But now it was 2:30 in the morning, and someone needed to stop Coach Piggott or there was soon going to be a mutiny. Tanner had been sending thoughts Pig’s way for the past hour, but the beady-eyed man seemed immune. Eyes darting every which way, Tanner couldn’t seem to get his attention, and Tanner couldn’t say out loud what he was thinking for fear that the Pigman would line them up and run them again.
Piggott barked out Thomas’s name, signaling to everyone that the drink break was over. It was time to get back to the madness. Tanner grimaced as he slowly walked over to his coach. “I noticed you were limping. What in the heck’s wrong, you big sissy?”
“I told you yesterday that I had a thigh bruise from football. I’ll be all right.”
“You’d better believe you’ll be all right, or I’ll have you on the bench watchin’ Harding run this team!”
Piggott’s darting eyes landed on Tanner’s for an instant and Tanner thought, “It’s time for practice to end. Before someone gets hurt or quits.”
Piggott blinked and said, “Okay, Ladies, it’s time for practice to end. Don’t want any of you crybabies quittin’ or gettin’ hurt. Get some shut-eye and I’ll see you after school.” Piggott seemed confused as he checked his practice schedule then looked at his watch. He tilted his head while glancing at his team, then shrugged his shoulders and waddled off to his office. The team breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the locker room.
“What’o we got, five hours before school starts? Someone just wake me up before the warning bell.” Mike Powell stretched out on a locker room bench as if he really might sleep there the rest of the night. “Good thing Piggy had a change of heart.”
“Whatever you said, Tanner, thanks,” Luke Simms chipped in.
“I didn’t say anything. He asked me why I was limping; I reminded him about my leg and told him I’d be all right. Didn’t say another thing.”
“Then we’re all as confused as him ’cause he sure looked confused after he stopped practice,” Kevin Harding interjected. “I’m outta here.” Kevin shut his locker, looped his bag over his shoulder, and never looked back. The others followed suit except Mike Powell who was already fast asleep, but nobody noticed. The first practice of the year, Midnight Madness, was done, and a whole season of madness waited.
Tanner’s body was tired and his leg sore, but his mind was alert. Had he figured it out? Coach Piggott never seemed to look anyone in the eyes, including Tanner. Maybe that was why Tanner’s thoughts were having no impact on him. When the Pigman finally made eye contact, Tanner finally got through to him. Limping across the parking lot, Tanner pulled his keys from his pocket and sighed a long sigh. His “powers” were coming into focus, but what was the point of it all? Should he tell someone? He didn’t think so. When should he use his gift? To get over on his parents? To change plays like he did in football? To influence his girlfriend? Now seated in his car, Tanner turned the ignition key and sighed. He could get away with practically anything if he wanted to. He backed out of his parking space and headed home; he had a lot of things to think about.
CHAPTER 8
Jessie was at Mongolian Barbeque with her friend, Carlee Simpson. It was a noisy restaurant, but a good place to talk anyway, and Carlee liked to talk. Actually, she liked to ask questions and pry into people’s personal lives, but she had proven to be a trustworthy friend and someone Jessie was willing to confide in. It was Saturday, one week into the basketball season (that was how the other members of the family kept track of time). The restaurant was hopping, mostly full of happy customers. The entire serving crew just finished singing a birthday song to a middle-aged man at the next table and an aluminum foil swan was placed as a hat on his head…at least it looked like a swan, but maybe it was a sailing ship.
The conversations always started out the same, “So how’s the family?”
“It’s basketball season, so Tanner’s as busy as ever. Clay is different during basketball season. To him, football’s just something for Tanner to do, so he doesn’t care much about it except to go and watch. But now that it’s basketball season, Clay’s focused on getting him a good scholarship.”
“Any offers?”
“Not really; not yet, but there’s interest—mostly from Division 2 schools and some of the smaller Division 1 schools. We get letters and phone calls and Clay takes care of it. We’re all doing okay. How’s your family?”
