Half the Distance

by Stan Marshall

  “Then how about next Thursday? The Community Playhouse is doing a production of Scrooged. It might be fun,” I said.

  “I don’t think so. I’m going to be pretty busy between now and the new year.”

  Did she just give me the brush-off?

  I backed off. “Sure, no problem. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

  “Yeah, soon.” She hung up.

  A lump the size of a bowling ball formed in my throat, and my heart sank like a boat anchor. Ash and I were a couple, but I thought Lisa and I were something more…or could have been.

  I fumbled with my phone and began to text Law. I stopped mid-sentence and voice-called instead. I might have been an ancient when it came to phoning versus texting, but Law was an absolute Neanderthal. Not only did he not text, if you texted him, he refused to read it.

  “Hey, bud, can you come over?”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “I got something I want to run by you, facemask to facemask.” I didn’t want to get into it over the phone.

  I waited outside. Inside, the walls were closing in.

  Within ten minutes, Law’s truck pulled into the driveway. I motioned him to follow me to the backyard. We sat at the picnic table on the patio, away from the collapsing walls and Josh’s prying ears.

  “’Sup?” Law approached with an exaggerated side-to-side sway.

  “Lisa dumped me.”

  “After one date? Man, you must have really screwed up last night.”

  I stared at the ground and shook my head.

  After an awkward moment, he said, “Okay Clyde, what happened?”

  I said, “First of all, when I got there, her dad tried to punk me.” I told him the whole embarrassing story.

  “Man, he got you good.” Law was laughing so hard he began to cough. “That is rich.”

  I could actually feel my face getting hot, and my anger rising. I shouted, “Shut up. It’s not funny.”

  “Oh yes, it is,” said Law. “Just not to you.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “I’m sorry, go on.” Law’s apology sounded sincere. “So what happened with the date?”

  “Everything was going great. The picnic, the fire, the talking, we even cuddled a little bit.”

  “Did you kiss her?” he asked.

  “No, but I was planning to when I took her home, and I was pretty sure she would have let me, until…”

  “Until what?”

  “Didn’t you see my truck when you came in?”

  “Didn’t pay any attention to that side if the yard. Why?”

  I blurted out the rest of the story and added, “The funny thing is, when I called her today to ask if she had a good time, and tell her how much I enjoyed being with her, she basically blew me off. She said the date was nice.”

  “Oooouch!”

  “And when I asked her if we could go out again this coming week or the next, she said she was busy.”

  Law said, “Maybe she is. A lot of people are busy around Christmas time.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” I said. “Something in her tone told me she didn’t want to see me again. Could someone demolishing my truck have freaked her out that much?”

  “I wouldn’t think so, but…” He hesitated.

  “But what, man? I’m losing it here.”

  “It probably doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Dang it, Law, this is like pulling teeth. What?”

  “It’s just that she used to date this guy who graduated last year. Carlos Díaz.” Law paused again.

  “And?” I asked. “Don’t make me come over there and beat this story out of you.”

  “Fat chance.” Law chuckled.

  “What were you going to say?” I wasn’t in the mood for kidding.

  “Anyway, Carlos moved to Tallahassee, but I ran into his sister in the school office Friday, and she mentioned Carlos was back in town. He’s a freshman at Florida State. I guess he’s home for the holidays.”

  I wanted to choke Law. He was taking forever to tell the story, but I let him tell it at his own excruciating pace.

  “Maybe he’s the reason Lisa doesn’t want to go out with you? Maybe she still has a thing for him.”

  The permanent knot in my gut grew to twice its usual weight and size.

  “From what his sister said, he may take a semester off from college and move back to Branard until fall. She didn’t say why.”

  A torrent of sadness poured over me. So that was it. Out with the new and back in with the old, and the story she told me about the guy she used to date was just that, a story. So she went out with me just to make him jealous. One last shovelful on my grave. It’s official—God hates me. No, He despises me.

  It was time to change the subject. I asked, “Did Mrs. Hatcher give you any prospects for a job?”

  “How’d you know I went to the counselor’s office?” he asked.

  “You mom told me. Actually, she said you went to the cow slur.” To keep Law from thinking I was making fun of his mother, I quickly added, “I just love her accent. Your mom is great.”

  “She’s also a blabbermouth.”

  “What did Hatchet-face say? I bet it’s going to be hard to find a job with practice going so late every evening,” I said.

  Law lowered his voice a bit and said, “I might drop all sports, the rest of this year and next.”

  “Quit football?” To me, the idea was unfathomable. “Why?” I asked, “Is it because I beat you out for starter? Next year we lose both Jimmy Carr and Rudy. You’ll be starting for sure. It’ll be you and me. The Terrible Two, The Devastating Duo, The Hammer and The Anvil.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, football, or anything at school.”

  “Then what?”

  Law tightened his jaw and rubbed the back of his neck. He said, “My dad might be getting out of prison in a few months.”

  “Your dad gets out after what, five years? How is that even possible?”

  “His lawyer filed a motion, or whatever, saying he didn’t get a fair trial. He claims either my mom or the DA paid our neighbors to corroborate our testimony.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “They say we paid people to say it was my dad that beat us.”

