The Fourth Stall - Chris Rylander [69]
It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to say. Normally I’m not the type of kid to give up, but I still know when I’m beat. And dragging this out to the end was only going to bring Joe and Fred and the bullies more trouble than they needed. If I surrendered now, maybe I could avoid all the insult and injury headed my way. I had to keep telling myself that I wasn’t quitting. There are times when making a bargain just makes more sense than fighting to the end. This was one of those times.
Justin’s jaw dropped. I bet he hadn’t even known that Staples had made me that offer. Mitch whispered something in Justin’s ear. Justin nodded and finally closed his mouth.
“How do I know this isn’t some kind of trick?” he asked uneasily.
“You don’t.”
The kids around us all got quiet. They were all watching us now.
“Look, he made me the offer,” I said. “If you want to go to him and say you turned me away because you didn’t believe me and then have to deal with how mad he’s going to be, go right ahead.”
He thought about it for a moment. I could see him struggling to decide what to do. He’d never seemed all that smart to me. Now I could see why Staples wanted me to work for him. His current employees at my school were idiots. Except for one, of course.
“Okay, sure, I’ll tell him,” Justin finally said.
“Tell him to meet me in my office on Monday after school at three thirty. I’ll make sure that the East Wing entrance is left unlocked for him.”
I left Justin there gaping and walked back up the steps to the top of the bleachers. If I was going to surrender, then I at least wanted it to be on my turf.
Once the game ended, I saw the players heading toward the shower house. It was this small building off to the side of the field that had showers and locker rooms in it for the players. Parents and friends would always group around there and wait for the team. I saw Robert, the kid I’d helped right before Fred on that fateful Monday when everything changed forever, taking off his helmet. Robert, the last regular, simple customer in the history of my business. Robert, who paid with a small favor to help get him and a date into an R-rated movie because his dad’s a cop and . . .
His dad’s a cop.
And he still owed me a favor.
It wasn’t much, but I supposed there was still time for one last desperation play. A Hail Mary. They rarely ever worked, I knew that, but at the same time, people like Doug Flutie would swear otherwise.
I jogged down to the shower house and waited around until Robert came out. He went straight to his parents and this older girl. I assumed it was his new girlfriend because she rubbed his arm and gave him a hug. His dad patted him on the shoulder, consoling him over the loss.
I positioned myself behind his parents so that I knew he’d see me. After a few minutes I saw him say something to them and jog over to me. His parents went to get their car.
“Hey, Mac, what’s up?” he said.
“Hi, Robert. Sorry about the game.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what happened out there. We were opening the holes; he just wasn’t hitting them. . . .”
“Even the star running back has bad games, right?” I said.
Robert shrugged.
“Your dad is a cop, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, why?” Robert asked with raised eyebrows.
“I may need your help, and his,” I said.
He nodded. “Hey, I owe you.”
“I need to get someone’s name and address and criminal record. Do you think you might be able to get that from your dad somehow?” I asked.
He sighed and then said, “Yeah, I think so. He’s pretty careful about not using cop stuff for anything but business, but I think I can swing it.”
“Good. Okay, I’m looking for someone who goes by the alias Staples. If any hits come up for an address in the Creek, then you’ll know you got the right guy.”
I remembered from that first meeting with Staples in my kitchen that he has a tattoo that says “The Creek.” A lot of kids who live there are actually proud of it and they’re always drawing