Football Hero (2008) (7 page)

THANE TOOK A PIECE
of paper from the pocket of his sweat jacket and unfolded it, reading the address in a voice that Randy, the driver, could hear. The car came up out of the tunnel and headed north, through the mountain range of skyscrapers. Up ahead, Ty saw trees.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Central Park,” Thane said. “It’s huge. It’s like they took a hunk of Tully and dropped it down right in the middle of all this concrete. There’s trees, streams, ponds, hills, rocks, birds, you name it.”

“Raccoons?”

“Plenty.”

“Wow,” Ty said, pressing his nose to the window as they turned right and the trees disappeared. “Where
are we going now?”

“First the surprise,” Thane said. “Then the restaurant, then the Palace.”

“Palace?”

“It’s a hotel.”

“Is it like a palace?” Ty asked, looking at his brother’s smiling face.

“For us it is,” Thane said.

The house they both grew up in was a small two-story, three-bedroom colonial off a rural highway. Their home wasn’t a dump like Uncle Gus and Aunt Virginia’s, but it wasn’t any palace, either. Out back, though, you could see for miles across the Tully Valley, and Ty’s dad always said it was a million-dollar view.

The Hum-V limo pulled over on Fifth Avenue. Thane got out and waited for Ty on the sidewalk, looking up. The building looked like the big square tower of a castle, red brick with flags flying on the ramparts above. The front was filled almost entirely by a huge glass arched window. Above the entryway, big silver metal letters declared the place to be Niketown. Thane grabbed Ty by the arm and led him inside.

Ty stared in wonder at all the stuff and all the enormous pictures of famous athletes covering the walls and at the signs and banners that were everywhere. A pretty woman with a ponytail saw them looking and asked if she could help.

“I want to get my man here a nice sweat suit,”
Thane said. “Something with style.”

“Over here,” she said, walking through the displays and stopping at a rack of black sweat suits. “It’s called the Control Sweat Suit, my favorite.”

“You like that?” Thane asked.

Ty’s mouth hung open. He just nodded.

“Let’s see, you look like a youth, medium. You want to try it on?”

“He’s gonna wear it out of here,” Thane said. “And can you get a pair of the new Pro Shock shoes? Size seven, right, Ty?”

The woman nodded, pointed out the dressing rooms, and disappeared.

“Thane,” Ty said, looking at the price tag. “You said you only had two hundred seventy-three dollars. This and the shoes is all the money you have.”

Thane grinned, and his hazel eyes twinkled like tiny Christmas-tree lights.

“Morty, my agent?” Thane said. “He gave me a credit card.”

“You said you don’t spend anything you don’t have.”

“Buddy, in about twenty hours, I’m gonna have more money than either of us ever dreamed of. Don’t worry about it. I gotta get you out of that church gear. It’s strangling you.”

Ty tugged at the collar of his white shirt. He sighed and shrugged and said, “Thane, if you are going to get me shoes, can I get football cleats instead, as long as
they’re not more than the Pro Shock shoes?”

“Football cleats? You can’t wear them around.”

“I need them more than the Pro Shock shoes, though,” Ty said, remembering the feel of the cold mud on his bare feet. “To play.”

Thane knelt down in front of him and rested his forearms on Ty’s shoulders. “I’m gonna get you both. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Ty shook his head and said, “I don’t want to be a mooch.”

“You’re my brother,” Thane said, standing up. “And for your information, a mooch is someone who asks. Uncle Gus, that’s a mooch. You’re not like that. Now go put this on. I’ll have her get you some cleats when she gets back.”

Thane looked at his watch. “We got dinner in twenty minutes, so stop standing there.”

Ty shut the dressing room door and wiggled out of his church clothes, slipping into the silky sweat suit just as Thane handed the box of Pro Shock shoes in under the door. When he came out, Thane and the saleswoman started clapping.

“Now you’re ready,” Thane said.

Thane paid with the credit card, and the woman put Ty’s church clothes into the Nike bag along with the cleats. The limo took them to a fancy restaurant called Fresco by Scotto. A nice older woman greeted them and nodded when Thane mentioned Morty
Wolkoff. She led them into the crowded dining room, where waiters in black ties slipped between tables covered by white linen, fresh flowers, flickering candles, and glimmering silverware.

Thane’s agent sat at a table along the wall, on the cushioned bench, talking on his cell phone. His hair was thin and graying, his face round and flushed, with a sharp nose, and he, too, wore a silky sweat suit. His gold watch gleamed like his white smile, and Ty liked him before he even spoke.

Morty snapped the phone shut and his words came out in rapid fire.

“Now, it might not be the Jets,” he said, looking at Thane with his eyebrows knit.

