from the Listening Hills (Ss) (2004)

by L'amour, Louis

  Temple shrugged. "You got something there," he said wryly. "What?"

  THE STADIUM WAS jammed when the team trotted out on the field. Sitting on the bench beside Muggs Kulowski, Socks Barnaby talked to him quietly.

  "This crowd is so big, it's impersonal. You just go out there and play a careful, steady game. You'll have your chance, and if you make good, you're back in."

  Barnaby knew the huge crowd of fans hadn't come to see Eastern. There was little hope after the Pentland game that Eastern could win, and playing in Hanover backfield was Pete Tarbell, two hundred pounds of dynamite and twice an All-American. Besides that, in the Hanover line were two tackles said to be likely prospects for the All-American this year, and there was Speed Burtson, at right half, a former high school flash, and one of the most talked-of players in the college game.

  Hanover was a star-studded team. Looking at them thoughtfully, Socks found himself wondering if they weren't a little too star-studded. And he found his eyes going again and again to Tarbell in his red jersey. He had known Pete Tarbell and didn't like him.

  Kuttner kicked off to Hanover and Burtson took the ball on his own twenty yard line and ran it back to the forty yard line before he was downed by DeVries. Then Hanover began to roll.

  They came through Hunk Warren, big Eastern tackle, for two first downs. Then Tarbell came over guard for six. Tarbell tried Hunk again, but Kuttner came down fast and Tarbell was stopped dead. They passed on the third down.

  The pass was good, plenty good. Speed Burtson, living up to his name, went down the field fast, evaded Kuttner, and took the pass over his shoulder. He went over into the end zone standing up for the first score. Tarbell kicked, and Hanover had a lead of seven to nothing.

  The rest of the first quarter was murder. Eastern could hold their opponents in the line, but the Hanover aerial attack was beyond them. Twice Burtson got away for long gains, and Tarbell came around the left end and crashed into DeVries, taking him over into the end zone with him. Hanover missed the kick, but when the play was over, DeVries was on the ground. He got up and limped off the field.

  Coach Temple paled and he swore under his breath. He looked at Kulowski, then at Socks. "All right, Muggs," he said grimly. "You go in at full."

  Ryan was at quarterback for Eastern, Kulowski at full, Kuttner at left halfback and Hansen at right half.

  Socks glanced up at the stands. President Crandall was there, and the short, fat-jowled man beside him would be Erich P. Wells, head of the Alumni Association. Socks glanced at Temple and saw the big coach was kicking his toe into the turf, his face drawn. Temple had expected defeat, but this was going to be slaughter.

  The tension was getting to him. Socks wanted Kulowski to do well but he didn't have a good feeling about this game. He slid off the bench and took a walk around the stands, he had another thought but it was crazy...the coach would laugh at him....

  When he got back, Temple glowered at Socks.

  "Kulowski's fumbled once already," the coach growled. "Kuttner made a recovery."

  Socks' heart sank. Eastern was lining up again. He could see the uncertainty in the big Pole. The ball was snapped and Kuttner started around the end. Kulowski came in, hurled himself halfheartedly at Tarbell's feet as the big back lunged through. Tarbell merely sidestepped neatly, then launched himself in a tackle that brought Kuttner down with a thud they could hear on the sidelines.

  "I'm going to take that big lug out of there!" Temple barked. "He's yellow!"

  "Let me go in," he suggested. "I can make him work."

  Temple turned, staring.

  "You, Socks? Where'd you ever play football?"

  "I played against Tarbell," Socks said. "I was with the Gorman Air Base team."

  Temple looked at him cynically. "Gorman Air Base, eh? You ain't lyin'? All right, Socks, but you aren't writing poetry out there. Suit up!"

  When Socks trotted out on the field he suddenly felt as Kulowski must. It had been four years and when he looked at Hanover's big line, he felt his heart go down into his stomach. Those huge guards! And that center, as enormous as a concrete pillbox!

  Then, behind the line, Socks saw big Pete Tarbell staring at him. Then the stare changed to a wolfish smile.

  "Well, well!" he said, "if it isn't the bomber boy. What do you think this is, badminton?"

  Socks ignored him. He trotted up and grabbed Kulowski. "Listen," he said, "I'm here now, and I'm going to be playing with you. But you've got to focus...let's play this one just like out behind the barn. You can do it."

