Blood Sports (8 page)

Jeremy Rieger is my first cousin on my mother’s side. He lived with me and my mother, Christa Bauer, in apartment 304 of The Woodcourt Apartments at 1334 Woodcourt Street from the beginning of March 1993 to mid-April 1993. He had a cot in my bedroom. He was not home much. He used our apartment as a crash pad.

I was not aware that he had recently been paroled. He did not discuss his personal life with me. We argued about what to watch on
TV
and whose turn it was to do the dishes. Two days before he moved out, Jeremy bought a large-screen
TV
for my mother and paid off some bills we had outstanding. We were surprised and asked him where he got his money. Jeremy told us he had received an inheritance from his grandfather. I did not witness Jeremy Rieger selling illegal drugs to get his money. Jeremy had a pack-a-day Player’s Light habit, and he argued with my mother about not
being allowed to smoke inside. After he moved out, he would visit every two weeks or so.

We lost all our possessions when The Woodcourt Apartments burned down on May 26, 1993. My recollection of those events is hampered by a head injury I sustained when I fell off the drainpipe I was climbing down to get out of my apartment. I became extremely paranoid and spent five weeks hiding in the Downtown East Side of Vancouver. I have epilepsy, absence and sensory seizures followed by convulsions, and require medication to be seizure-free. As the weeks progressed and the medications left my system, the frequency and duration of the seizures increased. A friend from high school who lived in the area found me and brought me to Emergency at Saint Paul’s Hospital.

After this time, Jeremy offered to let us stay at his condominium, Suite 2702 of The Pacifica at 410 West Georgia Street, until we were back on our feet. Jeremy told us he was a stockbroker and he sold stocks, bonds, currencies, etc. He said you had to be a complete idiot not to make money in the stock market and recommended we save our money and invest. After almost a year, we still did not have our own place. The relationship between Jeremy and my mother soured.

The thirty-seven-thousand dollars Jeremy Rieger spent for my mother to attend the Twelve Oaks Rehabilitation Centre was offered as a Christmas gift, not a loan. When she is not receiving social assistance, my mother makes minimum wage. She would never accept a loan of that magnitude. I have the Christmas card and the envelope that Jeremy Rieger gave her when he presented her with the chance to stay at Twelve Oaks. The handwriting is Jeremy Rieger’s, and he dated the top-left corner of the inside of the card. I have placed the card and envelope in the custody of Julia Howlett-Danson, who is a volunteer
from the Law Students Legal Advice Program at the University of British Columbia.

I will not press charges against Jeremy Rieger for an assault committed by Richard Patolmic. The bruises on my neck and arms in the pictures my mother showed the police were not caused by Jeremy. A day or two after my sixteenth birthday, I had been assaulted by Richard Patolmic, a man my mother had recently dumped. I did not press charges against Mr. Patolmic then, nor do I wish to press them now even if he comes back. His actions were not within the normal range of his character. Being dumped is hard.

Although my mother is currently a member in good standing of Alcoholics Anonymous, at the time she had difficulty admitting she had a problem and was frequently absent from our day-to-day life. I ran small errands such as picking up the dry cleaning and washing Jeremy’s cars. I attended accelerated classes to complete high school early. At no time did I witness assault, sexual assault, “pump and dump” scams, money laundering, extortion, threats, unlawful confinement, kidnapping, or homicide while I was living in Jeremy Rieger’s condominium. I believe my mother believes what other people have told her, but I’m not willing to say I saw things I didn’t see.

I am sending notarized copies of this letter to the legal representation of Jeremy Rieger and Christa Bauer. I do not wish to participate in either of their cases. I think these problems would be better solved through family counselling.

I swear that the above statement consisting of this and two additional pages is true to the best of my recollection.

