Frank came out from behind the bar to park his butt on a stool. “We did great both nights.”
Paul joined him. “So, what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, the clientele was a little different than usual, and I’m afraid we could lose the locals if the trend continues.”
“Explain.”
“I don’t know what to say without sounding like, you know, a judgmental prick or something.”
“Just spill it, for Chrissakes.”
“Look, I know you hired Katie’s sister as a favor to her to help her get back on her feet. And she’s a good cocktail waitress.”
Paul’s guts began to curdle. “But—?”
“Both nights the bar was filled with bikers. Friends of Mina’s. These guys were loud, bro. And obnoxious. Two of them nearly came to blows at the pool table. A couple of others got so shitfaced and sloppy I had to throw them out. They threatened to come back next week and ‘mess my face up.’ Not what I wanna hear, okay?”
“Shit. Did they at least pay for their drinks?”
“See, that’s the thing: They were ordering so many, so fast, I’m pretty sure Mina let some of the tab slide. To my mind, things did not compute when I cashed out at the end of the evening. I always keep a running guesstimate in my head of what the night’s grand total will be, and I’m usually in the ball park. This weekend the numbers were way lower than I thought they’d be. I’m telling you, we should use the cash-and-carry system with tickets.”
Paul frowned. He preferred the simple cash-and-carry system. Foregoing tickets was cheaper, and you didn’t have to wrap your head around accounting. There was just one drawback: This verbal system depended completely upon the honesty of employees.
He looked at Frank. “What do you think I should do? You’ve been in this business a helluva lot longer than I have.”
Frank shrugged. “It’s a tough call. She’s good at what she does.”
“Except she might be giving free drinks to friends we don’t want in here.”
“Right.”
“Shit,” Paul repeated. “Any chance one of the other girls might be messing up?”
“We never had this problem till you hired Katie’s sister,” Frank pointed out bluntly. “Look, I know it’s sticky. We’ve got no solid proof here. And these guys are, for the most part, paying customers. I think we have to just play it by ear for now. If they come in next week and cause trouble, we’ll throw them out, and you can have a heart-to-heart with Mina. Make sense?”
“Yeah.” Paul sighed. “Thanks for telling me, Frank. Did I miss any other fun?”
“Doug Burton and Chick Perry stopped by.”
“What did they want?”
“To talk to you. They said to call ’em, because it’s important.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Paul muttered. “I’ll call them.”
Once again, Paul found himself at the Didsbury Country Club. The only time he ever set foot in the place was when he was summoned by Doug Burton and Chick Perry.
“Gentlemen.”
Paul was pleasantly surprised to find them sitting on opposite sides of the table this time, an inversion of their usual seating arrangement. He politely shook both their hands before sitting down.
“I hear you stopped by the Penalty Box this weekend,” he said.
“We did,” said Doug, sipping a beer. “We were very impressed with the décor.”
“Less so with the clientele,” said Chick.
Doug frowned with disapproval. “You never told us it was a biker bar, Paul.”
“It’s not.”
“Well, it certainly looked like it the night we were there.”
“An aberration. Some gang was passing through town and stopped.” Chick had already taken the liberty of pouring Paul a glass of water, and he reached for it gratefully, taking a sip. “So, what’s up?”
“Something very serious has occurred.”
The gravity in Doug Burton’s voice alarmed Paul, who began wracking his brains, trying to figure out how he might have screwed up in the past few months. He’d thought things were going really well. Apparently not.
“It’s Dan Doherty,” Doug continued with a sad sigh. “He’s got cancer.”
“That’s too bad,” said Paul, meaning it. Doherty might be the biggest bastard on bandy legs, but he would never wish illness on the guy.
“He’s too sick to coach. The league would like you to take over and coach his team for the rest of the season.”
Paul sat back, stunned. The midget travel team. The team he’d lobbied to coach at the beginning of the season, a team with real players with real skill who breathed and ate hockey as he once had.
“What do you say, Paul?” said Chick, loosening the tie cutting off the circulation at his corpulent neck.
