Chapter 24

On the long trip back from Mt. Vernon, Bree thought a lot about the rest of the summer. It was a good chance to think, since it was hard to talk very much in the noise of the open Jeep. There were still chances for her to make her diamond goal flight, she reasoned, but the time was growing short. Once football practice got under way, she’d lose most of her ground crew – Autumn would even be doing cheerleading practice, and for that matter Bree still had cross-country practice.

That didn’t mean she was giving up; reasoning that it would be no big deal if she missed a day or two of cross-country practice, she decided to set up a turn point to the southwest of Camden, ninety-five miles to the south at Greenwood. With that worked out, she decided she’d try the route whenever it looked like conditions might allow a successful flight. That would allow her to plan on making it an out and back. That would allow her to take the rough route she’d taken on her gold distance flight for at least the first part of the trip. Getting launched in the morning wasn’t a problem, and if she had to land out along the way it wasn’t too far for her aunt and uncle to come and pick her up if her friends weren’t available.

There were four weeks left before football practice started, and over those four weeks she made five serious attempts at it when the weather looked favorable, usually with most of her friends tagging along on the ground. Four other times she launched, but the lift didn’t develop sufficient for a cross-country attempt, and she never left gliding distance of the home airstrip. However, conditions weren’t always that bad.

The results were mixed. One time she made it back as far as Albany River, twelve miles south of Spearfish Lake, before having to land out, but the other four times she didn’t do that well.

But Bree did a great deal more those four weeks besides fly the Schweizer and wait for better weather that didn’t quite come. She ran, sometimes alone, occasionally with Becca, but more often with one or more of her friends. Two or three times a week, or even more often, the four of them got together at the football field or the airstrip so Jared could practice his field goal or extra-point kicking; it took all four of them to allow him to practice efficiently. About once a week they got together with Alan and Summer, along with others, to test modules of the role-playing game; Alan and Summer wanted to have it done before they left for college, which was getting close. About once a week or more the four of them went out to the pond Jack and the others had introduced them to. Sometimes it was just a quick swim for an hour or so, but occasionally the eight of them took a picnic lunch and made an afternoon of it.

Not everything was done in a group. Once she got her driver’s license, Bree made several trips out to the shooting range at the Spearfish Lake Sportsman’s Club, where Gil taught her how to shoot. He started with a simple .22 rifle to allow her to get used to the idea, then moved her up to the M-16. It was more than just pulling the trigger; he taught her how to shoot quickly and accurately, as well as how to field strip and clean the weapon.

The key to being a good shooter, Gil told her, was practice. It proved that Bree was a good natural shot, and once she got used to the idea of what the weapon was and what it could do, she became a better than average shot. “I don’t know how they fire for qualification at the Air Force Academy,” Gil told her, “but at West Point you’d be shooting expert.”

Gil also taught her about shooting handguns, again starting with the easier stuff, but working up to shooting the old M1911A1 .45 and the NATO nine millimeter. Again, she proved to be a good shot once she got used to the idea. “You’re not quite up to Cody Archer as a natural shot,” he told her, “but you can be a good, competent competitive shot.”

Taking advantage of the old former sergeant major’s availability, she also was taught the manual of arms and some rudiments of close order drill, so she’d at least be familiar with it when she had to contend with Academy requirements.

Gil was also involved with Bree’s ongoing training at martial arts, which she went to with Jared one evening a week. While Jared’s uncle Randy was the main sensei, there were some others involved. Bree picked up a lot of the basics, but Gil also taught her some dirty self-defense moves. It added a lot to her self-confidence.

All in all it added up to a busy summer for Bree; unlike past years, the time available to spend in the living room chair with a book and Perky was limited, but she felt like she was learning an awful lot. She’d come a long way in the past year, and she knew it.

“We gotta do it better than last year,” Walt said as he, Bert Fisher and John Bergstrom, a couple of his friends, sat out in his car at a lonely spot in the woods, sipping on a beer. Walt liked his beer, and he liked his buddies; it was just too damn bad that Misty wasn’t around, so he’d been making up for it by hitting the beer.

“Last year was a bunch of shit,” Bergstrom agreed. “I mean, shit, we didn’t get to play football at all last year. Bergstrom tells me that they didn’t cut the players any slack last year for it, either.”

