“Okay, then,” I said. “Why is there a door in the showers?”
He laughed. “It’s supposed to be locked, and marked for emergency exit only. You know, in case of fire. It’s a long way back through the locker room and the entire gym complex, especially if the place is burning down around you.”
“I guess,” I grumbled. “I didn’t hear an alarm.”
“Nah. I disabled it.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m John Roque.”
“Frank Hardy.” I shook his hand. “I’m the new manager.”
“Cool. I’m the old manager,” he said. “One of them, anyway. Now that you’re here, there are three of us.”
“Yeah, I met Manzi,” I replied. “He said he had to go pick up the away-game uniforms from the laundry. I think he just didn’t want to mop.”
Roque chuckled. “You catch on quick. You’re gonna be stuck with a lot of the grunt work, I think. Manzi usually does all the cleaning because I’m more involved with the high-tech stuff. Coach doesn’t get computers, but he wants all the players’ schedules on his computer, and he wants the entire playbook there too, with lots of encryption.”
“So you’re a computer geek?” I asked.
“Computers, scoreboards, changing lightbulbs … anything that seems like it involves technology of some kind, Coach makes me do it.”
“Hence disabling the fire alarm,” I guessed.
“Yeah. But don’t tell Coach about that,” Roque said quickly. “The players know about it, but he doesn’t. He’d make me do laps if he found out.”
“Got it,” I said. I stuck my mop in the pail of brown water and started mopping up the footprints. “I have to say, this seems pretty pointless,” I commented. “I’m gonna get it all clean and then they’ll come back in after practice and mess it up again.”
“Get used to it,” Roque advised. “You, me, and Manzi will be here for at least an hour after the players go home to get their beauty sleep.”
“But why not just clean it all after practice is over?” I asked.
Roque shrugged. “That’s Coach Orman’s way. Everything has to be clean, organized, and under control. Including players. He runs a tight ship. Most of these lunkheads wouldn’t know how to run in a straight line without him.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Lunkheads? Are you saying the amazing Pinnacle Mountain Lions are lunkheads?”
Roque groaned. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who idolizes the football players.”
“Well … I did volunteer to be a manager,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but isn’t your brother on the team now? I figured you were just involved because of him.”
“Basically,” I admitted. “How did you know?”
He held up his PDA, a truly kickin’ Sidekick. “I do the player schedules, remember? If a new kicker suddenly shows up, I have to know about it.”
“Right. Of course,” I said. “Truth is, my dad wants me to keep an eye on Joe. Pinnacle’s team is big news. I think Dad is worried that Joe will get sucked into being a campus celeb and forget that he still has to actually go to classes.”
“Your father is right. You wouldn’t believe how many of these idiots are close to flunking out,” Roque told me. “Anyway, I better go transfer these schedules onto Coach’s desktop.”
He turned to go.
“Hey, Roque,” I called after him.
“Yeah?”
“If you think the players are such idiots, why are you a manager?” I asked. “You got a little brother on the team too?”
“Worse,” he told me. He pointed to a poster-size black-and-white photo on the wall. A smiling Pinnacle player holding up a giant trophy. “My father was on the team.”
My mouth dropped open. “Roque. Your father is Fred Roque?”
“Doctor Fred Roque now,” he answered. “He went into orthopedic surgery after that broken ankle ruined his NFL career.”
“Fred Roque was the quarterback during Pinnacle’s best two seasons ever,” I said. “Even I know that.”
“Yup, he was a superstar.” Roque grinned up at the photo. “He always wanted me to be like him. Go to Pinnacle, star on the football team. But it’s just not my thing. I figured the least I could do was be involved with the team somehow. It makes him happy, you know?”
I nodded.
“You’ve got about half an hour before the first bunch come back to hit the showers,” Roque said. “I’ll be in Coach’s office if you need me.”
As he left, I looked down at the half-mopped floor. I hoped Joe was having a better time than me.
