at the Galaxy Diner. "Goddammit, Gelson, your sister show you that? Go play with her, you want to play like a pussy! Take a lap, then get your fat ass back here and hit that fucking thing like you mean it!" A big kid close to us broke away from the others, headed around the dusty track; the others charged harder when the whistle blew for them.
"Gary Russell," I said.
Ryder turned to me for the first time. "I got practice going here."
"The kid is missing. He's fifteen."
"Missing, hell. He ran away from home. I hear he even left a note so his mommy wouldn't worry. Mommy's boys, how the hell am I supposed to work with that? What the hell you asking me for?"
"You're his coach. Coaches sometimes know what's going on with the kids on the team."
"Russell's new, I hardly know him. And like I said, if it's not football, I don't want to hear it. Ask me, I'll tell you during the season I don't want them thinking about anything but Friday's game. If they're JV, Saturday afternoon's, same thing. When Russell comes back, I'm not so sure I'll let him play."
Two boys crashed the sled together. The groups of seven were the offensive and defensive lines; the groups of two, backs and receivers. This wasn't really their job, and in most places coaches didn't expect as much from them on a drill like this; but Ryder, watching these two, scowled.
"Grades?" I asked Ryder. "Girls?"
"Grades— if they gave a shit they'd be bookworms, they wouldn't be playing football to start with. Girls you can't stop them from thinking about," Ryder snorted. "Especially here. Warrenstown High girls, cock-teasing little bitches." The bitterness in Ryder's voice surprised me, and I wondered if he knew what had happened in Warrenstown, over the weekend.
"Coach," I said, "I don't know if you heard about this, but there was a wild party Saturday night, out at a girl named Tory Wesley's house. Detective Sullivan found her this morning; she's dead."
Ryder looked out over the field again, said, "I heard."
"Did you know her?"
Silence. Then a cold smile, and he said, "Tory Wesley. Warrenstown High girl."
Ryder started striding downfield, toward the red-shirted quarterback, who was firing passes at a receiver cutting fast.
"Davis!" Ryder shouted. The quarterback dropped his arm, waited. "Davis, if Reed doesn't play Saturday, you're all we have. You want that asshole Hamlin to let those seniors piss all over us?"
The kid shook his head. "No, coach."
"Then you have to be a lot better than that! We're playing fucking seniors, Davis! Watch your receiver! Throw where he is, not where you wish he was!"
I kept up with Ryder, stopped beside him. Davis threw another pass and Ryder cursed under his breath. He said nothing else to Davis, though, so I started again.
"Sullivan thinks most of these kids were probably at Tory Wesley's, Coach. Your seniors, too."
"Varsity had a ten o'clock curfew Saturday night, seniors going to camp Sunday morning. JV has curfew whenever varsity does."
"Kids in Warrenstown never break curfew?"
He turned to me with narrowed eyes. "These are good kids— Smith, you said your name was? These are good kids, Smith. They're boys; they're high-spirited. Look at them: They're working their asses off to play this game at a Warrenstown level. Sometimes they need to cut loose, blow off a little steam. Doesn't matter, as long as they can play on Friday night."
"Doesn't matter? Ryder, that house is wrecked and that girl is dead."
"These kids had nothing to do with that."
"You know that for a fact? You talked to them?"
"No, I didn't goddamn talk to them. Sullivan's going to come out here soon as practice is over, take their minds way the hell off their game. I got to get some work out of them before he fucks everything up."
Gary, I reminded myself, as I felt my jaw tighten. Don't go up against this guy; he's Sullivan's problem. Your problem is Gary.
"I think the reason Gary Russell left town is because of something that happened at that party,"
"Gary Russell," I said.
Ryder turned to me for the first time. "I got practice going here."
"The kid is missing. He's fifteen."
"Missing, hell. He ran away from home. I hear he even left a note so his mommy wouldn't worry. Mommy's boys, how the hell am I supposed to work with that? What the hell you asking me for?"
"You're his coach. Coaches sometimes know what's going on with the kids on the team."
"Russell's new, I hardly know him. And like I said, if it's not football, I don't want to hear it. Ask me, I'll tell you during the season I don't want them thinking about anything but Friday's game. If they're JV, Saturday afternoon's, same thing. When Russell comes back, I'm not so sure I'll let him play."
Two boys crashed the sled together. The groups of seven were the offensive and defensive lines; the groups of two, backs and receivers. This wasn't really their job, and in most places coaches didn't expect as much from them on a drill like this; but Ryder, watching these two, scowled.
"Grades?" I asked Ryder. "Girls?"
"Grades— if they gave a shit they'd be bookworms, they wouldn't be playing football to start with. Girls you can't stop them from thinking about," Ryder snorted. "Especially here. Warrenstown High girls, cock-teasing little bitches." The bitterness in Ryder's voice surprised me, and I wondered if he knew what had happened in Warrenstown, over the weekend.
"Coach," I said, "I don't know if you heard about this, but there was a wild party Saturday night, out at a girl named Tory Wesley's house. Detective Sullivan found her this morning; she's dead."
Ryder looked out over the field again, said, "I heard."
"Did you know her?"
Silence. Then a cold smile, and he said, "Tory Wesley. Warrenstown High girl."
Ryder started striding downfield, toward the red-shirted quarterback, who was firing passes at a receiver cutting fast.
"Davis!" Ryder shouted. The quarterback dropped his arm, waited. "Davis, if Reed doesn't play Saturday, you're all we have. You want that asshole Hamlin to let those seniors piss all over us?"
The kid shook his head. "No, coach."
"Then you have to be a lot better than that! We're playing fucking seniors, Davis! Watch your receiver! Throw where he is, not where you wish he was!"
I kept up with Ryder, stopped beside him. Davis threw another pass and Ryder cursed under his breath. He said nothing else to Davis, though, so I started again.
"Sullivan thinks most of these kids were probably at Tory Wesley's, Coach. Your seniors, too."
"Varsity had a ten o'clock curfew Saturday night, seniors going to camp Sunday morning. JV has curfew whenever varsity does."
"Kids in Warrenstown never break curfew?"
He turned to me with narrowed eyes. "These are good kids— Smith, you said your name was? These are good kids, Smith. They're boys; they're high-spirited. Look at them: They're working their asses off to play this game at a Warrenstown level. Sometimes they need to cut loose, blow off a little steam. Doesn't matter, as long as they can play on Friday night."
"Doesn't matter? Ryder, that house is wrecked and that girl is dead."
"These kids had nothing to do with that."
"You know that for a fact? You talked to them?"
"No, I didn't goddamn talk to them. Sullivan's going to come out here soon as practice is over, take their minds way the hell off their game. I got to get some work out of them before he fucks everything up."
Gary, I reminded myself, as I felt my jaw tighten. Don't go up against this guy; he's Sullivan's problem. Your problem is Gary.
"I think the reason Gary Russell left town is because of something that happened at that party,"
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