The Boy Who Couldn’t Miss (Blind Spot #2) (Blind Spot Series)

by Laurence Dahners

  Without speaking very loudly, Romano managed to be heard clearly over the pounding music. “A quiet table… and your chickenshit boss.”

  Having said that, Romano stared at the young man. The guy’s Adam’s apple bobbed a couple of times, then he pointed by extending his hand and said, “Yes sir. Right this way.”

  After a brief walk up the stairs and toward the back, Romano was seated by himself in a booth for six. Julio and Rick loomed by the openings of the booth while Marco loomed over and glared at the occupants of the next booth. They looked up at him. He suggested they move somewhere else.

  They did so with alacrity.

  It took a while, but eventually the balding guy showed back up with a short, fat, profusely-sweating guy in a suit. He stood at the end of the booth, holding his one hand in the other until Mr. Romano indicated he should sit across from him. He started to speak, but Romano held up a hand to cut him off, then leaned forward to say, “I’m taking over Joe Castano’s position as your investor.”

  Obviously about to crap himself, the man nonetheless said, “Um, Mr. Castano wasn’t actually an investor…” He cut himself off at the look Romano gave him.

  Romano leaned forward, “Just like Mr. Castano, each night one of my men will come by to make a cash investment in your business. Each month, you’ll electronically transfer the amount of money we invested, plus 5% interest, to an account number we’ll give you—labeled as ‘return on investment.’ Clear?’” Romano said, leaning back to study the man.

  To Julio’s astonishment, the man nervously said, “I’d rather we just kept our businesses separate.”

  Romano lifted an eyebrow for a moment, then said, “Good. I’ve been looking for someone to serve as an example.” He looked up at the massive man standing at the end of the booth, “Marco, I think this one could be a drive-by shooting. But try not to involve his family, huh?”

  The man paled and began desperately backtracking. “I’m sorry Mr. Romano,” he said, his hand scrambling across the table towards Romano’s, then remaining there even after Romano had distastefully pulled his own hand back. “We’ll be happy to have you as an investor. When can we expect your first deposit?”

  Romano looked up at Marco. Marco reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a bundle of hundreds and slid it to Mr. Romano.

  Romano pushed the stack of cash part way across the table to the sweating man, saying, “Our first deposit will be tonight. Ten grand.” The man across the table made an abortive movement to pick up the cash, but Romano put his hand on it first. He ran his thumb over the end of the stack of hundreds and pulled about half of them out of the band that surrounded the bundle. He gently waved them back and forth, then slid them into his own jacket pocket, saying, “However, I’ve decided I need to make a small deduction in order to compensate myself for the trouble I had to go through tonight.” Romano lifted a questioning eyebrow.

  The man eagerly nodded, picking up his half of the stack of hundreds. “Is there anything else I can do for you Mr. Romano?”

  “Just keep in mind, we still need an example to set for the rest of the businessmen in town.” Romano started to scoot toward the end of the booth, saying, “Marco, I think our business here is done for the evening.”

  The last thing Julio saw before he turned to leave was the fat little man pulling a bundle of napkins out of the dispenser on the table and mopping his brow.

  Chapter 1

  It was early August and far too hot to be playing sports. Hax Buchry showed up for the football tryouts and practice anyway. Playing baseball had provided him a major social boost. Going from a clumsy bumbler who no one respected, to the star of the state champion baseball team had proven to be an absolutely addicting experience.

  However, it seemed that very few if any of the football players had any idea who the school’s star pitcher was. In the locker room Hax kept getting bumped out of the way by bulky guys who were getting dressed out in their uniforms. He’d just stumbled against a locker after such an impact when one of the guys said, “Man I’ll sure be glad when they’ve thinned out this crowd!” Then he turned to Hax and said, “You oughta quit today beanpole. You’re gonna get crushed on the field.”

  Hax didn’t know what to say. He’d been thinking the football team would know who he was after he’d been so heavily recruited by Coach Hayes. Ignoring the jibe, he finished pulling on the PE shirt and shorts the new guys were supposed to wear for tryouts.

