by Tim Tharp
“Yeah, we know where it is.”
“Well, he's got a big white pickup with an eagle decal spread out on the back window. And if he ain't at the pavilion, check the little dirt road that runs alongside the lake out there. That's where he likes to go parking.”
“Shawna!” the brunette said, her eyes flared up wide. “How do you know that's where he likes to go parking?”
Shawna didn't answer that. She just stared in at Blaine and said, “And I want you to do me a favor too. You tell him it was me that told you where he was.”
“Sure thing,” he said. He started to roll the window up but stopped for a second. “You know what? You all oughta hang around. Who knows, we might stop back by when we get done and show you Okalah girls what a real football player is.” He gave a wink, rolled the window on up, and pulled off.
“I don't want to stop back by here,” I told him.
“Why not? Them girls ain't half bad.”
“I just don't want to, that's all.”
“Hey,” he said, opening hisself up another beer. “You back me up with what I gotta do with Covey, and we'll go wherever you want to after that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
It was almost midnight by the time we got out to the lake. I was thinking about me and Sara's early-morning walk in the country, counting down the hours of sleep I could still get, when the little pavilion come into view, snuggled back in the scrub oaks on the left side of the road. Between a couple posts, someone had strung up a homemade paper sign with the score of the game scrawled across it in red spray paint, and next to that, they had them a pitiful-looking cartoon of a knight hanging from a stick-figure gallows pole.
“What do you think they'd do if I put a shotgun blast through that little sign of theirs?” Blaine asked.
“Probably run and tell the police.”
“Let 'em.”
Citronella eased down the bumpy road, and next thing you know, we seen a little bonfire flaring up in among the twisted trees. You could hear a whoop and a fit of laughing coming from off that way, but you couldn't see nothing more than the black silhouettes of the kids moving around in front of the flames. Truck after truck was parked along the roadside, but not a one of them had an eagle decal stretched out across the back window.
“I got a bad feeling about this,” I said. “I think we oughta just head on back home.”
“You need to get off that kick about going home,” Blaine said. “We can't go back now.”
“Why not?”
“We just can't.”
We kept on bouncing down the dirt road, the moon shining on Citronella's hood, black shadows of tree limbs making patterns in the pale light. The sounds of the party faded off behind us, and finally we come to the dirt road that circled the lake.
“This must be the road that girl was talking about,” Blaine said, easing to a stop. “Wait here. I'll take a little reconnaissance run up ahead to see if she was telling the truth about our buddy Covey going parking down there.”
He climbed out and, real quiet, snuck down the road and around the turn. Soon as he was out of sight, first thing I done was I reached behind the seat, pulled up his .410, and slid that smooth little red shell out of the chamber and stuffed it in my jacket pocket. The way I figured it, no one was going to kill any more signs tonight. Or anything else.
I rolled down the window and took a deep breath. This wasn't where I wanted to be. Not one bit. My life had been changing the last few weeks, opening up in front of me like it never done before. The way I thought, the ideas that run through my mind when I was by myself, was starting to make more sense. The reason how come wasn't clear to me yet, but I felt like I'd started down a new road somehow. But now here I was on the outskirts of a foreign town, staring through Citronella's cracked windshield. The day I had planned with Sara was a long ways away, and this dark road that Blaine led us down wasn't the one I wanted to be on.
Only a couple minutes went by before he come creeping back into view. I tried to think of one more argument for turning around and heading home, but I knew my real best chance was if he didn't find no trace of Covey Wallace. The hope for that pretty much dried up, though, as soon as Blaine opened the door and gave me the biggest mean grin I'd seen on him yet.
“We got our man,” he said. “Come on, let's go.”
I stared out the front window. “I been doing some thinking. Why don't we just leave it alone. I mean, we got beat. So what? It's not the end of the world.”
