“Oh, I hadn’t heard,” Lou said and then gave a low whistle. “I didn’t see that one coming. Well, I’ll keep you posted, and of course, let you negotiate over the salary offer when it comes in. Hope y’all like southern cooking and warmer weather,” he said, extending his hand.
Shredder leaned forward carefully to accept the handshake and made as low-key an exit as he could. Outside Spieker’s office, he leaned on the wall for a moment, allowing his lower back to stretch out. He chuckled at the thought that he could use a few yoga sessions. Only fully clothed this time. A memory of her lush body flashed before his eyes. God, he missed her already.
Maybe he should stop in at the Community Relations’ office and see if Kylie could hook him up. Or maybe not. Even though his back hadn’t felt as good in years as it had the night he’d done hot yoga with Kylie, he had a feeling she wasn’t ready to talk to him. Maybe she never would be. In any case, if he was packing his goalie bag for Carolina, she wouldn’t be joining him. She’d made that clear.
Was he nuts to have feelings for her? The incident at his parent’s home disastrously revealed the distance in their respective social statuses and upbringing. If he was to become part of that world, and he didn’t see a way to avoid it, she didn’t fit into it. But no one was as plucky and determined as Kylie Rose. Just look at everything she’d overcome with flying colors. She could do anything she set her mind to, even winning over his mother. But it seemed a lost cause because by her own admission, she didn’t want to try.
With his back feeling a bit better and dismissing the idea of visiting Kylie, he moved to exit the building. As he passed the executive washrooms, he made a detour and stepped in, taking care of business quickly so he could get over to the Mayo for his appointment. Surgery looked really good to him right about now. As he stood there, the hairs on his neck started to rise. He shook off the sensation, a distant yet familiar one, but it persisted. Fuck. He was being watched. He zipped up and turned around.
The elegantly tiled and paneled walls seemed to move and shift, zeroing in with horrifying clarity on the stout figure at the other end of the room. Shredder had to hiss in a breath to keep from passing out. Nausea threatened to overtake him. How would it look if he puked in the sink? No fucking way would he let this asshole realize how deeply he’d affected him. How he still did.
“Oh, it’s you, Sheldon. Hard to recognize you without that curly head of hair. How are things? I’ve been following your career, like all my boys. Proud of every one of you.”
Emotion roiled in Shredder’s guts as the blabbering man’s voice echoed in the space. Older, rougher than he remembered; but not forgotten. He could never forget.
“Surprised to see me?” he chortled, a smarmy grin revealing yellowed, aging teeth.
Shredder didn’t answer. He just stood there, the mental movie of what he thought he’d do if he was ever in Coach Griff’s presence again refusing to roll. He’d have to improvise. He fisted his hands to keep from swinging. They itched to floor this man and lay him flat out on the germ-infested tile of the men’s room.
Walk away, a sage inner voice whispered. Shredder shook his head. Sagacity had no quarter over this scenario. Emotion ruled here.
“Oh, of course, you must have heard I came on board recently. I–”
In a blurred second, Shredder stood in front of Griff, towering over the man’s dwarfish stature, his giant hand wedged up against his throat. Choking him. Delighting in the terror that lit his eyes as he gasped for breath. He glowered down at him from his dominant position above.
“Don’t speak,” he growled. “Don’t move, don’t breathe. Or you won’t need a fucking urinal. I’ll squeeze the piss out of you and leave your shitless remains on the floor like a used toothpaste tube.”
Griff’s eyes bulged and a pathetic gurgle issued from his mouth, but he remained still.
“Get out of my town. Get out of hockey, you sick fucking criminal. Or I’ll snap your pedophile neck and laugh while I do it.”
“I…” Griff choked, his cigar-shaped fingers clawing at Shredder’s sleeve.
Shredder’s hand tightened. “Don’t fucking touch me, either.”
