The Fate of a Family Man - Part One

[Joey "The Handyman" Handy]

The Fate of a Family Man - Part One 

****NOTE: If you're confused about what's going on, you may find it beneficial to read the four part series, "Collision (Course) Insurance" I posted in the "Around the Arena" section. Otherwise, enjoy! ****



"I don't think I fully understand." I sat there at the private family room in the hospital. Nadine sat next to me, just as shaken to the core as I was, still in her work uniform from the diner.



Across from us, a representative from the Division of Family Services sat in a pants suit, her "I'd like to talk to the manager" haircut and somehow simultaneously accusatory and deeply saddened glare focused firmly on both of us in turn.



"It's just a routine series of questions that we have to go through, Mr. ..." she trailed off long enough to glance down at her file folder, "Handy. When a child comes in to a hospital, nearly comatose from an overdose of LSD, we have to question how they got hold of such chemicals. It's precautionary, you understand."



I held my head in my hands in frustration. "We told you how we..."



"DON'T YOU KNOW WHO MY HUSBAND IS?" Nadine screamed. "HE'S A STAR OF..."


"NADINE!" I interrupted her upcoming tirade. "She doesn't care who I am. She cares about what happened. Now for once in your life, shut the fuck up and don't make things worse."



I probably could have phrased it better, but it achieved exactly what I wanted it to do. Nadine clammed up. I saw the case worker scribble in her notepad out of the corner of my eye as I glowered at my wife. I didn't care. We were in this position because of two people: her and Alexa Black. I'd have had the sense to not let Nicholas put a temp tattoo that he'd received from such a dangerous person on his body. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.



But a self-superior attitude wouldn't help any of us in this instance. Not from her. Certainly not from me. One of us had to try and keep a cool head.



There was an long, awkward silence in the room. Finally, the caseworker spoke up. "Let me be blunt. Even though you told us that the tattoos were a gift, and that you didn't know that they were laced with LSD, we have to take every precautionary step we can to ensure that both of your children aren't living in a risky environment. Right now, despite your claims, I can't surmise that you weren't aware that they didn't contain illegal substances."



"I didn't even know they existed until I saw Nicholas wearing one." I was dumbfounded. Was this even real?



"Mr. Handy. Your wife has one on her arm," she pointed to the fading heart on Nadine's forearm, which she promptly covered up in shame. "And you have one on the back of your neck."



My mouth dropped open in disbelief as my hand went to my neck instinctively. I stood and turned toward the dim reflection in the office window, trying to concentrate more on myself that the view of the hallway. I saw something that looked like an anchor or something. It was difficult to make out without a pair of mirrors. That was when I recalled Nadine giving me that long hug as I got home, and how it felt a bit oddly wet. "She DOSED me!" I screamed internally, my rage boiling just under the surface. I swallowed it back, hard.



"In fact, since LSD is an illegal substance, I'm afraid I can't allow either of your children to go home with you until our investigation has concluded."



I sat back down with a defeated plop. I understood what she was doing. I hated her for it. I hated Nadine for it. I hated Alexa for it. I even hated myself for it. Most of all, I hated that I understood why this woman was doing what she was doing.



"Do..." I stammered, "Do they have to go into the system, or can it be a family member they go home with?"



"Well," the caseworker shifted papers around in her open file. "Under the circumstances, I think we can send them home with family, but neither of you two are to have contact with..."



"Not even a phone call?" I asked.



"I'm afraid not," she instructed. "We can't take a chance on our investigation becoming tainted. If it turns out that you were telling the truth, and they were given as a gift unknowingly, and it appears that it was simply an isolated incident, then you may have your children back. Whomever you send them home with will have to be approved as well."



I thought long and hard about our next move. Finally, I turned to Nadine. "Call your sister Jackie." I choked back the lump in my throat. Jackie wasn't very well off at all. In fact, she barely got by, living in a trailer with three kids of her own, and no one helping her.



Nadine looked at me as if I'd asked her to call Charles Manson to babysit. "Maybe we could call my mom, or..."



"Your mother lives in Florida. Jackie is at least closer." I took Nadine by the shoulders. "She's not my first choice, either, but most of our families are scattered to the four winds. Jackie is close, and the kids love her and their cousins. It's... She's our best option right now."



The caseworker seemed agreeable to our choice, especially after I informed her that Jackie was already in the system for food stamps. It would make her investigation of our selection easier. Nadine made the call, and her sister met us at the hospital, an infant and two toddlers in tow. It wasn't the best arrangement, but it was what we had to work with, and that was good enough for me now. Plus, it kept our kids out of a stranger's house for now.



It would be rough sailing, but we've weathered stormier seas and came out just fine. I had to hold onto that hope, at least. It was the only thing keeping me sane.

******* 

I finished taping up my wrists, psyching myself up for my training session with "The Fabulous One" Dan Fierce. As I did, I explained to him what was going on, and he listened intently, almost mesmerized by the story. I normally didn't pour my private dealing out for everyone to see like this, but I think if I held it in much longer, someone would get hurt badly. I was starting to understand why people snapped and went on killing sprees.



"Well, Sweetie," he started, "I know how the system works in California. It may be a bit different in the Midwest, but it can't be too far off. If what you told me is true, then they will do their thing and you'll be fine. You don't have anything to hide."



It wasn't me I was worried about. Nadine had become even more unpredictable since I first crossed swords with Alexa Black. Now, with this looming over our heads, she'd become positively impossible to live with.



I think Dan saw how distracted I was. He took me by the chin and lifted my head to look me in the eyes. "You've got this, honey. You're a good dad. They will see that. As my adopted father would say, 'It will all come out in the wash.'" He paused, his trademark grin only reinforcing his positivity. "Now, let's get you ready for your match against Razor Blade."



"That lazy bastard?" I scoffed, knowing how the people backstage talk about him. "He cuts the exact same promo every week, just with slightly different names. Even then, he gets the names or days wrong. Hell, he'll probably say that he's coming after MY Underground Title, even though I've never touched the thing. He's an idiot."



Dan allowed me to rant about my upcoming opponent, letting me get it out of my system about how even the guys in the ring have all said how they've had to work extra hard, just to make him even look passable as a talent, much less as a contender for anything beyond Employee of the Month as a fry cook.



"We're not here to refine him," Dan stated, matter-of-factly. "We're here to work on you, to make you look a little less clumsy between those ropes."



"Wow," I thought, "He sure knows how to bring people back down to the ground."



"Don't underestimate your opponents. Ever." Dan looked at me with the severity of a Catholic nun who had caught a student sleeping in class. "Besides, with Alexa Black, you need to prepare for the worst. Because she absolutely IS."



We spent the next four hours working on various things: offense, defense, refining my kickboxing to make it work in a wrestling ring, and honing a few moves that would wow the crowd without being too risky yet. He classified me as a "ground-and-pound" style wrestler, cautioning me to avoid high risk moves until I've become more capable and comfortable in the squared circle.



It felt good to let out some of my pent-up rage as we worked on my repertoire. Dan told me to hold onto some of that anger and take it out on Razor.



Finally, some advice I could follow without question.



"Look out, Razor," I mumbled to myself as I packed things up after my session. "I'm one pissed off dad, and you are in my way. You may be as big as a wall, but I know how to swing to knock walls down. Even 'Big Dogs' had better know when a person comes at them with a rolled up paper, they mean business. You've shit in 'your yard' long enough. Now I'm gonna rub your nose in it and send you packing to the doghouse."



"I'm a predator, and Alexa is my prey. She'd better hope the police get to her before I do, because they will never find her body if they don't."