Ugly As Sin (25 page)

“If it is any consolation,” said Mr. Balfour, “I have taken very good care of my investment. I cherish it so.”

“Ah,” said Nick. “That makes it all better, then.”

“At one time, it was my most prized possession.”

Nick’s chest heaved in and out. Tears of rage filled his eyes. He could barely hold himself back. He imagined picking up the old man—wheelchair and all—and heaving him across the room as if he weighed nothing. But he was close...
so close
...for all he knew, Sophie was within shouting distance right now...

“Speaking of my most prized possession,” the old man said, almost as if he were reading Nick’s mind, “please take us to Sophie’s room now. Little Sister, Jeremy...I think it is time Mr. Bullman met his granddaughter.”

†

They exited Balfour’s “museum” through a side door. Crossed through an atrium filled with azalea bushes and dogwood trees. A stone angel watched them pass. Directly overhead, visible through a domed skylight, lurked a bright full moon.

Then they were inside again. At the end of another short hallway was a door that looked as if it had been painted recently. Hot pink.

“After you,” said Mr. Balfour.

Little Sister reached into her pocket for another key. She handed it to Nick, and gestured for him to lead the way.

The big man stepped forward, his heart thudding in his chest.

He stuck the key in the lock and turned it.

He opened the door.

The teenager lay on her side on a huge canopy bed, surrounded by pink. Pink blankets, pink pillows, pink wallpaper on all four sides of her. The only light in the room came from a small pink lamp with a pink lampshade, sitting on a pink nightstand. She was surrounded by chubby teddy bears and dolls with frilly pink dresses. It was as if this room had been decorated specifically for a little girl, and filled with everything a child could ask for...if the child who occupied these quarters were seven instead of fourteen.

Nick grew lightheaded when he saw his granddaughter for the first time.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen
.

Her skin was pale. She looked ten or fifteen pounds skinnier than any pictures he had seen of her, and there were dark bags under her eyes, as if living in captivity had taken its toll on her body. Her forehead was shiny with sweat. Her dark, curly hair was wet as if she had taken a shower right before bed. As she slept, one of her nostrils whistled softly. She wore only a thin pink nightshirt with the words DADDY’S GIRL across the chest; it had ridden up on her bottom to expose her thin white panties.

“Is she okay?” Nick asked. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her,” said Little Sister. “She has been treated like a princess from the moment she first arrived here.”

Nick couldn’t help sensing something
envious
in her tone. As if she had once been Daddy’s favorite but those days were a distant memory, and she wasn’t happy about that at all.

“Is she on something?”

“Of course not,” said Jeremy, with a condescending chuckle that made Nick want to turn and rip out his stomach through his mouth. “It’s one o’ clock in the morning. She’s sleeping.”

Nick stood there for at least another minute, staring at his granddaughter.

Finally, he swallowed a lump in his throat, and asked the old man, “Why? You already had my...my face. So...why Sophie? Why did you have to take her?”

“She is your blood, Mr. Bullman. You were a celebrity, once upon a time. Your story is a fascinating one. You suffered a terrible tragedy. That made Sophie a fine addition to my collection. The finest.”

A foul taste filled Nick’s mouth. “It wasn’t just about that, though. What did you plan to
do
with her?”

Daddy likes kids...always has...and she was just his type...

Sophie stirred then. She coughed gently, rubbed at her eyes. Sat up in bed.

Her jaw dropped when she saw Nick standing there.

“You. Oh my...it’s you.”

“Hello, Sophie,” said Nick. “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course I do. You’re my grandfather.”

“That’s right, baby.” His voice cracked. Tears blurred his vision. “I’m here now, Sophie. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

She ran to him, fell into his arms. No one tried to stop her.

She smelled like strawberry-scented shampoo. To Nick, it was the greatest smell in the world.

He cleared his throat, stepped back. His big hands gripped his granddaughter’s shoulders as he looked into her bright blue eyes—eyes that looked just like his own.

