The Penalty Box (35 page)

“This is about
Tuck
, Mina! Not me! Not you! Tuck!”

“Tuck is fine,” Mina insisted.

“Is he? Where's his cell phone?”

Mina absently scratched her nose. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't bullshit me. I know you took his cell phone. And if you punish him for telling me, I will send Social Services over here so fast your head will spin.”

“They come around anyway,” Mina sneered. “Part of checking up on me and my re-integration into society, blah blah blah.”

“Good. I'm glad.” Katie thrust her hand out. “Give me the phone, Mina.”

“What for?”

“Because I'm paying for Tuck to have it, not you. If you're going to use it, then I want it back.”

“Fine,” Mina huffed. “I'll give it back to him, even though I need it more. Who the hell ever heard of a nine-year-old kid with a cell phone?”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century. They all have them.”

“Yeah, well, I don't want him turning into a spoiled brat.”

“I doubt that will happen,” Katie said dryly.

Mina took a final puff of her cigarette and tossed it into a half empty glass of Coke, where it snuffed out with a hiss. “You done?”

“Not until we resolve the issue of Tuck making it to hockey practice and games.”

Mina scrubbed her hands over her face. “You're a huge pain in my ass, you know that?”

“I try.”

“You want to take him to practice and his stupid games? Fine, be my guest. He loves you better, anyway.”

“Maybe if you took some interest in his life, he'd love you, too,” Katie noted softly. Though Mina sounded like a petulant child, Katie saw it for what it was: insecurity. Vulnerability.

“I don't have a car,” Mina pointed out sharply.

“Well, I do, so let me help.”

“Saint Katherine to the rescue.”

Katie ignored her. “I could swing by here before games and pick you up, too, if you wanted. Then we could watch him play together. Afterward I could drop the two of you back here.”

“Maybe,” Mina muttered. “Let me think about it.”

Katie rose slowly, the movement causing the faint aroma of stale laundry to waft to her nose. “We're agreed, then? I can pick him up for practice early in the morning? Take him to games if he needs me to?”

Mina shrugged. “I guess.”

“And the phone?”

“He can have it back.”

“What did you need it for, anyway?”

“Things. What does anyone need one for?” She frowned. “That it?”

“One more thing.” Katie paid no heed to the annoyance on Mina's face. “Mom would like to see Tuck. Would you mind if I picked him up on Sunday and brought him over there?”

Mina's mouth curled into a slow smile. “Even better: why not have him sleep over there Saturday night?”

“I guess we could do that.” Katie tried not to bristle. It was obvious Mina wanted Tuck out of the way and was thrilled to be able to shift responsibility for him onto someone else. Katie tried framing it positively, telling herself it would be good for Tuck. “Let me check with Mom.”

Mina snorted. “Like she's gonna say no.”

“You could come, too. For Sunday dinner. Wouldn't have to arrive too early.”

Mina mimed putting a gun to her left temple and pulling the trigger. “No, thanks.”

Katie sighed. “I don't know what your problem is.”

“Not everyone is a freak like you who likes hanging out with their mother.”

“I don't like hanging out with her,” Katie protested. “I just don't
hate
her.”

“Whatever.”

Katie changed the subject. “How's work going?”

“It's okay. They're just jobs, you know?”

“And Snake?”

“That asshole,” Mina groused.

“And you're managing to keep straight and all that?” Katie asked delicately.

“No,” Mina flared, “I'm shooting up three times a day and downing two bottles of Wild Turkey before bed every night.”

It's possible, Katie thought. If there was one thing she'd learned from Mina's previous bouts with booze and pills, it was what skilled liars addicts were.

“I'm not prying, Mina, I just—”

“I know: you're just watching out for me. And I appreciate that, believe me.” Katie was stunned when her sister came over to hug her. Mina's emotions seemed to turn on a dime. “Everything's going to be fine. Just have a little patience, all right? I'm still finding my sea legs.”

“I know.” Katie kissed the side of her sister's cheek. “And I love you. And I want so much for things to be good for you and Tuck.”

“They will be. Just chill out.”

Katie vowed to try.

 

 

“How's this?”

Paul ushered Doug Burton and Chick Perry to a cozy table for four toward the back of the Penalty Box. He'd contemplated seating them in a booth, but there was no way Chick would be able to slide in and out comfortably, and he didn't wish to humiliate the man. Chick eyed Paul gratefully as the three of them sat down at the table. A waitress appeared within seconds to fill their water glasses and give them menus.

Doug nodded his head approvingly. “Fast service.”

Paul smiled. “We try.”

Inviting them to the Penalty Box at lunchtime was a smart move. He felt less guarded here; it was his turf, not theirs. The food was good, the service superior. The place was also packed with business people on their lunch hour, not a biker in sight.

Doug glanced around admiringly. “You do a good lunchtime business during the week?”

Paul nodded. “We draw from a lot of downtown businesses, as you can see.”

Doug's eyes lit on Paul's old Blades jersey, hanging in a glass case on the wall above one of the booths. “You a masochist or what?” he joshed. “If I were you, I'd bust into tears every time I walked past it.”

Paul's eyes went to his jersey. “It's part of my history, and it's part of what draws people to the bar,” he said. He'd never admit that there were times a lump formed in his throat when he looked at it. There were also times he wanted to take an ax to the case, liberate the jersey, and set it on fire. He was beginning to understand how oppressive your own history could be.

Chick rubbed his pudgy hands together eagerly. “What do you recommend?”

“Well, the curly fries are legendary,” Paul boasted, “and we do a mean cheeseburger.”

Both men closed their menus. “Sounds good to me,” said Doug. He eyed Chick. “You?” Chick nodded.