“Maybe not for you.” Blaine looked away, then back. “But forget it. You stay here. I'll do it by myself. And when we get back home, I'll just tell folks you couldn't be bothered with sticking up for the honor of the team. You just said, 'Forget the Kennisaw Knights. They don't mean nothing to me.' That's what I'll tell 'em.”
“You know that ain't true.”
Blaine reached in and pulled the driver's seat forward. “Yep, I'll tell everyone now that you're a cinch to get you some big OU scholarship and everything, you couldn't care less about the old Kennisaw gang. Forget your old friends. You got bigger plans.” He pulled the .410 from behind the seat and cradled it in his arm.
“What are you getting that thing out for?” I asked him.
“If you ain't gonna back me up, I'm gonna take some backup of my own.”
I didn't like the sound of that. “Look,” I said, “I didn't say I wouldn't go with you. I just don't think this is the way to handle it.”
Blaine looked down towards the lake. “I ain't asking you for a vote. You can come or not. That's up to you.” He shut the door.
“Aw hell,” I said to myself, and opened my door up.
“Attaboy, Mamboosala,” he said, shooting a grin my way. “Welcome back to the team.”
“Don't call me Mamboosala,” I told him.
At the crossroads, we turned south. Off to the left, the lake stretched out smooth and silvery black under the bright moon, and on the far shoreline, trees rose up like dark clouds of smoke. The rank old smell of dead fish wafted up from the bank. Behind us the road run long and straight, but the way we was headed was crooked, a sharp curve hiding what was to come.
So far, there wasn't no sign of Covey's truck, but when we rounded the curve, I seen it, first just the tail end jutting out from behind the brush, and then as we drew up closer, the wings of that eagle decal spreading wide across the back window. My stomach felt about like it dropped through a dark dungeon trapdoor when I seen that.
“There's our boy,” Blaine said. “Keep low and close to the side of the road and don't make no noise.” He sounded just like he did when we played army games as kids and he was the sergeant telling me what to do.
Real slow, we moved on up towards the pickup till, some thirty yards away, I heard someone whistling a country tune. There he was on the far side of the pickup. His back was turned but his thick neck and blond crew cut gave him away. A few yards closer, you could hear the trickle of water against the ground.
“He's taking a piss,” Blaine whispered. “This is perfect. Watch me put the fear of God into this fool.”
Holding the shotgun with the barrel pointed down towards the road, Blaine circled the truck, waving for me to come up on the other side. Covey's shoulders shrugged as he hitched up his pants.
“Surprise!” Blaine shouted, swinging up the barrel of the gun.
“What the hell?” Covey staggered back a couple steps. His letter jacket was unbuttoned down the front, and he wasn't wearing no shirt underneath.
“It's judgment day,” Blaine said. “Now step away from the truck over there. Hamp, come on around here and help me watch our good buddy here.”
I walked around the truck, but if Blaine wanted me to look like some kind of tough henchman thug, then he was in for a disappointment.
“What's going on out there?” a voice called from inside the truck. It sounded familiar.
“Tell your girlfriend to come on out,” Blaine ordered.
“No way,” Covey said. He
started forward, but Blaine jabbed the gun barrel his way, and he stopped short.
“Hey, you in there,” Blaine called over his shoulder. “Come on out here. We got something for you.”
“Okay,” the girl's voice said. “Hold your horses.”
The driver's side door was already open, and it jostled a little as the girl slid out.
Blaine laughed. “I should've known. Misty damn Koonce. Live and in person.”
“Blaine, you idiot,” she said. “What are you doing here?” She wore a white sweater and her Rockies blue jeans and she was barefoot. Her blond hair was messed up on one side, but she still looked real pretty in the moonlight.
Right away, I wanted to tell her it was all just a joke to keep her from getting scared, but at the same time, I was mad at her for being here with Covey. Ain't that the craziest thing? There shouldn't have been reason one for it to matter one way or the other to me, but when it come to girls, there's been more times than I can count when my feelings didn't make a lick of sense.
“Your sweater's inside out,” Blaine told her.
