The Recruiter (A Thriller) (4 page)

Despite the scouts, despite the fact that a scholarship may be hanging in the balance, Beth’s first thoughts as the game begins are of her teammates. As the players perfunctorily shake hands at center court and ready themselves for the tipoff, she can see that her teammates have never looked so nervous. So tense. Their faces are white, their expressions grim. As always, at the start of a game, Beth feels light, almost giddy. The jitters are replaced by raw exultation of playing the game. She wants to look up into the stands and find Pete, but she doesn’t. Light and loose is one thing, distracted is another.

The ref, a short man with a slight paunch and a strand of dyed black hair pulled across his balding head, blows his whistle, tosses the ball up, and steps back. Beth watches the ball as the two centers leap, and then the ball is in her hands. She feels the smooth surface, and for an instant, feels the strength surge through her hands, and the feeling flows through her body that she can do anything with the ball, that tonight she can score at will.

But she doesn’t.

Beth realizes that to win, she needs to get her teammates involved. So she brings the ball up, passes off, gets it back, then drives into the lane, draws two defenders, and makes a flawless bounce pass to a teammate who’s right under the bucket. She blows the layup. Beth knows she was right; her teammates are even more tense than she thought. The other team takes a perimeter shot and misses. Again, Beth brings the ball up, passes off, passes again, and drives again. This time, her teammate is ready and under control. Two points. Lake Orion’s student section erupts with the first points of the game. The cheer sends a chill through Beth’s body. That first bucket always does.

The other team brings the ball up. Beth’s opponent, the other point guard, is familiar to Beth. She’s shorter than Beth but is built like a tank. She’s also very quick. Because Beth is taller, the crowd thinks the shorter girl is quicker, but she isn’t. The other point guard brings the ball up; Beth knows her last name is Schmidt. She drives to the left of the free throw extended, and Beth, who has watched films of this girl, knows she is going to turn her back and pivot, trying to get to the center of the lane. Beth anticipates the move, jumps out, and easily steals the ball. Beth takes it down the court and, at the last moment, passes to a teammate who makes the easy lay in.

The opposing team fights back, though, and the lead seesaws. Beth remains under control, passing with unerring accuracy. She feeds her teammates time and time again. By the time the first quarter is over, she has over ten assists and has yet to take a shot. She has two points, on free throws, from a blocking foul against Schmidt. By now, Beth’s teammates are relaxed. Beth has made a point of getting the ball into the hands of every starter on her team. Each one has made at least one basket. Each one has handled the ball with regularity. They have calmed down.

And even better, the opponent’s players have begun to slack off of Beth. When she drives into the lane, they drop off her. She feels like a wolf who is being offered fat sheep who can’t walk. She has passed up every opportunity for open shots. She can see the looks of the opponents. They are confident she is scared. That she doesn’t want to shoot. Some players fold in the big games. And it is on their faces.

But still, she passes up the shots.

Their defense sags, and Beth gets more inventive with the passes. No-look passes. Bounce passes—one through an opponent’s legs. One alley-oop. She drives and draws three defenders; she skips the easy pass and makes the hard one. On the next play, she draws the defenders and makes the easy pass when they’re expecting her to make the hard one.

The other team has weapons, though. A tall center who is shooting over Lake Orion’s center with ease. And their power forward is a slasher, driving along the baseline, making reverse layups and short jumpers with maddening fluidity.

With less than a minute left in the first half, despite Beth’s orchestration, Lake Orion is down by two points. Beth gets the ball and takes it down the court. They will hold for the last shot. Beth dribbles and passes, gets the ball back, dribbles from one side of the court to the next. She goes into the lane then back out.

When the clock reaches ten, she drives to the free-throw line, the defense collapses, and the crowd screams for Beth to shoot. For a moment she considers it, then pulls back off and fires a pass to her teammate on the wing. The shot, a three-pointer, would give Lake Orion the lead going into halftime, a key momentum-builder.

The shot goes up and misses.

The buzzer sounds.

“What the hell is she doing, Pete?”

“What do you think she’s doing?” he answers.

“Choking.”

“Screw you, Doug.”

“Well, good God, they’re gonna lose unless Beth pulls her head out of her ass.”

Peter Forbes takes a sip of his Coke and looks at his friend, Doug Feit. Doug has razor stubble he’s trying to grow out to cover the acne that’s sprouting along his jaw line. Doug’s a forward on the Lake Orion boys basketball team and doesn’t have a clue to the principles of the game. He’s a good rebounder, a good defender, and that’s about it.

