Raiders Night (3 page)

He was lost again in the maze of dark streets, voices murmuring at him from behind garbage cans and parked cars. He thought about putting up the convertible's top as protection, but the windshield was filthy and he needed to be able to peer over it to see where he was going. But he couldn't see anyway. A car wash. He needed to get to a car wash. Hands began rapping on the metal skin of the car, a drumbeat, laughter. He recognized voices but couldn't remember the names. His cell phone vibrated but he couldn't find it. He knew it was the call he was waiting for. He drove faster until the car wash appeared, then drove right onto the tracks. The machinery rumbled and moved the car into the spray. He couldn't get the top up. Huge wet rags from the ceiling were slapping his face, crushing his chest. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning.

“Romo.” Junie was trying to drag the big dog off him,
but she didn't want to stop licking Matt's face.

He sat up fast. Romo stepped backward onto his groin. “Romo!” Scared, she jumped off the bed. Junie followed to comfort her.

Dad stuck his head into the room. “Breakfast, let's go.”

“Get outa here.” Matt forced his eyes to focus on the clock. “It's eight twenty.”

“Time to get up.”

“Saturday.”

“I'm going to be gone all day—”

“So what?” He was waking up and his head hurt.

“—and I want to talk to you before you leave for camp.”

“What about?”

Dad took one long step into the room and reached for Matt's sheet. Romo howled. He had stepped on her tail. “Why is that dumb dog always in my way?”

“Not dumb,” said Junie. He hugged her.

“Okay,” said Matt quickly. He knew where this could go. “Be right down.”

Dad stomped out of the room and down the stairs. Junie looked up at Matt. He and Romo both had hurt looks in their eyes.

“He didn't mean it,” said Matt. Sure he did. “Go on down—be right there.”

He closed his eyes, waiting for his head to quit
threatening to roll off his neck. He had gotten home very late, after the sky had started to lighten. They had driven around, talking. The girl was a talker, although he couldn't remember what they had talked about. They had stopped to get some food, then parked somewhere. She had soft hands all right, and a soft mouth. He couldn't remember her name.

He opened his eyes and got up slowly. The room shifted, the ceiling tilting down, the floor slanting up. Jerry Rice smiled at him from the big poster on the wall. No. 80, the greatest wide receiver of all time. Been wearing his number since middle school. Jerry must have been hungover a few mornings. Maybe not, the shape he stayed in for so long.

In big print over his signature, it read:

By the time Matt got downstairs, Dad was at the kitchen table shoveling in waffles and glaring at Junie and Romo. Mom had on her bright and perky TV-Mom look. Dad must really be pissed. “Waffles or eggs, Matt?”

“Just a shake.” He wasn't hungry. “And some coffee?”

“Scrambled eggs,” said Junie.

“Waffles,” said Dad. “They're mixed already.”

“It's no trouble,” said Mom. She gave Dad a tight smile.

“This isn't a diner,” he said. He turned to Matt. “I'm thinking of doing a meal at camp.”

“What for?” That woke Matt up.

“The boys like a break from camp chow. Remember the barbecue?”

Two years ago. He was a sophomore. It was harder to stand up to Dad then, keep him out of his space. “Do it when we come back.”

“Too many other people around, it's not a team thing.”

“You're not on the team.” That came out before he thought about it.

“Waffles coming up,” chirped Mom.

Dad's face had lost expression, tightening into the bland mask he wore when he was getting angry. Eyes got cold. “I want to do the meal after the boys get settled. But before Raider Pride Night.”

“How come?”

“That night can get hairy.” Dad grinned. “You know which night that is?”

Last night of camp, everybody knows that, jerkoff. “Dunno.”

“Big-shot captain doesn't know?”

“Ask Coach.”

“Ramp probably knows.”

“Ask him.” He felt the anger rise.

“You got a real 'tude this morning.”

“It's too early.”

“Only if you're up all night.”

Mom said, “Larry, it wasn't a school night.”

“It was a football night,” said Dad.

“A softball night,” said Junie as he patted Romo. She was whimpering.

“Can't you shut that dog up? Bad enough she's dumb, she's a pussy. World's fraidiest rottweiler.”

“She's not even half rottweiler,” said Mom.

“Well, that explains it,” said Dad.