“Doesn’t Dan have an assistant?” Paul asked suspiciously.
“He does. Tommy Lambert. But he’s not quite up to the task.”
“Who would take over my squirt team?”
“We haven’t figured that out yet, but what the hell does it matter?” Doug chuckled. “They’re a joke.”
“Actually, they’re playing very well these days.”
“I’m sure they are, son. But at that level of play, who gives a shit?”
They do, Paul thought angrily. Doug leaned forward, staring Paul right in the eye. “Here’s your shot, Paul. Doherty’s not likely to be back. The midget team is eleven and one. With you as their coach we’re sure they’ll at least make it to the state semifinals, if not win the championship. How ’bout it?”
How ’bout it indeed. With Doug and Chick staring at him as if the fate of the world hung in the balance, Paul could barely think straight. A chance to coach real players . . . a shot at a championship . . . no Dan Doherty . . . it seemed too good to be true. Be careful what you wish for, his mother used to caution, or you just might get it. Shit.
“I need to think about this.”
Doug and Chick exchanged puzzled glances. “I can’t believe you’re not jumping on this,” said Doug.
“Normally, I would. But there are a couple of other things I need to consider.” His fingers lightly drummed the tabletop. “When do you need an answer by?”
“Friday, the latest,” said Doug.
“I can give you an answer by Wednesday. Why don’t you stop by the Penalty Box around lunchtime?”
“Will do,” said Doug.
Two minutes until the game with the Winchester Barracudas and no sign of Tuck Fisher. Goddamn Mina, Paul thought angrily. He’d already checked with Katie to see if she knew what was up; as far as she knew, Mina was bringing him to the game. Katie’s face fell when Paul told her Tuck had failed to show at practice that morning. “Maybe he’s sick today,” Katie offered weakly.
“Then he—or his parent—is supposed to call me,” Paul pointed out. He could tell from Katie’s expression she didn’t believe Tuck was sick.
Warm-up complete, Paul hustled his team back into the locker room.
“Okay, guys.” He clapped his hands together twice to get their attention. “Who can tell me this week’s motto?” Every week he gave them a new motto, something to think about and strive for. Hands sprung up in the air like weeds.
“Wilbraham?”
“Your attitude determines your altitude.”
Paul nodded approvingly. “And what does it mean?” Hands stretched higher. “Becker?”
“It means if you have confidence, you can go far,” the boy said quietly.
“That’s right. I know you guys have probably heard some things about the Barracudas: that they play dirty, that they’ve got big goony guys playing defense. I want you to put it out of your heads. You’re better players, and you’re better sportsmen. If you believe we can rise above their dirty tricks and win because of our talent, we will.”
“Yeah!” the boys cheered. Paul was surprised to find himself believing his own words. He knew the Barracudas’ coach: he was an SOB, renowned for calling
time-outs and encouraging cheap shots. Initially Paul was certain his boys would get creamed. But then he watched them at practice that morning, noting how far they had come, and pride swelled within him.
Tuck’s absence disturbed him. He’d been back with his mother for less than two months and already the kid’s life was becoming erratic. It wasn’t good. Plus, on a purely selfish level, he could have used Tuck here for this game.
“Coach?”
Gary Flaherty’s voice overtook the one in his head. “Hmm?”
“You okay? You’re just, like, staring into space.”
Paul shook himself out. “I’m fine. You guys ready to go out there and kick Barracuda butt?”
“Yeah!”
“Let’s get ’em.”
Pau lwas in torment as he watched his team being pummeled by the Barracudas, his mind continually flashing to a vision of himself coaching the midget travel team. He knew Doug Burton was right: Paul had seen them play, and were he to take over the team, he had no doubt they could blast their way past every other team in the finals and win the div championship. He’d taste glory again, basking in the respect of players who knew what the game was all about. He’d be able to make a new name for himself.
“Coach?”
He turned from the ice to see Tuck walking behind the bench, a hangdog expression on his face.
“Tuck. Glad you could make it,” Paul said sincerely.