Thomas Eugene Bauer

August 18, 1994

[00:00:00]

Light levels in the van are low. Two unidentified Caucasian males in their late teens sit in the front bucket seats. The first male holds a black semi-automatic paintball gun across his lap. He sits in the passenger’s seat. He wears a dark windbreaker and has a baseball cap over closely cropped blond or light brown hair. The second male, the driver, wears a light short-sleeved shirt and jeans. He has dark hair in a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Jeremy Rieger is visible in the rear-view mirror reflection as he pans his camcorder back to the 1
^st
Male. Mr. Rieger is in his early twenties with dark hair and wears a black T-shirt.

JEREMY RIEGER
[off-camera]
: Her! Her!

A blond female in her late teens waits at a bus stop. The 1
^st
Male fires at her with the paintball gun. The female stumbles backward. Green paint appears on her left breast.

J. RIEGER
: Bull’s eye!

[Laughter]

The van speeds off. The camera stays on the female until they turn a corner.

1
^st
MALE
: That rocked!

2
^nd
MALE
: Fucking watch where you point that thing!

[Laughter]

[00:02:12]

A tall, bald, heavy-set Caucasian male jogs along the road. He wears sweatpants and a white hockey jersey with a Vancouver Canucks logo. The 2
^nd
Male is now in the passenger’s seat. He sights the back of the jogger’s head with the paintball gun. The jogger stumbles forward.

2
^nd
MALE
: Canucks suck, you loser!

The jogger gives chase to the van.

[Laughter]

1
^st
MALE
: Give me the gun.

2
^nd
MALE
: You couldn’t shoot shit in a toilet bowl.

1
^st
MALE
: Jer, I want my turn.

2
^nd
MALE
: You fucking baby. I want my turn, I want my turn.

J. RIEGER
: We’ll all get a turn. Let him have his fun and then you’ll have yours.

[00:03:22]

The engine starts. The 2
^nd
Male is driving. Mr. Rieger is now in the front passenger seat. He holds the paint gun.

J. RIEGER
: … anyone take him serious? What kind of pussy name is
Firebug
?

1
^st
Male hoots. His laughter is distorted because he is close to the camera as he films.

2
^nd
MALE
: Never say that in front of him. He’s real proud of that nickname.

1
^st
MALE
: Firebug fragged this shitbag –

2
^nd
MALE
: Use your fucking head. What if Rieger’s a cop?

1
^st
MALE
: Or full of it.

J. RIEGER
: I’m not a fucking cop and I’m not knocking over gas stations. Any halfwit can do that. I want serious action.

2
^nd
MALE
: You got to claw your way up the food chain like the rest of us.

J. RIEGER
: I’ve paid my dues.

2
^nd
MALE
: Look, there’s a drive-through Starbucks.

1
^st
MALE
: I want doughnuts.

J. RIEGER
: Okay, Homer.

2
^nd
MALE
: D’oh! D’oh!

[Laughter]

1
^st
MALE
: Fuck you!

J. RIEGER
: Get close to that cyclist.

2
^nd
MALE
: You have to watch the trigger.

J. RIEGER
: Closer.

2
^nd
MALE
: It sticks on the –

The squeal of the door opening is followed by a loud thump.

1
^st
MALE
: Holy fuck! Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck!

2
^nd
MALE
: What the fuck did you do that for!

J. RIEGER
: Keep driving.

1
^st
MALE
: Man, oh, man, oh, man, oh, man –

2
^nd
MALE
: Shut the fuck up! I can’t think with your shit!

1
^st
MALE
: We’re screwed, man! We’re so screwed!

J. RIEGER
: I’ve had enough of amateur night. I want to see Firebug. Now, people.

00:00:32 elapses without conversation.

2
^nd
MALE
: Is there blood on the door?

1
^st
MALE
: Let’s ditch the van.

2
^nd
MALE
: Maybe it’s just dented.

1
^st
MALE
: Pull over, man.

The interior car light flares, and the open door chime goes off.

00:02:05 of shuffling and doors opening and closing.

J. RIEGER
: Did you get that? Did you see her face?

[00:05:59]

The Woodcourt Apartments at 1334 Woodcourt Street have three floors. The apartment building is dark brown with white trim. A Skytrain is audible in the background, but not visible.