“We’re fine. The girls send about 20,000 texts per month. Drives us both crazy. They carry those stupid phones around with ’em wherever they go. Can’t focus on any one thing for a minute straight before the cell vibrates and they read or type another text.”
“I know how that is…it’s a different world we live in. No task seems as important as the next message. How’s the husband?”
“Oh, Mark’s started another ‘project.’ I don’t know why he does that. He’s the least handy man I know. He was changing some doorknobs a couple days ago and couldn’t seem to get one of the old doorknobs off. He ended up using a hacksaw to saw through the stupid thing. By the time he was finished, there were nicks and hacks all over the door. The new doorknob looks decent but the door looks horrible. So I’ll have to patch it and paint it myself because he’s moved on to a shelving project.”
“How’s that going?”
“Well,” Carlee giggled, “just before I left, I heard a crash and a couple of swear words. The shelf had fallen and he was hopping around on one foot. His big toe was bleeding…quite a bit, actually.” She laughed. “He’s dangerous with a tool in his hands.”
“I remember the toilet story.”
“Oh, yeah, a classic. Only Mark can crack a toilet trying to change a toilet seat. I had to call a plumber before he destroyed the whole bathroom.” Both women cracked up. Carlee put a forkful of food in her mouth. “I love the food here…so what’s really up with you, Jessie? Something you want to talk about?” She forked a second helping of grilled vegetables, meats, and sauces into a flour tortilla.
“I don’t know. We’ve talked about this before. Sometimes I just don’t really get Clay.”
“What do you mean?”
“In certain settings Clay’s such a confident guy. But with me, he’s so…passive…so weak…so lacking in confidence. It seems like I make all the decisions.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Carlee smiled. “Sounds perfect to me.”
“It’s not perfect. Okay, say I do something that I want to do, and I know he doesn’t like it. I feel guilty. Heck, I always feel guilty.”
“For example…?”
“Sometimes it’s things I don’t even understand, but usually it’s things like swimming or eating out or lying in the sun or watching Desperate Housewives.”
“He doesn’t like those things?”
“Nope.”
“And you do them anyway?”
“Why shouldn’t I? There’s nothing wrong with them.”
“Even Desperate Housewives?”
“Okay, you’re missing the point. Let’s say I ask him what he’d like to do. So he says that we could go out to eat. I ask him where and he says ‘wherever you want.’ So we go out to eat, and I know he doesn’t really want to be there, and I pick the place because it doesn’t matter to him…I want him to want to go out to eat, and it would be nice if he would choose the restaurant.”
“Is he unpleasant when you’re out?”
“No, but I know he doesn’t want to be there, and he’s only there because it’s what I want. So I end up mad at him.”
“Like when you used to buy Christmas trees?”
“Exactly. I knew he didn’t want to look for one, pay for one, or set it up in the house. He just did it because it was something I wanted. So regardless how he acted, even if he was being pleasant, I’d always get mad at him. Why couldn’t he just want to get a Christmas tree? And another thing…” She was getting on a roll now, so Carlee just sat back to listen. “When we disagree about something, why won’t he look me in the eye
s? I wish he’d just be a man and tell me what to do or what he’s thinking.”
“Why doesn’t he?”
“He says I know how he feels about things. He says we don’t have to like the same things. If it isn’t morally wrong or if it won’t hurt someone else, he says I can choose to do whatever I want. But there’s got to be a reason he doesn’t look at me. It’s like he feels superior and he’s looking down on me. Maybe he doesn’t really care about me…or maybe he’s guilty about something.”
“What do you think?”
“Well, I think he loves me. He always forgives me, and sometimes I can say some nasty things when I’m mad. I guess I really don’t think he somehow feels superior to me either. He tells me how lucky he is to have me. So I can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling guilty or ashamed about something…except he’s always been this way. That’s partly why I don’t get him.”
“What would he be guilty about? Another woman?”
“It’s got to be something.”
“So is this why you’ve found a new boyfriend?”