“No, it's not,” she said, checking it anyways.
“Made you look.” Blaine's voice had more sour in it than fun, though.
Covey stepped over and put his arm around her. “Look,” he said. “You guys lost the game. Why don't you just take it like a couple of men?”
That called Misty's attention over my way for the first time. She shook her head. “I wouldn't have expected something like this out of you, Hampton Green, but I guess wherever Blaine goes, you gotta go too.”
I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and looked away.
“Hamp don't care what you think about him,” Blaine said, stepping over as casual as you please towards Covey. He was holding the shotgun crossways close to his chest now. “We're only out here for one reason, and you know what it is.”
“ 'Cause you're losers?” Covey didn't step back an inch this time.
“The boy's a smartass.” Blaine glanced my way, then looked along the barrel of the .410, pretending to wipe something off the sight.
“Hey, y'all,” Misty said. “I'm hungry. You got any money? I could sure use some pizza. I don't have my purse on me, and Covey spent all his money on his stupid beer.”
“We're not out here to give you charity,” Blaine told her.
“All the pizza places are closed by now,” I put in, trying to sound sympathetic about it.
“Well,” she said, tilting her head sideways in that cute way she had, “maybe they got some weenies left up at the bonfire. I like them weenies when they're good and crispy. You know, kinda black and split down the middle. I'd eat 'em straight off the stick that way. Maybe dunk 'em in ketchup first if they got any.”
“Shut the hell up!” Blaine waved the gun barrel in her direction, not so much threatening as just for emphasis. “In case you ain't noticed, we got some serious business to transact here.”
“God.” Misty rolled her eyes. “What's got you in such a bad mood?”
Covey squeezed her shoulder. “I'll tell you why they're in a bad mood. They got a bug up their ass 'cause they're fixing to go down in history as the team that blew the big five-undefeated-season record. Ain't that right, Keller?”
Blaine pointed the .410 square at Covey's white stomach now. And this time there wasn't no doubt he meant it for a threat. “You know what you pulled there at the end, Wallace. You know it and I know it. Why don't you tell her?”
Old Covey just gave him a smirk back, though. “I ain't telling nobody nothing. Now you better put that little six-year-old's gun up before you get yourself in some real trouble 'cause—I'll tell you what—my cousin's on the police force here, and they don't put up with idiots coming in from Kennisaw waving guns around.”
“Well,” Blaine said, “if you ain't gonna tell it, then I sure don't mind telling it myself. Your boyfriend here spit in my face after I made us a first down out there tonight.” He aimed the words at Misty, but it sounded like he could've been talking to the whole town of Kennisaw. “That's how come I hit him. If anyone'd seen what really happened, they never would've called a penalty on me or kicked me out of the game, and I'd be at my own hometown party right now.”
“Tell him about playing the down over,” I said. “Tell him about fifth and ten for letter jackets. That's all we come out here for.”
Blaine shook his head. “I think it's a little late for fifth and ten.”
“What's fifth and ten?” Misty said. I swear, that girl could sound chipper in the middle of a hurricane.
“Don't pay no attention to 'em,” Covey told her. “They ain't gonna do nothing. Keller ain't got the balls or he wouldn't be out here with a little old .410 popgun.”
“You just said the wrong thing.” Blaine's voice was so cold now it even gave me the chills. “You're gonna be the one with no balls if you don't own up to what you done and apologize.” He lowered the gun barrel so's it pointed just below Covey's silver belt buckle.
Covey stood his ground, though. “Hell, I ain't apologizing to no one, especially not you.”
“You got ten seconds. Just apologize and say you really lost the game. That's all.”
“Blaine,” I said, stepping up next to him. “Come on, son.”
Misty leaned in close to Covey's side. “I don't like this.” All the shine was wore off her voice now. “This ain't funny anymore.”
“Sure it is,” Covey told her. “Everything Keller does is funny 'cause he's the joke of the whole county. That's all he's gonna be from here on out.”
