Chapter 19
Who Needs a Trophy?
by Al Tommervik


For Jerome Kucinich, Jerry represented unfinished business.

It had been most gratifying to get the call Sunday that his “brunch order” had been filled. Not only had he been the instrument to exterminate that Kiwi vermin Pike, he had saved the state the expense of trying him for the murder of Margaret Reynolds.

That left Jerry. Somehow he had been able to poison the atmosphere between Alexian and Destiny Living until Destiny had pulled out of their agreement to purchase Eastside. That deal had been his entry into the big time and the $5 million cancellation fee was no recompense. Jerry had to pay.

Kucinich learned that Jerry Fellowes spent every morning at a high-rise rehab project he was managing in Queens. Kuch’s Wednesday calendar indicated that he had no pressing business, so he decided to pay Jerry a visit. Donning steel-toed work boots and tucking a set of brass knuckles into his overcoat pocket, he set out for the site.

At the Queens site, Kucinich saw a man not dressed in work clothes standing outside the office trailer. Got to be Jerry, he thought. He shed his overcoat, fitted the brass knuckles and stepped out of the car.

“Hey! Are you Jerry Fellowes?”

“Yeah. Who’s ask ... oh ... it’s Jerome Kucinich, I believe.”

“That’s me and I’m here to make sure you understand to never intrude on my business affairs again.”

“Wha ...” Jerry’s question was cut off as Kucinich delivered an enhanced fist into his solar plexus. Jerry doubled over and Kucinich delivered a haymaker to his jaw.

Jerry flew backward and landed on the ground. He rolled over and got to his knees.

Through gritted teeth, Kucinich said, “You sonovabitch [kick to the ribs] ...

“don’t you EVER [kick to the ribs] ...

“mess in my business again!” [punch to the kidneys]

It took four of Jerry’s crew to subdue the adrenalin-fueled Kucinich. One of them asked, “Hey boss, you okay?”

Bleeding from his nose and mouth, Jerry shook his head and collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

***

At about that same time on Wednesday, in Manhattan, Hank was explaining the events of the last few days to Lotte Van Alstyne.

“Apparently Pike murdered Margaret and then attacked Kate outside the roller derby. We assume that’s the sequence since he dropped Margaret’s phone during the scuffle with Kate and her Mayhem saviors.

“Margaret’s body was discovered Monday. She was beaten so badly she was almost unrecognizable. On Tuesday, police visited her house in West Islip and discovered Pike dead in Margaret’s car in the garage. Apparently, he passed out with the car still running. He died of asphyxiation. At least it seems that way. There was an almost empty fifth of Chivas Regal and an open bottle of barbiturates on the seat next to him.”

“How awful! Is there anything we can do? Do you need anything?”

“Thanks, but we’re fine. Margaret had been out of my life for several years and Kate had left her a year ago. With Pike’s death it’s over; so we’re coping okay.”

“That’s good to hear.” Lotte hesitated. “I know this is a difficult time for you to assimilate changed circumstances, but some things have come up.

“With bidding for Eastside reopened, Destiny Living and one of Trump Enterprises’ subsidiaries have offered millions more than what we agreed to in the first place. And that has implications for you.”

Hank raised his eyebrows. “Congratulations, but I don’t see how your good fortune affects me.”

“Both bidders have agreed to permit Eastside to continue for a period of up to two years while we prepare the Lex site.

“A majority of the extra funds we’ll be receiving will go to start the Pieter Van Alstyne Squash Trust.”

“Nice! What will the trust do?”

“We’ll be depending on advice from you to finalize goals; but we have some preliminary thoughts. To honor Pieter, we’d like to sponsor an annual $100,000 tournament called the Opa Open. We also want to sponsor an annual Junior invitational tournament with the best young players from throughout the nation.

“That sounds terrific. Give me a few days to let this sink in.”

Lotte got up to leave. “Sure thing. Let’s talk after the Masters Tournament. I understand you and several members of the club are entered.”

“Yup. Be a great way to combat those stories that we’re closing if we can make a good showing.”

***

On Friday morning, Yvette and Hank were in the Eastside lounge, negotiating the logistics of Hank’s move to Yvette’s apartment. She had suggested it as a practical matter, “since my place is a lot closer to the club than yours. After the Masters, we can see how it goes.”

Hank was outflanked by Yvette’s negotiating skills at every turn. He resisted not bringing his overstuffed easy chair. “It’s the most comfortable thing I own.”

“I know you like it, but so did the cat of the previous owner who used it as a scratching post.” Eventually, Hank agreed to leave behind his second-, third-, and fourth-hand furniture as well as his posters of Beyonce and Scarlett Johansson.

“I do have one thing that’s bugging me about this,” Hank admitted. “Civilized people don’t put their red wine in the refrigerator.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to move in if I were civilized.”