“I made you, made all of you,” the man rasped in spite of Shredder’s choke-hold. “Be nothing without me–”
“You made nothing!” Shredder snarled. “You made kids die inside, and another one dead for real. It should have been you cold in the ground, you sick fuck.” His other hand reached up behind Griff’s wattled neck. In one quick motion, he pulled forward, folding Griff’s body in half while driving his knee deep in his gut, once, twice, then he let go. Griff’s head banged against the wall with a sickening crack before his sagging body slumped to the floor.
Shredder stepped back, ignoring the screaming pain in his spine.
“I’ll tell them all, the media, the courts. Here’s some coaching advice. Disappear, old man. Today. And if you ever return to hockey in any capacity. I’ll make you wish you’d died, too.”
He turned and left the room, reaching the express elevator to street level before pressing a hand to the wall for support. The doors slid open, and he stumbled inside. Good thing he was on his way to see Haines; it felt like all the demons of hell were riding on his back. But one – the biggest one – had just let go.
***
As she waited for the KwikTrip clerk to make change, Kylie looked at the packages of powdered doughnuts near the register. She didn’t care for the things so full of processed flour, sugar, and ingredients you couldn’t pronounce, but they made her think of Eloise. She should call her, see how the restaurant was coming along. Or take her one of her special coffees and just talk. She’d found her dream man, lucky woman. With a sigh, Kylie had a feeling she’d never get that lucky. Well, she might find him but would never get to keep him. The ghosts of her past would chase away the blessings of the present.
“Thanks,” she said to the clerk, gathering the bag of snacks she was taking Jezz.
Not Jezz, her mom. She had to get used to the thought. As she turned to leave, she noticed something, or rather someone, out of the corner of her eye. With a better look, she saw Denny standing at the end of one aisle, poking around the shelves, looking for nothing in particular. He didn’t see her. She bit her lip, knowing she should just keep going, walk out onto the street, and not invite trouble. She wouldn’t put it past him to be cruel to the one person who’d cared about him, though he may not have realized it at the time. He couldn’t be trusted, that was for sure. But if Jezz’s version of events were true, he’d only threatened her to get back at Kylie. He was desperate. She did owe him.
She turned to the clerk. “Does that guy come in here a lot?” she asked in a low voice, jerking her head in Denny’s direction.
The clerk looked up. “Yeah. I know him. He hangs out, though the manager doesn’t like it. See him every day, mostly. He does buy a lot of shit, though. Probably why the manager hasn’t told him to get lost.”
“Thanks.” She walked over to the ATM in the front corner of the store. As she shoved in her card, she knew the transaction would overdraft her checking account, but her conscience would be in the black. It would be worth it.
When she looked again, Denny was gone. She sighed, wondering if she should go look for him. Then a thought occurred to her and she walked back over to the clerk and handed fifteen twenty dollar bills to him. It wasn’t ten grand, but it would have to do.
“Can you give this to him please, when you see him next?”
The clerk’s eyes widened. “Um, I’m not supposed to…” he stammered. The kid wasn’t more than sixteen or so, a dusting of hairs sprouting on his upper lip.
“Don’t you want to be a good Samaritan, kiddo? Here’s a hundred bucks for your trouble,” she fished out some extra bills and gave it to him along with a trusting smile. “Tell him Rose said goodbye. And if you fail to give it to him and think you can keep it, I’ll know. I work for the Rochester Riot, and I happen to know Shredder Politski
personally.”
The kid’s eyes bulged out underneath his acne marked forehead, widening with shock. “Holy shit, lady. That guy’s hands are huge.”
“They are. Don’t make me tell him to use those hands to hit you upside the head.”
“No way. Okay, sure. I’ll make sure that guy gets the cash. Today.”
She spun on her heel, feeling lighter despite carrying a bag of cheese strings and potato chips, and left the store.
Chapter Eighteen
Practically the minute he saw him, Doctor Haines ordered a spinal anesthetic and cleared a suite for emergency laser stabilization surgery. As advertised, the procedure was non-invasive, requiring less than a one-inch incision and no trauma to the surrounding muscles.
“In fact, you can go home later today,” Haines said. “Provided you have someone to look after you? Even outpatient surgery requires a driver and an at-home attendant.”
