Mike Faricy: Bombshell

I walked down the corridor, flowing with the crowd. Aware that just three stories below the locker rooms of both teams were about to empty out. The girls would line up and skate back into the arena for the second half. I thought it might be a good idea once they returned to the arena if I checked things out in the locker room. That little voice in my head told me this was a very, very stupid idea.

None the less, five minutes later I was downstairs, one level below the track. I was in the hallway just outside the locker room area. Overhead I could hear the roar of the crowd and the announcer’s voice as the bout got underway. I waited almost ten minutes, lurking in the shadows, but there seemed to be no activity in the hallway so I ducked into the corridor labeled ‘ Visitors Locker Room ’.

The last time I’d been here some of the Hustlers clubbed me to the ground with their helmets. This was where I’d gotten into the shoving match with Emma Babe and her boobs. I put an ear to the locker room door, strained to hear anything, which was impossible to do with the noise coming from the crowd overhead.

I knocked on the door, waited, then opened the door, knocking as I did and calling, “Hello, hello, anyone in here?”

Nothing except the barely audible drip coming from the shower room.

I waited another moment, then stepped inside, but held the door open just in case. I repeated the process, “Hello, hello, anyone here?”

Still nothing. I quickly closed the door and began to look around. The lights were somewhat dimmed and I had to take a moment to let my eyes adjust. That little voice went off again inside my head asking me, ‘What did I expect to find in here besides a lot of women’s underwear?’ I quickly walked through the room, glancing left and right at the lockers and the towels scattered over wooden benches. I rounded the corner, came in front of an empty locker, empty except for a black framed, 5 X 7 photo of Fiona, a black ribbon was tied across the upper right hand corner of the frame. A small, red vigil light flickered in front of the frame, the flame reflected off the glass. I stared at it for more than a few seconds, then was about to move on when I caught something on the glass. There, smeared ever so faintly across the glass someone had written the word ‘Bitch’.

It looked like it may have been done with just a fingertip. You’d never have seen it in normal light. I picked up the frame and angled it back and forth closer to the flickering flame. The writing seemed to have a feminine quality to it. Just as I returned the frame to the shelf there was a knock on the locker room door.

I panicked, looked around, decided against the bathroom stalls and ran toward the door. I stepped behind it just as someone rapped on the door again, a little louder this time and then turned the steel knob. I pressed myself against the cinder block wall as the door slowly opened and a vaguely familiar voice called out.

“Anyone in here?”

I stopped breathing and willed myself into the wall. The door swung wide and stopped, whoever it was took a tentative step into the room, held the door open, like I had a minute before and called again. “Anyone in here? It’s the head bull, the main man,” the voice half laughed.

There was a long pause as he listened for any sound. I held my breath, afraid he’d hear my heart pounding and then Security Sergeant Wayne took four quick steps and stood in front of the first locker. He reached for a large black leather purse hanging over a pair of jeans and began to rifle through it. I recognized his receding hairline crew cut and the heart shape of his fat, flat ass.

His back was to me, and I saw the creases on his neck, the fat rolling down his side and hanging over his tooled black belt. He was thoroughly involved stuffing dollar bills and a couple of credit cards into the side pocket of his uniform trousers. The pocket was cut on the back side of the navy blue stripe that ran down his trouser leg.

I could probably make it out the door, but I’d never get out of the corridor before Sergeant Wayne would be able to catch a glimpse and identify me. That left only one option.

I had about a three step running start before his thick head slowly rose up from rummaging around inside the purse. It was like he’d heard something, but maybe wasn’t quite sure. His head was up, turned about a quarter of an inch to cock an ear. He was still looking straight ahead into the locker. I was in the air after step four and slammed into Wayne full force, catching him right at the base of his neck with a blast from my elbow as I landed.

Wayne’s thick forehead bounced off the edge of the upper shelf in the locker, jarring the wooden shelf loose and collapsing Wayne down onto his knees. His eyes rolled up in the back of his head and then he sort of slowly sank forward, like some massive garbage scow sinking beneath the waves. He hung onto the pair of jeans dangling from a hook, and then slowly pulled them on top of him as he sunk down on all fours, shoulders and head deep in the locker.

I saw his all too familiar set of handcuffs in a pouch on the back of his belt, unclipped the pouch and quickly pulled the cuffs out. His ankles began to move slightly as I pulled his left arm back, snapped a cuff around his pudgy wrist then locked the other end around the bottom leg of the locker.

Wayne was groaning now, his fat ass rolled from side to side. He tugged at his left arm, gently at first, but then a lot more viciously as his predicament began to filter into his pea sized brain. I stepped back just as he fumbled for something on his belt with his right hand. I was afraid someone might have given this fool a gun and quickly grabbed whatever he was trying to reach.

A Taser was dangerous at any time, let alone in the hands of a lame brain like Sergeant Wayne, down on all fours with his three hundred pound ass pointing up at me. I stepped back a few paces, almost to the door and aimed, carefully. I’m a pretty decent shot, but at five feet even Heidi passed out up in the recliner could have made this shot tonight.

Wayne was regaining consciousness. He groaned once or twice then decided it was time to take control of the situation.

“What the, who? Listen you son-of-a-bitch, whoever you are, I know you’re back there. You’re interfering with the law and you’re under goddamned arrest. Do you hear me? You have the right to remain…”

I’d heard enough and snapped the trigger, a coil shot out making a rattling sound before it imbedded itself into Wayne’s ass. The seat of his trousers smoked before a momentary little flame appeared then quickly died out. Wayne lurched forward and twitched a good while before collapsing. I didn’t wait for him to come around. I grabbed a towel off the bench wiped the Taser clean then turned the purse upside down and emptied out all the contents on top of Wayne. Lipstick, compact cases, a key ring, two Tampax, a hair brush, mascara, three or four tubes of creams, a wallet and a lot of just junk showered down over Wayne.

I left the Taser imbedded in his ass, turned off the lights and walked out.

Back in the private box I was surprised to see Heidi’s silhouette up and watching the bout. She turned around and looked at me as I entered, only it wasn’t her, it was Destiny. She jumped up.

“Oh hey, you said to like help myself, you know. I didn’t think you’d mind,” she was holding a lite beer from the fridge.

“You can have all the stuff you want, Destiny, no problem. Did you happen to see my date anywhere?”

Destiny looked over in the corner then sort of pointed with a wave of her lite beer can.

“I think she’s sort of taking a nap or something.”

“I think she’s sort of passed out,” I said, looking at Heidi curled up in the corner of the floor. If her skirt was too short to sit down, sleeping on the floor of a private box in the Veteran’s Auditorium did nothing to improve the situation.