
“Keep straight on I-495 heading east for 22.3 miles…”

“That bitch is going to join her mother and then I’ll take care of that Hank too; rat bastard. I hate them all. And what about Kucinich, shit I’ll take care of him too. Then, I’ll just disappear and start all over again somewhere else. Damn this is a nice drive. Mine now.”

Pike had this tune in his head for some reason; something he heard his mother play many times. This was her music. He missed her terribly.

“Look over yonder
What do you see?
The sun is arising most definitely
A new day is coming
People are changing
Ain’t it beautiful?
Crystal Blue Persuasion…”
_________

Lotte hung up the phone, she needed to call her father immediately. The last thing the family needed was this kind of scandal. This sordid business now implicating the club could spoil the whole deal. She needed to figure out a way not to associate this in any way with the club, which had the best reputation of any club. This could ruin that reputation.

“Papa, something’s come up. It’s not good…”

Chapter Eighteen
Upstairs, Downstairs, and in Milady’s Chamber
By Richard Millman


Enough is enough, thought Kuch.

It was bad enough the guy had fucked his wife. Worse when he had knocked him out cold.

Being taunted in public and having to leave like a thief in the night ...was more than Jerome Kucinich and his family could bear.

He glowered at the picture of his expensive bitch-wife on his desk.

The phone rang. Recognizing the number, he snatched it up.

“Dobar dan, cousin Tommislav! What do you have for me?”

“Dobar dan yourself, cousin Jerome,” came the Kiwi accented response, “this fucker is a low-life, cousin. He changed his name when he left NZ. I showed the picture you sent me to a mate of ours on the force. Real name’s Timmy Pendleton. Small time drug dealer who offed his old lady and disappeared. Wanted here, but not wanted—you know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” Kuch said deliberately. ”Dobar dan to your family, Tommi, Hvala i doviđenja!”

“Any time, cousin,”  said the voice and line clicked dead.

Kuch waited for a dial tone and punched a number.

“Yes, cousin?” the answering voice began.

“Ivanovic, you still work for Fazio?”

“No, I got promoted; Connor's his new sergeant. But Connor owes me. What do you need?”

Kuch smiled. “Now listen, cousin, here’s what I want ....”

_______________________________


It was 27 hours since Kate had told Hank that she had been taken to NYU Hospital.

It was 4.7 miles between there and the Eastside club, including the 14 flights of stairs to Kate’s ward he had sprinted up after frustration with the hospital’s slow elevator had proven more than he could endure.

It was now 7 times he had run the distance. Four yesterday—after some bloody parade had brought 2nd Avenue to gridlock and he had done it once—and then decided it was the best bet.

He burst out of the stairwell on the 14th floor and walked, smiling, into Kate’s room.

She proffered her bandaged wrist. “Pinned and out of action for a while,” she ventured with raised eyebrows.

Hank spoke cautiously, “Could have been a lot, lot worse, my darling. How are you today?”

“Pissed, actually,” Kate said, “which is kind of reassuring."

Hank frowned. “Why?”

“ ‘Cause I could have been traumatized, shocked and generally emotionally screwed. But I’m not. I’m just pissed. Can’t get my designs finished, can’t play squash and can’t do much to help find that evil bastard that did this to me. So pissed and okay in a weird sort of way. How about you? You don’t seem as out of breath as yesterday.”

“You know, you’re right. Yesterday I had to fight the desire to vomit right outside in the antiseptic hallways, today—just a little tingling. Clearly the secret to getting fit is to have one’s recently returned prodigal daughter hospitalized at an appropriate distance from one’s place of work?”

They both burst out laughing and spontaneously hugged—a hug that was brimming and overdue.

Hank suddenly broke away.

“I’m so sorry about your mother.”

Kate sank back into her pillow, her expression glazed.

“You know, Dad, I am sad, but I lost Mom a long time ago. I moved forward without her.”

Her face brightened.

“But the good news is that we're together again and we’re alive. Life is for the living and that’s what we both must do. You must court the Van Alstynes and run up many flights of stairs—not just to my hospital bed. You’re an extraordinary man, Dad. I haven’t said so before, but that was because I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand myself, so I couldn’t understand you. But now I do.

