Pump Fake

by Michael Beck

  The weak afternoon sun disappeared as Lamar's arm fell across my shoulder. "Don't you worry, Mark. Remember, do you think your dog would think any less of you if you lost by fifty points?"

  Lamar obviously didn't know Little Bear. "Actually, he would and do you really think we're going to lose by fifty points?"

  He squeezed my arm and my circulation cut off for a moment. "Fifty or a hundred points, what does it matter? You are standing on a rock that is travelling through the solar system at sixty-seven thousand miles per hour while it is spinning at a thousand miles per hour, and all that stands between you and death is gravity and seven miles of atmosphere. Does that help you, Mark?"

  "Not really, Lamar."

  Lamar sighed. "Me neither."

  The Dolphins scored a field goal to take a thirty-three to nothing lead. We took the field again, sustained booing following us. Davis ran the ball again which, by now, was what the Dolphins defense was waiting for. Without a throwing option, Davis was at their mercy. He was crunched and lost five yards.

  "This fucking sucks," said Hawk as he came into the huddle. "If I wanted to do sprints without a ball I'd be running track. I can do frigging wind-sprints at training. Any chance we might actually throw that motherfucker?"

  "That's the way Coach wants it," said Davis. He pulled a clump of grass out of his face guard. "I'm not loving it either. This reminds me of when I first met my in-laws." He studied me. "You can throw, can't you? I've seen you at practice."

  "Larkins and Coach are calling the plays."

  "Coach isn't getting fucking pulverized every play, is he?"

  I glanced over at Coach, who was busy speaking to the doctor who was treating Hastings. "He won't like it."

  "What do you care? You'll be out as soon as Hastings or Decker are back?"

  He had a point. And he didn't even know that I wasn't trying to make the team. What did it matter what I did? I wasn't playing for anyone. I surveyed the sweaty, panting men who stared back silently, waiting. That wasn't quite true. In football you were always playing for someone. The team.

  I sighed. There was going to be one pissed off coach in about thirty seconds. "Okay, but Coach is going to rip a new asshole out of someone."

  "That would be you." said Hawk. Grins all around greeted this comment.

  "All right, then, let's make this a good one because he'll only give me one before he drags me. Someone give me a play."

  "Dog chase, on three," said Hawk.

  "What's that one?"

  "That's where I run my black ass like a mad dog is after me and you hit me with the motherfucker ball and I score a touchdown."

  I grinned. "Sounds good to me. Dog chase, on three."

  This time the 'Huh' had some cojones. I stood over Malone and called the play, ignoring Larkin's rising voice in my ears. Suddenly, the ball was in my hands and everything slowed down, as it always did for me in these moments. I ducked under the defensive tackle's lunging arms as Lamar put a massive block on the Dolphins defensive end. Hawk was a good thirty yards away, running more like a pack of wolves was after him than one dog. A hand grabbed my leg just as I let fly. I fell to the ground and watched as the ball sailed over the Safety into Hawk's outstretched hands. Hawk jumped over the Dolphins cornerback and ran under the goalposts. Touchdown.

  The crowd went bananas. Lamar pulled me up and, grinning, hit his helmet against mine, almost giving me a concussion.

  Davis patted me on the butt as he ran past. "Not too shabby, Fingers."

  We ran off and Coach was suddenly before me. "I don't recall that one from the play book."

  "I couldn't remember the right play."

  "You really expect me to buy that? Next time, run the play."

  "There's going to be a next time?"

  "There's still over a half the game to go, isn't there?"

  Two plays later our defense intercepted a Dolphins pass and we were back on. The first play Larkin's called was another running play.

  "Here we go again," muttered Hawk.

  But this time the Dolphins defense was spread wide, anticipating another pass from me and Davis split the Dolphins defensive line, like a knife through butter. He stormed through for a gain of thirty yards and wasn't pulled down until the forty yard line.

  "Not too shabby," I said to Davis, once we were back in the huddle.

  Then Larkins called the next play and I nearly fell over. A pass play.

  I turned and stared at Coach who was standing next to Larkins.

  "What are you waiting for?" he yelled. "Let's play some football."

