Sinners Football 01- Goals for a Sinner (22 page)

“Joe Dean, you got the simple faith of a child.

The Bible says that’s a good thang, but you know, folks have to work on their problems, too.”

“I don’t see why when a prayer and a nice donation to the Catholic Church will take care of the matter.”

“Okay, you the man. You call the plays,” the Rev said around a mouthful of ham, cheese, and salami.

“Who am I to say miracles don’t happen?”

“Damn right. I am the quarterback. Yes, I am.”

“So, Mr. Quarterback, you think we could move these cars before a neighbor thinks this is a three-car accident and calls the police. You know I’d be the one they arrest. After that, I could use some cold sweet tea or a beer to wash down this sandwich.

Figure we could sneak in the kitchen door without upsetting whatever is going on in the bedroom?”

“Good plan, Rev. Let’s go with it.”
 

Chapter Twenty-One

The rest of the Sinners thundered through the tunnel to the field, but Coach Buck put a restraining hand on Connor Riley’s shoulder. “A moment, son.” Connor stopped dead and lowered his head. Just when things were coming together for him, Coach was going to rip him apart. He deserved it of course.

The man had put up with too much crap; grounded him last week, and now would deliver a final blow, probably giving Forte his place in the lineup permanently.

“How’s that neck guard working out for you?”

“Good, Coach, real good. They lowered the sides so I can turn my head better, put in a little more padding to make it comfortable. It works for me.”

“Glad to hear it. I also hear Stevie Dowd is back in your life. Women… Women can be more treacherous than football.” Coach Buck nodded, agreeing with himself from long experience. “I have two ex-wives and a cold bed to prove it.”

“Me and Stevie, we’re good.” Connor’s blazing smile made the coach smile back, deepening the lines around his mouth and eyes.

“Glad to hear it. About today.” Connor braced for bad news and began arranging his arguments about why he should play in this game.

“Doc Funk says I should play you, but I want your word, no outbursts, no tantrums that will cost the team. Early in the season, you ran rings around these jokers and they may be out to get you, so be aware.”

Connor nodded. Coach raked his fingers through his steel-gray crew cut. “This one should be a piece of cake with a cherry on top. These losers took only two games this season, but desperate teams can sometimes sneak up on you. Get careless and they win. They win, it gives us three losses and we are tied for the division championship. We win we get a nice rest before playoffs. Make that happen, boy.” Coach Buck slapped Connor on the back and sent him on his way. The late arrival on the field by the wide receiver was noted by a few fans. Connor heard some soft boos. He deserved this, too, but tuned out the noise and concentrated on the warm-up. Still, his eyes drifted toward where his parents, back from the British Isles, sat right down in front, not up in the sky boxes. Stevie, dressed in bright red and a sight to behold, sat between them. His family was here, together, and that was all that mattered.

He went back to his stretches.

The Sinners won the toss. Minutes into the first quarter, Joe Dean handed off the ball to his halfback, Fullerton, who moved through a hole made by the offensive line big enough to drive maybe not a Mack truck but at least two Hummers through.

Fullerton went down on the thirty-yard line.

On the next play, Joe arrowed a short pass to Deets. In the seconds it took Connor to wonder if Joe was protecting him by keeping him out of the action, Deets was brought down, his hands barely on the ball. The pigskin rolled free and Connor Riley covered it. Two opposing players piled on top.

Connor’s helmet came off.

The two opposing backs were on their feet. They looked at each other as if they wanted to do a high five. Getting Riley tossed from the game would give their team a small edge. Connor rose slowly and turned away from the camera. He took a breath so deep the expansion of his broad shoulders could be captured on film. He pivoted. The smaller of the two backs stepped away.

The larger one held his ground and growled soft enough to be unheard by the officials, “Just doing my job, Riley. Want to make something of it, Goldilocks?”

“Like you said, you did your job and I did mine.