  Kulowski flushed, "I'll try," he said.

  "Crabapples!" Socks grinned. "Turn loose on these guys an' you can wreck that team. Let's go out there and bust 'em up!"

  He trotted over to Ryan and whispered for a moment. Ryan nodded, looking doubtful.

  "Okay," he said, "if Coach says so."

  KULOWSKI TOOK THE ball. For a wonder, his big fingers clamped on it and he started moving. Behind him he heard Socks' voice and saw the lean redhead move in ahead of him. Hunk had a hole and Kulowski went through, his big knees lifting high.

  Pete Tarbell saw him coming and angled over, but suddenly Socks knifed across and Tarbell hit the ground with a thud. He got up slowly, and looked at Barnaby.

  "Hi," Socks said, grinning, "how's the badminton?"

  Tarbell glowered and his face set. Kulowski had been downed on the thirty yard line. He had made six yards.

  KULOWSKI GOT UP grinning. It was the first successful thing he had ever accomplished in front of a crowd. He looked at Barnaby, and as Socks passed Ryan, Socks said, "Give it to Muggs again."

  Ryan barked the signals. Muggs Kulowski took the ball running and hit the line hard. He went through for four yards. Kulowski was getting warmed up. Ryan worked Kuttner on a reverse and he got away for ten yards before he was downed.

  Socks had thrown a wicked block into Burtson and as he got up he saw Tarbell rising shakily from the ground and glowering at Kulowski. The big Pole was grinning from ear to ear.

  The Eastern team was working now. Kulowski's face was sweat streaked and muddy, but he was still grinning. He was hitting that line with power and whenever he hit, something happened. He wasn't missing any passes, and all the fear of the crowd, the fear of being laughed at was gone. He was in there, driving, and his two hundred and twenty pounds was making itself felt.

  Eastern worked smoothly and marched down the field. They got to the thirty, and there Hanover smashed them back three times. Hanover was concentrating on Kulowski now, sensing his power and drive.

  "You think we ought to pass it?" Ryan whispered to Socks.

  "Yeah." Socks glanced around. "Give it to me in the corner."

  Socks Barnaby slid around end and went down the field fast and took the ball on the three. There Tarbell hit him like a tank, and Socks went down and rolled over. Tarbell got up.

  Ryan called for Kulowski. The big Pole tucked the ball under his arm and put his head down and drove. The Hanover line bulged, and then it gave way all of a sudden. Kulowski powered through, and they had the score.

  Socks dropped back and kicked the point. The score was 13 and 7 at the half.

  TO OPEN THE second half it was Hanover's choice, and they elected to receive. Kuttner toed the ball. Ammons, Hanover's big right tackle, took it coming fast, but Kulowski was moving and he drove the bigger Ammons back on his shoulder.

  Hanover lined up, Tarbell came plunging through, and Kulowski hit him.

  Tarbell got slowly to his feet, and he looked wonderingly at the big guy. Tarbell, twice All-American, had lost a yard on the play!

  Tarbell came in again like a battering ram and there was murder in his drive. Hunk was ready this time and he hit Tarbell at the knees, then Kulowski hit him high, and Tarbell went down, hard.

  Tarbell had lost two yards, and he was mad clear through. Socks ran back to position, laughing at the puzzled, angry face of the Hanover star.

  Then Hanover got tough. Eastern drove at the line three
times and made only three yards.

  Burtson kicked. He lived up to reputation, booting a low whirler that hit and rolled over and over. The wind helped it, but Socks finally downed the ball on the Eastern sixteen.

  They made three first downs, then Hanover got hot and swamped them. Taking Kuttner's kick, Hanover began to hammer. They sent Tarbell through the line, and ganged Hunk Warren to make the hole. They made it. Tarbell came through, his head down, driving like a locomotive, but Muggs Kulowski was coming in. He had an urge to ruin Tarbell and they both knew it. They hit hard and bounced apart, both of them shaken to the heels.

  EASTERN TOOK POSSESSION of the ball on downs and powered it straight down the field as the quarter neared its end. They got to the seven, and Kulowski had been doing most of the work. Socks took the ball off tackle with Kulowski and Ryan clearing the way, and went over the line standing up.

  Kuttner missed the point and the score was tied.

  THE LAST QUARTER opened and the big Hanover team came out for blood. They were against a team that seemed to be playing way over its head, and it had Hanover desperate for fear the mounting confidence of Eastern would smear them.

