A Hopeless Game

by Daniel Carson

  He seemed to think about my question. Then he looked at me and nodded. “I’ve learned that even when things are at their very darkest… there’s always room for hope.”

  Chapter 25

  When I came back to the Library, Fireman Bob was out front, standing in the back of his pickup truck in a dark suit and tie, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

  “Fireman Bob… what are you doing?” I said.

  He winked. “Getting ready to take you out on a hot date.”

  “We never talked about a date tonight.”

  He jumped off his tailgate and handed me the flowers. “We’re talking about it now.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve been working all day. I need a shower. And if that’s what you’re wearing, I don’t have a thing to wear.”

  He pointed at me playfully and made a curious face. “Does the new dress I bought you count as something to wear?”

  “You—you bought me a dress? Why would you do that?”

  “You know, sometimes you’re not very quick on the uptake. So we can go on a date!”

  “But I don’t even like you that much.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Fireman Bob didn’t seem even a little offended.

  I threw my hands into the air. “It’s the only thing that has anything to do with anything.”

  “Yeah… I don’t really follow,” he said, somehow actually perplexed.

  “Bob,” I said, as kindly as I could.

  “I prefer Fireman Bob.”

  “Fine, Fireman Bob. In order for two people to go out, they have to like each other, don’t you think?”

  He scratched his head. “I just figured they both needed to be hot. I know I am… and I’m pretty sure you are.”

  “You’re pretty sure?”

  “I’ve got a sneaky suspicion you’re gonna look smoking in this dress.”

  I buried my head in my hands. Arguing with Fireman Bob made me feel like a stormtrooper questioning Obi-Wan Kenobi—disoriented and not at all sure what was happening.

  I looked up into the goofy idiot’s face. His gigantic smile was like a tractor beam, drawing me in.

  “Well… I am pretty hungry.”

  His grin widened. “And I don’t really care if you shower. I think chick sweat smells pretty good.”

  “You think I could see the dress first?” I asked.

  My logic was simple. Chances were, Fireman Bob had picked out something that looked like a bridesmaid dress from the eighties. In which case, this was going to be a simple conversation.

  But what he pulled out of the cab of his truck was not a hideous periwinkle-blue dress with ruffles. It was a simple and sleek black dress. And it even appeared to be in my size.

  “This is gorgeous!” I said.

  “So is that a yes?”

  “You taking me to McDonald’s, or something a bit classier?”

  “Are you kidding? They call me Fireman Bob, don’t they?”

  “Which means?”

  “Classy is my middle name.”

  Ten minutes later, I climbed out of the shower—only to find Katie and her three kids in my apartment. Katie had a razor in one hand and a curling iron in the other. Baby Celia was on the floor gnawing on an old shoe. Lucy had a large plastic bin of makeup in her hands. And Dominic was holding a dart gun pointed at my face.

  “Katie! All I said was I needed help with my hair.”

  “I know that’s what you said, but the last time you went on a fancy date was not ever before in your life. I figured you could use the help.”

  “For the record, that’s not true. Jimmy took me out for homecoming.”

  “The Long John Silver’s in Boise does not qualify as a fancy date.”

  “I understand the curling iron and the makeup. I’m less certain why Dominic is pointing a dart gun at my face.”

  “Because Mama says you never listen to directions,” said Lucy.

  “And that I was supposed to shoot you in the face if you don’t do what she says,” said Dominic.

  “All I said was I needed help with my hair!” I repeated.

  Lucy grabbed a stool from the kitchen and put it in front of the bathroom mirror. Then Katie sat me down on the stool and held up my hair as if she was examining me.

  “You know the scene in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts has the huge makeover done and then comes out looking like a princess? That’s what we’re going to do for you tonight, Hope.”

  “Are you saying I remind you of Julia Roberts, or I remind you of a hooker?” I asked.

  “Honey, I have never treated you like a prostitute.”

  I sighed. “Well, Katie, you just did.”

  With that, Katie roared with laughter, Lucy giggled, and Dominic shot a dart that whizzed by my ear and stuck to the mirror.

  Thirty minutes of prodding, poking, and styling later, Katie, Lucy, and Dominic were all looking at me with goofy grins on their faces.

  “What?” I said.

  “Our little Hope is finally growing up. Isn’t she, kids?”

  “Scale of one to ten, how do I look?”

  “We talking normal scale or the Famous Fireman Bob burrito scale?”

  “Either. Both. I don’t care.”

  Katie stepped forward, grabbed my hands, and squeezed. “You look incredible.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Hope, really.”

  “Katie, I’m nervous. I don’t even like the guy and I’m nervous.”

  “You’re going to be just fine. Remember how nervous I was our first night of summer camp?”

  “Yeah. You threw up, had explosive diarrhea, and spent the whole night looking out the window moaning for your mom. It was the worst night of your life.”

  “Exactly. And your night can’t possibly be as bad as that. Now go, feel like the beautiful woman that you are, let that big goofball spend a bunch of money on you, and have a great time.”

  “Thank you, Katie. Thank you, kids.”

  “Aunt Hope?”