“It’s a bunch of shit,” Walt said. “The pre-practice beer bust has been going on for years. If Awkerman and Parsons hadn’t screwed it up so bad, they’d never have been caught. If we’re going to do it, we’re going to have to be a hell of a lot more careful.”

“Walt, it ain’t like it was last year,” Bergstrom agreed. “There ain’t no way in hell we’re going to get the whole team out there, not even a big part of the team. Some of those juniors would go out of their way to blow the whistle on the party the first they heard about it.”

“Then I guess it’s up to us to put things back the way they ought to be. I agree, there’s juniors and even sophomores who would blow the whistle on something like that quicker than shit. But there’s at least a few of us seniors left who know what the score is, and maybe we only invite the juniors we think we can trust.”

“I don’t know,” Fisher shook his head. “It’s still a hell of a risk. You know what happened to Awkerman. I mean, three months in the county slammer worth. I hope he likes that road-kill venison since he’s sure as hell going to have to eat a lot of it.”

“It ought to work,” Lethbridge replied. “We’ll have to invite just people we trust. We just don’t invite some of those goodie two shoes pussies like Erikson and Wooten. That fucking Erikson pisses me off. He’s just so goddamn sure he’s going to be quarterback again, but he’s got another fucking think coming. Maybe last year there wasn’t no choice, but this year the fucking seniors are back and we’re not gonna let any fucking juniors run over us. By God, the seniors on the football team used to rule, and if we’re gonna do it we’re gonna have to do it ourselves.”

“How you gonna get the beer?”

“Same way I’ve been doing all summer, just drive up to the reservation and buy it. I ain’t had no problem getting it back here. Look, what I’m thinking is that we go hit up on the righteous people who need to come to the party and have them chip in twenty bucks to cover the cost of their beer and ice and shit. That’ll cover the cost. I mean, I ain’t got the fucking money. Awkerman had to buy it out of his own pocket, but that way we’ll know whoever is coming to the party has an investment in it. Maybe it’ll keep everybody and his fucking brother from showing up like they did last year. Maybe that’ll keep someone from running off at the mouth.”

“That might work,” Fisher agreed. “But how you gonna handle keeping where the party is being held a secret?”

“First off we don’t spread the word all the hell over town like that asshole Awkerman did last year. I mean, it was the last minute, yeah, so he didn’t have a hell of a lot of choice, but he still could’ve done it a lot better. Look, I’ve got a good place for the party, but I ain’t gonna tell no fucking body about it till the last minute, and then I’m only going to tell you. What I figure we do is that we tell people to go one place that seems likely for a beer party, and then when they get there, you meet them and give them directions on how to get to where the real party is. If someone comes up to you that ain’t supposed to be there, you send them somewhere else. I won’t even show up with the beer till I know from you on a cell phone or something that everybody’s been checked off the list.”

“That might work,” Fisher replied. “It’d cut down on the chances of getting the cover blown. How many people you think might show up? Most of the seniors, I think.”

“Yeah, most of them, probably not all of them. I think we need to include the guys who got booted off the team last year even if they ain’t gonna play this year. I think we’re just gonna have to talk to everybody one by one, and anyone we don’t think is too eager we’re just not gonna let them get to square one.”

“Might work. The thought sort of crosses my mind that if someone pays their money and doesn’t show up we might have a lead on who the rat is if someone rats us out.”

“Yeah, I figure that, too,” Lethbridge agreed. “That was another problem from last year. Whoever ratted the party out ought to have had their ass kicked big time, but so damn many people knew about the party no one could figure out who the rat was. It may not be the big party we had last year, but it’ll be a righteous party and will at least keep the tradition alive. Damn, I wish Misty was going to be around. I’d sure love to pass her around among some of the righteous guys for taking off on me all summer.”

Although Howie had more or less asked Jared to not say anything to the coaches about Lethbridge, Jared didn’t want to see the season loused up by this kind of nonsense. He didn’t say anything about it that night since he couldn’t get Coach Kulwicki off to the side with no one else around, but he was able to get him on the phone and lay his concerns out. “The only thing is that I don’t want Howie to know I told you,” Jared added.

“Don’t worry,” the coach said. “This ain’t the first I’ve heard about that stuff. Look, here’s the deal. Nobody is owed a position. Everything is going to be on skills, and everyone is going to have to win their positions. Right now, I’ve got about half the positions set in my mind. I know what you and Howie can do, and I know how hard you’ve worked already. I have yet to see this Lethbridge character at a skills session at all, and I know damn well he didn’t play last year.”

