by Faricy, Mike
“A black belt in Karate and Tai Kwan Do,” she informed me. Suggesting she’d have no problem kicking my butt.
I turned my attention to Harlotte.
“Fiona Simmons,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Devlin Haskell.”
If she was wearing makeup it wasn’t much. She was attractive, but not in the sort of knockout way I had expected. Her long blonde hair was pulled back tightly in a pony tail. She seemed to have a nice figure, dressed in jeans and hidden beneath a bulky sweatshirt that read St. Margaret’s School for Girls.
“Dev is going to make sure things continue running smoothly while we’re here in St Paul’s.” Jimmy said.
“St. Paul,” I corrected. “We sort of have an inferiority complex with a larger city like Minneapolis right next door.”
They nodded in unison.
“It sounds like everything Jimmy has been doing is working, so we’re not going to change anything. I’ve been in touch with our police force. They’re aware of your situation. We’ll just keep a low profile. Your bout is tomorrow night and then you’re leaving the following morning as I understand it.”
“Actually leaving right after the bout, it will be after midnight by the time we’re loaded. Drive down to Chicago and then the team skates that night.”
“Not much time for a rest,” I said.
“There appears to have been a lack of appreciation for the distances you have over here when the schedule was arraigned,” Jimmy said.
“Driving from Denver, the deforestation we saw was absolutely amazing,” Emma added.
“Deforestation?”
“Not a tree in sight for as far as the eye could see. I guessed they were all cut down for your log cabins. We all took pictures out the bus window, American greed.” She looked very satisfied with the analogy.
“You drove across the great plains, that’s what you saw.” I said.
Blank looks all around.
“There never were any trees. That was the sort of country you see in the old cowboy movies, buffalo, rolling hills, Indians. People literally went insane out there from the wind blowing constantly.”
Emma looked at me in a way that suggested the insanity probably continued for generations.
“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions about this stalker business?”
Fiona looked at Jimmy for a moment and he nodded.
“Go ahead,” she said.
“Any idea who or why?”
She shook her head, seemed to think for a moment.
“No idea, whatsoever. I thought we had crazies back home, but this is like something a footballer would think up.”
“Footballer, what we’d call soccer over here?” I said.
“Yes. They’re fanatic, you know, but this, for us, me? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“So it began when you came over here, it didn’t follow you over?”
“Nothing until we were in the states, the first one was in St. Louis?” She looked at Jimmy for confirmation.
“St. Louis, it was actually waiting for us at the hotel, the envelope that is.”
“Then Kansas City, Chicago. That was the one pressed under the door, Chicago, and that’s it.”
I didn’t mention Denver, Jimmy had said he didn’t want to upset her.
“Have you had any interaction with fans here? A disagreement, perceived slight, something like that?”
Both women shook their heads.
“Nothing, everyone has been really, really nice. Unfortunately, since this started we’ve really been kept apart, no more autographs. We used to do photo sessions for all the kids, that’s been stopped, not sure what good it’s done to tell you the truth.”
“God forbid we’d be able to go out for a pint or meet a lad, poor Fiona can’t go to the loo without someone holding her hand,” Emma said.
“Just playing the odds, being careful, darling,” Jimmy said.
“I know, but it’s such a shame, one plonker can ruin the whole thing for everyone, doesn’t seem quite fair.” Emma looked at me, sized me up for the obvious plonker I was.
“It’s not fair,” I said. “But right now, everyone is more concerned with you and your teammates staying safe while you’re in our fair city. You need anything you let me know. I’ll be working with Jimmy, you may not see me, but I’ll be there,” I said.
“Too many American movies you ask me,” Emma added.
“I’ll even watch out for you,” I said to Emma.
“I can see to me self,” she said and stood, Fiona followed.
“Back to the room then ladies?” Jimmy asked, but with a tone that suggested a little more.
They both nodded.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mister Haskell,” Fiona said.
“Please, call me Dev. I’ll see you around.”
She smiled then caught up with Emma already at the door.
“She seems like a nice woman,” I said.
“Emma?” Jimmy smiled
“Fiona.”
“I could tell Emma had a soft spot for you.”
“If that was her way of being nice I’d hate to be on her bad side.”
Jimmy nodded.
Chapter Seven
I phoned Justine on my way home.
“Hello.”
“Spankie?”
“Hey, how’d it go?”
“Nice people, I met Harlotte, her roommate Emma and then spent a good deal of time with Jimmy McNaughton, just going over things.”
“What do you think?”
“I think Harlotte’s lucky if she gets five minutes alone in the bathroom. They have someone with her virtually all the time. Jimmy’s even got someone posted outside her hotel room twenty-four seven. After your bout tomorrow night they’re back on the bus and heading to Chicago. I don’t think there’s enough time for anything to happen.”
“God, I hope not, no one would be happier than me if there wasn’t an incident.”
“So you think you might skate better tomorrow if I came over tonight, maybe gave you a full body massage?”
“No.”
“You want to think about it a little bit before you jump to any hasty conclusions?”