“I don’t get it,” I complained. “Why do we have to do the team drills? We’re kickers.”
“It’s just for warm-up,” Ken said. He was in front of me in the line of seven guys. “Coach likes to remind everyone that knowing how to handle the ball is always gonna be the most important skill.”
“Talk on your own time,” Coach Orman bellowed from the sidelines. “We’ve got a championship to win.” Instantly Ken turned his back to me. I figured I’d better shut up too. Coach might be willing to help ATAC with our investigation, but he obviously wasn’t going to let me interfere with practice.
I shoved my shoulder pads to the left, trying to make them comfortable. I wasn’t used to the extra weight. And my cleats were new, so they kind of pinched my feet. And, worst of all, I was nervous. This was a hugely successful college football team … and I had to pretend that I was a good enough player to be here.
Somehow I hadn’t realized that I would be running drills with a bunch of humongous, NFL-bound twenty-year-olds. Would I be able to pull it off?
The drill was pretty basic, just a handoff from the quarterback. Well, for our line it was handoff from the backup quarterback, Luis. When I got to the front of the line, I took a deep breath and went for it. All my years playing football in school came back to me. I managed to grab the ball without dropping it.
“You stink,” one of the big guys in front of me muttered when I got back on the end of the line. His jersey said “Orena” on the back.
“Lay off,” Ken said. “It’s his first day. He’s nervous.”
“He still stinks,” Orena insisted. Then Coach Orman came around again and everybody shut up. But I’d already decided two things: Luis was fast at the handoffs, and Ken was my hero for sticking up for me.
I made it through three more handoffs before Coach stopped that drill. The rest of the players split up into offense and defense and headed off with their assistant coaches. The offensive coordinator told Ken and me to head over to the sidelines and do some practice kicks to warm up our legs.
As we jogged toward the side, I spotted Luis at the water keg along with another guy. I recognized his face from the team dossier—it was the starting quarterback, Billy Flynn. Just the dude I was looking for.
“You go first,” I told Ken. “I want to see how it’s done.”
“You’re supposed to come hold the ball for me,” he said.
“I will,” I promised. “I just need to get a drink first.”
Ken shrugged and began doing kicks off a tee. I went straight for the water. “Luis! My man,” I greeted my suitemate.
“Hey, Joe.” Luis nodded.
“Who’s this loser?” Billy Flynn asked.
“Joe Hardy,” said Luis. “Meet Flynner.”
“Hi.” I offered my hand. Flynner ignored it. “I’m the new backup kicker,” I added.
“We won’t need you,” Flynner stated. “I’ll take care of all the scoring next week.” He grinned. “Don’t I always?”
“You know it,” Luis replied.
“It must suck for you,” Flynner said to Luis. “If I wasn’t so good, you might get to play sometimes instead of being just a benchwarmer.”
Luis shook his head. “Nice,” he muttered.
“No, I mean it. Aren’t you jealous of me?” Flynner went on. “You probably dream about the day I graduate so you can finally play.”
“As long as we
win the championship, I’m happy,” said Luis.
“Yeah, right.” Flynner snorted. “Well, you better enjoy it, because once I’m gone you won’t be winning any more championships.”
It sounded like typical trash talk, but I could tell that Flynner was serious. He obviously thought he was some kind of football god. Luckily, I knew just how to deal with that type of guy.
“You really are the best quarterback in the league,” I said. “Maybe even in all of college football.”
Flynner squinted at me. “Yeah.”
“I’m serious. You’re incredible,” I gushed. “You’re the whole reason I wanted to transfer to Pinnacle. You were my football hero all the way through high school.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Luis staring at me like I’d gone crazy. I ignored him. I finally had Flynner’s attention, and that was all that mattered. So what if the guy was a jerk? I had to find a way to question him. I had to make him trust me.
“Thanks.” Flynner grinned. “What’s your name again?”
“Joe Hardy.”