“Sure,” he lied. “What about after that?” Shredder asked as they met in the recovery lounge. “Can I get back on the ice right away?”
“Well, there’s always a minuscule risk of infection, so I’ll prescribe some antibiotics, as well as your usual pain meds. But hopefully, you won’t need either one outside of a week or two. Start slow and schedule some physio. Otherwise, you should be good to go within thirty days.”
“Thanks. How long do I have to stay here?”
“A few hours. Until you can arrange a ride.”
“You sure I can’t drive? I feel great.”
“You’re still under the influence of anesthesia. Mayo policy. Patients must be escorted under care from the premises.”
“Okay, doc. Thanks again.”
Haines shook his hand and left the recovery room. Shredder guessed he could get a town car and then call for a home-care nurse. He didn’t bother retaining a chauffeur service like Cole had indulged in. He’d had enough of that in his life, and it was just too damn pretentious.
He supposed he could call Cole, if he wasn’t too busy with the renovations or screwing the hell out of Eloise. This turned his thoughts to the weekend on Long Island. The most action that bedroom had ever seen, hands down. And the cutest, funniest, best piece of ass that had ever graced it with her vivacious presence. He could choose his girlfriends, but he couldn’t choose his parents. He owed his mom and dad for a lot. They’d given him everything, he knew that, but did he owe them their happiness at the sake of his own?
He felt sleepy. A nap would do him good. He’d call for his ride later. In a few minutes, he fell sound asleep.
***
Bernie Griffiths came to, finding himself sprawled on the floor of the executive washroom. His head pounded and his guts burned. He crawled to the nearest toilet and threw up the pastrami on rye he’d indulged in at lunch. He knelt shaking in front of the porcelain bowl, spitting out the last bits of bile and trying to recollect what had happened.
He probably deserved it. He’d been lucky to stay out of the legal system, like Sheehan had said. He’d thought this job would be tough, but not this tough. He wasn’t reformed, as he still regularly paid for rough sex with men, flying under the radar of his wife and kids. But as far as the youth hockey boys went, he’d put that behind him many years ago. He’d prayed in church that the players under his stewardship had also done so, and found peace.
Bernie didn’t consider himself a bad man, just a sick one. In his twisted way, he really did think he’d been doing those kids a favor. Most of them had blossomed into the players they were today under the strict guidance of his coaching program. But they didn’t see it that way.
He remembered Sheldon as a good kid, a lanky youth, and a promising goaltender. History had proven him right. He’d barely touched him, though his curly hair had given him a girl-like attraction in those days. He snickered in spite of his predicament. He could understand why he’d shaved it all off. The once scrawny kid now looked like a bald tower of muscle ala The Rock.
He should call his lawyer. He could sue for assault…and then what? The whole mess would come out. Better to take his lumps and keep praying for forgiveness. He checked his watch. It was late in the day, past office hours. Not many people around and the janitors hadn’t yet come, obviously. He struggled to his feet and limped to his office. It could have been a sweet gig, but he’d just have to move on. Calling an angry man’s bluff never amounted to anything positive. He gathered his briefcase and headed for the parking garage.
His movements were slow as he crossed the concrete floor of the underground parking, his dragging steps amplified in the dim, cavernous space. The beating he’d just taken from Sheldon Politski was going to hurt for days. As he neared his car, he thought he heard a second set of footsteps. He stopped and looked around. His hearing probably was playing tricks after taking that hit to his melon. He saw nothing.
He resumed his limping progress to his vehicle. With difficulty, he set his briefcase down, remaining in a bent position as he fished for his keys. With his right hand stuck in his pocket, a blow came from behind, ramming him up against the car. He had no wind left in his lungs to scream. The weight of a body held him tight against the metal, though he hadn’t the strength to move in any case. His left arm was twisted up behind his back. He could hear rough breathing close to his neck. Hot. Tepid.
Deadly.
“Remember me, fat-ass?”