  I grinned and turned back to the huddle. "Left slant, blue knight, on four."

  "A pass play?" said Davis. "You sure you didn't get hit in the head on that last play?"

  "Coach is starting to believe," said Lamar.

  I hit our other wide receiver for a first down and suddenly we were away. I felt like I was back in high school. The game felt comfortable and familiar. When I turned, my receiver was waiting. I threw into space and hands appeared from nowhere to catch the ball. Our receivers began catching with a new found crispness and confidence. Davis ran like a bull-moose in mating season. On our seventh play of the drive, I threw a thirty yard pass to the corner of the end zone that landed in Hawk's hands as softly as a timid dove.

  "Listen to that," said Davis as we walked off at half time. The score was now 33-14.

  This time the booing was only from the Dolphins fans. As the Turbos made their way off the field, I quickly ran over to Angie and Liz.

  "Uncle Mark, you're doing great," said Jessica.

  "Thanks, Sweetie."

  "Liz, have you heard from Bear or Decker?"

  "No. They're still not answering. Something's wrong, Tan."

  "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be fine. Twenty thousand Taliban couldn't kill Bear. What hope has some nutty Broncos supporter?"

  "He's two hours late." Angie's face was tight with tension.

  "I'll get Cap to trace their steps. We'll find him. Where are Jade and Lucy?"

  "They've gone off to the bathroom and to get drinks."

  I squeezed her hand. "Hang in there. It'll be okay."

  I followed the last of the team towards the player's exit ramp. A TV cameraman walked backwards in front of me, filming my every move. I still wore my helmet, as the fewer people who saw my face the better.

  Bob suddenly appeared next to me. She winked and stuck a microphone in my face.

  "I'm here with Mark Rennat, reserve quarterback for the Turbos. Mark, I understand this is your first playing time in an NFL game. You must be pretty pleased with how you've done?"

  "We're still behind by nineteen points. We've got a long way to go," I said.

  "But your own performance, throwing two touchdown passes in six minutes in your first NFL game. That must be pretty pleasing for you?"

  "Not when the team is losing."

  "Can you tell me why Troy Decker isn't playing today?"

  "I'm not sure. I think he may be ill."

  I began walking down the player's tunnel. A group of people stood above me. Someone moved and I had a fleeting glimpse of a face. I stopped and peered intently into the crowd trying to see that face again. Bob was asking me another question but I didn't hear her. The face didn't reappear.

  I turned and looked back across the field to where Liz sat. Jade and Lucy still weren't back. I pushed Bob out of the way and ran up the ramp.

  CHAPTER 78

  Cupid.

  I had only seen pictures but I was sure it was him. Why would Malcolm Fox be at a football game? Coincidence? A game that I just happened to be at? Not likely. So if he wasn't here to watch the football why was he here?

  Jade.

  Sanderson, our team manager, yelled at me as I ran past our locker room. I threw my helmet to him and ran up the stairs. The lower concourse was choked with people. I pushed through the crowd towards the bathroom the girls may have used.

  Whether to get back at me or through some twiste
d sense of completion, Cupid was after Jade. I bullied my way through the throng until I came to the first restroom. I pushed my way past the long line of women, ignoring their cries, and entered the Ladies.

  "Jade! Lucy!"

  Startled shouts and admonishments were all that greeted me. An old lady hit me with a handbag as I ran out.

  I jumped onto the trash bin outside the restrooms.

  "Lucy! Jade!" I yelled.

  Many faces turned curiously towards me, but none of them were theirs. I jumped down and ran farther along the concourse, forcing my way through the crowd. People's expressions turned from anger to bewilderment when they saw who had bowled in to them. I spotted a blonde head and grabbed.

  "Hey!"

  Not her.

  I looked desperately from side to side. There! A glimpse of white hair behind me. I charged forward. Someone let out a cry of pain. I reached out and grabbed an arm.

  "Ow! What are you doing!"

  Not her.

  But I was already moving forward my attention swinging from one blonde head to another. A hand caught my arm and I went to shrug it off.

  "Mark! What are you doing?"

  Jade.