Matt measured the distance across the kitchen table as if Dad were a tackler who needed to be avoided or leveled. He must know he can't take me anymore, thought Matt. That's why we don't box anymore. Maybe it's time for some hard proof.

Chill. In a few hours you'll be on a bus out of here.

“When we come back,” said Matt. “A barbecue when we come back.”

“Can I go?” asked Junie. “I'll help. Do burgers.” He mimed slapping meat patties on a grill.

“Wouldn't that be nice,” said Mom.

“Can you drop Matt off at the bus?” Dad was changing the subject. Might have won that one. “I've got a bar mitzvah all the way up in Bergen Lakes.”

“I'm covered,” said Matt. All I need, Mom drops me off.

“No problem,” said Mom.

“I'll drive myself,” said Matt.

“Not likely,” said Dad in his John Wayne voice. “Leave the Jeep in the school parking lot for a week?”

“Five days. No one'll bother it.”

“What if I need a backup car?” The mask was dropping again. “You know, Matt, you may be a big cheese on the team, but you're still part of this family, living in my house, eating my food, driving a car leased to Rydek Catering. You're on my payroll.”

Matt said nothing. He felt himself shrinking, hating the helpless feeling. For a moment, the only sounds in the kitchen were Romo's whimpers. Then Mom said, “We'll work it out.”

“I'm sure you will.” Dad marched out. Over his shoulder, he said, “A good camp is the foundation of a good season. Remember that.”

Remember this, thought Matt, imagining raising a middle finger to Dad's back.

“Your father really cares about you, Matt.” Then Mom added, “He cares about both his boys.”

It sounded tacked on to Matt. He checked Junie in the Jeep's rearview mirror. He was fussing with Romo's collar and didn't seem to have heard. But you can never be sure what he picks up on, Matt thought. Retarded doesn't mean dumb.

Mom was cranking up. “It's just the way your father communicates. He's very direct. Sometimes that can be off-putting to people who don't understand him. He can even sound angry.”

“Not angry,” said Junie. “Just trying to scare you. To get his way.”

Mom whirled around. “Who told you that?”

“Is that wrong?” Junie's voice trembled.

“I told him,” said Matt quickly. “At the game, when he was ragging on the ump.”

“You were right, Junie honey,” said Mom. She lowered her voice. “You have to be careful what you say, Matt.” Then she patted his knee. “Give your father a chance. He only wants the best for you.”

He had heard this so many times that tuning it out was as easy as tapping the mute. He was feeling too good to let it get at him now. In a couple of hours he would be far away. He felt relaxed in the heat of the afternoon. He had cleared his head with a long run in the cool, sweet foothills a few miles from the house and then a giggly hour on the living room rug with Junie and Romo, watching cartoons and wrestling. Junie needed more physical activity. Once school starts and Junie's back at his part-time cafeteria job, Matt thought, he can hang out at football practice, run a little, lift a few light weights. Coach Mac would be cool with that.

“Amanda?”

That brought him back in a hurry. “What?”

“When does she get back?”

“Why?”

“You sound so defensive. Everything all right between you two?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mother's intuition.”

“She's back tonight.” He was glad to swing into the
Heinzes' big circular driveway.

Brody was out back, at the pool, helping his mother grill burgers. She was wearing a bikini, as usual at home in the summer. In the winter she usually wore a black spandex workout suit that was somehow even sexier though less flesh showed. She didn't mind being stared at, but Matt tried not to be too obvious about it around Brody.

“A week at camp, I could go for that,” Mrs. Heinz said, handing Matt's mom a glass of white wine.

“I don't think so,” said Brody. “The gassers, the sleds, the two-a-days.”

“Two-a-days,” said Mrs. Heinz. “Remember those, Jody?” She rolled her eyes and raised her glass. Matt's mom giggled. She acted like a kid around Mrs. Heinz. It was embarrassing, especially when they made sex jokes they thought nobody else got, thought Matt. Brody never seemed to notice how his mom shook her booty. All-Brody could see only Brody. Or maybe he knew how to shut it out.

“The last decent meal for a while,” said Brody, shoveling burgers onto a plate. He left a big one on the grill for Junie, who liked his well done.

“Larry might do a barbecue,” said Matt's mom.

“Awesome,” said Brody. “Tell him to bring those amazing jumbo shrimps.”

