COMPLETE MATCH

The Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match

Complete Novel


by THE QUILL SHOTS


CHAPTER ONE

Bethany reached for a low forehand in the back corner of the court and didn't get the ball back, but she was putting on a good show. The other woman had more skill and Bethany was forced to do most of the running, but she tried her hardest on every point, and by the third game she was sweating profusely. Her teammates were playing their matches on adjacent courts, and they were all wearing light blue T-shirts that had their individual names on the backs. Meanwhile, Bethany's ample front side was revealing itself impressively as she raced around the court and stretched into awkward positions to try to return shots.

It was 8:30 Monday night, ten hours since Christian had had to drown the guy.

"You look like you're into this match," someone said.

Christian looked up. A woman in a fancy sweatsuit and was smiling at him. "It does get the hooks into you," he said. "Especially this angle through the glass back wall."

"So I take it you don't play then, yourself," she said. "How come?" She was petite, early 30's, no mistaking her enthusiasm.

"Why should I? I'm fine just watching my friend."

"Which one?"

"The one waiting for the serve."

"Bethany. She's great. Not at squash so much, but a lot of fun to talk to around the club."

"You work here then, or what?"

"Sort of. I give beginner clinics, run some round robins. As an independent contractor."

"That what you're doing tonight?"

"About to be, yes."

Christian stood up. "I'm Chris, by the way . . . Would you want to, get a coffee or something, on the late side?" Bethany was real red in the face now, and looked increasingly frustrated. She appeared to be losing most of the points.

"Golly. Could we be a little more forward, how about?" Hard to read, but at least seeming amused.

Christian said, "So what time?"

"Well, I'm finished at eleven. It's up to you if you'd like to check back, but I'm thinking probably not. It's Kim, though." She handed him a card.

Soon Bethany and her opponent were shaking hands, and they opened the door and came out of the court. Bethany walked past Christian without saying a word and returned fifteen minutes later, showered and changed.

"You're more of a battler than I realized," he said. "You have a temper."

"I'm not a great sport," she said. "It's something I need to work on. But thank you so much for coming and watching my whole match."

He said, "I'm a doe-doe bird sitting here, but I saw something you can do to improve."

"No, Chris. With all due respect, I take lessons sometimes. I don't need you telling me how to play."

Christian said, "What you do, you hit the ball higher up on the front wall. So it travels further back into the corners. That's what she was doing to you."

"Dammit, Chris, I mean it. I'm not in the mood."

"Your ball was landing short, where that line is across the floor? Right in her wheelhouse."

"Will you shut up!"

Bethany's teammates Phyllis and Jeff, from the dinner at her house, were nearby. Phyllis said, "Nice to see you again Chris. How do you like our little sport?"

"I think it's terrific," he said. "Tennis's better half, for sure." Bethany had moved to another court to watch the end of Gloria's match.

Jeff said, "B was upset about her result?"

"That, and me trying to give her advice, that's what put her over the edge," Christian said.

"Don't worry about it," Jeff said. "She's a terrible loser. Always takes her about an hour, and then she's back to normal the rest of the night."

"Competition works in funny ways," Phyllis said. "You see a side of someone you never imagined."

#####

They went to the Big Horn on Sansome Street, Bethany's team plus him, which he figured was how it would work. Christian thought the place was only so-so, the menu a cross between New Jersey-diner and California-fusion, and pricey.

He sipped his beer, glad to be in a social situation, but fighting hard not to replay the incident in his head. The backpack was sitting in the trunk, too much to deal with after the morning but needing to be addressed, the guy liable to wash up somewhere at any time.

The team was discussing the matches, and Bethany was coming around, laughing at certain things. Jeff and Gloria and Steve were doing most of the talking, with Phyllis and John chiming in.

"I had my guy 9-6 in the fifth," Steve said. "Then I don't know what happened."

"What happened was you hit the tin four times in the last five points," Jeff said. "If you'd just kept your poise there, we would have won the overall match."

"Hold on Jeff," John said. "You lost three-zip to your guy. Let's not be too critical."

"Okay, but I was playing number one," Jeff said. "I wouldn't have let that guy off the hook two points away, is all I'm saying."

Gloria said, "Chris, we're sounding foolish here. How have you been?"

"Fine, but the shop talk doesn't bother me a bit. Makes me wish I had something as exciting going on."

"Well, you certainly look fit," Gloria said. "What do you do?"

"Mostly just run, which is boring. When I lived in Santa Barbara I enjoyed playing tennis, until my partner got mad at me."

"What happened?" Phyllis said.

"Oh, I got in his business where I probably shouldn't have. He beat me five sets in a row one day and I thought he was making bad line calls on top of it. I said you were beating me straight up, why'd you need to make shaky calls?"

Steve said, "So you got in his business by questioning his on-court character?"

"No, I got in his business by adding in my opinon of his personal life. He had a really nice, devoted girlfriend who would come to the courts sometimes. He was cheating on her with his ex-wife." Christian noticed Bethany and Jeff shifting around.

"How did you know that?" Phyllis said.

"He'd bring it up, brag about it. Though he put it on the ex-wife, that she couldn't get past him."

"What a son of a bitch," Gloria said.

"Yeah, that's a crock of horseshit," John said. "It's not like someone was putting a gun to his head, making him participate."

Phyllis said, "So what did you tell him?"

"That if he wasn't going to stop doing it, then stop talking about it. Evidently that hit a nerve, because the guy never spoke to me again."

"Well good for you," Gloria said. "That is scum of the earth behavior. He should be shot, and the ex-wife too for that matter."

"I agree," Phyllis said. "But just find another partner then."

"Oh, I still play once in a while. But the other day I was watching some hackers, and it was embarrassing. I realized that's how I look too. On the other hand, you guys all look good out there."

"That's very kind of you, "Gloria said. "But really?"

"Absolutely. You're giving it your all, running around like chickens with your heads cut off. What can I say, you look like athletes."

"Gosh, just hearing it put like that is amazing," Phyllis said.

"Totally," Steve said. "That's over the top, Chris, but we'll take it."

"We will," Bethany said, glaring at Christian.

"So where do you like to run?" John said.

"The waterfront usually, down to the point and back." Christian said. "The scenery helps."

"And that's what you did today?" Gloria said.

"Yeah . . . Although today I actually repeated it twice. I was looking for a little extra."

"How far?" John said.

"I'd say maybe eleven, twelve total. I'm feeling it now, that's for sure."

Bethany said, "Jesus Christ, Chris. Do you really think you should be out there trying to run eleven miles?"

Jeff said, "B, take it easy, what's the big deal?"

"Exactly," Phyllis said. "Why not?"

Bethany said, "It's just . . . I don't know, increasing your intensity like that, without building up to it . . . it seems unwise."

"I'll keep it in mind next time," Christian said.

#####

They were at their cars, and Bethany had said goodnight to everyone, including Jeff. She said, "Chris, what got into you? You certainly know to humiliate someone."

"What do you mean? The only one who might have raised an eyebrow was Jeff. My educated guess is he's the only teammate you're schtupping."

"My God, do you have to be so crude."

"While we're on the subject, it work out any better with him?"

"Jeff? . . . No."

"So, one more time--it's not me, my prognosis, whatever else."

"It isn't . . . In fact, since we're being so honest here, Jeff wants to go to Arizona and have a talk with Kyle."

Christian was digesting this.

Bethany said, "What?"

"No, I was trying to visualize how that'd go. I wouldn't mind being on hand to find out."

"Believe me, it couldn't go well. Jeff might get hurt, and I'd probably lose him as a friend."

"Kyle a tough guy then?"

"I already told you. Scary."

"He have a new wife, kids, anything?"

"A girlfriend, and I think she's expecting."

"Kyle ever ask you for an official divorce?"

"No. . . Can we please change the subject? You're welcome to come over, if you'd like."

Christian was thinking he might check back with Kim, what could it hurt.

"Tell you the truth I'm pretty worn out. That eleven miles you scolded me for, it's starting to kick in."

"All right, then."

"I were you, I'd tell Jeff to sit tight. Little baby coming into the picture, Kyle could get his priorities straight. Wouldn't surprise me if you didn't hear much from him going forward."

"Chris," Bethany said, "you have no idea what you're talking about."


CHAPTER TWO

“Knew you were gonna come for me, better chose carefully,

Cause I’m capable of anything. Make me your one and only.

Don’t make me your enemy.

Once you’re mine, you’re mine. . .There’s no going back,

Cause I’m comin’ atcha like a dark horse,

Like a perfect storm, a perfect storm.

Are you ready for, you ready for, a perfect storm?”

Dark Horse – Katy Perry


Chapter 2 -- A Perfect Storm

By -- Kathryn Abernathy


BETHANY

Bethany dialed her daughter, Sadie’s, cell -- straight to voicemail. Frowning, she headed her Bentley towards Hwy 280. Today was endless, and Chris sure didn’t help, with his talk of bettering her game, and then intimating her husband, Kyle, was gone permanently. Three months prior, Kyle followed a girl, 27 years his junior, to Arizona, after supposedly knocking her up.

At dinner tonight, Chris was more obnoxious than usual, and despite his efforts, appeared highly agitated. What was his problem -- that manic mega-mile running, his insufferable sarcasm towards her friends, the outrageous flirting, obtuse jokes, and that never-before-heard-of story about his ex-tennis partner? Bethany realized she almost mirrored his ex-tennis partner’s loathing of Chris’ unsolicited opinions, and refusing to speak to him again. She was almost there herself.

Groaning, Bethany smacked the steering wheel, and blasted the radio. Lately, Chris “miraculously” showed up everywhere. It almost resembled stalking, and even worse, tonight, walking outside the restaurant, Chris asked Jeff about taking squash lessons. Bethany trained at Smash Courts weekly; more importantly, Sadie trained there daily. Bethany knew Sadie would freak if he took up squash there. She despised him, complaining Chris was “overtly creepy.” Bethany had dismissed it, but lately, recognizing her daughter’s keen perceptiveness, wondered about him.

She was relieved Chris declined her invitation to come over. She’d only offered to make things less weird, immediately regretting it. She recalled hosting dinner with Chris and her teammates last week. He wouldn’t take a hint – or twenty – almost crossing the line, appearing to accidentally touch her neck, arm, shoulder, repeatedly, acting like a proprietary husband. He’d stood so closely, she’d felt claustrophobic. However, thinking it absolutely possible she’d misunderstood, she didn’t say anything that could ruin their 9 month friendship. Instead, she’d invented a migraine to get him out.

Tonight, she’d let Chris assume she’d slept with Jeff, only because she wanted to subtly solidify to Chris her non-interest. She realized Chris overtly flirted with Kim, at the club, at dinner with Gloria, making sure Bethany noticed. Was he trying to make her jealous? Chris was a running and coffee buddy, not a boyfriend. He was hilarious, but also hyper, narcissistic, and unemployed! Bethany thought, “I’m not ready to date, let alone date a grey-haired, recycled teenager.”

Pulling into her Hillsborough home, she retried Sadie. 12:40, 12:44 – no answer. “Bethany, Sadie’s in college now. Relax,” she admonished herself.

12:58, 1:19. . .

As Bethany got into bed, her anxiety grew. She’d almost annihilated her relationship with Sadie due to her parental neglect, resulting in her daughter barely surviving her wild and dangerous teen years. Coach Julian had made Bethany face that she was a horrible mother. He’d healed Sadie. Now, they were not only mother-daughter, but friends. She thanked God for her second chance with Sadie, and for Julian, every day.

1:57 -- Where was Sadie?

SADIE

What’s that noise? Is someone still on the courts? As Sadie listened from the storage room, the sound suddenly stopped. Five minutes later, Sadie brushed it off as imagination or traffic, and resumed closing-up.

