Page 5 of Shining Through

A flash of bright golden light drew his gaze upward. On the TV, the colorful linked rings of the upcoming Grenoble Winter Games splashed across the screen. They faded and were replaced by a view of a competition ice rink. A beautiful blond figure skater raised her arm.

Mesmerized, he watched the woman glide across the ice, a perfect balance of balletic beauty and athleticism. For a shining moment, the whirlwind of trouble surrounding him calmed. As long as he kept his eyes on her, everything would be okay.

Ilya stood at his side. “Isn’t that the American ladies’ champion?”

“Tabitha Turner.” Daniil felt the small tug of a smile. Though the TV was silent, his mind played the poignant notes of her music, Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” She’d skated the program flawlessly at the World Championship this past spring.

The scene switched to a woman seated on a pumpkin-orange couch. The camera panned wide to show not only Tabitha, but also Mia Lang and another teenage skater whose name he didn’t know. Tabitha’s scarlet lips formed silent words, captioned at the bottom of the screen.

“... and I’m so excited to be competing this weekend at Star Spangled Skate...”

Star Spangled Skate. Daniil had expected to compete in Chicago too, and he’d been as excited as a kid with a big, shiny present under the New Year tree. After three years of fighting back from a suspension that kept him out of the Oslo Games, he’d evolved from troubled footnote to Winter Games contender. He was skating the best he’d ever skated. Meeting Tabitha Turner would have been the prize on top of the prize.

And then, he’d fucked it all up.

Again.

Across the room, his other coach, Anton Belikov, conferred with the young lawyer who’d shown up this morning in place of the venerable white-haired attorney Daniil expected. Anton’s American father-in-law had recommended a high-powered firm known for defending politicians and CEO-types. A figure skater charged with vehicle theft should be easy as cake. But snow-top wasn’t here. Instead, Daniil’s future rested in the hands of a guy who looked too young to shave.

As the lawyer hustled out of the noisy waiting room, phone to his ear, Anton walked over. “Something they are stirring up,” he said. “He wouldn’t give details, only that we should wait for surprise.”

“Surprises suck,” Daniil muttered, as they returned to their seats.

Anton laid a sympathetic hand on Daniil’s shoulder. “I’ve been where you are, and everything came out fine. Today, we’ll hope for another lucky break.”

Back in his own skating career, Anton had punched out a tabloid reporter on live TV during the Lake Placid Winter Games. Thezhopadeserved it, for slandering Anton’s wife Carrie, and her family. Anton was bailed out in time to skate with Carrie in the pairs competition. Later, he was cleared of all charges and called a hero.

But Anton had been a popular skater, with a reputation for being hard-working and responsible. The public loved him. The Russian skating federation loved him.

They didn’t love Daniil.

He looked down at his knees and straightened the already-perfect creases of his dark gray vintage trousers. He looked good in pinstripes. Isn’t that what they wore in American jails? Maybe that was the lucky break Anton was talking about.

The courtroom door opened again. Daniil’s tension spiked higher than even before the biggest skating competition as the woman called the next case— his. The young lawyer was back, smiling like his papa had just given permission to stay out past midnight. Joseph Gerber stashed his phone in his pocket. “Time to rock-and-roll.”

More like time to lose his breakfast. Willing his body forward, Daniil followed his lawyer into the courtroom.

The day of reckoning had arrived.

At the defendant’s table, the lawyer opened his briefcase and brought out a stack of pages clipped together. “Nothing has changed from what Barney explained the day of your deposition,” he said. “You’ll be questioned by the county prosecutor, then me. There’s nothing to worry about. Unless Judge Frederick had a bad round of golf this morning. Then, who knows?”

Cold sweat sprang out on Daniil’s brow. Then he noticed the lawyer’s grin. “That’s not funny. My life is at stake!”

The lawyer tugged his shirt cuffs straight in his jacket sleeves. “Look, your testimony should convince him this was a misunderstanding. If it doesn’t? I still have an ace in the hole.”

“Ace hole?” Americans had no shortage of confounding expressions.

The bailiff faced the room. “All rise. Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Paul Fredrick presiding.”

Daniil’s stomach lurched at the sight of the black-robed judge taking his seat. The man’s white hair, hard features and black-rimmed glasses made him the twin of Yuri Bogdanov, Daniil’s former coach, and now the head of the Russian skating federation. Daniil glanced over his shoulder. Anton and Ilya were wide-eyed with dismay.

Bogdanov’s doppelgänger shuffled through the pages on his desk. “The defendant is charged with Class G Felony Vehicle Theft.” The judge peered at Daniil. He hoped the man’s golf game had gone well.

The prosecutor called the bike’s owner to the stand and laid out the damning case. The owner had ridden his motorcycle to his girlfriend Becky’s farewell party before she returned to Australia. “I gave her the keys, because I wouldn’t need them again that night. I never drink and drive. Around midnight, Becky told me that guy,” he thrust an accusing finger at Daniil, “had swiped the keys from where she’d put them and taken off.”

“Objection!” Joseph Gerber called from the table. “Hearsay.”

“Sustained,” the judge intoned.

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