Wearing Purple (Oz Blackstone Mystery)

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Not necessarily,’ I said. ‘You can still shoot the match with you and Rockette. There’s still time. But right now, can we try to figure out what happened?’

  ‘This happened.’ Liam Matthews’ voice came from the corner of the ring, the one into which Jerry had been slammed. We stepped across to join him.

  He had his hand on the top turn-buckle pad. As we looked at it we could see that it was ripped, that the padding was protruding, and that some of it was blackened and scorched.

  ‘I was watching from the side as Jerry went into the corner,’ said Matthews. ‘It just seemed to burst, but looking at this, I’d say there was some sort of explosive charge inside it, and it went off when The Behemoth hit it.’

  ‘But other people have been posted in that corner tonight,’ Everett protested.

  ‘None as big as him,’ I reminded him. ‘Or as hard as that.’ I sniffed the pad, and remembered the burning smell, as I climbed into the ring. ‘Liam’s right; this thing was rigged to take out either big Jerry, or you.’

  I shoved a finger into the rip, then pulled it out, fast. There was metal inside, and it was still warm. I reached behind the turn-buckle, found the cords which held the pad in place, and untied them.

  ‘That’s the answer,’ I said to Everett, waving it at him. ‘Now, are you going to rescue this show?’

  The big man was still struggling to focus on the reality of the situation. ‘What time is it?’ he asked at last.

  I looked at my watch. ‘Ten past nine, local time; an hour earlier GMT.’

  As he frowned, Diane came to stand beside him. Her costume was damp with sweat, and almost transparent. I looked down and saw that there were blood streaks around the hem.

  ‘They’ve downloaded the first hour of the show to the station,’ she said, her voice still steady. ‘We have to send them the second half inside the next twenty minutes.’

  ‘Then we’re screwed,’ said her husband. ‘We don’t have time to fill the gap.’

  ‘Yes we do,’ she snapped. ‘They break for commercials before the last match. We can download what we have right now, then follow up later with tape of you and Rockette.’

  Everett shook his head. His expression was agonised. ‘Just what the hell do you think I am, bitch?’ he snarled at her. ‘That guy in the ambulance, that guy who could be dead right now; he’s my best friend in the world. I knew him long before I knew you. When I joined Triple W out of college, it was Jerry who taught me what this game is all about, even though he knew he was probably making me the main man, at his expense.

  ‘You think I can just step back up to the plate and perform? Stand in his blood and perform? No way.’

  She stepped in front of him, hands on hips, glaring up at him. ‘That’s exactly what Jerry wants you to do. He owns a chunk of this company, remember.You want him to wake up and find that you’ve cost him a couple of hundred thousand dollars because you’ve acted like a pussy?’ She spat the last word at him.

  He sighed, and nodded. ‘Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. Oz, you hold on to that pad. Di, tell Rockette he’s on in five minutes. Tell the camera ops not to shoot the blood on the floor unless they got no other option.’

  ‘You’ve got another option,’ said Liam Matthews, quietly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Diane asked.

  The Irishman looked at her. ‘Daze and Rockette as a main event, with no gimmicks, just will not work. We all know that. We need an edge . . . and you’re looking at him.’

  ‘You can’t wrestle,’ I heard myself protest. ‘You had a kidney injured two weeks ago.’

  ‘I don’t have to wrestle,’ he shot back. ‘You’ll see.

  ‘Trust me on this, boss. You begin your match with Rutherford, string it out, then go along with whatever happens.’

  Everett was beyond arguing. He nodded and headed back towards the dressing room area.

  I switched on my mike again, and told the crowd, in broken Spanish, what they knew already; that The Behemoth had been injured. Then I told them a small lie; I said that he wasn’t badly hurt. Finally, I announced that Daze would be back in the ring in five minutes. The buzz of conversation turned into a cheer; not as loud as before, certainly, but a pop none the less. By the time the lights dimmed, and the spotlight picked up Tommy Rockette, guitarless, making his way down the aisle, they were as excited as they had been before.

