by Paul O'Brien
Tanner was to be suspended, and New York was to be marked.
“Marked?” asked Hal, trying not to sound like the rookie owner that he was.
Joe explained, “We put it out there that any wrestler who works the New York territory from today on is to be blackballed by the rest of the business.”
Joe’s plan received a slow clap as everyone eventually figured out what he was doing.
“Let’s see how long they can hold their TV without any wrestlers to feature. How long will they hold their venues without any matches to put on? How long will New York survive without any workers?” Joe asked.
This was the grand power of the NWC: with all the other territories backing him, not a single wrestler in the country would attempt to cross the line into New York.
“We all know the rules. Most of us live by those rules. If you don’t, then we will kill you on the vine,” Joe said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
New York.
Lenny sat on the avocado-colored toilet in his father’s house. It was peaceful, a place to catch his thoughts. He leaned over and ran the faucet on the avocado sink. The water was cold to the touch. Lenny dipped the corner of a towel under the stream of water and dabbed around the edges of his glued-up shoulder.
“Lenard?” called Edgar from the sitting room.
“Yeah?” Lenny replied.
“C’mere.”
Lenny entered the sitting room and saw Tad, his parole officer, waiting for him.
“This man is here to see you. Says you gave this address,” Edgar said.
Lenny nodded. He’d never seen Tad before but instinctively knew what he wanted.
“I’ll leave you to your business,” Edgar said as he tried to leave.
“No, I’d like your father to hear this, too,” Tad said, as he sat down in Edgar’s sitting room with his coat on.
Lenny and Edgar took his cue and sat down as well.
“What happened to your face?” Tad asked.
“Just a goodbye present from Attica,” Lenny lied.
Tad wasn’t sure; he didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t wearing a badge or a uniform. Despite this, he began the speech he’d prepared hours before. “We have fifteen state parole commissioners, but two of those positions haven’t been filled. It’s these people who take on the cases of fifteen thousand inmates who are looking for an early release from prison. People like your son, Mr. Long. Do you understand?”
Edgar wasn’t expecting to be called upon. “I do.”
“Lenard?” Tad asked, “Do you understand?”
Lenny nodded.
“I need a verbal statement,” Tad said.
“I do,” Lenny replied. “I understand.”
“Okay. When people such as yourself get brought before the courts, judges do the sentencing,” Tad said, “But the real sentencing seems to be done by the parole board nowadays.” Tad looked suspiciously at Lenny. “By what criteria, I don’t know. I have no idea how these people arrive at their decisions, and who am I to second-guess them?”
Neither Lenny nor Edgar replied. They didn’t know they had to.
“That wasn’t rhetorical,” Tad said. “I have no idea how the parole board came to their decision, and who I am to second-guess it?” Tad wasn’t being subtle in letting Lenny know that his release from prison was raising some questions.
“I understand,” Lenny said.
“Me too.” Edgar followed his son’s lead.
Tad crossed one leg over the other. “When a decision is reached, however, it is then up to people like me to make sure that people like you, Lenard, don’t go back into society and cause further suffering to civilians. Last year, there were one hundred and thirty-eight thousand felony arrests in New York State. I’m happy to say that only six hundred and seventy-five of those were parolees. Do you understand me?”
“I do,” Lenny said.
“Me too,” Edgar said.
“Last year, I was responsible for forty-two cases. You’re my seventieth this year, so far. I just want you to know that, because you’re special to me in that way. I’ve never had such a case load in my life, and you, Lenard Long, sit on top of that pile.” Tad stood up. He presumed by the engaged, respectful reaction he’d gotten that his point had been made. But fuck it: he wanted to make it again. “They let a guy out, and he just killed a cop and injured two more. When they looked at his record it was discovered that his parole had not been revoked, even though he had been arrested twice and convicted once before the shooting. That makes people like me look incompetent. If you so much as get picked up for littering, I’m going to put you back inside. Do you understand that, Lenard?”
