“Hey, hey.” Rayne held up his hand. “It’s me. Not a burglar.”
“I know that, asshole.” She folded her arms and stormed to him.
“I thought maybe you thought I was someone else and you were protecting yourself.’
“No! I meant to hit you.”
“You missed.”
Quickly, Lita grabbed the remote, threw it at Rayne and hit him in the head.
“Ow.”
“Two hundred dollars!” She screamed, waving a piece of paper. “Debit card statement, Rayne. Two hundred for boots. Another one hundred and fifty for tights. And what is this... three fifty for a cape?”
“I thought I’d change my shtick. It didn’t work.”
“Nothing is going to work. I’m tired of this. I couldn’t figure out why, after your pay was deposited that my hair cut was declined. This …” She slammed it into his chest. “is why. Seven hundred dollars, Rayne. Seven on wrestling shit! That’s just this month.”
“I need the stuff.”
“You need to quit.”
“It’s my dream and I am not giving it up.”
“You don't think maybe you’re a little too old for this dream?”
“Rick Flair wrestled well into his sixties.”
“Rick Flair can bite me.”
“That’s just disrespectful,” Rayne said. “Are you sure you’re not upset about the groupies?”
“What groupies? You have twelve year olds and middle age men chanting for you. No Rayne, this is about me being tired of being poor. Tired of never having money. Having things bounce so you can wrestle.”
“What if you got a job?”
Lita gasped. “How dare you? You promised me I’d never have to work and now you’re throwing it in my face!”
“OK, ok, you’re right.” Rayne held up his hand. “What is the emergency? You said there was an emergency.’
“This!” Lita screamed. “Are you an idiot?”
“Stop with the name calling. I’m trying to figure out how this is an emergency. Do you need to pay for your hair? It looks nice.”
“No, Rayne. I’m leaving.”
“To go where?”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re done. Through. It’s over. When you get home from work, I’ll be gone.”
“You called me home to say you were leaving me?”
“Yeah, Rayne.”
“Can you not and just wait until I get home so we can sit down and talk?”
Defensively she folded her arms to her body. “I will wait. But here’s your deal. Think about it while you’re working. I’m done. It’s wrestling or me.”
Rayne didn’t say any more, he nodded his head and walked out.
Brad was waiting in the truck when Rayne got in.
“So what was the emergency?” Brad asked.
“She’s pissed that I spent money on wrestling gear. Says she’s leaving me.”
Brad shook his head. “She’s not leaving you.”
“She said I have to choose. Wrestling or her.”
“Rayne, wrestling is your life. Your dream. You do it for you and your brother’s memory. If she loved you, she wouldn’t have you make that choice. Don’t give in. I mean it.”
“Yeah, I know. But what choice do I have? She’s all I got, Brad. All I have in this world.”
“Then you ain’t looking around. You’re young, Rayne. You have your whole life ahead of you. The whole world.” Brad shifted the gears and drove on. “And trust me, the world isn’t going anywhere yet.”
<><><><>
The overnight delivery envelope was perched before Ava’s front door. She knew what it was and was pretty excited to see it.
She didn’t need to open it to know they were tickets to the live wrestling show at the arena. Calvin would be thrilled and for certain would stay out of trouble for the evening.
It was all part of Ava’s part time job. Very part time job. She always wanted to be a writer and Darren’s friend owned an online blog called The Venue Vine. It was a pretty popular online source for wrestling and MMA fans.
When Ava started to write for them, she wasn’t really a fan, until she learned the stories behind the wrestlers and then the entertainment sport grew interesting to her.
After two years she became pretty fanatical.
Her enthusiasm over the tickets was marred by her growing guilt about Cassie.
At first she kind of basked in it with a ‘good, you deserve it attitude’. Then when she had an early lunch with Landon, it stayed on her mind. After dropping him off at kindergarten, she wondered why she hadn’t heard anything.
Four missed phone calls from Cassie’s mother added to her guilt. Not only did she not want to speak to Rosie and tell her that her daughter was in Juvenile Detention, she knew the conversation would end up with Rosie asking, ‘Can you help me out? Just twenty bucks? Please, I need food.”
Food or whatever the excuse for money was.
But what if Rosie really needed food? Ava would do what she always did, offer to take her to the store.
Ava knew very well that if she gave her money, Rosie was going to buy meth. She always did. It was horrible what it was doing to her. Twice, since Ava knew her, Rosie went into Rehab, but her clean streak ended quickly and each fall from the wagon was worse than the time before.
Rosie used to be beautiful, but everything about her appearance had been trashed. Her skin, teeth and hair.
It broke Ava’s heart when Rose would visit with the kids. They had to see the self-destruction that was going on and it had to hurt them. Maybe, somewhere in them, they knew they lashed out in hurt over their mother.
After walking in the house, Ava placed the envelope on the table, walked to the living room, and as a habit, turned on the television. Her plan was to make phone calls and find out about Cassie.
The corner of her eye caught the breaking news story at the same time her phone rang. She let it ring through once as Ava tried to visually decipher what she saw on the screen.
An aerial shot of a building, police vehicles people in biohazard suits.