“Hardy. You’re all right,” he said.
Luis rolled his eyes, tossed his paper cup in the trash, and jogged off. It looked like Flynner was going to follow him, so I talked fast. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I am so psyched that your backup kicker got hurt. As soon as I heard about it, I started calling Coach Orman. It was my dream to be able to play on the same team as you, even if it’s only for one game.”
“I doubt you’ll do any playing,” Flynner told me. But he sounded sympathetic, not mean.
“I know,” I said. “But I’ll be out there wearing the same uniform as you, and I’ll get to watch from the field while you work your magic.”
He chuckled.
“I have a bet with my brother that you’re gonna be the number one overall draft pick for the NFL after this championship game,” I went on.
“You’ll win that bet, my friend,” said Flynner. “No doubt about it.”
“So you’re that confident we’ll win, huh?”
“It doesn’t even matter if we win.” Flynner leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. “I’ve got an inside track. I’ll be top overall pick. It’s in the bag.”
“An inside track?” I repeated. “You really are my hero.”
And now that I knew he was involved in something shady, he was also my top suspect!
“Hardy!” Coach Orman bellowed. “Did I tell you to take a break?”
“Um …” I glanced up at Flynner. He spit some Gatorade on the ground.
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m the quarterback. I can do whatever I want.”
Coach stalked over, his face red. “You’re here to practice, Hardy,” he snapped. “Get out there and give me five laps.”
Obviously Coach was planning to treat me like every other player on the team. He probably didn’t want to blow my cover. I tossed my helmet onto the bench and jogged over to the track. Five laps was more than a mile, but that wasn’t too bad. Even with pads on, it shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.
I ran kind of fast, trying to get it over with. It wasn’t long before I spotted another guy up ahead, doing laps. He wasn’t going too quickly—I could tell I was gaining on him.
As I drew closer, I saw that it was Orena, the big guy who had heckled me during the drill. I caught up and fell into step with him.
“Hey,” I said.
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. He seemed pretty winded.
“Why’d you get laps?” I asked.
“I was late,” he grunted. “Three laps for every minute.”
Harsh, I thought. From the way Orena was panting, I figured he must be on at least his fifth or sixth lap. “How many are you at?”
“Two,” he gasped.
Two? The dude looked exhausted. Shouldn’t an athlete be in better shape? I wondered what his deal was.
And then he collapsed.
“Whoa!” I dropped to my knees beside him. His eyes were rolled back into his head. “Help!” I yelled as I felt his neck for a pulse. “I need a doctor over here!”
But it was too late. There was no pulse.
Orena was dead.
5.
Dinner with the Enemy
“Murder?” Frank asked in a low voice. When the ambulance arrived to take Orena to the hospital, everyone was still milling around on the field. But I had booked back to the locker room to find my brother. We needed a private talk.
“How could it be murder?” I said. “There was nobody else around. The guy just dropped dead.”
“Maybe someone poisoned him,” Frank said doubtfully. “Or it could’ve been steroids.”
“Nope, not steroids,” John Roque put in. I jumped in surprise. I hadn’t heard the other manager come over to us. I wondered how much he had heard.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Roque told me. “I heard you guys talking about Orena. It wasn’t steroids.”
“How do you know?” Frank asked.
“All the players are tested every week. You know that, Joe.”
I hadn’t been tested. I wasn’t a real player. But I went along with it. “Yeah, that’s true. If Orena was on ’roids, Coach would have known it.”
Roque tapped the earpiece for his cell phone. “Coach called from the ambulance. They stopped doing CPR. The EMTs say Orena was probably dead before he even hit the ground.”
I nodded. The way the poor guy had collapsed … well, I could believe he’d died quickly.
“Coach talked to the team doc. They think Orena had some problem in his heart, something he didn’t even know about,” Roque explained.
“And the exertion of practice made it worse,” Frank finished for him. “That’s awful.”
