The Jack Hammer

by Derek Ciccone

  Once Tim got his bearings, he surveyed the field. The Fisher’s Auto team was dressed in a bumblebee motif of black uniforms with yellow writing. Red Rock Realty featured blue with red trim. The electronic scoreboard in right field said it was the second inning and Red Rock Realty was winning 2-0. The traffic was so bad he’d missed the opening ceremonies.

  “Looks like you got a little smarter,” George said, lightly tugging on his more weather-appropriate coat. He then introduced him to the sort-of-blonde woman named Jineane Hill.

  “Peter Foye, nice to meet you.” Tim said and shook her hand.

  “Peter is from New Yawk,” Jim said to Jineane, attempting to imitate his accent.

  “Oh, really?” Jineane said, sounding interested. Her sheer volume made Tim feel back in Queens. “So what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

  “I’m a tennis reporter. I covered the Scottsdale Open last Sunday, and I’m on my way to a tournament in Vegas this weekend,” he said, in case one of them had seen him getting ripped apart on TV by Natasha. “I heard great things about Sedona, and it’s on the way, so I thought I’d stop off and check it out for a couple days.”

  “My boyfriend, Blake, was at the Scottsdale Open. He’s a big sports fan—you two would probably get along real good.”

  Tim was caught off guard. “Blake, as in Blake Fisher the guy who rescued those climbers that I read about in the paper?”

  “That’s my Blake,” she said proudly, and pointed out at the field. “He coaches my son Trent—he’s the one waiting to bat.” She yelled out, “Hi Honey!” Her son either didn’t hear her, or more likely, didn’t acknowledge her out of embarrassment.

  Jineane began spewing about Trent, and what a blessing it was that Blake came into their lives and provided the male role model that his biological father never chose to be. But Tim was no longer paying attention. He was focused on the man standing in the third base coaching box.

  Chapter 28

  Tim reached in his backpack and pulled out his binoculars. He took a close look. Then a second glance to make sure it wasn’t wishful thinking. There had been some alterations, and it had been over ten years since his last sighting—the photo with Natasha and the oversized tennis racket—and over a quarter of a century since the world had got a look at the Jack Hammer, but there wasn’t a doubt in Tim’s mind.

  He thought there was a resemblance to the oldest son, Cam, but the binoculars confirmed he had Anna’s eyes.

  Ping … the sound of the metal bat caused an eruption from the crowd. Trent Hill just hit one between the left and center fielder and rolled until it hit the Maxwell’s Bar advertisement on the left field wall. “Run, sweetie, run!” screamed Jineane.

  But even her shrill shouts couldn’t pierce Tim’s concentration. He’d hit the mental mute button on the world and it was just him and the Jack Hammer, one-on-one. Everything was happening in slow motion. He watched him wave the first runner home, and then put up the stop sign to hold Trent at third with a triple. He and the boy then exchanged congratulatory high-fives and grins.

  “Do you mind if I use those?”

  Before Tim could even respond, Jineane had snatched away his binoculars. She smiled as she got a close up view of son and boyfriend. Tim gauged her face, and knew that she had no idea. She wasn’t in on it. He felt a little bad for her.

  It was now time to get more information on this man who was once mourned by a nation, and now cheered by a small town. And he got the feeling that once he got Jineane talking about her Blake, she wouldn’t stop.

  “You and Blake seem really invested in the community … raising money for this field must have taken up a lot of time and energy. Are you originally from Sedona?”

  “Oh, it’s a labor of love for us. I came here from Elko, Nevada about ten years ago. I wanted to be an artist. Blake was new in town, also, so we kind of were in the same boat and things just clicked.”

  “So he’s not from Sedona either? I had him pegged for being born and raised, with the amount of love he has for the town.”

  “And Sedona loves him right back! But no, he had some issues back east, and came out here looking for a new start after a bad divorce. Opened the shop and never left.”

  Divorced … faked his own suicide … it’s all the same.

  “It seems like he really has a passion for baseball. And he looks familiar. Did he ever play professionally?”

