He was preoccupied the rest of the way. Rick sounded worried.
“Shake it off, Kitt. You need to be focused. This is your big chance.”
“I'm all right.”
“You got some good surprises waiting. I wasn't supposed to tell, but I guess I'd better shake you out of this funk. MacPhie, Delaney, Jackson, a few others—they're flying in from London. They should be at the airport right about now. Didn't want to miss the big day.”
“No kidding?”
“They're top-rate commentators, and they can do you some good.”
“Always got your eye on the angle, don't you?”
“Got to. I've got a client who's never read the business section of the newspaper.”
“And I've got an agent who's never seen the sun rise.”
He was distracted from the kitten now, and the body language was changing. In the next hour he would grow more energetic and focused, shutting out his environment. The anticipation gripped him as he walked into the building for the warm-up. Shay was driving in with a couple of the tennis kids, for whom he'd been able to get free tickets. He felt strangely calm. The applause, the atmosphere, the tension—it had once been part of his life.
“Hey, Cannon! We love you, man!”
Spectators watched him warm up with George, and he could feel the questions. Can he still do it? Is he still the best? Been out a long time, man. Bound to have lost a step or two.
Fifteen minutes before the beginning of the match he went to the locker room. A short bathroom break, then back to the court for a quick warm-up with Zeller. Just like the real thing. A match official would be coming in to escort him to the court.
At the door he was met by three men in official-looking suits with badges.
“Will you step inside for a moment, Mr. Buchanan?”
Surprised and still preoccupied, he walked into the locker room. He hated to have the rhythm of his pregame routine broken.
A shattering pain exploded under his skull, and his vision was blurred by blood running down his face as he whirled to face his attackers. His dazed brain telescoped the scene, slowing and freeze-framing images as his eyes widened in shock and reality oozed into his consciousness, scalding like hot tar. They began to circle him with the skill born of many years in the ring. He fought back fiercely when they tackled him, but they were as well conditioned as he was. Pain pierced every part of his body as he crashed to the floor. The three men kicked him viciously until one held up his hand.
“Someone coming.”
A staff member found him there, barely conscious, and summoned paramedics. From the locker room, they could hear the announcement over the sound system.
Exhibition match canceled. Kitt Buchanan has been assaulted and is withdrawing from the match.
Kitt crawled to his knees, spitting up blood.
“I'm not withdrawing! Tell them to stop saying—”
“Calm down, Mr. Buchanan. We're taking you to the emergency room.”
In a spasm of pain he doubled over, unable to answer. Police officers entered and started asking questions. In the confusion, Danny Jackson and Jack MacPhie slipped into the room. Danny knelt by him.
“What happened, Kitt?”
“Couple thugs—”
“Easy, easy.”
Kitt shook to clear his head, passed out again, then opened his eyes. He frantically fought off the hands that held him down.
“Kitt, you knock that off. Lie still.”
“I have to play a match. I—”
“Kitt Buchanan, you lie still or I'm going to knock you flat, you understand me?”
“Next step. Ask Shay. Got to find Kari!”
“Kitt, be quiet. We'll find them, don't you worry. We saw some guys taking off in a hurry, and when you didn't show up—”
Kitt closed his eyes. A paramedic pushed Danny out of the way.
“Sir, you must step back.”
They strapped him onto the gurney, and the last he saw as they wheeled him through the corridor was Shay's eyes, dark with fear.
Danny peeked into the room, looked over his shoulder and slipped in. A nurse tried to stop him, but Kitt held up his hand.
“Give us a minute.”
“How ya feeling, Kitt?”
“Been better.”
“Doctors tell you anything?”
“Shoulder out. Maybe a concussion. Ligaments, whatever. Never mind that. Need a favor. Don't like asking, but I'm in a mess.”
“Shoot.”
“Two things. Shay. May need protection.”
He breathed rapidly, gritting his teeth in pain. “Have her tell you everything. You'll understand.”
“She's been waiting in the lobby. I'll take care of Shay. What else?”
“Hate to ask.”
“Tell me something I don't know.”
“Got an advance and I've got to pay it back now. I can get another job. Kari's next, I know it. Got to find her. Can I borrow some money?”
“You act like you're confessing to mass murder. How much do you want?”
“They gave me ten grand. Got a little left, but now—need enough for the summer and for the hospital. Get me a full-time job, start paying you back—”
“You're not dropping out of school. I'm getting you a cashier's check first thing tomorrow. And a truck. And you're not going to be a jackass.”
“Danny, no truck. We've been over this.”
“So we have. You were sorry, remember?”
“Just a loan. Interest, just like a bank. Didn't want to do this, but I've got to. ”
“Shut up, Kitt. For once I'm in charge.”
“Danny—”
“Shut up,” he repeated.
As a nurse urged Danny to leave, Kitt whispered to him.
“Warn Shay.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm not stupid.”
Shay, who had taken the kids home, came into the room but the nurse ushered them both out and busied herself with the IV bag hanging from a hook above his bed. The phone rang and she handed it to him.
