The Tournament

by Angelo Kontos

  That incident was the beginning of a downhill slide their family would never recover from. Matt’s mother’s mental state appeared to gradually deteriorate. A few of their neighbours became concerned when they saw her talking to herself one day in a local grocery store. She was wearing a fur coat in the middle of summer and the bottom was torn and dragged behind her when she walked.

  The final straw came when Matt’s father was so bold with his infidelity that he brought it right into their home.

  For many years, his mother had attended the same pilates class at a nearby studio in the afternoon. However, now that her behaviour was becoming more erratic, she was not keeping to her routines and her husband was not paying attention…even though he could have sworn she told him that morning that she was going to pilates.

  He left work early and arranged for a romp in the house with one of his preferred call girls. Matt’s mother came home and found another woman leapfrogging her husband in their bed. The escort grabbed her clothes and ran out of there, but the damage was done, and Matt’s father did not even try to apologize. He simply got dressed and went back to his office.

  At the time, Matt’s mother did not confront him. She simply went downstairs, poured herself a cup of coffee and sat in the kitchen silently staring into space. But late that night, dressed only in her nightgown, she ran up and down their street screaming hysterically. Matt and his father loaded her up in the car and took her to the hospital where she was sedated. She expressed suicidal thoughts and was kept in the psychiatric unit for a week.

  Upon being discharged from hospital, Mrs. Richards went directly to a lawyer’s office. Matt was in the kitchen when she arrived later that afternoon with his grandparents.

  He was home alone eating leftover pizza from the box when his mother walked in and announced that she was leaving. Matt didn’t say anything while his grandparents helped his mother collect as many of her belongings as she could fit into her luggage and a few boxes.

  On the way out, Matt’s grandmother turned to him and said, “I’m ashamed of you.”

  The next day Matt’s father was served with separation papers. His mother also went to the police and said that her husband hit her and that she was afraid of him.

  Did she have any proof?

  Yes, she had a picture of the most recent assault.

  The morning after the slap, she took a photo of herself and the image clearly showed a bruised cheek. She only wished she had taken more photos from all the other times over the years, she told police.

  Who knew about this?

  Her parents. She had been too scared to tell anyone else.

  Would she be willing to provide a full statement?

  Absolutely.

  A day or so later, Matt’s father was picked up and charged with assault.

  Police conditions ordered him to keep away from his wife. Matt’s mother stayed with her parents and his father immediately violated his conditions by showing up there and banging on the door. Police were called and he was promptly re-arrested.

  Eventually, Mrs. Richards’ lawyer dropped by to see Matt’s father at his office and informed him that his wife would ask police to drop the charges only after a large sum of money was transferred into her private account.

  “That sounds like extortion,” Mr. Richards said angrily.

  “Call it whatever you want,” the lawyer responded coolly. “We can just proceed with the charge. This isn’t the 1950s anymore, sir. It’s not okay to hit a woman.”

  She would get this money one way or the other through the divorce, the lawyer reasoned. If the cash were provided now as a gesture of good faith so she could restart her life and if Matt’s father agreed to never contact her again, all she would ask for in a year when the divorce was finalized would be half the money from selling the house.

  “I paid for that house,” his father objected.

  “Not negotiable,” the lawyer answered. “She doesn’t ever want to look at it again, but she also doesn’t want you to have it.”

  Matt was old enough to avoid a custody issue. As far as Matt’s mother was concerned, her grown son made a choice the night his father struck her when he stood by and did nothing. It broke her heart, but she could no longer watch who Matt was becoming and needed distance from him as well.

  The lawyer also made it clear that details of the assault charge could be strategically leaked and devastate Matt’s father professionally. If he tried to contest the divorce, his wife would talk about being assaulted in open court. She even had copies of his credit card statements, which contained numerous billings from escort agencies. He had made no real effort to be discreet and his poor wife ended up in a psych ward as a result. People even saw her in grocery stores and on the street looking dishevelled and acting nuts. The court would cry her a river of sympathy.

  Matt’s father had no choice.

  All of a sudden, it seemed like she’d known exactly what she was doing, and his father never saw any of it coming. His soon-to-be ex-wife then bought a condo and created a small business for herself as an independent interior designer. She wanted no contact with Matt or his father.

  After his parents split, the house was sold quickly, and Matt’s father seemed to want nothing to do with Matt except to provide him with some initial cash up front. It was enough to keep him in school and hockey.

  “You can keep the boat, too,” he said.

  Matt kept the boat. The drugs and women would follow.

  56.

  At approximately 1:30 a.m., Eddie Mark fired up his multiconsole video game paradise complete with surround sound. As much as he enjoyed gaming, it was not like Eddie to play this late at night unless he was on vacation or battling a cold.

  His employers had agreed to let him use banked-up vacation days all at once. That should be good enough to cover The Tournament since he never took vacation. He was all in now and playing real hockey again. Eddie loaded a violent shooting game – he felt the need to let off some steam.