“Right,” Jared replied. “He was one of the guys who got beerbusted off the team. I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’ve heard talk that a few other seniors who got kicked off the team last year are going to revive the pre-practice beer bust tradition. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lethbridge is right in the middle of that.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s told me that, either,” Kulwicki said. “Now this is coming from a person whose real world business is selling beer after all, but if any of those jokers decide to have a pre-practice beer bust they’d better hope I don’t hear about it. We’re going to go somewhere with the team this year and we don’t need that stuff dragging us down. Try to keep out of trouble with this Lethbridge character, but if he causes any trouble other than just talking big, he’s going to be out on his ass anyway.”

Charlie Wexler knew a good deal about the party. He’d been tipped by several football players – mostly juniors but a few seniors – that it was coming down. Some of the tips had come through the football coach, too; counting everything, he and Spearfish County Sheriff Steve Stoneslinger had a pretty good picture of who was involved and when it was going to be.

“The problem is,” Stoneslinger said as he and Wexler shared coffee and doughnuts in Wexler’s office a couple days before the party, “we don’t know where.”

“Yeah, they’re managing to keep a pretty close lid on that,” Wexler agreed. “And from what I can figure out about how they’re doing it, they could keep it so it could be changed at the last minute.”

“And we really can’t just tail someone out to the party,” the sheriff said. “Odds are it’ll be way the hell and gone out in the woods someplace. A tail would get noticed. Too bad we don’t have one of those tracking devices you see on all the cop shows on TV.”

“We could probably borrow one from the state post,” Wexler nodded, “but that would bring the troopers in and we don’t want that. It’s the same thing as always. If a deal comes off, they take the credit, and if it doesn’t we get the blame.”

“You know,” Wexler smiled, “I might just have an idea on that.”

Howie was as aware of what was being planned as anyone else. He hadn’t been invited to the party, of course, and was just as glad. Several football players had come to him on the street or at the ongoing skills sessions and asked him what to do. “Don’t go,” he told all of them. “Even if you paid your money, don’t go. Too many people know about it for it to be a secret, and that means there’s a good chance the party will get busted. And if it does get busted, you’re not going to be playing football this year. We’ve gone too far to get ready for this season to have it loused up by a bunch of losers and their damn beer party.” As far as he could tell, most appeared to plan to take his advice.

Still, it was troublesome, and he talked it over with Jared and the girls out at the pond that afternoon, just a few hours after Chief Wexler and Sheriff Stoneslinger’s discussion. “The hell of it is,” he said, “is that most of the guys I’m pretty sure are going to be going to the party are seniors who got their asses kicked off the team last year. Along with that, there’ll be a few juniors who don’t know any better. They’re all guys we got along without just fine last year, and they’re only going to cause trouble this year. This is all coming from that goddamn Lethbridge who isn’t smart enough to realize that things have changed in the past year.”

“You know,” Bree said thoughtfully, “a lot of people know this is happening, especially the guys on the team, right?”

“Everybody on the team has heard about it,” Jared agreed, “mostly directly from Lethbridge, except people they’re pretty sure would blow the whistle on them like Howie and me.”

“I know this is kind of late to come up with the idea,” she replied, “but how about if there was an alternate party? I don’t mean with beer or anything, but maybe a steak fry, lots of food, and chaperones to make sure there isn’t any beer around?”

“Sounds like an idea,” Howie said. “It’d draw the line pretty quick about who the good guys and the bad guys are. But it would cost money, as much as a beer party or more. And I don’t have any idea where we’d get the money.”

“I do,” Jared said. “It might be a lot of money for us, but it’s only a few hundred bucks, and I’m sure who I’m thinking of would go along with it. He was about as pissed about the deal last year as anyone.”

“Your Uncle Randy, right?” Bree grinned. “That might be an idea, Jared.”

“It sounds like a hell of an idea to me,” Howie said. “Where could we hold it?”

“How about down on the beach, at the picnic area?” Bree suggested. “That way it would be right out in the open where anyone can see it. It’d show you weren’t trying to hide anything.”

“You know, that’s a good idea, too,” Autumn said. “That way it’d show who the good kids are.”