Sadie LOVED squash, working at Smash Courts full-time until university began; then, managing closing-shift nightly. The pay was nil, but Sadie had money. The real draw – Sadie’s coach -- Julian Allesandro, THE Julian “Tin-Man” Allesandro!

Julian’s competiveness and rare talent manifested at only age five, winning match after match in the U-11 Juniors. He later dominated Canada and Mexico. Finally, consistently winning Men’s Open Tournaments, he became the youngest U.S. player to turn pro. Julian was International Fan Favorite, until mangling his knee during a high-profile match, the blowing out of his knee so gnarly, that YouTube hits remain colossal. Three years later, raring gossip and heated debates rage on about if the “accident” was really an accident after all.

Now, he owns Smash Courts, and mentors at-risk teens. Urban kids play or train every afternoon. Julian coaches the kids personally. Enter Sadie.

Sadie’s parents, Bethany and Kyle Barrington were old-money, social-status motivated, had a loveless marriage, and continually neglected Sadie, until she befriended a bad crowd, whose exponentially dangerous, illegal antics got Sadie into deep trouble.

One afternoon, Julian caught Sadie rifling through his Jeep Cherokee, her hands in his Black Knight bag, stealing cash and, inexplicably, his racquet. His ultimatum: work to pay for the smashed Jeep window, or he’d phone police and parents. Two days later, Julian taught her how to smack out her rage with a racquet. Sadie cleaned courts; Julian coached squash.

With Coach Julian’s brusque mandates and coveted encouragement, Sadie blossomed: acing college-prep courses, making a trio of new friends, and was thief no more. Three years later, she dreamed of a future playing Olympic squash.

11 p.m. Monday night, Sadie closed Smash Courts. After dust-mopping courts, vacuuming locker rooms, she threw her racquet bag and cell into her car. Then she remembered the trash still sitting in the storage room. Damn! Rushing inside, Sadie headed to the back.

She unhooked the backdoor‘s padlock chain, and walked out to the dumpsters, when she heard it again. Slap, slap, slap – like someone slamming a ball in Court #6.

Trash abandoned by the exit, she crept toward the courts, heart pounding. Suddenly, the ball’s slamming ceased. Sadie cut through the deserted men’s locker room to investigate. She peered through the glass walls - just empty, noiseless courts.

“Last time I hit a Frat party and drink “mystery” punch,” Sadie chuckled to herself, remembering the rare party and hangover. She returned to trash duty.

Back in the alley, she threw four, huge, smelly bags into the dumpster. She tossed the alley cat, Cheeto, bits of her left-over tuna sandwich. Then, she twisted the doorknob, but the backdoor didn’t move. Was it jammed? It needed to lock properly, or the alarm would trip later. Too irritated for fear, Sadie marched down the side gravel path of the building, easily hopping the chain-link fence. Now drizzling, she raced up the steps, unlocking the front door.

Eighteen months ago, Julian entrusted Sadie with a front-door key. Momentarily sentimental, he’d placed it on a Nicol David keychain. Sadie surged with pride, then and now. Julian trusted her. She strode through the club, pausing to check the alarm -- no alarm set, no Julian.

Sadie returned to the backdoor, and hackles sprang up on her neck. The padlock was clicked in place, door chained shut -- from the inside! Terrified, she leapt behind the new pop-up court equipment.

Suddenly, slap-squeak, slap-squeak – the ball resumed its rally. Who was that? She’d walked the last team out at 11 p.m., and locked the front door. Julian knew her nightmares; he’d never play such a cruel trick. So, who was here?

The ball reverberating against the court’s wall seemed to pound against Sadie’s skull. Her singular thought: GET OUT NOW! But, how could she escape safely, unseen? Was the phantom player clueless, or cognizant of Sadie, merely taunting her before showing themselves? Sadie reached for her cell phone, but gasped, realizing the effort was hopeless - her phone was inside her racquet bag, and the bag was now locked away, outside, in the trunk of her car.


CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER 3
by Mick Joint


I wanna feel what I thought was never real
I wanna let go of the pain I’ve felt so long
(Erase all the pain till it’s gone)
I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I’m close to something real
I wanna find something I’ve wanted all along
Somewhere I belong

Somewhere I Belong – Linkin Park



SOMEWHERE I BELONG

Unnerved, Sadie weighed her options. Wait or run? She couldn’t hide all night in this murky, uncomfortable recess of the club, however making a break for the door would expose her. As Sadie listened to the rhythmic, beat and echo of the squash ball, her panic morphed into curiosity --

The intruder could play. Skillfully.

Momentarily calmed, Sadie thought maybe it was only a student, sneaking in an after-hours session. However, that was highly unlikely, as every kid knew the rules. She couldn’t imagine anyone who’d dare risk breaking in, for fear of being banished from the program. Discipline & Respect: Those were the key words of Julian’s mantra. You ate, slept, and breathed them, to earn the privilege of training here. Sadie couldn’t remember the last time a kid stepped out of line.

Silently, Sadie inched behind Court #6’s back glass to spy on who was pounding out the straight drives with ease.

In the dim light, she could see young boy in the back right corner, who appeared to be maybe 14 or 15 years old. He was churning out solid forehands, most only a few inches off the wall -- Forehands, Sadie sure wouldn’t be ashamed to hit herself. He wore baggy jeans, unlaced red and black NIKES, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap tilted to the side.

Beside the court’s door, was a slightly unzipped backpack; Sadie spotted the butt of a handgun poking out from under some clothing. Her heartbeat raced, as the trepidation instantly returned.

Suddenly, the phantom player crashed the ball into the tin. It flew over the back wall. Sadie couldn’t see the ball, but there was no time to get out of its path anyway as it smacked her squarely atop her head. In an uncontrollable reflex, she squealed.

As startled and terrified as she was, the boy was frightened even more realizing he had been discovered. Panicked, he jumped off the court, grabbed his backpack and sprinted for the front door. Sadie, right on his heels, screamed frantically for him to stop.

He stopped, but not because of Sadie’s ear-splitting request. Stepping on the same ball that had ricocheted off Sadie’s head moments earlier, the kid went flying. If it wasn’t for the dangerous circumstances, the fall was a hilarious, classic Hollywood “clown-slips-on-banana-peel” slap-stick act. Just shy of completing a full somersault in the air, his legs and head swapping position, the boy crashed down loudly, flying into the lobby’s giant glass trophy cabinet, demolishing it. Shards and splinters of glass flew in every direction. Julian’s trophies, from juniors to pros, were in pieces.

Sadie sped over. The kid lay motionless on the floor, probably in shock, rather than sustaining any major injuries. Sadie couldn’t view any blood. He must have more lives than, Cheeto, the cat, because he miraculously managed to avoid a single scratch. Sadie’s eyes raked across the floor -- His backpack was, thankfully, out of reach.

“STAY DOWN”, she shouted forcefully. “You are in a whole load of trouble.” She leaned in close, the boy’s face mere inches from hers, then grabbed him roughly by the front of his shirt with both hands. She jumped on top of him, her knees digging into his chest.

Sadie’s thoughts were racing. She had to get to a phone, call the police, call Julian, and keep the boy trapped as well.

“No! Wait! No cops! Please,” the boy pleaded, close to tears. His thoughts raced. Crap! If she only knew the real deal, how much trouble he was in. Nobody would believe him, especially the cops, not what went down this morning. Maybe they would even charge himwith the murder when they pulled that body out of the water. He never should’ve taken that guy’s damn gun.

Sadie’s nerves rattled, and she blurted,” How’d you get so good?”

The query took the boy by surprise. “You mean at squash?” She could see him smirk a little.

“Practice,” he quipped, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Sadie wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm, as he’d just scared ten years off her life. “Listen smart-ass,” she snapped right back. “Either you talk to me or the cops. Your choice. Understand? Where do you play?”

“No cops! Please! Here! I just play here”, the boy spat out, gasping for air.

“What do mean, here? You aren’t part of the teen program. Who the Hell are you, anyway?”

“I, uh, I’m Nick.” Sadie raised a suspicious eyebrow. “No, really! Name’s Nick, and, you, you’re Sadie.” Her jaw dropped.

“I’ve been practicing at night,” Nick continued. I come in after you leave. For a few months.” Sadie relaxed her hold slightly, and the boy chilled some.

As he continued, his voice was calmer, “Look, I saw you play, at that portable court thing, at the mall, and it was pretty chill, so I found out where you trained. I knew there ain’t no way I’d ever get into your fancy club, train with you so I watched all your matches on YouTube. Then, I come here after hours and copy everything you do. You never come back inside once you’ve taken the trash out. . .least not till tonight.”

“You’ve been watching me!” Sadie spluttered. She felt violated, but, she also experienced a scrap of sympathy. It wasn’t all that long ago when Julian had saved her from a whole lot of trouble. Sadie relaxed a notch, but then she noticed his tattoo.

Being all too familiar with the darker side of street life, Sadie instantly recognized the ink, the infamous marking reported to make even the police’s blood run cold. Her hand went to her throat and she tensed in position, like a mountain lion ready to strike.

“Shit! You’re a Squad!”

Squads are a notorious gang, with a vile reputation. This boy was a gang-banger, which meant he had some extremely hazardous friends. The official name of the group was Squad 1-2-3. Each number representing a level of initiation for each new recruit, Stage 1 is usually something relatively harmless, such as ‘tagging’ or minor vandalism. Stage2 moves up the violence scale exponentially, and includes random beatings or armed robberies. As each test is passed, the recruit receives the ink of the corresponding number added to the tattoo. This boy was only missing the number 3. Anyone local knew what it took to complete the artwork: murder. No wonder he didn’t want her to call the authorities, Sadie thought.

He was small, but dangerous. Sadie figured she had one chance. In a flash of movement, she simultaneously released him and dived for his backpack. She knew how to use a gun, and she quickly grabbed his weapon, released the safety and pointed it directly towards the boy, with both arms stretched out in front of her.

“No way I’m gonna be your Number 3,” she cried. Sadie was now petrified. Her hands shook so violently, that even if she truly wanted to shoot the kid, it would be an extremely slim chance for any accuracy. Traumatized and trembling, Sadie accidentally pulled the trigger anyway.



CHAPTER FOUR

Chapter 4

Musha ringum duram da

by Tracy J. Gates


There's some takes delight in the carriages and rollin',

Some takes delight in the hurley or the bollin',

But I takes delight in the juice of the barley,

Courtin' pretty maids in the mornin', o so early!

Musha ringum duram da

- from Whiskey in the Jar


“Oops.”

Something small and hard fell to the floor with a thunk. The young woman turned her head toward the sound. Her eyes widened.

“Oh. Shit.” She went to reach for it, but strong hands yanked her back onto the bed and Julian lifted himself over her, wincing a bit as his knee struck her shoulder, but he managed to stretch far enough to pull it toward him. The thing was still vibrating on the floor like some kind of reeled in fish. He tried to hit the button to make it stop, but instead a red bar appeared.

“Fuh-”

“Julian?” the thing squawked.

“Bethany?”

“Oh thank god you picked up! I don’t know why I didn’t think to call you first. Have you seen Sadie? Cause I really need to talk to her. And she’s not picking up her phone. Which really isn’t like her. I’ve called and called. Is she with you? “

There was finally a pause. “Oh. It’s kind of late I guess. Are you still at the club?”

Julian looked at the phone like it was as nuts as she was. He took a breath. “No, Bethany, I’m not at the club. It’s…” He pulled the phone away from his ear and squinted at the time. “It’s two in the morning for Christ sake.”

“So you don’t know where she is?” Bethany’s voice sharpened, as if it was his fault.

