“Now listen up, kid. You’re not going to say a word. Not a single word. Just get out of your car and walk over to mine.”
“What?”
The man reached out and seized Bucky by the neck, his fingers tightening. A huge gold ring began to cut into the boy’s skin. “I said not a word. Now zip it!”
His legs trembling, Bucky followed the two men over to their expensive sedan. “Get in!” The younger gambler opened the back door and shoved him inside. The odor of stale tobacco hit the boy in the face.
The older man threw the car into gear and squealed out of the parking lot. “Take it easy,” his companion snapped. “We got the kid.”
“Yeah.” The car slowed down to match the speed of the other cars on the broad downtown street.
“Where are we going?” Bucky gasped out the words.
The driver glanced behind him, the car weaving from one lane to the other as he did so. “I told you to clam up, Stone! Don’t you understand English?”
Bucky bit his lip. The two men in the front seat grinned at each other as they sped up to beat a yellow light. Questions crowded the boy’s mind, but he choked back his anger.
“There we go.” The younger kidnapper pointed to the Siesta Inn sign. “Home sweet home.”
The car lurched to a stop near the far end of the aging motel. The driver turned around and faced Bucky. “All right, kid. Here’s what’s happening. We’re just going to stay here for the next few hours. Got it?”
His heart pounding, Bucky nodded.
“OK, then. Get out real slow. One funny move out of you and there’s going to be trouble.” The man’s smile was mocking. “You may be a bigshot in basketball, but if you make a wrong move, I’ll fix you so you’ll never be able to play again. So don’t push your luck, smart guy.”
Again Bucky nodded, the words a dull roar in his ear.
“Let’s go.”
Flanking him, the two men urged him into a side door. “Right down here.” The younger gambler slipped a key into the lock, opening the third door on the side facing the parking lot. “Make yourself right at home, kid.”
His legs weak with fear, Bucky sank into the nearest chair and looked around.
The second man tossed his jacket onto the bed. “No sense getting all excited,” he observed to Bucky. “You sit here until after the game, our boys collect their money . . . and then you can call Mommy and go home.”
Bucky took a big breath. “You mean you are betting on this game?”
A slow smile from Reg. “Yeah, we sure are.” The man laughed. “When I told you it was too late to back out, I meant it. After I spend three months setting up a big deal, I’m not about to let a kid like you take away my living. I thought all you high school kids would be pushovers, but I guess I’ll just have to work a little harder for my money.”
Bucky examined the room. It was a typical older motel with two queen - size beds and a color TV. The windows were lightly draped. He could see the faint outlines of cars out on the street.
“So what are you doing then?” Now that they were safely in the motel room, the two men seemed less threatening. Bucky looked from one to the other.
“What do you think? We hold you out so that the Tornadoes win the game. What’s the big mystery?”
“What about Bill? Is he still in on it?”
The older man shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. If your coach benches him – meanin’ if you blabbed on him – then that helps us out. If he plays, then he still helps us. Either way we’re all set up. There’s no way Panthers are gonna win with you and Volker both out of action.”
Questions trembled on Bucky’s lips, but he choked down his angry queries. Just shut up! The more you say, the more you ruin any chance you have. Coach was already suspicious, Bucky knew . . . and he wasn’t about to let these two crooks know that.
The next hour dragged by painfully. At 6:30 Reg flipped on the set and sank back to watch. The local news followed a short press conference by the president. Regional stories droned on until nearly 7:00 when “Big Max,” the local newspaper’s sports editor, came on.
“Any last word on the big game tonight?” the news anchor asked.
“Boy, the whole town of Hampton Beach is higher than our NBC satellite,” the chubby sportswriter grinned, looking into the camera. “The varsity Panther team is going up against the Tornadoes for the district championship, and just about everybody in town who ain’t on life support is going to be squeezing into that gym right about now.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be the guy who has to count receipts down at the theater or Hampton Beach restaurants. We’re talkin’ empty seats, folks.”
