The Zucchini Warriors (19 page)

“Yes, it does, sir. I — I knew about Cathy right from the beginning.” He turned to Flange and the officers. “We deliberately bent the rules so we could win the championship. It’s all my fault.”

“And mine,” put in Boots in a squeaky voice.

Flange looked around. “Go away, kids. I’m trying to conduct an investigation into the disappearance of Kevin Klapper.”

Klapper snapped to attention. “Me?”

For the first time, Greer spotted him and broke into a wide smile. “Kevin! You’re alive!” The smile faded abruptly.
“I’ll kill you!”
He approached menacingly, but Marjorie got in his way.

“Get in line!” she growled, and turned to face her husband. “Kevin, you promised me that never again would you have anything to do with football!”

Greer butted in. “Klapper, do you have any idea of the trouble you’ve caused? You don’t just walk out on a job for nine weeks!”

“What about your career?” Marjorie thundered. “And your family! If you can’t think about me, think about the children!”

“We don’t mind,” piped Kevin, Jr.

Flange looked confused. “If this guy’s Klapper, and he’s safe and sound, whose blood was splattered all over the kitchen in that cottage?”

Sidney raised his hand. “That was mine. I’m a bleeder.”

Greer was still roaring. “And ruining your life is your own business! But you made me look like an idiot! Why didn’t you just call me and say, ‘Greer, I’ve gone crazy. I’m quitting my job’? That I would have understood! Now I’m mad at you, your wife’s mad at you and the police are mad at you too!”

Flange drew himself up tall. “No, Mr. Greer. We’re mad at
you
. We don’t appreciate murder investigations with no victim. Our time is valuable, so if you have no more homicides for us to check out, we’ll be going.”

Greer glared at Klapper. “Now I’m
twice
as mad at you, because the cops are mad at
me
!”

Marjorie snorted. “You’re mad? How about broken promises? He’s a bum —”

Henry Carson drew himself up to his considerable height, thrust out an enormous palm and said, “Cool it! I refuse to listen to another bad thing about Kevin.” He put an arm around Klapper’s narrow shoulders. “This man knows more about football than anyone I’ve ever seen! To say he blew it as a curriculum inspector is like telling Albert Einstein he’s a lousy short-order cook! Forcing him to ignore football is nuts! Kevin, the coaching spot is opening up next year at Belvedere U., where I played my college ball. I talked the athletic director into giving you an interview, and you’re a cinch for the job!”

Klapper’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“It pays a bundle,” Carson went on. “But let me tell you, Kevin, it’s only the beginning. I
know
one day I’m going to see you coaching in the Super Bowl!”

The cheer that followed came from every heart.

* * *

The Montrose Junior High Maulers, league champions still, left with their trophy soon after. None of the Macdonald Hall supporters seemed to mind. “We won,” was the message they took home with them, undaunted by who had the Daw Cup. The police and Mr. Greer left too, and Miss Scrimmage collected her girls, Cathy included, and whisked them home.

After nearly eleven weeks of residence, Kevin Klapper moved out of the spare cottage and packed his belongings into the family car. The entire team was there to see him off and he kissed every single one of them, the coaches and even Mrs. Sturgeon. Marjorie did, too, happy again and looking forward to a new life at Belvedere U.

About half a kilometre down the road, a large sign blocked traffic: ALL BRILLIANT FOOTBALL COACHES STOP HERE. Cathy Burton and a small delegation of girls waited there, with a dozen roses to speed Mr. Klapper on his way.

* * *

It was almost dark as Coach Flynn poked his head in through the stadium entrance and called out to the last Warrior left on the field.

“Fihzgart, are you still here?”

“Just winding down, Coach,” replied Calvin, folding up the squashed game ball and tucking it away in his hip pocket.

“Go get your dinner, Fihzgart. They’re going to close the kitchen soon. No more laps, okay?”

Calvin joined his coach and they headed for the dining hall. “There are a lot of memories on that field,” he said philosophically.

“You only played half a game,” the coach pointed out gently.

“Yeah, but with The Beast, it’s intense.”

Flynn nodded, remembering the boy’s almost unbelievable courage. “A week ago, I would have given you an argument, but not today. You are everything you ever claimed to be — rough, tough and mean. You were magnificent, Beast. It’s really a shame you have to hang up your cleats today. Your beasting career is over for the year.”

