The Jack Hammer

by Derek Ciccone

  A tense quiet hung over the room for what seemed like minutes.

  Then Milla shouted out with an innocent giggle, “Freakin’ Jack Myles!”

  Chapter 25

  Tim O’Connell looked out at the red-clay mountains with amazement. His guidebook called them buttes and mesas, but he was from Queens, so if it wasn’t a building then it was a mountain.

  He continued reading as he maneuvered the winding roads leading to Sedona. The book talked about the colorful rock formations, and how many believe Sedona was a city of mystical earth powers. All well and good, but the one tourist attraction Tim was interested in was a former baseball player named Jack Myles.

  For the first time he felt he was closing in on him. And his excitement grew when an internet search revealed that Jack Myles and Katie Barrett honeymooned in Sedona following their quickie Vegas wedding, back in the day.

  With a conclusion in sight, he reflected on the journey that led him here. It really began with a meeting he had with a retired FBI agent named Lee Henson. Tim’s search had been going nowhere fast at that point. But Henson had been on the case since the night Myles supposedly drove his Porsche into that tree, and while he couldn’t discuss the official record with Tim, he did throw an important crumb his way—the Alexander Kushka alias. It led him to Natasha, who pointed him here to Sedona. With a long flight to Russia in between.

  Henson warned Tim that Kushka, Myles, Stepania, or whatever name he was using these days, could be dangerous. But Tim doubted it. Henson never alluded to why he believed he had such a high staged-mortality rate, but Tim assumed it had something to do with Cold War spying. With those days long gone, Tim figured he was just trying to live out a peaceful life in retirement, which would make his job an easy one. He wouldn’t resist the request to meet with Anna, at fear of his secret being revealed.

  Tim checked his face in the mirror. Flakes of dead skin were peeling off his pinkish, sunburned forehead. He was definitely not from these parts. But luckily for him, the mystical town of Sedona was a big tourist destination, so he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

  The only thing bringing him down was a growling in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten all day. He continued following the roadside signs to 179-A, which brought him to the heart of the Red Planet. Surprisingly, no little green men or anything that looked like a Martian. He rolled the windows down and was also surprised how much the temperature had dropped from the warm Phoenix desert.

  Tim continued searching for a place to eat, but mostly found small art galleries and pottery houses. Every kind of store you could think of with the label “New Age” attached to it—New Age bookstore, New Age pottery shop, New Age art gallery—all Tim wanted was a New Age burger joint.

  He finally came across a McDonald’s, which proudly promoted itself as the only McDonald’s in America with green arches. Maybe the Martians had migrated here after all. What a goofy place, he thought.

  He purchased a Sedona Red Rock News from the metal box outside, with hopes of learning a little more about the community, and entered. He ordered a Big Mac and fries, and set up shop in a booth behind three older men who appeared to be locals. He stashed some grease-soaked fries in his mouth and opened the newspaper. The front page featured an article about a daring rescue of a couple of tourists yesterday afternoon in something called Oak Creek Canyon. Tim remembered it from his guidebook—the canyon was fifteen hundred feet deep and twelve miles long, lined with dangerous cliffs.

  It was quite a story. A woman’s rock climbing equipment failed and she fell to a ledge in the canyon, breaking her ankle. Her husband was forced to leave her there, while he returned to his car and called for help. And help came in the form of a local EMT named Blake Fisher.

  As Tim read on, the article discussed past saves Fisher had made in the treacherous canyon since he’d arrived approximately ten years ago, and mentioned his day job was that of running a local auto-body shop. Anyone who moved to Sedona ten years ago was a suspect to Tim, based on the timing of the Kushka “suicide”. But this guy didn’t seem to be trying to remain low profile, which would seem to work counter to someone who was attempting not to be found.

  The men sitting in the neighboring booth were discussing the rescue. Tim scarfed down the remainder of his Big Mac, and decided to join in on the conversation—when in Sedona, do as the Sedonans do.

