Читать книгу Naked Ambition - Dan Roberts - Страница 13

THE CLOCK NEAR THE ELEVATOR showed 7:30, early for Larson to be at the office. He had come into the building yawning, feeling like he could have used another hour of sleep. As he walked down the hall at his usual slow pace, he did so with a to-go cup of coffee in one hand and his briefcase strap slung over his shoulder. He nodded and said “Good morning” to several young ladies as he passed them in the hall. He gave a little nod and an extra wide grin to the new secretary from the forensics division. When he finally got to his cubicle he placed the briefcase on the floor, sat down and took a swig of coffee as he turned on his computer. The flat screen was just flashing to life when his cell phone rang. The ID tagged the caller as DAVIS, TOM.

“Hi, Tom. What’s up?”

“Hi, Joe. You on your way to work?”

“Just got to my desk. Why?”

“So, did you get the case? You know, the one we talked about yesterday?”

Larson, raising his head so that he could see over the cubicle wall, looked around before answering that question. Seeing that no one was close by he quietly said, “Yes. In fact, a group of our agents were briefed on the case by your man, Ron Selleck, yesterday afternoon right after I got back from seeing you.”

Larson went on to tell Davis that the FBI was convinced that the seller had direct links with M/X Technologies. The challenge was to find out who the seller was and try to catch them before they compromised the project any further. “It’s called ArrowStar, Tom. It’s a very advanced missile-guidance system according to DON documents.”

He then told the FBI agent about how there was to be coordination between agencies and a designation of responsibilities. “The Bureau and NCIS will work together on the case, but the FBI will hand off the ‘seller’ end of the investigation to NCIS for us to follow up with. The Bureau will continue to maintain surveillance on the Russians and will share any further information received regarding ArrowStar with NCIS. And, as NCIS gains insight into the person involved from M/X, we’ll share that and any other pertinent information with the FBI.”

“Sounds good,” said Davis with a sigh of relief. “I’m really glad you’re on board.”

“Thanks, I guess,” was Larson’s reply. “So is that why you called?”

“Well, obviously, I was curious as to what was happening with the case. But I also wanted to update you on what’s going on with me… to let you know that I reported to my supervisor when I got back to the office after seeing you. I told him all that I told you yesterday. Just wanted to make that clear with you. I’m not holding any information back.”

“And how did that pan out?”

“As I assumed, I was taken off the case because of conflict of interest.”

“Too bad,” Larson said, recognizing Davis’ disappointment.

“It’s okay. I’m going to take some time off. I put a lot of extra hours into my last couple of cases so I have some time coming to me that I can take off from work. Two weeks of it, actually.”

“Where are you going? Hawaii or the Caribbean?” Larson knew how much Davis liked anything having to do with the water: swimming, sailing and scuba diving. And he knew that those were the destinations that his friend loved to go to, as Davis said, “to get wet.”

“Neither one. I’m going back home.”

“To Pennsylvania?”

“Yep. Going to visit my grandmother.”

Larson laughed. “Now, that sounds exciting. Makes me want to tag along.”

“Actually, there are some things I want to do for my father. Things around the farm that he’s not been able to get to.”

“So, you’ll have some good father-son bonding time, huh?”

“Unfortunately, no. He’s gone right now. He’s on a Congressional mission to someplace in Africa. Just left yesterday. My mom’s not even there right now. My sister, Janet, had a baby last week and Mom flew out to help her.”

“So, are you taking the wife?”

“No. She’s in a really busy time with her residency program. Because of her hospital schedule I never see her, so this trip back home will give Alicia space to do her thing without feeling guilty. That’s how she feels when she doesn’t have a lot of time to spend with me.”

After a short reflective pause, Davis went on. “I’m anxious to see my Uncle Steve. He’s the uncle I told you about. I want to see how he’s doing. If this espionage thing goes through, especially if it goes public, it could not only have a devastating affect on the company, but would affect him, too. For him it would be a matter of reputation. All of that could impact on his already fragile health.”

“Yeah,” said Larson, “I can understand how it would.”

Larson couldn’t help but guess that his friend was also thinking of another angle. And so he said, “Tom, I’m going to ask a question that you don’t have to answer. I know it’s none of my business, but I’m very curious. Do you plan on doing any investigating on your own while up there?”

For a brief moment there was silence on Davis’ end of the conversation. Then with a slight chuckle he replied, “You’re right, Joe. It’s none of your business.”

Larson smiled as he thought of the possible plans that Davis might have in mind once he got back home.

“Well,” Larson said, “I hope you enjoy your vacation. By the way, say hello to Gram for me.”

“Will do, Joe.” With that the phone line went dead. Larson, still holding his phone’s receiver, was wondering what the next step in the investigation would be. Somehow, he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind that Tom was going to be a part of it.

THE MORNING SUN WAS SHINING BRIGHTLY, an indicator that this was to be yet another sweltering summer day. Nick had just gotten back from a run when, as he approached the Baker home, he saw Zach’s father walking toward his car. With perspiration pouring down his face, Nick wiped his forehead with the hem of his already wet T-shirt and then greeted his host. “Hey, Mr. B. You headed out?”