Romo ran past, chased by the Heinzes' Yorkie, who
was yapping at her hind legs. Just once, thought Matt, act like a dog, Romo. Turn around and face that fat rat, you only outweigh him by seventy pounds, you could eat him for lunch. He'd run if you just looked at him hard. Don't be a pussy all your life, Romo.

Junie puffed along after the dogs, his arms quivering. Brody's mom threw her arms around Junie and hugged him tight. Matt tried not to imagine what that felt like.

Matt and Brody ate quickly while their moms chattered. Brody went inside to get his duffel bag, and Matt said good-bye to Junie, who looked sad.

“You didn't give me the spare keys,” said Mom.

“I'm leaving the keys under the front seat,” said Matt.

She looked confused. “I thought you were going to leave me both sets.”

“Couldn't find the spares.” He avoided her eyes. The spare keys were deep inside his own duffel bag, along with the flask of Captain Morgan, the Vicodin, the pills from Monty, and the cell phone you weren't supposed to bring to camp. You never give up your last set of car keys. Certainly not to Dad.

“Have a great camp.” She hugged him and Brody.

“What about me?” Brody's mom gave him a squeeze. Good thing it was quick. He was aroused.

And then they were free, spinning out of the driveway.

“You got lucky last night,” said Brody.

“Can't remember her name.”

“Sarah Ringe. Terri thinks she was stalking you, got a master plan.”

“Since when you talking to Terri?”

“Since last night,” said Brody. “She asks a lot of questions. But she doesn't talk when her mouth's full.” He rubbed the football on his lap. “Now all we got to think about is ball.”

Most of the team was already on the bus by the time Matt and Brody pulled into the parking lot. It was a big, comfortable commuter bus this year, a good sign. The company owner, a booster who had once played for the Raiders, donated a bus only in seasons he thought they would have a winning team. Otherwise, they'd be riding in a yellow school junker.

Ramp was standing at the bus door, checking off names on a clipboard. He got off on those bossy captain's jobs, thought Matt. Ramp was wearing his big tan work boots, what he called his “queer crushers.” Two of his linemen buddies were handing out bags of chips and cold cans of soda, courtesy of a local 7-Eleven, as guys heaved their duffel bags into the open baggage compartment. The coaches were off in a corner of the lot with the student managers loading equipment into a pickup.

“Last time we do this,” said Brody. He sounded sentimental.

“Next time we'll do it in the Big Ten.”

They slapped high.

Matt slipped his car keys under the seat. He hadn't fooled Mom with his lie about the lost keys. But she must have understood or she wouldn't have been willing to run a number on Dad in the first place, letting Matt drive to the bus, then getting Mrs. Heinz to take her later to pick up the car. And then to have it waiting for him in the lot when he came home at the end of the week. He felt a twinge of guilt. Mom had her hands full with Junie, all her PTA stuff, working for Rydek Catering, and putting up with Dad. C'mon, Matt, she married him.

Matt and Brody pulled their Adidas duffels, gifts from the area rep, out of the car and hoisted them onto their shoulders. They sauntered toward the bus. They'd timed it to be the last ones aboard. The triple seat in the back would be empty for them.

They were almost at the bus when a black Lexus SUV screeched up. A huge kid jumped out and hauled his bag out of the back. He slammed the hatch shut and shouted good-bye to the woman at the wheel. She looked like a mom to Matt. Kid would learn.

Ramp said something to the linemen, Boda and Hagen. They laughed. Linemen always laughed at Ramp's lame cracks. They shut up as the kid tossed the big bag
over a wide shoulder as if it were a sack of popcorn. It was such a smooth move, all graceful muscle, that Matt felt the same twinge of excitement he felt watching Tyrell. Kid was an athlete. He walked toward them with a cocky little spring in his Timberland sandals, the straps flapping.

Matt stood near the bus door. “Who's that?”

“Chris Marin,” said Brody. “Sophomore transfer.”

“How you know him?”

“Coach asked me to throw to him last spring. He could start.”

“You didn't tell me.”

“I forgot.” Brody could be trusted to forget anything that wasn't about him.

“The tight end from Bergen Central?”

“How'd you know?” said Brody.

“Ramp said something about him last night. I think he's worried.”

“Should be. Kid's real fast for his size, good hands.”

