Face-Off

by Michael Betcherman

  “General Zarkov is believed to have escaped into an elaborate network of caves built by the Berovian resistance during World War II. A government spokesman said that a massive manhunt was underway but acknowledged that it would be a difficult task.”

  Alex stared at the computer screen, feeling sick to his stomach. It had taken them all this time to find the Stork. They’d had their chance. And they’d blown it.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Alex stepped off the bus at ten o’clock the next morning and hurried across the street to the travel agency. The rain pounded on his umbrella. Even by Vancouver standards, the weather this January had been abysmal. It had started raining on New Year’s Day and hadn’t let up for fifteen days straight.

  “I need the Sarno hotel confirmation,” Roman bellowed before Alex even had a chance to sit down at his desk, the demand setting the tone for the day. The second tour to Berovia and Maldania was leaving in two days and there were a million details to take care of.

  Alex was happy to have the distraction. It kept him from dwelling on the Stork’s narrow escape. It drove him crazy to think that they’d come so close to catching one of his father’s murderers after all this time, only to have him slip through their fingers.

  He was working on the trip itinerary when Peter Jurak arrived, carrying an enormous bouquet of roses.

  “Bonjour,” he said in an atrocious French accent. He walked to Greta’s desk, knelt down, and gave her the flowers with a flourish.

  “Are these supposed to make me forgive you for abandoning me?” Greta joked. Peter was headed to Hungary to work on Vampire Killers 4.

  “No,” Peter said, “but this is.” He handed her an airline ticket. She looked inside.

  “Paris. Are you serious?” she asked.

  “Mais oui. We leave Friday. I already cleared it with Roman.”

  “I told him it was okay as long as he promised not to tell Sophia,” Roman said from the doorway to his office. “Guys like him make the rest of us look bad.”

  “What about the shoot?” Greta asked.

  “It was cancelled,” Peter said.

  “We are going to have such a great time,” Greta said enthusiastically. “The cafés, the art galleries, the Eiffel Tower.”

  “The Eiffel Tower’s in Paris?” Peter asked in mock surprise.

  Greta laughed, as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. I guess that’s what being in love does to you, Alex thought. Not that you’ll ever know, the Voice commented.

  Just before noon, Roman walked out of his office with a man with a neatly trimmed grey beard. “If you have any more questions, you’ve got my number,” he said.

  The two men shook hands. Tomas came out of his office as the man was walking out the door. “Was that Don Bridger?”

  “Yeah. The Sun’s going to run a front-page story in the features section next Saturday. The media is eating this up.”

  “Told you they would,” Tomas said. He turned to Alex. “I need the waiting list for the tour,” he ordered, addressing Alex because Lara was at muay Thai practice.

  “Right away, boss,” Alex said. Tomas looked at him but didn’t say anything.

  “What’s up?” Roman asked.

  “You know Bill Novak, right?”

  “Sure. I’ve known Bill for years.” Does Roman know every Berovian in Vancouver? Alex wondered.

  “He had to cancel. Broke his arm playing basketball last night. He’ll be in a cast for six weeks.”

  “What a shame.” Roman turned to Alex. “Call Mr. Novak and get his doctor’s name and contact info. You’ll have to send him a medical insurance claim form so that Mr. Novak can get reimbursed by the insurance company.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Tomas said, much to Alex’s surprise. “If I find somebody to replace Bill,” he said to Roman, “we split the fee fifty-fifty, right?”

  “That’s the deal,” Roman said.

  “What are they talking about?” Alex asked Greta after Tomas and Roman returned to their offices.

  “The insurance company covers the cost for the guy who cancelled so Boris gets paid whether anybody takes his place or not,” Greta explained, “which means the agency gets to keep the entire fee if they find a replacement. Tomas gets half, Roman gets half.”

  At about three o’clock an enthusiastic “Yes!” could be heard coming from Tomas’s office. A few seconds later Tomas emerged.

  “Get someone?” Greta asked.

  “Yes. Paid the full price, too,” Tomas said, a big smile on his face. Nothing made Tomas happier than making some coin.

  Lara arrived at one thirty, straight from practice. Her hair was still wet from her shower.

  “Get all your homework done?” she asked sarcastically as she sat down at her desk.

  “Yeah. Thanks for asking.”

  “You can’t keep everything all bottled up inside, Alex,” Lara said. There was no sarcasm in her voice this time. Just concern.

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “I said I was fine.” He met her gaze to show he meant it.

  “No, you’re not,” she said firmly. “Look, Alex,” she said, her voice softening, “I know you’re going through a rough time but you don’t have to go through it alone. It helps to talk about it.”

  “Just let it go, Lara. Okay? Just let it go.”

  “Whatever you want,” Lara said in disgust.

  Alex and Lara didn’t exchange another word until the end of the day. The conversation wasn’t exactly scintillating.

  “See you later,” Lara said.

  “See you later.”

  Alex watched Lara leave and then got his hockey bag out of the closet. It was time to go to practice. Given the choice, he’d rather get jabbed in the eye with a hot needle.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Alex lay in bed wishing he could stay there all day. He had been wrong about the two weeks following the Hollyburn tournament being the most miserable of his life. The next two weeks had been even worse.