“Hundreds of people have lived better lives because you helped them get to know themselves and what they were capable of. You’ve made a huge difference. Perhaps you think they don’t remember. But they do. I’ve met them on the squash court and they've told me they couldn’t have achieved the things they’ve achieved if you hadn’t showed them that the only way to find out what one is capable of is by trying. I know I wouldn’t have gotten through the past few years—wouldn’t have a zest for life and my design career—without your teaching me to never give up.”

She took a breath and looked him square in the eye.

“That’s the man you are, Dad. I was frightened I couldn’t live up to your expectations. But now I realize you didn’t have any expectations. That was my own folly. You just wanted to help me be the best I could be, whatever that was. I get that now and that’s why I’m back. To share part of my journey with you—wherever it leads.”

Hank’s eyes misted over. Slowly he sat in the chair beside Kate’s bed. He fought to smile at her, but the smile was drowned in a flood of big, salty tears.
____________

Don’t be stupid, Pikey. No good putting your head in a noose.

He swung the Denali into a quiet street two blocks from Margaret’s apartment.

Pulling his hoodie over his head like a local youth, he walked around the corner and gave the apartment building a once over.

There was nothing suspicious. He walked by the building once more and, with a final look around, shot down into the parking lot.

He was just contemplating how he would get into the building when he saw a little old lady with classic blue rinse hair struggling toward the door with two enormous bags.

“Hoy, Missus, let me help you,” Pike called across the garage.

The old lady stopped, put the bags on the floor and turned slowly around.

“Goodness me!” she said. “Where’d you spring from, sonny?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” said Pike with his winningest smile, “just visiting a friend and I thought I saw her come down here. Honest, let me help you with those.”

“Well, that is kind,” she said. “I’ll open the door.”

________________

“All units stand by. Suspect has just entered building through the parking garage.”

In the town house from which he was watching the building across the road, Detective Fazio whispered breathlessly into his walkie-talkie, “Connor, are your guys ready?”

“Roger that, Boss,” came the reply, “we’re out of sight.”

The minutes passed like hours.

Eventually after ten minutes went by, Fazio hissed into the radio, “Connor, what the fuck is going on?”

“No show, Boss. Nothing doing.”

“That’s impossible!”

Fazio thought quickly. “All units move in. Go! Go! GO!”

The sirens screamed and black and whites screeched to a halt, blocking all exits.

_______________

Rush hour in the city was terrible that night. Tempers were fraying, horns were honking, brakes were crunching and everyone was miserable.

Everyone except a little old lady with blue rinse hair driving a gray ‘96 Crown Victoria, who patiently waited for traffic to move until, finally, she turned into a large compound in the meatpacking district.

The guard recognized her immediately and opened the automatic gate.

The sign on the gate read: “ABC Pet Foods Inc.” and below in very small letters, the words: “A division of the Alexian group.”

________________

Kate was doing her best to stave off cabin fever in her hospital room by scouring the internet.

Suddenly, she grabbed her phone and punched in Hank’s number.

“What? Are you okay?” Her father’s voice betrayed fear.

Kate milked the silence.

“Dad,” she said slowly.

“What? What?”

“The draws are out and you’re seeded one!”


Chapter 19 #1
Who Needs a Trophy?
by Al Tommervik


For Jerome Kucinich, Jerry represented unfinished business.

It had been most gratifying to get the call Sunday that his “brunch order” had been filled. Not only had he been the instrument to exterminate that Kiwi vermin Pike, he had saved the state the expense of trying him for the murder of Margaret Reynolds.

That left Jerry. Somehow he had been able to poison the atmosphere between Alexian and Destiny Living until Destiny had pulled out of their agreement to purchase Eastside. That deal had been his entry into the big time and the $5 million cancellation fee was no recompense. Jerry had to pay.

Kucinich learned that Jerry Fellowes spent every morning at a high-rise rehab project he was managing in Queens. Kuch’s Wednesday calendar indicated that he had no pressing business, so he decided to pay Jerry a visit. Donning steel-toed work boots and tucking a set of brass knuckles into his overcoat pocket, he set out for the site.

