“Movie? I was thinking about a strip club.”
“Aw, come on, Trunk.”
“What? Now you’ve got Samantha, you don’t want to go? She’s not here, buddy.”
“I know, so what? I’m not into that shit anymore. I’m a committed guy.”
“You’ve gone straight from amazing to boring. Come on, Bull. One more time.”
“What about your bed buddy from last night?”
“What about her?”
“Aren’t you worried she’ll find out?”
“How will she find out? You gonna tell her?”
Bull shook his head.
“Then, she’ll never know.”
“Who is she, anyway?”
“Never mind.”
“You need to find a good woman, Trunk. This is a slippery slope.”
“What is?”
“The drinking and the strip clubs.”
“Just tonight. Okay?”
“Okay. But no booze.”
“Nope. Not the night before the game.”
“They might throw us out.”
Trunk laughed. “Bouncer’d have to be pretty big.”
Bull grinned. “Bet your ass. Let’s go shopping. I want to get something for Sam.”
“Buying gifts on the road? You’re a good husband.”
“I’m tryin’.”
The two men dressed warmly and hit the streets, moseying downtown, looking for shops. They came upon a small, local department store.
Bull pulled Trunk inside. “Sam needs warm gloves. Come on.”
There was a nice looking, slightly older woman behind the counter. Bull had her pulling out different kinds. She even tried them on for him. Trunk stood by silently, until he saw them—a pair of black leather ones with fur lining.
“Can I see those?” he asked the woman, pointing to the case.
“Those are lovely. A bit expensive, though.”
He made eye contact. “Price’s no problem. Would you try them on for me?”
She obliged him.
He took her hand, making her blush and giggle, as he imagined holding Carla’s wearing that beautiful piece of leather. “I’ll take ’em. Can you wrap them as a gift?”
“Certainly, sir.” She took the two pairs Bull bought and the one for Trunk and disappeared.
“Bought something for your bed buddy?” Brodsky prodded.
“Don’t call her that.”
“Then give me a name.”
“I can’t. Don’t want to. Not yet.”
“Okay. Be mysterious. Then, I’ll just call her whatever the fuck I want.”
“You don’t have to get all pissy about it,” Trunk said.
Before their disagreement could escalate, the woman returned with two rectangular packages wrapped in brightly colored paper. The men paid for their purchases and left.
The team had dinner together in a private dining room at the hotel. Then, they went their separate ways.
Trunk poked Bull in the shoulder. “Meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it twenty. I gotta call home.”
“The old ball and chain, huh?” Trunk said.
“Stop.”
“I’m just kidding.”
Bull raised his hand in a wave as he headed for the elevator. Trunk decided to take the stairs. He shook his head. Gotta stop saying things like that to Bull about Sam. I’m jealous. Admit it. I wish I had someone waiting for my call. I could call Carla. He checked his watch. Nah. She’s probably got a full house now and is running around like crazy.
He brushed his teeth, put on a tie, and arrived in the lobby to meet his friend.
“First, I’m not getting any lap dances, okay?” Bull announced.
“Look, we take a look around, have a Coke, then go back to the hotel, okay?”
“Works for me. By the way, I told Sam I was doing this.”
“You what?” Trunk stopped, his eyebrows raised.
“I don’t have any secrets from Samantha. I don’t want her calling me and wondering where I am if I don’t answer.”
“She’s got you on a leash.”
“Maybe. I like it.”
“What did she say when you told her?”
“She wasn’t happy about it, but she trusts me.”
“Good. Let’s go, buddy,” Trunk said, holding the door open. He turned left and wrapped the scarf Carla had given him around his neck. What am I doing?
Bull stopped at the end of the block. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“There’s a place three blocks from here. On a side street. We’ll check it out. If it’s lousy, we’ll leave.” Cold bit the tip of Trunk’s nose, and his breath was visible in the air.
Bull checked his watch. “You’ve got an hour, Trunk.”
“That should be long enough.”