We still have the ball.” Connor trotted off to join the huddle. He had something he wanted to say to Joe Dean Billodeaux before he called the play.

The action began again. The two backs covering Riley found themselves shoved off course while Connor slid into the end zone, caught Billodeaux’s easy arcing pass, spiked the ball in triumph and walked casually off the field.

Ancient Andy on his way to kick the extra point gave Riley a thumbs up. The Rev punched Connor’s arm lightly. Joe Dean took a seat on the bench next to his wide receiver. Coach Buck, watching the football soar over the crossbar, muttered a low key,

“Nice work” in passing. Connor refrained from looking for his family. He had no need. On the big screens mounted near the top of the dome, Stevie, his mother and dad hugged.

The game was a rout, 49-zip. Connor added three touchdowns to his credit. The Rev scored one on a brilliant interception causing Al and Hank up in the booth to remark he was worth every penny the Sinners had spent to get him. Deets had a touchdown and Fullerton, passing through another hole big enough to fly a 737 through, ran the length of the field and scored without a man near him.

****

The sport analysts were dissecting the win before the team came out of the showers. Hank said,

“Well, as Yogi used to say, that was déjà vu all over again. Connor Riley on the bottom of a pile, the helmet comes off, but does he fight? Not this time.”

“The outcome of the game is no surprise at least.

The Sinners have been clear-cut division leaders for most of the season. But what do you think?” Al said to Hank. “Have we seen the comeback of wide receiver, Connor Riley?”

“I think Riley got more support from his team than any time since he started costing them yardage. As for Riley himself, the playoffs will give us the answer to that. Meanwhile, I’d say the Sinners are going to have a very happy New Year.”

****

Connor insisted they go to the post-game celebration party, not so much because he wanted to, but because he needed to repair some more of the damage he had done, he told Stevie. Expecting a cold greeting, she protested all the way that she would rather have returned home with Keith and Kristen.

Clothed head to foot in Sinners’ red, Stevie had purchased the spandex jumpsuit the day before the game at the Frederick’s of Hollywood shop in the Quarter, surely the chosen shopping place of hookers and female impersonators. The shoes to match with six-inch ice pick heels held on by a complex crisscross of straps were on sale. In for a dollar, in for a dime. If the game seats had been on the upper tiers, she would have crawled up the narrow steps on hands and knees rather than risk a life-threatening plunge to the lower decks because of her footwear. She wore her straight blonde hair—longer than ever because she had neglected to get it cut while moping along on the golf tour—loose and capless so Connor would be able to see her face and pick out the red jumpsuit in the crowd. Hair in her face, spandex climbing into her crotch, feet aching, overall Stevie was miserably uncomfortable. The things we do for love.

Connor got playful on the drive to the celebration. While she adored seeing him this way, Stevie thought she had gone too far in an attempt give him encouragement. He kept pulling the gold ring on the long front zipper of the jumpsuit down inch by inch until the lace edging on the red Victoria’s Secret pushup bra, another regrettable purchase, showed along with a great deal of cleavage. Stevie pulled the zipper up two inches. He pulled it down an inch. They arrived at the club before she could make another adjustment.

Connor drew her from the car and tucked her against his body as tightly as he carried a football.

They became part of the throng together. Other players shook Connor’s hand or gave him a back slap. No one said anything much to Stevie until Joe Dean materialized through the alcohol fumes and shadows.

He swallowed and said huskily, “Lookin’ fine, Stevie. Ah…come sit with the Rev and me.” Dr. Arminta Green sat at their table. She had changed from the jeans and Sinner’s shirt worn at the game into a classic little black dress accented with tiny bits of gold on her ears, neck and wrist.

She wore sensible low sandals that Stevie envied.

The Rev’s engagement ring weighed down her slim hand. She took in Stevie’s attire and let out a great bubbling laugh.

“I know. It’s way over the top.” Stevie apologized for her lame effort at being sexy.

“Ignore her,” the Rev boomed. “You hot, girl.

