The Chosen Ones

by Lisa Luciano

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Probably just a raccoon. Maybe a squirrel,” Brody suggested.

  “No way. It was a rat.”

  “It’s a squirrel.”

  “A squirrel’s just a rat with a blow dryer.”

  A few feet beyond was a long drop overlooking an enormous valley. There was something pure and unsullied about it that moved TJ.

  “You’re right. I am a bastard,” he said.

  Brody didn’t remember calling him that, but couldn’t argue with the assessment. “If you’re tryin’ to clear your conscience, I’m not the one you should be tellin’ this to.”

  “No, I mean literally. I’m a bastard. The minute my father found out I was coming, he took off. Of course, my mother told everybody they were married.”

  “I don’t think I wanna know this,” Brody said.

  “I have to tell somebody.”

  “What about Dale?”

  “No.”

  TJ smiled and shook his head.

  “Damn. I do care.”

  “I know this is none of my business,” Brody said. “But considering your family history, how can you sleep with women you don’t love?”

  “I figure if I keep at it long enough, I’ll make a baby and he’ll grow up to be as miserable as I am.”

  TJ thought for a moment and his anger abated.

  “For years I didn’t get it. One minute she’d love me, the next she couldn’t stand the sight of me. Then I finally found out why. We’d been fighting like usual. She warned me that I’d let loose with that smartass mouth of mine once too often and she’d let me have it. And Boy Howdy, did she. Told me the truth. The bastard raped her on a date when she was nineteen. Guess she figured that’d take me down a peg. Knowing that I wasn’t just a mistake… I was a disaster. Every time she’d look at me, she’d see him and remember the pain he caused. And like a dutiful son, I’ve been following in his footsteps ever since.”

  “What happened to him?”

  The rustling of branches high overhead was joined by the scratchy melody of crickets. TJ began to sing softly.

  “Kyrie Eleison down the road that I must travel. Kyrie Eleison through the darkness of the night. Kyrie Eleison where I’m going will you follow?”

  He listened to the echo, enjoying the simple pleasure of it like a child biting into a piece of candy for the first time. His behavior was regularly labeled as juvenile by his coach, his mother, and the press, but it had been some time since he truly felt child-like.

  “Did you know that all Italians and everybody from Canada can sing?” TJ asked, trying not to give in to the drug-induced stupor about to overtake him.

  “My grandma was Italian and she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket,” Brody answered.

  “Jesus. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out… I’m totally bummed.”

  “Not to mention stoned.”

  TJ squeezed his eyes shut, distorting his face.

  “Why did he have to tell me?”

  “Who? Tell you what?”

  “The little bastard. Things were so much easier when I didn’t know how he felt.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He turned to Brody.

  “Nobody does,” he said sadly.

  TJ stood, picked up a stone, and hurled it into the chasm.

  “Hey. Let’s celebrate the Fourth of July.”

  “I hate to burst your balloon, but A, it’s not your holiday, and B, it’s February.”

  “Dude, time is a state of mind.”

  He pulled a wad of firecrackers from his jacket pocket.

  “We should be able to do it up right with these babies,” TJ said, searching his pockets for a match.

  “Where’d you get those?” Brody asked.

  “A guy I know with six fingers.”

  “On one hand?”

  “All together.”

  “You ain’t in no condition to handle somethin like that. Give ‘em to me,” Brody said, hearing his father’s voice in place of his own.

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Dump ‘em.”

  “Like hell,” TJ said, cradling them against his chest. “It’s un-American to destroy perfectly good explosives.”

  “You ain’t American.”

  TJ wouldn’t give in. After a brief chase, Brody gave up.

  “Fine. Go ahead. Blow yourself up. Just don’t start a fire.”

  “Aye, aye, Smokey.”

  Brody watched as he lit the first one. It burned closer and closer to his fingers. TJ smiled at his distress.

  “Throw it, damn it!” Brody shouted, frantically knocking it out of TJ’s hand moments before it went off. “No more!”

  He dropped to the ground, his knees sinking into the dirt. TJ laid face down beside him, squeezing clumps of the damp earth between his fingers and inhaling the scent.

  “It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me. He really loves it, you know? He really loves to skate,” TJ said softly.

  “He’ll be okay. If he wants it bad enough, he’ll skate again.”

  “You know, for two cents I’d jump right off this freakin’ mountain. But with my luck, they’d put all the pieces back together again.”

  He turned onto his back and gazed at the twinkling lights above.

  “When I was a kid, my mother used to tell me that there’s a star in the sky for every person and you just have to keep looking for the brightest one because it has your name on it. But stars blow up… they burn out… they disappear. Just like people.”

  “Speakin’ of people disappearin’,” Brody said. “You ever hear of a guy named Juergen?”

  “You mean that promoter who got squashed like a bug? Man, that’s the way to go.”

  “I hear he had a little help.”

  “Yeah?” TJ asked, trying not to look too interested.

  “You wouldn’t have any information about that, would ya?”

  “What do you care?”

  “What do you know?”

  “No way,” TJ said with a wide grin. “My mama didn’t raise no stupid children.”

