The Penalty Box (36 page)

“You never told me that.”

“It's in the employee handbook. Did you bother to read it?”

“Yes,” Mina spat.

“Good. Then you know what I'm talking about. I want you to go back out there and ask your friends to leave. Blame me. Tell them I'm being a hard-ass and you'll lose your job if they don't go.”

Mina's gaze mocked him. “Aren't you afraid one of them will get mad and mess you up?”

Paul laughed. “
No.
I played in the NHL, remember? I've fought guys who make those losers look like choir boys. Now I've got a question for you: Aren't you afraid of losing your job? Because you should be.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes. I'm your boss, not some schmuck who hangs out here for kicks breathing down your neck, though I know you like to think of me that way. It's time you showed a little respect.”

“I'm respectful,” Mina said with a sneer.

“Yeah? Well, it's news to me. Go tell your friends to leave.”

“You know, you're a snob. Just like Katie.”

“Really? And you're basing that on?”

“You just want them out of here because you think they're bad news. You take one look at them and you think ‘trouble.' But in reality, they're sweeties.”

“I don't give a shit if they're on the verge of being canonized,” Paul returned angrily. “They're scaring my regular customers and getting in the way of you doing your job. Get them out of here or you're toast.”

“Fine.” Mina frowned. “I'll tell them to leave and I'll go be the perky little waitress with the great tits who waits on all the other boring jerks in the bar. Happy?”

Paul bit his tongue.
You know, I hired you as a favor to your sister, and I could just as easily fire you because your attitude sucks.
“Very happy,” he replied. “Are
you
happy I'm letting you keep your job?”

Mina said nothing as she stormed out of the office. Five minutes later, the bar was clear of bikers, though they did make a big show of leaving, muttering about “pussy bar owners” and kicking the occasional chair on the way out. Paul was glad to see them go. He wasn't sure he was glad Mina was staying.

Paul always found
the end of the hockey season bittersweet. The Panthers were down to the last game of the regular season. If they won, they'd make it into the playoffs by the skin of their teeth. If they lost, the season was over.

Spring had snuck up on Didsbury. One minute, people were complaining about digging out from yet another snowfall; the next, purple and yellow crocuses were bursting through the moist earth, heralding a return to sun and warmer days ahead. Last spring, Paul had formally announced his retirement. He was finalizing the deal to take over Cuffy's and turn it into the Penalty Box. He'd sold his apartment in Manhattan and had bought the house in town.

Now he wondered,
had he chosen the right path?

He looked around at the anxious little faces in the locker room as they prepared for what could be their final foray of the year on ice. A smile crept to his face; he was proud of them. Sean Bennett, who'd started the season barely able to skate, was now one of the best backward skaters on the team. Back-up goalie Tommy Tataglia used to scream when the team shot pucks at him during drills; now he was one of toughest little SOBs in the squirt division. Finally, there was Tuck, stoic as ever as he laced up his skates, the boy Paul knew had to be saddest about the season ending.

Hockey had kept Tuck focused and gave him something positive to pour his energy into. Paul assumed things weren't as good at home as they could be. Mina had started showing up late for work, and calling in sick far too often for Paul's liking. If it wasn't for Katie, Paul doubted Tuck would ever make it to practice or games.

Katie. Every time he saw her he felt battered and bruised. She was so beautiful. No one made him laugh the way she did. She was looking very tired these days. He'd heard through the Didsbury grapevine that she was coming down to the wire with her book deadline. He knew she'd make it. If there was one thing you could say about Katie, she was disciplined.

The locker room had fallen unnaturally quiet, a phenomena Paul knew well from his days as a player. An outsider would never understand the depth of this brooding stillness, brought on by a unique blend of fear and anticipation.

“Listen up, guys.” Paul's eyes swept over his players. He still found it to be the most effective tool in his coaching arsenal. “I know you're nervous. If we win, we go on to the playoffs. And if we lose, this is our last game.

“You busted your butts and gave the game your all. You were all there for your teammates through thick and thin. I can't tell you how proud I am to have been your coach.” He began choking up and took a deep, steadying breath. He clapped his hands together twice, breaking the spell. “Now let's go kick some Stingray ass!”

As it happened
,
the Stingrays kicked the Panthers' ass 4-1, but not for lack of trying on the Panthers' part. Everyone played his heart out, and despite the increasing gap in the score as the game wore on, team morale was good. The boys knew they'd worked hard all year, and Paul could see they genuinely believed he was proud of them.

“You guys were awesome out there,” Paul commended as they straggled back into the locker room, sweaty and exhausted.

“We blew,” muttered Gary Flaherty.

“No, you didn't. You guys really hustled. Someone has to lose, and unfortunately, today it was us. Here, maybe this will cheer you up.” He reached into a large cardboard box on the floor behind him and began pulling out New York Blades jerseys, tossing one to each of them. An appreciative murmur rose up in the locker room as each boy tore off his Panthers jersey, donning the pro jersey instead.

“What do you guys think?”

“Awesome!”

“Cool!”

“I'm never taking mine off!”

Paul chuckled. They looked like a pack of ragamuffins, the sleeves of the jerseys falling far beneath their fingertips, the hem brushing their knees. He'd toyed with the idea of getting them child-size jerseys, but these kids sprouted up so fast they'd likely outgrow them in a year. “I know they're kind of big on you right now, but you'll fill them out sooner than you think, believe me.”