“I can’t believe you’re this stupid,” Pete says.

“Maybe you didn’t satisfy her last night,” Doug continues. “She can’t concentrate now.”

Pete flicks his hand out and slaps Doug on the cheek. It happens lightning-quick, and Doug is stunned. “Shit!” he says, then laughs.

“I need another Coke,” Pete says. He gets up and heads for the recession stand in the lobby outside the gym. He’s tall, two inches over six feet, and he moves with the grace of a natural athlete. Doug and a few of the guys follow him. After they’ve bought their Cokes and a couple bags of popcorn, they take up a loitering position in the hallway where the conversation continues.

“I just don’t get it,” Doug says. “Beth never chokes.”

Pete rolls his dark-green eyes and runs his hand through his dark, wavy hair. “She’s not choking. Doug, what do you think Detroit Mercy’s coach told her team?”

“Stop Beth.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?” Doug scoffs. “She’s the star. Conference player of the year. Leading scorer. To beat us, you have to stop Beth.”

“So if you were Beth, what would you do?”

“Be more aggressive.”

“You’re not exactly a student of the game, Doug. What you should do, and what Beth is doing, is spread the wealth. Get your teammates the ball. This accomplishes two things,” Pete said, gesturing with the Coke in his hand as if it were a pointer and he were the instructor. “One, it gets your teammates involved. And you saw the way Steiner blew that first layup that they had their undies in a bundle. And, Douglas, because you’re such an astute student of human behavior, you no doubt picked up on the fact that by the end of the first quarter, Beth’s teammates were much more relaxed and scoring with regularity.”

Peter pauses to take a long drink from his Coke. “The second thing this accomplishes is it forces the opponent to abandon their strategy and improvise a new one—never a good idea in a big game.”

“But Jesus, what about that big shot at the end of the half? It was wide open! She’s gotta shoot at some point!”

Peter puts his arm around Doug’s shoulders. “If she had taken that shot and made it, there would be a chance that the other team’s coach at halftime would have a hunch and tell his team to stay on Beth. By passing off, she pretty much forced the other coach to change her game plan, to tell her team to lay off Beth, maybe drop back in a zone. The players will lose a little bit of confidence, seeing their coach forced to change strategy, and they’ll be a little more tentative coming out to start the second half.”

Peter watches Doug digest the information. It’s like watching a snake trying to swallow a big, fat hamster.

“You know Beth pretty well, don’t you?” Doug asks.

Peter shrugs. He does, but he isn’t arrogant enough to claim it. He knows how she reacts under most situations. And he has thought about how she’ll react when he tells her he is breaking up with her. He isn’t sure he likes what he’s thinking.

“So what’s she gonna do in the second half, then?”

Peter drains the rest of his Coke, tosses it in a wastebasket, and smiles at Doug.

“She’s going to light up that scoreboard like a motherfucking Christmas tree.”

Beth is not surprised by the zone. She knew it would be a 1-3-1 or a 2-3. Beth holds her dribble and signals for the low-post offense. Her team adjusts, and she makes dribble penetration, expecting the tank of a point guard to come to her, but she doesn’t. She drops back, and the zone collapses inward and outward. Beth retreats to the top of the key. She moves to the right, stepping back behind the three-point line. She picks up her dribble, fakes a pass to the wing guard, and when the Tank springs out to cover the intended pass recipient, Beth is left with a wide-open shot at the basket.

She squares up to the basket, crouches slightly, and brings the ball up in one fluid motion. Beth doesn’t sense the purity of the shot, the picture-perfect mechanics of her motion; she only knows that it feels right. Almost effortless.

The ball arcs through the air and swishes through the rim with a soft silkiness.

The crowd erupts.

A shiver runs through Beth’s body. She feels like a hungry wolf who hasn’t eaten for too long, at last sinking her teeth into soft, tender flesh. The will to win is upon her, as strong as bloodlust.

The other team scores on its possession, and Beth brings the ball up the court. She passes to a teammate, who forces the ball inside. Beth can see the pass is a bad one. But instead of dropping back to prevent an easy basket on a fast break, Beth darts into the lane. The pass is deflected, and Beth arrives at the exact spot where the ball lands. She scoops it up, dribbles hard to the right, gathers herself, and leaps into the air. She rises effortlessly, her body poised, the ball resting lightly on the fingertips of her right hand. The opponent’s center goes up to block it, but Beth keeps rising, and the ball leaves her hand inches over the other girl’s hand. The ball swishes through the hoop.

