The Hurting Circus

by Paul O'Brien

  “She cries?” Lenny asked.

  “Not as much now.”

  Lenny’s heart was broken. “She cries?”

  Jimmy nodded. “How’s your pie?”

  “It’s weird,” Lenny said.

  Jimmy laughed a little. “Weird?”

  “It’s been a long time since I had pizza like this. It doesn’t taste real anymore.”

  Jimmy leaned in, like he was about to discuss serious business. “How would you break into this joint?”

  Lenny wasn’t sure if Jimmy was serious or not. “What?”

  Jimmy kept eating, and his eyes stayed on the table. “Just say that we’re casing the joint. How would you get in?”

  “Why would you ask that?” Lenny said.

  “’Cause you’re a con,” the boy said simply.

  Lenny wanted to answer. He wanted Jimmy to think he was cool, even if it did mean talking, in theory, about breaking the law. “It can’t be done,” Lenny said. “There are windows all along the front of the building, and foot traffic outside. I’d say it would be impossible to get in and out without being seen. Why?”

  Jimmy said, “Just trying to learn the business.”

  Lenny laughed. “Learn what business?”

  “For when I grow up.” Jimmy took another gigantic bite. He had a little snot beginning to form in his left nostril.

  Lenny noticed the guy behind the counter staring at them again.

  “What is this guy’s problem?” Lenny asked.

  Jimmy saw where his father was looking. “Can I tell you something?” he said with a full mouth.

  “Yeah,” Lenny said.

  Jimmy took a couple of chews and wiped his mouth. “I have no money.”

  Lenny spat his half-chewed mouthful onto his plate. “What?”

  Jimmy smiled. “I don’t have a single cent. I don’t even get my pocket money until tomorrow.”

  “You got no money?”

  “Nope. I lied,” Jimmy said. “I told the guy you were going to pay.”

  “What? Why did you lie?”

  “I don’t know why I do it. But I lie all the time,” Jimmy said. He calmly picked up his slice to have another bite but Lenny slapped it out of his hand.

  “What?” Jimmy asked.

  Lenny leaned in and whispered, “You can’t eat it if we can’t pay for it.”

  “The guy that owns this place is an asshole.” Jimmy took what was left of his slice and slipped it into his pocket. Lenny couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “We can’t do that,” Lenny said.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I have to run,” Jimmy said.

  “Hang on, this is crazy,” Lenny said.

  Jimmy looked his father dead in the eye. “I can’t get in any more trouble with the cops, or they said I’d end up in a home.”

  Each sentence was making Lenny more exasperated. “What?” Lenny saw the guy behind the counter look out at them again from the kitchen. He had a phone to his ear.

  “Go,” Jimmy said. He nodded his head toward the door as the guy behind the counter walked into the back.

  Lenny didn’t have much of a choice—he didn’t have any money of his own and he knew if the cops came he was straight back inside. He slowly moved to the edge of his seat.

  “You doing it?” Jimmy excitedly asked.

  Lenny nodded. “Go.”

  Father and son bolted out the door and scrambled up the road as fast as they could.

  “Hey, hey!” shouted the guy behind the counter.

  Lenny never ran so fast in his life. In the middle of the panic, he could see the look of pure exhilaration on his son’s face.

  The railroad tracks looked like a rusty steel mess. The surrounding banks were overgrown, and the eyes of a few homeless people watched Jimmy and his father walking home. The boy was eating the last bites of his pizza and Lenny feeling the sun on his face and the stones under his feet. Both of them felt content.

  “Mom used to work at that pizza place. Did you see the guy working there?” Jimmy said. “He doesn’t like me.”

  “Why not?” Lenny asked.

  “Because he stiffed Mom on her paychecks. He always said that she didn’t work enough hours, or that he’d pay her the next time. That’s why we moved. She got a job somewhere else.” Jimmy stopped walking. “That’s why it’s not stealing. That asshole owes Mom a ton of cash. It’s our money. She worked for it.”

  Lenny could see how passionate his son was about protecting his mother. “I understand.”

  Lenny’s words made Jimmy chill a little. “You looking to make some money?” Jimmy said.