“No. The last thing I need is to show up at work on about three hours of sleep, work all day and then skate. I don’t think so.
“Really?”
“Yes really. I might be ready for some assistance in a victory celebration after tomorrow night’s bout.”
“I could do that, but what happens if you don’t win?”
“You’d better just hope that we do.”
“Okay, look, enjoy your evening. I’m going to be with the Hustlers at breakfast tomorrow morning. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Thanks Dev.”
“Goodnight, Spankie.”
Chapter Eight
Breakfast with the Hastings Hustlers consisted of a feeding frenzy billed as a buffet. Platters of bacon and eggs, side dishes of French toast and pancakes treading in pools of maple syrup topped off by caramel rolls and muffins were inhaled by the ladies and then washed down by about fifty pots of tea.
“How’d you sleep?” I asked.
Jimmy nodded.
Emma moved her neck around like she was warming up for a boxing match.
“Just fine,” Harlotte said.
“The girls have a light warm—up this morning, we’ll leave here about half—ten,” Jimmy said.
“Is that nine-thirty?” I asked.
“No, I think you’d say half-past-ten. We’re back here for lunch at half-one. They take it easy, rest up for tonight’s event and we’re back on the bus to Chicago immediately after that.”
“What time will you be going back to the arena?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah”
Emma excused herself and headed back to the buffet trays.
“Just after six,” Jimmy said. “I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind staying there, at the arena, keeping an eye
on the locker room. Staff over there said they would, but my experience is they’ll be running around attending to last minute bits and bobs, and won’t be bothered.”
“Yeah, probably a good idea.” I was thinking it might make even more sense if I was in there while the Hustlers showered and changed.
“We can post you outside the door once the team arrives,” Jimmy said, shattering my dream.
Emma returned with a plate of pancakes buried under about two pounds of bacon.
“You’ve spoken with your police?” Fiona asked.
“I spoke with them yesterday. I plan to contact them again today, while you’re practicing, really just to touch base. I’ve a point of contact in the homicide division,” I said, trying to impress.
“Who’s that? What’s the chap’s name, just in case?” Jimmy said, he’d pulled a pen out of thin air and sat ready to write in a small notebook.
“Detective Norris Manning.” I gave Manning’s phone number to Jimmy. I was sure a phone conversation with Manning would do nothing for international relations.
“Hopefully, I won’t have to talk with him,” Jimmy said.
“Hopefully.”
At ten-forty-five I was following the Hustlers bus on I-94 into downtown St. Paul. I kept glancing in the rear view mirror checking for anyone who might be following. If anyone was, they were too good for me to spot. I spent the entire practice session sitting inside the Hustlers locker room, exciting as that may sound, it wasn’t.
I placed a call to Manning in homicide, just to touch base. I waited the requisite ten minutes before a voice came back on the line.
“He’s ahhh, busy right now Mister Haskell. Is there anything I could help you with?”
“No, not really, if I could just leave the message I phoned. I’m with the Hastings Hustlers, I just wanted to check in.”
“I’ll be sure to let him know you’re with the Hastings Hustlers.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate that,” I said, getting the distinct feeling Manning was sitting next to the guy probably on his second or third donut.
I toyed with the idea of hiding in the locker room until the Hustlers were all in the shower and then jumping out, but with my luck Emma Babe would be there and break my arm just for fun. Jimmy opened the door and saved me from myself.
“Okay, Dev, the team’s on the way in, so you can stretch your legs outside here. Once they’ve cleaned up we’ll get them back on the bus.”
The locker room door opened wider and a couple of the Hustler’s began to roll in. I twiddled around for another few minutes hoping for a cheap shot that never happened and then Jimmy led the two of us out.
“I know,” he said, as we leaned against the wall outside the locker room, “after a while I don’t even notice they’re naked I’ve seen so much of it.”
“They weren’t” I said, disappointed.
The remainder of the afternoon proved to be just as exciting. The Hustlers returned to the hotel, had lunch, and then adjourned to their rooms to watch soap operas or whatever they did. I busied myself sitting in the locker room back at the auditorium reading a brochure about things to do while in St. Paul. Half the things to do turned out to be in Minneapolis, I did note that assault by frenzied dancers at the Dew Drop was not listed.
At six-twenty the team was loaded on the bus with their luggage and drove back into downtown St. Paul. I was napping on a bench when they arrived.
Chapter Nine
Even downstairs in the bowels of the auditorium, standing outside the locker room you could hear the crowd overhead. Not a roar, but a constant hum. I was waiting with Jimmy in the hallway. He’d escort the team out to the track and remain with them out there. I’d post myself in the locker room, again, until they returned at halftime.
“So far so good,” Jimmy winked.
“That’s why I make all the big bucks, this excitement,” I said.
“Any time now, gentlemen,” some sort of official called down the hall in our direction.
Jimmy nodded and knocked on the locker room door. A moment later the Hustlers began to roll out. On wheels a number of them were my height or taller. I nodded at anyone who made eye contact. During practice earlier in the day they wore sweat pants and grungy sweat shirts. This was a far cry.