“For you. Your friends are catching up with you already.”
He listened for a moment, his face darkening. He glanced up at the nurse, and waved her away. She turned and slowly walked to the door.
“Give me that address again.”
He laid down the phone and pulled himself up with his good arm, grimacing in pain. Inch by inch he jerked his body around till his feet touched the floor.
Later that day, breathing heavily, Kitt stumbled through the hallway of the Grand Hotel, scanning the nickel-plated room numbers. Stupid is what it was. Evidence screaming at him, and he hadn't seen it. The lines crossed. Kari in danger, because of him. Oh no, Kitt Buchanan wasn't going to whine about nasty letters and a dead dog. He'd take care of it himself.
Eight hundred seventeen. Nineteen. Twenty-one. This next one. Noises came from the room. Drunken voices and loud, pulsating rhythms and screaming lyrics from a sound system. To his surprise the door was unlocked. He pushed it open and leaned against the doorpost, spent.
“Well, well, boy scout coming to watch?”
He'd seen this man somewhere, the sneer, the beefy shoulders and neck. Another man joined him at the door. Kitt had an impression of bigness, but he surprised them with a quick move, and pushed past them into the room.
The pounding music made his head throb, and the thick smoke seeped into his straining lungs. Half-empty bottles were scattered across the two double beds and on the floor. Lying back against the cushions, a beer bottle in his hand, was Kurt Zeller. He turned far enough to see Kitt staggering in, but Kitt's eyes were fixed on the terror-stricken girl who stood pressed against the back wall in the half-dark of the hotel room. Maybe a little older than Kari, thin, with dark eyes obscured by mascara-clumped lashes. Through the blue haze he moved toward her when one of the men grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around.
“No!”
He didn't know the sound had come from his own throat, echoing and
threatening. His fist shot out and he heard a cracking sound as the heavy body struck the floor. Someone was silhouetted in the doorway to a bathroom, a camera dangling from his shoulder.
Kurt seemed surprised as he jumped off the bed.
The fat man was back on his feet and growled as his fingers screwed themselves into Kitt's injured shoulder The two men held Kitt, forcing his arms behind his back, and he felt his feet buckle under him as a pair of ham-sized fists battered his chest and stomach and pounded his skull. A widening blotch of red stained the bandage around his head.
“No!”
It wasn't his voice. She'd come into the light now, pummeling Kitt's assailant with her small fists, biting and scratching as he flung her away from him. A small bleached blonde with heavy makeup that seemed out of place on her childlike face.
A blessed, momentary numbness lifted him out of the crushing hands into a thick mist. A sharp kick in the stomach sent high-voltage jolts through his tortured body and his feet seemed detached from him, unable to hold him up. As he went down he saw several people bursting into the room. Vaguely, he recognized Danny and MacPhie. He heard Delaney's voice, then many voices.
Chapter 6
Advantage Kitt Buchanan
Shay tiptoed into the hospital room.
“Was it her? Where is she?”
“Yes, it was. Danny brought her here while you were having your spleen yanked out. I'll go check in a minute.”
He heaved a deep sigh.
“Danny and I made a deal. He chews Kari out—believe me, he means business—and I let you have it.”
“What for?”
“You walk out of here with a cracked skull and a laundry list of other injuries. You're lucky they caught up with you. As it is, you've added that spleen and a few broken ribs to your troubles. How dumb is that?”
“He said to come alone. Couldn't take chances. How'd they find me?”
“Cab driver. Roger Delaney produced some serious cash and they found out where he'd taken you. You came this close to getting killed. You have any idea what you put everybody through?”
“I'm sorry.”
“You should be.”
“How is she?”
She thought that over for a moment.
“Scared. Depressed. Very, very young and hurt and mixed up. Under all that makeup she looks like a little kid. She wants to come home but she's scared about what you think of her.”
“I didn't think she was running a Sunday School.”
“She hasn't told me much. She's been hanging out here and there. This thing tonight—I think that was new.”
“Where—where was she?”
“Different places. As far away as Denver. But she's been back around here for a while.”
“A setup,” he breathed rapidly, holding back pain. “Using Kari to get at me. Then throw her under the bus.”
“I'll take her home with me, Kitt.”
“Would you, Shay?”
“Of course.”
He grabbed her hand and held it against his cheek, lying with his eyes closed, breathing painfully. Shay bent over him.
“It's going to be all right now, Kitt. Danny and Kari are coming in for a few minutes, and I'll be back in a while.”
He seemed to slip in and out of consciousness, and she wasn't sure he'd heard her until he struggled to open his eyes.
“Shay?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
She rested her cheek against his forehead for a long moment.
“Me, too.”
Danny and Roger Delaney stayed for a few minutes, and finally Kari walked in. She looked small and bedraggled, her eyes still swollen from crying. A few makeup smears remained visible, and she was wearing Shay's jacket over the pathetic little skin-tight dress.
“Kari!”
With difficulty, he tried to raise himself, almost passing out in the attempt.
“Don't, Uncle Kitt. Don't!”