Roque nodded solemnly. “Anyway, Coach wants us to spread the word. This championship game is going to be played for Orena. We’re gonna win for him. Tell everyone.”
Frank nodded. “I’ll get on it.” He shot me a look and headed off to talk to the players, who were starting to trickle back in from the field.
The mood in the locker room was subdued. Everybody was upset about Orena. “Did you know him well?” I asked Ken as we stripped off our pads.
Ken shook his head. “I’m not sure anyone really did. He was a freshman, so he wasn’t a starter or anything. He’d only been a Mountain Lion for a few months. Still, he seemed like a good guy.”
“Yeah.” I tried to shake off the image of Orena falling down right in front of me. I still couldn’t help wondering if his death was somehow connected to the reason Frank and I were here, but maybe it really was just an eerie coincidence. Either way, Frank and I would follow up later, make sure there was nothing more sinister than an unknown heart condition.
“Try not to let it get to you, Joe. We all have to stay focused,” Ken said. “You had a good practice.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“For your first day,” he added. “Don’t worry. Next season you’ll really get into the groove. This week is just kinda crazy, with the big game coming up.”
I only wished I would be here next season! “I guess,” I said, trying to sound more cheerful. My whole body ached from the exertion of practice. I didn’t know how I was going to make it though the week.
“You want to hit the sauna with me and Luis?” asked Ken.
“Uh, no thanks,” I told him, stealing a glance at Flynner. The quarterback was over near the office, talking to Marco Muñoz. I wanted to stay nearby so I could catch him on his way out.
“All right. See you back at the dorm.” Ken disappeared into the mondo sauna with a bunch of other guys. My sore muscles wanted to follow him, but I had a mission to accomplish.
I shuffled the things in my locker around, trying to look busy while Flynner spoke to Marco. Finally he said good-bye and headed for his locker.
“Hey, Flynner,” I called casually. “You hitting the sauna?”
“No way,” he said. “Only losers need to keep the
ir precious muscles warm.”
“Yeah, that’s what I think,” I agreed quickly. “So you want to go get a burger or something? It’s been a bad day. I’d love to hear some football stories to cheer myself up.” I hated kissing up to this dude, but it had to be done.
Flynner slammed his locker shut and grabbed his gym bag. “You buying?”
“Sure.” ATAC was buying, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Then let’s go.” Flynner drove to a diner just off campus, and I followed him on my motor cycle. The second he pushed open the door, Flynner started yelling.
“You got hungry players in the house! Bring us cheeseburgers, stat!” He ignored the WAIT TO BE SEATED sign and led the way to a booth in the back. I tried to pretend I didn’t see the other customers staring as I sat down across from him. “Waitress! I need a Coke!” Flynner bellowed.
I glanced around. There wasn’t even a waitress anywhere near us. This guy was seriously obnoxious.
“I think this area is closed,” I said. “Nobody else is sitting at any of the tables nearby, and there are no waiters. Maybe we should move.”
“No way.” He waved me off. “They’ll bring our food. They love me here.”
The way everyone in the place was frowning at us, I doubted there was much love. But Flynner was oblivious.
“Listen, football pays all the bills at Pinnacle. And Pinnacle pays all the bills in this lame town,” Flynner said. “And I’m the reason the football team is so famous and brings in so much money. So everyone loves me.”
Before I could answer, a waitress appeared with a huge glass of Coke for Flynner. She glanced at me. “What can I get you, honey?”
“He’ll have what I’m having,” Flynner replied. “I’m his hero. Right, Hardy?”
He was teasing me, but I had to go along with it. “Right,” I said.
“Well, you’re everybody’s hero,” the waitress replied, turning away. I thought she was being sarcastic, but Flynner just grinned.
“It’s terrible, what happened to Orena,” I began.
“I guess. I barely knew him.” Flynner sounded bored. He really was a jerk. Obviously it was time for a subject change. And I knew just what to talk about.
Foul Play Page 3