It was time to show his ace in the hole
.

Softly, he said, “Sophie? I need to ask you something. I don’t want to know, but I
need
to know...”

“What?”

“Did he touch you?”

Her bottom lip quivered. A tear trickled down her cheek.

“He tried.” She shot Little Sister a look of hatred. “
She
held me down. They took pictures. But he couldn’t do what he wanted to do. He got mad. He called me names, and he gave up.”

“Christ,” said Nick, hanging his head. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry...”

“It is a weakness of mine, I admit,” said Mr. Balfour. “I do love children so.”

“Sick
fuck
,” Nick growled at the old man.

“Watch it,” said Little Sister.

Nick ignored her. He kissed Sophie on her sweaty forehead and said, “Thank you for telling me that, baby. I needed to hear it. So I could be sure that what I’m about to do is the right thing...”

Little Sister and Jeremy exchanged puzzled looks. Mr. Balfour smiled up at Nick, as if he thought the big man might be about to offer him another piece of his body for his collection.

“You people are the monsters here,” said Nick. “
You’re
the ugly ones.”

He shoved Sophie back then—perhaps a bit too roughly, but he couldn’t take any chances—and he pulled the gun from beneath his shirt.

It was a gold-plated Beretta. Taken from a man who called himself Coko Puff. At the time, he hadn’t been sure why he took it with him.
Just in case
had seemed as good a reason as any. The weapon had been hidden in the waistline of his pants ever since he left the dealer’s house. He had almost pulled it at the ’Rim, but he had known then that if he killed the only people who could lead him to Sophie, he might never find her. Allowing the siblings to take him, on their terms, was the only way he would find his granddaughter.

His patience had paid off.

“Jeremy, you
idiot!
” Little Sister shouted. “You didn’t
search
him?”

Jeremy went for his own gun, in his jacket.

He was fast. Nick hadn’t expected him to be so fast. He fired once, and his shot caught Nick in his right thigh.

Nick grunted, stumbled back, and pulled the Beretta’s trigger twice.

Crimson blossoms opened up in Jeremy’s chest. The younger man dropped to his knees, and then his body hit the floor face-first.

Little Sister screamed—a hoarse, masculine roar. She went for Jeremy’s pistol.

Nick fired again.

Blood spurted from the woman’s throat, and she went down on top of her brother.

“No!”
Mr. Balfour cried. “What have you done?
What have you done
?”

The old man fumbled around on his wheelchair. Found what he was looking for after a few seconds. He brought out his own weapon now, from a pocket under one of the armrests—a small, antique-looking handgun.

“Bastard,” he hissed at Nick, as he pulled back the hammer.

Nick thought about it for maybe half a second, then shot the old man in the chest.

Balfour arched his back as if he were merely straining to let out a dusty old-man fart. Then his body went slack. His chin touched his chest. He died without another sound.

Sophie wrapped her arms around Nick from behind. He flinched.

Nick held her in one arm, while his other hand went to his thigh. Blood spurted out of the wound, through his fingers. He staggered, crashed into the wall, but somehow stayed on his feet.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, although he wasn’t entirely sure yet. “Do you know your way around this place?”

“A little,” she replied. “But it’s really big. They hardly ever let me out of my room.”

“That’s fine. I don’t even know where we are.” He nodded toward Jeremy’s corpse. “He has a cellphone in his jacket. I’m gonna use it to call 911. They’ll be able to find us.”

He limped over to the dead man, started searching for the phone. Sophie held onto his shirttail the whole way, as if she would never let him out of her sight.

“By the way,” she said, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Grandpa.”

In spite of the pain in his thigh, a crooked grin stretched across Nick’s disfigured face.

“Better late than never, right? It’s a pleasure to meet you too, sweetheart.”

One month later...

After it was over, and the Polk County Sheriff’s Department had concluded its investigation, the funeral home placed notices in several newspapers, searching for family to claim Leon Purdy’s remains. Their efforts were futile. He would soon be cremated, and his ashes buried in a local Potter’s Field.

