Authors: Jeffrey Allen
Stay At Home Dead (17 page)
42
I turned onto the access road that fed into the parking lot in front of Tough Tykes.
Victor leaned forward in the passenger seat, smashed his hands against the dash of the minivan. “What are you doing?”
“I told you. I had a plan.”
“This is your plan? I told you, Winters. Landry can’t know that I’ve talked to you. You promised!”
“Keep your short little pants on,” I said, turning into the lot and gliding into a slot at the far end. “He’s not going to know anything.”
Beads of sweat formed on his wrinkled forehead. “So what exactly is your plan?”
“I’m going to test him,” I said.
“Test who? Landry?”
“Yep.”
He unbuckled the seat belt. “That’s it. I’m out. You screwed me.” He dropped to the floorboard and grabbed on to the door handle.
I reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket. “Hold on, hold on.”
“Let go of me,” he said, swatting at me with his hand. “I’m getting out of here.”
“I’m going in,” I said. “You’re not.”
He stopped swatting. “This may be the worst plan ever.”
I wasn’t in a position to disagree yet. But it was the only plan that came to mind, and I thought it was safe.
“We shook hands,” I said. “It meant we had a deal. And I intend to honor that.”
He twisted around so his back was against the door, his eyes suspicious.
“Just wait here,” I said. “You can get in the back and get down. No one will see you. This’ll just take a couple of minutes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Just trust me,” I said, opening my door. “And get in the back. I think there’s some goldfish back there if you get hungry.”
He showed me his middle finger as I shut the door.
The front desk was staffed by a different perky girl this time. Her name tag said her name was Melanie.
“Hi, Melanie,” I said, all smiles and daisies. “Is Jimmy around?”
She showed me her gleaming white teeth. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t. But could you just tell him Deuce Winters is here?”
She shrugged and disappeared down the back hallway.
As I stood there, the nerves started to infiltrate my cool and collected exterior. I was out of my element. I was acting on behalf of too many television shows and movies I’d watched over the years. If there really was something tying Landry to my taking a shot to the head, then I was about to set the bar unbelievably high for acts of stupidity.
Before I could turn tail and sprint out of there, Melanie was back, grinning at me.
“Mr. Landry says to go on back,” she said, lightning bolts of enthusiasm shooting out of her expression. “He’d love to see you.”
I didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
43
Jimmy Z. Landry was out from behind his desk, wearing a brilliant red golf shirt and khaki shorts that appeared to have never seen a wrinkle in their lifetime.
“Deuce,” he said, his hand extended. “Good to see you again.”
We shook.
“I hope I’m not barging in on you,” I said, half wishing he would say that I was and I could do a U-turn right out of his office.
“Not a chance,” he said, gesturing at the chair I’d sat in previously. “Have a seat.”
We both sat.
I cleared my throat. “So I wanted to talk to you a little more about the coaching thing.”
He gave me a don’t-tease-me smile. “You serious ?”
“I am.”
“I wasn’t sure whether you’d have any interest,” he said, smiling. “Thought we might be a little under your radar.”
“Under my radar?”
“You know, too small-time. I know you’re used to big-time football and coaching high school ball.” He tapped his fingers on his desk. “This won’t be nearly as exciting. You’ll get a lot of kids who aren’t good athletes, probably won’t even make a JV team when they get to high school.”
“I don’t care,” I said.
“Not that I’d want you to treat them any differently,” he said, the smile thinning. “One of the things that we do here is make kids feel like they belong. They don’t get teased here if they can’t catch a ball or throw a spiral. It’s our job to show them how to do those things, regardless of what their ability is or how competitively they are going to try and play. Kids should walk out of here feeling better about themselves.”
In my head, I kept vacillating.
Shtick or sincere?
“So I’d want you to take these kids and make them feel like football players, not like players who are never going to make a team.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze firmly set on me. “That sound like something that would interest you?”
“It does,” I said. “I’ve had my share of football under a microscope. In a lot of ways, I think this might be more fun.”
He nodded. “That’s what I’m looking for.”
“Then I think I’m interested,” I said. “Provided you can be flexible with scheduling.”
“We’ve got three weeks until we need to get the camp brochures out in public,” he said, the smile strengthening again. “You tell me what works for you and how you wanna do it and we’ll make it happen.”
“Sounds great.”
He rubbed his hands together like they were cold. “Now. Here’s the part that’s not so great. I make a promise to everyone that works for me that they’ll all be treated the same. I know you bring a bigger presence here, but I can’t pay you for that. You’d be paid just like any other staff member working their first camp.”
“I’m not gonna get rich?”
He chuckled. “Not a chance. Biggest perks I can give you are letting you set the schedule and giving you a free shirt. And maybe we can set something up to keep your daughter busy while you’re here. Live with that?”
“No problem,” I said, realizing I wanted the job, but I still wasn’t getting anywhere. “Do we need to do some sort of application process?”
He produced a folder from his desk. “Some typical forms that I’ll need back from you as soon as you can get them done. And we do a background check on everyone that is employed here.” He held out a small index card. “You’ll need to be fingerprinted, too. All the information you need is here.” He dropped the card back into the folder and slid it across the desk to me.
“What kind of background check do you do?” I asked, my words sounding rushed and slurred.
He pursed his lips and tapped them with his fingertips. “I’m more thorough than most. We do the state-mandated one, and then I do my own. Two layers.” He made a fist and knocked it on his desk. “To protect the kids and let parents know that that’s my first concern.”
I took the folder. “Sure. Great.”
