I shrugged. 'Got Dixie,' I said.
'The coach? Thought he found you annoying.'
'Hard to believe, isn't it,' I said. 'But he can put pressure on the kid that you and I can't.'
Hawk's face brightened. 'By sitting him down,' Hawk said.
'Yes. If I can persuade Dixie to bench Dwayne until he cooperates we might have something.'
'Means you've got to convince Dixie that Dwayne's doing what you say,' Hawk said.
'And Dixie would rather get a case of clap than talk to me,' I said.
'Amen to that,' Hawk said.
17
I walked into Dixie Dunham's office in the gym on a March morning that felt like January. There was snow, and wind and a windchill factor. I had the lining zipped back into my leather jacket.
'What the fuck are you doing here?' Dixie said when he saw me.
I put my gym bag down on his desk and took the game tapes out of it. I put them on the desk in front of him. They were the six games where Taft beat the spread. I took out a copy of the running transcript that Tommy Christopher and I had put together.
'Read that,' I said, 'and watch the tapes and you'll know that Dwayne Woodcock's influencing the point spread.'
'Where'd you get those tapes? I didn't authorize those tapes to anyone.'
'I showed the transcript to Dwayne and he couldn't read it,' I said.
'I told you, you sonovabitch, I told you to stay away from my players.' Dixie shoved his swivel chair back behind his desk and stood up.
'You trying to rig this goddamn tournament, come in here and fuck with my players' heads? You bastard, you're the one rigging the spread. I told you, I explicitly fucking told you ... '
'Goddamn it, Dixie,' I said, 'shut up.'
Dixie was so startled that someone would say that to him that he shut up. For a moment. I charged into that moment. 'You got a kid here, he's not just one of your players, he's also a real actual kid, and he's in trouble and you don't give a rat's ass about it. You're so goddamned busy being a coaching legend that you're going to let him slide right into the sewer.'
Dixie's face was red.
'People don't talk to me that way,' he said. His voice was tight as if he had trouble forcing it through his throat.
'People don't usually talk to you any way,' I said. 'You're such a goddamned windbag they don't get a chance.'
Dixie came around the corner of the desk in a rush and threw a looping right-handed punch at me. It was like watching the slow curving swoop of a Frisbee. When it got close I turned my head to the left and let his fist soar majestically on past. Then I drove a left hook into his solar plexus, turning on the ball of my right foot and getting a lot of my weight behind it. Dixie said 'oof,' and he folded like a camp stool and staggered back against his desk trying to get his breath.
I didn't say anything. I waited. Dixie got enough wind in him in a short time to lunge off the desk at me again. As he came I took a quick shuffle step left and put a right hook into the same spot, pivoting this time the other way and getting even more weight behind it. Dixie staggered back, doubled over again, leaned against the desk and then slid slowly to the floor, his legs stretching out before him with no strength in them, a look of puzzlement on his face. I knew the feeling. Dixie sat there, his arms wrapped across his stomach, bent forward, trying to get air, for maybe a full minute, while I waited without saying anything. Finally he could breathe. He put both hands flat on the floor and supported himself while he sat straighter, still on the floor, and his eyes began to focus on me.
'You got a punch like a mule,' Dixie said.
'Like the kick of a mule,' I said. 'Get it right.'
Dixie nodded without speaking. Then he pulled his legs toward him and twisted and got them under him and rose to one knee, holding on to the desk, rested a minute and then boosted himself up onto both feet and stood there, leaning forward, his hands palm down on his desk, his shoulders hunched, his back to me. He breathed for a while and then finally rolled himself around along the desk edge until he had turned and faced me. He put one hand up, palm out.
'Ain't going to try again,' he said. 'Just getting my legs back.'
I waited.
'Hoooeee,' Dixie said.
'Yeah,' I said.
'You warned me,' he said.
'Yeah.'
Dixie took a couple of deep breaths and arched his back. Then he went around his desk and got his chair and sat in it.
'Okay,' he said. 'What were you saying about Dwayne going down the chute?'
'Read the transcript,' I said.
