Pump Fake

by Michael Beck

  "You been watching Decker call the plays, haven't you?"

  "Well, yeah. But no one told me there was going to be a test."

  "You'll be fine. Just don't let Porter get you in his sights. If he nails you, we'll need three stretchers to carry you off."

  Porter, the defensive end, was about six-five and three hundred pounds. He led the league in sacks. I suddenly remembered a play he made against the Giants two weeks ago. The Giant's quarterback had been about to throw when Porter had arrived like an Exocet missile from his blind side and broke the quarterback's leg in a ferocious tackle.

  I thought Coach was joking until I saw Porter smiling at me from the defensive line. He waved to me. I didn't think he was waving hello.

  "Run red fox ten," said Coach.

  "Isn't that a thirty yard pass play?"

  "See, you do know them."

  "Wouldn't you prefer I run some running-plays to start with?"

  "Did I give you a running-play?"

  "No."

  "Well then."

  I stood there for a moment but Coach had already turned his back and was talking to Larkins, the offensive coordinator. I shrugged and joined the huddle.

  "Well, well, look here," said Hawk. "What are you doing here, Rookie? I thought you just run laps and carry Decker's jock strap."

  "You forgot I also wash his shorts. Okay, let's run red fox ten. "

  "You sure you got the right play? You haven't even taken a scrimmage, let alone thrown a ball."

  "Man called the play. Let's do it," said Davis.

  "Your funeral. Just don't leave me hanging there."

  "On five," I said.

  As I moved behind the center I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Just stay in the pocket, Mark, and I'll look after you." Lamar, an offensive guard, took up his position left of the center.

  I must admit that did help. I felt like I was standing in a concrete bunker rather than a sand castle.

  I moved up behind Malone, the center, until the back of my hand rested against his butt. It had been fourteen years since I had assumed this position but as I stood there the years fell away. As I had always found in these moments, time slowed down.

  I saw the middle linebacker move up behind the D-line and knew he was going to attempt a sack. The defensive end's shoulder turned. He was going to try to cut on the inside of my offensive tackle. Hawk ran his man in motion play and ran ten yards farther away from me than he was supposed to. This would force me to throw at least forty yards not thirty. I had time to think, You sneaky son of a bitch, before I completed the snap count.

  Just before the ball hit my hands I saw Bob watching from the sidelines. I smiled. She was wearing those fucking white boots.

  "Huh," I called. I skipped backwards and to the left away from the sack, falling in behind Lamar. The ball rested in my hands like a homing pigeon, waiting to be released. Hawk ran down the sideline for forty yards and then cut towards the post. Not yet.

  The defensive ends hit my offensive tackles like incoming mortars, pushing them back. Porter knocked over one of my tackles and moved towards me. The safety filled the space in front of Hawk. Not yet.

  I moved closer to Lamar as my pocket collapsed. Porter was three yards away and closing. Hawk cut sideways. Not yet. Porter dived at me and I ducked under him. His hand fleetingly caught my shoulder guard, and then slid away as he fell to the ground. The safety slipped over and Hawk was suddenly open. Now.

  I threw. The ball travelled low and fast. Hawk put his hands out and the ball was there.

  Lamar patted my butt. "Nice pass."

  We huddled again.

  "Didn't leave you hanging there did he, Hawk?" said Davis, grinning.

  Hawk threw me the ball. "Call it."

  "Porter!" called Coach. "I don't want anyone killed. We've got a game in five days. Take it easy."

  "There you go, you've even impressed Coach." Davis gave me a wink.

  "What do you mean?"

  "If he didn't like what he saw, he wouldn't worry about Porter taking your head off. Last guy that stood in got two busted ribs."

  "He squealed like a girl," said Hawk.

  Everyone smiled at the memory. Not exactly a nurturing group of guys.

  Coach yelled, "Hey! Are we playing football or having a mother's meeting? Let's go."

  Coach called out play after play. My confidence grew and I found myself beginning to move without thinking, trusting my instincts. After half an hour Coach called it quits and the players began to leave the field. I found myself walking next to him.

