Cheap Heat, page 15
Grant stomped around the ring, urging the crowd on, whipping them into a frenzy, until he took his black cavalry hat and tossed it into the crowd.
Blake had already made his exit by the time Grant stamped down the tunnel. I hurried after him, wondering if I was going to have to get between them. Given the state Grant was in, I didn’t like my odds a whole lot.
Once in the safety of the tunnel, Grant came right for Blake, who was leaning against the wall.
“What the fuck was that?” he growled, getting right in the older wrestler’s face.
“Playing to the crowd is great,” Blake said, “until you’re paying more attention to them than to the wrestling. That’s how people get hurt.”
“Then fuckin’ say something instead of slapping me. You made me look like a bitch in front of the entire house.”
By now, stage hands were wandering over, wondering if they were going to have to break it up.
“You wouldn’t have listened just to words,” Blake said, finally and forcefully backing Grant away from him with his hands on the inside of the younger man’s shoulders. “But you did listen to the slap.”
“But the crowd…”
“Fucking loves you,” Blake said, pointing back down the tunnel. “You put yourself over, really, for maybe the first goddamn time, kid. Pay attention.”
Then Blake walked away, presumably to the trainer’s room, for his usual ice and whirlpool treatments.
I followed Grant to his dressing room, convinced that Blake was right.
Chapter 35
The next ten days passed exactly like the previous week. A bus ride, a night in a bad to mediocre hotel, crappy road food, hotel gyms, and Grant constantly updating me on the buzz he was getting on the blogs and message boards.
The matches all went the same way, too. Grant was really getting into it now, feeding off the energy of the crowds.
I hated every second of getting out there with the crowd. I stared out from behind the thick sunglasses they’d given me, tried to peer through the lights to look for anything threatening.
When we got to Centreville, Virginia, I was low on supplies and bribed the roadies into unloading It for me. I went out on Route 29 until I found a Target that I just hoped would stock some of the Wild Friends nut butters I was currently living off of. I had found that I couldn’t talk myself into a chain restaurant or fast food burger more than once a week, and even then I felt sick about it.
Luckily, they did, and I sped back to the hotel with my backpack full of almond and peanut butter, a small sack of apples, and a case of beer for the roadies. I hated where I was and what I was doing. I hated that I hadn’t had the deck of the Belle under my feet for two weeks. I hated that I hadn’t seen Gen in that time.
But the one part of all of it I could control, like usual, was what I ate. So at the very least I was going to do that and try and keep myself sane.
Being back in the saddle helped. I should, by now, have taken back and apologized for every harsh word or thought I ever entertained about bikers. Well, the riding part, anyway. The one-percenter lifestyle was still a big lie, your basic criminal enterprise dressed up in costumes and fancy words about brotherhood and freedom.
But actually being on the bike, on the road, even in the early onset of winter? Nothing compared to how it felt to be that in control of my destiny. Part of me wanted to get back on Interstate 66, head down to 81, and see how much of the country I could see.
But that part was a hell of a lot smaller and less vocal than the part that wanted to finish this job, get paid, go home, and figure out what to make Gen for Christmas.
By the time I’d pulled back up to the hotel, given the road crew their case of Miller Lite, and gotten back to the room, Grant was napping.
But Daphne was waiting for me outside the hotel room with an envelope in her hand.
I held my shopping in one hand and my helmet in the other, so I looked at her rather than reaching for it.
“Really? Another one?”
She nodded and jerked her head to the room’s door. “Let’s go wake up Sleeping Beefcake.”
I unlocked the door, giving him a courtesy knock—three loud raps against the door—as I opened it. When I flipped the lights on he was only just waking up, stretched out on top of the covers in his jeans and sweatshirt.
“Do you two have the goddamn AC on in here?” Daphne shivered. It was true that the room was right around meat-hanging temperature. I was used to this kind of cold, having spent the past two winters on the Belle without a whole lot of working heat.
“Sorry,” I said, “habit.” Grant had turned over and pulled a pillow over his eyes, groaning at us to go away.
“Mail call,” I said. I went to the side of the bed and ripped the pillow off his head, chucking it against the wall. “Get up or get ready to eat a cold, wet washcloth,” I said. Daphne brought the letter over. I took it to the bathroom, got out my pocket knife, and carefully cut it open at the seal, tipping it over the sink.
All that slid out was another piece of printer paper. I grabbed a fresh Ziploc bag from my luggage and carefully picked it up, reading as I walked back out to Daphne and Grant.
“This is basically identical to the last one,” I muttered. “Some added stuff at the end about being patient, you haven’t listened, when you least expect it, blah blah.” I waved it in the air and Daphne reached for it, but I pulled it away.
“Prints,” I said. “There’s still the chance this becomes a police matter and we don’t want you getting popped for it, do we?” Using another Ziploc over my other hand I got the letter inside the bag and smoothed out so it could be passed around. I looked at it again. Something about it nagged me. Nothing much had changed except that paragraph at the end, which I reread.
