chapter 14

Today has been a long one at work. I have another long day tomorrow, so I decided to post Chapter 14 now. Enjoy!


CHAPTER 14


Jon’s watch beeped one o’clock straight up as he walked into the drab, slightly dark gymnasium He had been in his school’s gym many times, for games, assemblies, and even for his own gym class, and he had the same reaction this time. It was a place he didn’t like, despised actually, and all he could smell was the pungent odor of stale perspiration.
Jon was carrying his gym bag. Inside was a new set of clothes, since his other gym clothes were dripping in sweat and there had been no time to clean them, a towel, a first aid pack, an Ace bandage, and, of course, his gun. That, however, was wrapped tight in one of the extra towels in the bag.
The sound of basketballs bouncing, hands clapping, balls hitting nets, nets being ruffled as balls went through, and loud trash talking reached his ear almost immediately.
On the far end of the gym was the coach, Norman Malone. He was the quintessential gym teacher. He was just a hair over five feet, weighed about 200 lbs., and had the worst comb over this side of the Mississippi. Jon walked over to introduce himself.
“Hi, Coach. I’m Jonathan Mills.”
Coach took a step back and looked straight up at Jon and looked him in the eye. “You are lucky, Mr. Mills. I’ve heard about you. I know you’re not one of us. I know that you are more of a drama guy. That’s right. I saw you last night. You think you can impress me with that horse shit? It doesn’t take a man to do that! Any wuss can do that. It takes a man to be able to stare down his opponent, to beat him into submission, and make him cry Uncle! You just play the tinkly little piano. Big whoop, son! But, for some reason you’re friends with one of my guys, and I’m being ramrodded by the parents and the administration to take your sorry little ass on until after the big game on Saturday. Trust me, I’ll work you hard the next few days, but you’ll just be a bench warmer on Saturday. That you can guarantee.”
“Okay, sir, if that’s how you feel,” Jon started.
“Of course it’s how I feel! I wouldn’t have wasted all that breath on you if I was just pretending! Now, go on and get changed! We’ll be playing two on two for two hours. I want to watch you play.”
Jon could feel the anger welling up inside of him. If he had been Bruce Banner, his eyes would have at least turned green by now, but, knowing that he had a job to do, he held his tongue.
“Who will I be playing with, sir?”
“Your partner will be your friend, Stan. If he’s going to recommend you, he’s going to be the one stuck with you.”
Jon felt a weight lift off of his shoulders. At least he’d have Stan to get his feet wet. “And who will we be playing against?”
“Hobbs and Bernard,” was the reply and the coach walked away.
The weight that had been lifted momentarily slammed back down on Jon’s shoulders. Jason Hobbs and Jason Bernard were the twin terrors of the team. They were amazing players, but off the court, they were as good as juvenile delinquents. The only reason they weren’t in juvy hall by now was because they were the main defensive guards on the team.
The two of them had played together for the last six years. They played on both the junior high and the high school teams since the beginning. The school’s nickname for them was Jason squared. They never left each other’s side. They were always together.
Hobbs was number 34. He was six foot seven, close to three hundred pounds and had one of the biggest noses Jon had ever seen on a white man.
Hobbs had been one of Jon’s mother’s students many years ago. He had been a holy terror in Kindergarten, too. Hobbs would attack the smallest kids on the playground for the first two weeks of school to scare them into giving him their lunch money. Then, a Tongan named Lino had transferred in. Then, it was Hobbs getting beaten up every day for a month. None of the teachers did anything about it because they knew Hobbs was going to be trouble.
Seven years later, when Jon was in seventh grade, Hobbs had been in his woodworking class with him. Hobbs would walk by when Jon was sanding something and make Jon take too much off of one side, get a knuckle against the belt sander, basically terrorize him. That lasted for one term.
Luckily, at the beginning of second term, who should be transferred into the class but Lino! Jon still had to take a few weeks of being picked on, but as soon as Lino found out that Jon was his Kindergarten teacher’s son, all problems with Hobbs stopped. Jason hadn’t come to school for a whole week after that and rumor had it that he’d been put into a coma by Lino even though that had never been proven.
Unfortunately, Lino had moved back to Tonga two years ago, and Hobbs had never forgiven Jon for the beating he had taken. Now, it seemed like a good time for Hobbs to get his revenge.
