by Faricy, Mike
The box jutted out into space above the upper rows. The bar area was along the back wall behind the recliners. Really nothing more than a refrigerator, a coffee pot and a wood grain Formica counter stacked with a couple bowls of pretzels, plastic cups, paper plates and white paper napkins.
“Well, you can just tell your little friend we will definitely be needing more Vodka.” Heidi had just cracked the top off an airline sized bottle of Smirnoff and was emptying the contents into a plastic glass full of ice cubes.
I stood a safe distance away and watched.
“You are not allowed to have any of this, the cheap beer is on the bottom shelf,” she said, then brushed against me on her way to a recliner as a reminder of what I was going to miss out on. She took a seat overlooking the banked track down in the center of the auditorium floor and sipped.
I skipped the cheap stuff and grabbed a bottle of Grain Belt. I counted at least eleven more vodka’s in the fridge. I twisted off the beer bottle top, then cautiously settled into the seat next to Heidi. She had kicked her heels off, placed her feet up on the window sill, looked down at the arena, and sipped aggressively.
It looked to be a full house. A guy a couple of rows down was making his way past people standing up so he could get to his seat somewhere in the middle. His date, maybe his wife, appeared to be bitching about something. She wore a green and red hockey jersey; based on her body language and the sneer on her face it looked to be a long night. He looked up in our direction, studied Heidi’s inner thighs spread open on the window sill for a long moment until hockey jersey glanced up at us, slapped his arm and indicated his seat. He gave me the knowing raised eyebrows look, then shook his head and sat down.
“I never said we were going to Lionel Richie.”
“You know how crazy I am about him,” Heidi said, then sipped more vodka.
I knew a lot of things about Heidi. I knew about her business, her house, her car. I knew all of her perversions. I knew she changed her hair color almost weekly. I knew she went through men like candy. I knew her favorite foods, I knew she had a sweet tooth, was the world’s worst cook and that she shouldn’t drink more than two-and-a-half glasses of wine, ever. I didn’t have the slightest idea she was a Lionel Richie fan.
“This isn’t going to ruin our evening is it?” I asked.
“Let’s just say I’m thinking of erasing this whole affair from my memory,” she said, then stared at me over the rim of her plastic cup, titled her head back and drained the last of the vodka.
“Look, to be honest I tried to get tickets to Lionel, but they were sold out,” I lied.
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, honest,” I said, and then contentedly sipped my beer, feeling I was back in safe territory.
“So, the fact that you’re involved in this Roller Derby murder, and working with the police, that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with us being here, is that right?”
I sat forward and almost spit beer.
“Yeah, exactly what I figured,” she said. “I don’t care about Lionel Richie, I’ll get the CD if I want, but don’t lie to me, Dev. And don’t tell me this is a special night out for us when you’re probably taking me along just to provide some sort of cover for another one of your idiotic, lame brained, stupid private eye stunts. Get me another,” she said, then thrust her cup toward me causing the ice cubes to rattle.
Fortunately, the lights dimmed and the announcer’s voice came over the PA system as I returned. He sounded like the same guy I’d heard the previous week when I’d been sitting down in the Hustlers locker room.
“Oh, good Lord,” Heidi said, and then followed up with a few more swallows of vodka.
Both teams rolled into the spotlights illuminating the center of the arena, music started to play, something that sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t remember the name of the tune. The crowd roared. More than a few Union Jacks waved around the auditorium. As the noise died down the announcer came across and said a few words about Fiona, then asked for a minute of silence, “in honor of someone who gave so much, who made the ultimate sacrifice, our darling Fiona Simmons, the one, the only, Harlotte Davidson”. A number of the Hustlers hugged one another, I tried to find her, but couldn’t see Emma Babe anywhere on the arena floor. I did spot Jimmy McNaughton, off to one end leisurely scanning the crowd.
