by Gemma Bruce
Tommy didn’t laugh at her. He exploded.
“Don’t get near him. He’s got ’roid rage.”
She agreed. Steroid aggression. Violent behavior. And with the extra strength and adrenaline high, a man could be lethal. She didn’t give a shit. He was going down.
“I’m coming over there. Stay put.”
“Bring food,” she said before he hung up. J.T. saw a flash of white and then Kurt’s SUV drive past. She grabbed her notebook, camera, and ran outside to intercept him. But by the time she reached the SUV he’d gone into his room. She knocked.
The door swung open. Kurtz was wearing a suit and carrying two large suitcases. He brushed past her and threw the suitcases into the back of the SUV.
J.T. raised her camera. “Smile, you conniving son of a bitch.”
Kurtz looked around the back of the SUV. J.T. clicked.
“Gimme that.” Kurtz lunged at her.
She hopped out of the way. “Clumsy, Kurtzie. All that new beef. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to stack? It makes your testicles dry up.”
Kurtz yanked open the door to the SUV. J.T. took another picture, then stepped in front of the open door.
“Why are you so dressed up? Going to confess your sins? Or driving to Pittsburgh for an exclusive interview?”
His eyes widened. She’d guessed right. He was on his way to his fifteen minutes of fame. She had to find a way to stop him.
“Move, bitch. Or I’ll run right over you.”
“Well, before you do, let me give you a piece of advice. You slander Tommy’s name and he’ll sue you every which way to Sunday. I’ll plaster your name over every sports page in the country. And you’ll never, never work in any league again.”
“Yeah, right. Who’s gonna believe a bitch that gets naked in front of a camera?”
“You’ll pay for dredging that up, too. I won’t be the only one screwed by the press. I’ll strip you down until there’s nothing left but bones.”
Kurtz turned on the engine.
“You won’t do shit. I’m innocent. Tommy duped me.”
“Yeah and why would he do that?”
“’Cause he hates me. So he fucked me over with Bernie. He sold me steroids, and told me they were vitamins. Now get outta my way.”
He pushed the gears into reverse. The door hit J.T.’s back. “You remember what I said, Kurtz. You have a chance of coming back if you don’t totally fuck yourself over. Nobody will believe you.”
Kurtz leaned out the open door and shoved her. She staggered back and he swung the door shut. The SUV backed up, screeched to a stop, then shot forward, spraying gravel. The SUV squealed out of the parking lot just as Tommy drove in.
J.T. stood where she was. Surprised that she’d actually had the foolhardiness to threaten Kurtz. Actually she was pretty proud of herself. She’d gotten a real Clint Eastwood spin on the thing. But she bet Clint’s knees didn’t knock together when it was over.
Tommy jumped out of the Beemer. “What the hell happened?”
“Kurtz is going on television. I tried to talk him out of it. But it was a no go.”
Tommy grabbed her, shook her, then enclosed her in a bear hug. “Didn’t I tell you not to get near him? God knows what he could’ve done.”
J.T. squirmed out of his embrace and stepped back. “You know, Tommy. People, men, have been telling me what to do all my life. It hasn’t worked so great. I’m trying a new approach.”
“You could get yourself killed.”
“Well, at least it would be my choice. Did you bring food? A good confrontation always spikes my appetite.”
Tommy growled, stormed back to the BMW, and pulled out a huge brown bag from Angelo’s.
He carried it inside, put it on the desk, and started taking out containers. “Ziti, salad, and a bunch of stuff I didn’t order.”
“That was fast.”
“I called ahead.”
“I’m sorry, Tommy.”
“For what?”
“For not stopping Kurtz, for upsetting you.” She shrugged and took the bottle of soda he handed her.
“For sticking up for me to Jeff Whitelaw? For putting your life in danger by confronting Kurtz?” He turned away and began opening tins. “For believing in me?”
“Oh Christ, Tommy. No one will believe you had anything to do with it. It was such an obvious plant—”
“There was a news camera at the station when we got there. They’d gotten an anonymous tip.”