The other players slid down the bench, making room so Tuck could sit down.
“We missed you at practice this morning, buddy.”
Tuck just swallowed, eyes straying to the ice.
“Where were you?” Paul asked gently.
Tuck licked his lips nervously, still avoiding eye contact. “There was a problem with the car.”
Paul knew Mina didn’t have a car. Maybe he meant a problem with that Serpent guy’s motorcycle. Paul crouched down so he was eye level with the boy. “Remember what we talked about at my house?” he said in a low voice. “That if you need a ride to practice, you could call me or your aunt?”
Tuck nodded absently.
“Why didn’t you?”
Tuck shrugged, tightlipped. Obviously he wasn’t going to talk about what was going on.
Paul rose with a sigh. “You know I can’t let you play today, right? You missed practice.”
“I know,” Tuck said in a small voice. The hunger in his eyes was painful for Paul to see. The kid was dying to be out on the ice. It was probably the only place he felt free, the only place where he could escape his problems for a few hours. Paul understood completely.
“How did you get here?” Paul asked.
Tuck squirmed uncomfortably on the bench. “Mom gave me cab fare.”
“And how are you supposed to get home?”
Tuck finally tore his gaze from the ice. Paul could tell it was taking every ounce of his strength to keep it together. “She said Aunt Katie would take me home.”
And what if Aunt Katie wasn’t here? Paul wanted to ask, but didn’t. It wasn’t fair to grill the child about the sins of the parent. Now he had two things to chat with Mina about.
“I’m sure Katie will be glad to take you home,” Paul assured him with a pat to the shoulder. “You’ll be our good luck mascot today, okay, buddy?”
Katie decided to take Tuck out for an ice cream after the game. It would cheer him up after not being able to play and having to witness his team go down in flames 7-1 to the Barracudas.
It would also give her a chance to try to find out what was going on at home.
“How’s that hot fudge sundae?” Katie asked as Tuck devoured his ice cream. His ravenous appetite struck her as amusing until it dawned on her that maybe he was shoveling food down because he was wasn’t being fed enough at home. A lump formed in her throat as she cautioned herself against jumping to conclusions.
“It’s good,” Tuck warbled through a mouthful of ice cream.
Figuring Tuck might be self-conscious if he was the only one eating, Katie ordered a fat-free vanilla yogurt. She took a few spoonfuls, studying him.
“You seem awfully hungry.”
Tuck just nodded, shoveling more ice cream into his mouth.
“How come you were late to the game?”
Tuck expression turned guarded. “Mom thought she’d be able to take me but then she couldn’t so then she called me a cab.”
Katie poked at her yogurt. “Why didn’t you call me? I could have picked you up.”
Tuck said nothing.
“Coach van Dorn says you missed practice this morning. That’s not like you.”
Tuck wiped at his mouth. “Mom was out late and I didn’t want to wake her up.”
“I see.” Katie’s heart pounded in her chest. If Mina walked through the door of the ice cream parlor right now, Katie would jump on her like a wild animal. “You could have called me,” she reminded Tuck.
Tuck glanced away. “Mom said we shouldn’t bother other people. She said no one wants to hear our problems.”
“I’m not ‘other people’ Tuck. I’m your aunt, and I’d be glad to take you. Why didn’t you just use the cell phone I gave you?”
“Don’t know where it is,” Tuck said very quietly.
The pressure in Katie’s chest increased. “Don’t know where it is, or Mom took it to use herself?”
Tuck’s eyes dropped down to the table. Son of a bitch. Mina was dead. That’s all there was to it.
Tuck finished his sundae with a flourish. “That was great!”
“Want another?”
Tuck’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Really?”
“Sure. This is a special occasion, what the hell.”
Katie ordered another ice cream sundae for Tuck. He looked so happy you would have thought she’d given the kid a million dollars. “I hope you don’t get a stomachache,” Katie worried aloud.
“I won’t,” Tuck said confidently. “Once, at Gary’s, we ate two whole bags of Chip-a-roos and we didn’t even puke!”
