The Jack Hammer

by Derek Ciccone

Cam knew two things upon entering. One, the name met the requisite political theme for all establishments within a fifty-mile radius of DC, playing on the red state vs. blue state theme of recent divided US elections. And secondly, despite its shoddy look, he was confident that Salvino would never steer him wrong when it came to steak.

  The wooden floors creaked as they were led to their table, which was basically a picnic table with the names of past patrons carved into it. Salvino was a regular, and carried on with the wait-staff like they were old fraternity brothers.

  Salvino ordered his “usual,” and poured a beer mug of wine for Cam and himself. They clinked glasses and Salvino toasted to “one less politician.” Cam wasn’t much of a drinker, but the warmth of the wine felt good on his throat.

  “So back to Heather Hayden … she seemed to have all the, let’s say, qualities, that a young man would be looking for in a lady,” Salvino said.

  “I guess I’m just looking for a relationship with more substance.” Cam smiled. “My strategy is to bide my time until Megan finally wises up and divorces you. Then we can run off together.”

  “I couldn’t blame her if she did. But you do know that my very substantial kids would have to come along with that deal, right?”

  Cam did envy Salvino’s life. Especially how he narrowed it down to the four important items of happiness—Megan and the kids, the Steelers, putting the bad guys away, and “swine”—his word for the “glorious combination of steak and wine.” He never listened to the complicated surround-sound of life that often paralyzed Cam.

  “What do you say I cut you a deal?” Cam said.

  “As I always say, I get paid the same whether we go to trial or plea bargain the case.”

  “In exchange for giving Megan and me your blessing, I’ll let you ask me the questions you’ve been dying to ask since we left the stadium.”

  “You mean like why are you going back to baseball after all this time? Because I planned on asking you those anyway.”

  “The reason is that I’m almost thirty now, and there’s a short shelf-life for an athlete. I didn’t want to wake up one day and find out that I missed out on my dream because I was too proud.”

  “And the fact that your father was twenty-nine when he died, just as you are now, has nothing to do with it?”

  “For years you claimed he was the reason I quit playing. Now he’s the reason I’m coming back? Which is it, Sal?”

  He nodded, acknowledging the point. “Why did you insist on hitting at this particular stadium tonight? We could have gone to the batting cages, or some park, but you had me pull strings to get in there.”

  “You know I’m a believer in visualization. If I’m going to make it to the big leagues, then I had to visualize hitting in a big league stadium. And because of our last names, this was the only one we were getting into.”

  Salvino looked crooked at him.

  “What?”

  “Remember what I said about you making a good politician? I take that back—you lack the most important quality. You’re not a very good liar.”

  “Perhaps you can enlighten me with the truth … at least as you see it.”

  “You’re coming back because your father never died.”

  “Who have you been talking to … Lee Henson?” Cam immediately regretted bringing up the FBI agent who would never let his father rest in peace, pushing his conspiracy theories.

  “What I mean is, that by dying in his prime, his life never ended. He was eternally young, no different than James Dean or Marilyn Monroe. And now that you’ve reached that same age, you will be able to pick up where he left off, become him, and give things a natural conclusion.

  “You always fought against the comparisons, which is why you walked away after hurting your arm. Scouts like my father said you’d likely be a better hitter than pitcher, anyway. But that would have forced you to become your father, play his position, and deal with the inevitable comparisons that would come with that.

  “By walking away, you thought you were escaping the ghost, but you’ve found that an impossibility. And you realized that the only way to lift the shadow is to become your father. And the minute you step to the plate in Jack Myles Stadium and launch a shot over The Great Wall, you’ll bring him back to life in the hearts and minds of those who won’t let him die. You will then ride him into the sunset—effectively removing the ghost, and letting you live.”

  Salvino smiled at the jury, proud of himself.

  Cam just shook his head. “If the prosecutor thing doesn’t work out, fiction writing might be a very real option for you. But I agree with one thing you said—it would be best for everyone if we could move on from the past.”

