Sudden Death (9 page)

“Kitty murders. Couldn’t miss.”

Miranda Mexata, poised in the chair, began the day’s matches. Susan Reilly versus Carmen Semana. Susan won the toss and elected to serve.

Up in the stands in the sponsor’s box, Alicia Brinker and Harriet Rawls sat next to one another, a small breach in tennis etiquette, but Chuck, Kansas City’s Tomahawk representative,
could be forgiven. He’d never watched a tennis match in his life. The husbands, wives, lovers, and relatives of opponents are usually kept apart. They can’t help knowing where the other party is, but to smack them next to one another was insensitive. If either cheering section had any manners at all, it couldn’t rejoice when its woman hit a good shot or hiss when the opponent whacked a winner. Alicia, never comfortable around Harriet to begin with, hid her slender New Testament in the folds of her sweater, which she placed on her lap. Miguel and Dennis Parry sat in an adjoining box festooned with Amalgamated Banks’ pale blue banners.

Up in the press box, Ricky Cooper, his headphone in place, waited for his cue. Jane sat off-camera with special diagrams to enable her to chart the match. She usually left that chore to statisticians, but today she felt like charting. Susan walked to the baseline. Jane muttered, “Lucretia Borgia of Sunnybrook Farm.”

Ricky, smiling, received his cue. “You’re right on time, ladies and gentlemen. Susan Reilly won the service toss, and we’re ready to go.”

Lavinia made a nest in the Tomahawk box. The wife of a local sponsor quickly sat beside her as Susan’s familiar, high service toss climbed upwards. The famous deep swinging serve was in action. Whenever the players switched sides, Lavinia would warble in conversations with sponsors. She could hit high C for cash.

Alicia didn’t beam. Carmen won the first set six-four. Three sets was what was going through Susan’s mind. She dug in harder. If Page Bartlett Campbell had the best balance and Carmen had the greatest athletic ability, Susan possessed a degree of drive and guile that never ceased to astonish her opponents.

On her serve, she drove deep into Carmen’s forehand. Carmen hit the ball solid and hard. Good. Susan liked pace and she knew Carmen would never stoop to garbage shots to
win any match. The harder Carmen hit the ball, the better Susan liked it. As the ball zoomed for the backhand corner, Susan met it with every fiber in her body and fired the next shot down the line. Her backhand was deadly, powerful, and never to be trifled with. It brought the crowd to its feet. There was life in the old dog yet—and bite. For the next point, she bore down harder. The first serve caught the corner, but Carmen’s lightning reflexes and strong wrist slapped the ball midcourt but deep. From the stands, Susan’s return looked like a weak shot. But from Miranda Mexata’s viewpoint, the ball crossed the net, fell midway in the service court, and then spun backwards. Carmen got to the shot in plenty of time, but she didn’t calculate the spin. It might have been the angle at which she was running or any number of causes, but she overran the ball slightly. Her return wasn’t deep enough, and it was to Susan’s backhand, the only shot she could make. She had to commit herself to the net. On a weak return to a player like Susan, Carmen might as well be charging a machine gun nest with a rubber knife. Susan ripped a backhand down the line again. On the next point she drove a backhand crosscourt off the return of serve. She closed out the game with an ace.

Carmen hated playing Susan. When Carmen was outsmarted with a shot like the retrograde dink, she could feel Susan gloat, “Sucker.” Susan sharpened with each point. If Carmen were the tiniest bit mentally shaky, Susan could pick her apart, even though Carmen was physically her superior. Playing against Susan was like toying with a cobra. However, Carmen was certain that today she would be the snake charmer.

On the first serve of the second set, Carmen laid down an ace with the precision of a bombardier. The next point was long, and Susan finally grabbed it. Carmen’s serve held up, however, and she won the game. The rest of the set went like that, back and forth, back and forth. It was the tense kind of tennis that brought people out on cold January days: The Old
Master versus the Young Master. At twenty-four, Carmen couldn’t be considered young in her profession, but against Susan, she could still look callow.

Susan’s tactic now as they wrestled at four-all was to go all out on the serve and use the follow-through motion to propel herself to the net. Her sheer aggression excited the fans. She hit a forehand volley for a winner that brought them to their feet. Susan glowed. She had an infinite capacity for absorbing adulation. She not only held her serve, but she also towered over that game. Carmen was just as fierce as she held on to her serve. They went to five-all. In no time, they were at six-all. Another tie breaker. The fans went wild, for tennis fans. They wanted the match to go three sets.

Harriet wiggled in her seat. Alicia gripped her New Testament.

The tie breaker was electrifying. There wasn’t a sloppy point in it. Each woman called upon herself to perform the heroic and did so. Susan lunged for a forehand volley that looked like a winner since Carmen hit the shot at an easy ninety miles an hour. Susan stretched out parallel to the floor as she leapt for the shot, and by God, she made it. She hit the floor, rolled and got up in case Carmen made the return. Pandemonium broke loose. The next serve was Carmen’s. The score was five-five. Carmen took a chance and served to Susan’s strong side hoping to catch her off guard. She did. Susan’s return had authority, but not enough power. Carmen coasted across the court—she seemed always to glide—and unleashed a shattering forehand crosscourt, perhaps her best shot. Susan, her uncanny sixth sense at full operating capacity, was there. She got her racquet on the shot, and the ball sailed over the net. The linesman called, “Out.” The shot was dangerously close to the backcourt line. Carmen moved behind the line, took a ball from the ball girl and turned around to see Susan at the net, hands on hips.

