Football Fugitive (6 page)

“Don’t worry about me,” replied Doug.

“Okay. On three,” said George.

They broke out of the huddle and ran to the line of scrimmage. The ball was on their own eighteen. It was second and ten.
Larry got over the ball, clamped his hands around it.

“Six! Eight! Hut one! Hut two! Hut three!”

Larry snapped the ball.

George took it, hugged it to him, turned, handed it off to Manny Anderson, then faked a pitchout to Doug. Doug rushed around
Billy James and right end Ray
Bridges, his arms crossed over his chest as if he had the ball.

Manny, who had the ball, bolted through the number one hole, getting excellent blocking as he sped across the twenty… the
twenty-five… the thirty… the thirty-five…

“Go, Manny, go!” Larry yelled as he saw the halfback tearing toward the sideline.

Manny crossed the fifty-yard line and was on the Crickets’ thirty-two when their safety man finally reached him and pulled
him down. A fifty-four yard run!

“Not bad,” said George, grinning happily in the huddle. “Let’s give it to them again. They’ll never expect that play twice
in a row.”

“Won’t work,” countered Doug. “Let me try a crossbuck.”

“Come on, Doug,” Larry protested. “Let him call it.”

“But it’s like expecting lightning to strike twice in the same spot,” argued Doug.

“Name it, George,” said Larry, ignoring him.

“I did,” the quarterback replied. “Mash Forty-one.”

Larry glanced grimly at Doug. “You’ve got to pull off that fake like you did the first time, Doug, or it surely won’t work.”

“I’ll do my job,” Doug grumbled. “You do yours.”

The play worked perfectly, Manny having almost an easier time of it than before. Doug’s kick for the extra point was good.
7–7.

A few moments later the whistle shrilled, ending the first half. As the teams ran off the field and headed for the locker
rooms, Larry glanced toward the sideline. As he expected, he easily spotted Yancey.

Larry waved to him and Yancey smiled, raising two fingers in a V.

Larry remembered that Yancey had not yet called his father.

Had he changed his mind? Did he plan on getting another lawyer? Just what were his plans?

Well, only time would tell.

T
he Crickets scored their second touchdown within the first three minutes of the third quarter. Muggsy Shaw, their husky fullback,
went over on a twenty-six-yard run, then booted the ball between the uprights for the extra point. Crickets 14, Digits 7.

The teams lined up for the kickoff. Muggsy, booting for the Crickets, laid one end over end to the thirty-five-yard line,
where Billy James caught it and ran it back up the field, dodging three would-be tacklers before being pulled down on the
forty-four.

“Twenty-six,” said George in the huddle.

Billy James took the pitchout from George and bolted through the six hole for three yards.

“Let’s try an end-around this time,” said George. “Their weak side seems to be on the left. You ready for another shot at
it, Billy?”

“Weak side on the left?” Doug echoed. “Neither side looks weak to me.”

“Well, it
is
a little weaker,” George said, as if determined not to let Doug change his mind. “Let’s go. On three!”

Larry snapped the ball and charged forward, his target the Crickets’ middle linebacker, Jim Green. Jim was tall, strong, and
fast. Just the sight of his speed triggered a wave of fear in Larry. “Look at the way he lifts his knees,” Larry thought.
“If I throw him a block they could easily hit me on the chin and probably knock me out.”

He erased the frightening thought, realizing that it might slow him up in his drive to block Jim. He was still chasing the
linebacker, was only inches away from him, when Jim threw himself at Billy and flattened him out like a pancake.

A loss of two yards.

“Well, who was right?” Doug’s puffed-up ego showed in his smile. The two-yard loss seemed unimportant to him.

“Okay, you were,” George admitted. “But— ”

“It was my fault,” Larry broke in. “If I had blocked Jim as I should have, he’d never have gotten Billy.”

“You want to know the truth, Larry?” said Doug. “You couldn’t have blocked him no matter how hard you tried.”

