The Squared Circle (18 page)

“I got a two-point-five, don't forget.” He was still smarting a bit from her condescending description of his report.

“I'm not forgetting.” Playfully, she reached over to scratch his head like a dog. “The hero's burden is that he's expected to compensate for those thousands if not millions of empty lives. People who are hibernating, as Anaïs Nin liked to put it, in monotony, boredom, and death. You are the children asked to fulfill the fantasies of the childish.”

Then she stood up.

“Children?” protested Sonny. “Only three of us are freshmen. You saw Luther Cobb. Did he look like a
child
to you?”

Sissy didn't answer right away. She was looking out the window, apparently lost in thought. Most of her face was concealed by her hair and shadows, but the strong moonlight that framed her torso turned her nightgown semitransparent. Sonny had a clear view of her full breasts and generous hips. His moment of arousal was embarrassing and would have to be perverse, he thought.

Sissy finally said, “The very same boy who wrote the report has to be the hero for the legions who have gone to sleep in the snow and never awakened. You will make them feel significant for a brief, shining moment but no one will count the cost. Do you understand?”

Sonny had no interest in understanding, but instead in suppressing the surge of testosterone that was claiming him. And shaming him.
What did she expect of him? What did he expect of himself?

She turned her face in his direction. “You're looking at me.”

“I suppose I am.”

“If I'm old and fat, let the darkness hide it.”

“You're not old and fat.”

“I'll see you tomorrow, Cousin. Sorry I woke you. Sweet dreams.” And then she was gone.

It was a long time getting back to sleep. Disconcerted by the welter of emotions stimulated by this encounter, he tossed and turned. Eventually, remembering how the moonlight silhouetted the contours of her torso, he relieved himself the tried and true way, with swift and careless strokes. His good fortune was the box of tissues on the nightstand.

Before he fell asleep, though, he took offense once again at her description of his report.

7

Of the two men, Yates and Brosky, the latter was the older. It also seemed to Sonny that Brosky was the one short on patience. Especially when Sonny said he couldn't remember details. Yates was asking him about a conversation he'd had with Gentry at Abydos High when he was still a junior. “You say you don't remember what was said, but do you remember where the conversation took place?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I remember it. I talked to Coach Gentry in the hall outside the coach's office in the gym.”

“What did you talk about?”

Sonny stared out through the conference room window at McAndrew Stadium across the way. He wondered why Coach Gentry wasn't here, but not really; they wanted to find out if his story would be different from that of the coach.

“Did you hear the question?” Brosky asked. “Mr. Yates asked what the two of you discussed.”

Sonny looked back. He didn't like the way Brosky's eyes were hidden by the reflection from his glasses. “I heard the question. I can't remember, but we probably talked about basketball.”

“You think this is funny, Mr. Youngblood?”

“Okay, we probably talked about SIU basketball.”

Yates asked him, “Do you remember how long the conversation lasted?”

“Are you serious?”

“Very serious. What we're trying to determine, if we can, is whether the contact was simply a case of the two of you exchanging pleasantries in passing, or if it was an actual recruiting visit.”

Sonny couldn't remember. “I can't remember,” he said. He looked at the slow-moving wheels of the tape cassette. Whenever there were long silences, Brosky tended to shut the recorder off.

“Then let me ask you this. You had recruiting visits from Gentry that spring in your home. Is that correct?”

Sonny shook his head. “I have no idea. Probably. What is it you want from me?”

“Some straight answers, for one thing,” Brosky declared.

Gardner interrupted: “Do you really expect a high school all-American to be able to recall this much detail about his recruitment during high school? Don't you realize we're talking about hundreds, maybe even thousands, of phone calls and visits?”

Brosky sniffed again. “What we expect, Mr. Gardner, is to be stonewalled. It seems to be the nature of our business.”

“Nobody's stonewalling you. Please turn the recorder back on.”

Yates said, “We always ask. Sometimes it's amazing the way people can recall details when they really try. Sonny, we understand your uncle was very active in your recruiting experience.”