Lenny nodded again.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“I understand,” Lenny said.
“Me too,” said Edgar.
“Mr. Stolliday,” Tad said to Lenny.
“Mr. Stolliday,” Lenny replied.
“Good,” Tad said with a smile.
Edgar stood and walked Tad to his front door. He was polite but surgical in removing the parole officer from his house. Lenny followed behind.
Tad reached for, and produced, a perfectly cut business card from his pocket. “Monday morning, come see me. We’ll be working on making you a better citizen.”
“Can’t wait,” said Lenny.
“Or I might visit you again,” Tad said, smiling.
“That would be lovely, too,” Lenny replied.
Tad walked away from the house and got into his car. “Be good out there.”
Lenny nodded and smiled as Tad drove off.
“What are you bringing to this house?” Edgar asked.
New York.
Ricky Plick sat outside the administrator’s office in a sharp suit and tie. His forehead was glued and bandaged, his hips were throbbing, and his knees were blue underneath the nice material of his trousers. He noticed the secretary watching him.
“Is this going to take long?” Ricky asked.
“I don’t know, sir,” the secretary replied. “He’s usually very punctual.”
“Just … I’ve got a flight.”
On Ricky’s last word, the door with ADMINISTRATOR on it opened.
“Mr. Plick?” asked a man who looked like a middle-aged doctor.
“Yes?”
The administrator stood in his office doorway and waited for Ricky to walk through.
Inside the office, the men sat on opposite sides of a wide desk. The office was compact, but functional. The wall behind the administrator had a black mark on it from him leaning back in his chair with a head full of lacquer.
“How is he?” Ricky asked.
This most basic question seemed to catch the administrator off guard.
“He’s, eh … he’s to be expected. I suppose. But we need to talk about other matters, first.”
Ricky felt like belting the guy across the face. Instead, he slid his hand into his inside pocket and took out a stack of cash. “This?” Ricky asked, showing him the money.
The administrator nodded. “It’s just that we can’t keep doing this. You’re late every month, and short sometimes.”
“But it balances out,” Ricky said.
“There are other options here, Mr. Plick. If you can’t afford your … friend’s stay here, then there’s state options that you should …”
The administrator knew from Ricky’s thunderous face that he had better stop talking. “State options?” Ricky asked. He wasn’t waiting for a reply. “Over the last six years, I have given you people every penny that I have. I paid the fees and the extras and the tests and the medicines. I have done all of that. You’re right in that, nowadays, the money is a little late sometimes, but I don’t work around the fucking corner from here. I can’t just skip on by and hand you your fucking money.” Ricky threw the cash he had on the table. It was a thick little stack, but it was not enough to keep Ginny there for a month.
“Sir—”
Ricky continued. “Now, here’s what’s going t
o happen. You’re going to make sure that my friend doesn’t miss one meal, or one single activity in this place. He stays in his ground floor room, because that’s what he likes. You’re to make sure that his life here is like your brochures say; people are happy on your brochures. He deserves to be the same. And I’ll make sure that you get your fucking money on time, and in full. Deal?”
The administrator tried to talk, but Ricky was looking for a one-word reply. “Deal?” Ricky asked again.
“We need the rest of the money by the end of the month, or we can no longer have Ginny stay at this facility.”
“His name is Mr. Ortiz,” Ricky said as he stood slowly and turned for the door.
“Mr. Plick?”
Ricky stopped. “I will have your money.”
“Mr. Plick, we also don’t accept foodstuffs from the outside, and we can’t have unsupervised persons in the rooms of our patients.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The ice cream, sir. You can’t keep sending in deliveries of ice cream.”
“Like I said, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ricky said before leaving the office.