“What?” Thane said, amazement on his face. “I thought it was practically a done deal? What’d you find out?”

“You’re not going to like it,” Morty said.

MORTY SAID, “THEY HAD
Jack MacDougal, the wide receiver from Tennessee, in for a workout yesterday afternoon. He ran a 4.21 forty.”

Thane’s mouth tightened into a flat line.

“What’s that?” Ty asked, unable to keep the words in his mouth.

“The forty-yard dash is how teams measure your speed,” Morty said. “Tiger’s fast, he ran a 4.26, it’s amazing. This other receiver, he doesn’t have as many catches as Tiger. His hands aren’t as good and he’s not as tough, but he’s two inches taller, and with that kind of speed, the Jets might use their pick on him.”

Thane and Ty sat down across from Morty. Ty saw the cloud of concern pass over his brother’s face before it returned to normal.

“It’s, like, .05 seconds,” Ty said.

“Which is a lot,” Thane said, “believe it or not.”

“I don’t know,” Morty said, “maybe it’s a trick to keep the Cardinals from using the second pick to get you.”

“The Cardinals don’t need a receiver,” Thane said.

“Maybe they’ve got a trade cooking,” Morty said.

“You never know with them.”

“If he doesn’t get picked third, will he get picked fourth?” Ty asked.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Morty said. “The Jets need a receiver. The next team who’d use their first-round pick for a receiver might not be until Atlanta, although I could see San Diego taking you, too, with the tenth pick.”

“He’ll still be a first-round pick, though, right?” Ty asked.

Morty tilted his head and nodded. “Yeah, but the Falcons pick twenty-seventh. The difference between third and twenty-seventh is about twenty million dollars over the first four years of the contract.”

Ty’s mouth hung open and he looked up at his brother. “What about the Giants? Could they pick you? Then you’d still be right here.”

“I doubt the Giants,” Morty said. “The Patriots, maybe, but I doubt the Giants.”

Thane shrugged and said, “Nothing we can do, right? Let’s eat.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you,” Morty said, looking sadly at his cell phone.

“No,” Thane said, cracking open a menu and sounding genuinely unconcerned. “That’s okay. It’s better to be ready.”

“You will be a first-round pick,” Morty said.

“Tomorrow at this time, you’ll be a millionaire. That’s the good news. It’s just a matter of how many millions you have. Not a bad problem when you look at it like that, right?”

“Right,” Thane said.

They were all quiet for a few minutes, then Morty set his menu down and started asking Ty questions about school and if he, too, was a football player. Ty said he was.

“I’ll sign you up now, then, right?” Morty said, grinning big.

After they ordered, Thane excused himself to the restroom.

Morty watched Thane go, then he leaned toward Ty and his eyes lost some of their merry sparkle.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

“Sure,” Ty said, picking a long, thin breadstick out of its silver basket and crunching on it.

“You and Tiger, you get along good, huh?” Morty said.

“He’s my brother,” Ty said. “I call him Thane.”

“And you wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him, right?” Morty said.

Ty set the breadstick down. “No. Why?”

“I know you’re young—”

“I’m twelve.”

“Yeah. Well, wherever he gets drafted, Tiger’s going to have a lot of money and I don’t want to see him lose it all the way most guys do. You know what I mean?”

Ty shook his head and shrugged. “What are you talking about?”

Morty sat back and took a fat roll of money out of his pocket. He peeled a bill off the outside, a hundred-dollar bill. He held it up and snapped it tight.

“This,” he said. “It changes everything. Guys like Tiger, they want to help everyone. They got a little brother who needs a new sweat suit, a pair of sneakers? Fine. But what happens is that it never ends. The whole family lines up with these NFL players. Mom wants a new house. Wouldn’t Dad look great driving a Cadillac? Uncle Zemo’s ready to open a sports bar. Aunt Jenny needs a hair transplant.”

“You know about the bar?”

“What bar?” Morty said, raising his eyebrows.

“Uncle Gus, he said something to Thane about it.”

“See?” Morty said, snapping the bill again. “It never stops. The bars and restaurants, they always go belly-up. The businesses fail. The money gets spent as fast as it comes in, then taxes take a hit, a guy gets hurt, and he’s out of the game with a mortgage he can’t afford, no line of work, and what money he has
left is gone in a year or two. Bang, he’s a poor slob selling his Super Bowl ring to pay for a vacation to the Bahamas. That’s if he was lucky enough to go to the Super Bowl.”

Ty bit into his lower lip.

“A lot of agents, they like it that way,” Morty said. “Let the guy spend it all. The agent’s got his hand out, too, getting him into investment deals that he gets a cut of. I’m not like that. I don’t want any money I don’t earn.”

Morty’s eyes softened.