  He stood, cleared his throat, and approached. “Hello, my name is Peter Foye, I overheard you fellas talking about Oak Creek Canyon. I planned on taking a trip up there today, but after reading about these hikers I’m starting to have second thoughts.”

  The oldest man introduced himself as George. Tim pegged him as in his mid-sixties, and the stains splattered on his jeans and flannel shirt told him he was a house painter. George introduced his son, Jim, and painting seemed to be the family business. And also a man named Max, who worked for Fisher’s Auto & Recovery,which he joked Tim might need if he risked the canyon. Something about falling rocks.

  “The canyon is about fifteen miles north of here. Don’t be scared off—people only get hurt up there when they try to be daredevils,” George said.

  Max took a moment away from his cheeseburger to inform, “Listen, just stay on the road. Be careful and take it slow—you’ll get your fill of the sculpted rocks, hue formations, beautiful forests, and all that other shit you city folk come here to see.”

  “But watch for the falling rocks,” George’s son added.

  All three men laughed heartily at what appeared to be an inside joke. Max then added, “Blake won’t be able to save your ass tonight because he has the big game.”

  “Is this the same Blake who saved those people yesterday?” Tim asked. “Sounds like he’s quite the hero around here.”

  “Sure is,” George said. “Not only is he the local EMT who saves people’s hides in the canyon, but he’s involved in a lot of local causes and interests. Including starting the Sedona Youth Baseball program. But I’m admittedly a little biased, since he coaches my grandson.”

  “And when he has some extra time, he runs his auto business,” Max said with a chuckle.

  “You said he has a game tonight?” Tim asked.

  “Yes, they are cutting the ribbon on the new baseball field. He raised money to build it, and put in so many hours in the project for no fee. He’s so humble, he didn’t want it named after him, but we did it anyway,” George said with a smile.

  Tim had many more questions for them, but their lunch break was coming to an end, and they rose with plastic trays in hand. “Nice meeting you, Peter,” Jim said and gave him a tight-gripped handshake that made Tim wince. Max did the same.

  Before exiting, George extended an invitation, “You should come to the game tonight. It should be a good time. The whole town will be there.”

  “Maybe I will,” Tim said, suddenly intrigued.

  “And watch out for those falling rocks,” Jim said.

  The men laughed as they headed for the door.

  Chapter 26

  “She’s wired!”

  The simple statement sent shivers through the whole crew. They knew “wired” was Natasha-speak for “a long day”.

  They’d gathered in Las Vegas to shoot a television commercial for the sports drink High Octane. It was supposed to be simple—Natasha would slam a serve and dash to the net to greet her opponent after another victory. And of course, she’d look as sizzling as the Vegas sun, strategically sweating through her tight tank top. But when she arrived at the net to greet her defeated opponent, it would be a child version of Natasha, who would ask her what she did to grow up into a champion. At that point, Natasha would hold up a bottle of High Octane and gush about it. It sounded simple, but everyone knew nothing was easy when it came to Natasha.

  “Wired?” responded Jessica, Natasha’s lead publicist—a job measured by the Richter Scale.

  “Totally chatty, full blown giggles, no attention span, being a complete diva. Do I need to go on?”r />
  “So she’s acting like normal Natasha?” another young PR girl said. They looked like they were pledging a sorority. At twenty-eight, Jessica felt like a grandmother,

  “But is she good Natasha or bad Natasha today?” asked another clone.

  Natasha had moments when she could be the sweetest, most charming girl in the world. Other days she could be, well … not the easiest person to deal with.

  Jessica thought for a moment. “Kind of a weird mix today. She is making demands and more demands, and then a few more demands. But she’s also cheerful. Keeps talking about some guy she met the other day. Tim or something like that.”

  “Yeah, she was telling me about him too,” said the first girl. “Said she finally met a guy who’ll listen to her. Claims she’s in love.”

  “Then it should be real interesting because you-know-who is here,” said the second PR girl, pointing off in the distance.

  Jessica cringed without even looking. She could smell the toxins of Bretasha—it was like mixing two unstable elements from chemistry class. “Brett Modino is here?”

