Disappearing Acts

Meat sat between Herculeah and her dad at the Sky Dome. He couldn’t believe he was here and about to see his father for the first time in years. And in action! And his father knew he was here. And! He had agreed to meet him after the show.

He had Chico Jones to thank for this wonder. One week ago Chico Jones had knocked at the front door and Meat’s mother had let him in.

“Good. I wanted to talk to you because I want your permission to take Herculean and Meat on a little trip.”

“Why, how nice. You know, Mr. Jones, Chico, ever since you saved my brother Neiman from that gunman, you can do no wrong in this household.”

Meat was hanging over the banister, listening to every word. Chico and Meat’s mom moved into the living room. Meat moved down three stairs. Herculeah had alerted him to what was going on, and he didn’t want to miss a word of it.

“A trip will do Albert good,” his mother was saying. “He’s been nervous after that horrible thing at Funny Bonz.”

There was a pause. Then Chico Jones cleared his throat and said what to Meat was a beautiful word. “WrestleMania.”

There followed a silence so long and so terrible, Meat closed his eyes. He could see in his mind the tight line his mother’s mouth made at the mention of anything to do with his father.

“WrestleMania ... it’s a pro ... professional wrestling event.” The expression on Meat’s mother’s face was evidently enough to make even a police detective stutter.

Then, while Meat’s hopes sank, his mother sighed. It seemed to Meat a sign of surrender, as if all the air in her body was given up to the universe. His hopes rose.

A man in a tuxedo was in the ring. “From the Sky Dome,” he said, “the World Wrestling Federation welcomes you to WrestleMania!”

The crowd roared. The lights flashed. Blue lights flashed over the jam-packed arena.

“Coming down the aisle from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, weighing in at two hundred and twenty-eight pounds is Koko B. Ware, the Bird Man!”

Music blared as the Bird Man came down the aisle. The Bird Man had a parrot on his shoulder, and he danced something that might have been the Chicken, pausing every now and then to slap hands with the fans leaning over the railing. The Bird Man slipped between the ropes and continued to dance in the ring.

“And his opponent, what a great athlete, weighing in at three hundred and twenty pounds, the Big Boss Man!”

Big Boss Man was in a policeman’s uniform, beating a nightstick in one hand.

“Are you going to pull for your fellow officer?” Herculeah asked her dad.

“I’m going to pull for the Bird Man because of Tarot,” said Herculeah.

The bout itself was so quick, so violent, Meat’s mouth hung open. His throat was dry.

During the next bouts, Meat got into the mood of the crowd. He booed Andrew the Giant and the Russian Tag Team. He cheered for Dusty Rhodes, the Lion King, and the Million Dollar Man. He was mad when a wrestler named Stealth stole the bag containing Jack the Snake’s boa. Then, before he knew it, actually before he was ready, it was time for his father.

“And now for the championship event of the evening,” the announcer said.

“Here he comes!” Herculeah said. She grabbed Meat by the shoulder. “There he is! There he is, Meat!”

“Now, coming down the aisle,” the announcer said, “from Muscle City, U.S.A., weighing in at three hundred and seventy-five pounds, one of the longtime superstars, the World Wrestling Federation Intercontinental Champion—Macho Man McMannis!”

The music that brought his father to the ring was “Macho Man,” and the crowd took it up. Meat thought, That man in the black cape and helmet and black boots laced to his knees, the man everyone is yelling Macho Man at and clapping for, is my father. Mine!

His dad stepped into the ring and threw back his cape in one motion, revealing that strong chest, those two shoulder tattoos.

The announcer said, “What a confrontation this is going to be ... power against power with a championship belt at stake. And now, coming down the aisle, weighing in at four hundred and sixty-eight pounds is the Earthquake!”

“That’s not fair.” Meat was suddenly alarmed. “He’s bigger than my dad.”

“This guy has sent twenty-four challengers to the hospital,” the announcer said, “but that’s what happens when you have an earthquake!”

There was thunder and lightning as the Earthquake entered the ring. He began jumping up and down, causing the floor to tremble so violently Macho Man almost lost his footing.

Chico Jones said, “The world hasn’t seen thighs like that since the brontosaurus died out.”

Macho Man went to the corner and put one foot on the ropes to check his boots. The Earthquake rushed forward and jumped him from the rear.

“Unfair! Unfair!” Meat cried. “The match hasn’t even started yet.”

“A right over the back! There’s another right! And another! Macho Man’s in trouble!”

The Earthquake threw himself against the ropes and knocked Macho Man to the floor. Just as Macho Man struggled to his feet, the Earthquake did it again.

Macho Man struggled to his feet, making an obvious effort to shake off Earthquake’s blows. The Earthquake was strutting around the ring.

Macho Man recovered. The announcer said, “And Macho Man gets off a standing drop-kick. A back drop! What a beauty.”

But then the Earthquake had Meat’s father’s face down on the floor, his huge knee digging into his back. The referee, slapping his hand to the canvas, was counting: “One! Two!”

Before he could give the final “Three,” Macho Man twisted one shoulder free. Enraged, Earthquake pulled his father’s head back, one arm around his throat. His father groaned.

Macho Man grabbed Earthquake’s foot and a woman shouted, “Look out, Earthquake!” Meat glanced around in astonishment. How could anyone pull for Earthquake? That was his father! His father!

Meat turned back to the ring in time to see that Earthquake was in agony, one leg in some sort of hammerlock. Earthquake beat the floor in pain.

The announcer said, “It’s a good thing that floor’s reinforced!”

“Macho Man’s setting him up. A beautiful back flying-drop.” Earthquake fell with such force the ground seemed to tremble.

“One, two, three!” the referee counted. “It’s over! The winner and still champion—Macho Man!”

He was holding Macho Man’s hand in the air for victory when the Earthquake got to his feet. With a rumbling that sounded like a real earthquake, he attacked.

Within seconds, both men were out of the ring, on the floor, fighting. Other referees tried to break up the fight, but it continued up the aisle.

Meat turned to Herculeah. “He won! My dad won! He’s still—what was it?” he asked Chico Jones.