“I’m at home, Bethany. How would I know where she is?“ Something poked him in the side. It was a toe and he grabbed it. He dipped the phone toward his neck. “Just a moment. Really.”

The toe was yanked out of his grasp and a finger flicked against his bare skin with a little snap.

“Yowch.”

“Are you with someone?” Bethany asked.

Julian jammed a finger again his lips. “Just stubbed a toe.” He rubbed his head. “Are you sure she just didn’t forget to call? Or she went out with friends and can’t hear the phone? Or maybe her phone died. It could be anything.”

“Of course it’s not her phone,” Bethany snapped. “I just bought her one of those gold 5Xs or whatever. And that’s the problem, it could be anything. It could be something bad, Julian.” There was another pause. Julian knew what was coming. “You think we could just go over to the club and see?”

How could he say no?

*

“No, I’m good.”

The bartender—a big boned, pale-haired young woman with East Coast white skin—stopped her hand from taking his glass. “Last call’s in fifteen minutes, so let me know soon if you want a refill.”

Christian looked at what was left of his drink. It had gone from caramel to the color of apple juice. “Well, in that case I’ll have another. No ice this time.”

The woman nodded and whisked his glass away. “Jameson, right?”

Christian eyed the rows of bottles. “I’ll try something different.” He gestured toward the top shelf. “Whatcha got?”

“Those are small batch whiskeys.” She studied them. “We just got one in from Brooklyn. I could give you a taste.”

Christian had to restrain himself from raising his eyebrows. He revised his assessment; this girl was pure mid-west dairy farm. “Sure, I’d take a sip of that.”

She stood on her toes to reach the bottle, her short skirt riding up. The back was better than the front, he decided. When she turned around, he was already calculating how to reel her in. “What time does the bar close?” he asked.

She untwisted the cork from the bottle with a pop and poured a small amount in a glass and pushed it over to him. “Oh . . . what would you like?”

This was going to be like taking candy from a candy striper, he thought, taking a swig and feeling the liquid burn the back of his throat. Going home with someone he didn’t know was perfect. He could stop thinking about the past twenty-four hours—put off thinking about what to do about Bethany, the spooky feeling that someone had been watching him, and all that crap until tomorrow. He set down the glass and glanced up in the way he knew women liked. But the bartender was looking over his shoulder.

“I’ll have one of those,” a woman’s voice said.

Christian whipped around.

“Hiya, big guy.” Kim slipped onto the free stool next to him. She unwound a cotton scarf from her neck and hung it and a red leather bag on a hook under the bar. Her lips were the same wine dark red. “Thought I might find you here,” she said, smiling at him and shaking her hair out from where it had caught under her jacket.

“You did?” A wave of something musky and just barely sweet swirled around him and he felt momentarily light-headed.

“You okay?” She put a hand lightly on his knee. It was tan with slender fingers, a hammered silver band around the thumb. “Sorry I missed you at the club. I had a few things to do first.”

The bartender set down another glass and poured two fingers of whiskey. Kim gave Christian’s knee a squeeze, picked up the glass and tipped it toward him. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” He took another swallow and felt better. Certainly the evening was looking ever better by the moment. Kim had looked like a nice athletic specimen at the club, but in her tight jeans and shoulder-baring top she was downright hot here. “So how’d you find me?”

Kim ran a hand through her dark hair and flipped it back over a shoulder. “Oh, I know some of the girls at the club. They saw you head over here when your party broke up. Bottoms up, eh?” She tipped her head back and the whiskey slid from her glass. Christian couldn’t help staring at the rise and fall of her larynx, the small cross at the base of her throat. Then he tipped his head back, too. It didn’t burn this time; it just felt nice and warm.

*

The air was cool on his face as they walked to his car. He felt floaty and happy and not like thinking at all. Kim would drive him home and then she’d come in and they’d have another drink and then they’d have sex and then he would be able to sleep and then he’d wake up late and have some coffee and then, oh, he’d think about what to do then. Not now. Now they were at his car and he was beeping it open and handing her the keys and getting in the passenger side and sinking into the leather bucket seat and waiting for her to slip in beside him. There was another beep and then a click. He should’ve told her how to use his keys. Women were so clueless sometimes. He waited for her to come around to the driver’s side door. Only she didn’t. Where was she? He twisted around to look out the back and all he could see was the top of his trunk. What was she doing in the trunk?

Oh. Shit. His backpack.


CHAPTER FIVE

Chapter Five: Weapon of Choice
by Matthew A. Munich

Listen to the sound of my voice
Check out my new weapon, weapon of choice

Don’t be shocked by the tone of my voice
It’s the new weapon, weapon of choice
…
Be careful, we don’t know them
Be careful, we don’t know them
…
Halfway between the gutter and the stars, yeah
Halfway between the gutter and the stars, yeah
­­        ~Fatboy Slim

As often happens when a threshold has been crossed, there was an extended pause as Nick and Sadie stared at each other after the gun’s report.  Their eyes mirrored the squash game playing in their minds, darting from locked death stare, to gun, to exit, to gun, to death stare.  Sadie wanted to react, but she was caught in a state somewhere between terror and exhilaration, as she inhaled an acrid mixture of odors: the musky aroma of adrenaline and the rotten egg stench of gunpowder.

Nick was the first to break the silence by laughing, moving quickly from giggle, to chortle, to peals of uncontrollable, rib splitting gasps.

“What’s so friggin’ funny, punk?”  Sadie shouted, trying to gain her composure, but suddenly feeling irritated and bewildered, as she watched Nick bucking on the floor.  As he did, she noticed the quite exquisite musculature on his newly exposed belly, the perfection of his café au lait skin, and legs fit to be licked.

Exiling that thought and trying to maintain the rage that was slowly slipping out of her, she shouted too loudly, “WHAT’S SO DAMNED FUNNY, JAYBIRD?!” now befuddled as to whether to…what?. . .shoot again?. . .pummel him with her fists?. . . jump him and…?

Nick managed through his heaves, “Here I go, ‘bout to get my 1-2-3, and I almost get smoked by a biddie!  And a biddie from the H’boro, no less! No doubt I’d get bumped out the Squad for that!  Probably bust a cap in me and dump my bagged ass in the bay.  Just like that guy this morning.  That’s what’s so damned funny, Hillsborough biddie.”

“Look, I still don’t really know how you know my name, where I’m from, or what the hell guy you’re talking about, but you’re in a truckload of trouble, numbnuts.”  (“Truckload?!,”  “Numbnuts?!,” she thought, “What the hell am I saying?”)

“Well then, look like we both in that same truck together, biddie, cuz it’s now yo’ prints on that gun you don’t use so good.”

At that moment, her legs went slack and nausea struck her like a bolt.  It felt just like that point in a hard fought match when you go from completely dominating your opponent, sending her to all four corners willy-nilly in the early stanzas, and celebrating an easy win, to those last few points towards the end of the fifth, when, the tide having turned at some juncture you missed, you realize that you’re about to come up short.  Hotness bleeds on your face and shame swells in your belly as you teeter on leaden legs only recently so buoyant.  Victory has slid elusively through your fingers. There is now only one self-evident truth: you’re going to lose.

For Sadie, this turn from the thrill of victory to the agony of defeat felt all too familiar.  Like a hellion, she had screeched out of Hillsborough only to stumble again and again upon the Hillsborough within.  She had enjoyed her marauding years on the streets because it was such a repudiation of her plasticine past.  It had felt so real.  But even then, she feared that her hard edge was faux, a fear that encouraged ever outrageous acts of villainy.  It was just this façade that Julian had punctured, peering into her soul and midwifing a truer, more vital self.  With this vitality came competitive results to match.  Julian ushered her through the stage of nearly winning to arrive at that place where aggression is licensed, and action flows easily from intention.  “Bring more Sadie!  Pure Sadie!  Plenty of time to hug and make up later, but Kill! Her! Now!” he’d counsel transgressively between games as her cornerman.  No apologies for winning.  No giving it away out of some misguided guilt for your gilded upbringing.  You can just win.  It was bracing, and she loved it.

But still, in moments like these, one down to this punk she had just quite literally topped, she felt the return of the past.  Part of that past included the Hillsborough Yacht Club junior girls’ tennis “league,” where the mothers wouldn’t let the pro set up a ladder, forcing rules such as: no winners and losers, prizes for everyone, hugs on the game change, and no colored trim marring the all-white skirts.  Meanwhile, they ingested vodka martinis and valiums on the club’s veranda, bragged about their husbands’ genius for stock “speculation,” and pretended not to want their own daughters to massacre the others and reveal to the world a superiority that they hoped had been bred in the bone.  Sadie remembers with crystal clarity the day, aged 12, when the curtain came down on all of that.  During one game change, just as Madison Hingham was leaning in for the ceremonial hug, “Maddy” recoiled her neck, opened her mouth, and there, resting on her perfectly pink tongue were three little white pills etched with ‘v’s.  After that, purse pilfering, pill heists, and bunking curfew were just the beginning of Sadie’s middle-fingered salute to Hillsborough.

“So, punk, why do your parents let you out this late?  Aren’t they going to be worried?” She flailed, trying vainly to retake the T in this tussle.

“Parents?!  Shit, what a dumb-ass H’boro question!  Only parents I got are the crack whores and drag queens on the streets of the Tenderloin.  They the only ones that give me anything: food from the dumpsters, and a ‘hey, sweet Nicky-boy, how you doin’?’  Dexie Rae the only woman who hugged me close, an’ her titties ain’t even real!  Squad now closest thing I got to family.  We got no curfew like they do in the H’boro.”  A dying boast to the right wall.

“Nick?!  Not much of a name for a gang banger,” she retorted, barely scraping up the ball with a soft, high defensive lob, though retrieving his Hillsborough drops was tapping her stamina.

“Back at my old boxing gym, Dundee call me ‘Nike’.  Not after the shoe, but after some goddess or some shit.  It mean “victory.”  Squad boys also call me ‘Nike’.”  A definitive rail to dying length.

“You used to box?” Sadie said, lowering the gun and sitting on the floor.  She figured she lost game one and had ninety seconds to regroup.

“Man, you never met a mofo like my trainer Dundee.  One righteous dude.  Always talking ‘bout bettering yourself, and empowerment, and being above the level everybody pointing you toward.  Dundee hit you with that tongue, your ass stayed hit.  He just look straight through you, you and all your bullshit.”

“Actually, I am quite familiar with the type.  Why’d you leave the gym?”

“Well, I loved the training, but I lost a bout I shoulda never lost and…well…I guess I just left.  And like they say, Squad’s always there to nab a recruit.”

“You know, I could ask the pro here if he’d let you…”

Just then, she heard the unmistakable click of the club’s front door opening, giving her just enough time to stuff the gun in Nick’s bag and concoct another story for Julian and Bethany, both already well hardened to her fictions.

CHAPTER SIX

Chapter Six

By Marcie Chan

Once that you've decided on a killing
First you make a stone of your heart
And if you find that your hands are still willing
Then you can turn a murder into art
It's murder by numbers, One, Two, Three
It's as easy to learn as your ABC

Murder by Numbers — The Police

Nice Nick

“Sor-ry” mouthed Nick as Julian and Bethany entered the club. Their eyes registered relief at seeing Sadie, but then widened at the shattered case.

Sadie’s heart was jackhammering as Julian asked Nick “Who are you?”

“Nick Lee. Senior at Galileo High. I- I came to check out Smash Courts ‘cause of how tight Sadie’s play is. We had a mix-up, but completely not her fault. Got no cash but I’ll work off all the damage!” said Nick, his words gushing out like a firehose.

“What happened here?” demanded Julian.

