The Hurting Circus

by Paul O'Brien

  Lenny smiled. “A stage mom?”

  Kid tried not to smile back. “You heard me.”

  “Can I get you gentlemen started with some drinks?” asked the pretty waitress.

  “I’ll just have water,” Lenny said.

  “Whiskey sour, please,” Kid said.

  Lenny was going to intervene, but he kept his mouth shut. If the champ was anyone other than his son, he’d be encouraging him to drink like a man. He wasn’t anyone else, though—he was his son. That was what made all of this so hard. “We’re going to go twelve minutes, bell to bell,” Lenny said. “You’re going over. You’re both going to get color.”

  Lenny could see on Kid’s face he wasn’t sure what that meant.

  “You’re going to win the match, and unify the titles. Both of you are going to blade,” Lenny said running a pretend razor across his forehead. “You’ll be the undisputed heavyweight wrestling champion of the world.”

  Kid looked annoyed at Lenny explaining the wrestling terms, as if he knew what he had meant the first time.

  “I want you to meet Babu tomorrow in the Garden to run through your match before anyone else gets there,” Lenny said. “He’s going to take you through it.”

  Kid was totally fine with all of that; it was all that he needed to hear. Both of their drinks were left in front of them. “I’ll be right back to take your order,” said the smiling waitress.

  “Thank you,” Lenny and Kid said together.

  Lenny raised his glass. “To family.” His toast made Kid sick to his stomach.

  “Are we done?” Kid asked, without joining the toast.

  “Done?” Lenny said.

  “I gotta go,” Kid replied.

  Lenny was confused as to what he had said or done to make his son want to leave. “I’m trying here—”

  Kid buttoned up his coat at the table. “I don’t need you to try,” he said. “I don’t need you, period. This is a match that I’m going to be allowed to win. They’ll pay me, and I’ll bring that home to Mom. That’s it. You and I are only bound by a con—something that’s not real. And that’s very fitting.” Kid got up from the table and threw a twenty down.

  “Where are you going?” Lenny asked.

  “To get drunk.” Kid walked through the busy restaurant as the other diners tried to figure out if he was the young man from the papers.

  Lenny looked at his watch and wondered if his backup was in town yet.

  1984.

  Five days after Lenny got out.

  Tokyo.

  Mr. Asai looked like an Asian movie star. He wore a perfectly pressed black suit with a red handkerchief in his top pocket. His white shirt was supplemented by a white silk scarf draped over his neck. He was followed by Masa Kido, the English-speaking referee, who struggled to keep up with his boss. Masa was covered in dried blood.

  “Where is he?” Mr. Asai asked in Japanese.

  “He’s up on your right in a private room, sir,” Masa answered him, also in Japanese.

  “How did this happen?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Find me whoever did this,” Mr. Asai demanded.

  “We’ve got the person who did this,” Masa replied.

  They arrived at the room. Mr. Asai waited for Masa to open the door and escort him inside. It was a pretty simple affair with some monitors, a couple of tubes, and a semiconscious Ricky Plick.

  “Is he able to speak yet?” Mr. Asai asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mr. Asai walked closer and looked intently at Ricky’s eyes. He wanted them to open. “Does anyone know he’s here?”

  “No,” Masa replied. “We brought him in under covers, and through the service elevator.”

  “Keep it this way,” Mr. Asai said. “Only you and I know, until we figure out what’s happening here.”

  Mr. Asai knew that this had been more than a random attack. Ricky had been just about to go back to the US to insert himself into the septic web that covered New York. This was a business hit, and Mr. Asai wanted to make sure that he was on the right side of that business. He respected Ricky and had enjoyed doing business with him for many, many years. Mr. Asai didn’t want the stigma of having a big name in the business die in his territory—especially without his permission.

  “Who dares to come here and involve me in this?” Mr. Asai asked.

  Masa didn’t know who had done it, but he felt sorry for whoever it was.