  “Wasn’t it obvious?”

  “Yeah, we were in bad shape, with Momma in the hospital and me with big green and purple bruises all over. They say a new judge might rule that, without an impartial witness to back up our testimony, the jury might have believed my old man’s story about Momma having a jealous boyfriend who did it.” Law’s voice dropped an octave as he spoke. “They might give him a new trial, and let him out on bail. Mom’s scared to death.”

  “How about the conviction from when he tried to have your mom killed from prison?” I asked. “That ought to be enough to keep him inside.”

  “They’re saying if he hadn’t been in prison, it might follow that he wouldn’t have tried to hire someone to hurt her. It’s something called ‘inevitable string of events.’ The detective said it would never happen, but what if it did?” Law looked as though he was about to hurl.

  “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard.”

  “Crazy,” Law said, “but scary. Momma wants to move somewhere he won’t find us. That’ll cost money.”

  Oh, this is just great. My best friend is moving away and leaving me all alone in hell. I could have rolled up in a ball and cried…if, that is, big football players were permitted to cry in public.

  When the moment passed, I scolded myself. My only friend in the world was unjustly under attack, and all I could think about was that I’d be left to face my lousy life all alone. Maybe I was a rotten person after all and deserved all the garbage I was going through.

  “We should know something by next spring. We’re hoping the appellate judge will throw the motion out.”

  “Sure they will, but why are you looking for a job now?”

  “Like I said, it’ll take money to move.
Momma doesn’t make much over minimum. I can work until spring practice starts, then we’ll see.”

  “I’m sure it’ll work out.”

  That night I tossed, turned, and tossed some more. The longer I lay in bed, the madder I got. The madder I got, the more I wanted to go beat the holy crud out of somebody. Either Carlos, Lance, or Jamel. I didn’t much care which.

  At one point, I caught myself letting out a growl so loud, I was sure I woke Dad and Josh, but if they heard, they hadn’t cared. Neither of them came knocking.

  I was tired of letting fate and everyone but me run my life. At precisely three twenty-eight in the morning, the twentieth of December, I came to a decision. It was time I took control. If neither God nor man would help, I’d have to do it myself.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was the last day of school before Christmas vacation. I was hoping the mood of my schoolmates would be a little better. It wasn’t. At lunch, I told Law my plan. The gist of it, not the details.

  “Have you lost your mind? That’s the worst idea I ever heard. That’s ten times worse than the worst idea I have ever had, and I’ve had some really horrible ideas in my life.” Law spoke so loud, half the lunchroom crowd turned to look.

  “Could you hold it down a little bit?”

  “Todd,” said Law, “you’re risking everything if you go through with this, your chance at a college football scholarship, your whole future. Not to mention your Dad’s reputation. Have you thought how it would reflect on him if you were caught?”

  To be honest, I hadn’t thought about Dad, but it didn’t matter. From the bit and pieces I had picked up here and there, the church board was probably going to fire him anyway. For better or worse, I was going to resolve the issues causing my life’s downward spiral.

  Once he calmed down, Law said, “You need to rethink this, bro.”

  “I’m doing it.”

  He sat staring at the ceiling for an uncomfortably long moment before saying, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Help you pull it off.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help. It’s a one-man job.” I didn’t want Law getting into trouble on my behalf.

  Law wrinkled his brow and said, “You need me and I’m going to help. No argument.”

  If I knew anything at all about Law, it was that he was bullheaded. Once he made up his mind to do something, he was going to do it or die trying. It was the die trying part that worried me.

  I nodded.

  “You’ll need a lookout,” he said.

  “It’s not your fight.” I tried one last time to discourage him from getting involved.

  “Of course it’s my fight. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  I didn’t answer right away, and was ashamed I didn’t.

  “Aren’t we?”

  “Of course we are,” I said. “I don’t need your getting into trouble on my conscience.” There it was again. I cared more about how it would affect me than what it would do to my poor naive friend. I’m a prince of a guy.

  “You’ll need a lookout,” he said again.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll think about it. I’ve still got a day or two to refine and tweak my plan.”

  “I’ll stop by your place after supper,” said Law. “I’m cooking spaghetti and meatballs for Mom. She’s been working a lot of long hours lately.”

  “And you can cook?” I lowered my head and raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

  “No, not really. I’m making hot dogs tonight. That is sort of cooking. I have to boil the wieners and heat up the canned chili.”

  I laughed.

  “I also have to slice up the onion and cheese.”

  “I’m so proud. Our little Lawrence is growing up.”

  He stood and gathered up both our trays. He looked back and said, “See you tonight.”

  »»•««

  School let out for Christmas vacation at two thirty p.m. on Friday the twenty-first, and Operation Vindication commenced at one fifty-four a.m. on the twenty-second. I tiptoed past Dad’s room and sneaked out the back door. Once in the street, I jogged down to the corner where Law was waiting in his truck.

  My target, Coach Newcomb’s office, was in the field house that sat in the middle of the sports complex across the street from the main school building.