Calvin stared at him, eyes afire against the deep blue of the night. “Are you kidding? Hockey season starts this week! And do you know who’s the roughest, toughest, meanest defenceman on skates?”

Flynn held his head. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Mr. Sturgeon’s lecture on cheating was loud and long. Bruno and Boots sat shamefaced on the bench in his office, bitter in the knowledge that, across the road, Cathy Burton was being treated as the victim. As the Headmaster spoke of honour, ethics and integrity, Bruno was thinking only of stupidity. Yesterday, believing Mr. Sturgeon was under arrest for their cheating, he had opened up his mouth and confessed to the wrong crime!

Mr. Sturgeon leaned forward and fixed them with his steely grey gaze. “I hope you boys realize that, if you had played with a legitimate all-Macdonald-Hall team, you would not have had your trophy taken away and your championship revoked.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bruno earnestly, “except that, without Cathy, we would have been in last place.”

Mr. Sturgeon smiled thinly. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. She was rather — proficient. But don’t sell yourselves short. The Macdonald Hall players worked very hard and achieved a great deal on their own. This institution is proud of you. And ashamed,” he added hastily.

“Thank you, sir,” said Boots, frowning.

“As to the participation of Miss Burton,” the Headmaster went on, “we will say nothing, as we all know Miss Burton. One neither coerces nor stops that young woman. She is a law unto herself.”

The two boys stared at the carpet and said nothing.

“And since the football season is over, and will not start again for a year, I am inclined to be lenient with you. However, you will give me your word that you will never do anything like this again.”

“I promise,” chorused Bruno and Boots readily.

“And you will clean up the stadium. The little fracas that followed yesterday’s game has left rather a mess. Parts of the field and bleachers need repair, and there is a goodly amount of garbage and zucchini sticks in the area. As for the bush hamster nest under the north stands — the janitorial staff will supply you with shovels. Feel free to recruit other guilty parties to assist you in this endeavour.”

Bruno and Boots exchanged agonized glances.

The door opened, and Henry Carson peered in. “Mr. Sturgeon?” He caught sight of Bruno and Boots and broke into a wide grin. “Hi, champs.”

Mr. Sturgeon regarded him with distaste. “The reason we have a waiting area is so that one may wait.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” said Carson jovially. “Walton and O’Neal can stay. This concerns them, too.” He established himself in a visitor’s chair. “I came to tell you that I’m a man of my word. I want you to know that I don’t buy this disqualification garbage one bit. We won the Daw Cup. I promised the men a rec hall for a good showing, and now I’m ready to deliver.”

Mr. Sturgeon sighed. “Carson, this is hardly the time for rewards. I have been trying to impress upon Walton and O’Neal that cheating is unacceptable.”

“Aw, come on, sir,” Mr. Carson wheedled. “You and I both know the school’s planning to build them a rec hall anyway. Let me build it and put in a few extra items to make it really special — as a thank-you to the guys for giving me the most fun I’ve had since I graduated from Macdonald Hall.”

The Headmaster groaned. “What is your proposal?”

From his pocket, Mr. Carson produced a crumpled piece of paper and unfolded it before them. “I made a little sketch last night. Let me know what you think.” He snatched up a pencil and began to point out the various features. “Here we’ve got a widescreen TV, DVD player and stereo, with a bunch of beanbag chairs over here. We can put some video games across this wall. The fireplace goes in beside the Ping-Pong and the pool tables, but far enough from the soft drink and candy machines so that people aren’t bumping into each other. Okay so far?”

“Beautiful!” breathed Bruno in ecstasy.

“Fantastic!” echoed Boots.

“Good,” said Carson, continuing. “Now, here’s the other part. Another TV, regular size, lots of couches and tables by the library leading into the café-style area off the all-you-can-eat deluxe zucchini kitchen.”

Bruno and Boots exchanged a look of sheer horror. No. Not that. A beautiful rec hall, a dream rec hall, the
ultimate
rec hall, and it had to have zucchini sticks.

“Mr. Carson,” began Bruno painfully, “we’ve talked it over with the guys —” He bit his tongue. When they heard about the zucchini kitchen, the guys would forgive him for this. “You’ve done so much for us already — the stadium, the team, the equipment. But most of all, you’ve been a real friend.”