“Let’s pack up,” Howie said. “We’re not accomplishing anything here. We only have a couple of days to put this together. That’s a great idea, Bree, and it ought to separate the sheep from the goats once and for all.”

“Uncle Randy probably will be over in Three Pines,” Jared protested.

“We can get to him later,” Howie said. “Actually, I think who we need to talk to first is Coach Kulwicki. It’s going to take his approval to make this the official pre-practice party, but I think he’ll go along with it. We don’t have a lot of time if we’re going to get to everyone. Autumn, can you handle the getting the word to the cheerleaders?”

“For sure, unless you want me to skip telling the senior girls who’ll want to go to the beer party.”

“No,” Howie said thoughtfully. “I think we need to try to let everyone know. That’ll give them a choice between being good guys and bad guys. Let’s get going, people. We’ve got a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it.”

“I don’t know,” John Bergstrom told Walt Lethbridge shortly after noon on Saturday. “It’s beginning to look like our beer bust is going to be a bust.”

“It sure ain’t gonna be like last year,” Walt admitted. The two were sitting in the back row at the Frostee Freeze since all the drive-in spots seemed to be filled with summer people. “Shit, we had close to fifty at the party last year. We’ve only got money from a grand total of nineteen people, and some of them are people who were at the party last year but graduated. I don’t think we’ve got but six or so people from the team this year. I don’t know who set up that idea of having an official pre-bust party down on the beach, but I know that goddamn Erikson was up to his ass in it.”

“He was up to his ass in it, that’s for sure,” John said. “As far as I know, either he or that Wooten asshole talked to everybody on the team, and that Trevetheck bitch saw all the cheerleaders, too.”

“We’re just going to have to kick his ass, that’s for sure,” Walt snorted. “Wooten’s, too. I mean, just on general principles. If he shows up at practice Monday I’m going to have to kick his ass up between his eardrums. At least that means we ain’t gonna have no pussies at our party, but we’re gonna know who the good people are and who the wusses are.”

Things had gone pretty good for several days. Walt, Bert, or John had talked to virtually everyone they knew who planned to be on the football team, and to at least some of the cheerleaders. At first the response hadn’t been too bad; several people thought the idea of keeping the tradition of the pre-practice beer bust alive was a good one, but they weren’t getting the response they expected. There were a lot of wusses who didn’t want to run the risk this year after the wholesale suspensions following the party last year, even with pressure from Walt and John. To help fill out the party, they’d started calling in some of last year’s seniors who hadn’t gotten to play the year before because of the beer bust. At least there they got some good response, but a lot of the seniors who had graduated were out of town, or just didn’t want to run the risk of being second offenders in front of that hard-assed judge. Like it or not, they’d put football behind them.

But the day before, word had started going around about the alternate party down on the beach. In fact, except for one thing, it sounded like it ought to be a pretty good party – a steak fry along with plenty of other food, even a band – and all of it free! The one thing it lacked was beer, and it was clear that sneaking any into the party wasn’t going to be a good idea – there were going to be several parents there, probably some of the coaches, and most likely an off-duty cop or two. There hadn’t been any actual public announcement – it had only been passed around by phone calls, text messages, and contact, like Walt, Bert, and John had done.

The thing that really ground all three of them was that whoever was organizing the party was calling it the “official” pre-practice party. That was a crock of shit and Walt and John knew it! The pre-practice beer party had been held for years, and that was the official one if there ever was one, and whoever dreamed up the idea of the alternate party had a lot of damn nerve claiming the title!

“Well, at least we’re gonna have some fun of our own,” John said. “No matter what the pussies do. But it’s going to show who has the balls on the football team, that’s for sure. When you gonna go get the beer?”

“Soon,” Walt replied. “I don’t plan on bringing it into town at all, just go straight from the reservation to a place near where I’m planning for the party to be and wait for your call. I figure I might as well hold off as late as I can to see if we get any last-minute people.”

“I sorta doubt there’s going to be too many,” John shook his head. “But maybe a few will come to their senses.”

“You know,” Sheriff Steve Stoneslinger commented to Spearfish Lake Police Chief Charlie Wexler in the Spearfish Lake police station, “it doesn’t look like we’re going to get anything like the haul we had last year.”

