by J. T. Baier
“Stop!” a voice yelled from the end of the alley.
Riker thought that voice sounded familiar, but his cloudy mind couldn’t place it. Who it was mattered less than the result of the command. The hits stopped.
Riker heard footsteps approaching, and he turned his head in their direction. It took all the willpower that he had left to open his eyes. The world was out of focus, but he could make out the figure of a man walking towards him, a revolver in one hand. Or was it two men? Hard to tell with the world swimming around him so wildly.
The man knelt down next to Riker. He thumbed back the hammer of the revolver and it clicked into firing position. Riker fought to stay conscious as the cool metal of the barrel pressed against the side of his head.
“Hey, Matt,” Luke said. “Sorry that it came to this, but you just weren’t hearing me when I asked you to leave. The boss told me that I had to put a bullet in your head to be sure that you would get the message.”
Riker blinked hard and his double vision cleared, leaving a single image of his old friend kneeling before him. He tried to speak but coughed instead. He tasted blood in his mouth, and he hoped that it wasn’t coming from his lungs.
“Hey, Luke.” The words came out in a whisper. “What do you say we talk about this over a beer?”
“Sorry, buddy. I don’t think we will be breaking bread any time soon. I am going to do you one last favor. I convinced my boss that I could give you a final warning. If you don’t get the message I can’t help you anymore.”
Luke slowly thumbed the hammer back down and pulled the gun away from Riker’s head. “Leave town and forget that you ever came back here. If anyone from our organization sees you again, we will kill you. I can’t say that Megan will be safe either.”
“Don’t threaten Megan,” Riker said with all the strength he could muster.
“Buddy, you are not in a position to make demands. Get the hell out of Kingsport.”
Luke drew back his fist and punched Riker in the temple. The world went black.
12
Eighteen years earlier
The bus ride home from Garland High School was long and quiet. All told, the tournament had gone well for the wrestlers of Kingsport. They’d had some unexpected wins and even a few true upsets. The reason for the somber atmosphere was the one match they hadn’t won. The star of the team, Matthew Riker, had been soundly defeated by his opponent.
Matthew Riker sat near the back of the bus, staring out the window. It was dusk, and soon he wouldn’t even be able to see the cornfields rushing past as the bus sped down the state highway. Not that Riker was watching them closely anyway. His mind was elsewhere. Losses had been rare his sophomore year, and almost non-existent his junior year. Now that he was a senior, he’d hoped to go undefeated. He’d known that his dream would be put to the test that afternoon by Chuck Mason.
Mason was the only kid in the state who was being recruited by colleges as aggressively as Riker, and the fact that the two of them wrestled in the same weight class had made their eventual faceoff inevitable. Riker had prepared for the contest all week, wrestling against guys in bigger weight classes at practice to get used to the strength he knew his opponent possessed. He’d put in long hours and prepared in every way he knew how.
But it hadn’t been Chuck Mason who’d defeated him that afternoon. It had been another kid, one he’d never heard of. A farm kid with a crooked smile and massive hands. Riker hadn’t been worried going into the match. In fact, most of his attention had been focused on Mason, sitting on the bench across the gym. Riker knew Mason would be watching in preparation for their later match, and he’d intended to put on a show. Then the match began, and everything went to hell.
The country boy caught him off-guard with a lightning-quick takedown, scoring the first points. Then he’d taken top position and unleashed a leg ride that utterly controlled Riker, flipping him onto his back for points and eventually securing a pin. It had been over fast, and Riker had left the mat shell-shocked. Even his win over Mason later in the day hadn’t taken away the sting. In some ways, it had made it worse. It had proven he could beat the best. So how had he been taken down by some no-name wrestler he’d never even heard of?
An elbow nudged his side and he looked over at Luke Dewitt, who sat next to him as he always did on these bus rides. Luke had won both his matches that afternoon, and they had been hard-fought battles, as evidenced by his swollen right eye. But to his credit he wasn’t gloating about his victories. He understood the gravity of his friend’s loss.
“Look, man, that kid got lucky. Don’t even worry about it.”
Riker didn’t answer. He knew that wasn’t true. There had been nothing lucky about that leg ride move. It had been pure artistry.
Luke’s voice was lower when he spoke again. “If it’ll make you feel better, I can ask around. Find out what kind of truck he drives. We can go smash out the tail lights.”
Riker couldn’t help but grin a little at the notion. “How do you know he drives a truck?”
“Guy like that? It’s always a shitty old truck.”
“You should know,” Riker said with a laugh. “Trucks don’t come much shittier than yours.”
“Very true. My old Bronco doesn’t hold a candle to your ten-speed Schwinn.”
“Find a new seat, Luke,” a growly voice in front of them said.
The blood drained from Luke’s face, and he quickly did as asked. There were few people whom Luke respected enough to immediately obey, but Coach Kane was on the list.
“You okay, Riker?” Coach asked, looking back at him over the seat.
Everyone else in his life called him Matt, but he sort of liked how Coach addressed him by his last name. It made him feel older. Stronger. He was even starting to think of himself as Riker rather than Matt.