  It was not that often anymore that Eddie had nightmares about what happened to his friend Tommy so many years ago. However, whenever he did have a bad dream like tonight, he had an almost uncanny and subconscious ability to keep the dream short and wake himself up before things got too bad. Then he spent the rest of the time imagining how awful the dream would have been had he not woken up. He may as well have just had the longer, more awful dream. It was a vicious cycle. Eddie rubbed his eyes and increased the volume on the game. He wanted to hear the violence.

  Inevitably, he thought of his friend Tommy and replayed the seconds that led to the devastating incident in his mind.

  #9 on the opposing team had been playing with a chip on his shoulder that night. Even though it was a recreational game, Eddie had shadowed him out of habit more than anything else. #9 told Eddie to back off, so Eddie shadowed him more. #9 gave him a few cross-checks and slashes, which Eddie ignored while continuing to check him closely every time he tried to touch the puck. The more frustrated #9 became, the more Eddie knew he was “doing his job,” although unlike the Deep Six days, this recreational game meant nothing, and he should have known better.

  The breaking point came when #9 leaned in close and rubbed shoulders with Eddie as they lined up against each other for a faceoff.

  “You stupid chink,” he snarled, lifting his stick up as hard as he could into Eddie’s groin.

  The puck dropped and the play started.

  Eddie absorbed the blow with a loud grunt, but he stayed on his feet as his jock absorbed most of the impact. He remembered his legs shaking as he skated. He also recalled seeing red flashes of anger.

  For the rest of the game, Eddie turned on his jets and outpaced #9 on every play. When Eddie stripped him of the puck while he was in the middle of winding up for a shot, something must have snapped in #9 because he became enraged and chased Eddie back up the ice.

  Eddie did not notice #9 coming up from behind him like a freight train until the very last second.
He could hear players yelling in his direction, but he did not understand they were trying to warn him. As he turned his head to see #9 holding his stick up menacingly in the air, Eddie didn’t even have time to brace himself before Tommy flew across to intercept the blow.

  A vicious swing of the stick connected directly with the side of Tommy’s helmet, and in one horrific motion #9 drove him headfirst into the ice while landing on top of him in the process. Before Eddie and other players could react, #9 landed two more punches and Tommy’s head bounced off the ice both times.

  Chaos ensued. #9 was tackled and restrained. Tommy lay on the ice motionless and in a bloody mess. His eyes were opening and closing, and he was making horrible noises. Someone yelled at him not to move. Someone else yelled at someone else to call an ambulance.

  Eddie was stunned and disoriented. He got down on his knees and crawled over to Tommy. In all the competitive games he’d played in his life, nothing like this ever happened. This was supposed to be a pickup game for fun.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Eddie whispered into his ear. “We’re getting help. You’re going to be okay.”

  After ten very long minutes, paramedics arrived and worked quickly to secure Tommy to a spinal board and load him into the ambulance. He seemed to be semi-conscious and breathing the entire time, so all the players exchanged assurances that he would be fine.

  #9 was arrested and charged.

  On the way to the hospital, Eddie thought how lucky Tommy was to avoid severe injury in an on-ice attack that he knew had been meant for him. When he arrived and learned more about his friend’s condition, Eddie came to realize that Tommy was not so lucky after all.

  The charge on #9 was upgraded to aggravated assault.

  Eddie never played hockey again. Until now.

  57.

  Alex and Isaac stood just inside the main door of an apartment building that was dimly lit and smelled like bleach. There were two torn-up leather couches nearby and 1970s-era wallpaper was plastered everywhere.

  Isaac stood there clutching his guitar in one hand and sunglasses in the other. He looked serious for a change.

  “Alex, my man, I’m not letting you do this,” he said. “Let’s just go.”

  “You are letting me do this,” Alex responded. “Now get out of my way before I punch you in the face.”

  “I’m gonna sell my guitar. And some of my other stuff.”

  “No, you’re not going to sell your guitar. And if that ‘other stuff’ is what I remember, why not just cut off one of your limbs?”

  “I ain’t taking handouts from you,” Isaac said.

  “It’s not a handout, alright?” Alex said. “You can pay me back whenever. Let me just help you get back on your feet.”

  Isaac put on his sunglasses and crossed his arms. The guitar was now on the floor leaning against his leg.

  “Look, buddy. I’m sorry it took this long for us to reconnect, but you know how I feel about you,” Alex said. “When we were kids, you stood by me when no one else would, and I’ve never forgotten that.”

  “You did the same for me, so fuck you,” Isaac replied.

  “If I needed help, wouldn’t you help me?” Alex asked.

  “You know I would.”

  “Alright, then. Get over it. It’s just money.”

  Isaac dug in his pockets and pulled out a small notepad and pencil that he used to write song lyrics. He leaned the pad up against the door and scribbled something on it.

  “What are you doing?” Alex asked.

  “You gotta sign this,” Isaac responded as he handed Alex the notepad.

  Alex studied it and read aloud:

  “I, Alex the Sexy Beast, agree to help Mr. Big Time get back into his personal HQ cuz he’ll pay me back with interest.”

  He looked at Isaac. “Interest?”