  I hugged her. "You're okay. Thank God. Where's Lucy?"

  "She went to get us...drinks."

  "Where?"

  "Over there." She pointed to the nearest drink stand.

  I scanned the crowd but could see no sign of Lucy.

  Cupid liked young girls. He wasn't after Jade. Lucy.

  A black dread strangled my insides and a terrible rage built inside me. One I hadn't felt since my trailer was blown up and Melanie was killed.

  "How long ago did she leave you?"

  "Only an hour...no, minute ago. What's wrong?"

  "Go back to Liz and Angie. Do you know how to find them?"

  She was scared, but nodded.

  I resumed my desperate search along the concourse. Ignoring indignant shrieks, I ran into another ladies' restroom. She wasn't there.

  Too public. If Cupid had her, he would take her somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could take his time with her and enjoy her.

  By then, I was sprinting along the concourse, through a thinning crowd as people returned to their seats. I passed a door labeled Staff Only. Stopped.

  Two drink cups lay in a pool of still fizzing soda. I tried the door and it opened. The lock had been jimmied.

  A flight of stairs rose before me. From above I heard a cry. Cut short. I took the stairs two at a time. A black, tidal wave threatened to swamp me, just like when I found Mom stabbed to death.

  Lucy. This couldn't be. It couldn't happen.

  A scream reverberated down the stairs.

  "Lucy!"

  I ran up the stairs, my pounding footsteps the only noise, until I came to a locked door. There had been no other exits, so they must be in there.

  I stepped back and kicked the door. I was still wearing my cleats, so the door splintered on the second kick. Two more and it flew open.

  "Hello, Mark, long time no see. How are things going?"

  I was in the stadium control room behind the scoreboards and giant wall screen. Cupid stood with his back against the consoles, holding Lucy in front of him, a knife to her throat. A man lay on the floor at my feet in a pool of blood. A tall window gave an uninterrupted view of the field.

  "Let her go."

  "What? Her? Don't worry about her. She's just another bitch."

  Cupid jabbed the knife into Lucy's neck. She screamed. Blood began to flow down her neck.

  "Let her go. If you hurt her, I'll kill you."

  "Kill me? Is that the thanks I get? Where is your gratitude?"

  "Gratitude! For what?"

  "You still have a sister, don't you? I could have killed her too."

  "You were going to burn her alive, you bastard. The only reason you didn't is because I came home."

  Cupid shrugged.

  "Tomato, tomatoe. It's all the same."

  "No, it fucking isn't. You killed my parents!"

  "Only your mother. Sorry about that but she was in the way. And you're mistaken. I didn't kill your father. He still lives in me." He tapped his chest. "He's part of me now. They all are."

  Red hot rage flooded over me. I struggled to control it. Lucy.

  "If you kill me, you kill the last part of your father."

  I breathed deeply, calming myself.

  "Okay, then. I can see that. Let Lucy go and you can walk."

  Cupid smiled.

  "Mark, Mark, Mark. If you think I'm going to believe that you're even nuttier than you think I am."

  "You killed my father for nothing. There's no part of him or any of the others in you. They were all good men. You are pure evil. There's not a drop of goodness in you. You can't take someone else's goodness and make it your own. You are what you are. And you only have to look at your deeds to see what you are. And that's stark, raving mad."

  Cupid's hand tightened on the knife. Lucy cried out as it cut more deeply.

  "You're wrong. I can't expect you to understand. Do ants understand why their nest is crushed underfoot? Does the lamb have any idea of why it's being led into the slaughterhouse? That's what you all are. Sheep. You have no idea who I am.

  "I am Samael. Samael, the Destroyer."

  "What was that? Sammy the Tailor?"

  "Samael the Destroyer!" Malcolm's voice rose to a shriek.

  "You realize none of the girls you killed were bad. The worst any of them was guilty of was having a smoke or skipping a class. If you really wanted to kill something evil, you should have turned your scalpel around and plunged it into your own chest."

  "You know nothing. I'm disappointed in you, Mark. I thought you might understand. All of those bitches were evil. You're like everyone else, fooled by their youth and beauty. But their beautiful, flawless skin was just a shell. Underneath, their hearts were black, pus-filled, maggot ridden cesspools."