  “Kimi ni kono koto wo shita yatsu ga watashi ni mo onaji koto wo shita. Aitsu ha hoka no otoko no ryouiki ni kotowari nashi ni ippo fumiire, sara ni hito wo koroshita. Sono koto wo aitsu ni zettai koukai sasete yaru,” Mr. Asai said, when he saw Ricky open his eyes.

  Mr. Asai nodded to Ricky and left.

  “What did he say?” Ricky asked Masa.

  “He said: ‘The person who did this to you did this to me, too. They will learn that you can’t step into another man’s territory and spill blood—not without asking, and not without permission.’”

  Ricky couldn’t help but smile. “I need you to contact someone for me.”

  “Certainly. Who is it?”

  Ricky would usually be wary of answering such a question, but Masa had just saved him from dying. There was nothing for him to worry about.

  “Lenny Long. We need to keep that territory alive.”

  “Hello?” Jimmy said into the phone.

  “Hello,” Ricky said. He was still weak, and his voice sounded weird to Jimmy.

  Edgar stood up from watching the TV and looked over at his grandson. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Mom,” Jimmy lied.

  Edgar sat down and went back to his guilty pleasure on TV: The Young and the Restless.

  “Jimmy, where’s your father?” Ricky asked.

  After everything that had happened, Ricky knew that Lenny was too new to have picked sides. Ricky wanted to call Babu, but he knew that Babu had made a deal with Joe Lapine. The only one who had power and seemed uncompromised was Lenny.

  “He’s not living here no more,” Jimmy said.

  “I want you to write this down for me, and take it to him. No one else can know, you hear me?” Ricky said.

  “Yes, Uncle Ricky. I saw a frog today.” Jimmy whispered.

  “Did you?” Ricky replied.

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said.

  “Did he have a lady pig with him?”

  “What?”

  Ricky was terrible with children. “Nothing. Get a pen. Now, I don’t want you to ask any questions, just write exactly what I say, okay?”

  “Okay,” Jimmy said.

  “Tell your father I’m dead, and I want him to go with Ade.”

  “What?”

  “Just write it and give it to him. I’m going to give you a number, too,” Ricky said.

  “How are you dead?”

  Ricky drew a sore breath. “Did you write it?”

  “That rhymes,” Jimmy said.

  “What? What rhymes?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Jimmy replied, after reading it again to himself. “I thought ‘dead’ and ‘Ade’ rhymed.”

  “Just take it to him, and leave your father my number here. You got that?”

  Jimmy nodded, even though Ricky couldn’t see it.

  There was booming bass, a disco ball, a soaring chorus, and a collection of people who were all feeling it as they danced and intertwined like a stew of denim jackets and shoulder pads. Synth pop and saxophone riffs could be heard, along with dance tracks and catchy ballads. They were in a brownstone building that was once a church but had been transformed. The Limelight was the hottest club in New York. And in the middle of the euphoria was world heavyweight wrestling champion Kid Devine. He started out cool, keeping to himself in the corner. As the drinks rolled in and the night wore on, Kid wanted some recognition. Half of the world thought that he was the toughest man on the planet, and the other half thought he was a sneaky fuck who took people down from behind.

  Luke Long was neither of tho
se things, but his wrestling persona, Kid Devine, might have been both.

  With each song, and each hour, he moved closer to the center of the floor, where he was also becoming more recognizable. People around him began to wonder if he was the guy who had choked out Jinky Keeves the day before. Kid hardly noticed; he was now with a woman who refused to be ignored. She was beautiful and blonde, with a dancer’s body. She was someone Kid had no hope of getting without his newfound fame. She was also the woman Donta Veal liked to use to soften up his kills. She was the same woman who had drugged Mickey Jack Crisp before he was killed. And she was all over Kid.

  Donta wasn’t listening to his boss; he was trying to end this his own way.

  “Where do you live?” the blonde lady asked Kid.

