The
Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #2
The Handouts versus The Tin Ringers
EAST
SIDE A
Collaborative Novel
Chapter 4-A
Tightrope Walkers by Richard Millman
Yevgheni Karmalov—Jerry Carl to the world—had done very well in his
professional life. A successful lawyer, he had tamed both the Real
Estate market and had met with what some might say was notorious
success in the world of corporate litigation. Either way, few people of
influence were unaware of Jerry Carl.
As the child of the murdered Ivan Karmalov, the notorious 'Czar of
Brighton Beach' in the early sixties, Yevgheni had been left to the
care of his maternal grandfather Grigor, who had quietly guided the boy
away from the streets toward an education. Not that Jerry was unaware
of his father's business and not that Jerry had decried his father; he
had simply chosen a life that had allowed him to build on the powerful
traits that he had inherited, but in a world where legality brought
greater rewards than crime.
Jerry chuckled to himself as he strolled back to his locker from the
steam room at the club. "What would you have thought of Squash, Papa?"
He changed into his lightweight Italian suit, checked he was
presentable in the mirror, carefully ordered his locker, and walked out
of the club's back door. He headed for his penthouse law offices on
Avenue of the Americas instead of his real estate office on Lex. As he
enjoyed the light spring air, he pulled out his cell phone and hit a
speed dial number. One of his trusted investigators answered, a man who
skillfully trod the knife edge between the legal and criminal worlds.
"Bernard," Jerry began, "I have two matters for your attention."
"Certainly, Mr Carl," the gravelly voice on the other end intoned with
a mixture of respect and affection.
"First, I would be grateful if you could discover how Mr. Luther
Holland is spending his day. I am sending a picture to your cell phone.
You will see he is a well-built muscular gentleman. You may find him at
his property development business offices."
"Next, I would like you to find Kate Crawford. She is twenty-three,
daughter of Hank, the squash pro at my club. I believe the ex-wife's
name is Margaret—I don't know the last name. Kate has gone AWOL. I'd
like to know why she isn't communicating with her father. Contact me
anytime by the usual methods."
"I will move on both items immediately," Bernard said smoothly.
"Thank you, Bernard." Jerry hit “End.”
Now for the zoning board meetings. Jerry appreciated the Hanks of the
world and every once in a while it was his pleasure to give people he
cared about a helping hand.
……
Luther Holland twirled the heavy crystal tumbler in his hand, swirling
the Maker's Mark 46 that remained in it around and around as he watched
the kaleidoscope of Margaret's naked body, her buttocks and breasts
twisting this way and that, contorted by the prisms in the glass.
"I hope you're pleased with the view," she purred, purposely
over-accentuating each movement that she made.
"You're here, aren't you?" he said, trying to sound disdainful, though
it was impossible for him to hide his arousal.
He looked at his watch. Twelve forty-five. The next zoning board
meeting was at three-thirty. He had better hurry.
…….
Steve Pike was perplexed. He had met the girl about six months ago in a
bar on the upper West side. She was young and he didn't go for young.
She was single and he didn't go for single. And yet, here he was six
months later, inexplicably infatuated with the antithesis of his
regular quarry. Also, he was starting to wonder where she went when she
wasn't with him, what she did when she wasn't with him. Who she was
with when she wasn't with him.
Not good. Not good at all.
What the hell's wrong with you, Pikey?
he muttered to himself. He shuddered and felt himself involuntarily
duck. Was it his imagination or had he just felt that ugly wordlove fly
over him like some CIA drone stealing a view of his innermost thoughts.
"Brr," he shivered, opened the stall door and went to wash his hands.
His next lesson was a slightly overweight brunette, thirty-eight, with
a lovely twinkle in her eye.
"Mrs. Swanson, how are you?" Pike winked as he came out of the men's
locker room.
"Fine, thank you, Steve. How are you?" Emphasis on the you gave away
more than a little of Mrs Swanson's interest in the Club Altesse squash
pro.
"Shall we play, Mrs Swanson?" Steve asked with a smile.
"Yes, let's," Mrs Swanson concurred and they walked toward the
hard-backed court at the back of the club.
This is more like it, thought
Steve—but his earlier thoughts just wouldn't leave him alone.
……
Hank stood in the Pro Shop, monotonously threading Supernick XL pro
through the O3 Prince racket on the stringing machine in front of him.
His heart wasn't in it, as indeed his heart hadn't been in anything for
some time. Still, perhaps his plan with Yvette this evening might bring
some respite. Yvette was the sort of girl that liked the places that he
thought Kate would be drawn to. He felt it was a forlorn hope, but
forlorn was better than none and he had to try something!
He leaned back against the wall behind him and gave up any pretense of
stringing the racket. Come back to
me sweetheart, he thought, hoping that by some miracle, she
would hear his wish—wherever she was. If she still was.
A big salty tear rolled down his cheek, and he sucked in an empty
breath that did nothing to ease the hollow pain in his chest.
…….
Less than a fifteen-minute cab ride across the park from where Hank
Crawford stood helplessly searching in vain for answers, Kate Crawford
lay in bed, her head resting on her hands, which were clasped behind
her on the propped up pillow. Her golden hair flowed in unruly tresses
over the top of her lovely porcelain-white neck as she stared at her
olive skinned lover, Sid Christodolou.
"Don't go, darling." Kate pleaded. She knew where Sid was going. It was
the deal and had been since they had first gotten together. That had
been about eighteen months ago and it had been the most extraordinary
eighteen months of Kate's life. Extraordinary, complex, ecstatic,
painful, life-changing, challenging.
Sid blew her a kiss. "Don't moan honey, you know what my gig is."
"I know, I know," said Kate. "I get it," she said blowing a kiss back
as Sid floated out the door, an early-evening apparition.
"I get it," Kate repeated in the sudden solitude, "but how can I get
Hank to get it?" she asked the snapshot of herself and Sid on the
nightstand. "How can I get Hank to get that I share a lover and that,
for now, I’m okay with that?"
She looked again at the picture of herself and Sid. "God I love that
girl," she said. And what would Hank say to that?
…….
Sid jogged lightly up the subway steps. As she got near McKeown's she
saw Pikey standing in the doorway. She laughed to herself. He was
looking up and down the street anxiously. Then he saw her and his
expression visibly brightened. So much for the hard-assed womanizer.
She waved and ran the rest of the way.
Richard
Millmanis an international
lifelong squash professional - and husband, dad, grampa, writer, coach,
player, referee, innovator, maverick, mentor, team player, thinker,
listener, promoter, developer, retailer - who lives squash.
__________
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