  I announced him, in English, then Spanish, and jumped down from the ring to await the arrival of Daze. Diane had found a chair and was sitting at my table, wrapped in a roadie’s jacket. As I took my place, Sally Crockett, who had gone back to the dressing room to find a GWA tee-shirt to replace her silk shirt, came and knelt beside me. She was shaking; I took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I told her. ‘He’s going to be all right. I know it. You can’t kill Behemoths.’

  She looked up at me. ‘But what happened, Oz? Was it someone in the crowd?’

  ‘No. I can’t tell you for sure, but it wasn’t that. Just you concentrate on being thankful that my ex was there to take charge.’

  So much had happened, so fast, that I had barely had time to consider Prim’s cameo reappearance in my life. I had just begun to wonder why, when the lights dimmed again, and threw me back into the midst of the show.

  Everett’s match stank, I have to say. He fumbled at least three moves as he and Tommy Rutherford hammed it up in the ring above me, but the Spanish crowd were there to see Daze, and damn few of them knew the difference between a power slam and a polka.

  The pair had been in listless action for three minutes, when Liam Matthews, back at the commentary table, took off his head-set, stripped off his jacket to reveal muscles bulging out of his short-sleeved shirt, picked up a hand mike and trotted up the steps into the ring.

  The first clue Tommy Rockette had of his presence was a karate kick which caught him on the left temple and turned him into the same sack of potatoes which he had imitated so well a week earlier. Daze looked on, genuinely astonished I guessed, as the Irishman, a foot shorter than him, shook his hair out of its pony tail and stepped up to him, poking him with his right index finger in the centre of his huge chest.

  ‘Big fella yerself,’ Matthews drawled in his best adopted Dublin brogue. ‘Have oi got a bone to pick with you. Two weeks ago, in England, I picked up a little scratch.’ He paused, not for the crowd, I knew, but so that the viewing audience could follow him. ‘Next thing I knew, I wasn’t the Transcontinental Champion any more.’ He nodded. ‘That’s right, when I was injured, they stole my belt.

  ‘Now everyone knows that you’re the ringmaster of this here circus, and that everything that happens in the Global Wrestling Alliance has to be okay with you. So I guess that when the suits in the back office took away my belt, you didn’t argue about it.’

  He poked Everett in the chest again. ‘So here’s what I’ve got to say, Mr Daze, sor,’ he yelled into his mike. ‘The hot news in the GWA, is that the Champ, The Behemoth, is on the injured roster. That means the suits will have to forfeit his belt too. So little Liam is here to make a challenge to the mighty Daze.’ The spectators didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but as his voice rose, so their excited buzz began to build into a cheer.

  ‘At the next pay-per-view, in Edinburgh, it’ll be me against you, big man for the GWA title - assuming you’ve got the guts to face me, that is.’ The cheer grew into a roar.

  ‘And when you do, I’m going to . . .’ He hit Daze across the chest with a blow which looked like a karate cut, but was in fact a loud slap. ‘. . . chop . . .’ Another blow. ‘. . . you . . .’ A third blow. ‘ . . . Down!’

  The roar had grown into a single shrill scream, as Daze picked Liam up by the throat, as I had seen him do once before. But this time, the Irishman kicked out, with the side of his right foot, appearing to catch him significantly below the waist. The giant released his hold . . . and as he did, every light in the arena went out.

  When they came on again,
five seconds later, only Daze and the still-prone form of Tommy Rockette remained in the ring.

  Watching the story unfold, I had forgotten that Diane was sitting beside me, at my small table. ‘And roll credits,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘Terrific. The clever little bastard has saved the show. And at the same time, he’s given himself the big push he was after, right to the top of the totem pole, up beside Daze.’ She stood, then walked around across to join her husband as he waved goodbye to the audience and vaulted over the ropes and down to the floor, in a single jump.

  As Matthews crawled out from underneath the ring he winked up at me. ‘Don’t know what you’ve got to grin about, son,’ I whispered to myself, so quietly that not even Sally could hear, although she was still kneeling beside me. ‘You’ve just talked yourself into a match with a monster, who thinks you’re shagging his wife. There’s a fair chance he’s going to bust the other kidney as well!’