  Lenny smiled. “Why?”

  “’Cause I’ve got a thing going here.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “It’s a little grift,” Jimmy answered matter-of-factly.

  “A grift, eh?”

  “Me and a friend of mine do it together. I jump in the river and pretend I’m drowning. Nine times out of ten, whoever tries to help me takes their keys and their wallets out of their pockets. So my friend’s job is to rob the hero. Simple.”

  Lenny had no idea what to say. He wanted to scold the boy, teach him something. But the reality was, Lenny was still a stranger to his son.

  Jimmy continued. “So, a couple of days ago, my partner tried to take an unfair split. I took what was mine. Then his brother found me, pushed me around, and kicked me in the ribcage.”

  Lenny stopped and turned Jimmy toward him. “Does your mother know about any of this?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “I wasn’t joking around about the cops putting me in a home.”

  “What home?” Lenny asked.

  “Juvie.” Jimmy smiled at his father. “Like you, Pop. I’m like you.”

  Lenny stooped to Jimmy’s eye level. “Don’t ever be like that.”

  Jimmy had a huge grin on his face. “You’re not the only one who deals with the law.”

  “Jimmy, I—I didn’t deal with anything. I was—”

  Jimmy put out his hand for his father to shake. “We’re buddies, aren’t we?”

  Lenny wondered just how wild Jimmy was. He remembered him as a little pudgy baby who wouldn’t do much for himself. “Yeah, we’re buddies,” Lenny said as he shook his son’s hand.

  “Did you see Luke yet?” Jimmy asked.

  “Not yet,” Lenny replied.

  “He took up the family business, too. The other family business,” Jimmy said.

  Before Lenny could inquire further, Jimmy was straight back in. “Will you take me home? Mom would love to see you.”

  “Not yet.”

  Jimmy and Lenny walked the railway home.

  “Tomorrow?” Jimmy asked.

  “No.”

  “The next day?”

  “Is that money I hear rattling in your pocket?” Lenny asked.

  “No,” Jimmy lied.

  Japan.

  In all of Ricky’s time in Japan, he could never get used to one thing: the food. After a big match, he liked to make his way down to the little steakhouse close to his hotel. It was a treat to himself because steak wasn’t as cheap or plentiful as it was back home. Ricky liked to bring the owner a few gifts every time he went down there. He had never gotten to know the owner’s name, but Ricky was always treated right. In return, the owner had given Ricky a satin red jacket with the steakhouse’s name on the front and the silhouette of a bull’s head above it. Ricky wore the jacket at shows, and the steakhouse would look after him when he came in.

  It was a small place with raw wooden stools facing a long, simple counter. There were a few tables with the same simple wood. Ricky was sore and slow. He didn’t know what had happened in his match, but he knew that he couldn’t wait to get the fuck home. While he devoured his steak, Ricky figured out a few different ways to bring New York back to the top. He needed to convince Ade to buy the contract from Lenny. She would have the resources and contacts to light the territory up again. Maybe even take the black mark off the p
lace. In the meantime, he’d build stars, make his way back into the NWC’s good books, and start to trade wrestlers again. The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. He could honestly, finally go home, and be closer to Ginny. He could work behind the scenes and stop bleeding for money.

  “You got room for one more?”

  Ricky turned to see his old tag-team partner, Wild Ted Berry, standing behind him with a huge grin on his face. He too was wearing a satin steakhouse jacket.

  “What the fuck?” Ricky said.

  “They paid me main event money to come over for another tour,” Ted said, as he sat down. His beard and teeth were stained with chewing tobacco, and his eyes were puffy from the long haul over.

  “I thought you were taking care of New York?” Ricky said.

  Ted leaned in. “Where do I even start with that fucking place? You know what’s happening there, right?”

  Ricky shook his head, refusing to admit he knew anything about the territory. “Been a long time since I was in the loop.”

  “Lucky you,” Ted said, looking at Ricky’s steak. “Hey, can I get one of these?” he asked a passing woman. He wasn’t even sure she worked there, or understood him.