J. RIEGER
: What a dump.
[pause]
Hi, Mom! Made it in one piece. There’s Aunt Chrissy in the corner apartment, waving. I’m ready to start a new life in Vancouver!
[pause]
So stop phoning my fucking parole officer and get your own goddamn life.

[00:06:32]

A short, thin, brunette Caucasian female in her mid-thirties fries hamburgers in the kitchen. She wears a white apron over a knee-length, short-sleeved yellow dress.

J. RIEGER
: Hi, Aunt Chrissy!

CHRISTA BAUER
: You silly goose! Put that away!

J. RIEGER
: I’m making a video for Mom. Say hi!

C. BAUER
: Hi, Sis! Hope your new meds are working out!
[pause]
Um. Can you start over? I don’t think I should mention her meds.

J. RIEGER
: I’ll just edit that out. Hey, where’s Tom?

C. BAUER
: He’s not here?

J. RIEGER
: He’s been
AWOL
all weekend.

C. BAUER
: Check the fridge. He usually leaves a note if he’s staying at Mike’s.

A tall, heavy-set Caucasian male with brown hair enters the kitchen and kisses Ms. Bauer.

RICHARD PATOLMIC
: Hey, good-looking.

C. BAUER
: Richard, have you seen Tommy?

R. PATOLMIC
: Have you checked the jails?

C. BAUER
: That’s not funny.

R. PATOLMIC
: What? It’s the truth. He’s a pothead with authority issues. You don’t have –

C. BAUER
: He was teasing you, Richard.

R. PATOLMIC
: He’s a mouthy kid.

C. BAUER
: He’s fifteen.

R. PATOLMIC
: Stop coddling him, Chrissy. Set rules. Enforce them.

C. BAUER
: Don’t tell me how to raise my son.

00:00:14 silence.

R. PATOLMIC
: My shift starts in an hour.

C. BAUER
: Here. Take a burger.

[00:08:39]

The camera focuses on a wristwatch. The time is 3:42 a.m.

J. RIEGER
: Tommy locked himself in the bathroom an hour ago. Let’s see what kind of porn Tommy whacks off to, shall we?

Mr. Rieger picks the lock. He slowly opens the door. Tom Bauer – a mid-teens Caucasian male with blue, shoulder-length hair – reads on a bathroom floor. He bobs his head to music on his Walkman.

J. RIEGER
: Not exactly Mr. High Alert, is he?
[kicks Mr. Bauer]
What ’cha doing?

TOM BAUER
: You fucking freak! When the bathroom door is closed and locked –

J. RIEGER
: Let’s see what turns your crank.

T. BAUER
: Give that back!

J. RIEGER
:
Mechanisms of Drug Resistance in Temporal Lobe Dysfunctions: Lessons from Oncology
. Wow. You are one sick puppy.

T. BAUER
: Mom!

J. RIEGER
: She’s not home. It’s just you and me.

[00:12:22]

Tom Bauer sits cross-legged on the couch in the living room. He cuts marijuana leaves onto a dinner plate.

J. RIEGER
: I would tape
Billy the Kid vs. Dracula
but somebody hocked the
VCR
.

Mr. Bauer makes an obscene gesture with his middle finger.

J. RIEGER
: I’m assuming that’s how you bought your pot.

T. BAUER
: This? This is just some crappy shake we found in a dumpster, man.

J. RIEGER
: We?

T. BAUER
: The royal we. As in, “We are of the opinion that this movie is crap.”

J. RIEGER
: I happen to think this movie puts some much-needed edge in John Carradine’s oeuvre.

T. BAUER
: His oeuvre, huh?

J. RIEGER
: I can explain it in small words.

T. BAUER
: Man, his oeuvre needed to pay rent real bad.

J. RIEGER
: Don’t use words unless you know what they mean. It gives away your ignorance.

T. BAUER
: Blow it out your oeuvre.