I saw Justine, AKA Spankie, standing in the middle of the Bombshells. I could pick out Helen Killer, Maiden Bed, Brandi Manhattan and Cheatin Hart, the four teammates Justine had introduced me to at our meeting that right now seemed like it was a century ago.
Heidi looked over at me, glared, then gulped down the remainder of her vodka.
Mercifully she didn’t cause an incident during the minute of silence. After the national anthems the place went completely dark and then spotlights circled the track as a lone figure appearing to wear very little began to race round and round the track. The crowd became more and more frenzied as she zoomed faster and faster around the banked turns. She held orange flares or torches in such a way that made her appear to be rocket propelled. The shadows caused by the circling spotlights made her look almost naked.
Cheering and screaming filled the auditorium. Heidi leaned forward, suddenly fascinated, “Oh wow, this is really cool, I had no idea. Look at her, Dev. Are those rockets? How can she even see where she’s going? Who the hell is that?” Heidi said, then thrust her empty cup toward me.
I sat back and watched while the woman rocketed round and round the track, going faster and faster, flames seemed to propel her, the undisputed center of everyone’s attention.
“Get me another, Dev,” Heidi said and rattled the ice cubes in her empty cup. “Who is that?”
“Her name is Felicity Bard, she skates under the name, Emma Babe,” I said.
“She sure is.”
“She’s a lot of things.”
“Jesus, she is so damn hot,” Heidi said, leaping to her feet clapping and letting off a shrill whistle with two fingers in her mouth. Apparently, I wasn’t fully aware of all her perversions.
“You like her?”
“What? Oh listen you, this night just might be salvageable, but you should get me another drink,” she said. Then thrust her empty glass over in my direction again, never taking her eyes off Emma Babe circling the track. “You go girl, whoo-hooo.”
She was on her fifth, or was it her sixth vodka? It was a minute or two before the intermission. Heidi was on her feet yelling and trying to whistle, along with half the auditorium. The difference was most of them weren’t weaving back and forth and slurring their words.
I thought I’d spotted Manning’s shiny, bald, pink head in one of the aisles about fifteen minutes ago, but I couldn’t be sure. Heidi had just finished sloshing vodka all over my trousers, but by the time I got her settled down I looked back, and the guy had disappeared.
“I need another drinky, burp, please,” Heidi said, as the lights came up in the auditorium signaling the intermission. With her right hand she thrust her empty glass toward me. She wasn’t so much standing as she was leaning against the wall, using her left hand for added support. She was looking in my direction, weaving slightly, but I wasn’t sure she could see me at this point in the evening. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it over the back of her head. Then blew air up over her forehead, a sure sign of the direction the night was headed.
I knew where this was going. I’d been with her a half dozen times over the years when she’d become this intoxicated. The opportunity for any sex had passed three drinks ago. There was no point in arguing with her, just get the drink, she was beyond finishing the thing. We were in babysitting mode at this point. I’d sit back and let her pass out. Then, hope I could get her back to the hotel and put her to bed.
I walked over to the bar, opened another airline bottle and poured the vodka into her glass. I set the empty on the counter with the others, that made seven. I opened another Grain Belt, my second and returned to the recliner next to
my charge.
She was sitting now, her head wove from side to side. She looked like she could see things about six inches past her nose, after that it was anyone’s guess. I set her vodka in the cup holder of her recliner and took a sip of my beer.
The guy a few rows below us with the bitchy wife stood and looked up toward our box. He gave an understanding shake of his head suggesting I knew his predicament or, he understood mine.
Heidi had slumped back in her recliner and let out a loud snore. I waited three or four minutes until her snoring became a solid pattern then grabbed my Grain Belt and left the private box. Crowds were hurrying down the corridor to restrooms, the concession stands or both. Destiny was leaning against a wall a few feet away. She stood up and came toward me as soon as she saw me.
“Is everything okay, Mister Haskell? Do you, like need anything?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine, just going to stretch my legs for a bit, Destiny. Listen, keep an eye on our door, will you. Help yourself to anything in the box, my date just closed her eyes for a minute. She’s had a long day.”