J.T. closed her eyes. “Not me. Not Bernie or Larry or any of the players. They wouldn’t.”
“I know that. But somebody knew in advance that I was going to be arrested and made the call.”
“Someone in the sheriff’s office? Kurtz.”
“Or whoever is manipulating Kurtz,” Tommy said. J.T. stood up, started pacing. “Mayor Wiggins. Who else could be behind this? I don’t know of anyone who has anything to gain from smearing your—” She stopped, recalling the day in the parking lot and Mayor Wiggins saying he would smear Tommy’s name until the town drove him away. J.T. thought he’d meant by accusing Tommy of standing in the way of progress, but maybe he’d meant something else.
“What are you thinking? I don’t like that look.”
“Shh.” She quickly scrolled through the acts of sabotage, the accidents, and now Tommy’s arrest. She couldn’t picture Charlie Wiggins bashing a pipe with a sledgehammer. Or maybe she could, but run down Sanchez? And certainly not mug Pisano where he might be recognized, caught even. She sank onto the bed. Rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her chin in her hands.
“Conspiracy,” she said.
Tommy put the plate of food he’d been about to hand her back on the desk.
“Who? And why?” He sat down beside her. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me.”
“Me either. And they’re not getting away with it, no matter who they are.”
They sat there side by side without talking. J.T. heard cars coming into the lot. The team was back. She wanted to question them, but she didn’t want to leave Tommy. He seemed so helpless.
There was a knock on the door. “Tommy? You in there? J.T.?” It was Danny Lewis. “Me and some of the guys are going over to the Pine Tree if you want to join us. We know those things Kurtz said aren’t true. So don’t you worry about that.” Agreement from several other voices. “Well, see ya later. I hope.”
J.T. patted Tommy’s knee. “Let’s eat and make an appearance.”
It was getting dark when they walked across the road to the Pine Tree. Several players were sitting at the big round booth in the corner. They waved Tommy and J.T. over. Ramirez and Oblonsky got out to make room for them, then pulled up two more chairs.
“Man, that sucks what Kurtz did,” said Ramirez. J.T. was surprised. “I thought you and he were buddies.”
Ramirez shook his head, obviously trying to distance himself from Kurtz. “We just used to kid around and stuff. But man, this. It’s bad shit.”
“Did you know he was taking steroids?”
She felt Tommy nudge her thigh. She ignored him.
“No. I wouldn’t do any of that shit.” He broke into a grin. “Kills your cajones.” He wiped the grin off his face. “But like shit, man. I didn’t know about Kurtz, just that he was building up, but man, like he was always making these special shakes in his room and shit. And working out all the time.”
“Have any idea where he might have gotten them?”
Ramirez held up both hands and shook them. “Off the street maybe.”
“Don’t say it.” Gogo Benitez was halfway out of his seat.
Oblonsky pushed him back down. “Cut it out, Gogo. He’s not pointing the finger at the Mexicans. Lots of people sell shit on the street. Hell, he might have brought them with him.”
“He couldn’t have gotten them from someone on the team?”
The guys all looked at each other. Shook their heads.
“None of us do drugs,” said Oblonsky. “
So we don’t really know what he could get here.”
“What about the trainer?” J.T. couldn’t remember his name. He only worked for the Beavers part time.
“Nah, Stan’s Mr. Back to Nature. Works at that health club that just opened up near the highway.”
Danny Lewis looked past them. His eyes widened. “Shit.”
Expecting Kurtz, J.T. turned to look.
It was Kurtz all right, but not in the flesh. Bobby Kurtz was on the nine o’clock news.
“Turn that up,” Pisano called to the bartender, and Kurtz’s voice filled the room. J.T. slipped her hand in Tommy’s but her eyes focused on the television.
“So, Bobby. Tell us just what happened.”
“I still can’t believe it. I mean I would never have taken them, but it was Tommy B. I was flattered that he was taking an interest in me, you know?”
“The fucking liar,” said Oblonsky.