  ***

  Out on the field Hax got sent over to the corner where other recruits, easily recognized by their lack of uniforms, were gathered. The assistant coach and manager gave each of them a clipboard with their name at the top. They were weighed and their height measured.

  While they were being timed in 40-yard sprints, Hax kept glancing over to where Coach Hayes was working with last year’s players. He wondered if Hayes had really intended Hax to go through these tryouts with the other hopefuls or if he was supposed to be in uniform. He wanted to ask, but decided that it’d be humiliating if the coach said no.

  An assistant coach appeared in front of Hax wearing a name tag that identified him as Coach Albright. The man looked Hax up and down. He glanced at Hax’s clipboard and shook his head, “You’re tall enough, but a toothpick like you? You’re gonna get broken in two playing football. You’re quick, but not fast enough to play backfield. You’ve got reach, but you’re not gonna be strong enough to play linebacker. What position did you think you’d be able to play?”

  Trying not to sound sullen about the coach’s assessment, Hax said, “Quarterback.”

  Albright snorted, “Everybody thinks they can play quarterback kid. Head on over to the blocking sled and Manny’ll see if you can hit. A little later we’ll check to find out if any of you can actually throw the ball.” The coach moved on to the next recruit so Hax trotted over to where the manager was standing on the blocking sled while guys tried to knock it back.

  Fortunately, there were several guys in line in front of Hax, all waiting their turn to hit the blocking sled. He got to watch what they did and that kept him from being completely embarrassed. Hax’d watched a few videos about what quarterbacks did on the field. His dad had helped him learn how to throw the ball to where the receiver would be instead of where he was. Unfortunately, that’d been the extent of Hax’s preparations so far. He certainly hadn’t thought he needed to learn anything about blocking.

  When Hax’s turn came, he got down in what he thought was a similar stance to the other recruits and launched his body forward to hit the pads on the blocking sled. It hardly budged. The manager chortled, “That was pitiful! Get lower in your stance and then explode out and really hit this thing.” Then as if he was granting some great boon, Manny said, “Do it again, harder this time.”

  Hax tried again, this time with Manny criticizing his stance and exhorting him to really hit the sled, but when he looked up Manny was shaking his head as if in amusement. He said, “You just ain’t packin’ enough meat to move the sled. You better be really fast or you ain’t gonna be no use to us.” He cocked his head at Hax, “Tall skinny guy like you prob’ly oughta just wait for basketball season, but, hell, you might even be too light for that.”

  Manny sent a disheartened Hax over to participate in some conditioning drills while he was waiting for the assistant coach to hold quarterback tryouts. Hax started looking around the field, realizing that, while he was taller than the average player out there, most of them had a lot of weight on him. In addition, he found the conditioning drills physically draining. I guess baseball wasn’t really a good sport for getting me into condition, he thought. And, once a week martial arts classes didn’t do it either.

  The assistant coach came over to the group working on conditioning. Looking down at his clipboard Albright called out, “Okay, quarterback and receiver hopefuls to me. Let’s go see what you got.”

  It turned out they had five guys who thought they were quarterbacks and only three who wanted to be r
eceivers. Albright rolled his eyes, “I hope you guys’ve figured out you’re not all going to be quarterbacks. Maybe one at the most.” He pointed at Hax and two of the other kids who wanted to play quarterback, saying, “You three are going to be receivers for a while so we can try out the other guys. Then you’ll rotate.”

  Albright had them start running short crossing patterns in front of two guys at a time who were playing quarterback. The quarterbacks took turns throwing balls to the receivers who shagged the balls back to Albright. One of the quarterback candidates was pretty good, consistently putting the ball close enough to his receiver to make completed passes. The one he threw to Hax hit him right in the chest, but, to his embarrassment, Hax didn’t manage to hold onto it. Hax couldn’t actually see Albright’s face, but imagined he could practically feel Albright’s grimace when he dropped the ball.

