Excerpts from Bum's Rush

2010-12-29T18:39:00.001-08:00

Bum’s Rush Preview
Copyright © 2010 EA McKenzie
All rights reserved.

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Inside the gymnasium, on the vaulted ceiling, hung dozens of black and white checkered sound buffers that did little to absorb the noise. The hollow racket from the rickety bleachers as fans sought their seats, the pep band warming up their instruments, the sound of the bouncing balls and the spring of the metal hoops as balls bounced off them, brought back memories of déjà vu for Jack. As the players warmed up on the court, their rubber soled shoes squeaked like giant mice against the wood floor and cheers rose from kids, parents, and cheerleaders as the players made their way off the floors back to the locker rooms for pre-game instructions.

Jack smelled the popcorn and handed Skip and Samantha a twenty-dollar bill to get enough for all of them.

He had a strange euphoria being back after all those years. All those years ago, his parents had still been alive. He wished with all his heart that they could be here now to watch their youngest son. The thought brought a profound sadness he had to shake off. He looked down at his date looking back at him and thought how his mother would have loved her.

Since he’d picked her up, he had wanted nothing more than to hold Kelli’s hand. It seemed fitting he should be on a first date in his old high school. He had a case of nerves that rivaled those he’d had on his very first date, probably in this very gymnasium.

As they sat in the bleachers, Samantha and Kelli between him and Skip; Jack talked about whatever came to mind. Occasionally, someone would tap him on the shoulder—old school mates, friends of his parents, former teachers. He was obliged to be cordial, but as soon as prudence allowed, he dismissed them and turned back toward the pretty lady whose hand he still ached to hold. Her dark eyes glowed when she looked back at him.

He leaned toward her, their shoulders touching, “Tell me, do all the boys in the school find excuses to come to you for counseling?”

She looked baffled, seemed genuinely unaware of her effect on people. On the way to their seats, he had watched as men’s heads turned to check her out which, more than ever, made him want to hold her hand, to claim her.

She smiled shyly at him, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You are the prettiest school councilor I’ve ever seen. I’d come a knockin’ at every opportunity.”

She smiled, and leaned in even closer, touching his arm with her fingers. Spikes and chills ran in opposite directions from the spot of contact, activating every nerve in his body.
“I’m kind of encouraging that,” she whispered.

Jack looked at her hand, longingly, so small, so perfectly shaped. He snatched it and brought it to his lips.

Now he had it, he was not letting it go. As if to emphasize it to himself, he lowered it from his lips and captured it in his other hand, squeezing it softly. “I catch on eventually,” he said.

His heart fluttered when she squeezed back.
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They talked about the game in the car on the way to drop off Samantha and Kelli. Nothing could tarnish the magical feelings of pride and triumph that always followed a miracle victory.

Jack dropped Skip and Samantha off at Sam’s house.“Stay inside, okay,” Jack said to Skip. “I’ll be back after I drop Kelli off.”

For a little while, Jack had forgotten about the Escalade. It had to be out of service. At least with it, he could recognize his attacker. Now he didn’t know what the guy might be driving.
At Kelli’s door, she said, “Come in, Jack. I can make coffee, or give you a Coke, or a glass of Chardonnay. I’m too pumped to have you just leave me on the doorstep. Does that seem forward?”
Jack winked and said, “Saves me the trouble of suggesting it myself, but I’d better stick with water. I don’t need a stimulant, and I can’t be responsible for my actions under the influence of alcohol.”

The house, quiet and inviting, smelled like furniture wax.

“My roommate Jennifer is staying with her boyfriend a lot these days. I doubt she’ll come home tonight,” Kelli said as she poured Jack a glass of ice water from a pitcher.

Jack tried to pull his mind out of the gutter. He hadn’t brought any protection, didn’t know if he owned any, in fact, but another part of him wished he had.

“I’m not being suggestive, Jack,” Kellie said, “Please don’t misunderstand.”

Well, hell.

In the living room, she stirred the embers in the fireplace and added a log before sitting beside him on the couch. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Jack,” she said.
He stared at her as if he’d been reprimanded.

“I mean about what you said earlier. It really doesn’t matter how you came to win that award—all those awards. Your parents pushed you into doing things to make you a better person. They achieved that, but you still did all the work.”

So pretty and inviting. He could feel the warmth radiating off her body. Though he heard what she said, nothing mattered right now but being with her.

He choked out a reply, his voice husky, “Always the councilor, aren’t you? I’ll tell you what. I’m not sure my parents would approve what I’m thinking right now.”

He sat forward, elbows on his knees, holding the glass of water with both hands. He felt her hand on his back, but he didn’t know what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do, knew it with every fiber in his body. A first kiss seemed appropriate, yet unfulfilling. The feel of her hand tingled down his spine and activated his long dormant genitals.

He sighed, put the glass on a coaster, and leaned back. The only light in the room came from the glow of the fire and a touch lamp on low beam behind them. Her eyes reflected the dancing flame and lost him in their depths.