“He was here last fall between seasons. And he said he took this great vitamin supplement and he had some in his car if I was interested. So I said, sure, why not? And they really helped. I mean I was working out all the time, trying to get fit, you know. I had a lot more energy after I started taking Tommy’s pills. So when he left for spring training, I bought enough to last till he came back again.”
“And you felt no need to question him about what was in them?”
“No, why should I? It was Tommy B. after all.”
“Bullshit,” said Rob Brown.
Everyone looked at him.
“Sorry,” he said, and went back to scowling at the screen.
“So when he got back a few weeks ago, I bought some more.”
“Why not just buy them at a store or off the Internet?”
“He said they were made up special for him.”
The bar had become totally silent. The other patrons alternated between looking at the television and glancing over to Tommy.
Kurtz was playing dumb and dumber. J.T. wanted to choke that pitiful, poor me whine out of his voice.
“So just let me get this straight for the viewers. You bought steroids from Tommy Bainbridge, ex-pitcher of the Galaxies, and the pride of Gilbeytown?” He shook his head, whether from disbelief or sadness at having his hero tarnished, J.T. couldn’t tell. And neither could any of the other viewers, she bet.
“I would never take steroids. I’m checking myself into detox—voluntarily—to clean the poisons out of my system.”
The guys jeered. The other patrons shushed them.
“And then I’m going to try to start over and put this horrible experience behind me.”
The newscaster turned to the camera. “Well, folks, you heard it here first, your number one station in Pennsylvania news.” And soon to be heard all over the country, thought J.T. “Tommy Bainbridge, pitcher of the Galaxies, was arrested today on the charges of selling steroids. We’ve just been talking to one of the people who unwittingly took them.”
“One?” screeched J.T. “Bernie won’t break his balls. I will.”
“You go, girl.”
“Don’t worry, Tommy. We’re gonna sic J.T. on him.”
Footage of Tommy getting out of the police car flashed on the screen. Everyone turned silent. The shot followed him up the steps of the police station until a guard shut the door in the cameraman’s face.
The pounding news theme replaced the picture and the newscaster.
“He better not show his face here again.” Danny reached over and touched Tommy’s arm. Tommy flinched. “Nobody’s gonna believe him. You can tell he’s lying. First he tries to get J.T. in trouble, now he’s gone after Tommy. He’s got it in for you two for busting him.”
Everyone agreed. But J.T. could see the other patrons watching and wondering.
“And,” she said loud enough to be heard throughout the bar. “Tommy’s going to sue him for slander. I don’t think we’ll be hearing any more lies from Bobby Kurtz.”
A cheer went up around the table. Other patrons joined in.
“She’s right, Tommy.”
“Damn straight.”
“He oughta be chased out of town.” J.T. started to breathe easier. It would take more than a television interview with Bobby Kurtz to turn this town against Tommy.
Unfortunately, even if—when—Tommy was proved innocent, there would always be that niggling question. Was he really innocent? No smoke without fire. One man’s word against another’s. Unless they could prove that this was just a part of the larger scheme to bring down Tommy to clear the way for the new stadium, that question would always be hanging over his head.
The two of them left a few minutes later. Tommy stopped by the Beemer. “I need to be with my family. They’ll be worried.”
J.T. nodded. She kissed him good night and went inside to start the article that would begin her exposé of the conspiracy against Tommy and the Beavers.
Skinny called before she’d completed the first page. He could smell blood and he wanted her to be in on the kill. She let voice mail take it and continued to write.
She closed her laptop two hours later. She’d correct the copy in the morning, then wait to see what the news held, so she could tweak it to answer any new questions before she sent it in.
The morning news showed clips of Kurtz’s interview. He appeared like a slimy worm to J.T. She hoped other viewers were getting the same image. She channel-hopped. Watched footage of Tommy entering the police station and she saw red.
J.T. knew that the major networks probably already had news crews on their way to Gilbeytown, and for the first time since taking this job, J.T. welcomed the competition.