“He’s not a boyfriend. But he is a friend. And he treats me like I’m special. I like how he treats me.”
“And it’s not going beyond friendship?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think so, but what would be wrong if it did? It’s not like I’m going to leave Clay and Tanner. We have a good family.”
“Would you want Clay fooling around?”
“If I wasn’t making him happy, I would.”
“I’ve known you for about six years, Jessie, and I know you don’t mean that. You wouldn’t like it one bit.”
“Okay, maybe that’s true.” She hesitated for several seconds. “Do you think I’m wrong, trying to be happy?”
“I always thought you were happy, Jessie. I’m just warning you. You won’t even say who the guy is. How can you be sure he won’t hurt you?”
“Oh, he would never hurt me—not intentionally.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.” After a few seconds, Carlee said, “Let’s box this up and get out of here before I explode. I’ve got some shoes to show you that I’m thinking about buying…and maybe a purse…and some earrings.” The tension was eased as both women began to laugh.
CHAPTER 9
Jack Harding was in the middle of another unscrupulous gun sale. Jack always had guns to sell, and he just as often had buyers for his guns. Occasionally some clown from the neighborhood would pawn off a gun that he had just stolen. Jack was also in the habit of accepting guns as collateral when setting the terms for one of his predatory loans. He also had a contact from Florida who would once or twice a year bring a trunk load of handguns to sell at a quantity discount. Once in a while, one of Jack’s “loan agents” would confiscate a handgun or two from a client who was behind on payments. In any case, if a handgun was needed, Jack was someone to turn to. What he had in his hand at the moment was a Smith and Wesson .38 caliber revolver. The buyer couldn’t have been more than 17 years of age, but he had cash, and he had the nerve to show up at Harding Metals earlier in the day and ask the desk clerk if he could speak to the owner. Now at two in the morning, Jack was handing over the revolver and accepting the $350.00 in cash. At that moment, Pete Piggott, who had been summoned to the office, almost certainly to talk about Kevin’s playing time, walked through the door and saw the weapon and cash exchanging hands. The teenager, at about 6’4”, looked very athletic, but also very angry. His braided hair was long enough to be hanging on his neck. It extended from a flat-billed New York Yankee’s cap that was sitting at a crazy angle on his head. He had a tattoo of a chain around his neck. As the kid nervously pocketed the gun, he eyed Piggott with a hateful look that chilled his bones. Jack assured his customer that no one saw anything. “Get out of here, LaDainian,” he ordered. “It was nice doin’ business with ya.”
The teenager quickly exited while Pete Piggott shook his head in concern. “What do you suppose that kid needed a gun for, Jack? Shootin’ cans off the back fence?”
“How the heck would I know? It’s no concern of mine.”
“Not even if he uses it to kill someone?”
“Gun can’t be traced to me. And if I didn’t sell it to him, he’d have gotten one some other way. Free enterprise. I’m just capitalizin’ on a simple sales opportunity.”
“.38 Special?”
“Yeah, he wanted a .44 Magnum. Told him that was too much gun for a kid. He didn’t like hearin’ that from me. Stared me down like he could intimidate me, but I’ve met angry kids like him before. I just look ’em in the eyes just as cold as they’re lookin’ at me. Told him I had a .38 or this .22, or he could look somewhere else.” He held the gun up for Piggott to see. “He took the Smith and Wesson and paid cash. Probably stole the cash from his mama or grandmama. What’s the inner city doin’ for kids these days? Hardly any chance at all of growin’ up to be a respectable criminal like me.” Jack was actually proud of how he turned out. “I wanted to talk to you about basketball, Pete,” Jack said as he dropped the .22 in a desk drawer.
“I’m all ears.”
“I’m thinkin’ you need to be playing Kevin at point guard this year.”
“I do that, and he won’t be starting.”
“And why’s that, Pete?”
“Tanner Thomas is my best point guard. Kevin can start at the two guard.”
“Tanner Thomas is a punk, and he ain’t as good as my Kevin.”
