Takedown (7 page)

I grinned. “It’s not a motorcycle,” I said. “It’s a dirt bike.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Would you give me a ride?”

I was afraid she’d ask me that. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I would, but my dad warned me not to give anybody rides.”

“Oh, that’s okay.”

We chatted for about another five minutes, and then more skateboard wheels clacked on the sidewalk. It was the Three Musketeers:
the Octopus, the Squasher, and McNeer.

All three of them pulled up sharply in front of us and turned to me. The Octopus glared at me as if I were some kind of insect.

“You get around, don’t you, Short Fry?” he snapped. “Gail, you know who you’re talking to?”

Her face flushed a little. “Yes, I know to
whom
I’m talking,” she answered.

“And you don’t care?”

“Why should I care? He’s a friend.”

“A friend? He’s a foe! Do you know he’s got my King button and won’t give it back to me?”

“I don’t care about that, either,” she said
softly. “Will you leave us alone, please? You interrupted a conversation that doesn’t concern you.”

Max’s face turned rose-red. For a few long seconds there was a heavy silence, then he said, “Let’s go, guys. I guess this
sister of mine likes little boys.”

They whirled as if they were all on a string and scooted down the sidewalk a mile a minute, Max in front.

I turned and stared at Gail.

“You’re Max’s sister?”

She nodded nonchalantly. “Yes. I know what you’re thinking and I can’t blame you. He can be a pest.”

I grinned.
“Can
be?”

“Well, he’s mostly like that when he’s on the streets with those two goony characters,” she said. She took a deep breath and
sighed. “I’ve tried to talk to him about the way he acts at times, but he won’t listen.”

I wondered if her parents had tried to talk to him, too, but I didn’t ask her.

“If you guys don’t mind, can we change the subject?” Barbara cut in. “When are you wrestling again?” she asked me.

“Thursday night,” I said. “Against Gardner.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed, smiling broadly. “We’re free that night, aren’t we? I mean, our guys are wrestling Pierson Friday night.”

“Right,” Gail said, both of her feet on the skateboard, rocking it back and forth. “Maybe we’ll come see you.”

“Why not?” Barbara replied.

“That would be nice,” I said. But now that I knew Gail was Max’s sister, the idea that she would come to see me wrestle didn’t
especially make me want to do cartwheels. “Ahem …” I said, clearing my throat. “Are you sure you want to consort with the
enemy?”

“Enemy?” she echoed. “Don’t you worry. Max has his friends, I have mine.”

I felt better. And I was pretty sure by this time that Barbara hadn’t meant to get me in trouble with Max by telling him about
the button.

We gabbed for another few minutes, then split up. I rode all the way to the end of the street, then turned left onto the street
where Mount Villa Mall was located. I was passing it when some action near the side of the Sears
building caught my eye. I slowed down and eased over toward the curb to get a better look.

A guy was standing near the wall with his hands on his hips, watching a wrestling match. But from what I could see, this was
no sporting event. Anything went, legal or illegal.

Then I spotted the dirt bike. It was resting against the wall to the guy’s left side. A white bike with black trim. The only
kid I knew with a bike like that was Carl.

My mind spun. It was the Octopus and his cronies! They were beating up on Carl!

Why him? Then I figured they must be picking on him because they weren’t able to get at me earlier. Sure! That was it!

I lifted my bike over the curb, pressed the accelerator lever and felt the bike almost take off from under me. In just a few
seconds I was pulling up in front of Nyles and McNeer. They were
both
on top of Carl! Nyles was pinning down his arms and McNeer was sitting on his legs.

I cut the engine, quickly laid the bike down, and dove on Nyles, knocking him off Carl. Then I scrambled to my feet and headed
for
McNeer. By now he was pushing himself off of Carl, and shooting puzzled glances from me to Max, as if to ask, “What’ll we
do now, boss?”

“You jerks!” I yelled. “Leave him alone! Two on one! Great! That’s just great!”

“Hey! What’s going on?” a man’s voice yelled from down in front of Sears.

“A cop!” Max exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here!”