  Chapter 28

  Diane had gone, presumably to change out of her provocative Catalan flag dress, but Everett was waiting for me at the top of the ramp. ‘We got some business to do, Oz,’ he rumbled. I was wrong; it wasn’t quiet gentlemanly Everett who stood there, it was Daze. All the shock and uncertainty was gone from his eyes, replaced by fiercely blazing anger.

  ‘That bastard Leonard set this trap,’ he said. ‘We stood and we watched him. Take two security guys and arrest his ass. Then find a room where he and I can talk, once I’ve changed.’ He looked down at me. ‘You might not want to be there when we do.’

  ‘Wrong, mate,’ I retorted, even though I was, frankly, scared stiff by the strength of his fury. ‘I will be there. If only to stop you from killing him.’

  The giant shook his head, slowly. ‘I’m not going to kill him, man. But I guarantee he’s going to tell me everything about how Tony fucking Reilly hired him to sabotage GWA and to cripple or kill its people.’

  ‘No, Everett,’ I told him, as firmly as I dared. ‘I’m the investigator here, not you. Leonard’s going to tell me all that stuff in a formal interview, on tape; then I’m going to have it transcribed and he’s going to sign it, with us as witnesses to that signature. In his statement I’ll ask him to specify that he was not forced by physical violence or the threat of it, to make his confession.

  ‘Now I’ll go and find him like you want. But in the meantime, you go and change out of your monster suit. Find a white shirt and wear that, so that after we’ve interviewed the guy, everyone can see that there are no bloodstains on you.’ I paused and looked at him. ‘You know what happens after that though, don’t you?’

  ‘Tell me,’ he said.

  ‘We have to hand him over to the police. And this.’ I gave him the burst turn-buckle pad, which I was still holding.

  ‘Hell, no! We deal with this in-house. Once I have Leonard’s confession I’m gonna take it to Tony Reilly and beat him to death with it. Son of a bitch is going to sell me his GWA holding at a knock-down price or I’m going to sue his ass off!’

  ‘Okay, but Leonard still has to be handed over. Look, Jerry’s just been admitted to hospital with what to all intents and purposes is a gunshot wound. They’re going to do just the same as they’d do in Glasgow, London or New York - tell the cops. You won’t have a choice.’

  ‘Maybe not. We’ll see when they come looking. But now, you go get the bastard.’ His head seemed to droop. ‘While you’re doing that, I’ll try to find out how Jerry’s doing.’

  I nodded, and headed off to the main door of the Arena, where I commandeered two security guards to back me up in detaining the foreman. Inside, we found the local installation crew standing around. They were waiting for something, clearly. One of them had a different coloured uniform jacket from the rest. Guessing that this might mean that he was in charge, I called him over, in my dodgy Spanish.

  ‘Have you seen the GWA foreman?’ I asked him.

  He told me that they had been expecting Leonard. He had told them that after the show was over, he would need them to make the changes to the set which were needed for the next day’s shooting of the matches for the Monday broadcast. They were waiting for him: but he had not appeared.

  ‘Let’s find him, then,’ I told him. ‘You people must know all of this building; you work here all the time. Get your men, join us, and let’s look for Señor Leonard.’

  Look for him we did, outside in the trucks, and all over the arena: on the floor of the hall, in the walkway round the perimeter of the roof, in the public toilets, male and female, and in the storage and basement areas. I knew long before we were finished that we had more chance of finding the Phantom of the Opera.

  ‘He’s gone,’ I told Everett, who was waiting for me in the changing area, having changed into khaki slacks and a white tee-shirt. ‘Mr Leonard has done a runner.’

  ‘Goddammit! We should have grabbed him right then, Oz.’

  ‘I know. I asked the television director when he saw him last. He said that he saw him by the ring while Prim was treating Jerry, but that he can’t remember seeing him after that.’ The ‘idea’ bulb flashed in my brain. ‘What about his passport? Maybe he’s gone back to the hotel to collect it, and his gear.’

  Everett shook his head. ‘He’s an American, Oz. He probably carries his passport with him all the time. As for his gear; hell, he’s a roadie. They hardly carry any.’

  ‘Could we have him stopped at the airport?’ I ventured.