They arrived at a building with blackened windows. A red and white sign read The Wet T-Shirt. A cartoonish picture of a busty woman in a skin-tight, dripping wet T-shirt was painted on the door. A burly man stood just inside it with his arms crossed over his chest. He checked their I.D.’s, collected the cover charge, and then stepped aside. Bull spied the bar and steered Trunk there. They ordered Cokes and looked for a spot near the stage, which was the size of a slice of bread. Loud music was playing, keeping conversation to a minimum. There were a dozen tiny tables with about half a dozen men in the place.
Bull and Trunk took their soft drinks and sat. Two girls shared the mini-stage. The blonde wore a G-string, her large breasts, barely contained by a miniscule bikini top, jiggled as she made love to the pole. The redhead also wore a matching, itty bitty bikini and danced to the music. Her breasts were smaller and bounced in time to the rhythm.
The walls were a dingy, dirty, light gray. The tables and chairs were painted black, but the paint was chipped. The word “seedy” came to Trunk’s mind. The women weren’t smiling. They looked bored, straining to be sexy, but obviously not feeling it. His gaze swept over them. Carla’s got a better body.
“How come they’re not naked? I could see this much at the beach for free,” Trunk asked his friend.
Bull shook his head. “Must be a law or something.”
Trunk frowned and shrugged.
A brunette, in her barely-there outfit, strolled out from a back room. She joined the guys. “Buy me a drink?”
“Sure,” Trunk replied. “What’re you havin’?”
“Cosmo,” she said, signaling to the bartender, who brought it over. She took a sip. “So, where you guys from?”
“Connecticut.”
“You’re married?” She directed the question to Bull.
“I’m just here keeping my friend company,” Bull said, looking at his watch.
“You got kids?” Trunk asked, out of the blue. He never talked about real life with the chicks in the strip clubs.
“Yeah. So?” She got belligerent.
“I don’t mean anything by it. Just curious. Must be hard to leave them to come here and do this.”
She took a big gulp. “Don’t judge me, mister.”
“I’m not judging you. I’m sympathizing.”
“You got kids?”
Trunk shook his head.
“Then, you don’t get it.”
“I think I do.” He slipped a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and tucked it into her bikini bottom.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Nothing. Keep it. I know you need it.”
“Lap dance? Hey, we’re not supposed to, but I could give you a hand job right here,” she said, reaching for his zipper.
Trunk fastened his long fingers around her tiny wrist and held it immobile. His gaze met hers. “I said, nothing. I meant it.” He returned her hand to the table.
“Hey, mister, who are you, Santa Claus?”
Trunk and Bull glanced at each other and cracked up.
“You might say that.” Bull chuckled
.
Trunk checked the time. “Time to go, Bull. Take care, sweetheart. Go home. To your kids. Watch a movie. Make some popcorn. Be a mom.” He patted her arm before he pushed his chair back and stood up. Bull joined him.
“Thanks, mister,” she called after him.
Within a moment they were thrust back into the frigid Omaha air. Trunk wrapped his new scarf tighter. The scent from the fabric reminded him of Carla. He smiled, knowing she’d approve of what he’d just done. While his hands and feet were cold, his neck was toasty warm.
“Nice play in there,” Bull said, shivering.
“Yeah. Incomplete pass.”
The two men snickered.
Back at the hotel, Trunk went up to his room, undressed, and slid into bed. He picked up his phone and dialed. A tired voice answered.
“How you doin’, beautiful?”
“Al?”
“Yeah. Thinkin’ about you. Thanks for the scarf. You were right. I’m freezing my ass off here. How are you?”
“I’m tired, but it was a good day. You okay?”
“Yep. Big game tomorrow.”
“Yeah?”
“The Huskers. They had a pretty good season. They’ve got a new quarterback. You in bed?”
“Where else?”
“Wish I was there with you.”
“Makes two of us. Tell me about the new quarterback.”
Trunk lay back, tucking his arm under his head, and began the tale he’d heard from Coach. Carla made a noise occasionally to indicate she was listening. When they finally said goodnight, he turned out the light and slipped into a deep, restful sleep.