  “The votes not in yet. What happened to him?”

  “Why don’t you ask Chandler?”

  “What’s he got to do with it?”

  “You’re kidding, right? If he had the balls, he would’ve done the guy himself. But instead, he let somebody else do his dirty work. That’s his style. Judges. Hit men. There’s always somebody pulling his ass out of the fire.”

  “Are you saying somebody murdered Juergen?” Brody suggested, sounding a little too much like an FBI agent for TJ’s liking.

  He exchanged a knowing smile with Brody.

  “No. You’re saying somebody offed him.”

  Brody stared hard at him. TJ searched the ground, then began to speak with the tone of a penitent in a confessional.

  “Okay, look. I wasn’t there when it happened, but there were rumors. All I know is that the bastards who were involved are into some heavy duty crap.”

  “Like?”

  “Drugs. Not that I’m complaining. I used to have to score on my own. One night I wound up in the wrong part of town and got the living crap beat outta me. Then

  I signed with WTL. Now it gets delivered by personal courier. Whatever I want. As much as I want. All I have to do is keep skating.”

  “Ratner supplies you with the stuff?”

  “You kidding? His days of being a flunky are long over. About ten years ago he scored a major victory and launched himself into the big time. Seems there was this reporter hot on the organization’s trail. He was within a hair of exposing the crap they had going on inside the NFL.”

  Brody felt his hands begin to shake. Then his arms. As TJ continued, the sensation rushed into his chest.

  “Ratner laid out serious money to shut everybody up. The guy’s sources ran for cover. No witnesses. No story. He was royally screwed and WTL was off the hook. The bosses were so grateful, they promoted the pr
ick. The guy who brings me my stuff now says old Rat-face still brags about it.”

  “Hold on,” Brody said, barely able to breathe. “The company I… the reporter was gonna expose was called Global Communications Corporation. Not WTL.”

  “Man, get with the program. Don’t you know? GCC is a dummy organization. It’s a cover for WTL so if anybody starts putting two and two together, they can let the subsidiary take the fall. Then they close shop, change the name again, and start over.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Brody whispered, as he grabbed a hunk of earth and flung it to the ground.

  “Hey, man. Are you okay?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  He bolted.

  “Hey,” TJ called. “Where you going?”

  “To even the score.”

  Brigitta entered the dining room knowing she was the center of attention. For once, she didn’t care. She was on a mission. She scanned the patrons until she found the man she was looking for. Edward Killgore. Head referee.

  “To what do I owe this honor?” the entirely too well-mannered, well-spoken, and well-dressed middle-aged man asked, offering her a seat which she refused.

  “I came to give you advice. If you don’t wish to take it, then consider it a threat. Don’t even think about allowing your judging panel to play games with the marks tomorrow night because if you decide to do something foolish, I’ll make sure everyone knows about it.”

  “You’d challenge us?” he asked, looking like the ghost of Sonja Henie was standing before him.

  “In a heartbeat. This time there will be no back room meetings where a judge who gives a bad score is dismissed with a reprimand. For once, you’ll have to play it straight and make sure each skater receives the marks he deserves. I know it will be difficult since you’re not used to judging fairly or well, but I’m sure you’ll find a way. If not, you’ll have the entire world to answer to.”

  “Perhaps, I might have some small influence on the majority of judges, but there is one who will be impossible to control.”

  “Who?” Brigitta asked, wondering who would be bold enough to refuse her request.

  “Montagne. He’s been waiting a long time to settle an old debt. No one will be able to deny him his chance.”

  Carol knocked on the hotel room door as if trying to smash down the gates of hell. She had nothing to lose. Robby might not even skate, but if he did, she had to make sure he at least had a chance of winning. Guy Montagne, the French judge, had sunk Robby countless times before, and she had no doubt he’d do it again.

  “A moment, a moment,” called a groggy voice from inside.

  A harmless looking gentleman of about sixty five answered. He gawked at her, trying to fathom who would be disturbing him at this hour as he tied the belt of his flannel robe. As soon as he recognized the face, his reflexes urged him to shut the door, but Carol blocked him and forced her way in.

  “I will call security,” he threatened.

  “Sit down and shut up,” she said, rushing toward him. “By the time they get here, I could kill you twice.”

  He immediately dropped onto the bed. Carol didn’t know where her courage was coming from and she was just as amazed as Montagne that he complied.

  “I want to know where that mark came from.”

  “He missed a required element,” he responded mechanically.

  “That’s a lie and you know it! You were following orders.”

  He stood, righteously indignant.

  “Guy Montagne takes orders from no one,” he said thumping his fist against his chest.

  “I told you to sit!” Carol said, pushing him back down. “I can’t stop you tomorrow, but I can make you listen right now.”

  He folded his arms in defiance, but she could tell he was listening.