“I’m so sorry!” said Sadie. “I was closing up when Cheeto bolted through the door. Scruffy orange cat was freaked out by something. I screamed and Nick rushed in to help. I thought he was attacking so I tackled him. We landed in the trophy case.” It sounded lame to her but Julian and Bethany seemed to buy her story. Nick threw her a grateful look.

Bethany said “When I couldn’t reach you, my brain went down the worst-case-scenario-path!”

“Sorry, you were worried, Mom, but I can take care of myself!”

“True,” agreed Julian, “though I wonder about your judgment here. What if Nick was a bad guy? You could’ve gotten hurt.”
 
Sadie surreptitiously scanned the room and thankfully found where the bullet landed. It had gone clear through a heart-leaf philodendron and wedged in the planter’s dirt. Before anyone could see it, she plucked off the tell-tale leaf and put it in her pocket.

“Well, thank goodness you’re okay. Call me tomorrow. We need to talk about something,” said Bethany, yawning as she left.

As they picked up the trophies, Sadie was relieved that they looked glue-able. “Just sweep up the glass for tonight,” said Julian. “Tomorrow afternoon, Nick, be ready to work. And don’t stay too late, Sadie.” He paused and gave an odd look back as he went out the door.

When she heard their cars leave, Sadie asked, “H’boro biddie?”

“I freaked when you shot at me and I reverted to Squad mode.”

“What’s with the gun anyway?"

Nick’s face darkened as he looked down. “I had a free period this morning so I went under the pier. It’s the one place I can chill and not be hassled. I was into the rhythm of the water slapping against the wood pilings when I noticed two men arguing. I watched from the shadows as this older country-club-looking dude jabbed his index finger at a headband-wearing runner.  They started shoving each other, there was a pop and Country Club slumped to the sand. Headband then dragged the corpse into the water. I ‘bout crapped my pants when he snapped his head my way, but then thrust the gun in his backpack. In his freak’n rush, he missed his bag completely! The sound of a ferry made Headband throw on his pack and jog off in a hurry. When he was outta sight I punked the gun. Not sure why. . . I’ve never seen anything so fucked-up before.” Nick’s dark chocolate eyes welled up with tears and Sadie put her hand on his arm. He felt surprisingly ripped and had a nice sea-salty smell. Mmm, like her favorite sea salt caramel chocolate bar.

“So, you’re a senior?” asked Sadie.

“Yeah, people always think I’m younger, but I’m 18 next month.” Sadie had thought he looked young, but that was before hearing his sexy deep voice.

“Lee sounds Chinese. You part Asian?”

“Mom’s Chinese and my dad’s black. Lee is his last name. But he’s been outta the picture since I was five.”

“That’s harsh,” Sadie commiserated. “My dad has no idea what I’ve been up to since forever. Especially since he bailed on us three months ago.”

“Lame-ass! Ever since I saw you play, Sadie, . . .squash’s all I think about. I left the Squad for good, but no way can I go to the cops with this shit.”

Sadie grimaced, “I’ve quite the juvie record, but now that I’m 18, it’s serious, so I can’t be tied up in this murder business either. She zipped the gun into a plastic bag and buried it in the dark, crumbly soil of the wooden planter the bullet lodged in. “It’s safe, for now. Let’s sleep on it and see what comes up.”

In the morning, last night’s events seemed unreal to Sadie. She reached into the pocket of the black shorts she’d been wearing and found the still glossy green heart-shaped leaf. Like a cross between Zuzu’s petals and a twisted Valentine, it proved it hadn’t been a dream. She circled the bullet hole with her finger. Damn. That means someone was murdered yesterday. And there’s the gun to deal with. But first, she had morning classes to get through.

The clock ticked in slow motion all day until she could get to Smash Courts. It was a Herculean effort to not look over at the planter. She was counting the cups at the water cooler when the hairs on the back of her neck tingled. She looked up and saw Nick saunter into the lobby. In his maroon muscle tee and satiny shorts he looked older and even hotter. “Julian’s got a crap-ton of work for you, Nike,” she teased. She remembered the Nike of Victory sculpture from Art History class and pictured the triumphal winged female but with her own head on it. While Sadie checked the sign in sheets, her eyes kept going over to where Nick was squeegeeing the glass walls with long languid strokes. She told herself she wanted to make sure that he wasn’t messing up anything. But every time she looked over, he would glance at her right then. It was disconcerting. Whenever he paused, the blue liquid would run off the squeegee and dribble down the glass. At one point glass cleaner dripped on his shirt. Like a jungle cat, he slowly licked his hand and rubbed on the spot. I’d hit the rewind button on that image thought Sadie as her face flushed. She marched over with a microfiber cloth, her dark brown ponytail swinging from side to side, and said, “Let me wipe up after you so it doesn’t look streaky and crappy.”

“Sure, Boss,” Nick said with a devilish smile. They worked like that for several minutes. Whenever her cloth hit extra-frictionless spots, Sadie would slide into Nick’s firm shoulder. She never shied away from shouldering on the court. She liked dominating the T with physicality. But this felt different. The heat off of him made her thoughts fuzzy.

At first she apologized when they bumped, but soon was giving into the slides, exaggerating them and saying “Oops, sorry.” Who’s afraid to hit the spectacular nick now? she joked to herself. Still, she shouldn’t trust him. He could be—was already—a whole lot of trouble. Better suggest to Julian it’s time to change the alarm code.

Julian was working Nick really hard. His mantra is Discipline and Respect, after all. His Mr. Miyagi-like squeegee-on, squeegee-off workout is giving Nick cut shoulder muscles and the glass walls have never looked better. . .  But what Sadie was dying to see was Nick on the court.


CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter 7
by Pierre Bastien

Looking for the Gun

You didn't ask to know what I was thinkin'
I know it was late and I might have been drinkin'
When my passion welled up
And I readied my aim
I didn't know my own name

Wood Brothers  - Loaded

Chris pulled his gray Honda into the parking lot of the squash courts. The lot was half full, a good turnout for a Wednesday night clinic. He saw Bethany’s Bentley parked near the front door of the club and pulled into a spot a few cars down from it.

Chris, unshaven, got out of his car, rocking a white headband, rumpled white collared shirt, white shorts, and white shoes. He popped the trunk and swung around to grab his backpack. The butt of a squash racket was sticking out the top of the pack. He scanned his trunk for the gun for the eleventy-thousandth time. No gun.

He slung his backpack on, one-strap-style, of course, like in high school. He slammed his trunk closed and headed for Bethany’s car, paused for a second to peer in the back window, then headed onward to the door of the Smash Courts facility.

Coming in the front door, he saw Bethany across the room, standing near the front desk holding a clipboard. A dozen players were milling about, getting ready to play. Mostly brown and black faces – the Smash Courts kids. He recognized Jeff, from Bethany’s league team. He also spotted Sadie, Bethany’s daughter, talking to a black kid in a sleeveless red tee.

###

Bethany’s jaw dropped when she spotted Chris sauntering through the door, flashing his white teeth in a grin. What’s HE doing here, she wondered. She glared at him as he walked over.

“Hey B,” said Chris. “You look pretty official with that clipboard.”

“You better believe it,” Bethany replied. “And you look pretty official in your headband. Here for the cricket match?”

“Ha. Thought I’d join the clinic today. Seems like a good way to get into the game. Say, the other night at the bar, something went missing from my car trunk. Do you know anything about it?”

Bethany started at Chris blankly for a second. “What?” she asked, dumbfounded. Bethany tried to process his question. Did he just accuse me of stealing something? This guy’s just fucking weird.

“Oh nothing,” he said. “Can’t find some of my stuff. Mysterious disappearance. Probably dropped it somewhere.”

Just then, Julian walked up. Bethany handed him the clipboard.

“ALL RIGHT”, he said, drawing all eyes toward him. “Good turnout tonight, and I see we have a couple new players tonight, Nick and Chris. Welcome. Smash Courts kids, you take courts 1-3 and warm up with some channel games. Sadie, why don’t you take Nick and Chris through some drills on court 4. Bethany and Jeff, why don’t you come on court 5 with me.”

Nick turned to Sadie and cracked, “Isn’t it a bit soon for us to start drilling?”

But Sadie wasn’t paying attention. She stared at Chris. Great, an hour on court with this dipshit?

“Hello Chris,” she said.

“Hey Sadie!” replied Chris. “Don’t run me too hard out there!” He paused to admire Sadie in her squash kit.

Sadie stared down Chris for a minute, eyes narrowing, before turning towards the court door and heading in with Nick.

“Who’s that dude?” asked Nick.

“Some creep,” said Sadie. “He’s friends with my Mom. I always get a weird vibe from him.”

“I recognize him from somewhere,” said Nick. He shrugged. “Anyway,” Nick said with a smile, “you gonna let me show you how a true player runs this court?”

“Fat chance,” said Sadie. “You better lace up those Nikes, Nike, ‘cause you’re the one that’s gonna be doing the running.”

###

As Sadie led Chris and Nick through some drills on court 4, Bethany and Julian watched. Sadie, wasting no time, was running Nick and Chris all around the court.

“She’ll make a good coach someday,” said Julian.

“She seems to take to it, doesn’t she?” asked Bethany. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for her. You know that right?”

“No biggie,” said Julian. “So should I run you around like Sadie’s doing to them?”

“You can try,” said Bethany, “but you know I’m an unstoppable force.”

“That’s funny,” Julian replied, “I always thought of you as an immovable object.”

Bethany whacked him on the butt with her racket.

“Hey!” said Julian, grinning.

Bethany smiled back.

As they turned back to watch Court 4, Chris was staring at them. He was red-faced from running. He broke off his stare as Sadie started the drill up again, sending him into motion.

“So,” said Julian, jerking his thumb towards Chris, “What’s the deal between you and him?”

“Just coffee buddies,” she said.

Jeff emerged from the locker room.

“Alright then,” said Julian. “Let’s get started.”

They walked on court, with Jeff following.

###

After the clinic finished up, the Smash Courts kids were quick to pack up their stuff and head out. The others sat around on benches, cooling down, enjoying their post-workout endorphin drip.

“So Chris,” asked Julian, “how was your first time on court?”

“I’m wiped out!” said Chris. He was drenched in sweat. “I thought I was in pretty decent shape, but this game really takes it out of you.”

“You looked like a ‘real athlete’ out there,” said Bethany, teasing him.

“And how about you, Nick?” asked Julian. “How’d it go?”

“It’s like Chris said,” replied Nick. “The game really takes it out of you. Either that, or Sadie was pulling some real sadistic sh--”

“Schtuff?” volunteered Sadie. Everyone chuckled, relieved, and stared at the ground for a minute.

Chris stood up and walked over to wall. He put both hands on the wall and stuck his right foot back, stretching his calf muscle. He was standing right next to the planter – the one with the gun stashed in it. Sadie and Nick eyed him, holding their breath as he finished his stretch.

“Your plant looks like it could use some water,” announced Chris.

“Water?” said Sadie and Nick loudly, in unison.

Chris was looking at the crumbly soil in the planter. “Yes. Water. H-2-O. You know, essential to life?” He reached down and touched the soil. “Unless you’re planning on switching over to cactus.”

“Oh yeah,” said Julian. “I should water that sucker.”

“Don’t worry!” said Sadie. “I’ll get that!” She started to stand up, then sat down. “Maybe I’ll get it later.” She looked at Nick.

“Yeah,” said Nick. “I think it’ll survive for another few hours. Seeing as how you’ve been starving it for weeks.”

Sadie let out a nervous laugh. “I guess you’re right,” she said. She stared at Chris, who stared back at her, a smirk creeping across his face.

“So, B,” said Chris, turning toward Bethany. “Tomorrow, want to do that run down to the beach with me?”

