by Larence Gold
Chapter Forty-Eight
A week later, Izzy was back to moderate training doing six and ten mile runs with some discomfort in her legs. She had continued the hyperbaric oxygen treatments and the R.I.C.E. with de-emphasis on the I, for immobilization. She’s had the other treatments, they’d either work or they wouldn’t.
“You’re doing great, Izzy,” Mitch said. “How do you legs feel?”
“They feel $150,000 better.”
“First prize money in Boston,” Mitch said, “is that confidence or craziness, Izzy? You tell me.”
“Neither. It’s healthy fantasy,” she paused. “The major difference, now, is that I’m constantly monitoring myself for any signs of worsening injury. I never did that before even though I knew that at my age, that was a realistic consideration.”
“That’s why we see extreme athletics only in the young—they’ve never confronted the fact that they could be injured. They live with the sense of invulnerability.”
“That sure doesn’t describe me—I may be the polar opposite.”
Hunter, who had finished well before Izzy, came over and gave her a hug. “Pretty soon, we’ll be running together again.”
“Unless I run out of time or re-injure myself.”
Hunter hugged Izzy again. “That doesn’t sound like the old Izzy.”
“I know,” Izzy said. “It’s the new and somewhat traumatized Izzy, holding on with my teeth.”
They sat with Mitch on a bench. He faced Hunter. “Your training schedule leading up to Boston is clear to me, it’s typical marathon prep.” He faced Izzy. “You, I don’t have a clue about how far we can go without injuring you?”
“Let’s take it as an act of faith that I’m a normal runner training in the usual way,” Izzy said. “If I’m going to fail, either by poor performance or injury, then at least we’ve given it a shot. I can live with that.”
Hunter smiled broadly at Izzy. “You’re the best…”
“If you dare to say that I’m an inspiration, Hunter, I’m going to punch you in your $10,000 nose.”
Hunter smiled and then became serious. “When’s the hearing?”
“In ten days.”
“How does it look?” Hunter asked.
“Not good. Michael and Al are working their collective asses off.”
“They have to come up with something,” Mitch said, “or we’re dead meat.”
That evening, Hunter’s phone rang. It was Michael Rose. “If you have a moment, Al Russo and I would like a word with you?”
“If it’s about helping Izzy, count me in,” she said. “Where and when?”
“May we come over? It’s best that we talk in private.”
“Of course.”
She gave them the address. “Bring donuts, and I’ll make the coffee.”
Forty minutes later, they knocked on Hunter’s door, and she let them in.
Al wiped the powdered sugar from his mouth and sat with Michael at the kitchen table.
Hunter pointed at Al’s mouth and then handed him a napkin. “Couldn’t resist, eh? So, it’s true what they say about cops and donuts?”
“It’s an occupational hazard,” Al said.
She poured the coffee, and asked, “Please tell me that you have something that will help Izzy.”
Michael stared at Hunter with soft, empathic brown eyes, and said, “That may depend on you, Hunter.”
“On me,” she said with surprise. “I don’t get it.”
“Before we go on,” Al said, “we need to know the nature of your relationship with your father, Cedric Blake.”
“Do you have a month?” she replied.
“We’re running out of time,” Michael said. “What we want to know, in a nutshell, is can we trust you if your father was somehow involved with Izzy’s positive test for steroids?”
“You really think that he had something to do with that?”
“Yes, we do,” Al said, “but knowing is not proving, and if we’re to get Izzy past the USADA hearing we need provable facts.”
Michael stared at Hunter. “In your mind, is it possible that he’s involved?”
Hunter leaned backward in thought. “I’ve led a privileged and protected life, and it’s only recently that I’ve come to understand how ruthless my father can be. Thinking on it now, I guess it makes sense.”
“Will you help us?” Al asked.
“What do you want me to do and when can I do it?”
“Right away,” Michael said. “We’re just about out of time.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
“It’s only two days to the USADA hearing, Mother,” Jennifer said, “what’s going to happen?”