  Salvino looked into the distance, focusing on an approaching couple. “That’s a nice sentiment, but I get the feeling it’s not going to happen tonight.”

  Chapter 4

  It wasn’t until he returned to the DC area to work for Senator Harblen, that Cam felt the full force of the Jack Hammer. It was ground zero—the place where the memory of Jack Myles still shined brightly. Not a day went by that he wasn’t forced to relive a life he wasn’t even old enough to remember, from a misty-eyed man or woman twice his age. Yet he always felt the obligation to listen intently, as if it would somehow help to ease their pain.

  Tonight it was a nondescript couple, likely in their early sixties. The names and faces changed, but the next part always remained the same. This night it just happened to be the Bakers from Rockville.

  The first part was always the most awkward, when they gave their condolences for the passing of his father. Since he died almost three decades ago, it seemed that the mourning period should have wrapped up by now, but Cam accepted them with his usual graciousness.

  As his Wikipedia page stated, Jack Myles was born on a farm in a tiny North Dakota town fifty-six years ago. His only knowledge of baseball during his youth was that of fellow North Dakotan, Roger Maris, who’d broken the all-time home run record in 1961—a record many believed would be passed one day by Jack Myles.

  Forced to work on the farm, he never played baseball in his formative years. But after his parents died in a farm accident, he sold the property and moved to a place he’d become fascinated with during his limited schooling—Washington DC.

  To pay the bills, he took a job as a bartender at a popular watering hole named Mulligan’s. It was there that he was convinced to play for the tavern-sponsored baseball team in a local tournament. And it turned out that Jack Myles had quite a knack for the sport. He began playing in a semi-pro league, and after he was spotted by Washington Monuments scout Grapes Salvino, the rest was history.

  Mulligan’s was also the place where he met Katie Barrett. They fell in love and were married less than a year later, despite reservations from her powerful father. Not long after, their son Camelot Myles was born.

  After a brief, record-setting stint in the minor leagues, Jack Myles made his debut with the last place Washington Monuments in late May. In his first appearance he hit the longest home run in the history of the stadium, the ball flying over The Great Wall of Washington, and breaking a window in a distant apartment building. And the hits just kept on coming.

  A local sports reporter nicknamed him the Jack Hammer, and it stuck. “How many homers did the Jack Hammer have last night?” was the talk of the water coolers not just in Washington, but all across the land. Off the field, he seemed too good to be true. Handsome, wholesome, married to the smart and beautiful daughter of a US senator, and was a doting father to young Cam. He was straight out of central casting and America couldn’t get enough.

  His second season began with what seemed like unrealistic expectations, but he picked up right where he left off. And life was going just as well away from the field, as Katie was pregnant with their second child, Geoffrey. But that’s when the story proved that it really was too good to be true.

  First came the surprise death of Katie’s father, Senator Barrett. The stress resulting from
it led to complications in her pregnancy, and she was rushed to the hospital on a rainy July night. Jack Myles sped to be by her side, but he never made it. His Porsche went off the road and slammed into a tree, bursting into flames. The End.

  This night the Bakers just wanted to talk about how nice Jack Myles was to them when they met him in a restaurant that year, and let Cam know that they still had the autographed cocktail napkin. But most of all, they wanted to let him know that their grandson, Jack, was named after Cam’s father.

  The Bakers eventually left, replaced by the steaks. Salvino dug in like a rabid dog. When he finally came up for air, he looked out into the restaurant, and said, “You’re a better man than me.”

  “Because I’m willing to sit through my father’s funeral every time I go out in public?”

  “No, because you lived in the same house as your brother all those years, and you never killed him.”

  Chapter 5

  Geoff Myles wore a thousand-dollar Armani suit, looking like Johnny Wall Street, as he entered the Red Steak/Blue Steak. He headed directly to their table, refusing to show even a hint of a limp.

  “Mordred—what a pleasant surprise!” Salvino greeted him with fake enthusiasm.

