Carpe Diem - Jesse 3 (16 page)

“Sorry to hear you’re off the team, Jesse. That really sucks.”

“I know. I’m gonna miss you guys. Listen, Jamie, I don’t want to make a big deal of this. I just came to collect my stuff and go. I don’t want to see all the guys and have to talk about it. I just want to grab my gear and get out of here. You understand?”

“Sure, sure, Jesse, no problem. I got you covered.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d sort of keep an eye out for me while I get my stuff. You know, if it looks like someone is coming to the trailers see if you can side track them for a little while. You know what I mean.”

“You got it, Jess, but man, the team won’t be the same without you. You know Coach is going to miss you.”

“Coach kicked me off the team.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t like doing it. He really likes you. More than the rest.”

I smiled and gave him a gentle slap on the back as I started to leave. “Take care, man.”

It was late morning and all the riders were on their bikes on the track and the mechanics were on the sidelines. I hung back behind the trailers as I watched Jamie walk back over to the track, where he joined the other mechanics watching the riders go around, hands on their hips, hyper-focused and scrutinizing every move their rider made. I noticed Ice’s 450cc with the number “2” plate on the front of his bike. Coach had only handed out the numbers to be affixed to the front plate the other day. I was going to be riding as the number one rider and Ice would be number two. All the more reason for me to think Ice was behind the manipulated pictures.

When I was sure everyone’s attention was focused on the track I snuck away to Ice’s trailer. A few minutes were all I would need to slip inside and look for some kind of evidence. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I figured his trailer was a good place to start.

I lifted the latch on the flimsy aluminum framed door very carefully, so as not to make a racket. No one in the camp bothered to lock these campers. I found it ironic that we were all part of the same team and with that came a certain level of trust. Yet I was discovering that I couldn’t trust theses fuckers as far as I could throw them.

Ice’s camper was similar to all the others, small and compact, complete with all the comforts of a very small apartment and with little room to move around once two or more people were inside. I rifled through some papers lying on the table and opened a few cupboard doors. These campers had dozens of miniature compartments built into the walls; the manufacturers used every available inch for storage cupboards with latching doors. It would be impossible for me to look through all of them now. Ice could be hiding an elephant in here and I wouldn’t find it. Feeling discouraged, I was almost about to leave when suddenly I heard Ice’s voice at the door.

“What the fuck are you doing, asshole?”

I didn’t give a shit that Ice caught me rummaging through his stuff. He didn’t scare me. My career was on the line and I wasn’t about to let Ice or anyone else get in my way of getting to the bottom of this. He walked in on me just when I was shuffling through some loose papers on the countertop, some of which looked like business correspondence. I pointed at him, my fist clenched tightly in anger around one of the envelopes.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Ice. You know about the photographs. You made them, didn’t you?”

“Get your grubby paws off my stuff, man.” He lurched forward and jerked the papers out of my hand.

“You’re fucking mental, just like everyone says. Photos? Did you take the aluminum foil off of your head and let the aliens finally get to your brain? What photos are you talking about, man?”

His voice was a little humorous at the end of the sentence. He must have seen the raw frustration burning in my eyes. I pushed both my hands through my hair and paced the small area.

“Jesse – first, there are no photographs here, look around. Secondly, I come in here and find you—in my trailer— finger fucking all my shit and rambling like a madman. What the hell is going on with you?”

“I’m talking about the photographs of Niki and Gio. He told me someone had Photoshopped them. They were fake. Of course it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the purpose was to make me do something stupid and get thrown off the team. Well, I can’t say it didn’t work.

“So I asked myself, who would benefit from that? And I came up with you, because I’m the best and you want my spot. Right?”

My voice was rising in pitch as I rattled on. Ice knew I was accusing him and he didn’t like it. The expression on his face darkened as he became more defensive. “Listen asshole, I don’t need for you to get kicked off the team to be in the number one spot. I can beat you. I don’t need to cheat. You’ve just been lucky so far, but... but...” He stammered. I think he was stalling, deciding what to say next, not sure if he was mad at me or feeling sorry for me. I realized I had been ranting like a lunatic and that wasn’t getting me anywhere. I leaned back against the countertop, as if the solidness of it could give me some stability in my crazy life right now.

