by Paul Bishop
Closer to the marina, within view of the Corrienearn, I could no longer feel the ground beneath my feet. Water swirled around my calves as I splashed into the ocean, the blood in my veins singing. In my heart I knew I was only one step away from flight. I took that step and dove into the air. My body flew forward, suspended between the earth and the sky. I was unbound by all that was earthly for the split second out of time before gravity took over and I crashed down into the ice-cold waves.
I came up for air, swimming hard against the undertow. I did two hundred strokes toward Hawaii, turned, and did two hundred strokes back to the mainland. The last strokes were finished in a rush as a wave threw me forward onto the beach in the reverse of a fisherman throwing back a fish. I guess I wasn't big enough be a keeper. Either that or the ocean thought I should be thrown back for Liam Donovan to catch.
I did a hundred sit-ups and a hundred push-ups on the sand, rinsed off again, and jogged slowly back to the Corrienearn. Ethan and Sticks were waiting for me on the dock.
"Pretty impressive," Ethan said. They had obviously been watching my antics on the beach.
"Hello, Sticks," I said.
"Hello, yourself," he said in a gruff voice. "Who do you think you are, running off to have a good time while the rest of us sit at home and worry?"
"I'm sorry, Dad. I'll try not to let it happen again."
"He caught me in the hotel room while I was trying to round up some clothes for you," Ethan told me. "In fact, he damn near took my head off with a baseball bat before I could explain who I was and what I was doing."
Sticks shrugged. "I thought he was part of whatever had happened to you. I'd been waiting for someone like him to turn up."
"You were waiting?" I asked.
Sticks shrugged again. "Bekka was taking care of making all the noise to get others to try and find you. Waiting to see if anyone would come after your things for some reason seemed like the only other thing I could do."
"Even after I was able to get him to believe who I was, he wouldn't let me take the clothes unless I brought him back with me. He's a stubborn old coot," Ethan said.
"Who is he calling old?" Sticks asked.
I laughed. "Old or not, it's good to see you," I told him.
"It good to be seen. Are you okay?"
I briefly filled him in as we went on board and I took a sailor's shower and changed into my own clothes.
"I suppose you have something up your sleeve," he said when I finished, "but can I let Bekka know you are okay? She's going crazy."
I thought for a second. "Okay. Let her know but tell her not to let on to anyone else. I've got plans to make a grand appearance in the locker room before the game tonight and I want to check the reactions of someone there."
"So, what are you going to do now?" he asked.
"Try to find some evidence that will corroborate the reaction I expect to see tonight." I looked over at Ethan. "Hopefully, we already have it."
"I don't understand," Sticks said.
"While I was playing Escape From Alcatraz, I began to wonder about Maddox being in gambling trouble with the local bent-nose brigade. Bekka told me that when a couple of collectors tried leaning on him, Maddox dumped them on their heads. Bekka also said that to her knowledge the mob boys didn't come back, so she assumed Maddox had squared things away."
The scenario bothered me because mob collectors don't run away with their tail between their legs. And according to Ethan, Maddox didn't have the scratch to pay off his light bill let alone a heavy gambling debt.
"You think the collectors killed Maddox? You think it's unrelated to what is going on with Liam Donovan?"
"No, I don't think the collectors killed Maddox. That would have been killing off the goose that laid the golden egg. Maddox couldn't pay them if he wasn't breathing anymore. However, I don't believe Maddox's murder is related to Liam Donovan's actions. I think somebody picked up Maddox's markers and that's why the mob boys backed off. I also think that Maddox double-crossed whoever paid off his debts, and that's why he ended up a dead man."
"And how does Donovan fit in?"
"As I said, I don't think he fits in with Maddox's murder. I think we Ve stepped into the middle of two separate games, both of which are getting people killed."
When I paused, Ethan jumped in. "Early this morning," he said. "I went over the Maddox murder file again. Bekka's statement is in there regarding the leg-breakers who were giving Maddox a bad time. I showed the descriptions to a friend on the organized crime squad and he recognized one of them as Jackie Casio—a collector for Max Turner, who runs much of the action in town."