  Albright told the one who was a pretty good throw “maybe” and told the other one he had no chance. He called up the next two potential quarterbacks to take their turns throwing, leaving Hax still trying out as a receiver. To Hax’s dismay he only caught one of the four balls thrown to him, though admittedly one of the passes was completely behind him.

  Albright had the eight of them gather around to give them his assessments. “Jones, you might make a decent quarterback. Weick, Hollis, and Evans, you guys might make receivers, but you’ll need to get faster. You other four, maybe we can use you on special teams but you’ve got a pretty good chance of getting cut after going through all the misery of getting in shape. I’m not saying this to be mean, just to give you a heads-up on what I think of your potential. Unless you’re real optimists, you might want to quit the team before you really get started into the misery of two-a-day practices. Any questions?”

  Hax diffidently lifted his hand, “Uh, coach, you didn’t let me try out for quarterback?”

  Albright looked at Hax, then down at his clipboard, then back up. “Which one are you?”

  “Buchry, Coach.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He studied Hax for a moment, “Are you sure you want to do this? I’ve gotta be honest, you’re pretty much of a light-weight for football. You don’t run very fast and you sure as hell can’t catch. You wouldn’t play much even if you made the team, and there’s a good chance you’ll get hurt if you do.”

  “I can throw,” Hax said, though it was practically a mumble.

  “What’s that?” Coach Albright asked.

  For a moment, Hax considered just turning and walking off the field. If they didn’t want him, why would he try to force himself on them? But then, thinking about how great it’d been being the star pitcher, he repeated himself with a little more certainty, “I can throw.”

  “Oh, yeah, okay.” Sounding like he felt sure he was wasting his time, Albright said, “Weick, Hollis. Line up for some crossing patterns and we’ll have him try to hit you.”

  Weick and Hollis both looked irritated as well, but they did trot about ten yards off to Hax’s right and line up one in front of the other. Tossing a football to a suddenly uncertain Hax, Albright said, “Weick, go.”

  Weick ran five yards downfield and then turned left to cross in front of Hax. Hax’s uncertainty faded as he focused on Weick’s stride, then fired a pass to catch him with his right leg in front so that his body would be turned toward the ball. It hit Weick in the chest and bounced off.

  “Jesus!” Albright turned to look wonderingly at Hax as Weick, rubbing his chest, cursed and trotted off after the ball. “Um, receivers can’t catch balls when you throw them that hard. Throw the next one a little softer.”

  With some dismay, Hax realized that his dad hadn’t been able to catch the balls most of the time when Hax practiced with him. However, Hax had just thought Ravinder wasn’t a good catch.

  Coach Albright turned and said, “Hollis, go.”

  Hax watched Hollis run and threw a gentler pass this time, once again catching his receiver as the young man’s chest naturally turned toward him because of his stride. Hollis caught it without difficulty and trotted back with the ball.

  When Hax’s eyes returned to Albright, he found the coach studying him with narrowed eyes. Then Albright turned to the other seven young men who were supposed to be trying out for quarterback or receiver saying, “Line up behind Weick there. I’m gonna have all of you run pass patterns for this kid. We’ve gotta find out if those two throws were flukes.” He turned toward Weick and said, “Weick, run a ten-yard button-hook… Go.”

  Weick ran downfield and Hax wondered when he should throw. Weick wasn’t looking so if he threw it now, he’d hit him on the back. Suddenly Weick stopped and turned, holding his hands up as if expecting to catch the ball. Hax threw it, delivering it into Weick’s waiting hands with precision, but coach Albright cursed anyway. “Buchry! For God’s sake, you’ve got to throw the ball before he stops and turns. We’re trying to surprise whoever’s defending him.”

  Hax blinked, “Oh, so he’s supposed to stop right at the ten-yard mark?”

  “Yes!” Albright said, as if he thought he was talking to an idiot. He turned and said, “Hollis, same pattern… Go.”

