Without realizing it, Bucky lowered his voice, even though the house was empty. “I saw Volker out in the parking lot after the game, just walkin’ off by himself. So I followed him, real slow, in my car.”
“And?”
“He went across the street, and those same two guys were there.”
“You’re kidding.” Dan snapped to attention. “Even after Coach read him the riot act?”
“Yup.”
Dan whistled. “Man, that Bill’s dumber’n a fence post. What’s the matter with that guy?” He was lost in thought for a moment. “I’ll bet they were mad the way the game came out. Wonder how much they lost?”
“That’s just it!” Bucky cut in. “They paid him! Again!”
“What?”
“I swear. Just like last time. Handed him an envelope and drove off in that car of theirs.”
“What in the . . .” Dan’s voice trailed off. “I can’t figure out . . .”
“Why would they be giving him anything after a game like this?” Bucky demanded. “I mean, we lost.”
Dan considered the options. “If the Vikings had been favored to win by five or six points, then they could have still won betting on the Panthers, since we only lost by one. But I’m sure we were the favorites to win, not them. Everybody knows we’re a better team.”
“I know.” Outside Bucky could hear the garage door swinging up. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Anyway, old Volker wasn’t even in the game at the end. I mean, he wasn’t even a factor either way. I was thinking afterward, maybe that’s why Coach let him sit it out. Just to take him out of the equation,” Dan thought out loud.
Mom and Rachel Marie, both of them dampened by the November rain, rushed into the hallway, their arms full of grocery bags. Mom waved her fingers at her son before heading into the kitchen.
“I just had a mean thought,” Dan put in suddenly.
“What?”
“Maybe those same guys were betting on us to lose tonight. I mean, no reason they should bet us to win all the time. If they bet us to lose, then they won their bets, and they still give old Bill his party money. Just like always.”
“For doin’ what?” It was a chilling thought.
“I don’t know.” Dan’s voice betrayed uncertainty. “For sitting on the bench when we needed him most.”
“Brayshaw did that, not him.”
“Yeah. That’s true.”
Bucky weighed the situation. “Wait a minute,” he said abruptly, a trace of reluctance in his voice. “Maybe Bill was all set up to help them by making us lose. Then when Coach sat him down, and the team lost, those guys paid him off anyway.”
“Oh, man.” Dan’s voice was low and unbelieving. “I can’t believe Volker’d do anything like that. At least, he said he never would.”
“Before Brayshaw chewed him out,” Bucky pointed out.
Outside it was raining harder now. Dan groaned. “I still can’t believe this is real. I mean, we were set to go all the way.”
“We still can,” Bucky interjected, “if Bill would just clean up his act.”
Dan sighed. “Well, hey, happy Thanksgiving.” The words were a growl.
“Really.” Bucky paused. “You want to get together Friday and do anything?”
A moment of hesitation. “Well, I got a lot of stuff to do.” Dan coughed. “I really better stick to it.”
Bucky frowned to himself. “Sure. Whatever.”
“Hey, listen. Don’t sweat all this stuff,” Dan said quickly. “I mean, we still got the team, man. Just one loss.”
“Yeah.” Bucky took a breath. “But if what we think is happening is happening – there’s gonna be more of them before we’re through.”
Thanksgiving morning puddles from the steady overnight downpour filled the front yard. Intermittent showers punctuated the morning football games, as Bucky listlessly watched the traditional Dallas Cowboys contest. Dad, shuttling between the living room and the garage, gave his son a quizzical look but said nothing. It was still raining when the four of them sat down to the long - awaited dinner. Rachel Marie, wearing a cute formal dress, lit the two long candles that decorated the festively - set table.
“This looks really great,” Bucky said, trying to cheer himself up.
“Well, good!” Mom glanced over at him. “Why don’t you say the blessing, honey?”
The food disappeared, along with a slice - and - a - half of pie. Feeling better, Bucky scooped up dishes and napkins and helped his mother clear the table. Even Dad pitched in.
