Next World Series (Vol. 3): Families First [Second Wind]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  Saying our goodbyes, Mike took the truck slowly over the ridge. “How’s your leg?” he asked.

  “Well, the bumps in the road don’t help,” I said.

  “I’ll bet; hopefully, we’ll be on the pavement in 15 miles or so. Anyway, you and Mel really stepped up last night and helped me out. Sorry about the bullet wound.”

  “It’s fine. You saved that boy, and that’s always going to be worth some trouble. Plus, now I’m not the only one in my family who didn’t get lost or injured. It’s weird, but that was making me feel bad. Does that make sense?”

  “Oddly, it does,” replied Mike.

  The winding fire road was clear of large rocks and ran through the tree- and bush-covered landscapes of the backside of the mountain.

  Slowing every 50 yards to navigate large ruts in the road, Mike thankfully was mindful of my leg and did his best to keep the ride smooth.

  “Your boys…they are respectful and tough. How did you manage that?” Mike asked.

  “All of this,” I said, waving my arm around at the surrounding land, “makes them tough. Everyday training keeps them respectful.”

  “Did you know I’m a twin?” asked Mike.

  “No, I’ve never heard that.” I was surprised, since one of the classic, usually true, stereotypes of having twins is that anyone else who has a twin, is a twin, or knows a twin, will always tell you so when they meet yours.

  “Boy or girl?” I asked.

  “Arthur. His name was Arthur, and he died in our senior year of high school.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I replied, not having a clue of what it would be like to lose a twin.

  “He was my best friend,” Mike continued. “Do you want to hear about him?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “By the way, I know you kept our last conversation, when we were going to get Hendrix, confidential, since I would have heard about it if you hadn’t. This story is the same, if you want to hear it.”

  “Of course. And yes, I didn’t tell anyone about the last one.”

  “My dad left my mom when we were young, making it hard for her to make ends meet, and I had no choice but to step up and take care of my twin brother and sister, Lily. In middle school, the kids teased my brother and me about our shabby clothes. Arthur was slow, and nobody knew what was wrong with him, but the other kids were brutal. It started with name-calling, and it wasn’t too bad at first, since Arthur didn’t understand it. I was an awkward, skinny 14-year-old when it got bad. The bullies beat my brother up almost every week. I wanted to help but was too scared. I tried to tell them to stop, but they wouldn’t.

  “Two weeks before the end of the school year, I finally got up the courage to fight back. It was a Friday after school, and the bullies surrounded Arthur, just as always. Something was different today, and I had had enough of the teasing and hitting and watching my brother cry himself to sleep every night. This day I snapped. Screaming and crying, I swung my arms wildly, connecting with the meanest bully’s face and torso, striking him over and over.

  “Arthur smiled at me, with blood pouring from his mouth, and said thank you as the rest of the group beat us down. The blood from both of us when we got home was enough for our mom to bring us to the church that very night.

  “Father Corraso listened patiently to her pleas to tell God to make it stop. The good Father pulled me aside and told me I was brave for standing up to those boys. “They will most likely leave you alone, now that they know you will fight back,” he told me.

  “That didn’t happen, and the last two weeks of school were littered with nearly daily beatings for us both. On the following Sunday, after mass, Father Corraso introduced Arthur and me to a friend and longtime parishioner of the Church.”

  “Have you ever heard of the Great Bambino?” asked the priest to us both.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied. “He’s the greatest baseball player of all time.”

  “Yes, he is,” Father Corraso agreed. “But I mean the other one, the boxer. What’s happening to you and your brother is not right. Be assured that God is with you, and He has brought you here. Joey, also known as the Great Bambino, is the best boxer to ever come out of Brooklyn, and let’s just say he feels like he owes me a favor. I never considered taking him up on it until today.”

  “I met the gigantic cruiserweight with a fist bump.”

  “If you want to learn how to protect yourself and your brother, be at my gym every morning, Monday through Friday, at 5 a.m. sharp,” he told me.

  “I’ll give you an hour before I start training each day. Miss a day, and the training is over. Understand?”

  “‘Yes, sir,’ I told him, with more excitement than I can ever remember since.

  “With the help of Father Corraso, they convinced our mother that the training was necessary to protect Arthur at school.

  “I showed up at the gym every day before 5 a.m., walking the five long blocks, with Arthur tagging along as a spectator most days. Even when I was sick or tired, I never missed a morning.

  “Day by day and week by week, I learned to fight. Changing my diet, with the help of Joey’s trainers who took a shine to my always-smiling brother, I added 30 pounds of muscle and grew six inches that summer.