You have ignored our warnings. And our previous letters on this tour. Be prepared for retribution when you least expect it. We are patient.
“Odd,” I said, as I turned the Ziploc over to Daphne. “It’s almost identical. Just got that added paragraph. And it mentions letters this tour. But this is only the second one.”
“Yeah well, you can’t expect idiots like this can count, right,” Daphne said. Grant laughed. Clearly they were ready to dismiss a discrepancy.
I wasn’t.
I didn’t know what it meant, but it didn’t make sense. Furthermore, it seemed like the threat had been revealed to be nothing but a bluff. Here we were in rural Virginia, where the threats were said to emanate from, doing the exact thing the threats said not to do.
And all that had happened was another letter, practically a cut and paste, with an added paragraph that didn’t quite fit.
“You know, Grant,” I said, “it sure seems to me like we’ve called their bluff. Tomorrow’s what, the fourth show in Virginia? And not a damn thing has happened.”
“You’re not quittin’ on me, are ya, Jack?” Grant, still sleepy-eyed, looked genuinely worried for a minute.
“He isn’t,” Daphne answered for me. “Is he?” A sharp look in my direction.
“Of course not. I’m on the job till the problem is rooted out or the tour’s over,” I said. What I meant was that I was on the job as long as I was still logging billable hours.
“Great,” Grant said. “Besides, we’re fucking killing it lately. Wouldn’t want to lose you as part of my corner.”
“I’m not part of your corner, Grant. I’m not part of the show.” The problem was, I had basically let myself become part of the show. And I didn’t see a way out of it. I held out my hand and took the letter back from Daphne, storing it carefully in a larger bag with the other one we’d gotten. I still didn’t like any part of this.
Grant yawned and stretched. “Is it dinner time?”
Daphne laughed and wandered outside, crooking a finger at me to follow, which I did.
I pulled the security latch out so the door wouldn’t lock, but we’d get some privacy. She looked up at me sharply.
“You’re thinking something.”
“I’m thinking a lot of things.”
“Gonna tell me what any of them are?”
“I don’t work for you,” I said. “And I’m not sure what it is I think yet.”
“The hell does that mean?”
I shrugged. “Investigative work does involve hunches. But usually a ‘hunch’ is based on seeing a missing piece of information.”
“That doesn’t make any damn sense.”
I thought over how I’d said it and realized it didn’t. “I mean…I see a hole where information should go. I realize that there is something I need to know and don’t, and can determine a vague outline of it…but not enough to make any intuitive leaps.”
“You’re no Sherlock Holmes, then, I take it.”
I snorted. “Sherlock had all of his cases meticulously plotted for him by a benevolent deity,” I said. “All of his clues carefully placed where he and only he could see them. I’m looking for stuff anyone can see, but not everyone would notice. I also lack a sidekick. World of difference.”
She laughed. “Fine. Don’t share it with me. But the company’s paying a lot of money for you, and hasn’t seen any results yet. It may not be my company, but on the road, it’s my responsibility.”
“I got it. And the instant I have anything actionable, I’ll loop you in. But I don’t.” Only a niggling suspicion that something isn’t right. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a phone call to make.”
“Oh? To your boss?”
“My girlfriend.”
“Same difference,” Daphne said, taking the last word as she wandered away. I didn’t contest it.
Chapter 36
I went carefully back into the hotel room, where Grant had fallen asleep again. I dialed Gen’s number, snuck into the bathroom, closed the door, and sat on the only available seat.
“Who’s this?”
“Very funny,” I murmured carefully. “I wish I could call more, but…”
“I know, evil doesn’t rest, neither can you.”
“Well, trust me, when this job is over I plan to do nothing but rest for at least a week.”
“Jack, that’s a bold-faced lie and we both know it.”
“Well, okay, but the gym and visiting you both count as rest.”
“Only if you’re doing it all wrong.”
“Jesus, I miss you, lady.”
“I miss you, too. How’s the job going?”
I looked in the direction of Grant’s gentle snoring. “So far, so good, I guess. I’m still standing ringisde with him, which I hate.”
“Are they making you wear wrestling gear? Maybe just boots and trunks? Because if they are, I want pictures.”
“I’m afraid it’s just a suit and a Kevlar vest.”
“I can do without the vest,” Gen said. She was certainly aware that my job could turn violent, and wasn’t thrilled about it.
Neither was I.
“It’s just for the look of the thing,” I said. “I doubt I’m really going to need it at any point.”
“Good. You are to come home unperforated.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now I like the sound of that a lot more than Kevlar. You can keep that.”
“I will remember that.” I paused. “Ma’am.”
She laughed. I liked the sound of it; it was rich and inviting and I missed her so much right now I was ready to drive four hours on cold roads back to Wilmington to see her.
But I had a job, and I had to do it.
And at that precise moment, my job had woken up, called my name, and said, “It’s dinner time, man, come on.”
Gen heard. “Is that Grant?”
“Yep.”
