The ballad of two
/ / /
Previously Just
shy of two years ago, as the ashes of the fourth annual GTT were
cooling with Doctor Curiosity's name on everyone's lips, a
different name … an unknown name … began to be whispered as the
man known only as Ember made his debut in the WWA. With his
past as shrouded in mystery as the latex mask that covered it
shrouded his face, all that anyone knew about Ember was that which he
allowed them to know. Which was next to nothing, even going as far as
to state that the mask did not hide the truth of his identity but
instead the mask A year ago, to the day, Ember
too his first step, following the trail of those who had passed
before, into PTC's pre-eminent tournament. The GTT. One hundred and
twenty eight people and Ember managed to make it to the last sixteen
before being ousted by a man whose name was synonymous with the PTC
itself. Seymour Almasy. Due to the calm way in which Ember
responded to this loss, and the fact that he had claimed to be both
seeing and hearing a female that no-one else could, the powers that
be within the WWA decided that Ember would require medical clearance
to wrestle and as such he found himself under the psychiatric care of
a doctor who – despite the incredulous WWA's officials
protestations – claimed that he was fit and well enough to
compete. Which he did. One year, again to the day, after he
first stepped foot inside a wrestling ring Ember lifted the WWA
heavyweight title as his own and, with his partner Khaled, went on a
trail of rampage throughout the federation. His ego, however, was to
bring about his own downfall and with the title and the mask both on
the line he stepped foot inside the ring and did something completely
unexpected. He lost. His confidence broken and his very
'identity' denied to him within the WWA Ember fell into a
downward spiral of loss after loss. With the spectre of the female
that no-one else could see constantly taunting and cajoling him Ember
walked away from the WWA and from wrestling itself. … until
history repeated itself and the invitation from the PTC arrived on
his door. An invitation to take part in the GTT. With his face
now clad in a featureless ivory-white … as white as his skin …
mask, that was, he claimed, a gift of the woman only he could see,
Ember is a different man – colder, calmer, more detached - than he
who first stepped out of the darkness two years previously. Just
who he is now, though, awaits to be seen.
/ / /
Part One: Don't fear the reaper
The file landed on the desk with a thump, sending the pile of already precariously balanced paperwork cascading down in a miniature landslide onto the man behind the desk, just as he bit into oversized burger. The look of adoration in his eyes, as he gazed at the two pounds of ground beef sandwiched between toasted buns and wrapped in grease-proof paper that was almost translucent with the hot fat that it contained, was replaced by shock, then panic before finally – when the realisation that he had to choose between attempting to stop the flood of months of paperwork or dropping his burger – settling on resignation. As the paperwork continued to fall off the edge of the desk and onto the floor where it landed and grouped in chaotic piles that would take days to sort out again, he swallowed noisily and with obvious relish.
"You eat like a pig, Joey, you know that?" Sitting down on the near side of the desk the grey-haired speaker rearranged his suit jacket as he eyed the trail of ketchup on the fat man across from him.
"Screw you Mike." A sliver of burger almost fell out, as Joey spat the insult, but was rescued before it was lost forever, sucked back into the ivory-framed maw that in some places would have been called a mouth but on this man, Joey Russo, it was fairer to call it an organic garbage disposable system.
"That is screw you Captain!"
Twenty-seven years of friendship shone through the insults and transcended even the barriers of rank. When they had entered the police academy together both Joseph Russo and Michael Silver may have had dreams about where they would be all these years later but neither one had actually been thinking any further ahead than just making it through the academy. Two strangers from very different backgrounds had quickly become students together, then colleagues and then friends. Neither could remember exactly when that relationship had changed and become something more, a bond as strong as forged steel, just as neither could recall the amount of times that the other had saved their life. When the day came that Mike had finally made captain, leaving his partner behind as lieutenant, the only change was in the pay that each took home. The rank on their I.D. didn't come between them. It simply didn't matter anymore; nothing could shake the foundations laid over such a long period of time. Even Mike's wife of twenty years joked about how Joey was really the one married to her husband.
"Sorry, screw you captain" Joey drawled as he threw a lazy salute Mike's way, taking the opportunity to lick the grease from his fingers before noticing the splash of bright red on his tie.
"Damn it!" he barked, dropping the half-devoured burger to his desk as he held the tie up, glaring at the blot of offending ketchup as if it was sentient and somehow consciously to blame for its location.