  My final plan, at Law’s insistence, allowed him to be my lookout. I only agreed because he would stand watch a block and a half away, on the second-floor balcony of the vacant and condemned Essex Motel, with little danger of his being implicated if my plan went sideways.

  The motel sat far enough off the street that shadows cast by the streetlights along Patten hid anyone standing under the roofline. I handed him Dad’s binoculars and a “pay-card” cell phone I’d bought at the Super Savemart.

  Law said, “We need some secret code words.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “Yes, we do. What if the cops or somebody is monitoring our cells? They might overhear.”

  “They won’t be.”

  Law argued, “You never know what Big Brother might do.”

  I humored him. “Okay, you pick the codes, but keep it simple.”

  “We need a code to let you know if anyone stops in the school parking lot, or if I see someone walk down the street toward the school. What else?”

  “I need to know if a vehicle slows down as they pass the field house or if anyone on foot heads my way.”

  “I’ll call your cell and say, “Why don’t you come over and see me tonight, big boy.”

  I chuckled. “And if the cop comes around?”

  “I call and say, ‘Did you just cut the cheese?’”

  “Now you’re just being silly.” I whacked him on the shoulder. “This is serious.” I needed Law to grasp the true importance of the mission. “Listen, we’re not using codes.”

  At the stoplight on Griffin, I grabbed his arm and said, “No joke, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “If someone heads my way, hit Send. My cell number is already punched in.” I pointed to the phone on the seat between us. “Just tell me what’s up, but if the cops come, just say ‘cops,’ and then you get out of there.”

  “But…”

  “No buts. And don’t hang around to see what happens to me. Walk, don’t run, to your truck and drive straight home. I’ll call and fill you in later.”

  “I got it.” His more somber tone let me know he was with the program.

  »»•««

  As scheduled, Law dropped me off on the back side of Koenig’s Carpet Store, one block south and two blocks east of the school. I checked my watch. Two fifteen on the dot. I waited five minutes to give Law time to get into position before I scaled the six-foot chain-link fence between the street and the carpet store. The sky was clear, but the quarter moon and my dark gray tee, black sweatpants, and hoodie worked in my favor.

  Running in a low crouch, I reached the rear of the Henry Truman Athletics Complex on Patten Street. I took a deep breath and crept toward a Dumpster conveniently placed against the fence. First the quarter moon and now the Dumpster. Two things in a row working for me instead of against. That’s different.

  From my perch on the Dumpster I could see the field house. It sat between the two baseball fields and the football practice field. Floodlights on all four corners of the roof’s eaves lit up the surrounding area like daylight. Thankfully, the building was almost two hundred yards from the street. Only by some freakish fluke would anyone see me as I approached. But with all my recent bad luck, I couldn’t take any chances. I moved low and slow.

  My heart pounded a million miles an hour. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.

  Work the plan, Todd. Work the plan.

  With the aid of the Dumpster, I scaled the fence with ease. Once on the ground, I kept to the shadows of the baseball bleachers and moved quickly to the edge of the concessions and public restrooms. Headlights flashed from somewhere to the west, and a car appro
ached. My heart stopped. I held my breath until the car turned north on Dorey before reaching the school.

  Did Law not see that car? Why hadn’t he called? I thought about calling him but didn’t have the new cell’s number. Did I have a lookout or not? For a half second, I considered turning back.

  Work the plan, Todd. Work the plan.

  I made my way along the backside of the concession stands, slower and more deliberately than before. I checked over my shoulder for car lights. The street was quiet and dark.

  Slow and careful only worked in the shadows or with cover. From the concession stands to the shadows of a storage shed next to the field house stood thirty yards of moonlit open ground. I heard the drone of a vehicle from Capitol Street, the main drag two blocks over—probably a semi or bus—too loud for a regular car.

  I looked up and down Patten. Nothing. I ran flat out to the shed. The moon bathed the night in a glow reminiscent of candlelight. I pressed my Bluetooth headset tighter into my ear before I approached the field house’s easternmost rear window. My last chance to call things off. My plan was a good one, but not foolproof. No plan is.

  I’d come too far to turn back. I closed my eyes for a second and breathed a prayer skyward, just in case God was up there somewhere. I heard myself yell an emphatic, “Go!” and dashed for the window.

  Security panels covered all the windows, two-inch square steel tubing frames with chain link stretched across instead of window screen. I pulled the fence pliers out of my backpack and began to snip the top and bottom twist of a middle wire strand. With the two ends loose, I pulled the strand out of the bottom of the steel fabric with a cranking motion, a little trick I had learned working with Southern Industrial Fencing the summer after my freshman year. I parted the chain link and shoved the window frame. It didn’t budge.

  This should work. Why isn’t it?

  I double checked. I was at the right window. After basketball practice on the last day before vacation, I had waited until everyone left and had unlatched the lock of the center window on the back wall.

  I’d rehearsed the plan dozens of times in my mind, carefully examining each step to see if I had forgotten something or if I could improve any part of it. Everything was proceeding as planned. My trek from the carpet store to the rear of the field house—four minutes flat. Right on cue. But now, a glitch.