“Nothing good, sweetheart.” Izzy said, looking at her watch. “Everyone should be here soon.”
As the clock reached 7 p.m., the front doorbell rang. Ross opened the door and a small crowd of supporters entered. The group included Mitch, Connie, Jodie, Lewis and Miriam, and David Rice from the VR laboratory. In a moment, a small well-dressed man in his sixties, Adam Spencer, Izzy’s lawyer rushed up the pathway and entered. He was completely bald and had the bulbous red nose of the heavy drinker. His fingers showed heavy tobacco staining.
Ross showed them all into the living room.
When Izzy entered, she scanned the room. “Thank you all for coming.” She looked around again, and asked, “Where’s Hunter?”
Mitch said, “I don’t know. She said she’d be here.”
Adam Spencer scanned the room. “Yes, and where are Michael Rose and Al Russo?” He paused. “They are our last great hope.” Adam turned to Izzy. “I’m not that crazy about discussing your case with all these people around. It breaks client and attorney confidentiality.”
“If we just take a hit on that,” Izzy said, “that will be a major victory. Moreover,” she scanned the room, these are my friends and supporters. They deserve to be a part of this.”
Ross faced Adam Spencer. “The floor is yours, Adam.”
Adam stood and moved to a corner when he could see everyone. He coughed, and straightened his tie. “I wish I had better news for you, Izzy, but I don’t. Absent new information, and by that I mean an explanation for the positive test for anabolic steroids, all we can do is attack the test and those responsible for collecting and analyzing the specimen.”
“I think you should do whatever it takes, “Jodie said.
“Yesses,” came from Jennifer and Connie.
“Not so fast,” Izzy said. “I’m not comfortable with that strategy—it smack of Lance Armstrong and his array of ultra-aggressive attorneys.” She paused. “First, I support the USADA in their efforts to police athletes, and secondly, I don’t want to do something that might impair their ability to do their jobs.”
Adam became excited. “But, Izzy, that leaves us with very little, we can’t…”
“What,” Izzy asked. “Lie and cheat to avoid punishment.”
Adam reddened with anger. “There’s a big difference, Izzy, between what you suggested and vigorous advocacy. If you don’t want the latter, I’m simply wasting my time.”
“Maybe I can plead nolo contendere,” Izzy asked, “and call it a day.”
“Even if you could, and you can’t, they’d still suspend you. You’d be done—disgraced, discredited, and dishonored,” Adam said. “You’d never compete again.”
Izzy smiled. “What’s the matter, Adam, you run out of adjectives?”
Adam remained deadly serious. “I don’t think that’s funny, and neither do your friends.”
“Mother,” Jennifer cried, “you can’t give up. Not after all you’ve been through.”
“Tell me what to do, Jen, and I’ll do it, but I’m just not going to attack the system. The steroids were in my body and I won’t destroy what’s left of my dignity with a General Sherman’s march to the sea.”
“Okay, Izzy,” Adam said. “It’s your life and your reputation. I’ll put up as many character witnesses as the court will tolerate, but
even if the Pope testified in your behalf, and swore to your honesty, it wouldn’t do you much good.”
Adam turned to Mitch. “By-the-way, Mitchell, you’re on the prosecution’s list to testify.”
“What?”, Mitch said, “That’s nuts. No way can or will I help their case against Izzy.”
“You’d better rethink that, Mitch,” Adam said, “they wouldn’t call you without a reason.”
After the group left, Miriam and Lewis remained sitting on the sofa.
Izzy turned to them. “So, say something.”
Lewis crossed the room and embraced his daughter. “A father should always make things better for his children.” His eyes filled. “I wish I could do something—anything to help my daughter.”
After Lewis released Izzy, she turned to face Miriam. Her mother remained tight-lipped, staring at the floor. “Mother?” Izzy asked.