  Then it happened. It was Eastern's ball on their own forty yard line. Eastern lined up and Kulowski went off tackle for four. Then Kuttner started around the end, but Sinclair, a Hanover end, cut in for him, and with a quick shift, Kuttner went through the messup at guard, charging the center of the field.

  A huge Hanover tackler missed him, got a hand on his leg, and Kuttner spun around, staggering three steps and then went down under a rib-cracking tackle from Speed Burtson.

  They lined up and Ryan sent Kulowski through the line for four. The big fellow got up, and he grinned at Socks.

  "We're doin' it, boy!" he said. "This is fun!"

  "We got a chance," Kuttner said. "We got a good chance. It's with you, Socks, or Kulowski."

  "It's Kulowski," Socks said. "Listen, Muggs. Remember those long passes out there by the creek? You get away this time and get off down the field, but fast. Go around the left end and when you get down there, angle across the field. Wherever you are, you'll get that pass."

  Socks glanced at Ryan.

  "Okay," he said. "Let's go!" He spun on his heel and said to Muggs, "All right, let's see the deer in those big feet of yours!"

  The center snapped the ball back to Socks, and he dropped back for the pass. Kuttner started around the end, and Burtson, thinking the pass was for Kuttner, started after him. Ryan had gone through the middle, and suddenly, Socks, still falling back, saw Kulowski away off down the field. He was really running. It would be forty yards, at least.

  As a big tackle lunged toward him, Socks shot the pass in a rifling spiral that traveled like a bullet, just out of reach of leaping hands. Then Kulowski went up, the ball momentarily slipped through his hands, and a terrific groan went up from the stands, but then he recovered and was running!

  Tarbell had been playing far back, and he started slow as Kulowski came toward him. Then the big All-American's pace changed suddenly, his toes dug in and he hurled himself in a dynamite-charged tackle at Muggs.

  Kulowski made a lightninglike cross step, and at the same moment, his open hand shot out in a wicked stiff-arm, backed by all the power of those freight-handling muscles. That hand flattened against Tarbell's face and the clutching hands grasped only air.

  Two men got Kulowski on the two yard line, bringing him down with a bone-crushing jolt.

  They lined up again, and Ryan looked at Muggs and Kulowski grinned. They snapped the ball, and he went through the middle with everything he could give. They tried to hold him, but for the first time in his life, Muggs Kulowski was playing with everything he had in him. He put his head down and drove.

  With four men clinging to him, he shoved through. The ball was over.

  The rest was anticlimax. Socks Barnaby dropped back and booted the ball through the goal posts, and the whistle blew.

  It was 20 to 13!

  "Well," Barnaby said to Temple as the big coach stood waiting for them, "what did I tell you?"

  "You tell me?" The Coach grinned. "Why, I knew that you were all brains an' he was all beef. What d'you suppose I needled you for? Don't you suppose I knew that thesis of yours was on the sense of inferiority?"

  "Crabapples!" Socks scoffed. "Why, you couldn't--!"

  "Listen, pantywaist," Temple growled. "D'you suppose I'd ever have let you an' Muggs on that field if I didn't know you could do it? Don't you suppose I knew you an' him were down behind that red barn every night? What d'you suppose I kicked him off the field for? I knew you were so confounded contrary you'd get busy an' work with him just to show me up!"

  "Well," Socks grinned, "it wasn't you who got showed up. It was Hanover."

  "Yeah," Temple agreed, "so go put that in theLantern . And you, Kulowski. You get out for practice, you hear?"

  "Okay," Kulowski said. Then he grinned. "But first I got to write an article for theLantern ."

  Coach Temple's eyes narrowed and his face grew brick red.

  "You? Writing for theLantern ? What about?"

  "Coaching methods at Eastern," Kulowski said, and laughed.

  He was still laughing as he walked toward the field house with his arm across Barnaby's shoulders.

  -

  Anything for a Pal

  TONY KINSELLA LOOKED at his platinum wristwatch. Ten more minutes. Just ten minutes to go. It was all set. In ten minutes a young man would be standing on that corner under the streetlight. Doreen would come up, speak to him, and then step into the drugstore. Once Doreen had put the finger on him, confirming that he was, in fact, the man they sought, the car would slide up, and he, Tony Kinsella, Boss Cardoza's ace torpedo, would send a stream of copper-jacketed bullets into the kid's body. It would be all over then, and Tony Kinsella would have saved his pal from the chair.