“Hey,” I said. “You don't got no right talking like that.” I glanced at Blaine, but he only stared straight on ahead.
The barrel of the .410 stuck out just a few yards from Covey, smooth and blue-black without a pinch of sparkle anywheres on it.
“Apologize,” Blaine said through gritted teeth.
Covey just threw him another lopsided smirk. “Forget it.”
“Apologize.”
I was busy squeezing the shell I took out of that .410 so hard it's a wonder it didn't explode in my pocket. Still, staring down at his hand against the dark metal of the gun, I couldn't think nothing but Don't do it, don't do it, don't squeeze that trigger.
“Come on, Misty,” Covey said, trying to sound bored. “We done wasted too much time on these zeroes already.”
“You ain't going nowhere,” Blaine said.
“Who's gonna stop me? You sure ain't man enough to do it.”
Blaine's finger held taut against the curve of the trigger. There was something strange about it, foreign, like it couldn't really be a part of the same boy I met that Fourth of July at Leonard Biggins Park.
Don't do it, I kept thinking. Don't do it. Almost like a prayer.
For a second, his finger relaxed, the coil of it melting away a little, and I thought maybe things would turn back to something more familiar, but they didn't. Instead, that finger curled up again, and there wasn't nothing I could do before it jerked back with one quick snap. The hammer kicked against the firing pin, and a hollow metal clack echoed out across the lake.
And time stopped.
It was Misty froze there in her bare feet, the moonlight silvery on her hair, and Covey next to her, his red letter jacket hanging open, his white stomach pooching through, his fists clenched, and his chin poked out. It was Blaine gripping that old shotgun he'd slipped a shell into less than an hour ago. Our whole past was there too—the past that was and the pasts that could've been—and the futures that might come. And I seen how I needed to be there. Right in that moment, I was the best friend Blaine ever had, but not for the reasons either one of us believed in coming out to this place.
“Ha!” Covey laughed. “I knew that thing wasn't loaded.”
Blaine stared down at the gun like it played him a dirty trick.
“I swear,” Covey went on. “If it wasn't two of you fools here, I'd beat you silly, Keller.”
“Shut up!” Blaine hollered. “I'm done
messing with you.” He swung the gun back like a baseball bat, ready to whup it into Covey's big white face, but I already predicted it and caught ahold of the barrel and ripped the thing out of his hands before he could start it back around.
“What the hell are you doing?” he screamed at me, red-faced and near to bawling.
I looked him in the eye. “It's time to head home.”
“You don't tell me when it's time to go home.”
“It's over.”
“No it ain't.” He grabbed at the gun, but I heaved it over his head into the high grass along the lake.
“You're a damn Judas,” he said. I never seen him look so mad as right then. “You know that? Judas down to the bone. You might as well do what he done and go hang yourself from one of these trees.” He glanced off for a second towards where I thrown his gun, but that was just a decoy before he whipped back around, his fist flying straight for my mouth. I seen that one coming too, though, and blocked it with my left forearm. With my right hand, I grabbed a fistful of his letter jacket and slung him down on the road. He tried to scramble up, but it was too late. I was on his back, pressing his arms hard against the dirt.
“Get off me,” he hollered. “Get off me, you backstabbing sonofabitch.” He struggled and twisted, but I always was the stronger one.
“Let him up, and I'll take over.” Covey was standing right over us. “I owe him one.”
“You stay back,” I warned him. “You just take Misty and get in your truck and get out of here.”
“Let me up!” Blaine sputtered.
Covey looked down at Blaine and then at me, sizing up what he ought to do.
“Come on,” Misty told him. “Let's go. You don't want to mess with Hampton.”
For a moment longer, he stared down, but he didn't make a move. “I ain't got nothing against you, Hampton. But I don't want to see Keller over here in our town no more. You all got that?”
“Go on and get out of here, right now.” I stared him a hard one straight in the eye. “Get in your truck and move on or you're gonna wish you did.”