At the Queens site, Kucinich saw a man not dressed in work clothes standing outside the office trailer. Got to be Jerry, he thought. He shed his overcoat, fitted the brass knuckles and stepped out of the car.

“Hey! Are you Jerry Fellowes?”

“Yeah. Who’s ask ... oh ... it’s Jerome Kucinich, I believe.”

“That’s me and I’m here to make sure you understand to never intrude on my business affairs again.”

“Wha ...” Jerry’s question was cut off as Kucinich delivered an enhanced fist into his solar plexus. Jerry doubled over and Kucinich delivered a haymaker to his jaw.

Jerry flew backward and landed on the ground. He rolled over and got to his knees.

Through gritted teeth, Kucinich said, “You sonovabitch [kick to the ribs] ...

“don’t you EVER [kick to the ribs] ...

“mess in my business again!” [punch to the kidneys]

It took four of Jerry’s crew to subdue the adrenalin-fueled Kucinich. One of them asked, “Hey boss, you okay?”

Bleeding from his nose and mouth, Jerry shook his head and collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

***

At about that same time on Wednesday, in Manhattan, Hank was explaining the events of the last few days to Lotte Van Alstyne.

“Apparently Pike murdered Margaret and then attacked Kate outside the roller derby. We assume that’s the sequence since he dropped Margaret’s phone during the scuffle with Kate and her Mayhem saviors.

“Margaret’s body was discovered Monday. She was beaten so badly she was almost unrecognizable. On Tuesday, police visited her house in West Islip and discovered Pike dead in Margaret’s car in the garage. Apparently, he passed out with the car still running. He died of asphyxiation. At least it seems that way. There was an almost empty fifth of Chivas Regal and an open bottle of barbiturates on the seat next to him.”

“How awful! Is there anything we can do? Do you need anything?”

“Thanks, but we’re fine. Margaret had been out of my life for several years and Kate had left her a year ago. With Pike’s death it’s over; so we’re coping okay.”

“That’s good to hear.” Lotte hesitated. “I know this is a difficult time for you to assimilate changed circumstances, but some things have come up.

“With bidding for Eastside reopened, Destiny Living and one of Trump Enterprises’ subsidiaries have offered millions more than what we agreed to in the first place. And that has implications for you.”

Hank raised his eyebrows. “Congratulations, but I don’t see how your good fortune affects me.”

“Both bidders have agreed to permit Eastside to continue for a period of up to two years while we prepare the Lex site.

“A majority of the extra funds we’ll be receiving will go to start the Pieter Van Alstyne Squash Trust.”

“Nice! What will the trust do?”

“We’ll be depending on advice from you to finalize goals; but we have some preliminary thoughts. To honor Pieter, we’d like to sponsor an annual $100,000 tournament called the Opa Open. We also want to sponsor an annual Junior invitational tournament with the best young players from throughout the nation.

“That sounds terrific. Give me a few days to let this sink in.”

Lotte got up to leave. “Sure thing. Let’s talk after the Masters Tournament. I understand you and several members of the club are entered.”

“Yup. Be a great way to combat those stories that we’re closing if we can make a good showing.”

***

On Friday morning, Yvette and Hank were in the Eastside lounge, negotiating the logistics of Hank’s move to Yvette’s apartment. She had suggested it as a practical matter, “since my place is a lot closer to the club than yours. After the Masters, we can see how it goes.”

Hank was outflanked by Yvette’s negotiating skills at every turn. He resisted not bringing his overstuffed easy chair. “It’s the most comfortable thing I own.”

“I know you like it, but so did the cat of the previous owner who used it as a scratching post.” Eventually, Hank agreed to leave behind his second-, third-, and fourth-hand furniture as well as his posters of Beyonce and Scarlett Johansson.

“I do have one thing that’s bugging me about this,” Hank admitted. “Civilized people don’t put their red wine in the refrigerator.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to move in if I were civilized.”

“There is that.”

They were sitting there in companionable silence when Kate burst into the area, grabbed a chair and sat down.

“Dad, I need some money.”

“I guess that means you’ve joined us in the ninety-nine percent. I’ve been losing sleep over that.”

