Hot on the trail of a bar wrecker
Special to Page 2
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Hot on the trail of a bar wrecker Special to Page 2 | ||||
| Editor's Note: When we got to work today, we found another e-mail from that bartending, skateboarding buddy of ours in California. We decided to pass it along again. A word of warning: always wear a helmet.
Chapter 20 ... in which our hero brings Vince McMahon to his knees The cops are still looking for whoever demolished the inside of Lore's (see Chapter 19). Our manager, Stu Getzler, is always ragging me, but the dude has a degree in business that cost him a ton in postage, so it shouldn't be surprising that he gets us back on our feet in a day. Stu sweeps all the broken glass into the corner and announces free beers for whoever comes closest to guessing the number of shards. 
But Lore's isn't the same. Everyone knows the nutcase who trashed us could resurface anytime. And that clashes with the concentration you need to enjoy a good game on the tube.
Stu keeps looking at me like the slowdown is my fault.
"I know you've been doing it with Phil Jackson's girl, Jeannie," he says, when I ask why it's a scowl festival at work. "Just look at Phil on the bench. He's not thinking about Shaq or Kobe or the triangle or when he should call a timeout, he's bummed that his babe is getting lowdown with you, Wheeler. I may have to go to the police. Phil probably busted the place up to settle a score."
"Just give me a week to prove who really did it, Stu," I say. "Meanwhile, let's start a new Happy Hour pool -- pick the date Coach Bobby puts the Knight Clamp on his first player in Lubbock and win a free week at South Padre Island."
This begins bringing in business. Plus, have you seen that Nike ad, the one with all the NBA players doing this hip-hop dribbling? Steve Sabol comes in and catches it and immediately runs into the men's room and throws up from jealousy.
"It's probably the greatest piece of film in the history of sports artistry," Steve admits tearfully when he gets all cleaned up and comes back for some more Nachos Xtreme with Barbecued Pork.
I put the ad on a loop so it's running continuously on all the TVs in Lore's. Within two days the place is packed again. Hardly anybody even wants to watch the real games. Just the Nike commercial. Over and over.
You think that puts a smile on Stu Getzler's face? No way. He still blames me for causing Phil Jackson to bust up Lore's.
Anyway, last night this booming voice blasts out of the crowd.
"Somebody put some real TV on."
It's Vince McMahon. One of our regulars. Surrounded by his wrestling cronies, he walks straight up to me. I hear him, but I can't take my eyes off the Nike commercial. I figure I've watched it maybe 15,000 times. I want it to be my daddy.
"I guess you didn't hear me, Wheeler," Vince says. He whaps a thunderous forearm down on the bar to get my attention, which he gets. "Now, I'm sure the rest of these fine people at the most famous sports bar on the West Coast want to watch a little real sports with their drinks."
"I bet you want me to turn on the XFL, Vince," I say, "because if there are just five more sets tuned to it, your ratings go up a thousand percent."
Now Vince is insulted, which is a language he enjoys. He can hear a few of the regulars laughing at him, including my homey Puker. I had to do an intervention and break down the door to Puker's room and drag him away from watching "Rocket Power" on Nickelodeon, and the Nike loop has been a godsend.
"We don't have to watch the XFL," Vince booms loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is a free country, after all. Why not watch some tennis?"
I figure, why not?
A few seconds later, it's on. Women's tennis. Venus Williams is running around like some incredible giant praying mantis, according to Puker. Getting to every ball. Hundred mile an hour serves.
I bring Vince a brew and he's got his fingertips up to either side of his head and his mouth is all tight.
"I like her size," he says.
He's making grunting sounds. Like Dennis Hopper in that old movie, "Blue Velvet." Watching Venus Williams and trying to send out these mental rays at the TV set. "Uh ... uh ... uh ... ."
"I could make millions with her, Wheeler," Vince says, when he sees me watching his mentalating. "She and her sister -- closed-circuit, tag-team female death matches from coast to coast. Against the other top women. And men. She loves strong men, you know, Wheeler. With girls, it starts with their father. But it doesn't have to end there."
Vince doesn't have a clue I'm doing more than just bringing him Xtreme Nachos with Long Island Duckling. "You wouldn't happen to recognize one of these, would you, Vince," I say as I hold a small, round white bead up to his face.
"No idea what that is, Wheeler," he says, before turning back to the tennis.
"It's the same kind of bead Venus wears in her hair," I say.
"So what," Vince says.
"They found a million of these lying around here the night someone broke in and smashed the place to bits," I say. "I got this one from the cops."
Now Vince isn't watching Venus anymore, he's watching me real nervously.
"What do you know about that tournament in Indian Wells the week before last -- the one Venus pulled out of before playing her sister?" I ask.
Vince looks at me blankly. Peeling a greenie from his wallet, he turns to go.
Then the weirdest thing happens. Puker catches all of it, and he's up in a flash. He gets Vince in an Asian wrist lock I used on him during my intervention that Jeannie Buss taught me after learning it from Phil. Vince is helplessly bumped up against the wood. His cronies are ready to move in, but they know Vince doesn't want his wrist broken.
"Alright, Wheeler, you win," he groans. "I have plans for Venus. I'm going to make her the biggest thing on the planet. I'm the man in her life now. Make no mistake, that's the way she wants it."
"You planned that scene in Indian Wells, didn't you, Vince?" I ask.
"You're wrong, Wheeler," he says. "I wanted the sisters to play each other. Venus was going to play. I ordered her to play."
"Then why didn't she?"
Puker tightens the hold.
"Aaggghhhh ... because her father nailed her in the knee with a bat."
I nod at Puker to release Vince. He leaves with his cronies and pretty soon everyone's back to drinking beer and watching the Nike commercial on TV.
"I think I know who destroyed Lore's, Stu," I say as soon as I can take a break. I explain how there's a battle for control over the soul of Venus Williams, and that, naturally, it's gotten a little out of control.
"You're crazy if you think Vince McMahon did it, Wheeler," Stu says. "You've landed on your head too many times."
"It wasn't Vince," I say. "It was Richard Williams. He went nuts and was looking for Vince."
"You better be able to prove it to the cops, or you're fired," Stu says.
I just look at him. And then I go search out the women's tour schedule.
Next week: Chapter 21, in which our hero gets caught in a Center Court crossfire
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