'Not this one. He's busted.'
'Nothing on the radio.'
'It's not out yet. I just got a call.'
'They got Lee and Graff on the taxi squad.' 'They still need a back-up man.'
'Where'd Fran get mugged?'
'In the Lutheran Brotherhood parking lot. He just came out of WCCO from Sid Hartman's Sports Hero show.'
'Lee hasn't played since September,' I said.
My heart started jumping around again. All kinds of ideas started racing through my head. Lee had a helluva arm but he hadn't played in a game since training camp. Tarkenton was the whole cheese. Their season was finished. God! This was the Superbowl! Miami was probably no more than a three-point favorite over the Vikings. But now at least thirteen points. But what kind of chance would I have of getting in the game? Reed dampened my spirits immediately.
'It's between you and Vakos.'
'How do you figure?'
'They only want one quarterback.'
'He's never been under that kind of pressure.'
'He's good, Matt.'
'We've got one more game. Who starts?'
'Vakos starts first half. You start second.'
'He doesn't know how to cope with NFL pressure.'
'Neither one of you'll get in the game. I'm sending only one. Whichever does best in the last game. You're about dead even in performance.'
I didn't say anything. I turned around and trotted back to the practice field sidelines. I watched Vakos run a damn nice quarterback draw. I was suddenly envious as hell. He looked as good as Unitas on that draw.
Chapter 19
In college I took a course in creative writing and our instructor Dr. Louis Haselmayer had us practice writing what he called dramatic transitions over and over again, stressing a four point structure. Reaction. Dilemma. Decision. Action. I was in my dilemma and reacting strongly.
After practice I sat in my apartment. The more I thought about what I might do, the more hot and cold flashes I got. I started shivering and sweating. I wanted a drink badly. I walked down to the local bar. I knew I wasn't going to get stiff. There was too damn much at stake. I just wanted to relax.
What if something happened to Lee or Graff and I did get in? But it was going to be tough to beat out Vakos. I'd have to look good in the second half.
I drank the scotch and water slowly and looked at the wall of the booth. No, I'd never get in the game, not even if I got picked over Vakos. He'd probably pick Vakos because he was young, had a future. But that didn't mean anything to Bud Grant. He would go for an old pro, but not if I looked lousy in the last game.
I felt rotten about what I was thinking. How to get rid of Vakos? How to keep him from playing well in the game? To hell with it. It was a chance in a thousand. I'd never get another chance. Not if they knew about the knee. This was my last shot.
I put my glass down and shook my head when the waitress hustled me for another drink. Only one way to get Vakos out there. Get him sick before or during the game. It would have to be something he ate and I'd have to get it to him before the game. They dope horses, don't they?
Where in hell would I find any dope in Des Moines? Straight town. I thought and thought and thought and then it hit me. Hang around a high school. There was bound to be a pusher. Scallen, you prick. But I was never going to get a chance again.
I looked up the high schools and the nearest to me was East High. The next day at noon I drove over to East High, a big stack of bricks, and sat on the steps. The trouble was I didn't look quite old enough to be the father. of a high-school student, so what was I doing on the steps. Maybe waiting for my nephew. There were kids smoking sticks under the trees and I strolled around a nice grassy lawn in front of the building, thinking I could make a buy. But all I did was get the kids to stop smoking. They probably thought I was a cop. They faded away. I was leaning against a tree, looking out at the street. It was all starting to look gray again, even the brick building.
The biggest red-faced cop I've ever seen came up and tapped me on the shoulder. 'Buddy, waitin' for somebody?'
'My nephew.'
He had hair coming out of his nostrils and ears.
'Lunch is over. What time you meeting him?' He squinted at me, watching me closely. He looked Very suspicious.
'He should have been here twenty minutes ago.
'What's his name?'
'Dick Evans.'
'Ask in the office?'
'He'll be along,' I said.
'I got you pegged, mister. You look like a molester. Same size. About the same clothes. We got a report on you. Offering the chicks chewing gum, trying to get them in your car.'
'I'm a real barracuda.'
'Maybe you'd like to go downtown and talk to the captain.'
'What's wrong, officer? I'm standing under a tree. Doing nothing. What's wrong?'
'Public property.'
'What do the taxpayers do?'
'Let's see your driver's license.'
I took out my wallet. He looked at the license. He smelled of stale beer and cigars.
'Ain't I seen you someplace before?' He squinted one eye at me.
'Circus,' I said. 'I came through here last year with Ringling Brothers.'
'Wuddiya do?'
'Animal act. Cats.'
His eyes bugged.
'Lions?'
'Pussy,' I said. I looked straight a. him. He turned his head a little to one side.
'You ain't kidding?' He watched my eyes.
'No. Just Pussy. Little cats,' I told him.
'Where do you keep 'em?'
'They got ate up.'
'Huh?'
'Dog act ate 'em all up two weeks ago. I'm out of work. I come back here to buy some new pussy. Best show pussy in the world is right here in Des Moines. Smart cats.'
'What kind of cats?'
'Plain old alley cats. My nephew's going to take me out to an old woman who has a bunch of cats. She's sick and wants to sell 'em.'
The cop handed me my driver's license.
'Lots of luck, fella.'
He walked away. I thought he was going to scratch the back of his head like a television cop but he kept right on walking.
After practice that afternoon, Binks came into the locker room and told the whole squad they were expected to attend a Baptist church supper that evening in honor of the team. First time I'd heard about it.