He hopped on his skateboard and raced down alongside the building toward the lawn and garden section, Nyles and McNeer at
his heels.

The policeman approached Carl and me on a run, gripping his black stick. “Were you guys fighting with that bunch?”

“They were fighting me,” Carl explained, brushing dirt off his pantlegs. “I was riding my bike and they stopped me.”

“You know them?”

“Yes.”

“You want to file charges?”

“No.”

“No? You sure? Those punks might want to attack you again, you know.”

“I… I’ll be more careful the next time,” Carl promised. I was surprised at his calmness. My own heart was trying to jump out
of my chest.

The policeman looked at both Carl and me, his black eyebrows squeezed together above the middle of his stubby nose, as if
trying to memorize our faces or recall if he’d seen us before.

“Well, okay,” he said finally. “But take my advice. Keep out of trouble, all right?”

We both nodded, and he shook his head and walked away.

“What happened?” I asked Carl. “Why did they jump on you?”

He straightened his helmet and went over to his bike. “Never mind,” he said gruffly.

“Never mind?” I echoed.

He got on the bike and started it. From the expression on his face I could tell he wasn’t going to talk. But I wanted to know.
No matter what he thought of me, I still considered him my brother. And if I could help him, I would. At least, I would try.

I ran over to him and grabbed the handlebars.
“Carl! Why did they jump on you?” I repeated.

His eyes met mine, and then he said, “They didn’t jump on me, okay? Max wanted me to admit that you’ve got his King button.
I kept saying I didn’t know anything about it. Then he started to call you names. Little Punk, Runt, Squirt, names like that.”

I kept looking at him, not saying a word.

“I couldn’t take it any longer, so I hit him.”

“You hit Max?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He hit me once, then had the other two guys jump me.”

Carl got into a fight over me? I couldn’t believe it!

He started up the engine. But I didn’t take my hand off the handlebars. “You started that fight because Max was calling me
names?”

“Buzz off,” he said.

Anger started to gnaw at my stomach. Carl was still sour on me, no matter what he’d done. Well, who said I needed him to stick
up for me, anyway? I could fight my own battles.

“Know what?” I said. “I wish you’d mind
your own business and let me take care of my own.”

He glared at me. “Fine with me, brother!” he said. “Now get out of my way!”

He gunned the engine. I let go of the handlebars and he sped up the street, smoke belching from his bike’s exhaust. I stared
after him, anger still simmering inside me. What a stepbrother, I thought. Will he and I ever become friends? Right now the
gap between us seemed ten miles wide.

I sat on my bike, started it up, and wondered what to do next. I didn’t feel like going home. All I could do there was sit
and mope.

I thought of the school gym. Maybe working out on one of the exercise machines would help relax me.

The gym was a popular place. Over a dozen guys were already there. I changed into my shorts and started lifting barbells.
I hadn’t been at it more than five minutes when I heard a familiar voice.

“Well, hi, Sean! Building up those biceps to look like Schwarzenegger?”

I paused and grinned at Clint Wagner. From
the sweat glistening on his body, I didn’t need two guesses to figure out what he’d been doing.

“Like his brother, anyway,” I answered. I didn’t even know if Arnold Schwarzenegger had a brother.

I set the barbells down with a heavy sigh. “Had nothing else to do,” I said.

“Well, it must have gone well with your mother this morning, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, I told her the truth and she was okay about it.” I didn’t tell him that the subject wasn’t closed yet.

Clint crossed his arms over his chest. “How’d you like to work on some of those holds I showed you?” he asked. “At least it’d
be a better use of your time than lifting those barbells.”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

Why not? I thought. Any coaching I got helped.

Another thing: I kept seeing myself in his face.

We got on a mat and worked on the double leg hold and then the single leg until I was sure I had both down pat. Apparently
Clint didn’t think I had because we went through the practice a couple of more times.

Then he showed me a new hold to use from the stand-up position. “We called this the fishhook tie-up in the navy,” he said.
“Your aim is to get control of your opponent’s shoulders and sink him to his knees. Okay. Watch my moves carefully. I’ll go
through them a couple of times, then you take my position.”