  "Well, you didn't stink," he said.

  "Why thanks, Coach. I'm touched."

  "What have you been doing since high school?"

  "Looking for someone."

  "Ever heard of the phone book?"

  "Now why didn't I think of that?"

  Coach spat his gum out. "That's why I'm the Coach. You like what you're doing?"

  "No. It's just something I had to do."

  "Well, when you've found whoever it is you're looking for, give me a call. There might be a place here for you."

  "You need fitness staff?" I said, surprised.

  "No, you moron, I mean as a player."

  "Oh...really?"

  "Don't leave it too long though. You're not getting any younger and you aren't young to start with."

  I stood there watching Coach walk away until someone touched my arm.

  "You okay?" said Bob.

  "What? Yeah. Just wool-gathering."

  "I saw you. You're not bad."

  "Gee, thanks. The compliments just keep coming."

  She grinned. "Can't have you getting a big head. What did Coach want with you?"

  "He said that when I'm free there's a place on the team for me."

  "That's great. But you are free now. You've caught Cupid, haven't you?"

  Yes, I had. Cupid was behind bars. I was free now. So why hadn't I told Coach?

  * * * *

  I carried the mop and bucket from my Beetle into the kitchen. The house was still and musty, but I felt a sense of anticipation. It was so quiet and still in my parent's house that whenever I visited I always felt like something was about to happen.

  I squirted a liberal amount of stain remover into the bucket and filled it with hot water. After placing the bucket on the floor next to the table, I stood the mop in it and gazed down.

  The wooden floor was dominated by a brown stain that still had the power after fourteen years to make me feel like I had a rock sitting in the pit of my stomach.

  Blood.

  This was where I had found Mom fourteen years ago. Dad had been upstairs on the floor in his bedroom and Jade in her bed. I had promised myself I would leave the house as it was until I found their killer.

  Now I had.

  I felt I knew what happened that day. Mom must have answered the door. She would have had no hesitation in inviting our parish priest, Father Bailey, inside. Bailey probably already had his scalpel out, perhaps hidden under the sleeve of his sweater. When Mom's back was turned he fell on her, killing her in a frenzy. Dad's bedroom was so far away upstairs he would have not heard a thing. Bailey took his bloody sweater off and wiped any blood off himself. He went upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door. Perhaps he asked Dad for help down at the church. When Dad turned his back, Bailey knocked him out. He undressed Dad and, from the bag he must have brought, lifted out his thurible and holy water. He lit the thurible and waved it around before sprinkling holy water on my father's face.

  From the bag he took the container that held Susie Hanlon's heart. He heard a noise from the next bedroom and, on investigation, found Jade. He struck her, fracturing her skull. He left her alive, knowing that the fire would take care of her. He returned to my dad, cut his chest open and took his heart.

  Suddenly, he heard a car pull up. He peered out the window. The son returning from his football game. Me. Quickly, he threw everything in his bag and left the room. No time to make sure Jade was dead
. No time to put Susie Hanlon's heart into the body. He had to get out now. He raced down the stairs and out the back door.

  Seconds later, I entered the house.

  Bailey picked my father because he was a good man. But why did he want to kill good men? And why replace their hearts with the hearts of young girls? What twisted thoughts and desires had gone through Bailey's head?

  I remembered Bailey's house. The angels. What did they mean to him? Why was he so obsessed with them?

  I thought back to the videotape of his interview. I had expected a monster but instead found a whining, pathetic loser. He had seemed confused, lost, bewildered. Where was the cunning, the deceit, the wiliness?

  The man who killed my father had been evil incarnate. Bailey was a fool.

  I swished the mop around in the water.

  The evidence was incontrovertible. Without a doubt, he was Cupid.

  Yet Jade had said, "No. That's not him."

  Did I believe insurmountable, forensic evidence or the disjointed memory of an injured six-year-old?

  I walked out the kitchen door and left the mop, untouched, standing in the bucket.