“Out! What do you mean, out? That ball was in by a yard!”

The fans on the unhappy linesman’s side agreed. To most of them the ball looked good. The linesman said nothing.

Carmen waited. Miranda said something to Susan, but no one could hear it.

Susan, livid, continued, “That ball was good. Miranda, you know that ball was in.”

“I saw the ball out,” Miranda coolly said. She always supported her linespeople unless the mistake was glaring. In this case, the linesman hadn’t fluffed any calls so far. Miranda knew it was a close call, but she had to maintain rule or Susan would tear apart every linesman on the court.

“No way.” Susan threw her racquet to the ground. She leaned over the net and yelled at Carmen, “Did you see the ball?”

In truth, Carmen was running so fast, she had her eye on the ball, not the line. “No.”

“Carmen, you know that ball was good.”

This pissed off Carmen. She had a reputation for being fair on calls. Susan was making her out to be a thief.

“I didn’t see the ball, Susan.”

“Goddammit, I’m playing my heart out, and the linesman wins the match.”

“Settle yourself, Susan.” Miranda was firm. Right now, she had to be.

The fans were now screaming both for and against the call. Susan thundered to the backcourt and took up position to receive serve. She returned the serve with a high, arching lob, an act of total contempt. The ball hit inside the baseline. For an entire point, Susan gave Carmen nothing but garbage shots.

Clenching her teeth, Carmen ran down each rotten shot until she finally blew one by Susan, winning the match. The crowd bellowed. Harriet stood up. Alicia unclasped her New
Testament. Ricky tried not to let an edge of disgust creep into his patter. Jane knocked off the last point card. They looked down at the figure of Susan Reilly moving toward the net like a panzer.

Carmen was angry, but she pulled herself together and extended her hand. Tennis matches have been ending with cordial handshakes for over a century. Susan walked up to the net and put her racquet head on Carmen’s outstretched hand. With her other hand, she hit Carmen squarely on the mouth. Carmen’s head snapped back, her lip split. She stood there stunned. The crowd switched off its volume. Miranda climbed out of her umpire’s chair faster than a squirrel goes down a tree. Carmen, still stunned, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. It was covered with blood.

“Take care of her!” Miranda commanded the trainer. The trainer positioned herself in front of Carmen and began ministering to her. What she was really doing was trying to keep Susan out of Carmen’s sight lest Carmen’s famed Latin temper should explode.

Miranda grasped Susan by the arm, none too gently, and forced her behind the umpire’s chair. Flashbulbs crackled. The crowd began talking again, first in a low buzz, then louder, until finally a roar of disapproval hit the rafters in Kansas City. Alicia hurried up on the other side of Susan. Miranda, without saying a word, indicated they were to get Susan back to the locker room immediately. As Alicia touched Susan’s arm, Susan spat, “Don’t touch me. Not in public.”

The next morning, the story not only filled up the Kansas City papers, but it also screamed out over the AP and UPI wires. Carmen was okay. Lavinia Sibley Archer couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, so she spoke instead on the pressures
of competition and travel. The other players couldn’t believe it. Nothing like that had ever happened, no matter how angry anyone was, and there had been plenty of angry moments over the years.

The fans, for the most part, reviled the act. But the promoters were in hog heaven. A little drama would bring in the people. Susan had just lined their pockets. Naturally, promoters would never publicly encourage such outbursts. Even though the public disapproved of the act, the fact that there might be more explosions attracted them. After all, it wasn’t just a sport anymore, it was entertainment. Susan publicly apologized. In her heart, she felt she had done no wrong. Carmen robbed her. Since Susan couldn’t admit she had any faults, she was in no danger of correcting herself. Carmen understood. Between her first lover and herself, it was no longer tennis; it was war.

“That’s an interesting offer.” Miguel sat across from Dennis Parry in the bank office. “I think we can do business.”

“I’m always looking for new ideas.” An unctuous smile crossed Parry’s lips.

Riding in the taxi to the Kansas City airport, Miguel glowed. The meeting with Parry was better than he’d hoped.

Amalgamated would loan Carmen $600,000 at an interest rate of 21%. The term of the loan was one year. $300,000 was to be paid in equal, quarterly installments, a balloon payment of $300,000 was due at the end of the year. But it could be renegotiated at the end of that year. Parry congratulated himself on being a genius because Carmen would pay him $50,000 under the table. Obviously no record of that exchange would be on paper. Carmen only had to sign the loan agreement, and Miguel would have $550,000.

Miguel glanced at his gold Rolex. He’d be in plenty of time. Some of what Miguel told Dennis Parry was true. Much was not. He did have a friend who would manufacture the clothing line in Hong Kong. And he would sell the product in Southeast Asia. He also had every intention of peddling the goods in the United States through the outlets his Hong Kong friend used for designer rip-off clothing. Miguel had found a distribution network and all the retail outlets without spending a penny of his own cash. The shirts would be sold for 20% less than the legitimate item. Even at that discount, the profit was enormous.