Miriam looked up at Izzy. “I can’t even remember how it started—some stupid and trivial event. I’m not easy, sweetheart, and while you may believe that I was never there for you, ask your father. I worried myself sick over you and then I regretted your control over me. Think of how much time we’ve wasted—how little time I, we have left, it makes me very sad.”
Izzy felt her eyes filling with tears. “Mommy…”
Miriam stood and approached her daughter. “You may never have known it, but I was always proud of you. Today, I’m prouder than ever.”
They both came into each other’s arms, sobbing.
Chapter Fifty
Beatrice was sitting in the den watching TV after breakfast when the doorbell rang. She walked to the front door and looked through the peephole at Hunter.
“Open up, Mother.”
“Where’s your key?” Beatrice asked.
“I threw it away after my last visit.”
Beatrice opened the door, but when she tried to hug her daughter, Hunter evaded her grasp. “Where’s your husband? I must speak with him.”
“You mean, your father.”
“Whatever,” Hunter said.
“He had to pick something up from the post office. He should be on his way home.” She glanced at her watch. “He should be here any moment.”
Hunter sat on the sofa, grabbed the remote and muted the TV.
Beatrice stared at her daughter. “What’s going on?” She paused. “If you two are going to pick up where you left off the last time you were here, I’m going to leave.”
“No, Mother. It’s something else.”
“What?”
“How much do you really know about your husband, his business practices, and his character?”
Beatrice hesitated. “I know little of his business—maybe I should know more, but don’t question his character. He’s been a loving husband and a wonderful provider. He has a gruff exterior, but a kind heart.”
“Kind heart?” Hunter replied. “That’s a joke.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Hunter. He’s a good man.”
Hunter shook her head in disbelief. “Well, Mother, I think that you’re in for a rude awakening.”
Just then, Cedric came through the front door, and shouted, “Mother, I’m home.”
“We’re in here,” Beatrice called back.
When Cedric entered the den, he froze when he spied Hunter, and said, “Oh, it’s you. What do you want now?”
Beatrice paled. “Why don’t you give the girl a chance? Why are the first words out of your mouth an attack on your own daughter?”
Cedric ignored Beatrice and turned to Hunter. “You came to see me?”
“Yes, Father. May we have a moment?”
He turned to Beatrice. “If you’ll excuse us…”
Beatrice crossed her arms. “I certainly will not. You are my husband. Hunter is our daughter. Whatever is between you two, I need to know.”
“It’s your funeral, Bea,” Cedric said. He nodded at Hunter. “Go ahead.”
“Hunter studied her father. “Do you know a Kelly Potter, Father?”
Cedric coughed and paled. “Where did you hear that name?”
“She phoned me, asking for money. When I asked why would I give money to a perfect stranger, she said, ‘ask your father.’”
Cedric stood, walked over to Beatrice, took her by the arm, and escorted her to the door.
“What are you doing, Cedric?” she shouted.
“I’m sorry, Bea,” he said, “but this isn’t for your ears—trust me.”
Beatrice pulled her arm away from his grasp, opened the door, and slammed it behind her.
Cedric turned back to Hunter. “When did she call? What else did she say? Will she call again?”
“She called yesterday morning. When I threatened to hang up, she said that, and I quote, ‘your daddy wouldn’t like that.’”
“That’s it?”
Hunter hesitated. “You’ve got to tell me what this is all about, Daddy. How can I help you if I don’t know what it’s all about?”
Cedric clenched his jaw. “Damn it, Hunter. Tell me exactly what else she said.”
“She said that she’s prepared to go to the authorities and that you had twenty-four hours to gather $25,000 in cash. ‘Tell that to your father.’”
“$25,000,” he smirked. “Stupid girl,” he said, “That’s chump change.”
“When will she call again?”
“Tonight.”
Cedric thought for a long moment. “I’m going to tell you what to say…”
“Like hell, you are. I don’t know what you’re into, but one thing is for sure, you’re not going to involve me.”
“Just do as I ask, damn it.”
“I won’t, Father. Tell me what this is all about, and maybe I’ll help—no guarantees.”