"It's not like you to worry about how you look," Mike pointed out with a smile, his perfect teeth flashing. The years had been kind to him he knew that, with only his grey hair showing the passage of his years. Most people, when they looked at him, saw a tall and well-dressed man, obviously fit and healthy, and assumed that he was about ten years younger than his true age. Looks, though, could be deceptive he also knew and he only had to look across the desk and take in the visage of his best friend to se the proof of that. Slightly shorter than Mike himself, Joey stood at just shy of six foot in height but was nearly seventy pounds heavier. He had always actually been heavier than Mike but while at one time the bulk that had given him the nickname of 'the Bull' in the academy had been muscle, it had now nearly all turned to fat. Still an imposing figure, with his mop of dark hair over a once strong jaw and a neck that was as wide as most regular guy's thighs, Joey looked like he had added the missing years from Mike's age onto his own.
"I don't give a damn about the tie," Joey said as he sucked the glob of ketchup of it and smacked his lips, "but this is fine ketchup, too good to waste!"
"Like I said, Joey" Mike quipped, not bothering to hold back his laughter, "you are a pig!"
"As much as I would love to chew the fat with you all day, Mike, I would much prefer to chew my lunch. What can I do for ya?"
"Lunch?" Mike asked, incredulously. "It is just after ten o'clock in the morning!"
"You say tom-ah-toe," Joey said, magnanimously, "and I say tom-ay-toe." With two quick, wolfish, bites he demolished the remainder of the burger and sat back with his arms crossed over his stomach, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
"Actually, what I 'say' my friend is simple," Mike said as he picked up the file that had caused the original avalanche of paper and handed it over to Joey, "and that is that I have a case I want to you handle." Sensing the change in the conversation Joey's smile disappeared and he became all business, one eyebrow raised quizzically as he reached out to take the proffered documents.
"Special delivery Mike?" Joey asked, "Not like you to normally hand deliver assignments, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Before Mike could answer the question they were both interrupted as a discreet knock rang out and a face peered around the door with a hesitant smile.
"Ah, there you are David," Mike stated in recognition, "come on in."
"Thank you sir" replied the younger man as he walked into the room and stood, almost at attention, behind the captain. His dark skin almost seemed to gleam with an inner light, and his head was shaved close to the skin leaving only a small goatee around his mouth to show that his hair was as ebony as his skin. A dark grey three-piece suit, obviously new, was worn with as much pride as a uniform.
"David Johnson just made detective Joe," Mike said as way of an introduction, "top of his class and a record that is just as impressive. Johnson, this is Joey Russo." Reaching across the desk David Johnson shook hands with Joey, quickly hiding the grimace of distaste as he came away with a layer of grease on his palm. Whatever Joey was going to say in reply was quickly lost as he glanced down at the almost forgotten file in his hand and his face became incredulous.
"What the Hell is this Mike?" Flicking open the cover he scanned some of the sheets and his forehead creased in an obvious frown, a sight that obviously wasn't new to Mike who just sat there, patiently. "This is a fuckin' cold case – excuse my French kid!"
"No problems sir, "Johnson said with a small smile, "my grandmother speaks the same dialect of French as you do." The attempt at levity didn't work and Johnson quickly silenced himself and took a discreet step back as Joey slammed one hand down on his desk, ignoring the younger man, the sound reverberating through the small office like a clap of thunder.
"Not just a cold case, Mike" he spluttered in disbelief, "but a missing person case, from two years ago, too!"
"I am aware of that Joey," Mike sated calmly, "I mean I am the one who gave it to you after all. Is there a problem?"
"Yes there is a 'problem' Mike, "Joe continued, his anger not dropping, "I haven't worked a missing person kid since I was a rookie like this kid. I have spent the last six years in homicide and you know it, so why the Hell am I getting this case?!"
For a moment neither man spoke, neither man moved, just sat starting at each other. Joe's eyes were closed slightly, his brows furrowed and a pulse in his forehead visibly pounding, as it kept beat with his heart while Mike sat sedately, hands steepled in front of him. Forcing himself to calm down Joey relaxed, slightly, and taking this as his cue Mike leant forward slightly.
"I could just say that you have this case because I am your boss, Joey," Mike reasoned gently but firmly, "but we both know that isn't the reason, don't we?" A small nod from Joe was the only response that Mike got, but it was also the only response that he needed. "The fact of that matter is that while this case is high profile simply because of who is missing and the press attention that it got I wouldn't normally send my best homicide detective out on this case, even despite that fact that the person who lodged it still phones me once a week without fail to see if there is any change in things."
This bit of news caused a different reaction in Joey, as he realised that in most missing person cases the family almost gave up hope after the first year, let alone after two. To have someone still chasing it this long afterwards was something quite unique … and if it wasn't that fact prompting Mike to get him to look into it, then there must be something bigger.