“Let’s play ball,” Greg’s voice cut in sharply. “We’re wasting time.”

Third and nine.

“Now’s the time for the Swing Pass, the other play Yancey Foote gave us,” Larry thought.

“Flair Pass,” said George.

On the snap he faded back, while both ends ran down the field, and heaved a long one to Curt down the left side. It was too
long, sailing over Curt’s head for an incompleted pass.

“How about trying the Swing Pass?” Larry said in the huddle.

“Why not?” said George, ignoring the fact that it was fourth down. “Curt, Manny, Doug — you know what to do. Let’s go! Swing
Pass! On two!”

On the snap George faded back, Curt started off slowly in a diagonal run up the field, Manny circled in toward the line of
scrimmage then cut out toward the left sideline, Doug faked taking a pitchout from George and bolted toward the three hole,
and Billy ran in toward the center of the field. Suddenly Curt stopped, then cut back a couple of steps just as George heaved
the pass.

On target!

Curt, with five yards between him and the nearest Cricket, had clear sailing in front of him and went for a touchdown.

“It worked!” Greg shouted, pounding Larry enthusiastically on the back. “It worked!”

“I never had any doubt about it,” answered Larry, restraining a smile. In a moment, though, his face lit up brightly, as he
glanced toward the sideline where he had seen Yancey earlier. The big man seemed to catch his glance for he raised two fingers
again in a V sign.

“Have you met him yet?” Greg asked.

Larry nodded. “Last Saturday.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Doug kicked for the point after, but missed.

“Nuts!” he snorted.

Boots Johnson, the Crickets’ running back who played in the right corner facing the Digits, caught Doug’s kick and ran it
back to his thirty-nine. Muggsy Shaw plowed through the line twice for a total gain of eight yards, then was stopped cold
on the line of scrimmage as he tried to make it three gains in a row.

Fourth and two. The Crickets went into a punt formation, and Muggsy again was the focus of attention as he booted the ball
to the Digits’ thirty-six-yard line.

Doug smashed through for an eleven-yard gain on the first play, then picked up only two on the next.

They tried Mash 41 again for a fifteen-yard gain, then a second time in hope of a
repetition. Instead, Manny, as he reached for the ball from George, lost control of it. And, during the scramble that followed,
he lost possession of it, too.

“My fault,” Manny apologized solemnly.

“Forget it,” said George. “Maybe we’re working that play too much. They’re bound to catch on after a while.”

“I think they have,” Doug said.

The Crickets moved the ball, getting it to the Digits’ forty-one when the buzzer sounded, ending the third quarter.

The teams exchanged sides. The Crickets kept moving, gains being shared by Muggsy Shaw, Boots Johnson, and Bob Blair, their
other running back. They were chewing up yardage slowly: three… one… six… eight…

“What I’d do to bust their fat balloon,” Larry said to Greg as they waited for the
Crickets to file to the line of scrimmage for the umpteenth time.

Greg shrugged. “Make ‘em fumble,” he said. “Or tackle ‘em before they gain a yard. The answer’s easy, if you could do it.”

Larry grimaced. “Ask a stupid question….”

“Right,” Greg said, grinning.

The Crickets advanced the ball to the Digits’ nine-yard line. There were less than two minutes left to play.

“Watch for a pass,” Doug warned.

They watched, and it came. Larry sensed it even before Todd threw the ball. He could tell by Todd’s actions where the target
was, too. He sprinted to his right.

The ball came spiraling through the air. Larry leaped, caught it, brought it down to his chest, and started to bolt up the
field. He eluded a linebacker, got blocking on
another, and raced all the way. He ran harder and harder, never looking back, never hearing the cries that began to rise from
the Digits’ fans, never hearing anything until he had crossed the goal line.

Seconds later Doug kicked for the point after. This time it was good. Digits 20, Crickets 14.

“That was another way,” Greg said, cracking a broad smile.

L
arry, walking home with Greg and Yancey Foote, was aware of a following close behind them: Doug, Billy, Ray, and Paul.