“Amazing,” Katie agreed. Her yogurt was fast collapsing into a white puddle. She took two more mouthfuls, trying to convince herself it tasted as mouthwatering as the concoction her nephew was digging into. The temptation to order some ice cream for herself was overwhelming. I’m under stress, she reasoned. It’ll soothe me. I can run an extra mile tomorrow. But she held fast. If she gave in to the ice cream, she was likely to go on a bender. Considering her jeans felt a little snugger these days than she would have liked, she forced herself to be content with the yogurt.
“How’s school going?”
“Good.”
“Are you getting all your homework done?”
Tuck nodded.
“Computer working okay?”
“Yeah. Except Snake is always throwing me off so he can look at porn.”
“Really.” Katie pushed her yogurt away. “I’ll have to talk to him about that.”
Alarm sprang into Tuck’s eyes. “No, don’t! I promised not to tell anyone. He said Mom would cut off his balls and feed them to wild dogs if she knew.”
Katie shifted uncomfortably. “So, Mom and Snake are kinda going out?”
“Kinda. They fight sometimes. Mom says ‘You don’t fuckin’ own me’ and then Snake says ‘Fine then find your own fucking place to live you freeloading bitch’ and takes off on his motorcycle but then he always comes back and they make up.”
“Well, that’s good,” Katie managed. “Nana misses you, you know,” she continued. “She’s hoping you can come over soon.”
“Mom said she’d rather chop off her left tit than ever go over there,” Tuck mumbled forlornly.
Katie opened her mouth to admonish him about his language then caught herself. Mina was the one with the foul mouth, not him. Tuck was just repeating his mother’s charming vernacular. Her mind chilled as she recalled what Tuck was like right after Mina had gone into rehab and he’d moved in with her mother. Every other word out of his mouth was a curse. It had taken m
onths to break him of the habit. And now look where he was: right back at square one.
“Tuck, I’m going to ask you something, and if you don’t want to talk about it right now, I understand.”
Tuck’s expression was leery as he peered at her over the rim of his sundae.
“Is everything okay at home?”
“What do you mean?”
Katie brought her hands down into her lap so her nephew wouldn’t see how hard she was twisting them. “I mean, is Mom okay? Is she taking care of business—you know, making dinner, washing your clothes and stuff?”
“Snake cooks dinner.”
“Whatever. I just want to make sure you’re okay, honey.”
“I’m okay,” said Tuck. He swallowed. “But I would like to see Nana.”
“How about I pick you up on Sunday and bring you over to Nana’s house and we can all hang out? I bet Nana would make hamburgers for you, if you wanted.”
“That would rock!” Tuck perked up a moment. Then his face fell. “I better check with Mom,” he said.
“I’m sure Mom will be fine with it,” Katie said firmly. “If you want, I’ll talk to her about it. That, and hockey practice. I’ll arrange to bring you to practice and games, just like before.”
Panic streaked across Tuck’s face. “But Mom said—”
“You let me handle your mom.”
CHAPTER 22
“GIVE ME A MINUTE, WILL YA?”
Katie rolled her eyes as she waited for Mina to unlock the door. She’d been ringing the doorbell for at least ten minutes. Mina had never been a morning person, but then again, it wasn’t really morning. It was noon.
The door finally opened. Mina stood there in a rumpled, bright red kimono, last night’s mascara ringing her eyes.
“Katie.” Mina’s mouth puckered. “Don’t you believe in calling first?”
“I did. You never pick up your damn phone.”
“Come in. I guess.”
Katie followed her sister inside and was immediately assaulted by the smell of stale cigarettes. They were everywhere: overflowing ashtrays, floating in lipstick-stained glasses, stubbed out in half-eaten pieces of cold pizza lying in an open box on the dusty coffee table. Katie’s stomach tumbled. The place was a sty. Katie knew lots of people were relaxed about cleaning. But this was more than mere untidiness. This bordered on squalor.
The Penalty Box Page 25