* * * *
Trunk ran out on the field with Griff Montgomery and Tuffer Demson. Griff lost the toss.
“That’s bad luck, isn’t it?” Tuffer asked Trunk.
“Fuck luck. Focus, kid. And move your ass.” When the Huskers elected to receive, Trunk put on his helmet and lined up. The run back after the kickoff was impressive, landing the Huskers on the King’s forty-five yard line.
After the ball was snapped, Trunk took off. He was blocked by a huge offensive linebacker. The man stood like a stone wall, shifting to the left or the right each time Trunk moved. Their quarterback got a beautiful pass off before Tuffer could break through their solid line of defense. The player blocking him stepped to the side after the ball left the quarterback’s hands, and Demson went flying into the passer, drawing a personal foul, “roughing the passer” penalty of fifteen yards. Coupled with the twelve yards the Huskers gained, it put them in the red zone.
Devon Drake managed to shut down their star receiver, and the rest of the defense pushed back their runners, so the Nebraska team had to settle for a field goal. When they got the ball back, the Kings’ offense scrambled to protect Griff Montgomery, but he got sacked twice anyway. At halftime, he was walking slowly as the team left the field. The score was six to zero, Huskers favor.
In the locker room, Coach Bass was beside himself. “It’s always the little, dipshit teams, the ones you never heard of, that take you down. Well, we’re not going down. These fucking Huskers have sacked for the last time!” First, he pulled Bull aside. Next were Tuffer and Trunk. “Attach yourselves, like you were Siamese twins. Go for the big guy. When he charges you, split off in opposite directions. He’ll be confused. He doesn’t look too smart to begin with. Then, get your asses in there and sack that son of a bitch.”
The men agreed. The players sucked down juice.
“You can do it. Believe in yourselves. I believe in you. Don’t let these little Cowtown assholes bring you down. You can defeat them. Hands in. Ready?”
They gave the Kings’ cheer and headed back to the field.
The Kings got the kickoff. The running back, Harley Brennan, ran the ball back to the twenty-five yard line. Bullhorn Brodsky and Lawson Breaker gave Griff the time he needed to complete a catch and run with Buddy Carruthers. He went for twenty more yards after connecting with the quarterback’s twenty yard pass. First down and a gain of forty. The Kings were back. The coordination among the linemen, the wide receivers, and the quarterback was finally in sync.
Buddy and Harley had all the protection they needed. Breaker and Bull opened a perfect hole for Brennan, who ran through for a touchdown. The score was seven to six, Kings ahead by one point. Both teams got field goals in the third quarter. The battle intensified as each cranked up their determination to win while the other did their best to hold them back.
Huskers received the ball on a fourth down punt from the Kings. Trunk gave Tuffer the sign. When the ball was snapped, the two men touched shoulders and headed for the quarterback, almost as if they were doing a choreographed dance number on Broadway. The big linebacker advanced toward them.
Trunk began to sweat. He watched the player approach then, as soon as he got within five feet, Mahoney nudged Demson. The men split off, each running in a different direction. The big man looked from side to side, dumbfounded. Confusion was the name of this play. They needed to keep the giant guessing, maybe picking the wrong man to block. In a split second, he was after Tuffer. Trunk took off for the quarterback.
He circled around back, so the passer didn’t see him, and launched himself through the air. Just as Wills pulled his arm back to throw the ball, Trunk made contact. He grabbed the pigskin from the man’s hand, tucked it into his belly, and hit the ground hard. The moment he was down, Huskers offensive linebackers fell on him, trying to get the ball. Trunk was no fool, he curled his body around it, drawing his knees to his chest, shutting his eyes and wondering where the hell Tuffer was. Christ, I hope he’s okay.
The sound of the whistle, and the hush of the crowd caused him to blink, open wide, and watch the referee peel big men from the pile. He handed the ball to the ref and pushed to his feet. The motion of the official signaling possession of the ball had gone to the Kings caused a loud round of booing from the Nebraska fans. Trunk stole a glance at the bench and grinned to see Coach Bass jumping into Hank Montgomery’s arms.