“Dad, this is serious.”

“What’s up?”

Kate took a deep breath and started talking in rapid-fire sentences.

“There’s this really cute guy. He works for Dupont and was showing our lead designer a new synthetic fabric they developed. He was hoping we’d use it in some of our high-fashion designs, but our designers gave him the brush-off.

“I caught up with him as he was leaving and asked him about the fabric. Turns out that among other properties it may be better uniform material than Lycra or Dry Wick.

“I told him that I was designing new roller-derby uniforms and asked how I could get a sample. He gave me a sample bolt, which was enough for me to cut and sew a uniform for April. Marie hand-painted the icons and lettering for me.

“Last night, the Mayhem had a practice and April wore my uniform. Everybody loved the design and April said the material felt good in action. The other players fingered the material and liked the feel of it. Now I have three weeks to produce the rest of the uniforms.

“So I need money to buy the material and pay for the silk screening.”

Hank grinned. “Not to mention you’ll need to call that really cute guy to arrange for the cloth.”

Kate nodded. “Some free-lance jobs have fringe benefits.”

“Here’s an idea for you. Your grandparents are in town looking after Margaret’s remains. With their help, maybe you can get the police to release Margaret’s Denali. After all, it apparently has nothing to do with a crime. It’s resale value will probably cover your expenses. If not, I can chip in the difference.”

“Great idea! Thanks, Dad. Got to run. Having lunch with the Dupont guy. Strictly business.”

“Sure it is. Have fun, Kate.”

***

Masters Tournament weekend was exhilarating. It was like old times. Hank relived stories with friends and former foes as well as shepherding club members to their matches.

On Sunday, three Eastside members had qualified for the finals. Marlene Kucinich and Yvette were set to square off in the over-35 flight, guaranteeing the club one championship. Hank was set to meet Ward Winston, a Canadian from Winnipeg, for the over-40 title.

Hank had lost a game in each of his matches while Winston had breezed through the early rounds in straight games. No one, not even other Canadians, knew much about Winston, other than that he was revered as the best high school athlete ever to come out of Manitoba.

Hank started the match by probing for Winston’s weaknesses. There seemed to be several holes in his game, but Winston won the first game 11-7.

Hank began exploiting Winston’s game in the second set and won 11-6, but was disconcerted to note that almost as fast as he took advantage of Winston’s game, Winston adjusted and the weakness disappeared. Still, Hank had enough guile to best the Canadian 11-9 in the third game.

In the break after the third game, Hank noticed that Winston seemed as fresh as when the match started. In contrast, sweat poured off Hank and he was definitely feeling the effort. Hank figured he needed the fourth game. If the match went to five games, Winston would have the upper hand.

Hank started fast in the game, taking an 8-2 lead. But nothing he tried after that worked. Winston won six straight points to equalize the score.

As a last ditch effort, Hank decided quicken the pace, taking each ball earlier. The tactic took Winston by surprise and Hank won the point to go up 9-8. Winston rebounded strong, but five straight rails by the Canadian resulted in Lets. Frustrated, Winston slammed a ball in the next rally out against the right wall.

At 10-8, Hank kept driving Winston against the back wall with deep shots, then dropped a perfect shot into the right corner. Winston raced forward and managed the return. As he back-pedaled toward the T, Hank dropped a second shot in the same place. This time Winston was off balance as he lunged and made the return. Hank slammed the ball against the wall and it careened off the floor at Winston’s feet for the match winner.

***

Leaving the court, Hank stopped short at the sight of a man in a wheelchair. “Jerry? Jesus! What happened to you?”

“Kucinich. I wish I could say you should see the other guy, but I am the other guy. He really gave me a going over, ruptured spleen, bruised kidney, broken ribs, fractured jaw, the whole nine yards. But I’ll be okay. Congrats on the win.”

“I got the message that you were canceling your sessions for a while, but no one said you were hurt.”

“Yeah, well, things were a little dicey for a bit.”

At that moment, Yvette walked up. “Jerry! No cat would drag in something that looked like you.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

“If you promise to do that every day, I’ll start my rehab at Eastside pronto.”