"Can he be located?" I asked.
"He already has been. He didn't fancy trying to explain to Max Turner why the cops came and kept him from making his duly-appointed rounds, so he coughed. He figured the information we wanted wasn't any big deal anyway since Maddox's markers had been bought in full, two weeks prior to Maddox turning up stiff."
"Who bought them?" I asked.
Ethan smiled. "You had him picked. It was that second-string goalkeeper and charming man-about-town, Nick Kronos."
Chapter 20
The ball took a funny slide across the artificial turf, but I put my body down behind it and gathered it in safely with my arms. The Seattle Gulls' striker faked a kick toward my head to see if he could bluff me into letting go of the ball to protect myself, but I'm too old of a dog to fall for that one. Instead, I let my momentum carry me forward and took the striker's feet out from under him. The referee blew his whistle and awarded me a free kick. I should have received an Oscar for my performance. I'd committed the foul but had made it look like the striker had.
"If you ever try that again," I whispered in his ear while we were still in a tangle on the ground, "I'll knock you down so hard you'll wake up in the next time zone."
"Screw you," came the muffled reply from the head that I was accidentally on purpose compressing between my body and the turf.
Ah, sportsmanship.
Earlier, when I had walked into the Ravens' gloom-laden locker room, I was flanked by two uniformed police officers and followed by Ethan Kelso. The effect was everything I could have hoped for.
The team was having a final strategy meeting. Bekka was in the room along with everyone else. Though she was always fully clothed, Bekka had long ago put behind her any embarrassment over the various stages of undress of her male teammates, and once they had gotten over trying to impress her with their physiques, the situation had become no big deal. After the shock of women journalists being allowed to invade the once male-dominated locker rooms, everything became possible. Nina Brisbane, wearing a designer peach dress and matching veil, was also present. I didn't think there was anything that could embarrass her.
Even though Sticks had let Bekka know I was safe, she bounced out of her chair like a demented Jack-in-the-box and threw her arms around my neck. Several of the other players let out whoops when they spotted me. Suddenly, I was so surrounded by bodies clapping me on the back that I almost missed the reaction I was banking on. But it wouldn't have been possible to miss it. Nick Kronos. the starting goalkeeper's jersey stretched across his shoulders, was glued to the bench he was sitting on. His mouth hung open like that of an unhinged puppet.
"Surprise," I said, waggling my fingers at him.
He looked suddenly deflated. "I ...I ...I'm starting tonight...."It was the most he could force out in a harsh whisper. He sounded like a child trying to bargain with God.
Ethan had explained to me that there wasn't nearly enough evidence to even arrest Nick, let alone get actual criminal charges filed against him for anything. However, there was nothing to stop Ethan from questioning Nick.
"A little pressure, a little con, a lot of luck. I'll get him to cough," Ethan had said. He'd also told me about a sign over his office door that stated his motto: YOU CAME IN HERE WITH A PRETTY FACE AND INFORMATION. YOU CAN'T LEAVE WITH BOTH.
What we were trying to do through my
unexpected arrival was soften Nick up, make him vulnerable to the pressures Ethan planned to apply.
The two uniformed officers went over to stand by Nick.
"What is this?" Stavoros Kronos asked. "You can't just walk back in here like this and expect to play. Nicky is starting tonight."
There was something in Stavoros' voice which ran along the jagged edge of hysteria. Ethan picked up on it even before I did. It was like watching a round of cards being dealt. First one player looks like the best bet, and then another card falls and the player sitting next to him is an even better bet.
Stavoros was suddenly a new player in the suspect game. A player with a strong hand. His hole card was the fact that he had the same possible access to Archer and the Hard-birds as Nick did in order to get them to kidnap me. And the card he'd just thrown on the table held the fact that he hadn't bothered to ask me where I'd been for three days. All he wanted to do was tell me I couldn't expect to play and that Nicky, his pride and joy, was going to be the starting goalie in the coming game. Which is exactly what would have happened if I was still intimately connected to the pole in my concrete prison.