“No thanks,” said Bethany. “I think I’ve given myself enough of a run-around tonight.”

“Where do you run to?” asked Jeff.

“Oh it’s pretty far,” replied Chris. “Well, I’d better get home. Going to need the rest, I guess.” He cinched up his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the door.


CHAPTER EIGHT

Chapter 8
by Will Gens

A Good Christian

And your saint like face and your ghostlike soul
Who among them do you think could destroy you?
Sad Eyed lady of the Lowlands – B. Dylan

Julian’s knee throbbed from the damp night air. He got home and popped Percocet, which he washed down with some vodka. They  made the pain bearable. He was ashamed, he couldn’t go without them, but when he was hurting there was no shame in this relief.

He poured himself another vodka, stupid, but something about the incident at the club disturbed him. And why hadn’t Kyle called him when he got into town? Kyle funneled a lot of money through the club. He used the club to fund his nefarious deals. But he never felt right about the money he delivered to those gangsters. He needed money; without Kyle’s money the club couldn’t survive.

He finished another shot of vodka.

 “Ah” he said aloud, “now, I’m floating on a cloud of nothingness."

He slipped into bed next to Kim, she stirred, and he asked her when she got in?

“It was late, you weren’t here, everything okay?”

“Yeah, go back to sleep, just some shit at the club, tell you about it tomorrow.”

*

Christian woke startled at the first light coming in through his car windshield. He didn’t know where he was until he saw the Bridge from a lookout he parked at to sleep it off.

“What the f—k…” Then he remembered Kim through the Jameson fog and her finding the backpack and she laughingly shaking it until its entire contents spilled out onto the car’s trunk.

“What are you, still in College?” she mocked.

Surely she’d find the gun. But it wasn’t there. It must have fallen out. He got really pissed at Kim going through his bag like that. It was a deal breaker. What a nosey bitch. He left her outside the bar and that’s the last he remembered.

Only a matter of time before they’d find Kyle’s body. Then Kyle’s associates would come after him. There was a lot at stake. He knew way too much, but he wasn’t a killer, he couldn’t go through with killing Bethany. But Kyle provoked him, pushed him, he had to shoot him.

They’d go for him first, Bethany second; he couldn’t warn her because he’d have to explain the connection with her husband and why he was sent to kill her.

He needed to figure this out. First things first. He had to find the gun, retrace his steps along the Bay; he’d go for a run along the usual path and look for the gun.

*

Detective Chen, lifted the sheet covering the body, covered it, uncovered it, and covered it up again…

“Forensics, what’d you got so far?”

“White male, late 40’s early 50’s, well off by the threads. Single gunshot to the heart, close range by the burn marks; no weapon found, my guess a .22 caliber… lab tests will tell us better. A couple of old Chinese guys fishing found him.”

“Fishing in this shit hole? Have you ID’d him?”

“”No I.D. Whatever they catch might be catch of the day at your local take-out,” the Uniforms laughed. Chen seemed unamused.

“Run his prints. Looks like he washed up here, most likely dumped further up the Bay. Get me the insignia from his ring.”

Forensics continued examining the body.

“By the bloating and rigor mortis I’d say he’s been floating for at least 24 hours give or take.”  
    
“Okay…damn it Mack”, Chen yelled at an overweight Uniform slurping down hot coffee, “close off this area, you know it’s a damn crime scene, get those TV people out of here!”

*

Nick and Sadie got through their chores and wanted to hit some on court. Sadie baited him into playing a match.

Sadie felt good today, better than in a while -- she ran some warm up sprints on court and was doing some stretching when she suddenly heard Nick close the glass-back door to the court. He was wearing work clothes and a pair of beat up tennis shoes. Sadie looked him up and down and smiled.

“The picture of court haute couture?”

“Whatever that means, hey, I ain’t no richy rich like you.”

Nick’s cockiness annoyed Sadie as she snatched the ball from his hand. Nick just stared at her with an amused smirk on his face.

They warmed up the ball and after a few minutes Sadie barked “switch”. Nick didn’t know what that meant, so Sadie pushed him to the other side of the court where they continued hitting the ball.

“Let’s play. My serve.” Sadie yelled out suddenly.

 She had a fierce look on her face as if to tell Nick this wasn’t a friendly game.

Sadie served it up and her strategy was clear from the beginning. Run Nick around; keep the ball in play and tire him out.
 Nick moved around the court like a boxer in the ring, he must have been a decent boxer, thought Sadie, what he lacked in technique he made up for in stamina and quickness.

Sadie took the first game easily 11-2 and the two points she spotted Nick were stupid tins. But the thought crept into her head, if she has to do this for more than 3 games…”get that out of your head…”

“Excuse me?” Nick said as he handed her the ball and bowed mockingly.

The second game was much of the same, by this point Julian had come over along with a couple of his students and some late afternoon adult players. The group was clearly in Nick’s corner from the beginning as they wooed and wowed every get Nick made. Sadie took the second game 11-8, but she worked harder than she was used to.

Nick came off the court seemingly fresh and smiling.

The small crowd was encouraging him.

“You can do it, kid.”

“C’mon take the third game.”

Sadie was red all over and sweating profusely, soaked, so that you could see her underwear and skin through her stylish white outfit.

Just when Sadie was about to break away in the third game, Nick figured out something and stopped trying to hit the ball so hard. He started floating the ball cross court and deep and keeping his rails tight. Whenever he had the opportunity he started to push Sadie to the front.

Julian remarked to one of his students, “This will be her undoing.”

Sadie had started to hang back and when Nick attacked the front she didn’t cover it well. You could see at 8-8 she was spent, doubled over, gasping to catch her breath. Nick just looked at her and then flashed a smile to his supporters.

Nick won the next two games easily, Sadie was yelling and berating herself; she’d come undone. She hated what she just let happen.

She stormed past Nick’s outstretched hand, brushing it aside, and disappeared toward the Women’s locker room. Nick just shrugged his shoulders, and stepped off the court.

“Hey Mista Joolyan I’m gonna bounce.”

“Sure, Nick. Nice play.” Nick looked in the direction Sadie had gone.

 “She’ll get over it. You did her a favor."

CHAPTER NINE

Chapter 9
by Kathryn Abernathy

Caffeine and Clonazepam

“I Wanna Be Sedated” – The Ramones
Twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours ago, I wanna be sedated
Nothin’ to do; nowhere to go-o-oh, I wanna be sedated

Just get me to the airport, put me on a plane;
Hurry, hurry, hurry, before I go insane.
I can’t control my fingers; I can’t control my brain.

Oh no, no, no, oh, no
Bam-Bam-Buh-Bam-Buh-Bam-Bam-Buh-Bam
I wanna be sedated

Bethany’s body hit the cold, hardwood floor, with a painful ohumph, as her air supply vanished.
 
After a sharp intake gasp, she pulled herself up, “What the Hell, Julian?!”

Julian, still comatose, after an uncharacteristic Percocet & Grey-Goose dinner, buried his face in a pillow.

“Get up! You threw me out of bed, Jackass!”

Bethany shoved him; Julian, bewildered, grasped her arm, gawping.  “BETHANY??? It IS you! Had the weirdest --” He sniggered, “You hit the floor?”

“Yes, Jerk,” She smacked his shoulder (with perfect form). “You shoved my ass to the freezing floor!”

“Aw, I hurt that luscious, Squash-Girl ass? C’mere, I’ll kiss it better.” Chortling, Julian flipped Bethany over.

“Hands off ass! Make coffee! It’s late,” Bethany feigned irritation, but a girly giggle escaped, turning into a womanly sigh, as she spied Julian’s tanned, naked back-side.

His muscular form easily upstaged the postcard-perfect view from his 18th-floor window -- Bay Bridge glinting in sunlight-through-fog -- as Julian bent to claim his boxers. Not wishing to stroke his ego, she looked outside, “So, one hellova nightmare?”

In the kitchen, Julian threw sourdough into the toaster, calling, “Crazy-ass nightmare, Bee! I was in deep shit. Kyle was this mobster-dude, laundering drug-money through Smash Courts, threatening I’d get whacked unless I cooperated! And, Kim --”

Shit! Julian hesitated; don’t mention another hot girl, while there’s a hot, naked woman right here, Idiot!

“Kyle, a mobster?” Bethany shrugged, “He’s shady enough.”

Suddenly, Bethany was there, naked, murderous, “HEY! Dreaming of slutty Kim K.? Not ME?”

“Bee, Kim’s background noise; she’s nothing,” Julian handed Bethany a conciliatory piece of toast.

“I warned you about pain-meds with vodka,” she chuckled, kissing him with peanut-butter lips.

Julian grew serious, “Maybe, subconsciously, I’m guilty. Kyle loaned me thousands to purchase pop-up-courts, and I sleep with his wife? That’s not exactly stellar behavior, Bee.” Frowning, he scrubbed at an invisible spot on the immaculate granite.

“Hey. Kyle left ME. For Miss Trailer Tits! He’s dead to me; I’m free – and happy, with you.”

Julian appeared skeptical. Bethany continued, “You are a stellar guy, J. You salvaged Sadie, compelled me get my shit together. You’re the best thing that’s happened -- to Sadie, those kids, especially to me in. . .forever.”
 
Bethany flushed, panicking she’d revealed too much, too fast, but Julian beamed, “Forever, eh?” Tossing her over his shoulder, he strode into the bedroom.

Bethany, laughed, shrieking, “Put me down, J! COFFEE!”

Julian lay atop Bethany, “Coffee can wait. This is more important. Forever - starts now,” Julian kissed her with such ferocity, Bethany gasped for air. . .  for the second time that morning.

###

Christian scrubbed bloodied hands in his bathroom sink, avoiding his medications, screaming at him from behind the mirror. He’d ceased taking prescriptions 10-months ago, wanting to start fresh. Christian was ex-law-enforcement, discharged 4-years ago, when his diagnoses of Bipolar-I/Borderline-Personality-Disorder/PTSD/MDD became “problematic.”

Chris and Kyle were strangers, both drinking Jameson at Valhalla. Christian began his “fresh-start,” by impulsively telling Kyle he was a private-eye. Kyle, contemplating divorce, hired Christian, hoping to find something on Bethany. Kyle gave Christian $5000.

San meds, Christian’s illness grew exponentially, until fully-delusional. His most disturbing delusion: Kyle paid him $5,000 to murder Bethany.

Christian walked to the pier, remembering meeting Bethany, disingenuously befriending her, with intent to kill, but, finding no wrong-doing, he’d fallen for her, craving Bethany’s attention, affection. He wanted her.

At the pier, Christian spied the body-bag. Surreptitiously eavesdropping on the coroner speaking to CSU’s, processing the crime scene, Christian realized they hadn’t identified Kyle or discovered a weapon.

Christian’s mind reeled, recalling killing Kyle. It wasn’t premeditated. Kyle returned from Arizona, articulating to Chris that he’d returned to repair his marriage. Therefore, Chris’ services were no longer required.

However, Christian, now utterly believed Kyle and his imagined “associates” would murder Bethany and himself, because he knew too much. He ranted – Nobody’s murdering Bethany!  Kyle freaked. Realizing Chris’ insanity, he began dialing 911. Christian shot Kyle.

Bethany and I’d be dead if I didn’t shoot Kyle!

Christian walked home, but stood outside, dizzy, as sudden, perplexing images raced: Kyle, Bethany, Kim. She was irritating, but, she’d driven him here last night. Right?

When the parking-lot cleared, he opened his trunk. Kim was crammed inside, her neck bent at an anomalous angle. He didn’t remember striking her, repeatedly, until his racquet had snapped.