  “After my record deal…I’m gonna pay you back with interest.”

  “Right, of course,” Alex nodded.

  Isaac held out his pencil. “We both have to sign it.”

  Alex looked at Isaac and realized how important this was to him. He scribbled his initials on the bottom of the pad. Isaac signed as well before ripping the sheet out and handing it over.

  “You gotta put this on your fridge,” Isaac said.

  Alex took the paper and put it in his pocket. “As soon as I get home. Now let’s go find your landlord and get you back into your personal HQ.”

  Isaac picked up his guitar and grinned. “Let’s go, baby.”

  58.

  When Corey received a text message from the Associate Lawyer to meet in his office, he was unsure what to make of it at first. He was at the Arena Gardens watching the last full practice before the start of The Tournament when his phone went off. Corey had been planning to get Helen some flowers before treating her to an extravagant, late dinner that he would have to buy since he could not cook anything.

  Corey had even thought about toning down his indiscretions and behaving himself. He realized he was building a public profile that he would soon have to protect.

  Still, he was curious to see where his mistress was coming from after he’d put her in her place, so he agreed to meet. As he walked into his office, Corey saw a light on in the bathroom and heard the sink faucet being turned off. A pillow and blanket were set up on the couch.

  After a moment, the bathroom door opened, and the Associate Lawyer stepped out. She was dressed in a short red silk robe that Corey instantly wanted to rip off, but he checked himself and maintained a neutral expression.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Corey immediately wondered if he was being trapped. But how? This was his office. He came in prepared to hear some ultimatum, or at the very least another plea to put her name forward again for a promotion.

  “I wanted you to come,” she replied. “I wanted you to come because I thought about what you said. I should not have been pushing you and I won’t anymore.”

  “Good,” he said.

  “And I wanted you.”

  It was late and there was no one else around. The security camera on the wall had been deactivated. Corey had gone down and personally watched the IT guy disable it and arranged for security to not say anything to the other partners. He needed privacy for these little rendezvous-type meetings.

  Corey thought of Helen and his plan to get her flowers and a nice dinner. He felt a relatively minor shot of guilt jab him in the stomach, but then he looked over at the sexy Associate Lawyer who was lying on the couch waiting for him.

  “Come over here,” she said seductively.

  Corey pulled out his cellphone and sent Helen a quick text that he was at the office and would be late coming home. Then he took off his jacket and loosened his tie.

  He could start toning down his indiscretions tomorrow.

  59.

  Diana and Alex were in a furniture store and Alex was bored out of his mind. The transition to living together a few years earlier had been so natural that soon neither of them could imagine living any other way. Alex was admiring the latest flat-screen televisions when Diana called him over to look at coffee tables.

  “What do you think of this one?” she asked.

  “It’s nice.”

  Diana pointed to another table.

  “How about that one?”

  “That’s nice too.”

  “Well, which one do you like better?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Alex, just pick one.” Diana said impatiently.

  “Okay, fine. That one,” Alex said, pointing to the first table.

  Diana looked upset. She pointed to the second one.

  “What’s wrong with that one?” she asked.

  “Oh my God, Dee. If you want to get that one, say you want to get that one. All I care about is what they cost.”

  “Well, I want it to be one that both of us like,” Diana said. She came over and put her arms around him.

  “Can I put my feet up on either on
e of them?” he asked.

  “Not a chance.”

  “I don’t care then,” he said and gave her a kiss.

  Alex’s cellphone rang and he answered it.

  “Hi, Mom. What’s up? We’re just out buying a table that I probably won’t be allowed to touch.”

  “Hi Alex, sweetheart,” his mother said. “Listen…I hate to ask, but can you come home, son? Something’s wrong. I don’t feel well.”

  Alex’s face registered alarm and Diana noticed.

  “Alex…” Diana said.

  “We have to go. Right now.”

  On the way to his mother’s house, Diana tried calming Alex down by reassuring him that whatever was bothering his mother was probably not serious…maybe a bad virus. Alex made Diana nervous when he put his emergency blinkers on and drove well above the speed limit to get home.

  His mother had never once asked him to come home. Not ever. She never asked him for anything. It was not in her nature and maybe Diana thought he was making a big deal about this, but Alex knew that he was not. He quickly told Diana a story about how his mother once got hit in the face with an errant baseball while picking him up in the schoolyard when he was little. The ball broke her nose, and she was bleeding all over the place, but she had to be forced to go to the hospital.

  She just did not like to ask for help.

  Alex also gave a passing thought to whether it was possible those men had returned, but he quickly put that out of his mind. He and his mother had discussed this scenario many times over the years, and she would have found a way to warn him. They had code words and she had not used any of them.

  Alex and Diana arrived at the house and Alex burst through the door. He called out his mother’s name.

  “I’m in my room,” she called back.

  They hurried to the main bedroom and found Alex’s mother lying on her bed with a cold compress on her head and a hand resting on the left side of her stomach. She laughed when she saw Alex and Diana out of breath.

  “Oh, you two are crazy,” she said. “You didn’t need to rush.”