  Ricky was happy to see his old tag-team partner. It had been a long time since both men were together—much less in Japan.

  “New York misses you,” Ted said. “Ever since Danno—you know. And then you left. Joe Lapine comes sweeping in through the back door. They think I don’t know what’s happening. But I knew. Joe putting just enough money into it to keep the place alive. Making sure we kept TV.”

  “Really?” Ricky simply took a drink, leaving room for Ted to continue.

  “Looks like Joe wasn’t happy to hear that you were coming back,” Ted said.

  “Coming back?” Ricky replied. “Who said—”

  Ted smiled. His teeth were freshly painted in tobacco juice. “You don’t have to try to work me, Ricky. I’ve been around a long time. I know how all this plays out.”

  Ricky slowly cut another piece of his steak. “I don’t have nothing in concrete.”

  Ted opened his little carry bottle and spat into it. “Joe blackballed me. Said I should have known what was going on. So I had to come back here.”

  Ted was too old to start again; he knew it, and Ricky knew it. “Is there any way that I can convince you not to go back to New York?” Ted asked.

  Ricky didn’t take any pleasure whatsoever in shaking his head. “I have to go home.”

  “I thought as much.” Ted signaled to the counter for a drink. “Will you have one too?” Ted asked. “A welcome drink for me, and one for the road for you.”

  “Of course,” Ricky said.

  In the space of a day in the wrestling business, Ricky was heading home, and Ted was banished back to Japan.

  “I will bring you home if I can,” Ricky said. “I’ve got something going over there. Maybe it comes off and we get to go back home.”

  “I appreciate that,” Ted said, as he held his drink up.

  Ricky picked up his drink and did the same. He could see that Ted didn’t really believe it. Ricky didn’t really believe it either. Doing business with Ade was a long, long shot.

  “Are you sure there’s no way I can talk you out of going home?” Ted asked again, this time with the clear sound of desperation in his voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Ricky said.

  He was tapped on the shoulder, and through a series of hand signals, nods, and smiles, Ricky figured out that there was a call for him. In all his years of leaving the steakhouse’s number at his hotel, it had never been used.

  His blood ran cold.

  “Everything alright?” Ted asked.

  Ricky slowly stood and walked to the waiting receiver. It must have been Ginny. Something had happened. His hand began to tremble a little as he put the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?” Ricky said.

  “Leave now, Ricky,” said a familiar-sounding voice. “Just walk out of there.”

  Ricky looked around the steakhouse. Everything seemed normal. Everyone was minding their own business. Could it be a rib by some of the other wrestlers?

  “Who is this?” Ricky asked, trying to recognize the voice.

  The caller on the other side hung up. Ricky put his phone down too. It sounded like Masa, who was great for letting Ricky know what was really going on, but Ricky wasn’t one hundred percent sure that it was him.

  “Everything okay?” Ted asked, as he signaled for another round of drinks.

  Ricky didn’t know what to make of what had just happened, but Japan felt off this time. He probably never should have come back, but what choice did he have? “Back in a sec,” Ricky said, as he walked toward the restroom.

  The steakhouse had a tiny, pale green toilet at the end of a small corridor. Ricky headed straight to the side exit off that corridor. Ricky was now pretty sure that it was Masa who had called him, and Masa was a friend who didn’t fuck around.

  Ricky walked to the exit and tried to figure out how to open it without making too much noise. He heard someone approach him quickly from behind. Before he could turn, he felt the sharp, cold blade of a knife stab his lower back repeatedly. Ricky lashed back with everything he had and cracked his attacker in the face with his elbow. He could feel the cold sensation of shock run up his spine; he tried instinctively to reach back to get a sense of how bad it was. Blood was spilling on the floor. He turned to his attacker, but the face was unknown to Ricky. He was Asian—nobody Ricky knew in wrestling. It was never the person you could see that you needed to worry about.