Why’d she nose through the backpack, or ask why I had Kyle’s wallet. We were followed, watched. Kyle’s associates must’ve saw us, then killed Kim. How am I alive? Do they have my gun?

Christian viewed the mangled squash-racquet, feeling calmer, knowing Kim was the blood source this morning.

Slamming the trunk, he considered where to dump Kim, before the fog lifted. Christian’s cell chirruped:

Text: Julian to Chris

Noon lesson?

Christian hesitated. He had gun/body problems, but keeping Bethany unharmed was priority. He’d see if she was at club.

Bethany to Chris

I’m@Club: 11-330.

Chris to Julian & Bethany

C-U@Noon!

At Smash Courts, he’d watch Bethany and Julian.

Damn, I’ll have to borrow a racquet. . .

###

“Sadie! C’mon! Don’t be a piss-poor-sport!”

Barging into the ladies’ locker-room, Nick found Sadie – clad in a towel. Damn! He wanted his hands on her. Play it cool, Nick.

Sadie glared, “Get outta here! You off your meds?! I’ve zero time for your crap.”

“But, you’re free until 2,” Nick grinned, “We’ll do Starbucks; I’ll even buy you a Crap-puccino,” he teased, running a finger down her arm.

Sadie quivered, despite desiring to smack him. She bit her lip.

Dang! She keeps biting that lip, I’ll rip off her fancy clothes – she’s not wearing clothes. . .

Nick reddened; shook his head, clearing it, “It’s one safe, public coffee!  C’mon, those barista-dude-friends of yours’ll Sadie-sit.”

“True,” she chuckled, “Fine, but you’re buying me a Trenta-latte, lunch, and a Frapp, plus, make a proclamation:  you’re Starbucks’ #1 fan,” Sadie smiled, knowing it’d kill him to say.

She looked Nick squarely in the eye, dropped her towel, and dressed shamelessly, leisurely. Nick, agape, watched with admiration of her unrelenting audacity.

Post-dressing, Sadie grabbed her Luis-Vuitton, rushing past him. Nick followed, hollering, “Friends shouldn’t let friends drink Starbucks!”

Sadie punched his shoulder, “Take it back.”

“OW!” Nick staggered, holding his throbbing arm. He grunted, “Starbucks is #1.”

Sadie crossed the street, “This isn’t a date. We’re talking GUN! Don’t think buying lattes atone for involving me in murder.”

Sadie’s bravado faltered, “Nick, what do we do?”

Nick impulsively hugged her, while praying they’d avoid prison.

“It’ll be okay,” Nick walked towards Starbucks, never releasing her hand.

“Nick? Um. . .Sorry. . .about earlier. The gun has me freaked. And, I hate losing,” Sadie grinned, and Nick crushed even deeper.

“No prob,” Nick said, “Did you see the news? Cops found our body. They didn’t have photo ID -- face too bloated. They did show some fancy, gold, black diamond, initial-ring, --”

“WHA--STOP! Dad wears a ring like that! Could --”

 “Sadie, your dad’s in Arizona. ALIVE. Let’s get your damn latte.”

###

Christian furtively watched Nick and Sadie, across the street. Why were they talking so intensely, together? He’d follow them. . .


Chapter 10

by Mick Joint


“Crazy” – Seal

If all were there when we first took the pill

Then maybe then maybe then maybe then maybe

Miracles will happen as we speak

But we're never gonna survive unless

We get a little crazy

No we're never gonna survive unless

We are a little

Crazy



BRUISES AND NOTES


“Chris! CHRISTIAN,” Julian yelled, waving from the parking lot, “Where’re you going? We have a lesson!”

“Oh, um, yeah. . .Sure. Let me grab my -- I need to borrow a racquet. I’ve, uh, misplaced mine,” Chris answered, feeling frustrated. Nick and Sadie would have to wait.

Wielding one of Julian’s spare sticks, Chris’s warm-up was less than stellar. He barely concealed his distraction, as he mishit more shots than what he could connect cleanly. After spraying a simple forehand drive for the umpteenth time, Julian too, was exasperated.

“Early racquet preparation,” Julian’s voice rose, “You’re not watching! When you’re on the ‘T’, you have to look behind you! Otherwise, you lose your reaction time.”

When five more minutes passed without improvement, Julian changed to a milder tactic, “Okay, this is getting us nowhere. Let’s just play some points, and sweat it out a little. Deal?”

Christian agreed. His heart rate was already racing, and not because of the drills. To Christian’s already overloaded-under-medicated brain, Julian’s coaching was like a knife in his head; he wanted to either rip his ears off, or tear Super Coach’s tongue out.

The two played as one would expect a squash professional to dominate a rookie club player. Julian controlled the rallies with ease; to Christian’s credit, he ran his lungs to bursting point, welcoming the mindless scampering, that helped clear his mind. He didn’t have to think about technique or footwork (with the pressure he was under, he couldn’t optimally perform anyway). As time wound down, Christian couldn’t resist taking one cheap shot. He reviled Julian; he was spending too much time with Bethany.

Purposely turning on a rain-making-crosscourt-lob, one that happened to bounce off the back wall just enough, Christian lined Julian up. Then, moments before hitting the ball with all the power his not-so-refined swing could muster, Christian looked Julian directly in the eyes, smirked, and drilled him.

“Sorry,” Chris sneered. It was the most insincere apology ever muttered.

“What the --” was all Julian could say, as he watched the skin on the back of his knee immediately turn into a purple ring around a white center. The stinging pain was nearly unbearable. After momentarily limping around, Julian snapped, “We’re done,” and stalked off.

As Julian exited the arena, Christian felt brighter, in better control of his mental faculties. Julian had made his shit-list, so Chris had made a statement. He headed for the locker room for a long, hot, well-deserved shower.

_______


Bethany winced, as Julian stomped into his office, flicking his racquet, fiercely, into the corner. “What a complete asshole!”

The ball mark was impossible to miss. “Christian did that?” Bethany gasped incredulously, as she jumped up to grab ice from the mini-fridge.

“You betcha, Bee. On purpose too! After I make time to give him a lesson? He smiled at me, as he hit it. Smiled. That guy is a psycho. What the Hell is his problem?”

“I wish I knew. You poor baby...” Bethany set a towel of ice on Julian’s bruise.

“Ow! Dammit!” Julian jerked away.

“Sorry, but you know you need to ice it. Suck it up,” Bethany said, replacing the ice, “Listen, Christian’s creeping me out, too. He may be stalking me; he calls and texts - a lot. You saw how territorial he was at my dinner party. He makes me nervous, even scared. I made excuses not to run with him this week.”

“Good! This escapade isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement. We’d better keep our heads up. We don’t need an unpredictable scumbag hanging out here, especially around Sadie. And, no way should you run with him.” Julian looked at his newly acquired war wound with disgust. “Damn, he still has my racquet...”

­­_______


Nick and Sadie returned from Starbucks, each sporting half-full Frappuccinos, and guilty leers, suggesting they’d been up to no good.

“I have to take a leak,” said Nick. “This stuff goes through you quicker than a Miguel Rodriguez court sprint.”

Sadie stopped Nick just outside the men’s locker room doorway, whispering, “Thanks for braving Starbucks for me. I know it’s not your favorite,” and she leaned in, kissing him, lightly, on the mouth.

Nick licked his lips, “Vanilla. Mmmm, it’s growing on me.”

Sadie’s face grew somber. Still half-whispering, she said, “We have to decide what to do with the gun. We can’t keep it here; we have to get rid of it. Now.”

“I know! Tonight. When everyone’s gone. You have a key. Besides, it’s not like I can’t let myself in,” Nick chuckled mischievously, “I’ve got some ideas where to dump it. Back in my Squad days, we ditched incriminating stuff all the time.”

“I don’t want to know. But, yeah, we’ll meet here at 11.” She quickly kissed him again, and went to find Julian.

_____


Lurking behind the door to the men’s locker room, Christian breathed silently. When he heard the kids outside, he didn’t want to witness their oh-so-precious raging hormones moment. But, their conversation promptly turned intriguing. Very intriguing. He had heard every single word.

_____


Detective Chen rapped his knuckles on the door frame of Julian’s office. Startled, Julian and Bethany looked up, simultaneously, visibly surprised at the presence of a police officer, flashing his badge.

“Mr. Allesandro? I’m Detective Chen. May I come in? I have a few questions regarding a current homicide.”

“Did you say homicide? Murder? What? Whoah, why are you... here?” Julian sounded perplexed, “What does a murder have to do with us?”

“Perhaps nothing. I’m investigating some loose ends,” Chen said, as he scanned the office. “Ma’am.” He nodded at Bethany.

Chen had never been inside of a squash club, or even heard of squash before today. He picked up the racquet that Julian had tossed in the corner. “So, this is a squash racquet, eh?” He examined it closely. “Lighter than I expected. Oh, it’s cracked.” He looked questioningly at Julian.

“It happens,” Julian snapped nervously, “Why are you here,” Julian repeated.

“We found a body on the beach, yesterday. Shot, point blank. Messy. No I.D. He didn’t have a wallet or keys.”

“O-kaaay.” Julian was even more confused, “So, to help your investigation, you wander into my squash club here to learn a new sport?”

“Julian,” Bethany gently placed a warning hand upon his arm.

“Hardly,” Chen continued, “ Since John Doe isn’t talking, due to the fact half his chest is missing, we had to rely on our investigative skills. We turned up some hand-written notes in his pocket. We presume its Mr. Doe’s hand-writing. Most of it disintegrated or was illegible; his day-long ocean swim made sure of that. However, from what we could decipher, it had several names on it. One was ‘Smash Courts,’” Detective Chen stared avidly at Julian, “Any idea why a murdered guy would have the name of your establishment on his person?”

“I have... no... idea,” Julian answered slowly, “Hey! Maybe he was a member here. Whats’ the other name on the note?”

Chen contemplated withholding that information. Experience told him to keep an Ace up his sleeve, but with all other leads growing cold, he decided he had nothing to lose.

He shrugged. “Just some women’s name: Bethany”.



Chapter 11
by Tracy J. Gates

No money will turn your life around
Sweeter than cotton candy
Stronger than papa's old brandy
Always that needed smile
Once in awhile she would break down and cry.
—The Spinners, Sadie


“Bethany?” blurted Bethany.

“Hey, that’s – ow” An elbow dug into Julian’s side. “…my mother’s, uh, friend’s, um, dog’s name.” Julian didn’t dare look at Bethany.

Detective Chen nodded, clicked open a ballpoint pen and wrote something in a notebook. Julian quickly glanced at Bethany. Her face was whiter than the wall of a squash court, and her mouth was open a little, as if about to ask a question. But it was the detective who spoke first.

“Mind if I look around?” Chen asked Julian, slipping the notebook into his coat pocket.

“Not at all.” Julian reached for the door. “I can show you whatever you like.”

“No need,” Chen said. “I’ll show myself.” He handed each of them his card. “Let me know if you hear anything, Miss….”

Bethany stared at him for a second. “Oh, Miss Davis. Sure, yes, of course.”

***

“Miss Davis?” Julian stared at her when they were alone again. “What the hell, Bethany?”

“Shhhhh!” Bethany quickly peeked out the office door and then closed it half way. When she looked back at Julian, he was glaring at her now, his hands on his hips.

“What are doing, Bethany? You can’t lie to a cop!”

“I’m not lying. Davis is my maiden name. I’m just buying a bit of time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to make a phone call.” She picked up her purse from under the desk and pulled out her phone.

“Who do you need to call?”

Bethany tapped the screen on her phone a few times. “Kyle’s baby momma, to see where he is.”

Julian looked momentarily confused. “Why not just call Kyle?”