  CHAPTER 60

  It was eleven o'clock that night when I rang Bob.

  "Hello?"

  "It's me."

  "Well, hello, me. This is a first. You actually called me."

  "Can you do me a favor? I need someone to watch Jade. Bear and Angie are out at some tennis club function."

  "Sure. Where are you going?"

  I hesitated.

  "Don't tell me you still don't trust me." Her tone was sharp.

  "No, it's not that. It's just that what I'm doing is not strictly legal."

  "Oh, this I have to know. What are you doing?"

  "I'm going to have another look inside Bailey's house."

  "But aren't the police still in there?"

  "They would have packed up for the day by the time I get there. There might be a patrol car parked out the front. That's all."

  "Why do you want to look in there again? The police already have more than enough evidence."

  "There's just something I want to check that's all."

  "Okay. Where are you?"

  "I'm at the fitness center."

  "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

  Thirty-five minutes later I opened the center's front door when I saw a car pull into our parking lot. Bob stepped out and then, to my surprise, the passenger door opened and a young woman appeared. She was about twenty and stocky, with short, brown hair, and was carrying a backpack over one shoulder. Her face was round but pretty and her smile confident.

  "Hi, Tan. This is Judy Thompson, my neighbor. She's a second-year nursing student at the university."

  "Uh huh."

  "I thought Judy could look after Jade while we go out." Bob smiled sweetly at me.

  "Is that right? Judy, why don't you go in? Jade's upstairs, watching TV. I'll be up in a minute."

  "Sure." She went inside.

  Bob was wearing black runners, black sweater and black jeans.

  "What?" she said, when I looked her up and down.

  "Who are you supposed to be? GI Jane?"

  "Like every woman, I dress for the occasion. What else would you wear to a break-in?"

  "Who said you're coming with me?"

  "Come on, Tan. This will be a great story. Imagine the headlines. 'Cupid's House Revealed'. 'Inside the death house'. Can't you see it?"

  "Oh, I can see it, all right. I can see us both going to jail. You can't write about this."

  "I'm not an idiot. Of course, I'll write it from the viewpoint of someone else." She grinned. "Remember? My inside source? No one will know that I was in there."

  "And what if we get caught? It doesn't matter to me but your career won't be worth the paper you write the story on."

  "How will we get caught? You're a trained Special Forces veteran breaking into a nun's convent for Godsakes. You haven't slipped that much, have you? Come on, Tan. I've never done anything like this. I really want to do it." Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with excitement.

  I sighed and shook my head. Bob grinned and kissed me hard on the lips. Her lips were warm, her nose cold.

  Judy was sitting on the couch with Jade. "What's your favorite band?" Judy was saying as Bob and I walked in.

  There was the usual pause before Jade spoke, as she slowly gathered her thoughts. "I'm not sure... The Wiggles?"

  Judy laughed as she put one ear piece in her ear and one in Jade's. "They're good but have a listen to this. I think you'll like it."

  "Judy knows about Jade?"

  "Yes. She'll be fine. Like I said she's in her second year of nursing. How is Jade doing?"

  "She still forgets words and finds it hard to formulate her thoughts. But it's only been a few days."

  "Has she said anything else about Cupid?"

  "No. She doesn't even remember me showing her the picture of Bailey. Her memories are all over the place. Some things that happened when she was five, she thinks happened just the other day."

  "Does she recall anything from the past fourteen years?"

  "Not really. It's like she's been looking at the world through a curtain while wearing ear plugs. Her body grew but her brain has basically been asleep for fourteen years. She still thinks the Spice Girls are together."

  I knelt down next to Jade. She was smiling and her head was rocking up and down to the music.

  "Jade, I'm going out for a while, okay?"

  "Sure. I'll play with...Judy."

  "Good girl. I'll see you later. Judy, here's my number. Will you be all right?"

  "Don't worry about Jade. She'll be fine. You two go and enjoy your date."

  I raised one eyebrow at Bob who shrugged and smiled.