  “I’ve thought a lot about what I could possible say to you to make you understand how important this is. It’s not about a medal. It’s not about who wins. It’s a fight for the soul of our sport. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care. You don’t get paid. You take all kinds of abuse. But you do it anyway. Because you love it. Or at least you used to. Now, it’s about something else, isn’t it? You love how it makes you feel when you see a talented kid step up on that podium and drink in the applause, knowing you put him there. And at the same time, you hate him because you think it should’ve been you, but it wasn’t. That doesn’t mean you have the right to deny someone else that glorious moment. If you can remember how you felt the first time you put on a pair of skates. And the dreams you had. Then you have to do what’s right. I’m not asking for favors. Just judge what you see. If the right person wins, then we all do.”

  Carol had no idea whether or not she’d gotten through to him. His expression hadn’t changed. She only knew she’d done all she could.

  Brody stood beside Glenn, watching him do ten more leg lifts. He didn’t need the exercise. He just needed something to do. Only a few more hours to kill. Brody had exhausted his reservoir of idle chatter. He looked around the workout room for prying ears.

  “I’m askin’ for your help,” Brody said.

  Glenn stopped, sat up, and grabbed a towel.

  “You’re no physical therapist. Who are you?”

  “Someone who cares about your freakin’ sport more’n you do.”

  “Get the hell out of here.”

  “Not till you admit that Ratner had Juergen murdered.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Glenn said, heading for the door.

  Brody kept pace with him.

  “Yeah, right. Like you didn’t know somebody rigged the draw.”

  “What?” Glenn asked, stopping dead in his tracks.

  “I talked to your coach. I suspected somethin’ was up, so I asked him and he admitted there was no other number in that bag. They knew Robby’d be the last to draw. So all they had to do was leave the number one out so that no one else could pick it and he’d be sure to get it. As long as nobody checked, they were in the clear.”

  Glenn’s jaw dropped.

  “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t even in the room.”

  “Well, maybe you should take a look around every once in a while. My gut’s never wrong and it tells me that Juergen was just the beginnin’.”

  “I can’t get involved.”

  “You’re already up to your eyeballs, son. Don’t you understand what’s goin’ on here? They killed that promoter. That one’s on Ratner’s head. But the next one’s on yours. In fact, it may even be yours.”

  “I can’t undo what they did. And I can’t prove they did it. The only way to be safe is to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Yeah, well maybe they’ll decide you know too much and shut it for you… permanently.”

  A figure barely visible under the waning moon approached the gate of the compound, waved to a guard, and slipped behind the wheel of a small car. The gravel rumbled under the wheels as the driver gunned the motor.

  The grimy exterior was a fitting facade for the dismal little pub, but it was empty and that’s all TJ wanted. He could barely stay awake as one hand propped up his head and the other gripped a smudged shot glass. The scent of expensive perfume invaded his nostrils. He looked up into his mothers haggard, but unrelenting face.

  “Shouldn’t someone your age be in bed by now?” he asked, then tittered as he watched her swallow his comment. “How did you find me?”

  “Where else would you go but to the nearest bar…or whorehouse?” she said. “Congratulations. You guessed right the first time. Would you like to accompany me on my second stop? You might have something in common with the ladies there.”

  “I’ll ignore that because I know it’s the liquor talking.”

  “No! See, you don’t get it. It’s me! Me!” he said, pounding his fist on the wooden table.

  “Come back to the Village,” she said, gnashing her teeth together.

  He squeezed his head between his hands.

  “Please,” she said, laying her
manicured fingers on his arm. “One more night and you can do anything you want.”

  He grabbed for the bottle, but she yanked it away.

  “Have you lost your mind?” she asked. “What are you trying to do?”

  “Live my life!” he yelled, barely able to enunciate the words through his drunken haze. “I’ve lived yours long enough.”

  “Yes. You enjoyed my fame. All the benefits with none of the work.”

  “Leave me alone,” he groaned. “Please.”

  “You can’t run from your heritage. It’s in your blood. You were born to it,” she said, like a proud dowager.

  He sat back against the chair.

  “I never asked for any of this.”

  “Is it so wrong for me to want it for you?”

  “You want it because it’s the only thing that makes you think you’re still alive,” he snarled.

  “Obviously, you don’t care about making a fool of yourself, but have you not an ounce of concern for me and my reputation?”

  “Screw you and your reputation!”

  She absorbed his cruel assault.

  “Selfish! Arrogant!” she shouted.

  “My mother’s son,” he whispered, gazing straight at her.

  “I just want the best for you.”

  “Great,” he said, unwilling to wipe the sarcastic smile from his face. “You’re doing this all for me. What about all those years when you toured and left me behind with a nanny? Where was the motherly concern then?”

  She quickly looked around to discover that the scattered patrons enmeshed in their own personal dramas were totally uninterested in hers.

  “You have no right to judge me,” she said, taking a final stand. “Why not? I’ve been judged my whole freakin’ life.”

  She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.

  “My God. How long have you been carrying this anger?”

  “Since the day I stopped being TJ and became heir to the throne.”

  “It’s Chandler, isn’t it? I saw your face when he walked into practice. Why are you afraid of him? He can’t win.”

  “Did you arrange that too? Like you arranged to have me carry the flag?”

  “Whatever I do, it’s out of love—”

  “For yourself!” he said, leaping up. “You goddamn, selfish bitch!”