“Now what?” Rachel Marie zoomed through the living room holding a plastic airplane aloft. Purposely crashing it into her older brother, she made explosion noises as the ill - fated airliner plummeted to earth.
“Come on, squirt. Leave me alone,” he sighed.
She gave him a haughty look and picked up her plane. “How come you’re mad today?”
“I don’t know.” His face softened. “Sorry.”
His sister looked down at the little airplane and imitated a jet roar again. “I guess it didn’t crash after all.” Swirling it over her head, she swooped out into the hallway. Bucky smiled in spite of himself.
“What to do?” He looked out the picture window where stray drops were slowly spreading ripple patterns across the puddles. Suddenly he knew what he wanted to do more than anything.
Going to the study where he knew he could be uninterrupted, he carefully closed the door and punched in Lisa’s number. “Don’t let her mom answer,” he muttered to himself.
“Hello.” The familiar voice crackled in his ear.
“Lisa?” Even though he knew it was her, a strange formality seemed to separate them now.
“Hey.” Her voice was even, not hostile.
“How’s your Thanksgiving going?”
“Oh, not bad. We just finished dinner so I’m full of turkey.”
He grinned to himself. “There must be some joke I could make about that. ‘You are what you eat’ or something similar.”
She laughed, sounding a lot like her old self. “Very humorous.”
Bucky took a breath. “You sound happier than the last time I talked to you.”
For several seconds she didn’t say anything. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ve stopped throwing things at all the Bucky Stone pictures I had up on the walls here.”
“Oh, really? That’s good.”
She laughed again. All at once, the barriers from August seemed to wash away in the winter rain. Bucky sat huddled in the big chair in the study, pouring out all the frustrations of his junior year.
Lisa listened attentively as he described the basketball season, his aborted romance with Deirdre, even the details of the Thailand mission trip. Her characteristic giggle seemed subdued when he described how God had saved him when he had gotten lost in Bangkok.
“Did you think about me at all while you were over there?” she chided, half - teasing.
“Sure, I’ve never stopped thinking about you.”
“I think about you too,” she confessed. “Even after, you know, what happened at the airport. I just couldn’t help being mad right then, but I really did miss you so much.”
“Yeah.” So many memories began to flood back. With a guilty glance at his watch, he realized they’d been on the phone for almost forty-five minutes. It’s a holiday. Minutes are free, he reminded himself.
“I sure wish I could see you again.” His words came without warning.
She didn’t respond for a moment. “That’d be nice,” she said at last. Then she giggled. “Well, come on up!”
“Are you serious?”
She laughed again. “How far is it?”
“Well, you’re the one who made the trip. How long did it take you?”
“Oh, ‘bout eleven hours. Of course, that was in a car with about nine thousand pounds of junk in it.”
Bucky glanced at his watch again. “Well, it’s 4:00 p.m. now. Four plus eleven . . . I’ll be there about 3:00 in the morning. Maybe 3
:30 if I need a restroom stop.”
“We’ll leave the light on for you.” She mimicked the old Motel 6 radio commercial.
“Oh, I can’t,” he sighed. “But it’d sure be great.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t think my folks are dying to have you as a house guest yet.”
“Are they still mad at me?”
She sniffed. “Well, you know how they were before. And of course, after you broke my heart in Portland, and I was going around the house sayin’, ‘I’m gonna kill that guy,’ that didn’t endear them to you much.”
“Oh, yeah.” He couldn’t think of anything more brilliant.
“How about Christmas?” she said suddenly.
“What?”
“Come see me at Christmas.” The words, spoken quietly, hung in the air between them.
“Are you serious?”
A pause. “I sure am.”
“What about your folks?”
She laughed. “That would give me a month to soften them up. And if I can’t win ‘em over, I’ll just have to sneak you in the window. Along around midnight. Big boy.” She said the last in a sultry voice.
Bucky tingled. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “You might have just made my whole Thanksgiving, sweet thing.”
Chapter Eight: High Noon
Sunday afternoon Bucky and Rachel Marie ambled lazily through the mall. Crowds of people scurried in every direction, taking advantage of the post - Thanksgiving sales. “Jingle Bells” and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” tinkled from loudspeakers all through the huge shopping complex.
