Football Fugitive Read online

  “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.

  11

  Larry, 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 h
is 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.

  The second quarter got under way with the Digits ahead 13–0, a comfortable lead. The score remained that way till the middle of the third quarter when Manny caught a twenty-two-yard pass on the Finbacks’ forty-one, and went all the way for his second touchdown of the game. Doug tried the point-after kick, but failed for the second time to boot the pigskin between the uprights. 19–0, Digits.

  “Well, it’s a good thing we’re ahead of them,” Doug said sourly. “Maybe you’d better let somebody else kick for the extra point next time, George.”

  “What a switch,” thought Larry. He had never heard Doug bad-mouthing himself before.

  Doug was still tops in the kickoff department, however. The ball sailed end over end into Finbacks territory, landing in left halfback Dutch Pawling’s arms. Larry was among the crowd that went after him, feeling confident that Dutch would be lucky to get within fifteen yards of midfield.

  Dutch did better than that. Besides getting excellent blocking, he did some fancy hip-swiveling, too, twice wiggling himself free of Digits’ clutches. Then, for the last twenty-six yards, he had clear sailing and went for a touchdown.

  “I can’t believe it!” exclaimed George, pounding his helmet with his fists.

  “You’d better believe it,” Larry said.

  Fullback Paul Henley made the point-after kick good. Digits 19, Finbacks 7.

  In the fourth quarter the Finbacks picked up seven more points. Not easily, though. They had to punt twice to get the ball deep into Digits territory. But it was the punts that helped, and then Dutch’s crossbuck run that put him just across the goal line.

  Again Paul’s kick was good. But the Finbacks couldn’t keep up the fire, and the game went to the Digits, 19–14.

  “Man, am I glad that’s over,” said Greg, walking off the field with Larry, helmet in his hand, sweat pouring from his face. “Those guys were coming up fast.”

  “Telling me,” said Larry.

  Yancey was waiting for them at the gate. The broad smile on his face gave no hint that his court trial was pending.

  “Well, guys, you pulled those plays off like pros,” he said proudly.

  Larry smiled. “You drew them up so well, Yancey,” he said, “that we couldn’t miss.”

  “Got any new ones for us, Yancey?” Greg asked.

  “Frankly, Greg, I haven’t given it a thought; had other things on my mind. I’ll try to have another one for you by Monday, though. Okay?”

  “You don’t have to, Yancey,” Larry replied. “We know you’re pretty busy.”

  Not even a pro football star, he reflected, should be thinking about play patterns when his own trial is coming up.

  “That’s okay,” Yancey insisted. “I’ll have a play for you. Maybe a couple of them.”

  12

  The trial lasted two days, Friday and Monday. It was almost five o’clock on Monday when the case went to the jury.

  By the next afternoon the jury was still deliberating.

  “What rotten luck,” Larry said to Greg as they headed for the field to play their final game of the season, against the Moths. “I was hoping that the jury would have their verdict by this morning, anyway.”

  “My parents said that sometimes a jury could be working on a case for days,” said Greg.

  “That’s right,” agreed Larry, who had learned a little about law from his father.

  The day was cold in spite of the sun popping out from behind white clouds now and then. The crowd was the largest that had attended any of the Digits’ games this season. Maybe the Digits’ spreading reputation as a winning team was responsible. A winning team always drew the fans. And the Digits, having won their last two games, was certainly a winning team.

  “Oh, well,” thought Larry, “who cares how many fans are here? I just hope that Yancey is found not guilty. As a matter of fact, I would rather lose the game than have him be found guilty.”

  During the game he felt scared each time the Moths had the ball. He wondered whether he’d ever get over the feeling when meeting a runner head-on, or throwing himself at a ball carrier, or throwing a block on a guy. “How long will I have to play before that scared feeling wears off, anyway?” he asked himself.

  It wasn’t till the end of the first three minutes of the second quarter when Sammy Shantz, the Moths’ safety man, intercepted one of George Daley’s long passes and ran sixty-three yards; the first score of the game went up on the scoreboard. Franky Milo kicked for the point after and made it good. 7–0.

  Two minutes later, with the ball back in the Moths’ possession on their own forty-two, Sammy Shantz’s pitchout to Earl Dimmick, his left halfback, was fumbled, and Larry was one of the first to go busting through the line in a wild scramble to recover it. He saw the ball popping like a cork out of one and then another guy’s hands, and finally saw it rolling freely across the grass turf. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Franky making a mad dash for it. At the same time Larry bolted after it, too, and got to it a fraction of a second before Franky did. He pulled it under him and lay on it, while Franky tried vainly to take it from him.

  The whistle shrilled. Digits’ ball.

  “Mash Forty-one,” George said in the huddle.

  The play worked for twenty-eight yards. An end-around run by Doug Shaffer account
ed for sixteen more. They were on the go now, with short runs, short passes. They were moving… moving…

  They got to the Moths’ two, and Doug went over for the touchdown. He kicked successfully for the extra point, too. 7–7.

  Minutes later the whistle announcing the end of the half came as a surprise. The time had really zipped by.

  Coach Ellis’s talk during the intermission was filled. with its usual “go-get-’em-guys-you’ve-got-it-in-you” spirit. But only some of it filtered through Larry’s busy mind. He was wondering how the jury was doing on Yancey Foote’s case.

  Franky Milo, after two short runs, took a pitchout from Sammy, then faded back and winged a long pass to his right end, Peter Buttrick. Peter went all the way to the Digits’ three-yard line, where George pulled him down. Then Sammy went over on a quarterback sneak for the Moths’ second touchdown. Again Franky’s kick was good. Moths 14, Digits 7.

  The Moths kept pressing, forcing the Digits back against their own end zone again, and Larry wondered what the Digits fans thought of them now. The Digits certainly were not the same fighting, spirited team that had defeated the Crickets and the Finbacks. What had happened to that fighting spirit, anyway?

  With fourth down and the ball on their eight-yard line, Larry thought of one of the two plays that Yancey had given him last Sunday.

  “How about trying the Fake Punt, George?” he said. “This might be a good time for it.”

  George looked at him. “One of those new plays? I don’t know. We could be tackled back here and give them a safety.”

  “Or we could pull the biggest fake of the year,” said Larry.

  “Okay, let’s try it,” said George.

  The team went into a punt formation. George called signals. Larry snapped the ball.

  George took the long spiraling snap from Larry, started to kneel with it, then got up and sprinted toward the right side of the line. With fine blocking from Billy, Doug, and Ray, he churned up yardage till he reached the Moths’ thirty-eight.

  “We did it!” cried Larry happily.