“Yeah, we get a lot of that here, long days,” she said, then winked her left eye, it was a little unnerving with the pound or two of metal imbedded in her eyebrow.
“I’ll be back shortly,” I said.
Chapter Forty-Two
From time to time in my life there has been a little voice in my head that has told me what to do or not to do. I’ve usually ignored the voice, invariably with disastrous results. This night was no exception.
I walked down the corridor, flowing with the crowd. Aware that just three stories below the locker rooms of both teams were about to empty out. The girls would line up and skate back into the arena for the second half. I thought it might be a good idea once they returned to the arena if I checked things out in the locker room. That little voice in my head told me this was a very, very stupid idea.
None the less, five minutes later I was downstairs, one level below the track. I was in the hallway just outside the locker room area. Overhead I could hear the roar of the crowd and the announcer’s voice as the bout got underway. I waited almost ten minutes, lurking in the shadows, but there seemed to be no activity in the hallway so I ducked into the corridor labeled ‘Visitors Locker Room’.
The last time I’d been here some of the Hustlers clubbed me to the ground with their helmets. This was where I’d gotten into the shoving match with Emma Babe and her boobs. I put an ear to the locker room door, strained to hear anything, which was impossible to do with the noise coming from the crowd overhead.
I knocked on the door, waited, then opened the door, knocking as I did and calling, “Hello, hello, anyone in here?”
Nothing except the barely audible drip coming from the shower room.
I waited another moment, then stepped inside, but held the door open just in case. I repeated the process, “Hello, hello, anyone here?”
Still nothing. I quickly closed the door and began to look around. The lights were somewhat dimmed and I had to take a moment to let my eyes adjust. That little voice went off again inside my head asking me, ‘What did I expect to find in here besides a lot of women’s underwear?’ I quickly walked through the room, glancing left and right at the lockers and the towels scattered over wooden benches. I rounded the corner, came in front of an empty locker, empty except for a black framed, 5 X 7 photo of Fiona, a black ribbon was tied across the upper right hand corner of the frame. A small, red vigil light flickered in front of the frame, the flame reflected off the glass. I stared at it for more than a few seconds, then was about to move on when I caught something on the glass. There, smeared ever so faintly across the glass someone had written the word ‘Bitch’.
It looked like it may have been done with just a fingertip. You’d never have seen it in normal light. I picked up the frame and angled it back and forth closer to the flickering flame. The writing seemed to have a feminine quality to it. Just as I returned the frame to the shelf there was a knock on the locker room door.
I panicked, looked around, decided against the bathroom stalls and ran toward the door. I stepped behind it just as someone rapped on the door again, a little louder this time and then turned the steel knob. I pressed myself against the cinder block wall as the door slowly opened and a vaguely familiar voice called out.
“Anyone in here?”
I stopped breathing and willed myself into the wall. The door swung wide and stopped, whoever it was took a tentative step into the room, held the door open, like I had a minute before and called again. “Anyone in here? It’s the head bull, the main man,” the voice half laughed.
There was a long pause as he listened for any sound. I held my breath, afraid he’d hear my heart pounding and then Security Sergeant Wayne took four quick steps and stood in front of the first locker. He reached for a large black leather purse hanging over a pair of jeans and began to rifle through it. I recognized his receding hairline crew cut and the heart shape of his fat, flat ass.
His back was to me, and I saw the creases on his neck, the fat rolling down his side and hanging over his tooled black belt. He was thoroughly involved stuffing dollar bills and a couple of credit cards into the side pocket of his uniform trousers. The pocket was cut on the back side of the navy blue stripe that ran down his trouser leg.
I could probably make it out the door, but I’d never get out of the corridor before Sergeant Wayne would be able to catch a glimpse and identify me. That left only one option.