They slowed down to reach the bus at the same time as the kid and check him out. He was as tall as Ramp, about six four, and almost as wide and thick. As they heaved their bags into the belly of the bus, Matt noticed that the kid's bag was an Army duffel with the name Andrew Marin stenciled on.

“Hey, Brody.” Chris Marin held up his huge hands for the ball.

Brody cocked, but before he could throw, Ramp
growled. “Let's go, new meat. On the bus.”

Chris glanced back and forth between Ramp and Brody. For all his size and cocky body language, Matt thought there was something hesitant in his face. Same soft eyes as Junie and Romo.

Hagen fired a soda can at Chris's groin. It hit home, but Chris caught it one-handed. Must have hurt. All he said was “Thanks.” Sarcastically.

Ramp said, “Thank your mother for me.”

Chris's chest started to swell and his neck got red. Ramp's potato face broke apart in an ugly grin. He loved it when he got to people. He'd deck the kid right here, say he was doing it for Raider discipline. Maybe that's not a good idea, Matt thought. We could use a good tight end, especially if he can catch the ball.

Matt stepped in between them and held up his hands to Brody, who flipped the ball. Matt could hear air rushing out, probably from Chris, maybe from himself. He turned his back on Ramp and pressed the ball into Chris's chest. “Take this on the bus for me, new meat.”

Chris hesitated. Matt winked and pushed him toward the door. Chris shrugged and clambered noisily up the metal steps, throwing a hard look over his shoulder at Ramp.

“Your project?” said Ramp.

“Just helping you load the bus,” said Matt. He took his can and chips from Hagen and climbed aboard.

Chris was already sitting near the front with the freshmen and sophomores. At least he had enough sense for that. Matt thought there was something like gratitude in his eyes as he handed over Brody's ball. Don't get attached, kid. I don't need a project.

Matt nodded at the freshmen and sophomores, said hello to those he knew. By the middle of the bus he was tapping fists with juniors he hadn't seen all summer. Part of the captain's job was making sure players knew they could come talk to you. At least part of my job. Ramp was more the enforcer. Matt traded bitch slaps with the seniors.

In the back of the bus, sitting with Pete, Tyrell was grinning and wagging his head. “Way cool, Cap'n Matt.”

Matt shrugged. He didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

Brody said, “I wouldn't get between those two guys.”

“Nooo,” said Tyrell. “Brody would run out of bounds.”

“You lucky if you touch the ball this season,” said Brody, laughing. It was almost impossible to upset Brody. One of his strengths as a quarterback.

Matt pushed Brody into their backseat. Plenty of time for dumb chatter, don't need to start now.

Brody wedged himself into a corner and stretched out his long legs. Matt took the other side.

“You girls happy back here?” Ramp loomed up.

“Now we are,” said Tyrell in a falsetto. “Captain Potatohead's here.”

Ramp didn't like that, but he never tangled with Tyrell. He turned to Matt. “You and the kid got something going?”

“Give him a chance, let's see what he's got,” said Matt.

“Count on that.” Ramp pushed past Hagen and Boda and took his seat, a double.

Pete said, “Ramp's got a hard-on for the new kid already?”

“We'll work it out on the field,” said Matt.

The driver revved the engine and the coaches climbed aboard.

They were out of Nearmont, on the highway, when Coach Mac stood up in the front of the bus. “Listen up, gentlemen.” His voice was clear and loud. By the end of camp it would be softer, raspier. “You are heading into Raider country now, a band of brothers going to eat, sleep, breathe football for the next five days. Your coaches will be putting you through the meat grinder, and if you make it—not everybody does—you will be a Raider.”

Brody and Pete listened and nodded. Tyrell rolled his eyes and slipped on his headphones. Coach Mac didn't bother changing his little speeches from year to year. Matt waited until he finished the part about measuring life in timeouts and yards before he put on his own Nike headphones. He liked that measuring image. Not thinking too hard about anything but football. He felt lighter. He
cranked up the volume on his iPod just enough to drown out the coach and the chatter on the bus. He started drifting off, toward a dark, warm swimming pool with someone who could have been Mandy, Sarah Ringe, or Mrs. Heinz.

The last thing he saw before he reached the pool was Coach Mac raising two fists and mouthing what must have been “Raiders Rule!”