  Hollis launched himself downfield. This time when he turned on the ten-yard line and looked back, the ball was already hitting his hands. It bounced away and Hax thought he’d screwed up again, but Albright started yelling at Hollis instead. “When you turn, that ball’s supposed to be there like that. You need to be ready to catch it!”

  Albright had the next two receivers do the same button-hook pattern. Hax hit both of them right in the chest, between their hands, and they both caught the ball. Albright said, “Next, let’s try a slant.” He explained that the receiver was supposed to run straight for five yards, then turn about forty-five degrees toward the center of the field and keep running straight until the ball got there.

  Hax looked at Albright questioningly and said, “Where do you want me to throw the ball?”

  “Hit him as he crosses the centerline of the field.”

  Hax did. With great precision to three different receivers. Albright shook his head wonderingly and said, “Let’s try a thirty-yard post pattern.” He explained that he wanted the receiver to run thirty yards downfield, then cut on a forty-five-degree angle toward the goal posts. Knowing the next question that would come from Hax, he shook his head and said, “Hit him when he’s forty yards downfield.”

  Hax did.

  Exactly as he crossed the mark, forty yards down.

  They all stood and stared for a moment, then Albright turned to Hax and said, “You can sure as hell throw the ball. I don’t know if that’s enough though. You need to start watching videos of games and reading about quarterbacking because it’s obvious you don’t know squat about football. We won’t need to spend much time teaching you how to throw the ball, but we sure as hell need to figure out how to keep you from getting crushed by any defensive lineman that breaks through. First thing you’re going to need to work on is moving around a little. You can’t stand in one place like you’ve been doing…”

  As they were leaving the football field after practice, Albright turned to Hayes and said, “There’s this sophomore, Buchry…”

  “Oh man!” Hayes said, clapping a hand to his forehead. “I forgot to tell you about him! He was the star pitcher for the baseball team. Hell, he’s the entire reason they won the state championship. What’d you think of him?”

  “He sure can throw the ball,” Albright said slowly. “I’ve never seen a QB with that kinda precision, and his arm’s like a cannon. But, he’s slow, doesn’t weigh very much, and I’m afraid the first time he gets tackled he’s going to break in two…”

  ***

  At the chime indicating the door at the front of the store had opened, Ravinder glanced away from his customers. Two men had entered and were sweeping the store with their eyes.

  Ravinder had a bad feeling about them. He looked them over for bulges that might indicate that they were carrying weapons. He hadn’t been robbed s
o far—if you didn’t count the Castanos—but knew that convenience stores made convenient targets for such criminals. For a moment, his thoughts flashed to the pistol he knew Tansey kept hidden away in the closet upstairs. However, he’d sworn not to use such weapons himself. If they’d come to rob him, he’d simply give them the money.

  He began to feel better when they got behind Ravinder’s other two customers. It was hard to imagine a robber being polite enough to wait in line. Once Ravinder’d dealt with those two, the two men stepped up to his counter.

  Ravinder’s heart skipped a beat when he saw they hadn’t picked up any items for purchase, however, they smiled and spoke politely. “Hello Mr. Buchry. On behalf of Mr. Romano, we’d like to apologize for the way your insurance fell by the wayside after the Castanos had their troubles last year. We’re just coming by to let you know that Mr. Romano’s taken over the Castanos’ businesses now. We wanted you to know that your protection will be back in effect for the last two weeks of this month, but you won’t have to pay till the end of next month. Despite the unpleasantness and increased risk indicated by the events that led to this change of management, we won’t be charging you any more than you were paying before.” The man gave him a false smile and patted the counter, “See you sometime around the end of next month, okay?”

  Ravinder felt like his face had frozen in place. He made a microscopic nod that apparently satisfied. The two men turned and left the store. Heart sinking in despair, Ravinder turned away from the counter and saw Tansey standing in the hall staring wide-eyed at him. It didn’t look like he’d have any time to digest these events before having to talk to her about them. She strode forward and threw her arms around him. He patted helplessly at her back, wondering whether there was anything he could say to make sense of the ugliness that had just reared its head in their little part of the world.