I had followed Glen reluctantly. A part of me was surprised at how effective the show had been at capturing my interest. I was disappointed to have to stop watching.
But work called.
I followed him once more into the backstage warren, this time he led me to a different dressing room. There were some snacks laid out here, but more selectively—sports drinks, protein bars, packets of gel, fruit, cheese that didn’t look like it had been sitting under a light for a week.
Grant, wearing a t-shirt and toweling at his sweaty head, was sitting on a folding chair. Blake Irons was there too, stretched out on the floor, his knees and elbows wrapped up in bandages with icepacks. His wrists, too, sat on the ground with icepacks above and beneath them.
I had to step carefully around him, and he said, “Sorry, gotta do the poor man’s whirlpool, ain’t got one in the clubhouse.” I laughed a little and went to meet Grant, who was once again shaking my hand.
“What’d you think?”
“Ah, it was…well I’m not sure I’m equipped to judge, you know, but…it was good. I got invested. Ending was good.”
“I’m thinking of calling that The Vicksburg,” Grant said, with a grin. “You like it?”
“Uh, sure.”
From the floor, Blake said, “You’re gonna call it the career-ending herniated disc you don’t learn to balance the weight better, kid.” His voice told the story of a lifetime of sore joints and muscle spasms. I winced hearing it.
“I’m working on it, man, I’m working on it. Thank God I got you to help me sell it. So, Jack, you ready to come work for me?”
“Grant, I don’t even know what you want me to do.”
“I told you there’s threats.”
“Yeah, but that’s not a particularly informative statement. Threats are also something you can take to the police.”
“Yeah,” he said, his face falling a little. “I, uh, would rather not go to the cops.”
“I think this is my cue to get scarce,” Blake said. Slowly, and so very obviously painfully that I was torn between offering help and being afraid that would be a blow to his dignity, Blake picked himself up. He bent down to try and collect his icepacks, pausing halfway down.
I stood, snatched them up, and handed them to him. He had to put a hand on his back to straighten himself up. He looked at me then when he did. His eyes were blue, his face wrinkled in pain.
“Thanks.” He studied me for a second. “You were a wrestler, weren’t you? I don’t mean like this, I mean…”
“Yeah,” Grant answered for me. “Damn good one too. Could’ve won us a National Championship…”
I waved the words away. “Long time ago,” I said.
Blake nodded, perhaps sensing that I didn’t much want to talk about it, then shuffled off. I think a shuffle was about as fast as he could move at that moment. Ice rustled and settled in the bags wrapped around his joints. He looked like some kind of golem made of ACE bandage and athletic tape and animated by pain rather than speech.
When we were finally alone, I turned on Grant.
“What the hell was that about, pointing me out at ringside?”
“I always try to point out a veteran as a tribute…”
“Yeah, well, don’t make me one of ‘em. I was just a cook, alright? Now why do you think you want to hire me?”
“I told you there’ve been threats against me.”
“When? Where? What kind?”
“A phone call to a venue just after we left that said we should never come back. Couple emails. A letter.”
“And what did the threats say?”
“That they’d kill me if I ever came back.”
I grabbed a folding chair and pulled it to within a few feet of Grant. From the inside pocket of my jacket, I pulled out the firm’s client-intake paperwork.
“This is cop stuff, Grant. Somebody makes a threat on your life, you call the police, and they determine whether it’s credible. I’m the guy you call if you suspect a business partner is trying to screw you. Or your wife, I guess.”
“Well…the company ain’t real keen on calling the cops.”
I resisted the urge to lift a hand to cover my eyes. I kept one hand on the paperwork and the other in a light fist on my lap. It was difficult.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “They don’t want that kind of attention.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “You know…lotta people work for the company. I mean, it’s small, as promotions go. But beyond the talent, and the creative folks, you got the security, and the lighting and sound people, and the roadies…”
“And either there are enough illegal substances floating around, or enough folks with records—or on probation, or on parole, or who aren’t supposed to be leaving a state—that nobody wants any actual police around.”
“Pretty much,” Grant confirmed.
“What do your own security people say?”
“That it’s probably nothing to worry about.”
“And why don’t you trust that assessment?”
“Because they’re basically just bouncers. Doormen. They aren’t, you know…” He waved a hand vaguely in the air. “Investigators.”
“Okay. Would it be you hiring me, or the company?”
“What do you cost?”
“Depends if we’re talking retainer, how many hours…” I held out the paperwork and he scanned it quickly. His eyes suddenly widened.
“Uh, I think the company’s gonna have to cover this.”
I started wondering just how much Grant was making for risking his health and spine for the Delmarva Wresting Federation. But it was a rude question to ask this early.
“Well, then you better get the okay from somebody and get that paperwork filled out, and let me know when you want to start working.”
He looked up. “Well, we’ve got the next week off. Thanksgiving, you know? But the Monday after that we go back on the road. Dover, couple of beach towns, down into Virginia, then around D.C., then up into PA…lotta wrestling fans in PA, ya know…”
“Wait. What exactly are you saying? You want me to travel with you?”
Grant smiled broadly. “Hell yeah, bro! On the bus, twenty-four hours a day, man.”
“Provided the company can pay for it.”
“They’ll pay for it or I’ll call the cops,” he said, with a shrug. “Should be easy.”
I thought that Grant’s negotiating position wasn’t as strong as he thought. It was likely that he was an independent contractor and had next to no recourse if he was fired. But I didn’t have the heart or patience to try and explain that to him just then.
“You know I’m not a cop, so I can’t arrest anyone or pull in cop resources. I’m also not really a bodyguard.”
“You got this, man. I’m sure you do.”
I sighed. “Alright. But if you want me on the bus, twenty-four hours a day…this isn’t gonna be cheap.”
“I’ll call the boss right now,” he said, waving the papers in his hand. “And we’ll get you on the bus in Dover next Monday, okay?”
I still doubted his ability to get me hired in precisely the way he wanted. “I think your boss is gonna want to talk to me and, you know, understand what she’d be spending money on.”
“Look, man, just show up in Dover next Monday. We’ll get you on the bus, I guarantee it.”
“Grant, I can’t get on the bus unless I’m hired. Officially. Through the firm. That’s the only way, legally speaking, for me to work for you or the company and be protected.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…a lot of complicated legal stuff that I don’t really understand, except that I’m under strict orders from my boss not to do any work unless I’ve got it all squared away.”
“Alright. Cool. I’ll text you the address. See you next Monday?”
“Sure,” I said, without much feeling.