/ / /
There must be something bigger, he thought to himself as he sat in the darkness of his apartment, listening to his breathing that came in slightly ragged gasps, his body attempting to regain some equilibrium after the rigorous exercise it had just been put through, something more to life than just this.
Feeling the muscles in his stomach protest, the strain of sit-ups not even starting to subside, Ember groaned slightly and then bit it off. The pain in his stomach was nothing compared to that which he felt across his chest where the taut skin felt like it was on fire. Not even two weeks had passed since he had woken up in his bathroom to find that someone had carved a message, literally, into his body. Two words that sent a chill up his spine in contrast to the heat of the scabbing flesh.
"I'm back."
Shaking the thought physically out of his head Ember lay flat on his back and started to do another repetition of the exercises he always found himself doing prior to a match. As comfortable as an old pair of shoes he fell back into the easy rhythm of movement that didn't require conscious thought. He had been doing this same routine now for over two years and while it definitely kept his body in shape it also allowed him the luxury of thinking things through without wasting time. So, as his body slipped easily into the mechanical movements of sit-up, press-up and crunch his mind slipped into its steam of consciousness musings.
Is
there more to life than this? Why do I do it … why do we do
it? Last year one hundred and twenty eight people put
themselves forward for the ritual humiliation and circus that has
replaced the gladiatorial arenas in the public's affection and this
year nearly one hundred have done it again. Blood, sweat and
tears are not enough for them; being in the best shape of a lifetime
– or even two lifetimes – is not enough for them. They want
something new, they want something different, oh yes they want
something intangible. Each and everyone of us are trying to be that
x-factor that is required, never realising – or at least never
admitting – that we are as blind as each other in the search for
it. Ninety six people go in through the revolving door but
only one lucky soul is fortunate enough to make it into the building
while the others spiral out of control and are slung out, into the
gutter, to lie with all the other crap and debris. For
everyman that proceeds closer and closer to the Promised Land, the
ultimate victory, there is another that is swept to one-side.
Forgotten about. Discarded. For every Curiosity and Rollins
there is a Desolation or a Sam Wolack. For every man that beats the
mountain, and reaches the pinnacle, there are those that never quite
reach the summit; never even see it. I am not like them,
though, I fall into neither category. I cannot claim to have stood at
the top, on the shoulder of giants, but neither can anyone claim to
have swept me aside and watch me plummet to the ground on broken
wings. I may not have reached the summit but I … but I
didn't; I couldn't. That is both a curse and a blessing.
To be so close but still so far leaves a fire in my soul that I
cannot extinguish, a hunger for something that I cannot even describe
because I have never tasted it but – there is always a but – it
also gives me an advantage over those that do not know what I know;
who have never stod where I have or been as close as I. So
just like for every winner there will be a loser … for every
Curiosity there will be a Wolack … there is also something else.
For every person who fails without even getting as close as you can
without winning, for every wrestler that doesn't know that the next
step to greatness is just around the corner, there will be someone
else, literally. Some Me. For
every Dorian Ryan there will be Ember. The sad thing is that
the poor child doesn't even know what he is fighting for, he has
never stepped out onto the pinnacle only to find it pulled away at
the last moment, he has never been as close to that height as you can
be. He never will now, either. I have done things that
most people would shirk from, things that when the reaper takes me he
would deny me salvation for, and I have never thought twice about
doing them. I would do them all, heinous, as some people would view
them, many times over if I needed to. All to once more reach the
dizzying heights that I yearn for; all to reclaim my wings and burn
my path through the sky. For Dorian Ryan to get a glimpse of
that vision, for him to taste the sweet mana of victory, he has to
deny me the same. … and I will not be denied, for this time
things have changed!
/ / /
"Things have changed," Mike said quietly, "and you have the background that I think is needed to handle this case properly Joey."
"… what background?" Joey asked, slightly off-balance, as he knew that he hadn't worked that case at all so had no background with it.
"The missing person was a wrestler, Joey," Mike stated simply, "and you know more about that industry than anyone else here"
"Was?"
The quiet question shook both Joey and Mike, forgetting as they had that the young detective, David Johnson, was even still in the room. Leaning forward the police captain, Mike Silver, tapped the file softly as he nodded.
"Yes, 'was'," he confirmed, stressing the word, as he looked back towards Joey. "They found a weapon, a straight razor, wrapped in a blood soaked towel. The blood was matched to our missing wrestler, Joey, which is why this is no longer a missing persons case – cold or not – but murder."
/ / /
To be continued …