“This is my friend, Greg Moore,” Larry said to Yancey. “He’s mostly deaf. You have to look at him when you speak to him.”

“Hi, Greg,” Yancey said, shaking Greg’s hand. “You played a nice game.”

“Thanks, sir. That last play Larry made was just great, wasn’t it, Mr. Foote?”

“Sure was. And it came at the right time, too,” said Yancey.

Larry wondered if Yancey had telephoned
his father yet, but didn’t think that this was the proper time to ask him. It would embarrass Yancey. And those big ears behind
them might just relish every word of it, too.

After Greg left and the four guys moved off in their respective directions, Yancey continued walking with Larry.

“Now that those guys are out of earshot,” he said, “I can talk to you. Did you tell your father about me? I intend to call
him this evening.”

“I told him,” Larry answered.

“What did he say?”

“The moment I mentioned your name he knew what team you played on and about the trouble you’re in.”

“Goes to show that he reads the sports pages,” said Yancey. “Did you tell him that I’d like to have him as my lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He didn’t.”

Yancey frowned. “He didn’t say he would, or wouldn’t?”

“That’s right. He didn’t say one way or the other. I guess you’ll have to see him about that.”

They walked on silently for a while, still heading toward Larry’s home, which was about a half a block away now.

“Think he’s home?” Yancey asked. “I might as well see him now if I can, or make an appointment with him if he’s busy.”

“If he’s not downtown or with a client, he’ll see you,” Larry said.

The family cars were the only ones in the driveway when they arrived at the house, a good sign that his father was alone.

He was.

“Dad, this is Yancey Foote,” Larry introduced the football star to his father,
who stared at Yancey as if he had just met Hercules himself. “He’d like to talk to you.”

They shook hands.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Shope,” said Yancey.

“Same here, Mr. Foote,” said Mr. Shope. “Larry’s told me about you. I understand you’ve become pretty close friends.”

“That’s right. You have a nice son. I bet you’re very proud of him.”

Mr. Shope smiled at Larry. “I am. I’m very proud of him,” he said.

Larry met his eyes, then looked away. “Are you really proud of me, Dad?” he thought. “Why? Because I don’t ask you to play
football catch with me? Because I don’t ask you to take me to baseball games, and hockey games, and play Chinese checkers
in between times? Oh, sure, Dad. You must be very proud of me that I don’t interrupt you
from spending so much time with your great law practice.”

“Come in and sit down, Mr. Foote,” Mr. Shope invited genially. “Larry, I —” He hesitated.

“This business is between you and Yancey, Dad,” Larry interrupted. “Anyway, I’ve got to get out of these duds and wash up.”

He left, closing the office door softly behind him, and smiled. “Dad will defend Yancey and win the case, too,” he thought.
“He’s really a great guy. He really is.”

Within a week progress had been made in the case,
People vs. Yancey Foote.
With the cooperation of Judge Irma Standish a jury was selected and trial set for October 24, a Friday.

“You think he has a good chance, Dad?” Larry asked anxiously at the supper table as the day of the trial drew near.

“I think so,” his father replied, stabbing a carrot with his fork. “He was an orphan. Did you know that, Larry? He grew up
in an orphanage. He was a big kid and nobody wanted to adopt him. When he reached his teens he got a job, saved money, played
high school football, and paid his way through college. He didn’t play football until his senior year.”

“Yes, I know all that, Dad,” answered Larry proudly. “He made the Athlete-ofthe-Week twice that year, then was the Packers’
number three draft choice.”

“I guess you do know about him!” His father smiled.

“Very interesting,” said Mrs. Shope with a smile. “But a man his size
has
to play pro football to earn the fortune he needs to feed himself. Larry, pass me the salt and pepper, please.”

On Tuesday the Digits discovered that the Finbacks were not really the threat they were feared to be. At least, they didn’t
show it in the first quarter. The Finbacks had whipped Moon City and the Moths by marginal scores, but had lost to the Crickets.