“Look! Santa Claus!” Rachel Marie tugged at her brother’s sweatshirt. “Let’s go see him.”
“OK.” Bucky felt a lot better than he had in several months. The phone conversation with Lisa had buoyed up his spirits considerably. Maybe a long - distance romance was hard, but it was certainly more than anything else he had going here in Hampton Beach.
“Hi, Santa!” His little sister bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet, waving to the red - clad store employee who was perching a little Hispanic child on his lap. Rachel Marie bubbled happily as she watched the holiday shoppers lining up with their children for pictures. “Can we go sit on his lap?”
“Not unless we want to have your picture taken with Santa Claus,” he pointed out.
“OK. I want to.”
“It costs money, silly.”
“Huh uh.” Her pigtails waved vigorously as she shook her head.
“Yes, sir. Look. $16.50.”
The third grader stuck out her lower lip. “Poooey.”
He gave her head a gentle rap. “At least you got to see him.”
“I know.” She watched a moment longer, then reluctantly turned away to look at a huge display of TV cartoon dolls. Suddenly she pointed. “Look, there’s that girl you used to like.”
“Where?” The mention of girls startled him.
“Right there. And that guy who comes to church with us.”
“Huh?” Bucky looked in the direction she indicated. Sure enough, seated in the Carl’s Jr. restaurant booth was Deirdre, sipping at a tall soda. Food wrappings and a package from Penney’s were scattered all over the table.
Seated across from her . . . was Dan Litton. A frown furrowed Bucky’s brow. What in the world?
“Is she his girlfriend now?”
“Shhhh.”
“Is she?”
“I don’t know.” Bucky still couldn’t believe his eyes. How long had this been going on?
Involuntarily he took a step closer to the fast-food restaurant where the couple was engrossed in playful conversation. With a strange flutter in his heart he watched as Deirdre held a bite of hamburger aloft, teasing Dan before popping it into his mouth.
“Bucky, let’s go.” Rachel Marie tugged at his arm.
“Just a sec.” He stood transfixed as Deirdre half - rose out of her seat and gave Dan a lingering kiss before playfully tweaking his nose.
“Come on!”
Reluctantly he tore himself away, the fragile hopes of the weekend soured. Even though he and Deirdre were as busted up as could be . . . even though Thursday’s phone call with Lisa had maybe signaled new possibilities . . . the abrupt images of Dan with Deirdre left him shaken.
“Let’s go!” he snapped, walking rapidly away from the mall’s central area where Santa Claus and his helpers were still plying the holiday crowds.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel Marie scurried to keep up with him as they went out into the parking lot. “I can’t walk that fast!”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he retorted. “Come on, let’s go home.” Shoving her into the front seat, he angrily gunned the car toward an exit, the Toyota’s tires squealing in protest.
• • • • •
Monday afternoon’s basketball practice was a sullen affair as the Panthers tried to regroup after the shattering loss to the underdog Vikings. Coach Brayshaw ran the team hard on pass drills, his biting shouts echoing off the concrete walls.
“Boy, is he steamed up or what?” Dan muttered as the team clattered heavily down the floor after yet another fast - break basket.
“Guess he figures we deserve it,” Bucky sighed, perspiration streaming down his face. He looked over at Dan, unspoken questions still flooding his mind.
Finally the buzzer signaled the end of the practice session. Flopping down on the hardwood floor, Dan gazed wearily at the rafters, his face ruddier than usual.
“Litton. Stone. Volker. In my office. The rest of you – that’s it for today. Tomorrow we gotta bounce back and win!” Coach strode toward his office wearing a determined expression.
The startled players looked at each other. Bucky gave an “I don’t know” shrug, carefully avoiding Volker’s smoldering gaze. “Beats me,” he murmured.
The three athletes, their uniforms still sticking to their skin, slipped into the tiny cubicle. Dan and Bill sat in the two available chairs. Bucky, after a moment’s hesitation, eased himself down to a sitting position on the floor.