“Coach?” Tuck's voice was tentative.

“Yeah?”

“I know that, um, you were really bummed when you couldn't play hockey anymore and stuff, but we're all glad you wound up back here, you know?”

The boys nodded. Paul felt his eyes burning.

“Me, too,” he said.

 

 

Six weeks later
,
Paul strolled into the Penalty Box on a busy Saturday night and got the shock of his life: There, sitting at the end of the bar nursing a Coke and reading the latest issue of
X-Men
, was Tuck.

Paul's gaze shot to Frank, whose shrug said “Don't ask me.” The place was packed with hockey fans watching a playoff between Philly and Dallas on the big-screen TV.

Paul went to his office and tossed his denim jacket over the arm of the couch before returning to the bar to look for Mina. She was busy taking orders from a pack of paunchy middle-aged men in hockey jerseys. Two were staring at her chest, the other three ogling her ass. Offensive as it was, Paul knew she'd get big tips from them.

“I need to talk to you a minute,” Paul said when Mina approached the bar to place her order with Frank.

“Talk away.”

“Not here. In private. In my office.”

Mina clucked her tongue. “Boss, in case you haven't noticed, it's a little crowded tonight.”

“In my office. Two minutes. I mean it.”

Paul returned to his office, gorge rising. First he'd deal with Mina, then he'd deal with Tuck. The office was more of a sty than ever, with bar and restaurant supplies now vying for space with the promo items. But he had no choice; the basement was tiny and though he was ashamed to admit it, he still hadn't moved some of Cuffy's stuff out of there. As a result, the staff were forced to hustle in and out of his office.

Waiting for Mina, he poured himself a glass of water from the cooler and threw three aspirin down his throat to ward off the encroaching tension behind his eyes.

Mina stuck her head around the door. “What's up?”

“Come in. Close the door behind you.”

“Ooh, serious.” Mina did as she was told, standing with a smirk on her face and hands on her hips in a posture of complete inconvenience that was the final straw.

“This
is
serious. You're fired.”

That wiped the smirk off Mina's face. “But—why?”

“Why?” Paul echoed incredulously. “You're never on time. You call in sick at least once every two weeks. And now you've brought Tuck with you to work!”

“He's not in the way.”

“It's a bar, Mina. Kids don't belong in bars! What part of that don't you get?”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do?” Mina yelled. “I couldn't find a sitter.”

“Bullshit. You—”

The door flew open, revealing another waitress, Daphne, looking mortified at having interrupted. “I, um, Frank needs some swizzle sticks.”

“Swizzle sticks,” Paul muttered to himself, glancing at the wall of unmarked boxes to his left.

“Top left,” Daphne offered helpfully.

“Right,” Paul muttered. He reached for the box and handed it to her. “Close the door behind you, will you, please, Daph?”

“Sure, boss.” She gave Mina a sympathetic look on her way out the door.

Paul turned back to Mina. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah, you were claiming you couldn't find a sitter for Tuck. What about Katie?”

“She does have a life, you know,” Mina snapped.

“Your mother?”

“I don't like him hanging out over there. She feeds him too much.”

At least the kid's getting some nutrition,
Paul thought.

“Look,” Mina huffed, panic rising in her eyes as she folded her arms across her chest, “I fucked up, all right? I'm sorry. I won't bring my kid here again. I swear.”

“No, you won't. Because you're fired.”

“Boss.” Mina's bravado was gone, replaced by a voice shaky with desperation. “I said I'm sorry. I promise I won't be late anymore. I really, really need this job.”

“I'm sorry, Mina, but that's not my problem. You're a good waitress—when you bother showing up. I'm sure you'll be able to find something else.”

Paul hated being such a hard-ass, but he had no choice. If she wasn't Katie's sister, he would have given her her walking papers long before now. It wasn't fair to the rest of the staff to keep cutting her slack. She needed to learn that actions had consequences.

To his surprise—and horror—Mina began weeping. “Can I at least finish out tonight? I could use the tips.”

“Of course,” said Paul. He pulled a tissue from the box on the edge of his desk and handed it to her. “Stay in here as long as you like to get yourself together.”

Mina turned on him. “I can't believe you're doing this! You're such a prick!”

“Right. I'm a prick.” Paul pushed past her. If he stayed one more minute things would really get ugly. “I'm taking your son over to your mother's house.”

 

 

A zombie. That's what Katie felt like sprawled on the couch, watching TV with her mom. She was so close to finishing her book she could taste it. It was the first thing she thought of when she woke in the morning, and the last thing to go through her mind before she closed her eyes at night. She'd spent hours working on it today, writing, revising, changing words, shifting paragraphs, reading aloud to herself to see if the writing flowed. She felt like she'd run a marathon.

The doorbell rang, startling her to full consciousness.

“Who on earth could that be?” her mother wondered aloud.

“Probably someone selling Girl Scout cookies to torment me,” Katie replied grumpily. She hauled herself up off the couch and plodded over to the door. She was unprepared for the sight of Tuck and Paul standing together on the doorstep.

“Hi, Aunt Katie,” Tuck said almost sheepishly, breezing right past her to join his grandmother in the living room. Katie looked questioningly at Paul.

“What's going on?” she asked in a low voice.

“Mina brought him to the bar,” Paul replied quietly.

“Why didn't she call me?” Katie hissed. “I would have watched him.”