“Yes, sir. I’m good.”
Coach shot him a crooked smile. “You don’t have to lie to me. You take every loss hard, and this one was harder than most.”
Riker didn’t bother denying it. “I just don’t understand how I let it happen. I was ready for Mason. Beyond ready. I was laser-focused.”
“Yeah,” Coach agreed. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Riker knew Coach was right. He’d looked past that first match, just assuming it would go his way.
“Look, Riker, don’t tell these other schmucks I said it, but you’re one of the best I’ve ever coached. Not because of raw talent, though you’ve got a little. It’s your work ethic. Your dedication. That’s the unfair advantage you have against all those other jokers on the mat, and this time you let it slip away from you.”
“Yeah.” Riker looked back out the window. He could barely make out the cornfields in the dim light now.
“One piece of advice. Use this. It’s a good lesson. You might be tough, but all it takes is one bad day. You might be able to take out the big threats, but don’t look past the smaller ones, or they are the ones that’ll get you. You have to be one hundred percent focused every time you step out onto the mat. Understand?”
Riker nodded. “What about that leg ride move? How do I beat it?”
“Practice, and a lot of it,” Coach said with a grin. “You have to tuck your foot up so he can’t grab it.”
“Won’t that put me off balance?”
“That’s the part that takes practice.” Coach sighed. “But not tonight, of course. Practicing the day of a tournament would be strictly against the district’s policies. We’ll all be heading straight home after this. Won’t be a soul in the high school for the rest of the night.” He paused, glancing at Riker. “By the way, remind me to put in a maintenance ticket on Monday. The way the latch sticks on the wrestling room door, anyone could walk right in there. Gotta get that taken care of next week. Help me remember, Riker?”
“Yes, sir,” Riker said, stifling a grin.
After a few more minutes, Coach moved to another seat to talk to more wrestlers, and Luke slid back onto the bench.
> “What was all that about?”
Instead of answering the question, Riker asked one of his own. “How’s your leg riding technique?”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “Strong as hell. Why?”
“I need practice.”
When they got back to the high school, they got into Luke’s truck and circled the neighborhood until all the cars in the parking lot were gone. Then they rolled back into the lot and Luke parked his truck.
“You’re damn lucky I feel sorry for you,” Luke said as he got out of the truck. “I was hoping to meet up with Stacy tonight. I would much rather be rolling around with her than with you.”
“Then you should be thanking me,” Riker said. “I saved you from an evening of listening to Stacy talk about her college boyfriend.”
“Whatever. After ten minutes in the back of my truck, she’ll forget all about that loser.”
“Ten minutes? You’d be lucky to last thirty seconds.”
They reached the exterior door to the wrestling room, and Riker pulled on it. Just as Coach had indicated, the door swung open. Riker inspected the latch for a moment, then pulled off the piece of duct tape that had been placed there. “Guess I can tell Coach he doesn’t need to put in a maintenance ticket.”
Luke walked over and flipped on the lights while Riker took off his shoes and stepped onto the mat. When everything was in place, he turned to his friend.
“Seriously though man, thanks. I might have to face that kid again, and I want to be ready. I won’t be able to sleep until I figure out this counter move. I appreciate you helping me out.”
Luke shrugged. “You’re probably right about me not having a shot with Stacy anyway. But answer me one question.”
“Sure. What is it?”
Luke gave him a serious look, a rarity for him. “Is this really about mastering the counter move and not about you avoiding your old man?”
Riker paused, considering the question. He had to admit that hanging out at the high school gym beat going home to his cramped little house where his dad was surely a quarter bottle in at this point in the evening. That was in the back of his head, as it always was, but he was certain that wasn’t the prime motivating factor. The anger inside of him might have had its embers built in the situation at home, but it was that leg ride move that was currently stoking the flames. “Avoiding the old man is just a side benefit. I’m here to wrestle. And I’m not leaving tonight until I get this thing figured out.”
Luke took off his jacket and tossed it onto the bleachers. “Okay then. It sounds like we’re going to be here for a while. Let’s get to work.”
13
Riker opened his eyes, and his conscious mind was greeted with pain that seemed to come from every part of his body. He tried to organize his thoughts but a haze had settled over his brain. He was reduced to basic ideas and commands.
He blinked and immediately started to drift towards unconsciousness. He pushed that desire for sleep away and forced his eyes open again. He needed medical attention, and he wasn’t going to get it sleeping in an alley. He focused his mind and his will on one thought: get up.
As he struggled to his hands and knees, pain screamed at him from his head, back, ribs, and leg. His body begged him to lie back down and go to sleep. Riker paid no attention to that. Instead he used the wall for support as he got to his feet.
He took one step on his right leg and a blast of pain exploded from this shin. He stumbled, but was able to balance himself with the wall. Looking down, he saw that the lower part of his right pant leg was soaked with blood. He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the bat slamming into his shin. From the pain, he guessed that the leg was broken.
Riker suddenly thought of Morrison, and a small smile curled the corners of his lips. He knew that his old C.O. wouldn’t waste a moment pitying him in his current, pathetic condition. He imagined the gruff voice in his head. I hope this is enough of a lesson to get through that thick head of yours. When I tell you to always be mindful of your surroundings, I mean always.
