Jack_ Secret Vengeance - F. Paul Wilson [51]
Jack had slept in—the first uninterrupted night’s sleep since Tuesday. He’d almost forgotten how great it felt to wake up rested. But that didn’t soften Toliver’s reaction to the blood, or help open his lock. He couldn’t tell Dad about those, so he chose the most obvious.
“We got killed last night. Bummer.”
“The football game? Glad to hear this.”
Jack nearly choked. “That we lost? You’re glad?”
He laughed. “No, just glad you care. Good to see you getting involved over there, school spirit and all that.”
Jack twirled a finger in the air. “Rah. Rah.”
“I’m serious, Jack. We’ve discussed your loner tendencies before and how I think you’ll regret it later on if you give in to them. You know what I mean, so I don’t see any need to open the subject again.”
That was a relief. Dad’s heart-to-heart talks, though rare, usually made him uncomfortable.
“Your high school years can be some of the best of your life. Trust me, the more you put in, the more you’ll get out. I’m glad to see you’re into the Badgers.”
Jack didn’t respond. What could he say to that? Besides, his head was filled with too many other matters.
How to explain Toliver’s rotten performance, and the weird behavior of his passes? Not that the guy hadn’t needed a comeuppance, but the rest of the school had been rooting for a win. A lot more people than Carson Toliver had been disappointed last night.
“Any plans for the day, Jack?” his mother said as she entered the kitchen.
Yeah, he thought. I’m going to waste more time trying to find a way around that spiked-and-glued lock.
Maybe he should just forget Toliver’s challenge and let him have his locker victory Monday morning. Looked like it was going to work out that way anyway. He’d hit a wall on that lock.
But he said, “Just have to finish weeding the beds at the Lodge, then cut the Bagleys’ lawn. Mister Rosen said he’d need me for only a couple of hours today.”
For nap time, most likely.
“Well, you’ll be on your own for lunch, I’m afraid. Kate will be out with Jenny Styles most of the day, and your father and I will be shopping in Cherry Hill for a new suit.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Be still, my heart.”
Jack knew he hated shopping, especially for clothes.
“Oh, stop it, Tom. You need a new suit. You wear one every day. Actually, you could use two new ones.”
“Jane, I trust your taste implicitly. Why don’t you go and—”
“Don’t be silly. A suit has to be fitted.” She turned to Jack. “We’ll be back about four. We’ve got leftover chicken in the fridge.”
Jack nodded absently. He’d just thought of something: Dad’s lockbox.
He kept it in the top of his bedroom closet. Toward the end of the summer Jack had fixated on it after he’d heard Mr. Bainbridge’s “Deadeye” remark. He’d been convinced then that his father had been some sort of ace marksman and that the box had to contain memorabilia—medals, papers, secrets—from the war Dad would never talk about. He’d tried and failed to pick its little lock a number of times. Starting high school, the pyramid quest, and then the Cody Bockman thing had distracted him, but now he was being handed a golden opportunity.
He still had the lock-picking kit. He could take another stab at opening that little box while Mom was dragging Dad from store to store.
First he had to finish up at the Lodge.
2
“So, have you given any thought to our conversation yesterday?”
Mr. Drexler watched Jack weed the foundation beds along the Lodge’s front.
“A little.”
Mr. Drexler smiled. “Excellent. Conclusions? Opinions? Expansions? I’m all ears.”
After batting this around with his father and Kate last night, he felt more comfortable continuing with it. Because he’d remembered some things Mr. Kressy had said in class.
“This Mover-and-Moved situation … it sounds wrong.”
“Wrong? As in incorrect, or immoral?”
“Immoral, I guess.”
“How could it be immoral? It’s nature, it’s woven into the very fabric of existence.”
“But nobody has a right to control other people.”
“Ah, but they have,