He didn’t. Couldn’t see. The voice wasn’t familiar. The pressure let up just enough for his assailant to turn Bernie’s face toward him. The guy was young but grizzled, with a dirty stubble on his jaw; the dark hairs parted where an ugly scar ran down the length of his cheek and disappeared under his chin. This was no former young hockey prospect. This was some local thug-brat. What the fuck?
“The point is, I remember you,” he crooned between his panting breaths, a menacing smile curving his lips. “And you won’t forget me again; at least for the next couple of minutes. Then you won’t remember a thing.”
A flash of blade, then a stinging sensation across his throat. Then blackness.
***
Kylie had just made it back to her apartment after yoga class and was looking forward to a nice detoxifying salt bath when her cell phone went off. She grabbed it from her bag and thumbed the screen.
“Shit,” she cursed, seeing the name Barbara Townsend displayed. Bubs never took liberties with her personal time. For her to call after hours gave Kylie a very bad feeling. An emergency for sure. Had something happened to Shredder? News of the trade?
“Hello?”
“Kylie, it’s Barbara.” A long pause. “I’m sorry to intrude on your non-working hours, but I have some rather shocking news. As the Communications Director, I’m responsible for how this information is disseminated, and as my assistant, you need to be informed. Controlling social media around this scandal will be imperative, and you’re my go-to girl for all things Instagram.”
“O-okay,” Kylie said, growing alarmed. “Do you need me to come into the office?”
“No, I’ll see you in the morning, but if the media or anyone else approaches you before then, direct them to me, understand?”
“Yes, of course, what’s going on?”
“There’s been an incident at the Arena, in the parking ramp to be exact.” She paused and drew a deep breath in. “Executive level.”
Had someone finally taken a shot at Sheehan Murphy? Lord knew he’d have it coming if something bad happened to that man. Kylie could tell her boss was shaken and doing her best to stay professional.
“This sounds bad already, Bubs. Just tell me.”
“Bernie Griffiths was found dead earlier this evening, next to his car in the Arena parking garage. His throat had been slashed. There are no suspects at this time, but the police are investigating it as a homicide. They’ll likely want to interview everyone at the corporate office, so be prepared to answer questions.”
Kylie felt sick. Had Shredder gone all vigilante? No. That couldn’t be possible. If Shredder was goi
ng to snap bad enough to murder the man, he would have done it years ago. It had to be random. Either way, it was publicity they didn’t need.
“Okay. Got it. I’m really sorry to hear about this, but you can trust that I’ll handle anything related to the incident with the utmost professionalism.”
Her mind spun. From what Shredder had confided in her about Griffiths, there were probably no shortages of people who wished him dead. Empathy coursed through her for every victim that Griffiths had ever laid his hands on. The thought of one of them killing him in revenge was too awful to ponder.
“Can the players be told?” she asked.
“Lou and Sheehan are reaching out to them as we speak. The entire organization will be informed, but only myself, Lou, and Sheehan are cleared to interact with the media. In other words, don’t talk about this to anyone until further notice.”
“Understood. See you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Kyles. Goodnight.”
“Night,” Kylie said, disconnecting.
Holy. Fuck. How would murder look on the team? It would be a black mark on the Riot for a long time, no matter who’d actually done it. The bottom line was that Griffiths was gone, and that would mean something to Shredder. She punched his number on her contacts.
After four rings, she got a response. “Hi.”
“Shred? It’s Kylie.”
“I know.” He giggled.
Giggled?
Kylie frowned. He didn’t sound like himself. “Are you high? Where are you?”
“Oh, just lying around. Looking for someone to lay on top of me. Hey, can you drive a stick? I need a lift.”
Did he just ask me if I could drive a stick? Is he inferring what I think he is?
“What? Where are you?”
“At the Mayo Clinic. You know where that is, right?”
“Yeah, who doesn’t, but…what the hell are you doing there? And why would I need to be able to drive a stick?”
“Laser surgery, remember? Had it done today? They won’t let me drive home. Doc said something about local anesthetic and tranquilizers to numb my searing pain. Don’t know what he’s talking about. Never felt better.”
The Crease: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance Page 16