“That's true.” The difference between this investigation and the
Checkpoint
procedure was the focus. This time, all the questions were aimed at learning information exclusively about the SIU basketball program. Mr. Ernst, the university attorney, was present but he didn't speak; occasionally, he made notes.

“Your uncle Seth spent a lot of time associating with businessmen from other cities while you were in high school. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, I s'pose he did. Still does.”

“Did you ever wonder about that?”

“No, why? They're all men in the booster club.”

Reading from his index cards, Brosky said, “An insurance man from Mount Vernon, another one from Belleville, a Buick dealer from Carbondale, the list goes on and on. You never wondered about your uncle's far-flung network of friendships?”

“Why should I?” Sonny found himself getting annoyed. “Booster club members are from all over; they don't all live in the same town.”

Gardner had a smile on his face. Sonny assumed he appreciated the answer.

“Did your uncle screen your phone calls?”

“In my junior and senior years he did.”

“How?”

“He set up an answering machine to take calls from recruiters. For his own calls, for him and Aunt Jane, he got an unlisted number.”

“Didn't you think that was a little odd?” Brosky wanted to know.

“Not really,” answered Sonny. “The calls were coming night and day. I think it was really my aunt Jane's idea to have the unlisted number, just so she could get a little relief. Besides, I've heard of other players doing the same thing in their families, just to deal with recruiters.”

“So have these gentlemen,” said Gardner wearily. “Don't you think we've plowed this furrow long enough?”

Brosky turned on him: “I'll tell you what, since Mr. Yates and I are in charge of this investigation, we'll be in charge of deciding what information we need. I'm not particularly fond of your tone of voice, either.”

“I'm not particularly fond of your investigation,” was Gardner's crisp response. “Is it just a coincidence that this inquiry comes within two weeks of our number one ranking? All those weeks that Georgetown was number one, did you have them under investigation?”

The attorney, Ernst, removed his glasses and began squeezing the bridge of his nose. Sonny wanted to think Gardner was on his side, but what kind of an ally would he be if all he did was get the investigators pissed off? Yates asked Sonny, “Do you understand NCAA policy governing complimentary tickets?”

Gardner interrupted again. “All our people are thoroughly briefed about matters of NCAA compliance. It's my job to keep players and coaches updated.”

Ignoring the interruption, Yates repeated the question. Sonny squirmed a bit before he answered. “Some of the rules get pretty technical. The way they nitpick, I get confused at times, to tell you the truth.”

“I'm asking you about complimentary tickets. Are you clear about the rules?”

Sonny shook his head. “Not exactly. Sort of. I think a certain number are for relatives, and a certain number can be used by other people.”

“You know this stuff, Youngblood,” Gardner declared.

Great. Now Gardner's against me too
. “I've been told all of it,” Sonny admitted. “It gets confusing after a while. Who can give you a ride, or buy you a Coke, who you can talk to, who gets the tickets, et cetera.”

“Don't play dumb, Sonny. You're not stupid.”

“Mr. Gardner, please do us all a favor. Let Sonny provide his own answers to the questions.”

Gardner sighed, took off his glasses, and slumped in his chair. Yates asked Sonny, “For example, can you remember who used your comp tickets for the Virginia game on January tenth?”

“Are you kidding?” asked Brosky sarcastically. “Do you expect him to remember something from three weeks ago?”

“I do remember,” said Sonny.

“Hallelujah!” exclaimed Brosky.

Sonny was beyond irritation; he felt humiliated. “Why don't you kiss my ass?” he snapped at Brosky.

“What did you say to me?”

Sonny could feel his own flush. “You heard me, kiss my ass.”

Yates was holding his two hands up like a third-base coach stopping a runner. “Equilibrium please,” he begged.

“Right.”

“May I ask why you remember?”

It seemed like an odd question. “Because my uncle Seth didn't use them. He and my aunt Jane were in Florida.”