“I know you don’t want that either. I see you care about your brother, right?” Morty said, wrapping the bill back onto the outside of the wad and replacing it in his pocket. “That’s why I’m saying something. Don’t let it happen. I can tell by the way he looks at you that if you asked, there’s nothing he wouldn’t give you, but don’t. You gotta live your life. You got school. You got food, clothes, a roof over your head, right? That’s all anyone needs. You gotta make your own way after that. Trust me.

“The other way? It never works.”

Thane appeared suddenly, sitting down and asking, “What are you guys talking so serious about?”

“YOU,” MORTY SAID TO
Thane. “Your brother is worried about you. What’s this thing about your uncle and a bar? I told you about all that, right?”

Thane waved his hand in the air and sipped at a glass of sparkling water. “He’s not so bad. Don’t worry. I’m not getting into anything like that.”

“’Cause I told you, right?” Morty said.

“You know,” Thane said, “our dad worked hard his whole life. He was an electrician, worked for himself. Had a pretty nice retirement plan he saved up. Had the house almost all paid off. Then he lost everything in the stock market, bought a bunch of AOL. I’ll be putting my money in the bank, thank you.”

“Good,” Morty said. “Now we don’t have to worry.”

The food came and Ty remembered how much he
liked to eat. He had pasta with tomato sauce, then a steak with mushrooms. The flavors filled his mouth, and juice from the meat dribbled down his chin. For dessert, they had homemade ice cream and Italian cannoli, a thin cookie tube filled with a creamy center that tasted so good, Ty had to close his eyes when he bit into it. When they were finished, Ty was so full he could barely walk out the door. They said good-bye to Morty, who waved and disappeared into a cab.

The rain had stopped. High above, shreds of white clouds sailed across the sky like ghosts. Thane asked if he wanted to walk off some of the food and take a stroll up to the park.

“Sure,” Ty said.

Thane went to the window of the limo and told Randy that if he could drop off his suitcase and Ty’s bag at the hotel, then they would just see him tomorrow. The gray street was like a narrow canyon between the rows of skyscrapers, but the sidewalks were wide and nearly empty of people. Thane rested his hand on Ty’s shoulder, and they walked for a couple blocks without saying anything.

Finally, Thane asked, “You like Morty?”

“Yes,” Ty said as they turned onto Fifth Avenue, heading for the park. “He’s got a lot of money.”

“That’s ’cause he’s a good agent,” Thane said.

“Honest.”

“Seems like that,” Ty said, stopping to stare at the
massive gold statue of a winged angel leading a soldier on horseback. The statue marked a corner of Central Park. It shimmered under the city lights, and Ty found his feet moving toward it, wanting to reach out and touch it. But when he got closer, he realized that its granite base was much bigger than it looked and even the angel’s feet were out of reach.

“Pretty awesome,” Thane said, looking up. “Come on.”

They crossed the street between a thin stream of black limousines and yellow taxicabs and stood at the top of a stone stairway that led down into the park. Even though he could see the streetlights glinting up through the trees, there was something eerie about the dark descent and the black pool of water Ty could see beyond the path.

“Is it safe?” Ty asked.

“Sure,” Thane said.

But the two of them stood there, looking.

“It’s kind of dark,” Ty said.

Thane walked down a couple steps and turned around, facing Ty so that they were eye to eye. He put his hand on Ty’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Hey,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

“Sure.”

“You heard everything Morty said about me getting picked in the first round,” Thane said. “It’s gonna happen. I’m gonna be kind of rich.”

“Sounds that way,” Ty said.

“So, if I’m rich, you are, too,” Thane said. “I know we don’t talk about Mom and Dad. We’re the same that way; it’s too soon to talk about it. One day we will, but it hurts too much now.”

Ty nodded and gripped the metal railing at the top of the steps. He scowled and his throat tightened.

“Sometimes I dream about the things we used to do together,” Ty said. “You know, camping and stuff, but I can’t see them. I know they’re there, and I see you, but I just can’t see
them
.”

“You will one day,” Thane said quietly before he cleared his throat. “And they’d be happy to know I’ve got you covered. So, anything you need, you just got to let me know. Uncle Gus and Aunt Virginia, they’re okay, I guess. But you need something, you gotta tell me, okay?”

Ty swallowed and looked up at his older brother. The invitation twinkled in his eyes, reflecting the light from the golden angel across the street. Ty knew he meant it. All he had to do was tell him about Uncle Gus and the cleaning business and not being allowed to play football and his brother, the tiger, would smash Uncle Gus like a bug, maybe punch him right in the mouth, and he’d take Ty away from all that to live with him in some mansion he’d buy with all the money he was going to make. They’d have a cook to make their meals and a housekeeper to clean their clothes.

All Ty had to do was ask.