Jason Bernard was not as large and intimidating as Hobbs, but he had the attitude to make it not matter. Hobbs was the monster bruiser while Bernard was the slimy weasel of the group. Instead of clobbering you, Bernard would take your homework when you weren’t looking, copy it, and turn his in on time and slip yours back to you two days later so you got marked down. Hobbs was the dumbheaded muscle, Bernard was the brain.
Bernard was number 43 and was the master of the dirty play on the team. He stood six feet one inch, weighed in at only one hundred and eighty pounds and had a gaunt look to him, but anyone who had gone against him on the court knew that looks could be deceiving.
Jon headed into the locker room and changed. Knowing he was going to be facing Jason Hobbs, Jon had to make a mental note to leave the gym bag, and the gun, in a locker.
Stan was waiting for him when he emerged.
“You heard the bad news yet, Jon?”
“I heard,” Jon sighed.
“Whatever happens, just blow Hobbs off. Watch your back for Bernard, but just play the game. Concentrate on what you’ve learned and don’t let them frazzle you.”
“Okay. You got my back?”
“Yes I do.” Stan gave Jon the thumbs up. “We can take them.”
Coach Malone blew his whistle. All of the players gathered around him.
“As you know, there was a tragedy that happened last night. Jake Spencer was shot and killed while working at his job at Arctic Circle. We have a replacement for the next few games brought in by our own Stan Ingle. His name is Jonathan Mills. I’m sure most of you have at least heard of him. He frequents the other side of the school, namely the arts department, and Stan assures us that he can at least fill the hole in our team for the next few days.”
Jon leaned over to Stan. “Is he always this sentimental?” Jon cracked.
“Believe it or not, this really is him being sad and sentimental.”
“I believe the mental part.”
“Now-,” Coach continued, “for the next two hours you will all be playing two on two. I have already assigned teams. I want to see blood, sweat, and tears on these courts today! I want to see rivers flowing down each court. There will be no timeouts, no pauses. If there is a dead ball, it gets thrown back in immediately and play resumes. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the team shouted.
“Good! If you have to take a shit, then take one. Just don’t leave the court! If there’s blood, just make sure you don’t step in it until it dries! No autopsy, no foul! The winners of each game get a fifteen-minute break at three o’clock! The losers run laps for fifteen minutes! Do you understand?”
“Yes sir!” the team shouted again.
Coach blew his whistle at full volume. “Then, begin play!”
The whistle almost deafened Jon, but he didn’t notice that until he was already on the floor.
“What the hell was that for?” Stan yelled as he walked up to Hobbs.
“It’s playin’ time! No autopsy, no foul.” Hobbs said in his dumb jock voice.
“Mills didn’t do anything!”
“My point exactly! It’s playin’ time! He needs to get his ass moving! He was in my way!”
Stan offered his hand down to Jon, who accepted and was pulled back onto his feet. Jon was deafened once again by Coach’s whistle.
“I thought we all had an understanding! Let’s play some goddamned ball!” Coach yelled. He tossed the ball to Bernard and Jason Squared started walking to their court.
“You okay, Jon?” Stan asked as they followed a pace or two behind.
“Right now, yes. Ask me again in two hours.”
“Nickel’s worth of free advice?”
“Please.”
“If they dish it out, give it right back to them.”
“Gotcha,” Jon responded as he watched Hobbs put up a swooshing three point shot.
Bernard grabbed the ball as it fell through. He walked over to Mills and went toe-to-toe.
“Three,” he enunciated as he threw the ball as hard as he could at Jon’s abdomen, knocking the wind out of him.
“Wow,” Jon gasped for air; “he can count, too? When did that happen?” Stan grinned as his friend straightened up after the cheap shot. Jon noticed he was out of bounds and passed the ball in to Stan and the game began.
Stan took the ball to the backcourt. He dribbled a time or two watching Hobbs and Bernard on the court. Bernard was crowding Jon and Hobbs was hanging back. Jon jogged around the key.
Stan made a break for it. He charged straight down the middle of the court. At the free throw line, he jumped and headed straight for the hoop. Instead of going for a slam-dunk, though, he passed it quick and hard, directly into Jon’s hands. Without even aiming, Jon jumped and went for a shot. It bounced off the side of the rim.
Ready for a missed shot, Stan rebounded the ball and ran back to the outside corner. Hobbs came charging at him like a mad rhino. Stan set up his shot calmly, and jumped, firing the ball. It went straight through the hoop.
Jon rebounded the ball and tossed it at Bernard. “Three.”