He called the same number at the same time on the same day of every week, and on every Wednesday, at six o’clock sharp, Pagladoni’s Ice Cream Parlor would make their delivery: twelve scoops, four bananas, three candy toppings, whipped cream, and a long spoon. Only this time, they were advised by Ricky to do it in a different way. Pagladoni’s youngest son, Carlo, tiptoed in the evening darkness and approached Ginny’s ground-floor window. Through the net curtain, Carlo could see Ginny waiting, with his chair facing the door.
Carlo gently approached and tapped lightly on the window, leaving the tray of ice cream behind him. As he walked off, he could hear the window open, and the sound of the tray being slid into the room. Week by week, Ginny forgot most faces, names, places, and old times, but he never forgot Wednesday at six. It was his favorite time of the week, and he even made an effort to dress up nicely and brush his hair for it.
Ginny looked forward to his delivery more than anything in the world, but for Ricky, it was his weekly apology. Like a man who sends his wife flowers, Ricky sent ice cream to soothe his conscience. Even though, somewhere in his head, he knew that he was doing all he could, Ricky still felt bad that he spent so much time away from Ginny. His heart was broken that he couldn’t hug the man he loved, so ice cream was a tiny comfort both to Ricky for sending it, and to Ginny for getting it.
As Ginny got worse, Ricky had days where he worried about what would happen to him when he could no longer remember anything. Ricky had been assured by the doctors who were taking large chunks of his money that Ginny would be in no pain, and that some people were “happily unaware” that they even had anything wrong with them. Ricky prayed that would be the case for Ginny. To a large degree, it was. Ginny had his routine, his own room that he loved, and his meals ready-made. They informed Ricky that Ginny loved music hour, and that he would regularly dance with the other patients, if they let him. This made Ricky smile. Ginny was the kind of man who loved to dance when no one was watching. Not once in their long relationship had they ever danced together.
As Ricky stood outside of Ginny’s room, he weighed time and again the cost of entering. The previous few visits had upset Ginny hugely. Ricky thought that Ginny knew him, but didn’t know how to process who they were together. The doctors said that it was simply that Ginny didn’t like strangers, and Ricky was now a stranger.
So Ricky did all that he could do: he walked away with his heart broken.
It got colder as he stood there, but Babu was willing to wait another ten hours if he had to. He was around the back of an old truck stop, about four miles away from the airport. This was the meeting place. With all that had been stirred up, Babu figured that somewhere different was probably safest. The second he saw the frame of the man approaching him, he knew it was his old friend.
“Chilly enough for you?” Ricky asked as he approached.
“Good to see you,” Babu said, as he shook the man’s hand and pulled him in for a bear hug. “How’s Ginny doing?”
“Good. Seems to be totally at home there,” Ricky said.
“Good. Thanks for taking the time to see me,” Babu said, as he ushered Ricky to a little picnic table at the side of his van.
“Lunch?” Ricky asked.
“I got hot tea, and some sandwiches,” Babu said. “There’s a chicken dish in there, too, if you want it. Or you can take it with you.”
Ricky patted his old colleague on the shoulder and sat down. Babu took his seat with a little more caution. “I never fucking know if I’m going to fit—or, if I do, whether the bench is going to just disappear up my ass or not.”
Ricky laughed a good, much-needed laugh.
“You could stay here if you wanted,” Babu said to Ricky. “There’s no one looking for you here anymore.”
“I would stay here in a heartbeat, you know that. But I can’t earn here.”
Babu set out the cups and handed Ricky a wrapped sandwich. “What if I said you could?” Babu asked.
Ricky knew what was on Babu’s mind.
“New York is about to be swallowed whole by the greediest, filthiest scumbags in the country,” the giant said. “And while they’re fighting each other, we have a chance to stand the territory up, ourselves. We just need the money.”
Ricky stopped and thought about the situation for a second. It was something he wouldn’t have ever allowed himself to do before, but having to leave home again was becoming unbearable for him. “Do you know they blackballed New York at their meeting this morning?”
Babu shook his head.
Ricky said, “Yeah, because Lenny slapped Tanner—and everything else that’s going on—they’ve put the word out that if any wrestler works this territory then they’re blackballed forever.”