  “Right over there,” said the first girl, with a nod in his direction.

  Jessica turned and looked at the admittedly gorgeous, but jealous pain-in-the-ass, his long blond bangs falling over his face. He was dressed in complete denim and holding a bouquet of flowers. Some actors didn’t look as stunning off-screen, but that wasn’t a problem with Modino.

  As if things couldn’t get worse, Stan Butterfield the one time eccentric young film producer, now bitter, pissed off television commercial producer, took a second away from his beloved cigarette to barge into the room.

  “Where the hell is she? We have two maybe three hours of good light left. I’m good but I’m not a goddam miracle worker. You know Natasha, she will have to do a zillion takes like we’re filming Sophie’s Choice.”

  Jessica sighed. More fires to put out. “She’s a perfectionist.”

  “She’s a pain in the ass. Where is she?”

  “She’s in makeup.”

  “She’s eighteen years old, how much makeup can she possibly need?”

  Jessica began to turn away, but then turned back toward him with a smile. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Stan, there has also been a wardrobe change.” She pointed to the wardrobe rack that was heading toward her dressing room.

  “Change? We shoot within an hour. The commercial is about tennis, why the hell do I see a skirt and heels?”

  “It’s a business suit. Natasha thinks she gets portrayed as a jock and wants a more sophisticated look. She says she wants people to take her seriously.” Jessica replied calmly. She was good at what she did. An amateur wouldn’t have been able to use the words Natasha and sophisticated in the same sentence with a straight face.

  He shook his head and stormed off. Just another day in the Natasha Kushka Roadshow.

  ****

  “I’m bored!” Natasha announced. It sent the room into chaos, even though nobody knew why they were scurrying.

  Jessica handed her the business suit for the shoot, and it temporarily soothed the drama. Natasha admired it, and began trying on the suit jacket. “I think I’m going to quit tennis and become a CEO. I could wear these cute business suits all day!”

  Most of the posse laughed, but Jessica’s eyes were always half on Irina. Her presence was like those California earthquakes where a glorious, sunny day could turn disastrous in a moment’s notice. But today’s response was strangely tepid—Irina just rolled her eyes and quietly left the room. The two of them hadn’t been talking since their latest fight in Scottsdale, which actually helped to keep things peaceful.

  Jessica looked at Tatiana, who sat in the adjoining chair getting a facial. Tatiana already knew the question, so she answered it, “Nat is in a great mood because she thinks she’s in love.”

  “That can change by the minute,” joked the brave, exotic-looking makeup artist named Dee Dee.

  Natasha took control of the conversation, speaking over everyone, “Make fun all you want … this time I have found him!”

  Tatiana countered, “I don’t know what you see in that guy, Nat. He’s a major dork.”

  “He is cute—I love him,” Natasha announced with the same happy smile. “He’s the first man I have ever been able to open up to. It’s like we understood each other. I think he’s my soul mate.”

  Tatiana looked Jessica’s way. “Remember that guy with the red hair from Arizona … from the press conference? Do you think that guy is cute?”

  Jessica was baffled. “The stalker?”

  “That’s him,” Tatiana said

  “He is not a stalker! He said he would come here to visit me this weekend. Do you think he’ll come, Tatiana? Do you?”

  “Nat, you are way out of this guy’s league. Scale of one to ten, he’s about a negative zero.”

  “You’re really dating your stalker?” Jessica asked again in disbelief. Never a dull moment.

  Nothing could pull Natasha from her amorous mood. “Shut up, Jess. I told you he’s sweet and cute, and I’m going to marry him ... Mrs. Natasha O’Connell!”

  The flowers slammed off the mirror, causing all heads to turn. “I knew you were cheating on me,” shouted Brett Modino.

  Jessica braced. The Bretasha fights were legendary.

  But Natasha broke new ground by remaining strangely calm. It was like she knew he was there the whole time. Maybe she did. “Oh Brett, grow up. What do you think I’m going to do … marry your sorry ass? I’m done with you.”