That didn’t sit well with the man once known as the Widowmaker. His number one fan deserved better.

†

He closed out all of his bank accounts, which proved more depressing than anything. But every little bit would help.

When that was done, he headed across town to the auto shop where his Bronco had been sitting since its release from police custody.

†

The mechanic was a broad-shouldered fellow in his mid-sixties with a purple birthmark over half his face. EZRA, read the name on his filthy coveralls.

“You’re the wrestler, ain’tcha? Me and my wife, God rest her soul, we used to watch you all the time. What can I do you for, Mr. Bullman?”

“I’m here for the Bronco,” said Nick. “What’s the damage?”

“Afraid it’s gonna cost you more to fix her up than she’s worth. You’re lookin’ at a whole new engine block, for starters.”

“Shit,” said Nick.

“You got other options.”

“I’m listening.”

“I could buy her off of you, for parts. Few hundred bucks is all I could do. But it’s better than nothin’.”

“What the hell. Let’s do it.”

†

“How may I help you today?” asked the funeral director, a chubby young man with fiery red hair.

“I’m here for Leon Purdy. I’d like to buy him a plot. And a nice stone.”

“I can certainly take care of that for you. Let’s talk about what you would like engraved upon his marker. This will serve your friend’s memory well, sir.”

“Great,” said Nick.

He pulled out his wallet.

When that was done, he took a few minutes to visit Melissa’s mama’s grave. He laid down the bouquet of daffodils he had brought, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there in solemn meditation, leaning on his cane, in the cool late-summer drizzle.

†

Nick shook Sheriff Mackey’s hand, thanked him for the ride. The two men had actually started to become good friends these last few weeks.

He dabbed at his leaking right eye, adjusted his sunglasses before carefully climbing out of the patrol car.

The sheriff pulled away from the curb with a brief
bloop-whoop
of his siren.

Thirty seconds later, they caught him walking through the front door of the Polk County Rec Center, attacked Nick Bullman before the door had closed all the way behind him...

†

Like vultures descending upon carrion prey, they surrounded him. Their numbers overwhelmed him.

They thrust their Sharpies at him along with dog-eared copies of old wrestling zines, faded pin-ups, and out-of-print VHS covers. The group consisted of four boys no older than ten or eleven; a lanky teenage guy with terrible acne, and an obese middle-aged couple wearing matching THE WIDOWMAKER ATE MY SOUL!!! T-shirts.

Nick felt a twinge of claustrophobia as they invaded his personal space. But he signed what they shoved in front of him. He asked the teenager with bad acne where in the world had he found an unopened, mint-condition ’Maker action figure (the original one with the inverted-cross makeup that had quickly been discontinued). The youth stuttered something about “sniping on ebay.” Nick didn’t have a clue what that meant, but he was humbled nonetheless.

He remembered a time when he had loved every second of this. Realized he still dug it quite a bit. It had been years since anyone wanted to approach him, or since he wanted to be approached.

He thanked them all for coming out. Promised he would chat some more with every single one of them, once he got settled in.

He hobbled toward the gymnasium, where a number of folding tables and chairs had been set up for today’s event. A giant banner hung along one wall, featuring a sloppy photo collage of five sweaty wrestlers flexing and snarling in colorful spandex. Each was a performer that had been at the top of the wrestling hierarchy once upon a time. But, whether thanks to the fickleness of fans eternally obsessed with the “next big thing” or due to their own bad decisions, most of them had not appeared on TV for the better part of a decade.

TODAY ONLY: MEET YOUR FAVORITE WRESTLING LEGENDS!

BIG JIM BROGAN, JR.

NICK “THE WIDOWMACKER” BULLMEN

PAUL “BLACK SAMSON” SHERMAN

TEDDY “THE BEAR” GORGINO

SLICK RICK MONAVIE

4:30–6:30 PM

(* see celebs for pricing/merchandise *)