“Because I have,” Bethany snapped. “He’s not returning my calls.” She took a breath. “The last time I heard from him was a few days ago. He was staying in town and wanted to meet me. I left him a note to meet me here. It wasn’t a very nice note. And he didn’t show up. So if Kyle isn’t home, I’m in trouble . . . big trouble.”

“What trouble?” Sadie stood in the open door.

***

Nick zipped up and took a slow stroll around the locker room before heading out. He hadn’t been around much in the daytime and now he took it all in—floor to ceiling wood-paneled lockers, upholstered benches, gleaming glass-tiled showers, a huge steam room and separate sauna. He whistled softly. Julian must have some dólares.

He walked out of the locker room just as a short Asian guy was pushing open the side door to the alley. A scruffy orange cat zoomed in under the guy’s legs. It headed straight for the philodendron, jumped in the planter, and squatted on its haunches, looking up at Nick with its slanted cat eyes.

“What’s your problem?” said Nick. “Don’t have a big enough potty outside?” But then his own eyes widened. He was the one with the problem, if this cat was about to do what most cats do after taking a piss. Dig.

A racquet was leaning up against the wall of the nearest squash court. Two guys were killing themselves inside, ricocheting off the walls, but no one else was around, and the Asian guy had disappeared into the alley. Nick grabbed the racquet, waved it at the cat, then stuck the butt end into the planter and wiggled it around in the earth. Eau de kitty hit his nose and he winced at the acrid smell, but then he felt the racquet handle hit something hard. He yanked the racquet out, wedged a few fingers in the hole, and pulled out the plastic bag. Dirt clung to the damp plastic, but what was inside was obvious. He had to get it out of here. Looking quickly around, he grabbed a backpack someone had left by a bench. He quickly dumped the bag inside, and swung the pack over his shoulder. No one had seen him. He was outta there.

***

From the shadows of the janitor’s closet, Christian watched as his backpack walked off on Nick’s shoulders. He was just about to steal out and follow, when Sadie ran out of the office.

“No, I won’t be quiet, Mom! If Dad’s dead, then you don’t deserve his money!” Her voice was almost a sob.

Julian appeared at the doorway. “Sadie, we don’t know for sure.”

Sadie whipped around. “Shut up, Julian. You don’t know anything. But I know my dad wasn’t lending you money any more. And I know you’re now getting it from my mom. And I know that’s not all you’re getting from her.”

“Sadie!” Bethany stood next to Julian now, staring at her daughter.

“Don’t Sadie me, Mom.” She looked quickly around. “Where’d the detective go? I’m telling him everything I know.”

The sound of metal clicking reverberated across the room. Sadie jerked her head toward the noise and Julian and Bethany looked over as the glass and metal door to court one opened and the two guys strode out, talking loudly.

One of them glanced over and waved, and the other picked up the racquet that Nick had left on the floor by the planter.

“This your racquet, Julian?” he called. “Looks like yours.” He gave a sniff. “Doesn’t smell too good, though. You been gardening with it?”

Sadie’s gaze tracked from the racquet to the planter. Some dirt was sprinkled next to it. When Cheeto came galloping toward her, Sadie ran for the front door, the cat on her heels.

***

The man in the car took a sip of his diet coke. It was getting warm. He should’ve asked for more ice. As usual, Chen was taking too long. And in that time, only one person—one of the older Smash Court kids, from the looks of him—had left the club. The kid had done a quick scan of the parking lot, as if looking for someone, and then dug through his backpack, fishing out a set of keys. A gray Honda winked its lights and the kid shot over to it and climbed in.

The Honda’s tail lights came on just as Smash Club’s front door swung open and a girl came running out. Bethany’s daughter, the man noted, the one with the name that always reminded him of that old Spinners’ song he liked. She wasn’t on his list, but she looked upset. She glanced around as well, and the kid in the Honda must have noticed because the car bucked into reverse and roared back to where she was standing. In less than a second, she’d gotten in, too.

And then the club’s doors opened again. This time the man put his coke back in the holder, because these people were on his list. First Julian and Bethany ran out. Julian headed for his BMW and Bethany for her Bentley. Then Christian slipped out, gaped for a moment, and then ran into some hedges by the door. Just as the man was about to pick up his radio, Chen barreled out, followed by an orange blur of fur. He ran to the passenger side of the unmarked squad car and jumped in.

“Follow them!” Chen barked.

“Which ones?” asked Jeff.



Chapter 12: Matthew A. Munich

Bad Boys

Bad boys, whatcha want
Watcha want, whatcha gonna do?
When sheriff John Brown come for you
Tell me whatcha wanna do, whatcha gonna do?

--Inner Circle, Bad Boys


Chen was in a dither, deciding which car to follow and rifling through his police-issue notebook. Jeff was becoming increasingly irritated. He didn’t know if it was intentional or not, but Chen always seemed confused at important moments, leaving Jeff to make the decisions. Still, rather than look at Chen slapping pages, he kept his eyes on the lot. He noticed Bethany grab a small object out of the Bentley and flag down the Jeep. She got in.

“Um, er, well…” Chen fluttered.

“Look, I have a feeling that both of these cars are dead ends. The guy rehabs juvies and the woman is a pillar of the community. Your guy is not in either of these cars. But, I think the kid is a gang-banger. Don’t know what the hell he’s doing here. But he came into the parking lot looking mighty shifty and bunked a car that definitely isn’t his. In fact, I think I’ve had dealings with him. He’s one cool cat. I’m pretty sure the lady and the squash pro aren’t killers. Tough call, Chen, but I’d follow the Jeep. Let’s call for back up to follow the Honda.” He figured he’d seem impartial and not mention his own connection to Bethany. That way, he might be able to save her from her own foolishness, which is all he imagined it was.

“Yeah, Jeff. That sounds good. Who should follow the Honda?”

“Criminy, Chen! We don’t make that call. Dispatch does! It’ll have to be a marked car, but that’s the best we can do.”

“Oh, man, I can’t wait to get one of these idiots in front of a judge! And what is this game, anyway? Squash?! That’s not even in the Olympics, is it?”

“Oh, Chen. Never forget the formula: we need a crime, then the right criminal, then a judge. Judges are the fickle part. But if this works out, we will be able to tip the scales of justice in our favor. Now, call dispatch!!!”

Chen fiddled with the radio, but finally: “Car 2-5 to dispatch. Tailing Jeep CA-SMSHCLB. Requesting back up unit to follow late model, Blue, Honda Accord, rental plate: CA-AVS899, both heading north on Gough toward Lombard.”

“South, Chen, South!”

###

“C’mon, Julian! Stay closer! They’re getting away!”

“You know, Bethany, I’m getting pretty tired of this drama. I’m just trying to run a squash program, help some kids, and now my major backer might be dead, the police have their noses everywhere around me, and you just lied to a detective!”

“Calm down, Julian! Sadie’s with that gang-banger, who could do godknowswhat, and you’re in a snit about some minor inconsistencies to an idiot detective!”

“Bethany. That kid is just like every kid I’ve ever helped. Oh, yeah, except Sadie, who showed up also lying, also popping pills and out of control, like you right now. I’m also concerned for Sadie, but my whole life’s work is at stake, too.”

“Julian, take it easy. Let’s get Sadie out of this fix. Left! They’re going left!” Julian obediently turned left onto Lombard.

They could still make out the Honda taking a right on Van Ness. Julian thought he noticed the unmarked police vehicle in his rearview, and a marked car several cars behind them.

“Bee, you take it easy, too,” Julian exaspirated. “I swear to you: this is harder than being on tour. Or getting off drugs.”

“J! Please quit it. I can’t have a fight just yet. My ex-husband might be dead, my daughter is in the car with a gang-banger, and you’re in your head about stuff that happened years ago.”

At that moment, Julian, disregarding the blue Honda in front of him staying straight on Van Ness, and the cop cars behind him, sped through the yellow light at Geary and took a hard, quick left on O’Farrell.

“Julian! Now is not the time for one of your little adolescent rebellions! Where are you going?”

“We, my dear, are going to the Bryant Street morgue to make sure that all of this idiocy is even warranted. If Kyle is there, we’ve both got more trouble than we know. If not, we can just cool out and go back to the club. But enough is enough.” He had looked in the rear view mirror right before turning onto O’Farrell, seeing that the marked vehicle stayed with the Honda on Van Ness, while the unmarked one used its circus lights to get through the red at Geary and follow them onto O’Farrell.

“Good, Chenster” he thought to himself, “meet us there. You’re our ticket in,” hoping this nightmare was the invention of a promotion-hungry detective and that soon enough he could get back to his regularly scheduled programming.

###

As Nick weaved with traffic on Van Ness, he inched his seat lower and the backrest further back, barely visible to other drivers. Nick knew that Van Ness turned into the 101, and on it he could head to some south side hideouts he knew. He needed time to think. He eyed the rearview mirror repeatedly and couldn’t tell if that police car was following them. He had noticed it since Broadway and hoped it was just a normal patrol as they approached his old stomping grounds in the Tenderloin. Cops had plenty to do there and didn’t need to be messing with a fully registered, unaftermarketed, late model Honda. As he was weighing his options, Sadie sat whimpering in the passenger seat.

She broke the silence: “Can you even see?”

“Welcome aboard, Sades. Through with your nap?”

“You might ask a girl what’s wrong.”

“Listen, girl: things are a bit hot right now. My mind’s on getting clear of it. You OK?”

“Oh, I’m just fine, Jaybird,” that word now an endearment between them. “Just that my dad’s probably dead, my mom’s lost her marbles, and my old coach is a con man.”

“Everybody playing some kinda game or another, Sades. We’re all trying to get by. He’s no different than us.”

“Listen to Mr. Wisdom over here.” She grinned.

“We’re OK, Sades.” He rested his right hand on her knee.

“Then please tell me why you keep looking into the rear view mirror.”

“Five-0 on our trail. That gun you tried to kill me with is in that bag behind you.”

“Wait! Whose car is this, anyway?”

“I think it’s cool cat’s from the club. I think I recognize him from when that guy got shot.”

“Holy crap! So, big shot, what’s the plan now?”

“You tell me, Sades. Choice one: we bring 5-0 with us to the morgue to check the facts. Explain why we have the gun, what I saw. But with my rap, that story might not travel. Choice two: stay on the 101 south. I got a sister down there. Lay low.”

Sadie looked back, and thought quickly. She figured they’d get pulled over well before they made it anywhere “south.” At least at the morgue, she could get some answers and one of these supposed adults could decipher this surreal mess for her.

“Morgue.”
 

Chapter 13
To Infinity and Beyond
By Marcie Chan

She's not a girl who misses much
She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
The man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors
On his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy
Working overtime

Happiness is a warm gun – The Beatles

The raggedy orange cat leaped from the dumpster to the fence. Despite having done this maneuver hundreds of times, he misjudged the distance. His hind paws swiped at the air until they found purchase in the redwood boards. The necklace he carried in his mouth had thrown him off. Just as he coated the pants legs of Smash Courts regulars, tufts of coarse persimmon-colored fur stuck to the wood. Some hairs caught the light as they fluttered down like dancing flames to the bottom of the dumpster. They landed on the body where he had taken the necklace. It had a savory leather cord and a shiny silver racquet charm that dangled appealingly. Cheeto liked Kim’s minty smell and the way she always scratched under his chin. But it had been hours since Christian had deposited her there and her usual odor was long gone.

***

“Before we get to the Mor--gue, let’s get our story straigh--t” said Sadie, her words whipping back and forth with the Honda’s urgent turns. “And please slow down!” she added. “We don’t wanna look guilty or anything.”

“I tell you, laying it out’s not gonna fly” said Nick as he accelerated through another yellow.