  He looked up to the driver's seat where "Gloves" McFadden slouched carelessly, waiting. He noted the thick neck, and heavy, prizefighter's shoulders. In the other front seat "Dopey" Wentz stared off into the night. Kinsella didn't like that. A guy on weed was undependable. Kinsella shrugged, he didn't like it but the whole mess would soon be over.

  This kid, Robbins, his name was, he'd seen Corney Watson pull the Baronski job. Tomorrow he was to identify Corney in court. Corney Watson had sprung Kinsella out of a western pen one time, so they were pals. And Kinsella, whatever his failings, had one boast: he'd do anything for a pal. Tony was proud of that. He was a right guy.

  But that was only one of the two things he was proud of. The other the boys didn't know about, except in a vague way. It was his brother, George. Their name wasn't Kinsella, and George had no idea that such a name even existed. Their real name was Bretherton, but when Tony had been arrested the first time, he gave his name as Kinsella, and so it had been for a dozen years now.

  Tony was proud of George. George was ten years the youngest, and had no idea that his idolized big brother was a gangster, a killer. Tony rarely saw him, but he'd paid his way through college, and into a classy set of people. Tony smiled into the darkness. George Bretherton: now wasn't that a classy name? Maybe, when he'd put a few grand more in his sock, he'd chuck the rackets and take George off to Europe. Then he'd be Anthony Bretherton, wealthy and respected.

  Kinsella leaned back against the cushions. This was one job he was pulling for nothing. Just for a pal. Corney had bumped "Baron" Baronski, and this kid had seen it. How he happened to be there, nobody knew or cared. Tomorrow he was going to testify, and that meant the chair for Corney unless Tony came through tonight, but Tony, who never failed when the chips were down,would come through.

  They had located Robbins at a downtown hotel, a classy joint. Cardoza sent Doreen over there, and she got acquainted. Doreen was a swell kid, wore her clothes like a million, and she was wise. She had put the finger on more than one guy. This Robbins fellow, he wasn't one of Baronski's guns, so how had he been there at the time? Tony shrugged. Ju
st one of those unfortunate things.

  Why didn't George write, he wondered? He was working in a law office out west somewhere. Maybe he'd be the mouthpiece for some big corporation and make plenty of dough. That was the racket! No gang guns or coppers in that line, a safe bet.

  Tony wondered what Corney was doing. Probably lying on his back in his cell hoping Kinsella would come through. Well, Tony smiled with satisfaction; he'd never botched a job yet.

  SUDDENLY DOPEY HISSED: "Okay, Tony, there's the guy."

  "You think! When you see Doreen comin', let me know. I'm not interested 'til then."

  He suddenly found himself wishing it was over. He always felt like this at the last minute. Jumpy. Prizefighters felt that way before the bell. Nerves. But when the gun started to jump he was all right. He caressed the finned blue steel of the barrel lovingly.

  "Get set, Tony, here she comes!" The powerful motor came to life, purring quietly.

  Kinsella sat up and rolled down the window. The cool evening air breathed softly across his face. He looked up at the stars, and then glanced both ways, up and down the street. It was all clear.

  A tall, broad-shouldered fellow stood on the corner. Tony could see Doreen coming. She was walking fast. Probably she was nervous too. That big guy. That would be him. Tony licked his lips and lifted the ugly black muzzle of the submachine gun. Its cold nose peered over the edge of the window. He saw a man walk out of the drugstore, light a cigar, and stroll off up the street. Tony almost laughed as he thought how funny it would be if he were to start shooting then, how startled that man would be!

  There! Doreen was talking to the man on the corner. Had one hand on his sleeve...smiling at him.

  God, dames were coldblooded! In a couple of minutes that guy would be kicking in his own gore, and she was putting him on the spot and smiling at him!

  Suddenly she turned away and started for the drugstore on some excuse or other. As she passed through the door she was almost running. The car was moving swiftly now, gliding toward the curb, the man looked up, and the gun spouted fire. The man threw up his arms oddly, jerked sharply, and fell headlong. McFadden wheeled the car and they drove back, the machine gun spouting fire again. The body, like a sack of old clothes, jerked as the bullets struck.