“That’s right,” said Boots. “We just can’t accept anything more from you.”

“But thanks for the thought,” added Bruno in a strangled voice.

Henry Carson was deeply touched. “I’m all choked up, men.”

Mr. Sturgeon smiled. “I think this has gone far enough, gentlemen. Walton, O’Neal, you have something to tell Mr. Carson, something that should have been said right at the beginning. The fact is, you love his recreation hall,
but
 —” he prompted.

“We hate your zucchini sticks,” Bruno barely whispered.

“Pardon?”

“We hate your zucchini sticks!” chorused Bruno and Boots.

Mr. Carson looked startled. “Everybody?”

Mr. Sturgeon supplied the answer. “To a man.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say something?”

“We didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” said Bruno.

Carson was thunderstruck. “But you ate so many!”

Bruno hung his head. “We flushed them, we threw them in the woods, we buried them and we fed the rest to the bush hamsters. You weren’t supposed to find out. We didn’t eat any at all.”

“But I wouldn’t have cared!”

Both boys looked at him in amazement.

Henry Carson grinned. “You’ve never seen
me
eating one of those things, have you? Yeccch!”

* * *

Bruno and Boots left the Faculty Building on the run.

“I can’t believe it!” howled Boots. “All that zucchini disposal — for nothing!”

“Don’t complain, Melvin,” Bruno puffed. “A championship yesterday, and the ultimate rec hall today —
minus
the zucchini kitchen.”

They were running to the spot on the front driveway where a truck from Environment Canada was just about to leave with Elmer’s four hundred and fifty-one Manchurian bush hamsters. A small crowd of boys had gathered to see off the animals that had so livened up the Daw Cup game.

Elmer was standing by the driver’s door, making the man write down the recipe for Mr. Zucchini batter.

“It kind of makes you feel important,” said Pete Anderson. “Our school saved the Manchurian bush hamster.”

“I’m going to miss those little guys,” sighed Wilbur as the truck drove off. “Could they ever eat!”

The boys all waved the bush hamsters out of sight.

“Great news, guys!” piped Bruno suddenly. “We’re getting our rec hall, and it’s going to have
everything
!”

There were
ooh
s and
aah
s as Bruno and Boots began listing the marvellous facilities the hall would include.

“And here’s the bad news,” Boots continued. “We have to clean up the stadium.”

The excitement ended abruptly.

“Define ‘we,’” said Wilbur.

“We,” said Bruno. “Us. All the guys. It’s The Fish’s punishment for the Cathy thing. Kind of a drag but, face it, it could have been a lot worse.”

“Oh, yeah?” challenged Larry. “Have you seen the stadium? It looks like a garbage dump! And then,
under
the north bleachers —”

“Come on, guys,” coaxed Bruno. “We won the championship; now it’s time to pay our dues.”

“I don’t want to do this,” complained Sidney.

“All right, everybody,” said Bruno, beginning to herd them in the direction of the stadium. “Let’s go, Pete. Move it out, Dave. That’s the way, Blabbermouth. Don’t worry. It’ll all be over in a few hours.”

With much grumbling, the group headed off toward the north lawn. Bruno regarded the lone figure still standing by the driveway. “Shake a leg, Elm. You’re in this, too.” He watched as Elmer produced a piece of paper from his back pocket, unfolded it lovingly, and held it out.

It was Elmer’s contract with Bruno, signed the day before the road trip to Kingston. He waved it confidently.

“Aw, Elm, that was weeks ago! You’re not going to hold me to it, are you?”

Whistling, Elmer started off toward the dormitories.

“Come back here! I signed that thing under pressure!”

From the stadium, Wilbur Hackenschleimer’s voice called, “Hey, Walton! Get over here and do some work!”

Bruno didn’t hear him. “Talk about gratitude!” he bawled at Elmer’s receding back. “If I hadn’t started using your stupid rats for zucchini disposal, there’d still be four of them today!”

Without turning around, Elmer waved his contract over his shoulder and kept on walking.

“I hope your helium experiment turns to sewer gas!” roared Bruno. Elmer did not flinch. “Drimsdale! You’ll never get away with this!”

Elmer turned a corner, walking out of view, leaving Bruno ranting at thin air.

Ingredients:

1 lb. fresh zucchini, cut in spears