“Might get a few,” Wexler replied. “There’s always going to be a few boneheads running around, but that ‘official’ party those kids dreamed up is going to keep the numbers down, that’s for sure. I’ve had a number of tips about kids who paid to go to the beer bust but decided the party downtown is going to be a better deal. I’m going to have a couple uniformed officers hanging around the party itself.”

“Not a bad idea,” Stoneslinger agreed. “But the odds are there’ll be a few yahoos having a beer or two in their cars somewhere away from the party.”

“I figured that,” Wexler smiled. “That’s why I’m going to have a couple of my part-timers not in uniform cruising around among the parked cars now and then. The kids may or may not recognize the part-timers, so that may help. “

“That won’t help if a few kids get in their cars and drive away to have some.”

“True, but if they do I’m going to be cruising around town myself, so I might get a bust or two. I hate to say it, but I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help in busting the party out in the country, wherever it is.”

“Well, since it doesn’t look like it’s going to be a mob scene, it won’t be like last year,” the sheriff smiled. “I think the guys I bring in can handle it.”

“If you can find the party in the first place.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Stoneslinger smiled. “At least if it doesn’t start too late.”

So far, so good, Walt Lethbridge thought as he headed out of Lame Badger’s place on the Three Pines Reservation. He’d wondered more than once how the Indian could stay in business – hell, he was known all over the area as being a source for underage beer drinkers. Probably he had some sort of an arrangement with tribal cops, but Walt had no way of knowing about that.

This was not the first beer run Walt had made to Lame Badger’s in his pickup truck. It was probably a little late in the day, but maybe not too late. Lame Badger always warned kids coming up to his place to make their beer runs during the day, and be alone in the vehicle. A carload of kids coming back after dark with the tail end of their car hanging low was like waving a red flag to any cops, tribal or not, they might happen to meet. That really wasn’t an issue for Walt; he was alone, and in his pickup truck where a few hundred pounds in the back end wouldn’t be noticed. He’d stopped on the way up and bought ice; Lame Badger always sold the cheapest possible beer, and having it cold made it a little more drinkable. The ice and the beer were now in four forty-gallon lube drums, which had overturned fifty-five gallon drums on top of them, and the whole works tied down. It was camouflage Walt had used before, and had never had a hint of a problem.

This ought to be a good party, he thought. Too bad there weren’t going to be many people there, but at least the good ones would be showing up. He’d know who his friends were when it came time to kick that Erikson’s ass for thinking he was going to shove a senior out of the quarterback job. That shit was going to end Monday, that was for damn sure.

John Bergstrom was getting bored. In fact, he was well past bored. He’d spent two hours out at the meeting point, and there had been only three cars come to get directions to where the party was really going to be, and none of those cars were exactly full. Shit, he thought, this was going to be an even bigger bust than he and Lethbridge were worried it was going to be.

The thing that was really irritating was that most of the people who had come by weren’t even football players – or at least wouldn’t be this year. They were last year’s seniors who had graduated. Had the freaking coaches passed the word that anyone who showed up at the beer bust wouldn’t be on the team this year? If so, John hadn’t heard it, and he found himself wondering just how bad he wanted to go to the party himself. He’d missed the entire football season last year, and he didn’t want to be shut out again.

On the other hand, Walt was a friend and the idea of continuing the tradition had been John’s idea about as much as it had been Walt’s. There was no backing out now.

The meeting place was where the two-rut went back to the landing on the river where the failed party had been held last year – it seemed appropriate, somehow. Bergstrom glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock; even a few minutes later. The deal was that he would stay at the meeting place till eight; anyone arriving later would be shit out of luck.

The hell with it, he thought. Might as well get this show on the road. At least I’ll have a few buddies and a few beers. That’s got to be worth something. He shook his head again, got into the cab of his pickup, turned the key and made the cell call to Walt.

Good, he’s finally moving, Mark Gravengood thought from his seat in Rocinante about three thousand feet above Bergstrom’s pickup. Sunset was getting close, and while he could probably crowd past that a little bit, the airstrip at the farm wasn’t lighted and he didn’t want to push his luck too far. He picked up the microphone for the aircraft-band VHF radio, which was set to a channel used for casual communications. It was very unlikely that anyone would be monitoring it here; it was often used for gliders. “OK, Steve,” he reported to the sheriff. “He’s moving out toward the state road.”

“Roger that,” Sheriff Stoneslinger replied. “Keep me informed.”

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