Fifteen minutes later, the game was heavier on one end than the other at 25-18, but it was much closer than any of the four players would have thought.
It was Jon’s turn to guard the in-bounds shot. Bernard faked a pass high and to the right. Jon started to move to go for it, but he was able to stay still. Several more fakes were read, and Jon was still in Bernard’s face.
With a savage ferocity, Bernard hurled the ball into Jon’s crotch. Mills tumbled to the floor.
“Out on your team!” Hobbs laughed.
“You son of a bitch,” Stan muttered as he went to help his friend.

At the one-hour mark, the score was 97-68.
Not bad, Stan thought. Much better than I would have put money on. Too bad Jon has only made twelve of our points.
Stan passed the ball in to Jon and he dribbled up to the edge of the key, just past the foul line, and he rose up for a shot. Just as his feet left the ground, Hobbs drilled Mills with what seemed to be a football tackle. The ball was launched into the bleachers as Jon was flipped into the air and crashed on the floor.
“Nice blocked shot, asshole!” Stan yelled at Hobbs.
“You do what ya gotta,” he laughed as he gave Bernard a high five.

With ten minutes left in the game and everyone winding down, the scoring had dropped, but it was still a high scoring 162-124. The other three players were tired, but Jon was completely thrashed. His legs couldn’t move, he had been slammed into the court by Hobbs and Bernard so many times he had lost count, and he had a cramp in his leg and one in his side that he was sure would not go away. Jon passed in to Stan.
“Let’s do it,” Jon sighed as he stepped back into the court.
Hobbs was underneath the basket, but he started at a full run towards Jon. Stan passed Jon the ball. Jon took two steps while dribbling then stopped. He brought the ball behind him and slung it directly into Hobbs’ face. The ball found its target and ricocheted off elsewhere in the gym.
“For Christ’s sake, asshole! Enough is enough!” Jon yelled. He turned on his heel to go search for the ball.
Mills heard the Coach’s whistle blowing and then he heard Stan yell, “Look out!”
Jon turned again and was in a half-turned position when all three hundred pounds of Jason Hobbs slammed into his mid-section. Jon felt like his ribcage was going to explode as the weight of Hobbs crushed his body against the hard wood court. He watched helplessly as Hobbs raised his anvil sized fist and brought it down with full force against his face.
“Is that enough?” Hobbs asked as his fist hit Jon’s face again.
“No, but this is!”
Hobbs turned and saw Nicholas Moss, another player, behind him. As Jason opened his mouth to retort, Nicholas swung a broom handle as hard as he could. The next sound Jason heard was the crunch of bone as his nose broke.
It took less than ten seconds for the gym to become a free-for-all.