  ‘Where’s he going? Not back to Scotland. The US eventually, sure, but he could get there from anywhere. My guess is that he’ll get out of Spain and take it from there. What would you do if you were in his shoes?’

  It didn’t take me long to answer that one. ‘I’d phone Reilly and have him send me a plane ticket to the States, for collection at an airport of my choice: - Perpignan, Montpellier, Toulouse, Bordeaux, Lyon . . . any one of those or another, either direct or routed through Paris.

  ‘Mind you, we could catch him wherever he tries to fly out from . . . if you tell the police about him.’

  ‘Hah! And what would we have after that? Press stories all over Europe about GWA, and about the hits we’ve taken in recent weeks. I do not want my customer stations to know what happened to Jerry, that Dave Manson isn’t on sabbatical, and that I’m having to wrestle a guy in my next pay-per-view who’s still passing traces of blood every time he pees.

  ‘If that sort of stuff hits the fan, the way is open for Reilly to move in on me. CWI supplied those stations before; at a loss, sure, but I bet Tony would take some more losses to put me out of business. Unless I have Leonard’s confession that he was Reilly’s man, bought and paid for, I can’t do much to head him off.

  ‘So no, Oz. Even if the Spanish police do come asking questions, like you reckon they will, I will not tell them about Sonny Leonard . . . and neither will you. If I have to, I’ll smash up a turn-buckle and tell them it was equipment failure caused the accident.’ He waved the red leather pad, which I had given him earlier. ‘They ain’t gonna see this.’

  ‘What if this turns into a murder investigation?’ I shot at him. ‘Are you still going to conceal evidence?

  ‘How is Jerry anyway? Did you get through to the hospital?’

  Everett sighed. ‘Saturday night is not the best time to call a hospital emergency unit in any city. There wasn’t no one there could speak to me. I’m gonna have to go down there to find out for myself.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, we should. Let me change out of this bloody penguin suit, and I’ll come with you.’

  Chapter 29

  I expected him to be waiting for me at the performers’ door when I emerged in my civvies; slacks, my black suede bomber jacket and a Behemoth tee-shirt which I had scrounged from the merchandise people.

  But he wasn’t. She was there instead: Primavera Phillips, with dark blood staining her jeans all the way up to the knees, and smeared on the long sleeves of her denim shirt. She looked tired, not far short of exhausted, but she was beautiful nonetheless, with her tangled,
sun-bleached blonde hair flicking against her shoulders, something I had never seen before.

  ‘Hi.’ She spoke softly, almost tentatively, as I approached.

  ‘Hi, yourself. Come here.’ We closed the gap between us in a moment and hugged. As I pressed her to me, the tension within her exploded into tears.

  Her face was buried in my tee-shirt, which bore the image of Jerry Gradi. For a moment the symbolism of it made me fearful. ‘Prim, he isn’t . . . Is he?’

  ‘No,’ she mumbled into my chest. ‘I spoke to the doctor who admitted him, after he’d been X-rayed and sent up to surgery. He’s going to be okay, they reckon.’

  Relief flooded me, finding its way out in laughter. ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘since you saved his life earlier, don’t bloody drown him now.’

  She looked at The Behemoth’s face on my shirt for the first time, and grinned.

  ‘You’re a heroine, my dear,’ I told her. ‘I’m going to make sure, damn sure, that the GWA recognises what you did tonight.’

  ‘What? Are you going to get me free admission for life to all your shows? Thanks, but I’ll settle for a steak from you, although I don’t doubt it’ll be on expenses.’

  ‘It’s a deal; Everett can afford it. But hold on, I’ve got to meet him here. We were going to see Jerry.’

  ‘Everett’s your large friend, yes? Looks a bit like a tree, goes by the name of Daze?’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve seen him already. I told him about Jerry, and also that there’s no point in anyone going to see him till tomorrow. Even after the surgery, they’ll keep him under for a few hours at least. He said to tell you he was going back to the hotel to catch up with Diane. Who’s she?’

  ‘His wife. You probably saw her; Catalan flag dress.’

  ‘Saw her?’ Prim exclaimed. ‘Everybody saw her; bloody near all of her! Some of the women around me in the crowd weren’t too keen on what she was doing to their flag, I should tell you.’