  “He used to play semi-pro back east, but between raising Trent and the shop, he’s way too busy to play anymore. But you’re right, he does love the baseball. Sits in front of the TV all hours telling those pro players how he would do it. I tell him, Blake they are in the Major Leagues, they know what they’re doing,” she said with a laugh.

  Tim continued to pepper Jineane with questions, which she answered between cheers for her son, “Blake seems like he’s really good with the kids. Do you have any children together?”

  Jineane moved close to him, and whispered, “Blake can’t have kids. His salmon don’t swim upstream, if you know what I mean.”

  Tim knew exactly what she meant, and while most people would find Jineane to be giving out too much information, she was a PI’s dream.

  When Blake Fisher ran back to his third base coaching position before the start of the next half inning, Tim couldn’t take his eyes off him. He appeared to possess a smug vanity. He thought of Anna, who along with Teo, Geoff, Cam, and Natasha, might have a different view on that whole salmon swimming up stream thing.

  The rest of the six-inning game went quickly. Jineane kept talking and Tim kept halfway paying attention as he scouted Blake Fisher’s every move.

  At game’s end, Jineane shouted to Blake as he stood by the chain link fence next to the dugout, “Way to go, baby!”

  “Come here Peter, I’ll introduce you.”

  Tim wasn’t sure at first, but decided it was as good of time as any.

  The grip of his handshake was firm. Tim stared deep into the oval eyes as they shook—the ones he passed on to Anna. “Congratulations,” Tim said.

  “We didn’t play our best game, but we showed improvement,” Fisher replied, not sounding satisfied. Tim was more focused on the sound than the words—not a touch of Russian accent. He did sound like a guy from “back east.”

  Tim took his camera phone and handed it to Jineane. He flashed a touristy grin, and asked, “Would you mind taking a picture of me with Blake? It’s not every day you meet a real life American hero.”

  His face appeared to lose all color. His eyes turned steely and twitched. Surprise-surprise—the great Jack Hammer, who once graced the cover of so many magazines and newspapers, was suddenly camera shy.

  “Coach Fisher, over here,” came a plea from a group of his players. He shrugged. “Duty calls,” he said, and fled the scene.

  “Gotchya,” Tim mumbled under his breath as he walked away.

  The drive back to the Sky Lodge was short and Tim sang joyfully along with Garth Brooks on “I Got Friends in Low Places.” It burned him how Fisher had abandoned Anna, but he took some semblance of pleasure that the great Jack Hammer now spent his days on a gurney under a bashed-up jalopy doing oil changes, before having to go home to his overly-chatty, trailer-parkish girlfriend. How the mighty have fallen, he thought with a chuckle.

  But what amazed him was that he wasn’t lying low at all. In a way it was brilliant—the last person you would ever suspect of being a suspicious character would be someone like Blake Fisher. And outside of that lone FBI guy he talked to, Henson, it’s not like anyone was actively searching for him. Jack Myles was considered dead, case closed. It’s easy to miss someone when you’re not looking for them.

  He removed the business card Jineane gave him from his pocket. Fisher’s Auto & Recovery—Blake Fisher, Owner. It had all his contact information, including an email address. Tim procrastinated until midnight, and then sent him a little lullaby to go to sleep by:

  Blake Fisher-

  Or Should I say Alexander K
ushka, or perhaps Victor Stepania. Or who knows? Jack Myles.

  Congratulations on your win tonight. Hopefully you won’t abandon these kids like you did your own children.

  I’ll be in touch

  Sincerely,

  The Past

  Chapter 29

  Geoff Myles changed into a charcoal pinstriped suit and a crisp white shirt. But then he decided against it, and put on something more Florida—a white suit with a turquoise silk tie.

  He paced the small apartment he’d rented just outside Miami. He puffed away on his second pack of Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes. Only the best for him—new healthy ways be damned tonight. He wanted to use the cell phone and kept instinctively pulling it out of his pocket, but there was nobody left to call. At this point, it was up to Rafael and the kindness of the ocean to deliver Teo Stepania. He more trusted the ocean.