Third ring. She looked at the phone. It was Darren and she answered.
He didn’t say hello, he blasted her. “What the hell, Ava? I put you in charge and you let them arrest my daughter?”
Calmly Ava replied. “I didn’t let them arrest her. She was found guilty and taken.”
“Didn’t you tell them I work for Senator Adams?”
“It didn’t matter.”
“Well it matters,” he said.
“How did you find out?”
“They called me.”
“Oh.” Ava’s eyes went again to the television. She slipped her attention from Darren as she read the screen. ‘Paris Hotel Quarantined.’
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
“Um … no. Darren, did you hear anything about …”
“Ava! This is pissing me off. I can’t have my daughter in jail. Do you understand?”
Ava cringed facially. Annoyed she pulled the phone down, pressed her middle finger against it as if Darren could see, then brought it back to her ear. “I understand.”
“Good. They’re releasing her in an hour. I’d appreciate if you would go pick her up.”
“Alright, I will. But I don’t even know where …” Ava cocked her head back. He had hung up. “They have her. Oh, well.” She placed the phone down, walked around to the sofa and sat down.
After adjusting the volume on the television to hear better, Ava took time to watch the newscast. The building was surrounded and it appeared, that they were covering the large building in some sort of plastic.
To her, not only was the sight of it hard to believe … it was scary.
<><><><>
Sam, acting manager of housekeeping, leaned toward Joel and took in a long sniff.
“What?” Joel asked.
“You have a headache.”
“Yes,” Joel said. “Now, did you handle it?”
Sam e
xhaled. “Against my better judgment, I made the room downstairs. I brought up the chairs. We’ll need them for that self-help seminar on Wednesday.”
“What’s up with that?” Joel shook his head. “We got her poster board to prop up. She’s flighty. Did you see her name? Semora Love. What the hell?”
“I heard she’s brilliant. Maybe you need to stop in and listen to her seminar before JJ Wylde arrives.”
“I don’t need self-help to handle a pop star. Now Walter maybe …” Joel chuckled. “Speaking of which, he just radioed we have a problem.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. And thanks for taking care of everything.” Joel turned.
“Say, Joel what’s up with all this extra stuff?”
“Lots happening this week. More than usual.” Joel shrugged. “One would think we’re getting ready for the freaking apocalypse.” Another laugh by Joel and he walked away, headed to find Walter who was outside the private dining area of the restaurant.
Joel couldn’t imagine what sort of problem there was with funeral attendees.
Walter had been head of security since that particular hotel opened fifteen years earlier and before that, he ran security for another. He had been part of the corporate chain for his whole life.
He was a former military man and his age and wisdom showed through not only on his resume, but when Walter talked to anyone, he lectured.
A big guy, with perfectly manicured thick white hair. His face was rough and gruff and no one would believe he was seventy-four. Walter was as serious as they came and Joel could swear he never saw him smile or laugh.
As if he were guarding the president, Walter stood watch, just outside the private dining door.
“How’s it going?” Joel asked. Then turned his head slightly in surprise to a bang that came from outside.
“Sad. Very sad. Although I have to say, people don’t mourn like they used to. Used to be tears. Now they laugh. I don’t get it. This is sad. Such a young guy that died.”
“Man, a shame. How young?”
“Eighty.”
“Walter, eighty is not young.”
“It is when you’re getting there.”
Again, Joel turned his head to more banging. “What is that?”
“The problem I radioed about.”
“Why didn’t you take care of it?”
“These people asked for security. Apparently, Aunt Leona has had a bit too much to drink,” Walter said. “The deceased’s wife said she is a nasty drunk.”
“What is that noise?”
“Another reason I won’t handle it. The person making it.”
“Who?”
“Ever want to sing the song, ‘Rain, rain go away come again some other day'? I do, only I wanna say, ‘go away and come again when I’m no longer working here and retired. Although it doesn’t rhythm or have any rhythmic potential.”
“I’ll handle him.”
“Please.”
The song referred to by Walter only meant one person, Rayne the garbage man.
He had to be banging something loud and hard if it echoed from the back into the hotel. Joel took the kitchen door outside where the noise was even louder.
The refuse truck was parked near the door, and Brad was seated in the driver seat playing with his phone.
Joel banged on his door and looked up. “Hey!”
“Oh, hey, Joel.”
“Can’t you hear that?” Joel asked.
“I kinda blocked him out. He needs to release some frustration.”
“Not in my parking lot, he doesn’t.” A shake of his head and Joel walked around the truck to see Rayne.
His long black ponytail was disheveled and his brawny body looked like it gave all it could as Rayne swing a baseball bat into the sideways tipped dumpsters.
“Rayne!” Joel blasted. “What the hell is the matter with you? Knock it off!’
Rayne stopped, peered over his shoulder. “Hey, Joel. I was … uh getting out the dents.”
“The dents?”
“Yeah, the dumpster was pretty dented.”
“It’s a dumpster.” Joel walked to him.
“At a nice hotel.”
“Yes, Rayne, and nice hotels don’t have garbage men beating the hell out of a dumpster. It’s loud. We have people inside mourning the loss of a young man.”