As if he’d been doing it for years, Jack pulled her into his arms. When their lips met, he thought he might explode with joy and passion as his tongue tasted the sweetness of her yielding mouth. Her hand touched his jaw and slid behind his neck, her fingers leaving trails of fire on his flesh as they mingled in his hair. The fresh scent of shampoo mixed alluringly with her perfume. He didn’t even try to identify the fragrance; he only knew how it made him feel.
His hand slid down her throat. It seemed to have taken on life, her skin smooth and warm, her chest rising, her breath coming faster as his fingers tracked downward . . .

A log snapped and broke in the fireplace, sparking an intrusive glimmer of reason.

Jack broke away, abruptly, breathing hard, but needing to be away from her, not trusting himself to another moment’s pleasure for fear he wouldn’t be able to stop until he’d explored every inch of her.

“I should go,” he said, his voice thick. He stood and collected his coat. Despite what she had said, he felt sure she’d have relented without too much resistance. He suddenly needed it to be perfect, anticipated. For the first time in six years, Jack knew he was in love.
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Skip searched the area around him as he groped in his jacket pocket for the gun. He spotted a wrought iron gate a few feet to his left and dove for it just as he heard a thud and felt his stocking cap fly off his head.

With an athletic agility that only came of necessity, he catapulted the gate. The landing jarred him and sent him to his knees.

Footsteps rushed toward the opening. Tears of pain streamed down his cheeks, Skip scooted between two garbage cans and tried to control his breathing, to gather himself to bolt the opposite fence. The shelter sat across the street. Between cars parked at the curb, he could see people milling around inside. So close.

Silence, the kind that shouted mischief, filled the air with tension. He slipped Lilith’s gun from his pocket and flipped the safety off.

The gate creaked open; Skip tensed. On three, he told himself.

A crunch in the snow announced his assailant had entered.

One.

Another crunch.

Two.

Silence.

Three.

The man stood in front of him and squeezed off a bullet.

Skip knocked one of the garbage cans over. A cacophony of noise echoed up the side of the building. Contents from the garbage can spewed to the ground and lay in waste inside the garbage can lid. A putrid mix of citrus, rotting food, and soiled paper products exploded into the air with a stench both ripe and rotten. Lilith’s gun flew out of Skip’s hand and clattered to the cement. He tried to stand, slipped on something slick and nasty, and pitched forward. At a glance, the man with the gun seemed stunned.

Skip grabbed the garbage can lid and hurled it at the man. It flew across the yard and crashed into the man’s face.

The man swore and frantically swatted its disgusting contents away from his face.
Skip scooped up the gun and turned to run. He stopped in his track.

Goalkeeper guy stood with both his arms locked in front of him, a gun pointed at Skip’s face. Skip leaped to the side, brought the gun up, and squeezed the trigger. The goalkeeper dove for cover.

The spring over the fence had none of the grace with which Skip had navigated the gate, more like a tummy roll. With every bit of strength and willpower he possessed and with a healthy shot of adrenalin, he scrambled to his feet on the other side and ran into the street.
A horn blasted. A second later Skip lifted off the ground onto the hood of a car.
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Cole’s cell phone vibrated to life on his belt. He jumped and pulled it off. Okay, Jack you win. He looked at the display; it wasn’t Jack.

“Sigaphoose,” he said.

“Sigaphoose, I’ve been trying to get hold of you for two days, man. I’m risking my life here.”

“Paunch? I thought you were undercover.” Cole said.

“That’s what I’m saying, man.”

Sigmund Paunch had been one of many friends Cole had maintained after he’d left the police force. They’d gone through the academy together and been partners for a few months before Paunch went into undercover narcotics, after which, Bobby became Cole’s partner. Cole never knew where or when he would hear from Paunch.

“What’s up?” Cole said.

“Tell me you got my phone message.”

Cole pictured the blinking message light on his phone upstairs in his apartment. “I haven’t listened to it yet.”

“Fuck, man, this is critical. You need to get out to the Troy home. I overheard a guy arranging for someone to be killed there—tonight. I don’t have time to elaborate. Like I said, I can’t be seen talking on a phone, they’ll think I’m informing. That’s all I know, now get moving. I’ll be in touch.”

The connection broke and Cole’s heart knocked against his ribs. His throat went dry, and tremors shot through his extremities.

“Shit,” he blurted.

He jumped out of his chair so fast, it rolled and crashed into the wall behind him. Cole still had his cell phone in his hand and pushed the emergency button. The 911 operator came on the line as he pulled the car keys from his pocket and rushed out the door.

His voice sounded far away, “I want to report a possible homicide,” he shouted into the phone.
He told the operator the address, and the man said, “We dispatched an emergency team to that address five minutes ago, sir.”

EA McKenzie, author of Bum's Rush

Excerpts from Bum's Rush