Hank noticed that Yvette was carrying a plaque instead of a trophy. “Hey, did Marlene actually beat you? I didn’t see that coming.”

“I don’t need a trophy.” Yvette smiled as she wrapped her arm around Hank’s waist. “Squash has given me something far better.”


Chapter 19 #2
It's Over
by Tammy Mehmed


Hank walked into the Upper West Side precinct on W. 82nd Street around noon on Tuesday.  He met with Detective Fazio and reviewed the video tapes from the garage in Margaret’s apartment.  Sure enough, it was Pike.  And while Hank was in there telling Fazio what he knew about Pike, Fazio wasn’t yet sharing that a body was found in Margaret’s house in West Islip.  The forensic boys were there and Fazio needed to head over soon.

Sgt. Connor walked into Fazio’s office and said, “Excuse me for interrupting, can I have a word with you Detective?”

Fazio nodded and excused himself to just outside his door.  Sgt. Connor told him that they had just received a confirmation from the lab that the Interpol fax they received yesterday with Timmy Pendleton’s picture was a match to the guy in the garage.  Fazio said, “Holy shit, that’s amazing.  We need to head over to West Islip and check on what they found.  I’ll wrap up with Reynolds here, and then let’s head over there.  Make sure you request fingerprint records from our friends at Interpol.”

Fazio finished up his conversation with Hank and told him he would be back in touch after he followed up on some leads at Margaret’s house on Long Island.  As soon as Hank left, Fazio and Connor made the drive over to West Islip.

----------------------

Marlene Kucinich was getting dressed in her master suite with her typical leopard-print outfit, when Jerome walked into the room.  “Hey Hon, well you’ll be happy to hear that our deal has busted on that Upper East Side building where your damn club is.  Happy now?”

“Why did you have to pick that building anyway?  There’s so many buildings in New York – and you go after that one.  I’m glad it blew up in your face.  Serves you right,” snarled Marlene.

“It was nothing personal dear.  Do you know how many offers I investigate every week - this was a good deal for me.  Whatever – it’s over.”

Funny thing was, Kucinich really wanted to get rid of that club – but now that Pike was gone, he didn’t care so much.  He wasn’t worried any longer about Marlene’s extracurricular activities.  He had been having her followed for some time and everything seemed back to normal.  He hoped it was just a minor indiscretion since he had been working so much.  He really wanted to move forward.  His love for her was deeper than she would ever understand.

-----------------------

After more than an hour at the police station, Hank headed to the hospital to pick up Kate.  She had sent him a text that the surgeon was finally releasing her. He had bought her a new homecoming outfit since the police took her clothes as evidence.  Fortunately the club had a great pro shop with all the top shelf brands - although maybe not quite up to her style.  Hank was able to grab a modern black warm-up suit with lime green piping.  April had gone to her apartment and picked up her more personal belongings to last her through the next week or so at her place.

"Hi Kate, are you ready?" asked Hank as he entered the sterile hospital room. 

"Thank goodness you're here.  I'm so over this place and ready to break out.  Did you bring me something cool from the club?" asked a bubbly Kate.

"Of course, only the finest from East Side.  Black Knight has this new clothing line that they’re trying out with us - thought you might like this warm up.  Who knows, maybe you can get a job with them?”

“Thanks dad.  Not a bad choice," chuckled Kate.  “Now let’s get out of here.”

“Okay, let’s take a taxi over to April’s place.  I’m really exhausted from my time at the police station earlier.  Do we need to stop anywhere else before we go there?”

“Nope, I just want to get settled in and not think about all that has happened.  It’s just too much.  I’ll send her a text as we’re getting in the cab so she knows to expect us.  She said she would be home waiting for us.”  Kate got dressed in her new warm-up suit and the two of them went through the hospital check-out procedures before getting in a cab.  On the way to April’s she sent a text to Marie letting her know she was finally sprung from the hospital and heading to April’s.