  “At the start of our freshman year, I was no longer weak or afraid. On our second day back, the bullies targeted us like before, but I wasn’t the same scared kid from the last school year. Facing off each bully, one by one, I protected Arthur for the very first time. I’ll never forget that day as long as I live,” Mike said, grinning as I had never seen him.

  “I gained new respect that day among all the school students but was challenged frequently after that by tough guys looking for a name.

  “Arthur died three years later, just shy of graduation, from an unknown disease. The doctors said it was pneumonia, but I always believed he died of the same disease that he lived with his entire life.”

  Mike was going to stop there, having already shared more personal information than he could ever remember, but he kept going as he felt something heavy being lifted off of his chest slowly, layer by layer.

  “I stalked the head bully who had tormented my brother a few years before,” he continued, “hoping to find something to numb the pain of losing my best friend and brother. Careful and calculating, I was able to make the bully’s death appear like an accident, falling out of a three-story window at a drunken high-school party in our senior year.

  “I felt a little better after the bully’s death, but my pain remained. I would never forget the names and faces of the other three who beat my brother so many times.

  “Should I stop?” Mike asked. “I mean, is this too much for you, Lance?”

  “No, it’s OK, but you know I’m going to pray for you when you’re done—right?”

  “That’s what I was hoping for,” he replied seriously.

  Mike continued: “I took one on the wharf with only a pocketknife, at a deserted shipyard on a cool October night. A friend of mine and future police partner helped to lure the unsuspecting teen with the promise of a drug sale.

  “The final two bullies died that year, with the last one during my academy training. They were sloppy and rushed, with me hoping to feel normal after the final revenge of my brother’s torment. My carelessness would cause me many sleepless nights, as I thought the investigation might lead back to me. I wasn’t concerned about being caught, but I knew that I couldn’t avenge Lily’s death from behind bars. A few connections were made during the church trial that could have linked back to me, but nothing stuck.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, feeling like I was in the middle of a big hoax. “You’re serious about this, right?” I had to ask, even though I knew the truth. “And what about your sister?” I added, without waiting for a response. On the one hand, I should have been shocked by his admissions, and on the other, I wasn’t surprised and needed to know how the story ended.

  “My sister, Lily, was beautiful, smart, and the most popu
lar girl in school. I adored her and would do anything for her. Fighting in Brooklyn’s bare-fisted underground fight clubs on the weekends, I would earn as much as $200 for a win. I clothed her and Arthur in the best attire I could find, spending every penny. I gave them everything money could buy, which our mother could not afford, taking nothing for myself. Lily was taken on her senior year prom night. She was ravaged, beaten and killed, left like garbage on the side of a deserted road running deep through the Pine Barrens of north-central New Jersey.”

  There were tears in Mike’s eyes for only the second time I had witnessed.

  “I loved her more than anything in this world, after Arthur was gone.” He paused for more than a minute, not saying a word and staring straight ahead down the mountain road.

  I took the opportunity to look around at the countryside and glance at the map.

  “I joined the Academy six months after graduation,” Mike continued, “vowing to find her killer. As it turns out, there were three…

  “Let’s stop for a minute and take a look at the map,” he said.

  We found the shortcut road David had highlighted with a neon marker, heading from our location straight over to Interstate 25.

  “Let’s stay sharp and get there in one piece,” Mike said.

  Pushing my instincts aside to ask him to continue the story, I got focused on the trip forward.

  Following the map, one fire road leads into the next, and eventually to the highway.

  We turned north on I-25, headed the last few miles down Raton Pass.

  The barricade was much the same as the first we had encountered on the opposite end of the pass. Slowing the truck to a stop, we exited. My crutches slowed me considerably, but one of the guards recognized Mike from the other barrier, and our lifetime pass was granted this time.

  The lines of people headed to the FEMA camp were decreasing considerably since last time in Amarillo, leading me to believe that more people had either made it by now or headed out on their own.

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen ~ FEMA Camp

  Trinidad, Colorado

  Reaching the front of the camp, we stuck out in the only vehicle not inside the gates. We were ordered out of the truck and questioned as to our intent.

  Relaying the story about Vlad, the lead soldier dropped his serious demeanor and asked us to wait while he called the Colonel.

  Fifteen minutes later, he came back and shook our hands. “The Colonel is en route to meet with you two.”

  “That’s good luck,” I told Mike. “We didn’t expect him to be here.”

  “He’s not,” replied the soldier. “He’s going to helicopter in from a base in Denver to meet you. Hang tight. He will be here in about 90 minutes.”

  I resisted the urge to make a joke about the Colonel having nothing better to do than fly around to hang out with civilians. It was dawning on me that the sarcastic tone I had carried around since I was a kid could get me in some real trouble now if I wasn’t careful.

  We hung out at the truck, wondering in earnest why the Colonel would fly in to meet us.