  He dragged himself out of bed and checked the Twitter feed. He didn’t expect there to be any news and there wasn’t. The Snowman had apparently vanished into thin air. As for the Stork, two days following the unsuccessful raid on his hideout, a Berovian newspaper reported that he had been fatally injured in the battle. That rumour was laid to rest the following day when his supporters released a picture of the general, a smirk on his face as he held a newspaper up to the camera to prove the photo was current. Aside from the cast on his broken leg, he was in perfect condition.

  The Stork’s injury meant he was most likely still in Berovia, but despite a thorough search of the network of caves in the mountains, the government had come up empty.

  They were back to where they had been before the raid. Nowhere.

  The authorities continued to claim it was only a matter of time until the Stork was caught but Alex knew that was a load of crap. They had about as much chance of finding him as … as what? As you do of getting off the bench? the Voice suggested, scoring a direct hit.

  Richmond had won three more games following the victory over West Van, and with each victory Earl Bales’s confidence in himself, and the team’s confidence in him, rocketed upward. Bales’s performance aside, if Coach Hampton had any thoughts of putting Alex back in the starting lineup, his pathetic play during practice would have put an end to them. He was playing scared, praying that the puck would either hit him or miss the net.

  Alex felt as if he were adrift in the middle of the ocean, on a raft without a paddle. Being a hockey player, a talented hockey player, was the cornerstone of his identity. It was how he defined himself. It was what set him apart. It was what made him feel special. All that was gone. He no longer knew who he was.

  He had never been so depressed. Every night he went to bed thinking he’d hit rock bottom, but every morning he woke up feeling worse than the
day before. Today was no exception. He dreaded the thought of going to practice, of humiliating himself once again in front of his teammates, of being reminded of how far he’d sunk. You don’t need to put yourself through this , the Voice commiserated. Why make yourself miserable?

  Alex got down on the floor. After seven push-ups something snapped. He lay on his stomach, unable to muster up the energy to continue. What was the point? There is none, the Voice agreed.

  “Screw it,” he said aloud. The streak had to end sometime. Now was as good a time as any. He got dressed and went downstairs.

  Anna was in the kitchen when Alex entered. Sunlight streamed through the window.

  “Morning, dude,” Anna said.

  “Morning,” he grunted.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Fine.”

  “Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He poured himself a bowl of cereal.

  Anna looked at him, a worried expression on her face, but she didn’t bother trying to get him to talk. She’d already tried that a number of times in the past month and he’d made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested. He’d always been able to talk to her about stuff in the past but this was different. He had lost his mojo and nothing she could say was going to help him get it back.

  “What time is practice today?” she asked.

  “Five o’clock.” The mere thought of going to practice bummed him out. Why am I putting myself through this? he asked himself. Good question, said the Voice. Just being in the arena was a painful reminder of how far he’d fallen. And the way he saw it, there was only one way to make the pain go away.

  “Morning, dude,” Anna said as Stefan came into the kitchen.

  Alex and Stefan looked at each other but neither spoke. His relationship with his brother was another thing in Alex’s life that had gone to shit. Stefan had reached out to him after the Hollyburn tournament, but he’d frozen him out just like he had Anna and Lara. He and his brother hadn’t said more than “hey” to each other in weeks.

  Alex remembered how excited he’d been when they found each other. He knew then that his life would never be the same again. His English teacher would call that ironic. His life hadn’t been the same, but not in the way he’d thought.

  Alex knew it wasn’t Stefan’s fault that his life had fallen apart. It wasn’t his fault that he was a better goalie than Alex. Or that Alex had choked in the biggest game of his life. Or that he wasn’t going to get a scholarship offer to Minnesota, or to any other school. The only thing Alex was better at than Stefan was feeling sorry for himself. If they gave a scholarship for that, he’d be on the top of everybody’s list of recruits.

  He bolted down his cereal as quickly as he could and made his escape. As he walked into the hallway the mail came through the slot in the door.

  “Can you bring the mail?” Anna called.

  Alex sorted through it on his way back to the kitchen. There was a letter for Stefan from the Athletics Department at the University of Minnesota. He stopped and stared at the envelope. This is perfect, he thought. The freaking icing on the freaking cake.

  He handed the letter to Stefan and the rest of the mail to Anna. When Stefan saw who the sender was, he glanced at Alex and put the letter on the table, unopened.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Alex asked.

  “I’ll open it later,” Stefan said.

  “Open it now,” Alex demanded.

  “Don’t be a dick,” Stefan said.

  Alex ripped open the envelope and started reading the letter. “Dear Stefan: It gives me great pleasure to offer you a full scholarship to play hockey at the University of Minnesota. The scholarship will cover the cost of room, board, books, tuition, and …”

  “Give me that,” Anna said. She snatched the letter out of his hand.

  “Congratulations, bro,” Alex said to Stefan. He held his fist out. Stefan ignored it.

  “Stop it,” Anna said.