I had about a three step running start before his thick head slowly rose up from rummaging around inside the purse. It was like he’d heard something, but maybe wasn’t quite sure. His head was up, turned about a quarter of an inch to cock an ear. He was still looking straight ahead into the locker. I was in the air after step four and slammed into Wayne full force, catching him right at the base of his neck with a blast from my elbow as I landed.
Wayne’s thick forehead bounced off the edge of the upper shelf in the locker, jarring the wooden shelf loose and collapsing Wayne down onto his knees. His eyes rolled up in the back of his head and then he sort of slowly sank forward, like some massive garbage scow sinking beneath the waves. He hung onto the pair of jeans dangling from a hook, and then slowly pulled them on top of him as he sunk down on all fours, shoulders and head deep in the locker.
I saw his all too familiar set of handcuffs in a pouch on the back of his belt, unclipped the pouch and quickly pulled the cuffs out. His ankles began to move slightly as I pulled his left arm back, snapped a cuff around his pudgy wrist then locked the other end around the bottom leg of the locker.
Wayne was groaning now, his fat ass rolled from side to side. He tugged at his left arm, gently at first, but then a lot more viciously as his predicament began to filter into his pea sized brain. I stepped back just as he fumbled for something on his belt with his right hand. I was afraid someone might have given this fool a gun and quickly grabbed whatever he was trying to reach.
A Taser was dangerous at any time, let alone in the hands of a lame brain like Sergeant Wayne, down on all fours with his three hundred pound ass pointing up at me. I stepped back a few paces, almost to the door and aimed, carefully. I’m a pretty decent shot, but at five feet even Heidi passed out up in the recliner could have made this shot tonight.
Wayne was regaining consciousness. He groaned once or twice then decided it was time to take control of the situation.
“What the, who? Listen you son-of-a-bitch, whoever you are, I know you’re back there. You’re interfering with the law and you’re under goddamned arrest. Do you hear me? You have the right to remain…”
I’d heard enough and snapped the trigger, a coil shot out making a rattling sound before it imbedded itself into Wayne’s ass. The seat of his trousers smoked before a momentary little flame appeared then quickly died out. Wayne lurched forward and twitched a good while before collapsing. I didn’t wait for him to come around. I grabbed a towel off the bench wiped the Taser
clean then turned the purse upside down and emptied out all the contents on top of Wayne. Lipstick, compact cases, a key ring, two Tampax, a hair brush, mascara, three or four tubes of creams, a wallet and a lot of just junk showered down over Wayne.
I left the Taser imbedded in his ass, turned off the lights and walked out.
Chapter Forty-Three
Back in the private box I was surprised to see Heidi’s silhouette up and watching the bout. She turned around and looked at me as I entered, only it wasn’t her, it was Destiny. She jumped up.
“Oh hey, you said to like help myself, you know. I didn’t think you’d mind,” she was holding a lite beer from the fridge.
“You can have all the stuff you want, Destiny, no problem. Did you happen to see my date anywhere?”
Destiny looked over in the corner then sort of pointed with a wave of her lite beer can.
“I think she’s sort of taking a nap or something.”
“I think she’s sort of passed out,” I said, looking at Heidi curled up in the corner of the floor. If her skirt was too short to sit down, sleeping on the floor of a private box in the Veteran’s Auditorium did nothing to improve the situation.
“Yeah, I ‘spose, well I guess I better get going,” Destiny said, and started to leave.
“Relax, stay here if you want. Maybe you can help me. I’m going to have to get her back to the hotel, but I don’t really want to carry her over my shoulder for three blocks. Any ideas? Who’s winning by the way?”
“Bombshells, they’re like totally killing ‘em. I can think of one way to get her back, I mean I think it might work, maybe. But, I don’t know if you’d want to like try it.”
The bout ended about fifteen minutes later. I sipped a Grain Belt, Destiny rambled on at length about the “totally awesome concerts” she worked at the auditorium and Heidi snored in the corner.