Tuffer joined the defenseman as they loped off the field, making way for the offensive team to take over. Griff Montgomery clapped Trunk on the back as he passed. His teammates mobbed him when he got to the sidelines. Someone threw a cape over him and handed him water.
Coach Bass leaned over. “Well done, guys. Well done.”
Trunk and Tuffer smiled at each other and bumped fists before they turned their attention back to the field. Clutching the fabric around him to stay warm, Trunk watched the offense battle to gain ground. Marquel Johnson and Harley Brennan took turns running the ball. Caleb Turner and Buddy Carruthers fought to get open for Griff’s passes.
The Huskers fought all the way, but the Kings’ offense was functioning like a well-oiled machine, continuing to achieve first down after first down, progressing to the red zone by the last four minutes of the fourth quarter. Trunk’s stomach clenched as he watched his teammates work to keep their frozen fingers from fumbling the ball. Bull and The Kid were tiring, but not giving up. At thirty-eight degrees with a slight wind, the cold seemed to energize them while it also ate up their strength.
“At least they’re not overheating,” Mahoney said to Tuffer.
“No, freezing their balls off instead,” Demson replied, stamping his feet to keep his toes functioning.
Score was still one point away at fourteen to thirteen, the Huskers continuing to match the Kings, score for score. Griff set up for the reverse play. Trunk knew that Marquel would be the dummy, and Harley would carry the ball. Breaker ran up the field, joining with Brennan as he snuck past the defense. Harley was smokin’ toward the goal line until a defender made a flying leap toward him. Breaker put his head down, raised his shoulder, and hit the flying linebacker in the chest. They both went down, and Brennan, who had increased his speed, zoomed over the goal line. He spiked the ball then went back to check on The Kid.
Lawson Breaker was rolling on the ground. Trunk suspected another dislocated shoulder. The other guy
was lying on the field, not moving. Again, silence fell on the crowd. Trainers from both teams ran out. Breaker was able to get up and be escorted off. Trunk winced, identifying with the pain The Kid would feel when they put his shoulder back where it belonged.
The Husker who had been felled rolled over. Seemed he’d had the wind knocked out of him. Trunk smiled. He never wanted anyone to get permanently injured. He knew Lawson Breaker would feel a whole lot better knowing his opponent wasn’t seriously hurt.
Robbie Anthony came out on the field and kicked for the extra point.
Trunk put his helmet back on and tapped Demson on the shoulder. “Now it’s up to us,” he said, loping to the line of scrimmage.
Tuffer followed. The weather, the determination of the other team, and the amount of time left tested the defensemen. They had to shut down the Huskers. Victory was close at hand, if only the defense didn’t blow it. Tuffer and Trunk used their play on the big man again. After a while, he caught on and dragged a teammate with him. Then, they had to come up with a new plan.
They changed to a different formation. One time, Tuffer was first, with Trunk hiding behind him. Next play, they reversed positions. Whichever way the big man went, the guy in the back went the other way. They managed to get two more sacks, rattling the quarterback enough so that he gave up passing and began to run every play, even though it ate up time.
Devon Drake stepped up his game and managed to shut down their wide receivers or break up the plays. Finally, he intercepted a pass. Trunk made a beeline for Dev, forcing his legs to top speed. He ran alongside the cornerback, fending off Huskers until Devon reached the red zone. The clock read twenty seconds left when Drake, Demson, and Mahoney turned the field back over to their offensive team.
Griff Montgomery took a knee, and the game was over. The Kings went wild. Coach Bass danced for a moment before he went to congratulate the Huskers on a game well played.
Trunk held up his forefinger and began the chant, “One!”
Soon, all the Kings did the same. There was only one more game standing in their way of going to the Super Bowl. In ten days, they’d be playing the Chicago Panthers for the right to compete. Trunk was pumped. He couldn’t wait to get back to Connecticut to celebrate. To get back to The Savage Beast and his girl.
Al Trunk Mahoney, Defensive Line Page 10
