Chapter Fifteen
“I need an EMT unit at 4337 Ridgewood Drive for a head injury,” I said.
When you put four men, who have been drinking beer, on a racquetball court, and give them hard racquets and balls, bad things happen. Especially when they aren’t experienced players, and they decide it’s a good idea to play doubles.
I was calling for help for one of the men. His opponent had cracked him upside the head with a racquet, and he was bleeding on court number one.
It wasn’t common, but we did have occasional accidents at the club. The local EMT guys knew the address was Carbide Racquet & Fitness, and I didn’t have to say anything more.
The door to the court was propped open, and I could hear the man who hit him saying, “I didn’t mean it. It was an accident. Come on, Tom, I didn’t hit you on purpose.”
I let out a chuckle. It wasn’t the first time someone thought they were hit by a racquet or ball on purpose. I had taken a quick look at the cut on his forehead before I called for the ambulance. It looked more like a glancing blow rather than a full-on hit. He would need a couple of stitches but would likely be fine.
The club was busy, and a crowd had gathered in the lobby to see what was going on. There was really nothing to see, but if it looks like it might be exciting, everyone wants to be in on it. I could hear the ambulance in the distance and knew the paramedics would be at the club shortly. I left the desk and asked the people nearest the door to make a path.
As Tom Decker was being loaded into the ambulance, he was promising his friends he would be back as soon as he got his stitches to “kick your butts.”
I swear, it wasn’t even fifteen minutes later when Janice Lockhart, back on court number eight, crashed her face into one of the walls. Her husband helped her to the lobby, and I gave her an ice pack.
“Did you black out? Are you dizzy? Do you want me to call an ambulance?” I asked her.
“No, no, Susan,” she said. “I feel fine. I smacked into the wall with my cheekbone, and I think it will just be a black eye and a bruise.”
“How did you fall?” I asked. “Did you trip?
Her husband piped up. “I’ve been teaching her to dive for balls.”
I was aghast. “Janice, you don’t practice diving for balls. That’s so dangerous, and you could have been hurt much worse.” I turned and admonished Mr. Lockhart. “Jack, you’ve watched a lot of matches, and you know full well the good players in this club rarely dive for balls. Even if you’re able to return the shot, it’s usually so weak it’s an easy setup for your opponent.” I sighed. “Teach Janice to play well, and you won’t have to worry about diving for balls.”
I turned back to Mrs. Lockhart. A guest of one of the club members was bending over her and applying something to her face. “What are you doing?” I asked him. I couldn’t believe he had intervened and was touching her.
“Tiger balm,” he said. “I’ve always got it in my bag. Never leave home without it. You crack something on the floor or a wall, you rub it with tiger balm, and you won’t have pain or a bruise the next day.”
I wanted to go outside and check for a full moon. It was still early, and a lot could happen before the night was over.
The group upstairs in the pub was getting louder by the minute. It was going to be a long couple of hours before I could go home and go to bed.
It was a huge relief when the rest of the evening turned out to be extremely enjoyable. Corey, one of the class A players in the club, parked on a stool at the counter for a couple of beers and chatted with me for over an hour. We talked strategy, and he gave me some good tips for the upcoming tournament in the fall.
Tom Decker didn’t come back from the hospital. The Lockharts quit diving for balls for the evening. They had moseyed on up to the pub, and I heard Mrs. Lockhart’s high-pitched laughter several times.
By midnight, all of the courts were empty. Members and guests were either showering in the locker rooms or drinking in the pub, where our bartender, Ron, would have everything under control no matter how rowdy it became.
I had some down time to lean against the counter and wait for locker keys and towels to start coming back in. I yawned. I was tired. It had been a long day. I hadn’t even had time to call Samantha and fill her in on everything that had happened since we last talked. I would call her tomorrow. I couldn’t help wondering if Mick found out anything about Wicker Barnes. Wicker. Thank goodness he was in Charlotte. I shook my head and smiled again thinking about that crazy Johnny.
Shortly before one o’clock, Ron began ushering members out of the pub and out the front door. I turned off all of the lights to the courts. Ron went back upstairs, but came down to the desk a few minutes later and said, “Everyone’s out.” He logged his hours on his time card. “I checked the men’s locker room, too, and everything’s clear. I turned off the sauna and the whirlpool, so you don’t have to go up there if you don’t want to.”
“Thanks, Ron,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
“Do you want me to stick around until you’re finished and walk out with you?” he asked.
“No thanks. I’ve got it,” I said. “I already checked the back doors, and they’re locked. I just need to make a pass through the women’s locker room. I’ll be fine.”