“There is that.”

They were sitting there in companionable silence when Kate burst into the area, grabbed a chair and sat down.

“Dad, I need some money.”

“I guess that means you’ve joined us in the ninety-nine percent. I’ve been losing sleep over that.”

“Dad, this is serious.”

“What’s up?”

Kate took a deep breath and started talking in rapid-fire sentences.

“There’s this really cute guy. He works for Dupont and was showing our lead designer a new synthetic fabric they developed. He was hoping we’d use it in some of our high-fashion designs, but our designers gave him the brush-off.

“I caught up with him as he was leaving and asked him about the fabric. Turns out that among other properties it may be better uniform material than Lycra or Dry Wick.

“I told him that I was designing new roller-derby uniforms and asked how I could get a sample. He gave me a sample bolt, which was enough for me to cut and sew a uniform for April. Marie hand-painted the icons and lettering for me.

“Last night, the Mayhem had a practice and April wore my uniform. Everybody loved the design and April said the material felt good in action. The other players fingered the material and liked the feel of it. Now I have three weeks to produce the rest of the uniforms.

“So I need money to buy the material and pay for the silk screening.”

Hank grinned. “Not to mention you’ll need to call that really cute guy to arrange for the cloth.”

Kate nodded. “Some free-lance jobs have fringe benefits.”

“Here’s an idea for you. Your grandparents are in town looking after Margaret’s remains. With their help, maybe you can get the police to release Margaret’s Denali. After all, it apparently has nothing to do with a crime. It’s resale value will probably cover your expenses. If not, I can chip in the difference.”

“Great idea! Thanks, Dad. Got to run. Having lunch with the Dupont guy. Strictly business.”

“Sure it is. Have fun, Kate.”

***

Masters Tournament weekend was exhilarating. It was like old times. Hank relived stories with friends and former foes as well as shepherding club members to their matches.

On Sunday, three Eastside members had qualified for the finals. Marlene Kucinich and Yvette were set to square off in the over-35 flight, guaranteeing the club one championship. Hank was set to meet Ward Winston, a Canadian from Winnipeg, for the over-40 title.

Hank had lost a game in each of his matches while Winston had breezed through the early rounds in straight games. No one, not even other Canadians, knew much about Winston, other than that he was revered as the best high school athlete ever to come out of Manitoba.

Hank started the match by probing for Winston’s weaknesses. There seemed to be several holes in his game, but Winston won the first game 11-7.

Hank began exploiting Winston’s game in the second set and won 11-6, but was disconcerted to note that almost as fast as he took advantage of Winston’s game, Winston adjusted and the weakness disappeared. Still, Hank had enough guile to best the Canadian 11-9 in the third game.

In the break after the third game, Hank noticed that Winston seemed as fresh as when the match started. In contrast, sweat poured off Hank and he was definitely feeling the effort. Hank figured he needed the fourth game. If the match went to five games, Winston would have the upper hand.

Hank started fast in the game, taking an 8-2 lead. But nothing he tried after that worked. Winston won six straight points to equalize the score.

As a last ditch effort, Hank decided quicken the pace, taking each ball earlier. The tactic took Winston by surprise and Hank won the point to go up 9-8. Winston rebounded strong, but five straight rails by the Canadian resulted in Lets. Frustrated, Winston slammed a ball in the next rally out against the right wall.

At 10-8, Hank kept driving Winston against the back wall with deep shots, then dropped a perfect shot into the right corner. Winston raced forward and managed the return. As he back-pedaled toward the T, Hank dropped a second shot in the same place. This time Winston was off balance as he lunged and made the return. Hank slammed the ball against the wall and it careened off the floor at Winston’s feet for the match winner.

***

Leaving the court, Hank stopped short at the sight of a man in a wheelchair. “Jerry? Jesus! What happened to you?”

“Kucinich. I wish I could say you should see the other guy, but I am the other guy. He really gave me a going over, ruptured spleen, bruised kidney, broken ribs, fractured jaw, the whole nine yards. But I’ll be okay. Congrats on the win.”

“I got the message that you were canceling your sessions for a while, but no one said you were hurt.”

“Yeah, well, things were a little dicey for a bit.”

At that moment, Yvette walked up. “Jerry! No cat would drag in something that looked like you.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

“If you promise to do that every day, I’ll start my rehab at Eastside pronto.”

Hank noticed that Yvette was carrying a plaque instead of a trophy. “Hey, did Marlene actually beat you? I didn’t see that coming.”

“I don’t need a trophy.” Yvette smiled as she wrapped her arm around Hank’s waist. “Squash has given me something far better.”





Al Tommervik is a journalist, tech writer, and pseudo-techie.

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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.