Her cell rang as she was leaving. Skinny. To hell with him. She wouldn’t scrounge around looking for a story while Tommy was at his most vulnerable.
She headed to the ballpark. There were already a couple of news trucks there, stations from Pittsburgh. There would be others soon enough.
She pushed her way through them. Mr. Harris opened the door enough for her to walk through. There was a scurry of activity and raised voices behind her.
J.T. went straight to the locker room and found the team clustered around the center table.
Bernie saw her first. He grabbed a newspaper off the table and waved it at her—Sports Today.
“You said you wouldn’t write this crap. And I believed you.”
J.T. stepped back. Looked at the group of accusing faces around her. “I didn’t write anything. Give me that.”
Bernie didn’t wait for her to take the paper, but flung it at her. She caught it and her heart stopped. Front page. Special edition. TOMMY BAINBRIDGE ARRESTED FOR DRUGS.
J.T. reeled. She couldn’t take in air. “How? Who?” She forced herself to read it. A detailed description of finding the drugs, Tommy’s arrest. A scathing attack on drugs in the industry in general, and specifically against Tommy Bainbridge, a hero who had destroyed the people’s trust.
She didn’t get it. How had Skinny scooped this without her knowing about it? He couldn’t. She turned the page and found the end of the article. Submitted by J.T. Green, correspondent on the scene.
She stared. “I—I—holy shit. Has Tommy seen this?”
“Tommy has.” Tommy walked into the locker room. Another copy of ST in his hand. He was so ashen that J.T. was afraid he was going to faint.
“You know I didn’t write that.”
Tommy shook his head.
“Tommy.”
Bernie grabbed the paper out of her hands and tore it in two. “Get out. Don’t talk to anyone on your way to the door. And be out of the motel in an hour or I swear to God, I’ll have you thrown out.”
J.T. heard him, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Tommy.
He knew that she wouldn’t write an article like that. Hell, even if she’d started writing it as soon as Jeff and he drove away, Skinny couldn’t have gotten it out by this morning. But somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to destroy her reputation, and Tommy’s. First Kurtz with the tabloid a
nd now this.
“Tommy.” He didn’t even look at her. Just stood there.
Bernie looked from Tommy to her, his face livid. “You still don’t get it, do you? Get out!”
She turned to Bernie. “I’ll go. I’ve had enough of people who won’t even help themselves. But let me leave you with one thought. Somebody is trying to destroy this team and Tommy’s plans for the community center. It isn’t me. I’ve tried to help you, and I’ve gotten nothing but shit for it. And quite frankly, I’m not sure you deserve saving.
“You’re on your own. And good luck, because I don’t think you’re going to make it.”
She turned on her heel and strode blindly out of the room, not bothering to look at Tommy. He’d thrown his lot in with Bernie. And he could go to hell.
She shook with anger and hurt. The escalation of the smear campaign against them was moronic, but the publicity alone would be deadly.
She managed to get to the Night n Day without totaling the Mustang. She pulled her suitcases out of the closet, threw toiletries and clothes inside without bothering to organize or fold them.
Maybe it was her fault. Maybe if she’d never come to Gilbeytown, none of this would have happened. The Beavers would have quietly ceased to exist. Tommy would have become a sportscaster and she would still have her heart intact.
She closed the laptop and put it in her briefcase. It had taken less than five minutes for her to clear out two weeks of existence. The only thing that remained to be packed was the blue binder. She picked it up and started to put it in the briefcase.
Stopped. Felt the weight of the pages where she’d poured out her innermost feelings. She hurled it against the wall. The rings popped open and pages scattered to the floor. She left them where they fell. The new coverlet she’d bought should pay for the extra work of throwing them out.
J.T. threw her room key on the desk, lugged her stuff out to the car. Then she got in and drove to the office to tell Harriett she was checking out.
Bernie had obviously reached her first.
“The Beavers have been billed for your room,” Harriett said, and turned back to the television. No “Hope you enjoyed your stay” or “Hurry back to see us.”