“Ok,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”
Most of the time, I didn’t mind being in the club alone. Sometimes I would lock the front doors and relax in the whirlpool or sauna before heading for home at two in the morning. But other times, the large, empty building gave me the creeps. Tonight was a creep night. It had been a creepy week.
Everyone was out of the women’s locker room. I turned off the sauna and the whirlpool, turned out the lights, and went back to the lobby. In the office, I threw the main switch for all the club lights to include the parking lot lights. The only light remaining was from a few low-light emergency lights that dimly lit the lobby throughout the night.
I went behind the counter to get my purse. As I reached down into the cubby under the register, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and a chill went through my body. I was certain I had just heard a court door. Usually the doors bang and make a loud echo when they close. This was a much softer version and was barely perceptible.
I picked up a rental racquet in case I needed a weapon and softly tiptoed to peek around the corner and peer down the darkened hallway. As best I could tell, there was no one there. I walked softly to the other side of the lobby and peered down the hallway to the second half of the courts. No one was there either.
I was probably feeling unnerved from everything that had happened this week. It was possible a door hadn’t quite shut all the way, and in the quiet of the moment, I heard its final closing sound as it seated into the jamb. I relaxed my grip on the racquet and turned to go back to the desk for my purse.
My heart stopped. There, on the other side of the lobby, stood Wicker Barnes.
I wanted to be brave, but panic was coming on fast and felt overwhelming. I thought about bolting for an exit door and tried to gauge the distance between me and the front entrance. I knew he would overtake me before I could get out. I hoped I could hold my voice steady to conceal the terror I felt.
“What are you doing here?” I called over to him. “What do you want with me?”
He stepped toward me and said, “You had to ruin everything, didn’t you? You just couldn’t leave Mick alone, could you?” He spoke in dark, angry tones.
“I … I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, looking around to see somewhere to run to, somewhere to hide.
“If you wouldn’t have come along, Mick wouldn’t have left Jenny. If you had any morals at all, you wouldn’t be sleeping with a married man.”
Sleeping with a married man? We weren’t sleeping together. And morals? Who was he to talk about morals? He was Jenny’s boyfriend! But I had enough of my wits about me to not bring any of that up.
“You don’t kn
ow what you’re talking about,” I told him as I positioned myself so that a table and lounging sofa were between us.
He took another step closer. I could see he had a racquet in his hand, too. I clenched the racquet I was holding tighter.
“Jenny and I were doing just fine with the way things were. Then you came along and took Mick away, and it ruined everything. I have to fix this,” he said angrily. “I have to make this right again. You have to go.”
He came running at me with the racquet raised above his head. He had a crazed look on his face. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I felt as if I was in a bad movie with a crazy cable guy who might as well have a knife in his hand. He was going to carve me up with a racquet!
My panic was full-on now. I screamed and made a run for the main doors. I didn’t even have a chance to open them before he tackled me. We hit the floor so hard, the wind came out of both of us, and our racquets went flying. I tried to get up, but I was only crawling away. He pulled me back, first by my legs, then my shirt, then my hair.
I was hyperventilating and gasping for air. I couldn’t scream. I flipped over and wrested my hair from his grip. We were still on the floor but facing each other now. We both pushed up onto our knees at the same time. He reached out to grab me, and I started punching at him as fast as I could. I landed a blow to his mouth. That only served to fuel his anger, and the real battle began.
We slapped, scratched, and punched each other. It surely looked more like a catfight than a beating. One of us was going to wear out first, and I was determined it wasn’t going to be me.
A thought popped into my head. It was fleeting, but I was able to grasp hold of it. Years ago, I had taken a personal safety class. The instructor told us that when you were on the ground, your best weapon was your feet, and kicking your assailant was the best thing you could do.
Survival instinct took over. I startled Wicker by quickly dropping onto my back and throwing my feet up. I began kicking him hard. After just a few kicks, I landed a shoe to his groin. He let out a howl. I knew I had hurt him, but instead of clutching himself and rolling around in agony as I expected, he was only disabled for a few seconds. He now seemed even more enraged.
I managed to get to my feet. I turned to run across the lobby and promptly tripped on my pink shoelaces. They had come undone from the kicking. I was propelled face first to the floor and was barely able to get my hands in front of me in time to keep from breaking my nose. I stood up again and looked behind me to see where Wicker was. I never saw the racquet that came crashing into the side of my head as Wicker swung it with all his might. I blacked out and crumpled to the floor.