  He looked at his Rolex—four a.m.

  “Shit!” he yelled out to nobody in particular. He’d estimated Teo’s arrival to be two hours ago. He loved structure, and this was anything but. Something must have gone wrong—it always did.

  The room had the temperature of a meat locker. Two large bodyguards he employed seemed to be enjoying the jacked up air-conditioning as much as Geoff, but the two Spanish interpreters were shivering. Geoff hired two because he didn’t trust that one guy would give him the correct story. His motto was trust no one, not even yourself.

  He walked to a small kitchen table with an ugly plastic tablecloth. He’d wanted to rent a penthouse overlooking Miami, but they would need to hide out until it was time for the big announcement—he knew the other sharks were more than happy to sit back and watch Geoff do all the legwork to get the kid to freedom, then swoop in and steal Teo away.

  That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway. Yes, there was no loyalty in this business, and clients were always in peril of being caught by the sharks, but Teo could more easily have been protected in a castle. The fact was, his budget wasn’t what it was before the downfall, and after renting his apartment in New York, and securing the field here in Miami, along with the trainers, scouts, and Rafael’s fee, he was on a shoestring. And he refused go to his mother or Prince Cam and ask for it. That was out of the question.

  A knock interrupted his thoughts. The two bodyguards pulled their guns, before cracking the door.

  “It’s Rafael,” said a low, guttural voice through the paper-thin door.

  When the guards confirmed that Teo was with him, Geoff felt relief flow through his veins.

  Geoff’s eyes were glued on Teo Stepania as he stepped through the door. He was tall, about six-foot-two, with strong facial features. When Teo removed a soot-filled, red bandana, he revealed thick, dark hair and the need for a shower.

  Geoff moved his eyes down his body, inspecting the merchandise. He didn’t look like someone who could throw over a hundred miles-an-hour, but he recalled Cam’s insight that most pitchers generate power from the legs, and Teo had the muscular legs of a long distance runner. He looked tired, but that was understandable.

  Rafael looked the same as he always did—unshaven, unkempt, and out of shape. He seemed like he’d shrunk an inch or two since they last met—he was no taller that five-foot-six, and it looked like the only running he did was to the refrigerator. What most concerned Geoff was how closely he was hovering around Teo.

  Geoff invited Teo to come in and sit down on the ratty couch. While the apartment offended Geoff’s senses, Teo seemed to be impressed with it, viewing it with wide eyes. Although, anything was probably an upgrade over the stench of the fishing boat he’d traveled here on.

  Rafael began telling the “harrowing” tale of the escape in great detail, and somehow was able to make himself the center of the story. But Geoff only wanted to hear from Teo, and called in the translators to do so. They were not professionals, he couldn’t afford that. Geoff found them running separate hot dog stands on Lexington Avenue. Pepe and Hector.

  “Ask him how the trip was,” Geoff instructed Pepe.

  “Como era su viaje, Teo?” Pepe followed the command. His voice cracked with nerves. Stage fright.

  “Era bueno, mientras lo hice a America seria considerado un buen viaje, El barco de Carlos era caliente y estaba en un espacia apretado. Pero el dios estaba con nostros hoy.”

  Pepe translated, “He said it was good. As long as he made it to America it would be considered a good trip. Carlos’ boat was hot and he was in a tight space, but God was with them today.”

  Never trusting, Geoff turned to Hector. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Myles.”

  Satisfied, he looked back to Pepe. “Good, now ask him if he’s hungry.”

  “Es usted Teo hambriento?”

  Teo lit up. “Sí sí sí.”

  “He said yes, yes, yes.”

  “I got that, I’m not an idiot,” Geoff lashed out, but noticed Teo cringing as he did. First impression was he seemed like one of those sensitive, ‘be nice to people’ types. So Geoff did his best Prince Cam imitation and smiled at him and talked in a low, soothing voice. He then motioned to one of the bodyguards to bring over a bag of Taco Bell. Not the high-end cuisine he’d normally use to impress a potential client, but it appeared to do the trick. Teo attacked the soft tacos like a starving coyote.