Nina Brisbane had pushed her way through the crowd of players around me. Her body language showed she was mad enough to spit nails. "Chapel, would you please explain where you've been for the last three days, and exactly what these policemen are doing here?"
I changed suspect gears as fast as I could, processing the responses my appearance had created. "Why don't you ask Coach Stavoros? Now that he's over the shock of my turning up like a bad penny, he's probably as up-to-date as I am on where I've been and what's going on. While you're at it, you can ask Nicky-boy who bought Pasqual Maddox's gambling markers and then tried to blackmail Maddox into faking an injury so Nick could step in and take the starting goalie spot." I was taking an educated scattershot at the truth. Some of the points might still be distorted, like an image in a fun house mirror, but I was hoping my analysis would still come close enough to score.
"You can also ask Nick about what happened next when Maddox laughed in his face. After all, Maddox had to keep playing. Your sister was paying him to let goals slip by, to lose a game here and there, and he needed the money to keep up with his gambling debts." I was making a giant assumption about Caitlin bribing Maddox, but the theory fit together nicely and if it wasn't true it was as good a bluff as any.
"If it hadn't been for the high-scoring ways of Devlin and Wagstaff, there's no way this team would be in the play-offs. Between the two of them, they scored more goals than Maddox could let by, and that's what's made the difference to the Ravens' season." I was relying on Ethan's interrogation techniques to clean up the rough edges around all of this.
"This is preposterous," Stavoros Kronos yelled, dismissing my whole statement with a Greek wave of his arms. "Nick is starting in goal tonight and that's final. I am the coach. Not you, Mr. Chapel. Nor you, Ms. Brisbane. I am the coach. I make the decisions."
"What is it, Stavoros?" I asked. "Are there going to be scouts for the American World Cup team in the stands tonight? You figure Nick will make enough of an impression to get a place on the team."
"Once they see how he can play, Nick will start on the World Cup team." Stavoros puffed out his chest. He was looking to relive old glories from his youth, but he was too paternally blind to see that the talent wasn't there.
"Do you mind leaving some of the blood and thunder to me?" Ethan asked sardonically from the edges of the crowd.
Nina looked at him. "I suppose you have warrants?" she asked, annoyed.
"Warrants will come later. Right now, I'm simply here following up investigative leads. There are a number of questions I need to ask of father and son Kronos."
"Don't you realize this team has a very important game to play in a few minutes?" Nina asked Ethan.
"Do you really want this team to go into that game being led by someone who doesn't have the team's best interests at heart? If I were you, I'd get the worms out of the apple before they do any more damage."
There was a moment of charged silence before Kurt Wagstaff spoke up. He had been watching the whole scenario unfold while keeping his own counsel to this point.
"We can win this game," he said, "but only if we have Chapel in goal and a coach who can keep his mind on the game. Even if he's as pure as the driven snow, Stavoros will be distracted by all that has happened here. I suggest you exercise your contractual right of final say in the team's well-being, Ms. Brisbane, and put Stavoros on temporary hiatus."
"And what do you propose we do for a coach?"
"Let Sticks lead the team," Wagstaff said in an offhand manner.
Stavoros looked panicked. Sticks looked surprised.
"You seem to know an awful lot about Coach Kronos' contract." Nina's eyes flashed at Wagstaff. You could almost see the gears turning in her head.
Wagstaff merely shrugged.
The bottom of Nina's veil twitched angrily as she shook her head. "I'm sorry Stavoros," she said, "but I don't see that I have any other choice."
After the bluster and flurry of activity that followed Nina Brisbane's decision, Ethan moved Nick and Stavoros out of the locker room. The two had not yet started yelling for lawyers, and that was something Ethan wanted to avoid. He was at his commanding, yet soothing, best as he started to manipulate his two suspects into a proverbial corner from which they could not escape.
For my part, I took it upon myself to whip the team spirit up into something resembling a positive mind-set. With the help of Bekka, Wagstaff, and Pat Devlin, we brought the team's focus back to the game ahead. We would win this game if we all pulled together. If each one of us believed in his own abilities and supported his teammates, then we were unstoppable. All of this was nothing more than emotional fuel, the mumbo jumbo of the jock as magician, but it worked. You could feel the mood in the locker room lighten. In reality, our problems were just beginning, but with my safe return and the labeling and clearing out of Nick and Stavoros, the illusion was that we had put our problems behind us.