  * * * *

  “Can I get the rest of the story?” I asked Mike, both interested and wanting to kill time.

  “OK,” he replied, “but you’re hearing things I’ve never told another person, even Father Corraso. I’m not sure you really want to hear the rest.”

  “Fair enough, Mike,” I told him, surprised at myself for openly engaging what I now believed to be a serial killer with a new girlfriend and next-world adopted son.

  “I’m guessing,” I continued, “that you have never hurt a woman or a child. Is that correct?”

  “I have sworn to protect them both and will never waiver.”

  “OK, then I’m ready to hear the rest,” I replied.

  “After my sister’s death,” he continued, “I worked every tireless lead for months. The break came in a routine lineup, when I questioned a man who was a secondary driver to a bodega robbery apparently gone bad.

  “I was able to get an off-the-record confession about the murder of my sister and pulled a few strings to let the man leave the precinct.

  “Taking the next four days off, I followed him, observing his daily routine and vowing revenge for my sister. The killer’s death was slow, over 18 hours. Drugging him, I brought him back deep into the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, to the same spot my sister was found. The slow torture revealed two more accomplices.

  “Two agonizing years later, I had brought all three men to street justice and gained revenge for my beloved sister.

  “I met the love of my life, Kelly, during this pivotal time in my life. Of course, I had dated other girls before, but only briefly since they never seemed to get me.

  “Kelly was different. I first saw her driving in a bright yellow Dodge Charger while my partner and I were on patrol. Pulling up beside her, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. A half-mile down the road, I noticed her left brake light was out and pulled her over for a warning. We hit it off, talking for more than 30 minutes right on the side of the road.

  “I courted her slowly and carefully, since she was gun-shy from her last boyfriend, who beat her up on multiple occasions. Even the restraining order she had on him didn’t seem to help. It had been more than two months since he beat her last, but she was scared every day and always looking over her shoulder.

  “I took care of him one Sunday afternoon on my day off and was still back in time for the Giants game. I had told Kelly that the man was gone and would never be back to hurt her. She thanked me nervously but never asked about it again…

  “There were others over the next half-decade that crossed me in one way or another—one trying to flirt openly with Kelly and another cheating in a neighborhood poker game. There were more, and I can’t recall the reasoning for a few others, but I’m sure there must have been one.

  “You and I, we are even now,” he said. “I helped you with Hendrix, and you helped me with Javi.”

  “That won’t last long,” I said, “as I’ll hopefully owe you in just a minute… I’m asking for a favor now, Mike. That you will talk with me first, should anything go down with you and Jake.”

  “That’s the favor you want?” Mike asked, surprised.

  “I have my reasons, but yes, that is what I am asking.”

  “I will do my best to honor your request, should that situation ever arise,” Mike replied.

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling hopeful about at least one issue.

  “Are you going to pray for me now?” asked Mike.

  “I already have.”

  * * * *

  The Colonel arrived on a helicopter, landing near the truck.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, with his hand out. “We were expecting you sooner or later.”

  “We wanted to check on our friend Vlad and hopefully bring him home. Is he still alive?” I asked.

  “Yes, he’s alive and recovering well from the surgery. It’s complicated, though, this whole thing. I’m sure you can understand that we can’t just allow people from the outside to be dropped off here for life-saving medical care, only to turn around and walk right out the door once they’re better. It doesn’t look good to everyone here, to the residents or even the guards.”

  I didn’t like it, but I understood what he was saying.

  “Will you be attending the fights today, Colonel?” asked one of his men. “We’ve got some good ones on the schedule.”

  “What fights?” Mike asked him, as we kept walking.

  “Look at this,” said the Colonel, pulling back the canvas siding of a large circus-style tent. Bleachers on all four sides surrounded a bonafide boxing ring.

  “Can I check it out?” asked Mike.

  “Sure. See what you think,” the Colonel replied.

  Mike jumped inside, shadow boxing for about a minute. “This is the real deal,” he concluded.

  “How is this even here?” I asked.

  “There’s one in almost eve
ry men’s facility across the country,” replied the Colonel. “It’s an essential tool for keeping the peace. All scores are settled right here. Occasionally, even the guards will have a match, but only with each other. It’s the only fighting allowed here. We have matches every Monday and Friday. Anyone can fight, and we try to match up the weight classes as close as possible.”

  “I used to fight,” said Mike, hoping for an invitation. “Do the winners get bragging rights or something else?”

  “Both,” replied the Colonel. “Win a fight, and they get to be one of the first through the mess hall. Win two, and they get to switch jobs with anybody here for a month, minus the guards and other military, of course. Become a running champion with more than three fights won in a row, and they get to be the big man, with eating privileges and no job for the next month.”