“What’s your prediction, Max?”
“Oh, it’s going to be one rough and tough contest. But Litton and Stone have never been hotter, and Little Boy Bill – that’s guard Bill Volker – is playing like gangbusters right now. I figure Panthers are just going to squeeze out a lovely W for us. But awful close. I’m getting goose bumps just thinking about it.”
Reg snapped off the set. “Ha ha to you, fat guy. Shows how much you know.”
The older man straightened up in his chair. “‘Bout time to make our call.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Reg agreed. He stood up and crossed to the motel phone, pulling it over to the bed next to Bucky. “Kid, it’s about time you earned your keep around here.”
Bucky’s pulse lurched again. “What?”
Reg licked his lips. “You’re going to call in sick. Just so little Coachie won’t be worried about you.”
“What? I’m not sick, and he knows it.”
A grin. “You’re right. But we’re going to fix all that right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Who’s that guy you always hang around with? Litton?”
The boy hesitated. “Yeah.”
The man towered over him, his tone tightening. “You’re going to call him. I figure he’s over at the gym by now. You tell him you went over to Oakland for some stuff, and your car broke down halfway back. You tried to get a ride but nobody would pick you up, so now you aren’t going to make it to the game. You’re really mad, what a drag, blah, blah, blah.” He put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and tightened his grip. “You got that?”
Bucky shook his head. “Are you kidding me? That’s not going to work!”
“Sure it will.”
“The biggest game of the year and my car broke down?”
“Hey,” Reg retorted, “that’s it. That’s what you’re gonna tell Mr. Litton.” His grip tightened until Bucky winced. “And, believe me, you’re going to sell that story like it’s the best one you ever heard. If you even twitch on a single word, your friend Litton is going to be talking to a disconnected basketball star. And I mean that! Making people hurt is something I know how to do just about better than anything.” He gave the boy’s shoulder a vicious little shake.
“I still . . .” Bucky gulped back the protest, his mind racing. The story was sure to make Dan suspicious, he knew. And Coach Brayshaw would realize immediately that something was wrong.
“What’s the matter, kid? You gonna make that call, or do I have to do a little persuading?” The older man stood and began walking over to Bucky, his right hand fumbling inside his jacket. His eyes glinted.
“Tell me again what I should say.” Bucky’s voice shook.
“Look, it’s simple. You went to Oakland to pick up some stuff. Your car broke down. You tried and tried to fix it and then to get a ride, but you couldn’t get one. So no matter what, you’re not going to make it to the game.”
Bucky nodded dully, his brain still working furiously. How could he tip off the situation without making the two men suspicious?
“Do it!” Reg leaned forward, nudging him.
His fingers trembling, Bucky picked up the phone, squinting at the directions on the receiver. He punched in a nine and then the seven digits for the gymnasium.
“Gym.” He recognized the voice
of the assistant secretary.
“Liz? Bucky Stone here.”
“Bucky! Where are . . .”
He cut her off. “I gotta talk to Dan Litton. Is he there yet?”
“Oh, sure. Most of the team’s already suiting up. Hang on.”
A moment later he heard the familiar voice of his teammate. “Yeah?”
“Dan? This is Bucky.” In the background he could hear the muted thump thump of a lone basketball bouncing.
“Man, Stone, get your tail over here! Biggest game of the year, and you’re tardy, my man.”
“Dan, listen to me.” Looking up, Bucky could see the older man eyeing him carefully. “I’m stuck. I . . . went into Oakland and then broke down. The Fiero just . . . I don’t know . . . there’s something wrong with the engine block. It seized up or something. I can’t get it going.”
“What?”
“I know. It’s so stupid. Dumb machine. I tried to start it for about twenty minutes, then I tried to get a ride, but nobody would pick me up. So finally I called my dad, and he’s coming to get me.”
“Well, hurry up!”
“Hey, there’s no way. I’m a good hour away, and I just got off the phone to my dad two minutes ago.”
