Three-Point Play (5 page)

Cody willed himself to look into those cold eyes. “I'm not afraid of you,” he said.
Helpful hint
, he scolded himself,
next time you tell someone you're not afraid of him, try to do it without your voice shaking
.

“I think you are afraid,” Weitz said. “You're sweating.”

“I'm sweating because you chased me all over the whole stinkin' mall.”

“Yeah, but athlete sweat and fear sweat have distinct aromas. You're a jock. You should know that. And I smell fear.”

Just keep talking, big man
, Cody thought.
The longer we talk, the better the chances someone else will come in. Maybe even Dad
.

But Weitz was reaching for him. Cody stepped back, banging into the stall door. “Cody,” Weitz said. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

Cody cocked his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Yeah? You mighta told me that right up front, then.”

Another smile. “I have to admit—I was enjoying watching you squirm. See, sometimes I find myself wanting to blame you for what happened.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” Again, Cody's own anger shocked him. “Your brother attacked me, and that's what started the whole thing. I don't know what he told you, but all I did was let a door close behind me one time after basketball practice. And for that, he goes Extreme Wrestling on me and slams me into the door, then tosses me in the snow. Later on, he chucks beer bottles at me and Pork Chop, then chases me and another one of my friends, and, finally, tries to run me down with his truck! I never talked trash to him. Never flipped him off. Nothing. Look, I am sorry about what happened to your brother. But what happened— that's on him, not me.”

Weitz dipped his head. “I know.”

Cody felt his head shaking in bewilderment. “Then why did you come after me?”

“I wasn't coming after you, not like you're thinking. I just need to tell you something. And ask you one question.” Weitz's arms were folded defiantly across his chest. He let them drop to his sides.

“I'm listening,” Cody said.

Weitz cleared his throat. “Gabe wasn't trying to run you down,” he said. “Not really.”

“He coulda fooled me!”

The elder Weitz sighed wearily. “He was just trying to scare you. Look, he was my brother, and I know he had a mean streak. It's kinda my fault, I think. I picked on him, harassed him all his life. Anyway, he mentioned you from time to time. I think he really hated you at one point, because Pork Chop's brother, Doug, humiliated him with that one-punch KO. And that all kinda started with you—even though I know it wasn't your fault or anything. But after a while, he got over wanting to hurt you. He just wanted to throw a scare into you occasionally. It became kinda like a hobby.”

Cody crossed his arms. “Collecting stamps—
that's
a hobby. Stalking someone doesn't seem like just a hobby to me. It's more like an obsession.”

“Really? Then why did you tell the police that you thought the whole truck thing was probably an accident—or a prank gone bad?”

Cody felt the question pressing in on him. He recalled the police interview—and reinterview. “I'm not sure if I know the answer to that,” he began. “I mean, your brother was
killed
, after all. Whether he was attacking me or just trying to scare me, he paid the steepest price. I didn't see what good accusing him of attempted murder would do. And, besides, I wasn't sure. And I don't go around throwing serious accusations like that unless I'm 100 percent sure. You know, back in Old Testament times, if you accused someone of a crime punishable by death, you had to be willing to participate in the execution yourself.”

Weitz raised his eyebrows. “I didn't know that.”

Cody sensed he was out of danger. Still, he wanted to escape from the restroom. Gary Weitz seemed like a reasonable guy, but he
was
Gabe Weitz's brother, and the momentum could shift suddenly—just as it did in sports.

“Uh, Gary,” Cody said, “you mentioned that you had a question?”

Weitz nodded. “Yeah. Well, if I understand correctly what happened, you had gone for help when Gabe stumbled out of his truck and onto that old highway.” “

That's right. I really did all I could to get help to him as soon as I could. I ran as hard as I could to find someone.”

Weitz's voice was little more than a whisper. “I believe you. What I'm wondering is, you must have known he was alive if you went for help. So, did you talk to him or anything? Did he say anything to you?”

Cody shook his head sadly. “No. I don't know if he was conscious. But I did talk to him. I tried to assure him that I was going for help. And I told him I would pray for him. I told him he should pray too.”

Weitz looked at Cody. His eyes glistened. “I hope he did.”

“I do too,” Cody said quietly.

Weitz looked up at the ceiling. “You know, at his funeral, a few of his buddies were there. At the cemetery, before they put my brother in the ground, these guys walked by his casket and poured beer on it. Some ritual, huh?”

Cody nodded slowly.

“I mean,” Weitz said, his voice quaking slightly, “is that what it comes down to? Is that what a guy's life stands for? Your best friends march stone-faced by your dead body and pour beer on you?”

Cody searched every corner of his brain for a response. All he could find was, “I'm sorry.”

Weitz took two steps backward. “Well, you better go find your dad.”

Cody walked purposefully toward the door.

“Thanks for what you did, Cody,” he heard Weitz call behind him. He turned and nodded.

Chapter 4

Postseason Blues

C
laxton Hills High School was surrounded by ranch-style homes framed by evergreen trees, rose bushes, and hedges manicured with surgical precision. It was a private school where parents coughed up more than $8,000 a year to protect their kids from the dangers— both real and perceived—of South Denver's public schools.