Again, the crowd cheers, mesmerized by the raw grace of Beth’s movements.

By the end of the third quarter, the opponent is in disarray. Beth’s team is up by eight points. She knows that the fourth quarter will bring yet another strategy, but she’s surprised by what that new strategy is.

It’s a box-and-one. It’s a defense Beth hasn’t seen in a while. Four players essentially play zone, with the fifth taking the player who needs to be neutralized one-on-one. In this case, that player is Beth. The Tank will play Beth one-on-one, but the other players will be able to double team as they’re playing zone.

Beth knows there’s only one way to really beat the box-and-one: her teammates have to step up. She needs to draw the double-team, then dish off to the player who’s free.

The first three possessions of the fourth quarter she does just that. But her teammates don’t come through. The first shot is blocked, the second one is an air ball, the third comes up short. The tightness, the nervousness, the pressure, it’s all visible on her teammates’ faces.

With just four minutes gone by in the fourth quarter, it’s a tie ballgame.

Beth’s coach calls for a timeout. She tries to get the team psyched up, but Beth can read the faces around her. They’re looking at the scoreboard, looking at the point totals, at the time left.

The buzzer sounds and the huddle breaks. Beth turns toward the court, but her coach grabs her arm. Beth looks into her eyes, and the coach says, “You can do it, Beth.”

She understands what the coach is saying. She nods.

At the first sign of a double-team, Beth fakes a pass, and the defenders back off her; she pivots quickly and hits a fade-away jumper. They’re up by two. The other team scores on an easy lay-in. Next possession, Beth drives into the lane, splits the defenders, and hits a jumper. She feels it. It’s a magical feeling, that she can do almost anything, score at will. It’s as if she can hear every individual’s cheer, see the court in slow motion. It’s all there for her. For the taking.

The teams continue to trade baskets, with Beth hitting shot after shot, passing to a teammate only when it’s a gimme.

With a minute left in the game, it’s all tied up.

The Tank brings the ball up the court. Beth shadows her, but doesn’t go for a steal. Behind her, the players settle into formation. Beth’s mind is working fast. She knows what they’re going to do. Their big center has been hitting her baseline shots all through the game. Beth’s center, shorter and without the jumping ability, is powerless to stop her. Beth knows they will run at least ten seconds off the clock, then get the ball to the big center.

Beth waits, sinking into the lane when the Tank doesn’t have the ball, then popping back out to keep up the defensive pressure. Suddenly, Beth sees the Tank’s expression change.

They’re going for it.

The ball swings around, and Beth leaves her position and sneaks through the lane. The ball is fed to the big center, who turns, pivots, and goes up for the shot. Beth, on a dead run, leaps from behind and blocks the shot. The ball comes down in the center’s hands. She loses control, and the ball goes out of bounds.

Beth’s ball.

She brings the ball up the court quickly. Tied up, forty seconds left. Beth works the ball around the perimeter. There’s too much time to try for a last shot. Beth fakes a pass to the right wing and drives into the lane. The defenders swarm her. She fakes a jump shot and drops a perfect bounce pass to her forward cutting to the basket. The ball comes into Beth’s teammate’s hands.

And goes right through.

The ball goes out of bounds, and the ref blows his whistle.

Beth retreats, fury in her mind. She fights it off and encourages her team. They have to stop them.

The Tank brings the ball up and Beth gauges the distance. She starts to go for the steal, but the Tank moves quickly, pivoting her body, blocking Beth’s angle of attack. Will they go to the center again? Beth drops into the lane. Will they try again? Beth watches the center post up, who holds up her hand, but it’s a half-hearted attempt. Beth can tell by the body language that she doesn’t really want the ball.

In that instant, Beth knows it’s going to the Tank.

The ball is on the left perimeter. Beth glances at the clock. Thirteen seconds. Beth looks back at the guard with the ball, sees her glance at the clock too. Beth’s heart shifts into hyper speed, pounding like a drum solo, but she feels strong. Her legs feel light. She feels the adrenaline pour into her body, and suddenly, she knows she will win this game.

The guard with the ball takes a step back.

The crowd is roaring.

The guard raises the ball, turns her body, and steps toward the Tank.

Flashbulbs are popping.

The guard coils her body, gathers herself to make the pass.

And then Beth makes her move.