Orders placed and drinks delivered, the three men engaged in small talk. When the food finally arrived, Paul felt ready to get down to business.

“I've made my decision about taking over the midget travel team.” Both Doug and Chick listened intently, mouths chewing furiously.

“I'm going to pass.”

Chick choked, lapsing into a coughing fit. “Sorry,” he rasped.

“You okay?” Paul asked.

Chick nodded.

Doug's expression was grave as he regarded Paul. “Are you sure you've thought this through?”

“Totally. I'm sticking with the squirts until the end of their season.” Paul sipped his beer. “If you're still in need of a coach for the midget travel team next fall, we can talk then. But I'm staying put.”

Doug did nothing to hide his displeasure. “Mind if I ask why?”

“Of course not. I think it sends the wrong message to my kids if I bail mid-season. I've worked hard at building a relationship with them—at building
them
up—and I don't want to jeopardize that.”

Doug chuckled. “That's very noble, Paul, but I think you're forgetting the big picture here. You take over Dan's position, you've got a shot at winning.”

“Winning isn't everything.”

He never thought those words would come out of his mouth, but there they were. He never thought he'd believe such a statement, either. But he did. He'd agonized over his decision, knowing what Doug said was right: If he took over the midget team, he might get a shot at being in the spotlight again. But the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt about ditching the squirts. He'd worked hard to build up their confidence and camaraderie. Sure, half of them still didn't know what they were doing on the ice, but what did it matter? They were having fun. They were learning skills and values they'd carry forward into adulthood. They believed in him. If he bailed on them, they would think he never cared. They would think
they
didn't matter.

And then there was Tuck.

Every time he leaned toward taking the coaching position with the midgets, Tuck would steal into his mind. He could picture the look of disappointment and pain on the boy's face. Paul was one of the few adults Tuck trusted not to let him down. Paul didn't want to betray that, not with all the kid had been through. Tuck needed Paul, and at this point in his life, Paul needed to be needed. He'd stay with the team to the end of their season, whether they ranked first or last.

Doug carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I must say I'm surprised.”

Paul nodded. “I understand that.”

“Surprised and disappointed,” Doug continued tersely. “I don't think you realize the opportunity you're passing up. You coaching the midgets would have been magic.”

“Then why didn't you make me their coach at the beginning of the season?” Paul challenged.

Doug narrowed his eyes. “Dan wasn't sick then. It's all about paying dues, remember?”

“Then I'll gladly pay mine and stay with my boys.”

 

 

Paul tried to
avoid Frank's eyes as he watched the parade of bikers swagger through the door of the Penalty Box. The usual clientele had filled the bar in the early part of the evening: young families wanting to take their kids out for a burger, groups of single guys gathering around the bar to watch hockey on TV. Couples drifted in for a drink or munchies around ten or so to round off an evening out. But when eleven o'clock hit, everything changed.

Paul heard them before he saw them. He was busy talking about his days with the Blades with a bunch of guys from the local community college who had deliberately sought him out, when he heard the roar of choppers outside. He paused, hoping they might just be passing through. But one by one, they began pulling up in front of the bar, their conversation raucous as they cut the engines. His eyes shot to Mina. She was at the bar filling an order, but he could tell she heard it, too. She looked happy.

Paul counted twelve of them. Bearded, hulking, and tattoed, they cast a menacing eye at the other patrons as they made a beeline for Mina. The mood in the bar changed immediately from collegial to anxious.

“Excuse me,” Paul said to the college kids. He approached the gang, who were standing in the middle of the floor surveying the place.

“Hey, guys,” said Paul. “Can I help you?”

“I don't know. Can you?” jeered a burly biker with a graying Fu Manchu moustache. He laughed. “Man, I crack myself up.”

“I'm Paul, I own the bar.” He glanced behind him. “There are some tables toward the back I can put together for you if you want. But I'd appreciate it if you kept the noise down, okay? This is a family place.”

Fu Manchu glared at him. “Excuse me, but I thought we were living in a free fucking country.”

Paul dug in his heels. “You are. But I own the bar, and I make the rules. If you don't like 'em, you can leave. It's real simple.” He made eye contact with each and every one of them. “By the way, did one of you threaten to rearrange my bartender's face last week? 'Cause if you did, you can get the fuck out of here right now.”

Speaking to them in their own vernacular got through to them. A few of the bikers grunted, shuffling their weight. They seemed uncertain what to do.

“You want those two tables in the back or what?” Paul snapped.

“Sure,” said Fu Manchu. “And five pitchers of Bud to start.”

“I'll have one of the waitresses bring them over as soon as we set up the table.”

“Not one of the waitresses,” Fu murmured lasciviously. “Mina.”

Paul's teeth set on edge. “Whatever.”

He pushed the two tables together, and gave the beer order to Mina. The bikers were loud and their language was peppered with obscenities anyone in the bar could hear. But Paul's main problem was Mina. Every chance she got, she was hanging around the table, bullshitting with her friends and neglecting other customers. When it was time for her break, Paul called her into his office.

“Tell your friends to leave,” he said.

Mina scowled. “What? Why?”

“Because it's interfering with your ability to do your job. They're distracting you. You're neglecting other paying customers.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Mina, I've been watching you since they came in, okay? You're spending more time yukking it up with them than you should be. Not only that, but Frank tells me the bar tally isn't quite adding up. He keeps a running tab in his head.”

“So?” Mina scoffed. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I would hate to think you're giving your buddies free pitchers of beer. Because if I find out you are, you're history.”

“I would never do that,” Mina said hotly as her face turned fire red.

“Look,” Paul continued, “You know I ask all my employees not to have their friends and family hang out here.”