As Cody, with his Eagle teammates, traipsed through the gymnasium, he noted the many banners adorning all four walls. Conference, district, and state titles in almost every sport—gymnastics, cross-country, track, baseball, soccer. He didn't notice any football banners, but he knew Claxton Hills hoped to remedy that shortcoming— and this evening's game was part of the quest. Grant, which finished the regular season at 5–3, had handed the Lancers their only loss of the season, so Claxton entered the play-offs as a higher seed—a vengeful higher seed.

When the Eagles were taped up and dressed out, Coach Morgan called them to the center of the visitors' locker room. As he began to speak, ATV and Clark began to tap their helmets, gently and rhythmically, on the benches where they sat. Coach Morgan raised his voice slightly, and the cadence of his speech changed, keeping rhythm with his two star players' percussion backdrop. Soon, other Eagles joined their leaders. Some began clacking their cleats against the concrete floor. Something about the aura reminded Cody of church.

“Forty-eight minutes,” the coach was saying. “Maximum effort on every play. Play with courage. Play with pride. Play with intensity. You are Eagles! It's time to fly high!”

The tapping and banging and pounding accelerated steadily until it sounded to Cody like a violent hailstorm.

ATV stood, threw back his head and bellowed a primal war cry. Others joined in. Coach Morgan waited for the frenzy to subside. “Let's take a minute,” he said. Almost in unison, the team dropped to one knee.

Cody closed his eyes tightly.
Any glory, Lord, that comes from this game
, he prayed earnestly,
let it be yours. No one else's
.

He opened his eyes. Clark's hands were folded in front of him, his lips moving slightly. Pork Chop stared straight ahead, drinking in huge gulps of air. Phillips crossed himself before standing quietly and sliding his helmet over his head.

Coach Morgan waited for all of his players to stand. “Let's bring it in, fellas,” he called. The team formed a massive huddle in the middle of the locker room, all extending arms toward the center, making a huge stack of their hands. “Let's hear ‘team' on three,” he commanded.

Cody yelled the word as loud as he could, but he couldn't hear his own voice amid the deeper, louder ones surrounding him.

Cody followed his teammates on the field, which was lit up like a birthday cake. Throughout pregame warm-ups, Cody had to constantly battle the urge to stop and stare in wonder at the scene around him. “There must be 250 kids just in the Claxton band,” he mumbled. “It's a good thing this stadium is so big, because it looks like the whole city of Denver is here!”

The much smaller visitors' stands were full too, but the size contrast between the Eagle and Lancer faithful reminded Cody of Gideon and the Midianites.

ATV gave the visiting fans cause to cheer early in the game, booting the opening kickoff five yards beyond the end zone, then sacking Eric Faust, the Lancers' college-bound QB, on first down.

But it was a long time before the Grant High parents, alumni, and fans found cause to cheer again. In the meantime, Eagle defensive stalwart Jeff “Truck” Tucker broke his ankle midway into the first quarter. ATV began to suffer from back spasms a few minutes later. By late in the second quarter, he couldn't move without crying out in pain and frustration.

Finally, with thirty-eight seconds remaining in the half, Clark body-slammed Faust in his own end zone for a safety. But that cut only slightly into Claxton Hills' 14–0 lead.

Cody found himself in the thick of the first-half action as Faust relied heavily on his two talented wide receivers, the stocky and tough Sam Butler and lanky and fleet Hayden Owens-Tharpe. Working mostly against Butler, Cody enjoyed success early in the game, as he crowded Butler at the line of scrimmage, preventing him from getting into his routes. However, on the Lancers' final drive of the first quarter, Cody bit on an out-and-up route and had to grab Butler's jersey to keep him from getting open for a long bomb from Faust. The resulting holding penalty was key in the Lancers getting on the scoreboard first.

On the next Claxton Hills possession, Cody found himself with a clear path to Faust on a corner blitz, but the QB ducked under the attempted sack, then scooted around the right end for twenty-nine yards.

As a result, Cody spent the early portion of halftime in the rear of the locker room muttering to himself. He startled when he realized Coach Morgan was standing right behind him.

“Martin,” the coach said, his voice little more than a rasp, “get yourself under control. Get your focus on the second half, understand?”

Cody swallowed hard. “Yes, Coach, it's just that—”

Coach Morgan shook his head. “I don't wanna hear it. All things considered, you did okay. I can't fault your effort. And I'd rather have a holding penalty then give Butler a free pass to the end zone. So just keep playing the game. You're a freshman playing varsity football. I'm not expecting you to set the world on fire. Just play hard every down.”

The Eagles moved into field goal range early in the third quarter, but with ATV barely able to move, much less kick, they had to go for it on fourth and eight from the Lancer twenty-five. Hammond, the Grant QB, picked up only six yards on a draw play, and the Eagles turned the ball over on downs.

Claxton Hills got a bonus on the change of possession when Pork Chop was flagged for unsportsmanlike conduct after the play. The Eagle left tackle and the Lancer right defensive end began shoving each other long after the referees had whistled the play dead. The pushing match escalated when Chop grabbed his opponent by the face mask and flung him to the ground.

Chop appeared ready to pounce when Clark and Hammond intervened and dragged him—amid bellows of protest—off the field.

I gotta get over to him
, Cody told himself as Pork Chop reached the sideline.
Gotta get him calmed down or he's gonna get tossed out of the game.