Cedric looked into Hunter’s eyes and spoke softly. “I can’t.”
Hunter stood. “I’m out of here.”
“Please, baby…”
“It must be pretty bad if you’re afraid to tell your own daughter about it.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“Okay, then tell me,” Hunter said, returning to her seat.
“Everything I’ve done was for you, darling. I wanted you to win, but that Izzy person, and her kosher buddy wouldn’t get out of my way—our way.”
Hunter tapped her finger impatiently against the coffee table. “Tell me, or I’m leaving.”
“It was never my intention to harm Izzy. I just wanted to disqualify her.”
“You poisoned her with steroids?” How did you do that?”
“Poison? No poison. I had Kelly add Androgel, an anabolic steroid, to the massage oil she used on Izzy. I only wanted the USADA screening test to detect the drug. The dose was too low to have any physiological effect, especially on her performance.”
“You ruined her life and everything she worked so hard for. She’s appearing before the USADA committee right as we speak. How could you do that to anybody?”
“It was for you, sweetheart—only for you.” He paused. “Anyway, it’s too late now.”
“You’ll have to testify for Izzy at the USADA hearing, Daddy, to set the record straight.”
“Like hell, I will.”
Suddenly, the front doorbell rang. “Bea, get that. I’m busy,” he shouted.
Moments later, two men, and a uniformed cop entered the room.
Al Russo looked at Cedric, turned him, and applied handcuffs. “Cedric Blake,” Al said, “you’re under arrest for assault in the second degree on Dr. Isabel Kramer, a class B felony. You have the right…”
After Al finished giving the Miranda warning, Hunter moved before her father, pulled up her blouse to reveal the tiny microphone taped to her abdomen. She turned to Michael Rose, “Got it?”
Michael smiled. “Sure as hell did.”
Cedric’s pupils dilated, and he turned crimson as he lunged for his daughter. The officer held him back. “You ungrateful bitch. I should have known that nothing good could ever come from you. You disg
ust me.”
“Thank you, Daddy. Now I’m sure that I did the right thing.” She turned to Al. “How long?”
Al looked at Cedric, and at Hunter. “Rich narcissists won’t make for an easy conviction, but we have him dead to rights. I’m guessing that he’ll go away for at least ten years.”
“What about that damned Kelly Potter?” Cedric said. “This was all her idea.”
“If you can find Ms. Potter,” Michael said, “we’d appreciate the info. Would love to see you two fight this out in court.”
“You mean…” he stared at Hunter in disbelief. “You told me…”
“It was only a little lie,” she said smiling at Al and Michael. “After all, I learned from the best.” Hunter turned back to face her father. “See you in 10 years. Mother and I will be waiting.”
Michael turned to Al. “We don’t and won’t have a conviction for some time, but we have the raw data, the recording, for the USADA. We must get it to them before it’s too late.”
Three days later, Cedric Blake stood with his attorney for arraignment at in the Superior Court of California, County of San Mateo. Beatrice and Hunter sat in the rear of the courtroom. Hunter held her mother while she sobbed softly. The judge looked down from the bench as the bailiff read the charges: Under the California Penal Code, title 8, section 9, the defendant Cedric Black is charged with assault in the second degree for the illegal administration of anabolic steroids to Dr. Isabel Kramer.
The judge studied Cedric. “I’m sorry to see such a prominent and well-respected citizen in my court. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, your honor.”
The judge turned to the prosecution. “I’ll assume that the prosecution will agree to release Mr. Blake, R.O.R.?”
“Yes, your honor,” the DA said.
As Cedric walked toward the courtroom door, he stopped before Beatrice and Hunter. He faced Beatrice. “Tell your daughter that she’s no longer welcome in our home and that I’ll be removing her from my will. She’ll never see a penny from my estate.”
After Cedric left, Beatrice turned to Hunter. “I’m so sorry. Perhaps, over time, he’ll learn to forgive.”