  “What?” he replied, trying to hear her over the music.

  She nodded toward the doorway, and now Kid knew what she wanted. He smiled and took her outstretched hand. They walked to the exit, but the blonde woman was stopped just before they made it outside.

  “Move it,” Ade said to her.

  “Excuse me?” Donta’s blonde accomplice replied.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Ade said, “before I have you separated into ten different trash bags.”

  The blonde woman knew enough to not draw attention to herself. She let go of Kid’s hand and slipped out before anything else happened.

  “What do you want?” Kid asked Ade. She slapped him across his face and ushered him into a corner.

  “That was fair,” Kid said. Ade slapped him again. “And give that one to your father, when you see him.”

  “Now, two free ones are all you get,” Kid said with a drunken smile.

  “You think I’m flirting with you?” Ade asked. “You’ve got a lot to learn about this business.” She opened the exit door with her foot. Kid shook his head. “No thanks,” he told her. Ade looked around. No one in the whole building cared about what they were doing in the corner, and the deafening music made sure that no one could hear, even if they wanted to.

  “Okay, so whose idea was it?” she asked.

  Kid just shrugged. “I don’t come up with the plans. I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “I do—I know what you can say to me,” she said.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “That you’re going to bring the belt to me in Madison Square Garden tomorrow night.”

  Kid laughed at her suggestion. “And why would I do that?” he asked.

  “Because you know that your father hasn’t got what it takes to make it to the end of this without fucking it up. When he does fuck it up, that just means that you and your family will go back to square one.”

  Kid took a big drink before replying. “With everything I’ve been told about this business, if I was in trouble I’d never even know about it.”

  “So you think Lenny can take this huge deal all the way to the finish?” Ade asked.

  Kid couldn’t answer her question.

  “Didn’t think so. Let’s go,” Ade said.

  “Why?”

  “You’re the goddamn champion of the world. Don’t you think that when some half-drunk gorilla in here hears that, he’ll be looking to smash your head in for a high-five from his pals?” Ade said.

  “I can look after myself,” Kid replied.

  “No, that’s your gimmick. Your wrestling persona is very well able to handle himself, but right now, you’re a drunk fool who’s too exposed out here.”

  “What do you care?” he asked.

  Ade leaned into his ear. “One way or another, I’m going to make my money back off you. Let’s go.”

  Kid accepted her invitation.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  1984.

  Fifteen days after Lenny got out.

  New York.

  Babu looked around and soaked in the memories. He had once been the reigning champion and had sold out that same building month after month. Now the torch had truly been passed. He knew this would be his last time standing in that ring. He just wished that he knew where Ricky was, so he could see it, too.

  “Tonight’s the night, Kid.” Babu said, as he stood in the ring in Madison Square Garden. Kid rolled under the bottom rope and stood in the middle of the ring too. “A champion doesn’t roll his way into the ring,” Babu said. “A champion takes the steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and enters through the ropes—slowly. Make your opponent wait tonight. Fuck him; you’re the real champion.”

  Kid didn’t look so good. Babu saw the roughness around his eyes, the paleness in his face. “You doing okay?” he asked.

  Kid nodded.

  “Any shit in your bag today?” Babu asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Babu was happy to hear it. “That’s progress,” he said. “The more they see that it’s not having an effect on you, the sooner they’ll stop dumping on your stuff.”

  “I just want to be one of the Boys,” Kid said.

  His energy levels weren’t exactly inspiring Babu. “Well,” the giant said. “The whole business will be looking at you tonight. Do well, and they’ll open their arms to you. They already begrudgingly like you for the way you handled the press conference.”

  Kid was shifty; something was wrong. Babu thought it was nerves. “When the rest of the boys come back,” Babu said, “you shake every one of their hands and look them in the eyes. Even though you’re on top. I want to hear you in the dressing room asking about the house and the payoffs.”