  Fifty minutes later we were crouching behind one of the huge elm trees that lined the street outside the Lady of Perpetual Suffering Convent. There was a cop car parked by the front gate. A tiny glow appeared in the front of the car, and then faded. One cop, a smoker.

  "Come on," I said.

  Using the elm trees as cover, we circled the perimeter of the property until we stood behind the pine tree outside the fence behind Bailey's house. I boosted Bob up and she scuttled up the tree like a monkey. I joined her on a long, thick branch that reached across the fence. We scooted along the branch, which began to bend precariously. We hung by our hands and dropped down. Once on the ground, we slipped through the garden until we were behind Bailey's house. Police tape enclosed the entire house, but all of the forensic crews had either finished or left for the night.

  In the dark I could see Bob's big wide grin and the whites of her eyes shining with excitement. She was enjoying this. She really was something.

  At the back door, I pulled out my lock tools and went to work. After a minute the tumblers clicked over. Bob gasped when her light struck a line of angel paintings standing against the kitchen cabinet. We moved through the kitchen and down the hall, being careful not to disturb the paintings leaning against the walls. I stopped at the cellar door.

  "Is that...?" whispered Bob.

  "Ah huh. You want to wait here?"

  "Not on your life. I'm your Siamese twin while we're here. This place gives me the creeps."

  I opened the door.

  "Jesus!" said Bob as the smell hit her.

  It was quickly evident why forensics weren't still here. The cement floor had been entirely ripped up, revealing nine empty graves. Bob followed me down the stairs and stood in the middle of the room, flicking her torch from grave to grave. I walked around, studying the walls and floor for anything I might have missed. I stopped at the angel painting.

  "It's fantastic," whispered Bob. "How did someone so evil make something so beautiful?"

  I opened the false wall and checked the floor and wall for any secret compartments.

  "What are you looking for?" she said.

  "I don't know."

  "The police would have cleaned the p
lace out."

  "Probably. Come on, let's look upstairs."

  We went through Bailey's bedroom and every other room. As Bob had said, anything of even remote interest had been taken. After searching the house, we stood in the middle of the living room, the only angel-free room in the house. Well, almost. Someone had turned off the water pump on the angel statue.

  "There's nothing here. You want to tell me now what you're looking for?"

  There were literally hundreds of paintings of angels throughout Bailey's house. I had assumed that he only had the single angel statue in the living room so visitors wouldn't see him as odd.

  But was that the only reason? It occurred to me that in none of the hundreds of Bailey's paintings had I seen an angel holding a weapon. The angel statue held a sword. This struck me as peculiar. Why would he have a statue of an angel holding a sword in his main living area and not anywhere else?

  "Tan?"

  I bent down. The statue seemed oddly familiar. Not just because it was an angel. I had seen countless pictures and statues of angels since I was a child. No, I felt I had seen this one in particular before. Recently.

  "Tan?"

  Suddenly, it came to me. The white tattoo-scar on Bailey's arm. It was the same. Bailey had carved an angel holding a sword onto his forearm. I had seen the same tell-tale white scarring on prison-tattoos. Why would Bailey carve a copy of this statue into his forearm? The pain would have been intense. No one would cut themselves like that unless it was significant.

  I picked the statue up. It was about two feet high and had a twelve-inch circular base. My hand felt something and I turned it upside down. The bottom of the base had been hollowed out and a brown, leather-covered book inside a Ziploc bag was jammed into it. I sat down on the couch and Bob sat next to me, shining her torch on the book as I slipped it out of the bag.

  "What is it?"

  The first page had Father Bailey's name, date of birth, address and phone number. Underneath that was listed his parents' names, John and Gail Bailey, and their personal details. I knew they were his parents because next to them he had written 'mom' and 'dad'.

  "Why would he write Mom and Dad next to his parents' names?" I wondered.

  "He's even recorded his own birth date."

  The next couple of pages were devoted to all of his personal, financial and church details. Account numbers, pin numbers, names, phone numbers. The whole nine yards.