  Rafael butted in, “Did you get the visa?”

  Every time Rafael opened his mouth, Geoff wanted to stick his head through the stucco walls of the apartment. “I told you it wouldn’t be a problem. I talked to my contact at the Justice Department, and the wheels are already in motion.” He couldn’t remember a time when a star athlete wasn’t granted a visa unless there had been some sort of major violation.

  With Rafael’s craving for self-importance temporarily appeased, Geoff instructed Pepe—this time in a gentle tone—to ask Teo if he was aware of the next steps.

  Teo had his own steps in mind. “Juegue al beisbol, llame mi hermana Anna, gafas de sol de la compra y de cuero una chaqueta.”

  “He said he wants to play baseball, call his sister Anna, and buy sunglasses and a leather jacket.”

  When Hector confirmed, Geoff told him to inform Teo that his wishes would be granted, and Geoff was the man to make them come true. Having worked solely with American athletes, Geoff was surprised by the simplicity of Teo’s requests. If he liked leather jackets and sunglasses, then he was really going to like escalator clauses and opt-out provisions that Geoff would get written into his contract. And wait until he introduced him to strippers.

  Teo continued, “Cuando puedo llamar Anna?”

  He wanted to call his sister. Geoff looked at his watch—4:30 a.m. “Tell him it’s too early. We’ll do it tomorrow morning … no need to wake the girl.”

  Teo nodded that he understood. And just the mention of his sister returned the smile to his face. Geoff noted that his smile would look good on magazine covers, and help make him marketable beyond baseball.

  “Ask him if he knows what an agent is,” Geoff said.

  The translators both asked, in lockstep. They were singing for their supper.

  Teo looked confused. He didn’t need an agent in Cuba to hand over 80% of his paltry earnings to the repressive government. The word was synonymous with those helping players escape, and that is the way Teo viewed Geoff.

  This brought Geoff relief. It meant that Rafael wasn’t shopping Teo to other bidders behind his back. Or at least it was never discussed with Teo if he was.

  “Tell him I’m an agent. I will do more than help him escape. I will get him big money from a Major League team and he can buy all the leather jackets and sunglasses he wants.”

  When they did, Teo attempted a response in English, “You will be my agent, Señor Myles.”

  Geoff then did something he never had done with a client, or his own family for that matter—he wrapped Teo Stepania in a hug.

  Noticing the sly grin on Rafael’s face, he realized that Teo becoming his client would come con una condición�
��with Rafael receiving a large cut of the pie. But Geoff knew he could remove the two-bit conman later on. Right now it was all about Geoff Myles being back on top of the mountain.

  He pulled away, looking Teo directly in the eyes. He then said what he always said to his new clients, “I promise you that you aren’t just a business deal for me … as your agent, I will treat you like family.”

  Chapter 30

  “Blake, your pancakes are getting cold,” Jineane yelled from the kitchen.

  But food was the last thing on his mind as he stared at the screen.

  Blake Fisher—

  Or Should I say Alexander Kushka, or perhaps Victor Stepania. Or who knows? Jack Myles.

  Congratulations on your win tonight. Hopefully you won’t abandon these kids like you did your own children.

  I’ll be in touch.

  Sincerely,

  The Past

  He was trained to accept any challenge without emotion. Only a fool panics. But this was as close as he’d ever come.

  His closest call came during his last days as Jack Myles, when Katie’s father, Senator Barrett, had figured out his identity. The arrogant bastard actually tried to set a trap for him, instead of informing the authorities. King Arthur always held a suspicious eye on him. Typical father-in-law—nobody was good enough for his little girl.

  But the Senator turned out to be no match for the skilled psyche-ops assassin. He could break someone mentally, to the point they would take their own lives without him even laying a hand on them. After a little heart-to-heart at the Senator’s residence, the old coot chose to hang himself in exchange for the lives of his grandsons, both living and unborn—a detail he left out in his poignant suicide note he agreed to write as part of the deal.