  "No, that's yours, Smelly-Maly."

  "What? What did you call me?" Malcolm's face grew red with rage. More importantly, his knife came away from Lucy's neck and pointed at me.

  "Smelly-Maly. That's what everyone called you wasn't it? Face it, you're not Samael the Destroyer. You're Smelly-Maly the Pongy!"

  "You--"

  I jumped him just as he stabbed at me. The knife plunged through the palm of my hand, right to the hilt. Excruciating pain shot up my arm.

  Lucy. She would be next.

  I clenched my fist around the hilt to prevent him pulling it out and twisted the knife out of his hand. We fell in a heap. I pushed Lucy away as I grappled with Cupid. He swung his elbow, slicing open the skin on my cheek. Blood poured down my face and into my mouth.

  He leapt up and swung a chair at my head. I ducked, but took the full force on my back.

  "I told you. You have no idea who I am. I am Samael the Destroyer!" he screamed.

  I staggered to my feet as he swung the chair again. My good arm took the brunt and I fell to my knees.

  He raised the chair high, his eyes burning crazily. "I am Samael," he screamed again.

  He staggered and dropped the chair as a waste-can struck him in the back of the head. He turned.

  Lucy stood behind him. She backed away, fearfully. "Leave him alone you...you bad man."

  "You, bitch! Come here. I'll teach you what I taught the other bitches."

  Lucy screamed, scrambled backwards and tripped over the man's body. Cupid jumped on her and straddled her waist.

  Lucy screamed again.

  He shoved her sweater up with one hand and reached into his pocket with the other.

  I struggled to my feet just as his hand came out of his pocket. He raised it above his head and I saw what he held.

  A scalpel.

  "I am Samael The Destroyer!"

  I threw myself at him, roaring my rage. I swung my wounded hand like a tennis backhand and caught him in the neck. The knife that was still embedded in the palm of my hand sliced through h
is neck and out the other side. His head turned slowly and he looked down at the protruding knife point.

  "Get off her."

  Joined to him by the knife, through my hand and his neck, I lifted.

  He gasped and stood up, slowly.

  "That's it. Now you better do exactly what I say. Somehow, I seem to have missed your carotid but if I move my hand a fraction of an inch I think we'll find it. Don't believe me? See?" I moved my hand slightly.

  His whole body shook. He tried to speak but all that came out was a wet, gargling noise.

  I sniffed the back of his head. "You know those girls were right," I whispered into his ear. "You are Smelly-Maly."

  His body jerked and he twisted around. The knife pulled free from his neck as he reached for me. Blood spurted. Amazingly, he still had the strength to grab me by the throat.

  I bought my hands up and pushed hard against his chest, trying to break his hold. Piercing pain ran up my arm as the hilt of the knife struck him.

  His hands loosened. He fell backwards, against the window behind him. It shattered and he fell through it. And then he was gone.

  I walked to the broken window and looked down. Cupid lay spread-eagled, unmoving, on the stairs far below me.

  Instead of people fleeing in fear or panic most of the spectators were taking pictures with their phones. You had to love New York. The pictures would be pretty graphic. Even from here I could see blood flowing from his neck and head pooling on the stairs. I would have to try to get a copy. It could go up above my bed.

  People were pointing up at me, and I waved. This seemed to cause much consternation and I realized I still had the knife embedded in my hand.

  Someone took my good hand. Lucy.

  "Is he dead?" she whispered.

  "Yes."

  "Good."

  "Yes, it is."

  Security arrived and surrounded the body. The game, which had stopped as players and officials turned to see what the commotion was about, resumed. Football stops for no one. I saw Troy Decker run onto the field. Good. That probably meant Bear was fine.

  Lucy looked down at Cupid. "He really was smelly, wasn't he?"

  CHAPTER 79

  "You know that Father Bailey will still always be known as Cupid?" Fulton stood looking down at the body bag that lay on the gurney. We were in the bowels of the stadium, waiting for the Coroner to finish loading Malcolm Fox. Forensics and police still milled around in organized chaos.