“You know, I have a hunch who might be behind this. You say there were photographs that were tampered with?”

I let out a breath. “Yeah, Photoshop or some computer program like that. It must have been used to make it look like Niki was cheating on me with that guy she was working with.” I rubbed the back of my neck with my hand and said, “What’s your hunch?”

“Santini.”

“What do you mean? Why Santini?” Could I trust Ice? He might be naming Santini just to throw the heat off of himself.

“Man, that dude has been gunning for you since you came here. He made a remark to me the other day, said he now knew how to get to you.”

“That fucker. I’m gonna jack his shit up. Wait a minute. How would Santini be able to Photoshop these pictures? He doesn’t know how to do that, does he? I mean, he’s a dirt bike rider. Hmm, let me see, dirt bike rider and highly technical computer skills – yeah, those two things really go together.” My frustration level was sky high. It was making me sarcastic and I didn’t believe Ice had any real answers.

“Why don’t we look at his computer? It’s right there.” He motioned to a pile of junk on the couch where a laptop sat charging. He put Santini’s computer on the table and opened it. It lit up in a second, as the screen had been left in the sleep mode. When Santini left the trailer he had forgotten to log off, leaving the last thing he did on the computer up and running.

I swirled my finger on the track pad and peered at the screen, with Ice looking over my shoulder.

“Wait. Click there.” He pointed to an icon on the screen. “Is that it?”

“No.” I clicked around for a few more minutes searching for any evidence that Santini had Photoshop, or any similar program that he could have used to change the photographs, but neither Ice nor I could find any. I was annoyed and ready to give up.

“This is pointless. There’s no fucking Photoshop on this computer. Besides, doesn’t it take hours to do something like that? Santini doesn’t have time for that. I’ve seen him at training every day. I mean, these campers are pretty small, have you watched him working for hours on his computer in here?”

Ice shook his head and thought awhile.

“Well, someone could do it for him. Check his email.”

In hopeless obedience, I clicked on the icon for Santini’s email and scrolled through the list of recent ones.

When the cursor hovered over the name “Paolo,” Ice flinched. “Wait. There.” He stuck a finger to the computer screen. “That email from Paolo. I remember Santini told me about that guy. He said he’s a genius with computers and shit like that.”

I clicked on it and bingo. There, attached to an email from Paolo, were the photos of Niki kissing Gio.

I looked up at Ice and said, “So that’s how he did it. He had Paolo create the fake photos. What an asshole. I’m gonna kill him.”

“Hold on now, Jesse, violence isn’t always the answer. There’s a better way. Let’s show this to Coach. He’ll know what to do. I don’t want you in jail again, buddy.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Ice was on my side, for once. The look in his eyes was sincere and the tone in his voice reassured me that he meant what he said. Maybe he wasn’t such a dickhead after all.

I nodded, closed the computer screen, and stood up. With a friendly slap on my back, Ice said, “Let’s go talk to Coach.”

Jesse

W
ith Santini’s laptop tucked under Ice’s arm, we left his camper to go and find Coach. The photographs were once again crumpling in my fist as I flew out the door behind him. My jaw was set rigid as I dug the heel of my shoes deep into the well-worn paths around the trailers. With each step I sharpened my focus on that asshole Santini’s face; the face I wanted to punch with all the pent up anger I had been carrying inside of me since the time I first laid eyes on those photographs. I was raging mad and I didn’t want to be responsible for what I would do when I saw him. I usually went with my impulses and let my anger lead the way. It had worked for me before, it would work for me now.

In the time it took us to walk over to Coach’s RV, my mind spun with more and more contempt for Santini. Obviously, he didn’t know who he was dealing with. I wasn’t about to let some dickhead from Brazil mess with Niki and get away with it. Yeah, I got kicked off the team, so what? I didn’t give a damn. I could deal with that, but Niki— I would do anything for Niki, even if she wasn’t speaking to me. That devil, Santini, made her look bad in front of all of my teammates and everyone else here in Italy. He tarnished her reputation and he wasn’t going to get away with that.