“Jack, I don’t know much; I’m willing to admit that. Got myself owin’ you a fortune, so I’m certain I’m pretty much a dumb twit most of the time, but I do know that Kevin isn’t the player that Tanner is. I’m glad to have him; don’t get me wrong, but if we expect to win the conference this year, we need to have the ball in Tanner’s hands as much as possible.”
“And if I tell you to start Kevin at the point, what’re you gonna say to that?”
“It’d put me in a bad spot, but I’d like to believe that I’d tell you no. Hopefully, I don’t have to do that, Jack. Now, can I get back to work? I’m still repairin’ that fence at the back of the property.”
“You owe me so much money; I could have one of my goons break your kneecaps.”
“You could do that, and I wouldn’t like that too much. But do you think my replacement would be wantin’ to start your son at the point?”
Pete Piggott was sweating, well, like a pig, as he headed across the junkyard. He was hoping Jack Harding would be more reasonable. Harding’s business and criminal enterprise were both growing, and Pete was pretty sure that the only reason he still had a job was because he was coaching Kevin. The criminal industry seemed to be flourishing more. Over the last couple of years, video cameras had been installed for additional security, and one dog had been purchased, though it turned out to be deaf. It’d hide away out of fear of being run over by one of the huge machines in the yard and would only appear when it smelled food. Coach Piggott figured he’d probably lose his job in early March, when the season ended, replaced by more electronic security and several man-eating dogs that could hear. In the meantime, Pete owed Jack thousands of dollars, compounding with exorbitant interest each and every week. He was already making plans to hightail it out of town the moment his team’s season ended with a loss in the state tournament. He was thinking of heading toward Windsor, Ontario, where rumor had it Honey Suckle was dancing at one of the clubs. Maybe he could locate her, get married, and hide from Jack Harding the rest of his life.
***
Tanner Thomas had been having a very interesting week. Coach Piggott had been screaming his head off all week and running the players ragged whenever he didn’t like their effort or their attitude or the look on their faces or the number on their practice jerseys—whatever came to mind, but luckily not much came to Pete Piggott’s mind.
Speaking of minds, Tanner was messing with everyone’s. During a huddle after a particularly frustrating drill, Piggott was trying to criticize their stupidity, bu
t was having trouble coming up with the right vocabulary. Kevin Harding happened to look directly at Tanner and was rolling his eyes when Tanner suggested, “Shoot the ball, Kevin. Shoot it right now.” Inexplicably—a word Coach Piggott would have never thought of—Kevin shot the ball from about 30 feet, hitting nothing but floor and eventually the ball rack, knocking three more balls to the floor.
Coach Piggott, who obviously favored Kevin, could think of nothing to say, but his jaw dropped open and his head fell forward and he finally said, “You stupid, son-of…” but he caught himself before swearing at his boss’s son.
Mike Powell, who seemed to like pain and rarely seemed to get tired said, “You need to work on your range a little, Kevin.” Then everyone cracked up except the Pigman, who lined the squad up again for a new set of sprints.
Earlier in the day, in third period science, Mr. Henson was demonstrating an experiment. Various students would step inside the giant fifty-plus gallon garbage bags from the custodian’s closet. Students would cinch the bag up around their necks, crouch in the bag, and hold the nozzle end of a shop vacuum hose between their legs, making sure the bag was unable to get sucked into the hose. Once the vacuum was turned on, the bag sealed around the student so tightly, he or she would be unable to move. Tanner casually suggested to Mr. Henson, when he got some good eye contact, that he let Tanner and TJ try it together. The crowd of students gathered around with a bit more interest. Both Tanner and TJ squatted in the bag and pulled it around their shoulders. Tanner put the hose nozzle between his legs and Mr. Henson turned on the vacuum. The bag pulled so tightly around the boyfriend and girlfriend that it squeezed them together and they toppled over, TJ directly on top of Tanner. The class erupted into all sorts of hilarious laughter and somewhat inappropriate comments while Henson’s face glowed red from embarrassment.
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