  “Yes, Dominic?”

  “Can I shoot Granny in the face when we leave the bar?”

  I knelt down in front of him. “Only on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you promise to hit her right between the eyes.”

  Dominic broke out into a huge smile. “You’re the coolest princess in the world.”

  Katie winked at me. “Dominic’s right. You pretty much are. Now get out of here, Princess. Go… and have a great time.”

  Chapter 26

  Fireman Bob seemed to approve of the work Katie and the kids had done in getting me ready, because when I walked toward his pickup, his eyes about popped out of his head and he made a noise somewhere between a yeehaw and a whoopee.

  He’d made reservations for two at a fancy steak house in tourist town where the lights were low, the woodwork dark, and the menu didn’t feel the need to use dollar signs. It wasn’t until I was taking a long sip of my cabernet that the weight of the situation really struck me.

  I was on a date. A real date. Not a football game. Not a date to get information for a story. Tonight, I was just a girl wearing a cute dress and eating fancy food. And my date was even good-looking. He was possibly one of the dumbest people I’d ever met in my life, but he was also lovable, endearing, and kind. He’d even saved my life once. Sort of.

  “Thank you, Fireman Bob,” I said as he slathered butter over a chunk of warm Italian bread.

  “For what?”

  “For taking me out on a real date. It’s been a long time.”

  “A long time for a pretty girl like you? Why is that?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I plan on ordering the biggest steak they have and two or three desserts. I can handle a long story.”

  So I told him. All about Jimmy. What happened. Why I left. Why I didn’t date anybody. Why I had to come back. I told him everything. I’m not sure why I sp
illed my guts like that. Though Fireman Bob was nice enough, I wasn’t attracted to him. Not like that. But he was dumb and goofy and really really sweet, and I guess I just felt comfortable with him.

  He sat there quietly and listened. Or at least, he appeared to listen. It can be hard to tell with men. He ate his steak and his first dessert, then his second and third dessert. And it was nice to talk to someone other than Katie. It was really nice to talk to a man.

  When I finally finished, he sat there for a minute as if he was letting his brain process it all. Then finally, he said, “So you seriously haven’t been on a single real date in ten years?”

  “More like twelve.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Whoa is right.”

  “Does that increase my chances that we’ll make out at the end of the night?”

  “It probably decreases your chances, I’m afraid.”

  “Would another bottle of wine make a difference?”

  I laughed. “Honestly? It might.”

  After dinner, we walked up and down Main Street, and I listened to the Fireman Bob story. He told me how he grew up in a small town forty miles east. Always wanted to be a firefighter. Loved playing football growing up. Fell in love with Hopeless when he went rafting down the Moose River one year. Got on with the fire department a few years back. And the rest was history.

  He told me about his job. About living at the firehouse. Some of the close calls he’d had. Some of the bad things he’d seen.

  “But no matter what, I’m doing what I love. I was born to be a firefighter.”

  “I hope so, since your mother named you Fireman Bob.”

  “Oh, that’s not actually my legal name. Just Bob.”

  “I know.”

  “Ahh, you’re joking with me.”

  “I do that sometimes. Can I ask you something else about your job?”

  “Shoot.”

  “How well do you know Chief Albrecht?”

  “It’s a small town and a small department, and he’s my chief. I know him.”

  “But you’re frowning. You’re never frowning.”

  “Let’s just say the chief and I don’t get along very well.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “And I didn’t want to go on a date when I got home from work three hours ago, yet here I am.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Can you keep this between us?”

  “I’m a reporter. Keeping my sources confidential is sort of my stock in trade.”

  “I have no idea what you just said but I hope it was English for ‘I can keep a secret.’ The deal is, Chief Albrecht… he’s kind of an idiot.”

  I stopped and looked at Fireman Bob to see if he might be joking. He wasn’t. But the look on his face did say something else. That the irony of him calling someone else an idiot was not lost on him. Even if there was almost no chance he knew what the word irony meant.

  “I know I can be a bit of a goofball,” he said, “but when it comes to my job, I know what I’m doing. I take my work very seriously.”

  “And Chief Albrecht doesn’t know what he’s doing?”

  “Not always.”

  “Can you be specific?”

  “Take that fire at the florist. Me and the boys don’t think it was arson.”

  “Then why does Chief Albrecht?”

  Bob gave me a blank look.

  “Oh, right. Because he’s an idiot.”

  “Look, he says it’s a fast fire, and maybe it was. But that doesn’t make it arson. A fast fire might indicate the presence of an accelerant, but there are other explanations.”

  “All of a sudden you sound like a professor.”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, I take my job seriously. And I take arson seriously. You can’t just say, oh, we can’t find the source of the fire and so it must be arson. You have to keep searching. And what’s worse, he’s done it before.”

  “He has?”

  Fireman Bob raised both eyebrows. “Plenty of times.”

  “I think you need to tell me exactly what you’re talking about.”

  And so, as we continued to walk through Hopeless, Fireman Bob did. He told me about how Chief Albrecht had accused people of arson many times in the past. Bob and the rest of the guys would tell him he was wrong, but he wouldn't listen. This had happened five or six times over the last four years.