Niki was nothing but sweet and loyal to me, and Santini used her picture to make her look like a cheating two-timer. Sure, he was out to get me, but he hurt others along the way, and one of them was very special to me. I could live without being on the Yamaha team. I could go back to the U.S., find another team to ride for. I had a stellar reputation in the Motocross world. I was the best damn rider out there and I was confident my agent, Laurent, could find me another gig in a heartbeat.

I didn’t give a damn about whose team I was on, right now.

“Coach, we have to talk to you.” We burst into his RV and caught him in the middle of lunch. He sat at the same small table that acted as his office desk by day and kitchen table by night, the only place in these cramped quarters where a person could sit and work. Coach looked up from his salami sandwich in surprise, crumbs rolling down the white napkin he had tucked in the open collar of his Team Yamaha Polo shirt.

With a mouth full of food he growled, “What the fuck?”

Ice and I repeated ourselves talking over each other in our haste. “Coach, we have to talk. We have something important—”

“—you need to hear.” Ice finished my sentence for me.

“Whoa, guys. Slow—” He stopped to spit out a stray shred of lettuce onto the paper plate that held the other half of his sandwich. “Slow down, you two. What the hell is all this about? Can’t you see I’m eating?”

“You’ve got to call Santini in here right away, before he has a chance to get away.”

Coach had put what was left of half of the sandwich back on the plate and raised a hand, palm out. “Stop? Get away? What are you talking about? You have the nerve to interrupt my lunch? This is my favorite, Salame di Milan and Gorganzola cheese.” He motioned to the remainder of a large sandwich, piled high with sliced meats.

I couldn’t stand it. He was wasting time, trying to make a joke out of his food when I was desperate to find Santini and expose him for the rat bastard that he was. I leaned forward in his face, planting the palms of my hands flat on the table. “Coach,” I barked, “just listen to me. Get Santini in here, now. Santini is a rotten apple, he’s tearing the team apart and we can prove it. Just call him in here and we’ll explain the whole thing, but please, hurry, before he finds out we’re on to him.”

Coach was taken aback by my forcefulness. His eyes darted to the left and he paused for a moment then spoke in a serious tone. “Jesse, why are you even here? You’re not on the team, anymore. What do you mean Santini is tearing apart the team?”

“I... I came back to get my gear, but then I talked to Ice and he set me straight. You’ve just got to get Santini in here and I’ll explain everything.” I backed off from being in Coach’s face, realizing I may have crossed the line; my approach was a little too aggressive but I was all wound up inside.

Without another word, Coach stood up, threw his napkin on top of his food and went to the door. He opened it and leaned out, searching for the first person he could find, then he yelled, “Johnny! Go find Goddamn Santini and bring him in here.” There was a pause and I could hear Johnny’s affirmative response. “Tell him I want to see him...
now
. And don’t waste your time, get his ass over here, right now.”

He let the door bang shut, mumbling under his breath, “fucking son of a bitch.”

I shot a nervous glance at Ice. Would Coach believe us? Jamie told me I was Coach’s favorite and even though he kicked me off the team, I was banking on it now, hoping Coach would see Santini for what he was, a cheat and a liar.

Coach stood in the area of the RV near the driver’s seat for a moment and said, “This had better be important.” And he pointed a finger at Ice. “You should be out there on the track, training. This had better not be a Goddamn waste of time.” Then he pointed at me. “And you...” He grumbled without finishing his sentence, pushed his way past us, and took his seat again, sliding into the booth that was the kitchen table. I ran my hand through my hair, impatient for Santini to get in here. The silent minutes ticked away as we stared at the floor, waiting.

Coach picked up the other half of his sandwich, took one bite and then let it drop to the plate as if he were disgusted with how it tasted now. He wiped his mouth with his paper napkin when the door rattled. It was Santini coming in. He hadn’t finished mounting the stairs when he froze. His eyes darted from me to Ice and then to the laptop in Ice’s hands.

Coach noticed Santini hesitate and snapped, “Get in here and sit down.”