“Does your uncle ordinarily use your tickets?”

“Yeah, I usually give him all six. He distributes them how he wants.”

“Okay,” said Brosky. “Let's go back to the tenth. And I apologize for being so sarcastic.” He sniffed.

“It's okay,” said Sonny. “Sorry I lost my temper.” He told the two of them that for the Virginia game, his tickets were used by Sissy, Willie Joe, Julio, and Andrea. The remaining two by his uncle's booster friends.

Yates asked, “How many of those people are members of your immediate family, Sonny?”

With a knot forming in the pit of his stomach: “Well, Sissy's my cousin.”

“We don't consider cousins immediate family.”

“But she's my first cousin. Uncle Seth is her father. The others were friends from high school or just … just friends.”

“Do you understand you're not in compliance with NCAA rules when you distribute tickets in that manner?”

Sonny was looking down. He made a sidelong glance at Ernst and Gardner, but they were looking at their hands. Before he answered, Sonny drank some of his water. “Yeah, I knew. I just gave the tickets to Uncle Seth all the time so I wouldn't have to think about who would use them.”

“I appreciate the honesty of that answer,” said Yates, who seemed, in spite of the circumstances, to be a fair-minded guy. At least to Sonny.

Yates continued, “Is it fair to say that your uncle has always been glad to have your tickets?”

Sonny shrugged. “Yeah, I'd say so. He almost never misses a game and there are plenty of people who always want to come.” Then Sonny had a start. “Are you going to be talking to my uncle Seth?”

Yates smiled. “Who knows? We never know for sure where an investigation will lead.”

It was a remark which gave Sonny a burning sensation in his chest like angry bile.
Do they know things that I don't know?
“I'm telling you the truth here.”

“I believe you are, Sonny,” Yates admitted. “We'd like to ask you just a couple of questions about Erika Neil, and then we should be finished.”

“Sissy? You're not going to talk to her, are you?”

“Like I said, we can never predict exactly where the trail will lead, but it isn't likely. Okay if I ask you one or two things?”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

“First of all, you earned one hour of independent study credit from Ms. Neil in art history. Is that correct?”

Gardner broke his long silence to interrupt again. Sarcastically. “You've seen his transcript, why the charade?”

“Excuse me,” said Yates. “Am I correct, Sonny?”

“Yeah, that's right.”

Brosky added, “An hour of
A
, and she made it retroactive.”

“Teachers do it all the time. It's not unusual.”

“Tell me if this is accurate,” said Brosky. “You got an hour of art history credit retroactively, from your own cousin. And she gave you an A. Is that an accurate statement?”

Sonny squirmed and fumed. “If you put it that way, it sounds totally lame.”

“You said it, not me. Is it also true that this particular hour of credit kept you eligible for basketball?”

“I worked my ass off for that credit. Sissy told me I did enough work to earn two or three credits. Look it up somewhere, teachers make that arrangement all the time. You're pissing me off, so get off my case.”

Yates took a pause long enough to drink some coffee. For his part, Brosky worked his right nostril with the nasal mist. Then he asked Sonny, “You don't live with your cousin, do you?”

“No, I don't live with her. I live in the dorm.”

“It's true though, isn't it,” asked Yates, “that you spend a great deal of time at her house?”

“That would depend on what you mean by a great deal of time.”

“You don't live with her, then. Do you ever spend the night at her house?”

Before he answered, Sonny wondered where this was headed. “Sometimes, if it's any of your business. Is that a violation too?”

“I wouldn't know,” answered Brosky. “What does your uncle think about it?”

“I'm not sure what he thinks, if he even knows about it.” But even as he was giving this answer, it made him uneasy the way their questions seemed so rooted in information. “Let me ask you a question: Why are you wasting your time asking me about Sissy? I thought you wanted to know about basketball and recruiting.”

“Is that what we're doing? Wasting our time?”

“If you think my cousin Sissy gives a shit about basketball, or who plays for who, you're wasting your time for sure.”