Brayshaw looked from one to the other before speaking. “I’m going to lay it on the line for you men,” he said without fanfare. “And we’re going to resolve this business without any screaming at each other. Man to man.” His eyes bore in on Bill.
“What . . . what’s up, Coach?” The sweaty guard spoke reluctantly.
“This business of collecting money from people betting on the games. I told you, Volker – no more! That’s just plain wrong. And stupid too!” A flush began to creep into the older man’s face.
“I quit! Like you told me.”
“That’s not what I hear.” Mr. Brayshaw leaned toward the guard, pointing a finger at him. “I understand you collected again after the Viking game. After we lost!” His sentences came in little bursts. “And I want to know right now – what for? What are these guys paying you for when we lose?”
“What? What are you talking about?” Bill’s voice rose. “I told you I quit!”
“And Stone here says you didn’t!” Bucky’s head jerked up at the sound of his name. “He called me right before vacation. Says he saw those same two guys handing you cash again. I’m tellin’ you right now – come clean! What were they paying you for . . . after a loss?”
Bucky’s head began to spin. After talking to Dan, he had called the coach, hoping that Brayshaw could somehow resolve the problem without dragging him further into the quagmire. He realized that the man didn’t have any other ammunition to fight with.
“He’s lying!” Venom flared in Bill’s eyes as he glared at the tall forward. “I never saw those guys again. Anyway, I didn’t even play the last quarter of the Viking game, and you know it!”
“I saw you.” Bucky could feel his heartbeat race as he faced the diminutive player. “You went down the street, then turned up Johnson Avenue, and those guys were there. I saw them give you an envelope again.”
“No way!” Bill directed his protest toward the
coach. “I’m tellin’ you the truth. After you talked to me, that was the end of it. I told those guys to forget it.”
A long silence filled the air. Coach Brayshaw looked from one to the other. “You got anything to add, Litton?”
Dan gulped. “It’s like Bucky said, Coach. He called me and told me the same thing.”
“Man . . . you two guys.” Bill spat out the words in disgust. “You’re just mad about . . .” His voice trailed off. “I don’t know . . . what’s got you so bent out of shape.” He looked at Brayshaw again. “I’m telling you, Coach, Stone’s just makin’ this up. For whatever reason.”
The coach stared at him. “Volker,” he said at last, “I gotta tell you. If I have to choose between believing Stone or believing you, you know I’m going to go with Stone.”
“How come?” Bill half-rose in his chair.
“Why do you think?” Brayshaw snorted. “You’ve already shown me that you’re crooked, taking this gambling money.” His voice softened. “And Stone here – everybody at Hampton High knows what kind of man he is.” A tiny thrill went through Bucky at the compliment.
“Yeah?” Volker glared at Bucky again. “He’s a big fake, that’s what he is.”
“He’s honest,” the coach snapped. “He’s the one kid on this whole campus I know I can really trust a hundred percent.” The man paused for a moment. “Well, him and now Dan, too.”
The last words hung in the air. The two Christian ballplayers looked at each other sheepishly.
“What are you going to do?” At last Dan found words.
Mr. Brayshaw stood, towering over the three boys. “OK,” he managed at last, “this is what’s happening.” He looked down at Bill. “Volker, you are through with these guys, whoever they are. And I mean, right now! You’re not to see them, talk to them, take even a . . . candy bar from them! Have you got that?”
The stubby guard nodded glumly.
Coach sat back down, still breathing hard. “Now listen to me, Bill,” he continued. “What you did was just plain stupid! Really dumb. But if you straighten up, that’ll be the end of it.” He picked up a pencil and pointed it at Volker. “I’m going to tell you something, smart guy. There’s gonna be somebody watchin’ you every step of the way from here on in. On the court and off the court. Every breath you take, my friend. During every game, I’m going to have my eye on you. If I think you’re messing with the score in any way at all – up or down – I’ll pull you out so fast your shorts will fall off. And . . .” Setting the pencil down, he took a deep breath. “One more mess - up, kid, and I’ll pick up this phone and call the police.”
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 58