“But telling what you saw could help catch the killer. Explain how you witnessed a murder by the pier and took the killer’s dropped gun. You were scared to report it because of your history with the police.” She chewed her lower lip. “So why d’you think my mom’s creepy friend is involved in this?”

“I’m realizing he looks like Headband, er, the killer. Best not to mention I jacked his car.”

“Why did you?”

“Like the One Ring, that gun wants to be found! I had to get it out of there fast with that cop nosing around.”

“I’m afraid to find out, but let’s see first if it is my dad in there.”

Sadie’s face darkened at the possibility that her father might be gone forever. She’d been really mad at him for leaving them, and he had been a dick during her “experimental” period. Yet, she could still remember the feel of his hand stroking her hair when she was little. He would sing the Beatles song, “The world was waiting just for you....Just a smile would lighten everything. Sexy Sadie, she’s the latest and the greatest of them all.” It always comforted her. Although in her The Beatles and Their Time class, she learned that the song expressed John Lennon’s disillusionment about a Maharishi’s inappropriate sexual advance toward one of his students.  Typical Dad, getting it wrong...

Nick caught her expression and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Almost there. If it is your pops, why would that scuzz have iced him? And what’s his next move?”

***

Nick pulled in front of the massive grey building. He and Sadie jumped out and waited for the squad car. Somehow, Nick managed to look casual leaning against the Honda’s door. Her heart thump-thumped in her chest at how hot he was. The stone-faced policemen stepped out and Sadie tried to sound calm as she said “We’re here to identify a body.”

“You can’t park here,” said an approaching curbside officer, a statuesque African American woman wearing a reflective orange vest. Just then, the brown Jeep pulled up.

“Uh, uh! You can’t stop your car here either,” she shook her head at Julian. She was getting exasperated when she saw another vehicle slow down by the other cars until she recognized Jeff. “If this is official business, you can all park in that lot over there” she waved with her orange plastic baton.

***

The corpse was on an examining table with a white evidence sheet draped over it. The morgue attendant lifted a portion of it away to reveal the head.

Sadie shivered in the refrigerator-like room. She was momentarily relieved that the puffy corpse did not look like her father. “The news mentioned a ring that sounds like one I’ve seen my dad wear?”

“We have that back in Evidence,” said Jeff gently. “It does look like one you mentioned, Bethany.” Bethany shuddered thinking of the gaudy gold and black diamond signet ring Kyle had been wearing for the last year or so. She never did get a straight answer about where he’d gotten it.

“Bethany is it? You didn’t mention that you share a first name with your uh friend’s dog, Miss Davis,” said Chen.

Bethany blushed and started to explain, “I prefer using my maiden name since my hus-.”

“She and her husband are separated,” interjected Jeff.

“You know each other?” asked Detective Chen.

“Yes, we both play at Smash Courts.” That seemed to satisfy Chen, who had become mesmerized by a button on the examining table that raised and lowered its height. Whirrr!-Up. Whirrr!-Down. Whirrr!-

“Chen!” Jeff interrupted the inane up and down. Then to Bethany and Sadie, “Any distinguishing birthmarks or scars?”

Bethany said “He has a tattoo on his lower back”

“Dad has a tattoo?!”

“We got matching ones years ago. Below the waistband, so only we could see them,” (back when they only had eyes for each other). Bethany pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed as she pictured Trailer Tits in an overly tight and low-cut fuchsia dress, laughing and kissing Kyle’s tattoo.

She shook off the vision. “On his right side,” said Bethany. Detective Chen picked up the edge of the cloth. The morgue attendant lifted the corpse’s right hip with a gloved hand and they could make out an infinity symbol. Jeff scanned their faces for reactions. Sadie scrunched her nose and dabbed at tears that were welling up. He couldn’t imagine that his goddaughter had anything to do with Kyle’s death. She had gotten into some serious trouble in the past, but with her college classes and dedication to Squash, she was back on track. Nick had put his arm around Sadie’s shoulder. Bethany looked subdued.

“Now that we know Kyle is the victim, we’re going to have to get statements from each of you,” said Jeff, who snapped back from a momentary fantasy about Bethany and her tattoo.

Jeff looked at Julian. His expression was hard to read, but Jeff could see the gears turning in Julian’s head.

***

Christian called the non-emergency police line from a payphone at the Powell Street Bart station (damn, they were hard to find). “I’d like to report a foul odor coming from behind that Squash club on Bay Street. Maybe a trash violation? Smells like something died there.” The right side of his mouth curled up as he thought of Julian getting the rap for Kim’s death. He was pleased that he smashed up the monogrammed stick he had borrowed from Julian to make it look like the murder weapon. He cleaned the racquet well to remove his prints and the presumed Kim fleshy bits. He had tossed it in the Smash Courts dumpster with the body with a satisfying overhand lob shot. Well played, Christian. He thought to himself.

Now, he just had to find those kids and get his gun back. He’d love to pin that other murder on Julian too.



Chapter 14

Bad Day

I’m having a bad bad day
If you take it personal that’s OK
-Pharrell Williams

by Pierre Bastien

Bethany sobbed, her forehead resting on Julian’s shoulder. “Who would do something so... awful! To Kyle! I know Kyle has enemies, but murder?”

Julian’s shirt absorbed a big puddle of tears, by this point, and was expanding.

Detective Chen muttered, “Obviously, this guy had enemies.”

Chen stared down the barrel of his ballpoint pen. Bethany didn’t overhear through her sobs, but Jeff glared at him.

“Sorry about all this,” offered Jeff. He narrowed his eyes at Julian, somewhat jealous of the attention Julian was getting from Bethany.

Nick and Sadie stood to the side. Sadie’s eyes were red, and she cuddled in close to Nick.

“Should I take you home?” asked Nick.

“Yes, please. I need to get out of here. Maybe to Mom’s house - I don’t want to go to my dorm.”

“Officer Chen,” asked Nick. “Do you need us right now?”

“Noooo,” said Chen. “We’ll call you.”

Sadie walked up to Bethany, and gave her a bear-hug. “I’ll see you at home Mom. I love you.”

“Love you too, Sadie.”

Nick led Sadie through the morgue’s hallways, and out onto the pavement. The sun shone brightly. Nick put his forearm up to block it, and tried to remember where they’d parked.

“I can’t believe they let us out of here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we drove here in a stolen car, with the murder weapon sitting in the back seat.”

“Oh, right.” Sadie was too exhausted to make much sense of the big picture.

They got into the Honda. As Nick started up the car, he started putting together his to-do list.

-Take Sadie home
-Make sure Sadie chills
-Decide what to do with the gun
-Return the “borrowed” car to the lot

This is going to be a long day, man.

###

A few hours later, with things wrapped up at the morgue, Detective Chen and Jeff were back out on patrol. Dispatch called in, and Chen picked up.

“Funny smell? Okaaaaaay.” Pause. “Alright, we’re on it.” He hung up.

“What’s up?” asked Jeff.

“Apparently, someone called in a funny smell behind Smash Courts.”

“Funny smell?”

“That’s what I said. But apparently, there’s a funny smell. Lieutenant thought we’d want to check it out, as Smash Court’s connected to our homicide.”

“Of course we do, Chen! The smell’s probably dumpster crap, but it very well could be connected to our case. Pull out your gloves and can of Febreze.”

“I think it comes in a bottle.”

“What? Who cares?”

“Well, you’ll care if you’re ever faced with eliminating a tough odor.”

Ignoring Chen, Jeff wheeled the car around, back toward Smash Courts.

“So Chen, who do you think knocked off Kyle?”

“HMMMMM. That’s a tricky one. Probably Beth. She got an inheritance or something, now that the old man’s dead?”

“You mean Bethany? Naw, it couldn’t have been her. You saw how she reacted.”

A fly came in through the window of their cruiser. Chen eyed it, losing interest in the conversation.

“It couldn’t have been her, Chen.”

“What? Who, then?”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? I think we could make a case for the kid, the gang-banger, but I’m not sure he’s the guy.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

They rode in silence for a bit, making their way through the marina, towards Smash Courts.

“It could be that guy Julian,” Chen suggested. “The Smash Courts guy.”

“How so?”

“Well, looks like he’s all nicey-nicey with Bethany. Maybe he took out Kyle in a jealous rage or something.”

“Whaddaya mean ‘nicey-nicey’ with her,” asked Jeff, a bit aggressively.

“You know he’s totally tapping that.”

“Shut up, Chen.”

“Dude, did you see the size of that puddle on his shoulder? Case closed.”

“I know, Chen.”

“Search your feeeelings, Jeff. You know it to be true.”

“I KNOW, Chen. Geez.”

Jeff steamed, as they rode towards the courts. The sun glinted off the other cars coming and going on Bay Street. “You know, maybe Julian did do it.”

They pulled into the Smash Courts lot, parked, and got out of the cruiser.

“Where’s the nasty smell supposed to be?”

“Around back.”

The detectives headed towards the back alley, when Chen noticed the bushes by the front door rustling. Someone was standing back there. He walked over to check it out, and could make out someone, partially concealed.

“Hey,” said Chen. “What are you doing back there?”

“Me?” asked a voice.

“Uh, yeah. You.”

“Oh.” Christian emerged, scraping through a small gap between the bush and the concrete wall. His hair was wild, sprouting up above his headband. He was wearing squash clothes, but didn’t look like he’d been playing squash. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips were chapped. Quite a sight. “I was just, uh, trying to find the cat. He, uh, ran out of the courts when I opened the door, and I was trying to get him back inside.”

“Cat isn’t supposed to be inside, Christian. Cheeto’s a stray Sadie and Kim have a soft spot for. Julian hates when he gets inside. He craps in the plants,” said Jeff, eyeing Christian suspiciously. He didn’t buy his cat story for one second.

“Oh. What are you guys doing here? Did you come to check something out or, uh, something?”

Jeff stared at Christian without answering.

Chen piped up. “Apparently there’s a funny smell. It’s around back.” He and Jeff started walking.

Christian followed, saying, “The cat might be back there.”

They made their way around the side of the club towards the dumpster.

“Wow, it DOES smell back here,” volunteered Christian.

Chen sniffed the air. “It smells like....cat pee.”

“Roger that,” said Jeff. “Cat pee.”

“No, no, no,” countered Christian.  “It smells like something died back here. Maybe check the dumpster.”

Jeff swung open the lid, and peered in. “It’s rank, but it’s just a bunch of trash bags.”

Christian’s eyes were as big as saucers. He looked into the dumpster. It was just a bunch of trash bags. The smell of death, so powerful only hours before, was tough to locate now. All he could catch a whiff of was some stinking garbage.

“What about this?” he said, spying a broken squash racket. He pulled it out. It was smashed in multiple places. He stood motionless, holding the racket, his jaw hanging down, slack. WHERE WAS KIM? Her lifeless body had been wedged in the dumpster. Now, it was gone.

Chen and Jeff glanced at each other.

“I guess this concludes our official police business,” grumbled Chen.

Just then, Cheeto the cat rounded the corner of the alley and bounded toward the group.

Jeff laughed. “There’s our suspect, eh Chen?”

“Sir,” said Chen, addressing the orange furball, “we’re going to have to take you down to the station for a few questions about a funny smell.”

As Cheeto neared them, Jeff realized Cheeto was holding something in his mouth. Jeff leaned down to scratch the cat’s chin, and get a better look. It was a necklace, a leather cord with a silver squash racket, dangling from it. Jeff pried it away, and inspected it.

Chen asked, “What’s up?”

“Chen, swab it. I think this trace is human blood.” Possibly, Kim’s blood.



(This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, or to any other works of fiction, is entirely coincidental.)














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