She ran across the room and gently pushed him back down. Tears streamed down Kitt's face as he stared at her, clutching her hands. She couldn't bear it and buried her face in the blankets.
“It's okay, baby. It's all right now.”
“Uncle Kitt, you don't know—”
“Hush. You're home. It's enough.”
His eyes closed as he helplessly stroked her curly hair and the bed shuddered with her sobs.
“Uncle Kitt, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry—”
“Shh. We're going to work through this. We'll be all right.”
A nurse laid her hand on Kari's shoulder but she didn't look up.
“He needs to sleep now. You can see him later.”
Kitt briefly opened his eyes, not letting go yet of her hand.
“Go with Shay, okay?”
Through her tears, she tried to answer, but she couldn't get the sounds out, and shook her head wordlessly. He misunderstood and became agitated.
“Kari, don't go away Please!”
“I wont.”
He heaved a deep sigh.
By morning his condition was upgraded to serious, and George dropped by.
“Trying to keep your face on page one, are you?” he greeted Kitt.
“Some face.”
“Erik Litmanen offered me a contract,” he said. “I'm quitting my job at the university.”
“That's great. Litmanen is a good guy. You make a champ out of him.”
“Gonna try. He sends his best wishes. Said your recommendation weighed heavily. So thanks.”
“No problem. So when are you starting?”
“Right away, start of the hard-court season. Erik's going to come down here for a couple of weeks. Juggling a bit with the college season. My assistants will run most of it for now.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Kitt, unless you've decided to go on the tour, why don't you apply for my job at the university? I'd back you all the way, and the team would be thrilled to have you. Pay is really good and you get a huge tuition break.”
“You think they'd take me? They worked pretty hard to kick me out.”
“That was Lloyd-Rutgers. Something tells me he'll lie low.”
“How come?”
“Your little adventure has been in the news, of course. You got a lot of sympathy right now. Walter L. may be running scared. The networks and cable—they're all over the story about your misfortunes. Some of the investigative-type shows are on it. They're pit bulls. They won't let go of it till they have turned that story inside out. He and his daughter may get their names in the news.”
Kitt thought that over and frowned.
“I hadn't counted on publicity.”
“When the all-time star of the ATP tour gets his lights punched out in front of a reporter, he's apt to get his map on the tube.”
“I guess.”
“This is the time to tackle Montrado U. They'll like your star quality, the intimidation factor. And Kitt, negotiate. My guess is they'd pay big to get you on board.”
“You really think so?”
“The university didn't look any too good in this thing. They'll want to clean up their image.”
After George was gone, Kitt weighed his advice. Coaching the tennis team. Had to be better than the car wash. With the collapse of the exhibition event, he was in debt now. It would be months before he could make another stab at it.
His thoughts drifted off to the night before. Most of it was fuzzy, but Shay loved him and Kari was home. Two slams, anyway.
When Danny, MacPhie, and Delaney invaded the hospital room later in the day, he was impatient.
“Got any news?”
They did. Zeller was up for a bail hearing.
“They're going to let him out on bail? He tries to rape a kid and he walks?”
“It's a hearing, Kitt. Not a done deal.”
“It better not be. I'll put him back there myself. Or someplace else he can't do any harm.”
“Easy. He won't buy his way out of this on
e.”
MacPhie fixed a hard look on Kitt.
“What's the idea not telling us about all the stuff that's been going down?”
“I didn't want you three slobbering all over me.”
“Smart, Buchanan. Real smart.”
“I just began to understand how it fit together. This was not a coincidence. Somebody called me. And Zeller hates me, but I was out of his way. Why bother?”
“The final putdown, maybe,” said Danny. “He knows he'll never be truly number one until he's beaten you. You humiliated him on the court that last match, triple-bageling him. He hated you before that, and he's vindictive.”
“He figured you'd be out of shape so he could beat you this time,” said MacPhie.
“Then why take me out before he could do it?”
“He probably got so deranged that hurting you was more important than anything. He was obsessed. None of what's happened has been rational,” MacPhie pointed out.
Danny sniffed contemptuously.
“Everybody knows his old coach arranged for his girls. But I didn't know they were that young.”
“He's had some even younger. We were just finding that out,” observed Delaney. “We began to look at him because of his continual jabs at you in his interviews, even after you'd been off the tour more than a year. He seemed fixated on you. A bit of poking around, and we found out some stuff—well, this guy's career is over.”
“Okay, so he's a nasty little pedophile. But this campaign took planning, and he's not that bright. If all this stuff is even connected.”
“You can bet it's connected. I'm not sure I agree with you about Zeller. He's more than just mean.”
“How did he set this up? Didn't his coach quit?”
“We may never have all the answers, Kitt.”
“I sure want a few more. The phone call proves someone knew where to find Kari, and picked her to get at me. I want to know who. I need to anticipate his next move. Kari has had enough. You think it was all Zeller?”
“He probably didn't bet on you, but he may have used the gamblers to fan the flames. Or they used him. He wanted you down and out. He didn't pass up a single chance to put you down.”
Break Point Down Page 36
