April 17, 2006

CSWA Owner Stephen Thomas sits at the large mahogany desk that has graced the penthouse office of CS Towers since the edifice was built. He scribbles on his ubiquitous yellow legal pad as he stares at two notes laid open in front of him. He taps the gold-plated pen against the dark wood as he leans back in the leather-backed chair. It’s a long way from his childhood, when the best birthday presents he could expect were a roll of toilet paper and an oscillating fan.

Now, the temperature is a perfectly controlled seventy degrees and the bathroom is well-stocked with the softest special-order triple-ply that Cottonelle can make. Eighteen years ago he was in a panic that he might actually have to clean the bathrooms before the CSWA’s inaugural show in the decrepit warehouse that once stood (barely) on this spot. Thankfully that possibly-retarded kid showed up and Steve just happened to have a shiny quarter in his pocket…

The phone rings. The caller id shows Steve’s home number – the whole reason he’s at the office watching the taped edition of PRIMETIME is because he’s avoiding his ‘wife’. It was bad enough on the boat – to be trapped in a cabin with Hortense, to be pawed and groped and… he shudders. The Cruise was supposed to be the CSWA’s revival and cash cow… instead, the cost to the company was enormous. And the personal cost… well, it’s still being counted.

It was enough trying to convince U-62 that the episodes could be edited enough to air – but then to have the start of the new season delayed because the network decided to try to compete with UFC and air its own brand of MMA…it was embarrassing. There were sponsors to be compensated, contracts to be revamped, arena dates to be rescheduled… it’s almost too much.

And then this.

“Happy Anniversary.”

The note on the right is on plain stationary, written in a hand that Stephen has known since childhood. Written by the man who once owned this desk, whose bronze nameplate once sat in the spot now occupied by the oversized pet rock with googly eyes. Written on the day that used to be the annual “close” of the CSWA’s anniversary celebration. A message that short is unusual for him, but it’s all that necessary. Two words that speak volumes.

“Congrats on number 18. Make the last one count.”

The note on the left is a postcard; the front shows the smiling Jamaican faces, the back holds the printed message glued on the back. No handwriting, no clues to the sender. It’s a card Stephen vaguely remembers from weeks past during his time on the ship, before everything went so haywire. The only oddity – despite apparently coming from the cruise ship’s gift shop, it’s dated today, the day that used to be the annual “close” of the CSWA’s anniversary celebration.

In the past it was almost comical, much like the CSWA’s schedule. The lights flickering, the video wall glitching, the messages from the “Hacker”. But now threats has been made real – the livelihood of the CSWA had been threatened. And now two things were apparent…

It wasn’t him. There was always the chance that it was, that the whole rigmarole was just another “ownership plot” between the two of them, part of the rivalry of the past eighteen years. But now, it’s obviously that he isn’t just going to show up and surprise Steve with another game of “Who Wants To Be The Commissioner.” The comedy, the mystery, the suspicion – all of them could have added up to equal Chad Merritt. But not the injury. Not the attempt to pull everything down, to affect the livelihood of men and women he had known his whole adult life. Despite the sudden fits of megalomania, Chad wasn’t a person that would do… this.

The other insight worries him more. As he turns on the television in the office to catch the taped replay of the event he saw live weeks ago, Thomas realizes that if it isn’t Chad, then it’s a dangerous unknown quantity. But more important, it’s someone that knows the company, that knows the ins and outs too well… that knows that April 17 is an important date to a close-knit group of people. It can mean only one thing…

It means… there’s a traitor.