Riker silently promised himself that he would never drop his guard again. He took another step. This time when the burst of pain came, he welcomed it. It put a keen edge on his mind and taught its lessons well.
As he reached the end of the alley, he steadied himself against the buildings along the street slowly, making his way back to the street with the church. When he rounded the corner he saw a man standing with a brown paper sack in one hand. Riker figured the man was likely homeless—his clothes were old and it was clearly not lemonade in the sack.
“Holy shit,” the man said. “Are you okay?”
“I could use a little help.” The words took more effort than Riker had expected, and he felt himself slowly slide to the ground, his back against a brick wall behind him.
After that, time passed in flashes. He vaguely remembered handing the man his phone. There was a car ride, and Megan might have been there. There were bright lights. He spoke to someone, but he couldn’t remember who or what was said.
“Matthew, are you still with us?”
Riker opened his eyes and the world came back into focus. He looked around the room, no idea how he’d gotten there. Doc Hanson stood next to the bed he was lying on, shining a light in his eyes. Megan sat anxiously in the corner of the room. The homeless man was there as well.
He drew a deep breath, trying to orient himself. It appeared he was in a doctor’s office. Doc Hanson’s most likely.
“I’m here,” he said. “How long have I been out of it?”
“It’s been an hour since you left the wake,” Megan answered. “I didn’t realize you were missing, and then Donnie called me.”
“Donnie?”
“Hey Matt,” the homeless man said. “I guess you don’t remember the conversation we had on the ride over here.”
The name and the face seemed familiar to Riker, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Sorry, but no. Everything after the wake is a little foggy.”
Doc Hanson put a gentle hand on Riker’s shoulder. “Who did this to you?”
Riker smiled. “I just stumbled and bumped my head. I’m clumsy, I guess.”
The doctor did not return the smile. “You have a concussion, bruised ribs, a fractured leg, and I put twenty-eight stitches in various lacerations. I’ll ask again. Who did this to you?”
“So it’s just a fracture on the leg? I was worried that it was a full break.” Riker touched the back of his head and felt a row of stitches. “Thanks for patching me up.”
“You still aren’t answering my question. Do you know who attacked you?”
The answer came from the back of the room. “I think we all know who did this. The same assholes who killed Sam.”
Riker stared at Donnie. He looked ten years older than Riker. His body was slouched and his skin was wrinkled from a hard life. Underneath the worn exterior was a familiar face. The pieces of the puzzle started to form a picture in Riker’s mind.
“Donnie Wagner? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. We had this conversation in the car on the way over.”
Despite his appearance, Donnie Wagner had been a year behind Riker in school. He’d been a wrestler, though not an especially good one. But off the mat, Donnie and his brother Sam had been quite the hell-raisers, causing trouble and getting into fights just about every weekend. Even Riker and Luke hadn’t wanted to mess with those two. To see him now, looking so different from the fierce young man he remembered, was disconcerting.
“Sorry my brain was still a little rattled. You look…different than I remember.”
Donnie gave a weak laugh. “You mean I look like shit. It’s okay. You can say it.”
“It’s been nearly twenty years. I’m sure we all look a little rougher around the edges.” He paused, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Sam died? I’m so sorry to hear it.”
“He didn’t just die. He was murdered.” The bitterness was thick in Donnie’s voice. “They did it right
in front of me, too. Since then… Well, things have been tough.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Donnie.”
The thin man nodded, fighting back tears.
Doc Hanson stepped forward and put a hand on Donnie’s shoulder. He turned to Riker. “Why would they attack you? Did you find out who killed Oscar Kane?”
Riker shook his head. “Apparently asking questions was enough for them.”
“Then I think we all know what needs to happen.”
Megan spoke up. “What do you mean?”
“We need to get you out of town, Matthew. After what happened to Coach Kane and considering that you were just beaten within an inch of your life, the threat couldn’t be any more real. I don’t want to see you die.”
Donnie reached down and picked up a paper bag, the same one that Riker had seen him drink out of on the street. “He’s right, man. You can fight them and die, or let it go and drink.”
Megan stared at the two men, her eyes wide with disbelief. “This is bullshit. How can we let these people just get away with it?”
“I know that it is not fair, but what can we do?” Doc asked. “If the police can’t stop these guys, how could we?”
“I don’t know, but we have to do something. They attacked my cousin. They are sucking the life out of our town. We can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
Riker smiled at Megan’s will and sense of justice. They were cut from the same cloth. It was a different type of bond from what he’d had with his brothers in arms, but it was no less real. He wasn’t sure, but he thought this might be how family was supposed to feel.
“I think there is something that we can do.” Riker turned to Doctor Hanson. “You told me yourself that Coach may have had an inside source in the drug ring. If we can find that person, they might know the details of what happened to Coach Kane. Then we can make sure justice is done.”
The room was silent for a moment. Then Doc spoke.
“Matt, you were just beaten within an inch of your life. What you are talking about is suicide.”