We “attacked.” He got his head over my neck and his arms under my armpits, then he hooked his fingers over the top of my shoulders.
“Keep your elbows as close as possible to your sides,” he said, explaining every move in detail as he went through it. “Then
apply pressure upward. See what happens?”

I saw what happened all right. I straightened up as much as I could to try to loosen myself from the hold and to catch my
balance. Instantly he let go of me and sprang at my trunk and hips. Before I knew it I was down on the floor.

He grinned as he looked down at me. “Get the picture?” he said, squeezing my arms gently.

I smiled. All the time we’d been wrestling I’d noticed tiny scars on his face. Could they have been caused by fights? A beer
bottle, maybe? Was it just a coincidence, I wondered, that both my natural father and Clint Wagner had been in the military?
Or was there more to it?

Are you my real dad?
I wanted to say. Instead I said, “Yeah, I get it.”

He repeated the moves, then had me take over his position. We must have spent forty-five minutes practicing. By then I was
tired and thirsty, and Clint was, too. He was breathing
harder than I was, but then, he was almost three times my age.

“Time for juice. Right?”

“Right,” I said.

We showered and dressed, then went to a nearby coffee shop, where Clint bought us each a glass of orange juice.

I took my time sipping the juice, because I wanted to stay with Clint as long as possible. I wished I could go to his apartment
with him. Maybe then I’d have a chance to see pictures of him when he was young. If there was one of him when he was a kid,
and he looked like me, there’d be no doubt in my mind that he was my father. Thinking about that possibility sent shivers
up my spine.

But he didn’t invite me. I figured that he didn’t think it would be proper.

It was just as well. By the time we left the coffee shop it was getting close to four o’clock. Mom was probably wondering
what had happened to me.

“Thanks for everything, Mr. Wagner,” I said. “I sure appreciate your teaching me those holds.”

“My pleasure, Sean,” he said. “We’ll get together again sometime, okay?”

“That’ll be great,” I said.

“And, look,” he added as I headed for my bike, “practice those holds on your brother. Practice them on anybody, but practice
them.”

“I will,” I promised.

Riding homeward I wondered if I could really practice on Carl. The kind of wrestling we did at home seldom involved holds
I’d learned from Coach Doran or Coach Collins. It was rough and tumble. We used any kind of a hold that came to us at a particular
moment.

But that could change, couldn’t it? I thought. I could try a double leg, or a single leg, or a half nelson on him. He wouldn’t
have to know I was practicing a new hold.

I was home before I realized it. Carl’s bike was already in the garage.

I stripped off my gear and went inside. The first person I saw was Carl, chewing on a chocolate chip cookie.

“Where’ve
you
been?” he asked accusingly.

“At the school gym,” I replied.

“What for? More punishment?” He chuckled.

I shrugged. The quickest way to get into a verbal battle with him now would be to tell him the truth, that I’d gone there
to get rid of the anger
he
had caused. To avoid that I said, “Right. But Clint Wagner was there, along with some other guys, and he taught me a few
holds.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“You can find out easily enough if you care to wrestle with me,” I answered.

“Sure. Why not?” he said, and took another bite of his cookie. It seemed the air between us was clear again — for the time
being, anyway.

Just then Mom appeared at the threshold separating the dining room and kitchen. She scowled at me.

“I’m not exactly pleased about your going out this afternoon, after what happened this morning,” she said tersely. “Especially
to see Clint Wagner again. I don’t think he’s a very good influence on you.”

Carl looked on, confused but very interested.

“Oh, Mom.” Would I ever be able to make
her understand about Clint? He liked me, which was more than I could say about anyone in this house. “I’ve told you about
him. He just wants to teach me some new holds, that’s all. What’s so terrible about that?”

“Well, all I know is since you’ve become friends with him you’ve gotten into more trouble.”

I stamped my foot in frustration. “That’s crazy, Mom! He’s trying to keep me
out
of trouble! When he found out I lied to you this morning, he told me to tell you the truth, and I did.”

Carl’s eyes grew wider with every word he heard. Finally Mom asked him to leave us alone, and he made his way upstairs… very
slowly.