“And to be up front,” he said, looking not the least bit hesitant, “I’ve already started the process on you.”
I tried to look surprised. “The process?”
“Generally, it takes close to three weeks for me to get back what I want to get back on any employee,” he explained. “I use an investigative agency, and that’s the window of time they need to complete the check.”
“But you haven’t hired me yet.”
“No, but on the off chance you were interested, I wanted to get the ball rolling,” he said, knocking his fist against the desk again. “With the summer deadlines rolling in, I wanted to be ready in case you were interested.” He held up his palms in an apologetic fashion. “So I actually talked to my guy before you and I met. Wanted to make sure you were the good guy everyone said you were before I made an overture. You took me by surprise when you came in the other afternoon, but I felt like that was a sign that you were supposed to come work here. I hope you’re not offended by that.”
“No, no,” I said quickly, standing. “That makes sense. And I don’t have anything to hide.”
He laughed loudly and rose on the other side of the desk. “I’m sure you don’t.” He extended his hand. “Deuce, I look forward to working with you.”
As I shook his hand, the vacillating came to a halt.
I was certain that Jimmy Z. Landry was 100 percent sincere.
44
Victor was lying beneath the back bench in the minivan when I returned.
He stuck his head out from underneath, looking uncomfortable and anxious. “So?”
“So I’m not comfortable talking to anyone hiding beneath my daughter’s car seat,” I said, starting the van. “Get up here.”
“No way,” he said. “Not until we’re long gone. Can’t risk it.”
“Victor, he admitted to the background check,” I told him. “It’s cool.”
“Doesn’t mean we should be cohorting together.”
“I thought we were dating.”
“Funny. But I don’t date guys who look like Godzilla.”
“But you do date guys?”
“What? No. I ... Shut up.”
I started the van, laughing at my own juvenile behavior. The doors to Tough Tykes opened, and a guy walked out.
“Hey, what does Stenner look like?” I asked.
“Medium build, crappy haircut, walks kind of funny. Why?”
I watched the kid crossing the lot. Medium build, a haircut straight from the Beatles era, and a long, loping stride.
“Sit up and look at this kid. To our left.”
He grunted a couple of times, and I saw his head pop up slowly in the back, his eyes and nose barely cracking the bottom of the window. “Oh yeah. That’s him. Walks like an ostrich or something, yeah?”
He did, in fact, walk like an ostrich.
“Get back down,” I said, pulling out of the stall and heading left down the lot.
“What are you doing?” he asked, and I could tell from his voice that he was already back on the floor.
“Getting into this investigator thing,” I said.
I cruised down the lot until I was behind Stenner.
I pushed the button, and my window slid down. “Excuse me.”
Stenner slowed and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Is this Tough Tykes?”
He stopped and turned around, his eyes halfway through a roll. “Uh, yeah. Don’t you see the sign?”
“Must’ve missed it,” I said.
He stood, his slumped shoulders and lifted chin radiating annoyance. He was maybe twenty years old, medium height, and had a thin, lanky frame that didn’t look at all intimidating in the way I imagined a martial arts instructor to be. A thin soul patch ran from his bottom lip to a rounded jaw. Eyes the color of mud stared at me, daring me to ask another question.
He raised his hand and pointed at the building. “Front doors are right there. They can help you inside.”
“You work here?” I asked.
He glanced down at his shirt with the Tough Tykes logo, then back at me.
Victor snorted from his hidden crouch in the back of the van.
Deuce Winters, Ace Investigator.
“Okay, thanks,” I said.
Stenner shook his head, as if he wished he’d exited into another parking lot.
I eased the van out of the parking lot.
“What exactly were you doing?” Victor asked, ambling out from the back of the van to the front seat.
“Did you summon the courage to get a look out the window?” I asked. “Or were you just counting all the Gummy Bears on the floor?”
“I was maintaining a covert position,” he said, buckling himself back into the seat.
I wanted to ask if he was supposed to be sitting in a car seat, but I thought that might be pushing it.
“I wanted to see his expression,” I said.
“His expression?”
“When he saw me.”
Victor thought it through, then nodded. “Got it. Actually, that’s not bad.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t give yourself a hernia patting yourself on the back,” Victor said, cutting his eyes to me. “If he was dangerous at all, he could’ve taken you out right there.”
My stomach sank.
“I, of course, would’ve then saved you. Maybe.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Victor shifted in the seat, tugging at the belt near his neck. “So. His expression?”
“No clue,” I said.
“No clue? You got that close and you have no clue?”
“No, bozo,” I said to Victor as we drove. “Stenner had no clue who I was.”
“You sure?”
Nothing registered in the kid’s eyes other than contempt when he saw me. If he’d been the one to clock me in front of the school, I was certain that he would’ve reacted to my just showing up. Nervousness, anger, fear, something. He was either a master thespian or he had never seen me before.
“I’m sure,” I said.
“Well, I know that he owns the truck,” Victor said. “I ran it through the DMV.”
“So, what? Coincidence then that he was there?” Victor frowned at me. “Coincidences are for people who try to give pancakes to rats.”
“That makes no sense.”
He waved me off like I was mentally deficient. “Yes, it does. But it wasn’t a coincidence, and it was Stenner’s truck.”
“So someone else was driving the truck, then?” I said.
Victor Anthony Doolittle clapped a couple of times in a blatant display of mockery. “Well done, Sherlock. Well done.”
I tapped the brakes and he jerked forward, the belt catching him around the neck, gagging him for just a moment.
Made me feel better.
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