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Lotte Van Alstyne drafted up a memo to the management at the East Side Club and copied Hank.  In it, she laid out the plans to relocate the Club to a newly designed space at their Lexington property not far away.  She wrote about some promising changes including a daycare center and spa services, as well as a cafe, yoga studio, weight training area, cardio equipment and a PT center.  Everything a squash player could want for cross-training and mental health.  She requested that Hank be part of the design team.  It sounded too good to be true.  It was delivered while Hank was with Kate on Tuesday afternoon, but Jerry had already heard about it through one of his front office moles.  Jerry sent Hank a text telling him there was great news sitting on his desk.  Hank called Jerry immediately, "Hey Jer, that sounds incredible.  I need to talk to Lotte though and see if we can include a couple courts for my outreach program.  She's on the right track including daycare at least.  I'll give her a call when I get back in later today."

"I asked my friend to sketch up some ideas and I'll get those to you pronto so she knows you're serious and it can work." 

"Thanks man," beamed Hank.  "I owe you big time - you have been such a good friend through all of this.  I can’t thank you enough.  Will you still be at the club later this evening?”

“No, I do have some dinner plans, but send me a message if you need to talk.”

----------------------------
Sgt. Connor and Detective Fazio spent the afternoon at the crime scene in West Islip.  Identification showed that the body belonged to Thomas Pike.  Now they had to confirm that Thomas Pike was Timmy Pendleton.  The CSI was on site taking fingerprints of the body and carefully examining the premises. 

“Sir, it sure looks like a suicide,” said the onsite CSI examiner.  “You’ve got pills and booze on the nightstand and a gun in his hand with his brains blown out.”

Detective Fazio spoke, “Well, our Mr. Pike has been quite busy the last couple of days.  Can you tell how long he’s been here?  We lost track of him early Sunday morning.”

“I would say this happened Sunday, sometime in the morning, based on his body condition.  It looks like everything took place right here in the bedroom,” said the examiner.

“Okay, thanks.  I’ll look forward to the full report.  I need to get back to the office and let some people know.”  Fazio and Connor left West Islip Tuesday evening and headed back to their precinct on the Upper West Side.

On the way back, Detective Fazio called Hank, “Mr. Reynolds, I have some good news for you.  It seems that we found Mr. Pike.”

“Really,” exclaimed Hank.  “Don’t be messing with me.  Where is he?  Did you capture him?”

“I think you’ll find this even better, Mr. Reynold,” said Fazio.  “It seems he shot himself in your wife’s house in West Islip.  He stole her car and drove over there.  Must have figured out where she lived and thought he would hide out or somethin’.  Looks like he called it quits though.  Whatever happened, you don’t have to worry about him any longer.  We’re still investigating but the body checks out to be him.”

Hank was ecstatic.  Kate was making faces in the background trying to figure out the conversation.  Finally, Hank hung up and reported in to Kate and the girls.  It was time to celebrate.

Kate decided it was best that she stay at April’s place for a while even though Pike was gone.  She was still nervous about everything that happened and just feeling uncomfortable about city living.  “Do you want me to stay here for a while longer with you and the girls, or are you okay now?  I’ve got some stuff to deal with back at the club and finally feel like I can move on,” said Hank.

Kate smiled and said “Of course dad, promise you’ll come visit me tomorrow.”

-----------------------------

Hank headed back over to the club.  It was late now on Tuesday evening, but he realized he hadn’t talked to Yvette all day.  He was so distracted with everything going on that he completely forgot to check in with her.  He dialed her number, “Hi Yvette, it’s me Hank.”

Yvette put on her biggest smile, “Hi handsome, are you doing okay?  I’ve been worried about you and Kate.”

“Yes, it’s been quite a day though.  I would love to visit with you tonight – got any plans?  I could use a good back rub and to see your smiling face.”  Hank got warm all over just thinking about being at Yvette’s place.  “I’ll tell you all about it when I see you, there’s just so much that you won’t even believe.  It’s all quite crazy how this came together, but Kate and I are so happy – thank God it’s over.” 

“I’m here waiting for you.  I’ll get your scotch ready and warm-up my hands.  See you whenever you get here,” beamed Yvette.

Hank stopped by the club to pick up Lotte’s paperwork and some paperwork about the upcoming Master’s tournament, and then headed over to Yvette’s home.  What a crazy month this has been he thought - but I’m so glad I got my baby girl back.





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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.















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