There was a long pause. “I can’t believe this! Stone, you big idiot. How could you mess up now?”
“I know it!” Bucky took a deep breath and braced himself. “How do you think I feel? I’m so mad I could just . . .” His insides gnawing at him, he threw in a couple of harsh expletives. On the other end of the line he could hear Dan gasp.
“You better tell Coach,” Bucky ended, his voice shaking.
Another long silence. “Yeah, I guess so.” Dan’s voice revealed his stunned confusion.
“I’ll see you, man.” Without a goodbye, Bucky replaced the receiver and looked up at the two men. Cold sweat flooded his body.
“Not bad!” Reg grinned at him approvingly. “You handled that OK, kid.” Picking up the phone, he put it back. “We pull this off, and we might just give you a little Christmas present after all.”
“No way.” The burst of profanity seemed to linger on Bucky’s tongue, causing him to flush red. Lord, please forgive me. I didn’t know what else to do.
“Well, let’s sit tight.” The older man propped up his feet on the bed. “Maybe get some food in here. You want anything, kid? Steak sandwich?” He laughed. “We’re buyin’.”
“I’m not hungry.”
• • • • •
Dan sat in Coach Brayshaw’s tiny office dressed in his white basketball uniform. The older man slumped at his desk, deep in thought. At last he looked up. “You really think Stone’s in trouble?”
Dan nodded slowly. “I don’t know what else to think, Coach.”
Mr. Brayshaw chewed on a ragged thumbnail. “Hang on,” he muttered tersely. He went out into the hallway and disappeared around the corner.
The stocky forward remained in the quiet office listening to the piercing buzzer out in the gym, signaling that the game was just fifteen minutes away. The Hampton High jazz band was present in full force, playing one of the high school’s “fight” songs.
A moment later the athletic director returned with another man. “Dan, this is Sergeant Wilkes from the plainclothes division.”
The boy gulped. “How’d you come to be here?”
The coach motioned the tall policeman to the other chair. The officer was wearing casual athletic clothes and looked like any other basketball fan.
“Sergeant Wilkes was here checking out the possibility that this game might still be rigged.” The coach took a breath. “See, Litton, what you don’t know – at least, you don’t unless Stone told you – is that these same two crooks talked to him and Volker Tuesday night. Tried to get them to dump tonight’s game for some pretty big money.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I guess Volker’s been collecting all season.”
Dan’s face flushed red. “Are you kidding me?”
“Well, forget that for now. Anyway, Stone told me Tuesday night that these guys, whoever they are, had decided not to play this game. Since he wouldn’t help them. Said they were going to collect off some Fresno game instead. I didn’t know if that was just to throw us off the track or if the fix was still in here. Police are checking that out now.”
The plainclothes officer leaned forward. “Dan, tell me why you think your friend is in trouble.”
The boy shook his head. “Well, now I really think so,” he growled.
“How come?”
“Well, it’s so dumb! Why would he run off to Oakland just hours before the biggest game of the year?”
The officer shrugged. “So? Maybe he had business there.”
“But he works at the bank Thursday.”
The coach nodded. “We need to check that out, Barry.”
“Sure.” The officer looked at Dan. “Go on. What else?”
“Well . . .” Dan seemed to hesitate.
“Hurry! We ain’t got all day!”
Dan gulped. “Well, when he told me he broke down, he . . . really cut loose. I mean, swearing and everything. F words and all.”
The policeman shrugged. “So? Kid misses the varsity finals, what else is he going to do?”
“Hang on.” Coach Brayshaw leaned forward. “Stone? Swearing?”
“Yeah! I mean, he really screamed at me. Pretty raw stuff.”
“You’re kidding!” Brayshaw shook his head in disbelief. “Stone?”
“Something’s wrong,” Dan asserted. “I know it.”
Coach stood up abruptly. “Let’s get Volker in here!” He slammed the door on his way out.
