Sixkill

Henry slapped him left, right, left, right on the cheeks.

'Bong,' I said.

Z stared at Henry.

'Annoying,' I said. 'Isn't it.'

'Do that to you?' Z said.

'No,' Henry said. 'I couldn't. He knows how. He's as quick as I am, and he's in shape.'

'And me?' Z said.

'You, Kemo Sabe, are quick enough,' Henry said. 'But you don't know how and you're not in shape.'

'Kemo Sabe?' Z said, and looked at me.

'Henry speaks many languages,' I said.

Z studied Henry for a minute.

'You're a big, strong guy,' Henry said. 'And you got nice natural reflexes. I don't want to close with you until you're ready to puke.'

'No wind,' Z said.

Henry nodded.

'And you don't know how to fight,' Henry said. 'Ever been a bouncer?'

'Yeah.'

'Figures, they like guys like you,' Henry said. 'Big, scary. Stop a lot of fights before they start.'

'And most of them are drunk,' Z said.

'Like you were,' I said. 'When we fought.'

'Drunk's never an asset in a fight,' Henry said.

'I don't need to be drunk,' Z said.

'Sure,' Henry said. 'Guy like you . . . You grab some guy, don't know any more than you. You slam him up against a wall, give him one big punch on the side of the head. Fight over.'

Z nodded.

'Been winning fights all my life,' Z said. 'Never had a problem until the other day.'

Henry nodded toward me.

'Then you ran into him?' Henry said. 'And he knew more than you.'

Z nodded.

'Well,' Henry said. 'There you go.'

Zebulon Sixkill IV

After the second game of his junior year, Harmon Stockard called Zebulon into the football office.

'What's going on, Z?' he said.

'What?' Zebulon said.

'Coach Brock says you're not in the weight room much anymore, and when you do show up, you dog it.'

'I work hard, Coach,' Zebulon said.

'They tell me you are ten pounds heavier than you were last spring.'

Zebulon shrugged.

'Against Oregon last week you carried twenty-eight times and gained forty yards. Against Michigan this week, you carried twenty-three times and gained fifty-one yards.'

Zebulon didn't say anything.

'You used to explode into the line,' Stockard said. 'You hit the hole so quick Turk had to hurry to get the handoff out there.'

Zebulon was silent.

'Now the hole closes before you get to it.'

'Maybe guys aren't holding their blocks,' Zebulon said.

'Hell they aren't,' Stockard said. 'Turk's turned and holding the ball and looking for you and here you come a step later. It's all it takes. It's the difference between everything and nothing.'

Zebulon looked at Stockard and looked away. He didn't speak.

'You are throwing it away, kid,' Stockard said. 'You were a first-round lock.'

Zebulon shrugged.