  “What’s the problem?” Alex said. “I’m just congratulating golden boy here.” He held his fist out again. Stefan shook his head in disgust. “You’ve come a long way from Maldania, dude.”

  The goading finally got to Stefan. “Don’t get mad at me because you choked … dude,” he said. He sarcastically put his fist out. Alex slapped it away and walked out of the kitchen.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The school day seemed to last forever. Alex would have been hard-pressed to name the classes he’d attended, let alone the subject matter they’d covered. All he could think about was going to the arena to tell Coach Hampton he was quitting. Then maybe, just maybe, the nightmare would end.

  When the bell rang at the end of his last class, Alex hurried to his locker, collected the books he would need that night, and headed for the front door. Lara came up beside him.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “It’s going.”

  “Don’t you have a practice today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where’s your stuff?”

  “At home.” Lara looked at him quizzically. “I’ve had it,” he said. “I’m quitting.”

  “What?” Lara looked at him in shock. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” They went through the front door, down the steps, and across the street to the bus stop. “It’s no fun anymore,” Alex said finally.

  “I know it’s got to be tough to be sitting on the bench after being a starter all these years, but there’s only a month left in the season. Don’t you think you should just gut it out?”

  “What’s the point?”

  “The team might need you. What if Bales starts playing poorly? Or gets injured?”

  “They’ll figure something out. They can bring up someone from Bantam.”

  “Someone from Bantam?” Lara said incredulously. “Are you for real?”

  “Anybody would be better than me. You wouldn’t believe how bad I’ve been playing, even in practice. I couldn’t stop your grandmother.”

  “Hey, don’t knock Grandma,” Lara joked. “She’s got a wicked slapshot.” Alex smiled weakly. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”

  “You don’t know what it’s like, Lara. I hate going to practice. I don’t even want to get into the game. You’ve seen the way I’ve been the last few weeks.”

  “You have been a mess,” she agreed, a little too quickly for his liking. “Why don’t you talk to the coach before you do anything?”

  “There’s nothing he can do.”

  “I’m your friend, Alex. You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide,” Lara said. “If playing hockey is making you this unhappy, then you won’t be doing yourself or your teammates a favour by staying on the team. But it sounds like the problem isn’t hockey, it’s how you feel about yourself, and quitting the team’s not going to change that.”

  “What makes you such an expert?” he asked. The bus turned the corner and headed toward them.

  “Maybe you’ll feel better tonight if you quit,” Lara said as the bus pulled up, “but ask yourself if you’re going to feel better tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.” The doors swung open.

  “I guess I’ll find out,” Alex said, stepping onto the bus. He walked to the back. Through the rear window he saw Lara looking in his direction. He didn’t care what she said. She had no idea how he felt. Nobody did. A month might not seem like a long time when you were looking at a calendar. But when you were in hell, it was an eternity.

  He sat down in the last row. He had better things to do with his time than hang out in a hockey arena feeling like a useless turd. He hoped Coach Hampton wouldn’t try to talk him out of it. He wanted to get out of there before any of his teammates arrived. He felt shitty about quitting on them, but like Lara said, if he felt this bad he wouldn’t be doing them any favours by sticking around. He would call Kenny tonight. He deserved an explanation.

&
nbsp; Maybe you’ll feel better tonight if you quit, but ask yourself if you’re going to feel better tomorrow. Lara should mind her own business, that’s what she should do. He stared out the window. This time tomorrow he’d be a free man. He’d be able to do anything he wanted to do. Anything.

  He thought about that for a couple of minutes. Then he got to his feet and pushed the stop request button.

  Alex was twenty minutes late for practice by the time he got to the arena after going home to retrieve his gear.

  “Where were you?” Kenny Nelson asked when he stepped out onto the ice.

  “Getting my shit together.”

  Hampton didn’t say a word but Alex knew there would be a price to pay for being late, and he paid it when practice ended. Thirty minutes of wind sprints in full gear that left him lying on the ice gasping for breath—and feeling better than he had in a long, long time.

  Alex went upstairs when he got home. He stopped at the doorway to Stefan’s room. Stefan was at his desk, doing his homework. He knew Alex was there but he didn’t look up. Alex knocked on the doorframe. Stefan finally looked at him.

  “Got a minute?” Alex asked. Stefan shrugged. “How’s it going?”

  “I’m okay,” Stefan said coolly.

  “I’m sorry about those things I said today. I didn’t mean them.” Stefan didn’t say anything. “I know I’ve been a dick the past few weeks.” Stefan didn’t bother denying it. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

  “No worries. I know you’ve been stressed out.”

  After he apologized, Alex explained what had happened—the whole sorry story of how everything went off the rails after he choked in the tournament final. “I couldn’t handle the fact that you were a better goalie than me,” he said. Stefan didn’t bother denying that either. “I lost my mojo.” Stefan looked at him quizzically. “My confidence,” Alex explained. Then Alex told his brother how close he’d come to quitting the team.

  “That would have been a big mistake,” Stefan said.

  “Yeah. If it wasn’t for Lara, I would have quit,” he said. “I owe her.”