Where can I get my Mintay an outfit like that for the Super Bowl?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell him,” Stevie assured Arminta who laughed some more.

Joe Dean poured champagne all around from the bottle in its ice bucket on the center of the table. He muttered over his own glass, “Seven more weeks, maybe less.”

A tall, bony woman, her hair dyed the peculiar purple-red of henna, stalked over to their group on her very own stiletto heels. She had gone braless beneath her low-cut dress in a shiny snakeskin print but showed more jutting collarbone and ribs than breast. Clearly, she wanted something. Joe Dean reached in his jacket pocket, took out his leather book and a pen. Stevie just shook her head at his never-ending string of women.

In a low voice meant to be seductive but sounding more like a bad sinus condition, the woman introduced herself. “I’m Margaret Stutes from the PR department.”

Joe Dean flipped his book to the “S” section.

“Well, Margaret, you’re already in here, sugar. You can’t sign twice. Sorry. I have to spread myself around after my celibacy ends, but I’ll be in touch.” Margaret settled herself in the chair opposite his seat, and Joe took off. He appeared to be crossing out a name in his book as he went. Margaret leaned over the table toward her next target and gave Connor a look down her top. He pushed his chair back abruptly and stood up. “I’ve got to circulate, too, Margaret. Nice meeting you.”

“Me, too,” said the Rev, not taking any chances.

He followed Connor from the table.

“So it’s just us girls now. You know, I had to come here with a reserve defensive lineman,” she complained, disgust in her voice. “With my publicity skills, I could make or break these guys, but do they appreciate me? No.” She helped herself to Joe Dean’s unfinished champagne, drained the glass and shoved it into her rather large evening bag. “Souvenir,” she explained. “You with Connor Riley? Good looking in a blond sort of way but very moody. I like mine dark and lively,” she confided to Stevie.

“Margaret, I’ve been meaning to come to see you about that job offer. I’m Stevie Dowd, the photographer.”

“Oh, I thought you were some bimbo the Barbarian picked up. Didn’t recognize you without your gear. I can’t say we have any openings right now. No one has asked about you lately,” Margaret said in the voice of a woman who regularly practiced bitchery and knew when a person was at her mercy.

“I need to travel with the team and keep busy during the games. Sitting in the stands waiting for something to happen doesn’t agree with me. I could be of more use down on the field.” Stevie tried to keep the pleading out of her voice, but Margaret’s sharp PR trained ears heard her desperation.

“Well, you and Joe Dean are tight, right? If you could get him to start with Stutes, Margaret, at the end of the season when he gives up this celibacy shit, there might be a place for you.” Margaret waited like a boa constrictor sizing up a tethered goat.

“I couldn’t. Yes, I could. I need to be with Connor.”

“You won’t be able to sleep with him. They lock the team up tight during playoffs and the Super Bowl.”

“That doesn’t matter. I need to be on the field doing my job.”

“The deal is what I said, and I need to hear it from Joe’s own mouth.”

“I’ll try.”

Dr. Arminta Green shook her head sadly.

****

Across the room far from where the all black rhythm and blues band wailed out slow and sexy dance tunes, Joe, Connor and the Rev huddled.

“No one’s talking to Stevie. By now, we should have had half a dozen guys over at the table,” Connor said to his friends. “All we’ve attracted is that PR barracuda.”

“My Mintay will stand by her,” the Rev asserted proudly.

“It’s my fault. I’ve been blaming her for your acting out. Let me see what I can do. You guys go be charming to the team owner or something.” Joe Dean put on his brightest smile and approached a group of linemen.

“Great work today.” He slung an arm around a set of beefy shoulders. “Stevie is back. Connor is on track, and I say we are going to the Super Bowl.”

“Today was too easy, man. Not even much of a game, but yeah, it was good to see Connor in action now that Steel-hearted Stevie, the stone cold bitch, is back in town. No man should be so whipped,” the nose tackle said.