  “And that’s a lot?” I asked.

  “It’s rare that we can’t find the source of a fire—usually me and the guys can figure it out. But in those cases where it takes a real investigation, he’s the one who does it… and somehow, it’s always arson.”

  “Have you ever thought that Chief Albrecht isn’t really an idiot?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe there’s some other reason he’s ruling these fires arson.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I have no earthly idea.”

  “Well, you’ve got bigger crimes to solve, anyway. Rumor is you accused Susan Mossback and Coach Duncan of murdering Randall Mossback.”

  “How did you know that?”

  He shrugged. “Small town.”

  “I may have. Sometimes shaking things up has a way of getting actual information to fall out.”

  “And did it?”

  “I was able to get Susan Mossback to slap me.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Whoa is right. You can still see her palm print if you look really closely.”

  Bob leaned in close. Close enough for me to smell his breath. And close enough for my heart to start beating quickly. I wasn’t attracted to Bob, but he was a good-looking guy, and other than that moment on the couch with Sheriff Kramer, I hadn’t been close to a good-looking guy, not like this, in a very long time. It made me nervous.

  “So that’s what that is,” he said.

  “You mean you really can see it?”

  He leaned back and smiled. “Only a little. So, any other leads?”

  “Well, let’s see. I talked to Mason Hawes, the coach at Mound City. I talked to Coach Williams and Coach Edwards. I talked to players on the team. I talked to the principal. I talked with teachers. Everyone says the same thing. Football genius. Kind of a jerk. But as long as we win a championship, who really cares?”

  “That’s how it was when I was in high school.”

  “Was your coach kind of like Coach Mossback?”

  He gave me a confused look. “My coach was Coach Mossback.”

  “Wait, Fireman Bob, are you serious? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I thought you knew. I played for Coach at Eden Park ten, twelve years ago. We won the state championship my senior year, and when he did, everyone forgave him.”

  “For what?”

  “For being a jerk. He’s a nightmare as a person. Those two-a-day practices were brutal. I’ll tell you, everyone wanted to kill him during two-a-days. If there was a worse training camp in America, I’d like to see it. And the worst part was the last day of camp. Coach ran us through this one drill and… let’s just say it was pretty horrible.”

  I stopped and grabbed his arm. “Let me guess. Everyone gets in a circle and beats the crap out of each other, and then the last guy standing picks some poor kid to get duct-taped to the goalposts.”

  “You’ve heard about it.”

  “From the assistant coaches. Apparently, Coach did Tough Guy the first year he was in Hopeless but hasn’t done it since.”

  Fireman Bob’s face was awash in confusion. “What’s Tough Guy?”

  “The drill we’re talking about. Coach Mossback called it Tough Guy.”

  Fireman Bob shook his head. “No he didn’t.”

  “That’s what the coaches told me. And it’s what Elliot Sunderland told me as well.”

  “Well then Coach must have changed the name, because that’s not what he called it back when I played.”

  “What was it called back then?” I asked.

&nbs
p; Fireman Bob chuckled a bit to himself and then looked off to his left as if he was capturing a memory. Then he looked back at me.

  “Bad Man. That drill was called Bad Man.”

  I let out a small gasp. Fireman Bob was the last person I expected to provide a potentially important clue in this case.

  He noticed the change in me immediately. “Did that mean something to you, or are you just really excited to make out with me?”

  I laughed. “Fireman Bob, you really are a good guy, and I can’t thank you enough for taking me out on such a nice date. I had a great time. But you do know that we are never going to make out, right?”

  He shrugged. “I had a feeling. But, what can I say, a guy can hope. I was really thinking that mutual hotness thing might seal the deal.”

  “Oh, it almost did, for sure. And I’m sure there are a lot of girls out there, many far hotter than I, who would absolutely love to make out with you.”

  “You think so?”

  I leaned in and gave Fireman Bob a hug.

  “I know so.”

  Chapter 27

  I was parked in front of the coach’s office Friday morning when Bruce Edwards showed up for work. He was wearing school colors and a baseball cap. His eyes were bloodshot. He barely acknowledged me.

  “You don’t look so good,” I said.

  “Don’t feel so good. Steve and I were up all night trying to figure out this game plan, and honestly, I’m freaking out. We do our final walkthrough this afternoon. We’re out of time.”

  “Maybe under the circumstances, the athletic commission would postpone the game?”

  “They’re already doing us a favor by moving the game to our home field. People in Mound City were none too happy about that by the way. Understandably. Anyway, no chance we get extra time. What are you doing here this morning?”

  “I wanted to ask you a follow-up question about that drill you were talking about.”

  “You’re not gonna get me in trouble, are you?”

  “As stupid as that drill was, no, I’m not trying to get you in trouble. But I am curious. You said the drill was called Tough Guy.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did it ever have another name?”

  “Tough Guy’s what we always called it. Well, I guess, except for that very first year I was in Crete City.” He looked up and to his left as if he was accessing some long-term memory. “Then we called it Bad Man.”