“Sorry.” Rayne took a step and slowly leaned toward Joel.
“What? You look like you’re gonna kiss me.”
“No. You smell.”
“Stop it.”
Rayne sniffed. “You smell like old people.”
“You smell like garbage.” Joel reached down and swiped the bat from Rayne’s hand. “What’s wrong? Brad said you’re frustrated. Did you lose this weekend? I know you had a big match.”
“No, I won.” Rayne sighed out. “My girlfriend says she’s leaving me.”
“That sucks. But women say that all the time. Probably trying to bargain. What does she want to keep her from leaving?”
“She wants me to quit wrestling.”
“Well you tell her it’s non-negotiable. My wife made me give up softball. I was miserable.”
“Wait. You still play softball.”
“I gave it up for a day. Worst mistake I ever made. She’s not going anywhere. Trust me. You’re a wrestling superstar. Who wants to give that up?”
Rayne smiled. “You’re a pretty cool guy.”
“Thanks.” Joel gave a swat to Rayne’s back. “Come on in. We just took down the buffet and left everything in the back for you and Brad. Come pack up some containers.” He walked to the truck, handing Brad the bat, and informed him that Rayne would be out with some left overs.
Brad gave a thumbs up.
“So, uh, big guy,” Joe said as they walked to the kitchen door, “You have plans for Wednesday through Saturday? You on the card?”
“Not yet, I have to call. What’s up?”
“Ever hear of JJ Wylde? “
“Who hasn’t?”
“Yeah, well, he got a concert here Thursday, and they arrive on Wednesday. I wanted to hire you on as extra security.”
“I thought he had his own.”
“Not for him,” Joel said. “For us. Just in case he pulls his antics.”
“Sure. For a minute there I was scared you were gonna ask me out.”
“You’re not that hot.” Joel opened the kitchen door.
Typical, especially when they knew it was ‘collection’ day, the kitchen workers had left the buffet tins on the back counter.
They were there, but the workers were all standing around watching the TV.
“What’s going on?” Joel asked the group of five kitchen workers.
Ernie, one of his cooks spoke, “Look at this, Joel. It’s some scary shit. They quarantined a hotel in Paris. Some sort of virus. They’re looking for planes now.”
“Was it a terror attack?” Joel asked.
Ernie shook his head. “No, an outbreak.”
The newscaster’s voice spoke. “Government officials are stating that they are erring on the side of caution with what appears to be a singular outbreak of a new strain of flu …”
Softly Rayne said, “But it’s not flu season.”
The newscaster continued. “However, these cases of new flu fall out of typical flu season.”
Joel looked at Rayne then back to the television.
Ernie said. “The plastic scares me more than anything. Why the plastic?”
Rayne answered. “To seal it in like a baggie.”
The newscaster stated, “They are sealing the building. The official statement is, that unlike the flu, this strain is more contagious via contact with the infected.”
“Got to be airborne and deadly,” Rayne said. “Otherwise, why seal it?”
“But our newsroom health officials speculate that it probably is an airborne strain and deadly.”
Joel cast another double take look to Rayne.
Another employ
ee spoke up. “All this. Thank God, it’s just that hotel.”
“Can’t be,” Rayne said. “Bet me it’s elsewhere recently. This is a lot of caution for something they don’t know anything about.”
“While the WHO is stating this is the first suspicious case, inside sources claim this is the fifth outbreak in two months.”
“This whole sealing in plastic thing” Rayne stated, “is based on theory. Seal the building of the outbreak, then wait it out for the quarantine. Leave the sick in there. I wouldn't be surprised to hear they were bringing sick people into the hot zone. Keeps it tight in one place.”
‘There are reports that people have been brought into the hotel along with medical equipment, almost as if they were making it an expedient hospital.”
“Hope the hospitals aren't filled.” Rayne murmured.
“Which leads us to hope this is after all, just caution and not indication that the hospitals are filling up.”
“Rayne,” Joel snapped. “What the hell? Are you psychic? How do you know what they’re gonna say before they say it?”
Rayne shrugged. “I like science and viruses. I read text books. When you wrestle you suffer brain damage and I want to keep my brain working.”
“By studying viruses.”
“Text books. It’s a hobby. Everyone has one.”
“Not reading text books. I’m impressed. Why are you hauling garbage if you know so much?”
“Because I’m not smart,” Rayne said. “It’s like baseball cards and sports statistics, only I know this stuff.”
“Do you think we should worry about this?” Joel asked.
“How should I know? I’m not a scientist.”
Joel grumbled. “Asshole.” He shook his head. “Well, I’m gonna say we don’t worry about this. We get back to work, then watch the news. After all,” Joel said, “we’re here. This thing is an ocean away.”
<><><><>
Paris, France
“It’s okay, baby,” Amita said on the phone. “Mommy will be home shortly. Tomorrow. I promise.”
And she wasn’t lying.
Amita had to be where the contagion was or at least follow it, and that was for certain, in the United States.
She would leave Paris the next day and would work from the CDC. More than anything she wanted to be in the lab, hands on with the virus, but instead she was limited to monitoring it on a computer screen.
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