Sticks too rose to the occasion by sliding easily into his new position as a temporary replacement for Stavoros. The assistant coaches, Brian Doogan and Larry Durrell, seemed too overwhelmed by events to make any sort of organized protest about Sticks’ unprecedented promotion over them.
I wondered briefly why Wagstaff made the suggestion of making Sticks head coach, but God help me, I had come to trust the man's judgment in these issues. I still had trouble equating the Wagstaff that I had hated for so long with the Wagstaff that I was coming to know. Perhaps he felt that if Stavoros was dirty then the corruption could have spread to the assistant coaches. By putting Sticks in the position of head coach, it could short-circuit anything else that was going on.
We hit the playing field with a fury. The agitation of waiting through the introductions and the national anthem boiled within each of us until it exploded into a fireball of energy at the starting whistle. For the first period our opponents, the Seattle Gulls, didn't know what had hit them. I was only called on to stop two shots during that first fifteen minutes because the rest of the action was concentrated deep in the Gulls' half of the field.
Sticks kept substituting players with dizzying speed, and the difference between his approach to the game and Stavoros' was quickly apparent. Sticks didn't give a toss for playing lines that were separated along ethnic styles. With abandon, he split up the members of the Hot Tamales and inserted them into the game with Pat Devlin and Wagstaff.
Later, after pulling him for a brief rest, Sticks put Wagstaff back into the game alongside Pepe Brazos and Chico Juarez. The result worked like a charm. Danny Castalano, his injured knee propped up painfully in front of him, cheered from the sidelines along with everyone else when this new combination of Ravens players scored two beautiful goals in as many minutes. The Ravens were coming of age under fire.
Even the defensive players were getting into the action. The American players, Hank Decker and Mit
ch Dakota individually substituted with Alan Hardacre and Birch Blood-worth without concession to which front line was on the field. Everyone on the bench, except for Bekka, was able to fly into the fray, and I felt compassion for her plight. Goalkeepers are rarely substituted except in case of injury. With Nick gone tonight, she was one step closer, but she still wasn't in the game.
Another factor in our favor was the crowd. Nina Brisbane's promotion machine must have been working overtime because there were few empty seats in the Acropolis, and the positive noise was louder than the Ravens had ever encountered before. It fed us like applause feeds a show business performer.
Having more time to myself in goal than I wanted, I was able to spare a few glances toward the crowd. I was looking for Archer and the other Hardbirds, as I knew Ethan's men would be looking for them. I couldn't imagine them not showing up for the game, as fanatical as they were supposed to be about the Ravens. Of course, that didn't seem to apply when it came to kidnapping me, because I, immodestly, didn't see how that action could be construed as being in the team's best interest.
I wondered at what monetary price Archer placed his loyalty to the team. And then I knew that was a silly thought. Archer and the Hardbirds didn't give a damn about the Ravens. They were only interested in the pursuit of their own warped antisocial behavior. Rebellion and anarchy for their own sake. Where was the next thrill, or the next punch-up, to come from? These things were their only touchstones. Still, they should have been in the crowd tonight looking for trouble, and yet there was no sign of them. Ethan needed to get his hands on them. He needed to play them against Nick and Stavoros, and vice versa.
In the game's second period, Kyle Ridgway, the Gulls' top scorer, began to bring the game into my domain. He was equally deadly with either foot and could play a rebounded ball with infinite finesse. We clashed several times before I ended up getting the free kick called in my favor while I was sitting on Ridgeway's head.
My mistake was in concentrating on Ridgeway. I was being set up and I should have known it. Ridgeway kept up his one-man assault on me for almost the entire second period. Taking advantage of any chance, he took shot after shot, even if they were of low percentage. He made one-man dribbling runs from midfield that more often than not ended in a clash of arms and legs with yours truly.