  Geoff responded with his less witty, but equally vitriolic nickname for Salvino—Fat Ass.

  Mordred, the source of Salvino’s mockery, was the villainous bastard son of the King Arthur legends, and responsible for his death in some tales. And Cam couldn’t deny that his brother often lived down to the name. Geoff seemed to go out of his way to undermine and ostracize those closest to him, including dropping Cam at his lowest moment. But even though Cam had a back full of stab wounds from his brother, he still held a soft spot for him.

  He understood the source of Geoff’s demons—and maybe was the only one who could. They were both born with the “Jack Myles curse.” But Cam at least had the tools to take on such an impossible role. He was handed down the gifts of athleticism and charm from his father, along with his good looks. In the right light and angle, one might even think he was Jack Myles, with a similar tall athletic body, perfectly angled face, and thick Kennedy-esque hair.

  Cam knew he’d been given more than most, and embraced the responsibility that came with it. Geoff, on the other hand, had the stout, staid build of their grandfather, and was robbed of any potential athletic gifts by the juvenile diabetes that took his right leg. To some, he was the flawed other brother who could never measure up. But Cam saw him as the one who had lain in a hospital room fighting a real battle, when all anyone wanted to talk about was his twelve-year-old brother leading Fairfield to the Little League World Series. And to a cruel few, he was the one responsible for their father’s death—the reason he was speeding to the hospital that night.

  Without invitation, Geoff scraped a chair across the floor and took a seat at their table. He called for a waitress, and ordered a Diet Coke, before announcing his sobriety statistics to Cam and Salvino as if he wanted a pat on the head.

  “Now that you’ve got the alcoholism under control, maybe it’s time to start working on the assoholism,” Salvino said, barely looking up from his steak.

  Geoff bit his tongue, but Salvino wasn’t done. “I like the suit—I’ll bet you had to scam a lot of clients to get nice threads like that.”

  Geoff was obviously trying to remain on his best behavior, but he was easily baited. “That’s quite a compliment coming from a fashionista like yourself. I love the way you mixed the grease and sweat together on your windbreaker.”

  “You’ll have to excuse our appearance. Cam and I are making a baseball comeback, and didn’t have a chance to pretty ourselves up for you. Maybe if you’re nice we’ll let you be our agent.”

  Geoff was a successful sports agent, but often was known more for his underhanded tactics and unscrupulous ways than the millions he earned for his clients. He was only twenty-three when he reached the pinnacle of his profession, negotiating the richest contract in pro sports history. But by twenty-five, he had lost everything, succumbing to drugs and alcohol. Like his brother, he was now on the comeback trail.

  Geoff looked at Cam with sudden interest. “You’re going to attempt a comeback?”

  Cam sent an annoyed glance at Salvino. The last person he wanted to know about his baseball return was Geoff.

  “I’m just messing with you, Mordred,” Salvino said in between bites and a swig of wine. “It was just an office softball game, and Cam was our ringer. We will go to any length to beat the Treasury Department—they’re like the Yankees, always trying to buy a championship.”

  “So did you win?” Geoff asked, his eyes glued to Cam.

  Salvino laughed. “We never actually played the game. That’s what happens when two agencies from the federal government get together—we argued about the lineup for a couple hours, called each other names, and then we finally decided to go have dinner and charge it to the taxpayers.”

  Then like a good prosecutor, Salvino turned the tables on the witness, “So how’d you know we were here, anyway?”

  Geoff looked offended by the question. “What—you think I’m following you?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “I have better things to do with my day. I had a meeting with a couple prospective clients who play for the Redskins, and I told Cam that next time I was in town I’d stop by and see him.”

  This was true. Cam had reached out to Geoff over the holidays after not speaking for almost a year. He never told Salvino this; mainly because it would result in the disapproving look he was getting right now.

  “That still doesn’t answer my question,” Salvino said. “How did you know we were here?”