“He sounds fun.”
“It is a nonstop delight. I’ve gotta go, Gen.” I paused. “I miss you. A lot.”
I cringed. Was that really the best I could do?
“Miss you, too. Go do your job,” she said.
That seemed like a win. We hung up. I walked back out into the room, took my jacket, checked my gun and my taser, and went with Grant to find the nearest acceptable dinner place.
Chapter 37
It occurred to me while we walked that I’d gotten far too accustomed to carrying a firearm. The pepper spray and the Taser didn’t bother me as much; those were extremely unlikely to kill someone. The baton, well, that felt like something I could rely on and that relied on me. It wasn’t going to kill someone by accident, or at a moment’s whim.
But the gun under my left arm was too snug, too easy, too comfortable. I couldn’t lock it up or leave it behind, but I made a note that after I got home, I was going to ask Jason for a couple of cases that didn’t require one.
But that was later and now was now and the gun was a fact of my life. Until I could figure out what was nagging me.
We wound up at a chain restaurant that specialized in burgers, and I ordered one with a fried egg on it. Grant did the same, though he also ordered a beer and was well into his second basket of endless fries. I stuck with water and nothing.
Fries were the very devil, as far as I was concerned. Grant noticed me staring at the basket and pushed it towards me.
“You know, it’s supposed to be a bottomless basket for everyone at the table.”
I held up a hand, palm out. “I’m good.”
“You’d think you were trying to make weight for a meet.”
“I am, it’s just called outliving my father.”
Grant laughed. “At least you could have a beer. I know you drink a little.”
“I do, but not when I’m working, like right now.”
“You can’t eat just a couple of fries?”
“That’s not how it works with me, Grant.” I had guided the hostess into giving us a corner booth where I could see the door. It opened and I focused on it. Just a gaggle of teenagers. They were unlikely to be a threat.
“Whaddya mean that’s not how it works?”
“I mean I can’t just eat a couple of fries and go on with my day. Especially not when unlimited fries are on offer.”
He snorted and stuffed a last handful into his mouth. When he was almost done chewing he said, “Just takes some willpower and discipline, man.”
I got very angry, very quickly. It must’ve shown in my features as I leaned across the table, because Grant’s eyes widened.
“Don’t talk to me about discipline. I live like a fucking monk compared to you. And I don’t go looking for extra help in the gym when my own work won’t cut it.” I was hissing through my teeth by the end and Grant looked stunned.
Suddenly there was a presence leaning over the booth. Some bodyguard I was. I snapped out of my seat and put myself between Grant and the grinning, slightly pimply teenager who’d been getting out his phone.
I had stopped just short of grabbing his wrist and turning it back. Thank God. The last thing I needed was to assault a minor in a Red Robin.
“Hey, is that U.S. Grant?” the kid asked me.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Grant said. “You want a selfie?”
“Yeah, I do,” the kid said. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s fine.” Grant slid out of the booth and the kid came out of his own. He held out the phone to me and I looked at him like an idiot for a few moments before I finally realized he wanted me to take the picture for them. I took a couple shots, one upright, one landscape, and handed it back.
“Keep giving rebel flag waving idiots what for,” the kid said. He and Grant fist bumped. It was a heartwarming moment. The kid then looked at me and said. “You’re the bodyguard?”
“Something like that.”
“I bet you were like, special forces or something, right?”
“I was a cook.”
The kid looked at me dubiously. Then he suddenly broke into a grin. “Nah, you’re just saying that as, like, cover, right? Because you can’t say what you really did.”
“I fed sailors and Marines for four years. I never did a single glamorous or noteworthy or dangerous thing, except operating kitchen equipment while hungover.”
“Yeah, I get it, gotta live that lie.” He held out his hand for me to fist bump.
“Don’t take this as me acknowledging that anything you said is even remotely correct,” I said when I reciprocated.
Grant was beaming as we walked back to the hotel. It was getting colder and I wanted to stay out in the night air, like I would’ve if I was at home on the deck of my boat.
“What was that shit about not relying on my own work ethic in the gym?” Grant said.
“Eh, nothing. I’m just in a bad mood. Sorry.”
“You know, just because you do a cycle once in a while doesn’t mean it gets easy. You still got to put the work in.”
We were just outside the hotel and my frustration was close to boiling over.
“Grant. The last thing I want is a goddamn primer on effective steroid use. You do it your way, I’ll do it mine. Let’s just go to bed. There’s a show tomorrow night.”
“I’m all jazzed up, man. A kid asked for a selfie! I’ve got fans. We’ve gotta go somewhere. Maybe there’s a club.”
“Nope. No. No. No.” If Grant dragged me out to a club I would end up using that gun on me or on him. Maybe both.
“Come on…”
“Does the company have a curfew rule?”
He got quiet.
“I will narc on you instantly.” I pulled out my phone.
Sheepishly, he went into the hotel.
Chapter 38
The next night’s show was one of the biggest, noisiest, most miserable moments of one long miserable experience.