  As his attacker began to get up, Ricky kicked him in the face as hard as he could. Ricky stumbled over the man and slipped on his blood as he cracked the exit door open. He fell outside to the ground. Across the narrow road was a gas station. Ricky knew he didn’t have much time, so he tried to drag himself to where passersby might see him. Where someone could help. He threw his right arm out in front and hauled his faltering body a few inches at a time. He didn’t know if anyone was behind him, waiting to strike again. He didn’t know who was in the restaurant and if they were there for him too. He didn’t know if Ted was involved. He just knew he needed to get as much space between him and the steakhouse as he could.

  He also knew he wasn’t going to make it to the gas station.

  Ricky rolled over; he wanted to see the sky above him rather than the dirty street under him. He felt his eyes getting heavier, and the sounds around him getting softer. His own blood began to choke him. He had never experienced a stranger feeling than knowing it was his time; knowing that there was no one around to tell he was leaving. No one to put him at ease. He was so far from the wall he’d held onto when he tried out his first bike; so far from his first match; his first love.

  He felt a calmness come over him.

  Ricky stopped trying to move, and he stopped panicking. He just waited until his eyes closed and he could open them no more.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  1970.

  San Francisco.

  It started as a little thing: a few floorboards here, a few floorboards there. Merv was old school, which meant no banks, no checkbook, and no accountant. He’d made millions between the wrestling business and other deals. But Ade couldn’t find a single fucking cent—not yet.

  She was sure that he’d put it all underneath the floorboards in the attic, so she started removing one board at a time. She struggled to lift the first one, and every single one after that, until she had the whole space taken up. She found nothing but signs of mice. After a couple of months of living in the big mansion on her own, Ade sat doing absolutely nothing. She looked at her house, big and cold, and wondered why she was still there. Merv was gone, but she felt that he was watching her, and judging her. He was still everywhere: in every picture, every seat, and every lamp. Merv’s awful taste in design, decor, and art caused Ade to panic.

  Fuck it.

  She entered her dusty gardening shed and eme
rged with a wheelbarrow. Her garden was full of tiny test sites; mini graves where she had been digging for Merv’s money. She just had another nine acres to go before she covered the whole garden. In the kitchen, her cupboards had been totally emptied, and her hallways had floorboards missing. She was randomly testing parts of her house, too. One night long ago she had tried to coax the money’s whereabouts from a drunken Merv, but all he said was he’d “tell her some night in April.” Whatever the fuck that meant. She wasn’t even sure if that’s what he’d said. So with Merv dead, and nothing to go on, she had no other choice but to look for it herself. April was the fourth month, so she tried every fourth room, every fourth step, every fourth floorboard, and every fourth foot outside. There were millions of dollars hiding somewhere. Ade knew it.

  Merv used to come home from events with his bag heavy with cash. Ade would go to bed and by the next morning the bag was always empty and waiting by his car keys, ready to be filled again.

  She tried to follow Merv once, but she had only gotten halfway down the stairs when he caught her. “You ever snoop around on me again, and I’ll break your jaw,” he told her.

  She believed him, too.

  Floor after floor, she tossed Merv’s every belonging down the stairs. Clothes, old title belts, model boats, watches, bedsheets, and records all went tumbling down to the waiting wheelbarrow. Ade didn’t know what she was going to do with all Merv’s crap, but she did know that she had to get rid of every trace of him. Wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow, she dumped his stuff onto her nighttime lawn. She was angry, guilty, sweaty, and without a plan. She knew that just dumping it outside meant she would only have to deal with it the next morning, so she filled the garage with it. She lived in the house, and what was left of Merv lived in the garage.

  Eventually the car company came and took the car back. Then they came again, and took the second car. All of the bills stayed in their envelopes by the door. Ade hid from anyone who knocked. She didn’t know who any of the people at her door were, and she didn’t care to check. At first she’d hear her doorbell and hide under her bed, but the more she got used to it, the more she hid in plain sight. She didn’t panic, because she knew that there was money. She had seen it for decades. Their house was big, with a lot of under-floor options and crawl spaces in the walls. She thought it might take her a while, but Ade had time. At least, she felt like she had time, until the wrestling company Merv left behind began to lose the crowds. Ade was the de facto new boss, but she wasn’t a wrestling person, and she didn’t understand how to draw people into her territory over a sustained period of time.