  Kid understood some of what Babu was saying, but not all. The giant explained, “Asking about the house is asking how many tickets have been sold, and the payoffs are going to be what they are, but it’s nice for the champ to ask that for the boys who don’t have that political clout back there, okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kid replied. By now he was actively avoiding eye contact with Babu.

  “Now we don’t have much time,” Babu said. “So I want to get you off on the right foot.” He circled the young champion. “Now, lock up with me,” he said.

  Kid snapped out his arms and grabbed Babu’s giant shoulder on one side and his elbow on the other.

  Babu broke away. “Are you trying to dance?”

  “No.”

  “When you lock up, you grab,” Babu said. “Let me see the struggle on your face; dig your feet into the ground, snap those arms out, and get into it. Don’t let any daylight in—snug is good.”

  Babu and Kid locked up again.

  “Much better,” Babu said. “Now, I want you to listen to the ref tonight. You’re the heel, so you’re supposed to lead the match. Leave that to Emmet, though: he’ll tell you what spot to do next. If he doesn’t call any spots that make you look good, then he’s trying to fuck you over.” Kid bounced up and down. His juices were starting to flow.

  “What’s your finish?” Babu asked.

  “I—I don’t have one. All I know is that I’m down to win.”

  “You need a finishing move that will pop the audience—something young and flashy, like you are. Actually, you already have one.”

  “The choke?”

  “Exactly,” Babu said. “The audience has already seen you use it, and win with it, too. They know it’s devastating.”

  Babu noticed that Kid’s eyes were suddenly distracted by someone walking in from the darkness of the arena. The giant turned to look and saw his wife standing there. Her presence made his stomach churn. He knew by her face that something was wrong.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said. He slowly left the ring and limped over to his wife.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just—”

  “What is it?” Babu asked.

  “Just—it’s nothing,” she said. “I don’t even like saying it, but there’s this guy who came around to work last week. He’s kind of creepy. Well, he followed me home today, too.”

  Babu noticed blood on Ava’s leg. “What happened?” he asked her.

  “I—can you
bring me home? He—”

  “He what?” the giant asked.

  “It’s—nothing. I had to jump out of this guy’s way. He said that he wanted you to know he was around.”

  Babu got the message loud and clear.

  After Babu left, Kid Devine sat in the front row of an empty Madison Square Garden. He thought about his match that was coming up, and how it would play out. He thought about his father, the wrestling business, the threats, and how all that would play out too.

  He heard footsteps on the risers behind him.

  “Let me smarten you up,” said the voice in the darkness.

  In wrestling, this phrase meant everything. A veteran saying those words to a rookie was a passing of the torch; a sign that you’d been truly accepted in the wrestling business. It involved a lot of trust—a lot of faith that the person learning would take on the old traditions, the proper way of doing things. That they would protect the secrets of the wrestling business.

  On this night, the rookie knew the voice of the person that was sitting about twenty rows back. Only the ring was lit, so Kid could only make out a silhouette in the stands.

  “Can we let the people in?” a staff member shouted. “They’re starting to go crazy out there.”

  “No,” the man in the stands replied. “A few more minutes.”

  Kid stood up and leaned against the apron of the twenty-by-twenty red, white, and blue ring. He tried to look beyond the lights. “Why don’t you come down here and show me something, old man?” he said. “It’s been a while.”

  The man in the stands struck a match for his cigarette, and Kid caught a glimpse of his pained, pale face. “You okay?” Kid asked.

  “I’m fine,” the man answered. He took a pull from his cigarette. “Now, there’s only four basic parts to a wrestling match: the Shine, the Heat, the Comeback, and the Finish. The Shine is where our hero starts off well, and wins a couple of small, early victories to get the crowd excited. They paid good money, so give them what they want.” He took another pull and continued.

  “To start with.”

  Kid moved to jump the barrier. “You can stay where you are,” the man in the stands said. Kid reluctantly stayed where he was, but he had no idea why he couldn’t go see his mentor.