When Kate walked into Coach’s office, she saw Stan lifting a steak off of Jon’s eye.
“Does that shit really work?” Kate asked.
“Mama’s home remedy,” Stan replied.
Kate cleared her throat to signal her presence.
“Oh, boy,” John whispered under his breath.
Nicholas stood up to acknowledge the presence of a lady in the room.
Kate walked over and knelt down by Jon. “Didn’t play nice with the kids today, dear?”
“I tried, but they didn’t play nice with me.”
“What happened?”
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”
“Depends on what happened.”
“Will Bender hear about this?”
The door opened a second time as Coach Malone strode into his office. “Who the hell are you?” he yelled.
Kate walked over to him and offered her hand. “My name is Kate Thompson. Pleased to meet you.”
Coach seemed less than thrilled to shake Kate’s hand. He did not even glance at it. “The amazing Kate? From last night?”
“That would be me,” she replied.
“And I am the goddamned coach around here and now that we’ve had mouseketeer roll call I want you out of my office!”
“Blow it out your ass,” Kate retorted.
“Excuse me, Babe?”
“I said, blow it out your ass!”
“This is my gym! I don’t want the likes of you distracting my players in my office, my locker room, or my gymnasium, so you can blow it out of your ass and get out of here!”
Stan stepped between Kate and the Coach. “No one is going to blow anything out of their ass! Okay? How about we just settle down, here a bit?”
Coach advanced on Kate another step, crowding Stan’s space. “Your boy broke my player’s nose!”
“That was me, actually, sir,” Nicholas piped up.
“Who allowed this to get to that state?” Kate asked the Coach.
“These players are about to be suspended from school, and therefore the team, and I won’t be sorry to see them go, neither!”
Kate took a step toward Coach. Stan backed out of the middle and took a seat next to Jon.
“Are you really that stupid, Coach? You are going to play a game that is going to be broadcast nationally, and you want to be three players down? What is going through your head?” Kate stood up to her full height and looked down at Coach. “Are you aware of the anti-hazing laws that are being batted around in Washington? You even think about suspending these three and you will have the biggest lawsuit of all time on your hands! You do not have control over your team! You do not have control over your gym! You most certainly do not have control over your anger, so if I were you, I would just shut your verbal diuretic hole, sit down, and be damn glad that I’m not going to even bring a civil suit against your sorry ass as long as Jon gets to play on Saturday!”
“Play? Oh, no! He is not going to play!”
“He’s on the team. He will be to every practice. He was the one attacked today! There is no reason that he should be prohibited from playing!”
“What about the fact that he is a prick?”
Kate noticed a small mini fridge in the corner of Coach’s office. She walked over to it and opened it up. She bent down and pulled a can out of a six pack.
“What about if I call the cops and have them arrest you on having alcoholic beverages on school property, contributing to the delinquency of minors, and sexual harassment charges for calling me babe?”
Coach could see he had been beaten. “What about if they miss the rest of this practice to go home and think about what they’ve done? What about if they come back tomorrow at nine sharp? What about if I don’t even report their names to the principal? And what about if I guarantee them each at least ten minutes of play on Saturday?”
Kate smiled. “Sounds like a deal, Coach. One more thing?”
“What?” Coach growled.
“Jon Mills will not be playing under that name. He will need a uniform with the name of Page on it, please. He will also be listed as Neal Page on the program.”
“What for?”
“Tax purposes,” was Kate’s only response.
“Tax purposes?” Coach mumbled.
“Tax purposes. Now, may I please have time with these players?”
Coach’s eyes narrowed and he grimaced as if he had just touched a hot stove. Without another word, he went back through his office door and slammed it so hard the curtains fell off of the small window.
Nicholas walked up to Kate. “Hi, I’m Nicholas. Nice to meet you.”
Kate smiled. “Nice to meet you, too. I’ve seen you play. Thank you for what you did to help out, Jon.”
“My pleasure. Those guys were being real dicks to him all day. Your boy did nothing wrong.”
Kate nodded her approval. “Good.”
Nicholas started toward the door. “I’m going to get home before Jeopardy starts.”
“Later, Nick!” Stan called.
“Stan,” Nicholas nodded and went out the door.