  “You’re breaking up with me?”

  She waved dismissively at him. “Jess—I forgot to tell you I was breaking up with Brett a couple of days ago. I wanted you to put out a press release. It’s my fault. Maybe I’ll send out a tweet when we’re done here.”

  “You little bitch—who is this O’Connell guy?”

  Natasha continued to play Modino like an instrument, using his hot temper against him. “This is exactly what I was talking about,” she spoke to the room as if he wasn’t there. “I’m soooo sick of dating little boys. Tim is a man. Brett is a little boy.”

  The bad-boy actor made a move at Natasha, but two very large security guards grabbed him by the denim jacket.

  “What do you want us to do with this punk, Nat?” the lead security guard asked.

  She laughed. “Take that little boy to see his mommy. Adults only in this room!”

  Natasha then saw a chance for drama and her laughter turned to tears. A couple of the women came over to her chair and gave the princess hugs as she sat on her throne.

  “Her makeup ran, I’m gonna need another fifteen minutes,” exclaimed Dee Dee.

  As Jessica went to inform Butterfield of the further delay, she smiled with admiration at having watched Natasha destroy another opponent. She always won in the end.

  Chapter 27

  The first thing Tim did after leaving the McDonald’s, was buy some warmer clothes at a local thrift store. A shirt the saleswoman called vintage, along with a pair of faded dungarees. He also purchased a light, cammo fatigue jacket to prepare for the dropping night temperatures.

  He spent the afternoon continuing his surveillance of the area. He took a drive up into the infamous Oak Creek Canyon, avoiding any pitfalls, but his rented Ford Focus did struggle with the steep inclines. He also engaged in the same “eat and listen” tactics at a Pizza Hut, and then “drink and listen” at a local bar called Maxwell’s, but made little progress.

  He did get a tip on a place to stay for the night. The Sky Lodge Motel overlooked Sedona from its hillside location. The rooms were spread around the property in small cottages. For fifty bucks a night, you couldn’t beat the accommodations. A sign in the lobby reminded him of his plans for the evening—Fisher Field, Grand Opening, April 1st.

  His room was small, but right near the pool—a major improvement over his view of a garbage dumpster in Cincinnati. A sign things were looking up, he thought. He shut the drapes and plugged in his laptop.
/>
  He checked his email. Five from Sam and two from Anna. He’d been meaning to get in touch with Sam for the last three days. He called the number for O’Connell Investigators and got voice mail. He left a message, explaining that he was onto something big and he would explain when he got back. It was hard to keep her in the dark, and Anna had argued against it, but the less people that knew the better.

  He tried to take a brief nap before heading out to the game. But his mind was in overdrive, and kept bringing him back to the conversation that he had with the men in McDonald’s. And one specific topic they’d mentioned.

  Baseball.

  Blake Fisher raised money to build a field to play … baseball.

  The Jack Hammer was a famous … baseball player.

  He came here ten years ago … not long after Alexander Kushka allegedly killed himself.

  He knew that Kushka had brought his family here on vacation, and Myles honeymooned with his wife. Could the third time be the charm for Blake Fisher?

  Tim caught himself, and had to laugh at his own wishful thinking. If a guy went through all that trouble to fake a death and fall off the radar, why in God’s name would he go out of his way to get his name in the paper?

  Tim had never played Little League, but he’d attended many of his sister’s softball games growing up. The small, broken-down field in their Flushing neighborhood was nothing compared to the newly christened Fisher Field. Everything first class, from the snack bar to the bathrooms, and even the comfortable padded seats. It was like a professional stadium.

  The crowd was thick. Tim never thought he would have to search for a seat at a game for twelve-year-olds. Sam’s games consisted of about fifteen obnoxious parents who believed they invented the game. He got to a point where he thought he’d never find a seat, but then he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, Peter, I’m glad you could make it.”

  He looked up into the bleachers to see George from the McDonald’s, digging into a large bag of popcorn. He slid over to create room between him and a woman who looked like she stopped her blonde dye job before it was finished.