Slumped in his chair, Dan looked over at the officer. The man’s forehead wrinkled up as he pondered the situation. “What kind of guy is this Stone . . . that you think him mouthing off is so unusual?”
“He’s a Christian,” Dan said simply. “He never swears. Never.”
“Huh.”
Coach Brayshaw shoved the door open again with Bill Volker in tow. The short guard looked at the small group. “What is this?” he demanded.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” the athletic supervisor snapped. “You’re gonna tell me right now about tonight’s game! Is the fix in?”
Bill’s eyes darted back and forth. “No way! That stuff ended months ago.”
“Cut it out! Stone told me two nights ago that you were all set up for a big payoff. Five grand. That these guys tried to get Stone to go for it too . . . and then they pulled the plug.”
“Oh, man. No way.”
His eyes blazing, Dan leaned forward. “You’re talkin’ to the police here, you know. So shape up, Volker. Just tell us what you know!”
Officer Wilkes stood up, towering over Bill. “Volker, I’m going to tell you something, and I’m going to tell it to you one time. The way things stand now we can have you behind bars in the next half hour. And I can personally make it stick – for as long as I want it to stick. Now if you know anything at all, you better tumble out with it in about the next eight seconds.”
Bill cowered in his seat. “I don’t know anything,” he replied in a weak voice. “They told me the deal was off. Then this morning they told me, ‘Well, we’re back on again.’”
“Did they pay you?”
The boy nodded numbly. Coach Brayshaw slammed his fist down on the scratched desk.
“Now look, Volker.” The policeman stared down at the basketball player. “Where are these guys now? What are their names? Have they got Stone someplace?”
“I don’t know. I know one of them’s named Reg. The other one is real careful. He just never says who he is. They drive a Lexus. That’s all I know. I don’t know anything about Stone or where they are or anything.” The words ended in a desperate rush.
The officer sat down, glancing at his watch. “You boys are supposed to get out there in five minutes,” he observed.
“How can we play with this going on?” Coach demanded.
> The officer swung around and turned to Dan. “Now Litton, think! What exactly did Stone tell you? Every word! Maybe there’s something there we’ve overlooked. Some clue.”
Dan took a deep breath. “Let me think,” he said, his voice shaking just a little bit. “He went to Oakland, then the car broke down . . .”
“Anything about where in Oakland? Or what was wrong with the car? Think, man!”
Dan put up a hand as if to silence the interruptions. “Hang on,” he whispered, replaying the words of the phone conversation in his mind. “I’m thinking . . .”
The noise in the gymnasium was a distant blur, as the blare of the PA announcer joined with the raucous shouts of the student body waiting impatiently for the big game to commence.
Slowly Dan opened his eyes. “I think . . . maybe I know where he is.”
Chapter Thirteen: Clue?
The tall gambler pulled up his coat sleeve to look at his expensive gold watch. “‘Bout game time,” he muttered. He turned to his partner. “You got that radio?”
“Yeah.” Reg fished out the portable radio from the closet and twisted a dial. “Let’s listen to all our money rolling in.”
“. . . And the Panthers still haven’t taken the floor.” The voice of the announcer suddenly filled the motel room. “Some of the fans are starting to get restless. They’ve been waiting for this contest all season, it seems. The Panthers and the Tornadoes are two of the best high school teams in the East Bay. But only one of the dream teams has entered the playing arena. Where is Coach Ted Brayshaw and his Hampton Beach Panthers?”
Reg grumbled an oath to himself as he adjusted the volume. “Hope nothing screws this up.”
“Aaaaah, high school games always start late,” the older man said. “They don’t have the money from TV rights to motivate them. But we’re all set to get rich out of this game.”
Bucky leaned back against the wall, an ache in the pit of his stomach. The profanity he’d just snapped at Dan lingered like a crimson stain in his mind. Had he been wrong to use it as a signal? Even to save his life? Or should he have simply trusted God to fix things? A tinge of guilt mixed with the raw fear that still gripped him.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 61