  “I was told by Senator Harblen’s office that Cam wasn’t in today, so I went to his townhouse, and a neighbor mentioned that he’d left with a man who met your description. And I knew the best way to find Mark Salvino was to follow the sound of hardening arteries to the fattiest place in town … and surprise, surprise, here you are.”

  Salvino shrugged, as if amused, and returned to his dead cow. Geoff turned to Cam. “I was told by Senator Harblen’s staff that they didn’t know when or if you’d return.”

  While Cam didn’t want his brother to know about the baseball, the resignation would make tomorrow’s news. No sense in trying to hide it. “They are very aware of when I’ll return … which is no time soon.”

  Geoff looked genuinely surprised by this development. “I knew it—you’re planning to run for the Fourth District seat after all.”

  Cam shook his head. “I think my days in politics are over.”

  Geoff studied the answer. This meeting had all the half-truths and distrust of mobsters trying to decipher which member of the family was going to be the one to whack them.

  “Does Mom know?” Geoff asked.

  “Not yet—I’m traveling to Connecticut tomorrow to break the news.”

  “So you’ll be near the city tomorrow?”

  “I’m flying in to LaGuardia tomorrow morning … why?”

  Salvino tapped his wine glass with a knife. “Ding, ding, ding … we’ve finally arrived at the agenda portion of the show.”

  This time, both Cam and Geoff flashed him a dirty look. He shrugged, and returned his attention to his food.

  “I have a potential client that I received some video on. Talent evaluation is not my expertise, so I was wondering if you could stop by and watch it, and provide your thoughts.”

  “There are a lot of people more qualified to do that than me,” Cam said. “Maybe Sal could get a couple names of good scouts from his father.”

  Salvino didn’t look thrilled at the possibility of helping Geoff Myles, and ignored the statement.

  “I think you’d be the perfect judge, because I was told he is the best left-handed pitching prospect since Cam Myles.”

  He let the statement hang there, causing Cam and Salvino to swap glances. The only person he could be talking about was the Cuban named Stepan
ia. Salvino’s look said he thought Geoff was making it up—one of his usual lies lathered in false bravado. Cam, on the other hand, believed the boast, but was worried about the possible danger his brother might be getting himself into.

  “I can stop by your apartment tomorrow afternoon and take a look at it,” Cam said, avoiding eye contact with Salvino.

  “That’s great. If you want a consulting fee, I’ll gladly provide it.”

  “No need—you don’t owe me anything.”

  “I owe you my life. If you and Mom hadn’t intervened I probably wouldn’t be here. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Cam,” Geoff said. He stood and began to walk away.

  “He’s the one they should get to run for Congress. He’s a much better liar than you,” Salvino said as they watched Geoff exit the restaurant … without a limp.

  Chapter 6

  Natasha Kushka could see these guys coming a mile away. And she admittedly enjoyed the gamesmanship. She didn’t particularly enjoy tennis, and her other hobby of making the male race weaken in their knees, was simply no competition.

  “Second Serve?” she whispered to her childhood friend, Tatiana, as she entered the interview room. Tatiana traveled with Natasha, serving as her consigliere. Her main duties included acting as a referee between Natasha and her mother, and being her wing-babe on the club circuit. But most importantly, she was the only person on the planet who Natasha could trust with her secrets.

  “Be good, Nat,” Tatiana warned.

  Natasha returned a devilish grin as she stepped up to the podium. She knew she would be anything but good to the man she was convinced was a tabloid reporter. And besides, she could do whatever she wanted—she was a one-woman money making operation, and last year the Kushka Corporation took in more money than many small countries. Who was going to stop her?

  She stood facing the reporters in her micro-mini skirt and heels. Her long French braid hung stylishly just below her shoulders. She had made a wardrobe-change into something more magazine-cover-worthy following the match—she knew what the people wanted. That’s why the paparazzi followed her to every stop on the tour. Not for some stupid Scottsdale Open that nobody would watch if she wasn’t here.