“Fuck.”
“So, I’m just wondering—if we could miracle up the money somewhere, how do we work around the fact that no one will work for us?” Ricky asked.
“I don’t know,” Babu said.
“You don’t know?” Ricky laughed. He knew he shouldn’t have even entertained the idea.
“That’s what I need you for,” Babu said.
Ricky looked around. They were at the back of a shitty truck stop, drinking tea from a thermos like some low-level scumbags on the run. This wasn’t what he wanted from life at his age. “Look at us,” Ricky said. “Even if we could get wrestlers, what would we do with them today? It’s all baby oil and jacked-up bodies. It’s a bodybuilding competition now. They’re all fucking coked out of their minds.”
“You mean to tell me that if Lenny Long asked you to run New York, you’d say ‘no thanks’ and move on?” Babu asked.
Ricky bit into his sandwich as he thought. “It’s weird that he is holding the paper.”
“He wants you in, Ricky. I know he does. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. You could come home, and make New York for yourself.”
“It’s almost impossible to turn this around,” Ricky replied.
“I’m sick of bowing and scraping. These other prick bosses didn’t do nothing for the business here,” Babu said.
Ricky caught himself dreaming again and stopped immediately. He looked at his watch and stood. “I’ve got to go.”
“How many more bumps have you got in that body, you old fool? How much longer can you make it in Japan?” Babu asked.
Ricky didn’t know how to answer.
Babu said, “We have the pieces. They might not be the shiniest, newest, most perfect pieces, but we have them.”
Ricky walked back to the giant and gently said, “I know you’ve got some kind of deal with Joe Lapine in all of this.”
Babu stood up. “That’s correct.”
“And how do you think I’m supposed to take that?”
“Take what?”
Ricky thought about saying more but turned to walk instea
d. Babu wasn’t done. “Danno was gone. You disappeared. And I was in a deal where I held one of the world titles,” he said. “New York was a fucking fire pit. Joe kept the lights on.”
“That was nice of him,” Ricky said.
“You think I don’t know why he kept this territory on life support? You think I don’t see him coming to collect now? But what choice did I have? I could have walked away like you did.”
“Walked away?” Ricky shouted. “You think I got out of here because I wanted to?”
“It’s a very simple thing, Ricky. I know why you did what you did. I know why Joe did what he did. And I certainly fucking know why I did what I did.”
“How much did he pay you?” Ricky asked.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me. What deal have you two got?” Ricky asked.
Babu came close to punching Ricky in the face. “He needed me on the card to keep New York alive, and I needed him paying the bills under the table for the same fucking reason. For that, he promised me that there would be no more killing, that people would get paid on time, and you’d get safe passage back into New York to see Ginny. That’s what I got.”
There was a pause as both men calmed down a little.
“I appreciate that,” Ricky said.
“No problem,” Babu replied.
“Have you told Lenny what you did yet?” Ricky asked.
Babu hung his head a little. “One thing at a time.”
1984.
One month before Lenny got out.
New Jersey.
There were body builders, beauty queens, face paint, mirrored sunglasses, white suits with the sleeves rolled up, pretty boys, wild island men, hair spray, fanny packs, and a new guy standing around the ring.
Everybody’s eyes were on the gruff Texas veteran who stood in the middle of the ring.
“If you’re a babyface and some ladies in the audience think you’re their hero, you better keep them happy out there. Entertain ’em, fuck ’em, or do whatever they want you to do with them. Remember: the fat gals have the biggest mouths, so if you’re going to nail her, nail her good. We have to come back here every month, and you will not embarrass this company with your small or drunk dick. Do you hear me? On the other hand, if you’re a heel, you can drink and fight as much as you like. Hell, I had a boss who used to pay me some extra coin just to go to the local bar and start some trouble. Just remember: if you lose a fight, you’re fired,” Wild Ted Berry said from the ring.