They had black and pink stripped stockings pulled up to the knees over fish net hose. The uniform was black, a sort of sleeveless one piece that formed into really tight hot pants. There were pink letters across everyone’s ass that read ‘Stay-Up’. Emblazoned red and yellow flames shot up their thighs. Their names, printed in pink, Gothic style script, ran across their shoulders.
Harlotte Davidson was in the lead. Her make up was a bit on the severe side, eyebrows penciled to an arch, rouged cheeks, hot pink eye shadow that drew to a point somewhere off to the side of her face. Ruby red lips outlined with a darker red. Not what I usually liked, but sexy in a different sort of way.
“Good luck,” I said.
“Thanks,” she shrugged and smiled back.
Emma was close behind her, rolling her shoulders back and forth.
“Good luck, Emma,” I said.
She grunted back, but never looked at me.
“All right,” Jimmy called, “just like always follow me, stay close, let’s go.”
They rolled out of the hallway and I could hear the growing roar of the crowd as they skated into the auditorium. I waited for a minute or two, then knocked on the locker room door. When I didn’t hear anything I opened the door and called into the room.
“Anyone in here?”
All I heard was the crowd overhead and the unintelligible voice of an announcer. I walked into the locker room and sat on one of the benches. I looked around at the individual locker areas. It was and wasn’t like other locker rooms I’d been in. The sinks and showers were at the far end, white hexagonal tile on the floor with glazed brick walls. I thought I could hear some water dripping, all that seemed to fit.
I heard the national anthem playing overhead.
Maybe it was the various frilly lace items hanging from hooks, or the fact that the room smelled reasonably nice. Maybe it was the thousand dollars worth of hair care products on the upper shelf of each locker area. I don’t know, there didn’t seem to be that sense of abandoned litter and trash so common in men’s locker rooms. I’m not sure any of the girls in here would ever get snapped with a wet towel or have their clothes stolen while they were taking a shower.
I heard the crowd roar overhead and more muffled announcer commentary. The bout must have started. There was a big part of me that wanted to watch Spankie and the Bombshells take on Harlotte Davidson and the Hastings Hustlers. Instead I was down here guarding a locker room full of woman’s underwear.
I thought about stealing all their towels, maybe adjusting the showers so they just sprayed cold water. Then thought maybe it would be a better idea if I didn’t play the clown for once and just made sure they got out of town without an incident.
Overhead the crowd continued to roar.
Chapter Ten
I think I may have dozed off, again, but I couldn’t be sure. Either way, I jerked my head up just as the door opened and a number of red faced, sweaty women rolled into the locker room.
“Bloody hell,” someone screamed and flung a helmet across the room.
“We’re getting our bleeding arses handed to us,” another shouted.
I figured it was probably inappropriate to ask how things were going. The place suddenly took on that familiar locker room smell.
“I’ll kill that redheaded American bitch,” Emma growled, rolling in the door. She shoved one of the girls aside, repeatedly slammed her helmet against the cinderblock wall, then turned and glared at me, the only American in the room.
“Dev,” Jimmy called from the door. “Join me out here for a bit.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I headed for the door, giving Emma a wide berth.
She glared at me as I retreated to the safety o
f the hallway.
“How’s it going?” I asked Jimmy once the door closed behind me. I had to talk over the cat fight coming from inside the locker room. You could hear the girls swearing and screaming at one another on the other side of the door. It sounded like they were about to kill one another.
“Seems to be going our way at the moment,” Jimmy shrugged.
“You kidding? God, I’d hate to be around if they were having a bad day.”
“Just letting off some steam.”
“Could have fooled me.” I said.
“They’ll get over it.”
I recalled my daydream about hiding in the locker room and jumping out when they were all in the shower. They’d do more to me than just cut off a finger.
“Anytime now, gentleman.” The same guy called down the hallway a few minutes later.
Jimmy knocked on the locker room door, and then called, “It’s time ladies.”
After a moment the girls rolled out, lined up behind Jimmy just like before, only now they were a lot sweatier.
“Good luck, Fiona,” I said to Harlotte.
“The crowd really likes me,” she said, then smiled and shrugged back.
I nodded at a couple of other girls, Emma was about four women back. She did not look happy. I decided to give her a dose of my personal charm.
“Good luck, Em…”
“Piss off, Yank,” Emma grabbed me by the neck, spit on me and shoved me against the wall.
I pushed back against her boobs with both hands. It was just a reaction nothing intentional. She rolled backwards into the wall, then charged right back at me and gave a Karate kick. I tried to block the kick by grabbing her leg and pulling it past me, forgetting she was on wheels.
Her eyes widened when her supporting leg rolled out from underneath her and she shrieked as she went down, bouncing her head off the concrete floor. Fortunately she was wearing her helmet. As she hit the floor a large loud “Uff” came out of her mouth. She laid there, eyes wide as I stood over her still holding her ankle.
A number of her teammates screamed. Jimmy turned round to see what the commotion was. Harlotte rolled against the far wall, mouth open and eyes wide.