“Morning, Nick. Yes, I’m off to D.C. I’ve got meetings down there this afternoon.” After opening the car door, Baker continued with concern in his voice. “Now, remember, Nick, you’ve got my cell phone number. Promise me you’ll keep me informed if any problems come up.”

“Will do, Mr. B.”

“I hope to be back sometime early Friday evening, if not before,” said Baker as he closed the door of his Camry. “Just to remind you, Clarkson said he would bring you home tonight and tomorrow if needed.” Baker, with his head now leaning out the window, said, “Nick, are you sure you’re going to be okay with the arrangement?”

“Yeah, Mr. B. I’m fine with it.”

‘The arrangement’ was this: Baker was going to Washington, D.C. for the next couple of days. Zach was going to visit a friend and former neighbor, Keith Gordon, who now lived in Bryn Mawr, a suburb of Philadelphia, about one hour away from Reading. This was being done so that Zach would be away yet available should Nick need help. Nick’s car, which was supposed to be in the shop for repair, was, in fact, parked in the closed garage of the Baker home. He had agreed not to use it unless an emergency came up. Mr. Baker felt that was important since, if Clarkson would see Nick driving his car, it would destroy not only the story that allowed Nick to ask the coach for a ride home, but could possibly jeopardize Nick’s safety.

Although aware of the danger, it was Nick’s idea to be put into as vulnerable a position as possible, making for a scenario that, hopefully, would expose Clarkson. That is, thought Nick, if the coach was actually doing something illegal. From the beginning Nick had been a little concerned about Clarkson being put in a bad light. He thought that the man might just be legitimately involving himself with some of the boys, trying to be kind and nurturing. That’s what many men do in their roles as coaches or teachers or scout leaders. That kind of attention was much needed by boys who either had no father or had fathers who were geographically or emotionally distant. Nick, himself, recognized the importance of several older men who had taken time and put forth the effort in guiding and supporting him in his young life.

Challenged by the task he had taken on, Nick tried to hide any uneasiness by saying, “Don’t worry about me, Mr. B. I’ll be fine.” Knowing that Baker needed to leave, Nick tapped the top of the car and said, “Take care and drive safely.”

“Will do, Nick,” said Baker as he put his car into reverse, backing it out of the driveway. When he was almost at the curb, he stopped and stuck his head out the window. “By the way, Nick, a guy by the name of Jerry from ComfortPro is coming today to fix the air conditioning unit. I told him you would leave the kitchen door open. He knows what to do. The A/C should be on for you by tonight.”

“That’s cool.” Nick laughed at himself as he realized what he had just said.

As Baker’s car reached the street, Nick saw Zach coming out of the house with a packed duffle bag. Approaching his sweaty friend, Zach said, “Did you have a good run?”

“Sure did. But I’m glad I went when I did ‘cause it’s going to be another scorcher today.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard. Too hot to put the top down.” Zach was referring to his VW Beetle convertible. What had been his mother’s car had become his after she passed away from cancer last year. Even though Zach felt it was more of a ‘chick car,’ he enjoyed driving the inherited Beetle, especially with the top down since that experience brought back pleasant memories of times with his mother.

“So,” said Nick, “Looks like you’re heading out?”

“Yup. Going to work this morning. And then I’m leaving from there. Should be at Keith’s by early evening.”

“Well, bud, have fun.” After saying ‘later’ to his friend, Nick, needing a shower, turned and began walking toward the house. That’s when he remembered something. “By the way, Zach, you’re still planning on going to ‘The Bowl’ with me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not sure…” Zach’s voice trailed off as he tried to hide a grin.

“Aw, come on! You’re not gonna’ back out on me, are you?”

Zach, not being able to keep a straight face, started laughing. “Yeah, dude, I’m going. Just wanted to get your motor revved.”

“Damn you!” was Nick’s retort as he broke into a smile.

Nick knew what Zach’s grinning and laughter was all about. It went back to a time—about two years ago—when the same question had been asked of Zach. Back then, he wasn’t so keen on saying yes. Not that he didn’t want to, especially when Nick told him of the number of girls that would be at the event. But, for Zach, it was going to be a big challenge, one of modesty. Actually, it was more like a challenge of embarrassment.

Ever since they were boys, Zach and Nick had been friends, tightly bonded through their sport of volleyball. It was during those early years that Zach came to know Nick’s family and their history, one that was rooted in a rather different lifestyle. They were nudist and members of a nudist community that lay just south of Reading. Called Sylvan Acres Health Society, it was made up of several hundred acres of mostly forested land. However, in the center of that wooded acreage was a large residential and recreational area that included a swimming pool and several tennis and volleyball courts. It was no secret among most of his volleyball buddies that Nick’s parents belonged to Sylvan Acres. Nick’s grandparents even lived there, and had for over thirty years. Zach and several other close friends had heard Nick tell numerous stories about how he and his brother, Brandon, had spent many of their childhood summer days in the buff, swimming in the pool, slithering down the water slide and playing volleyball.

Over the years Zach had heard Nick and Brandon talk about going to ‘The Bowl’ or SVB, referring to Super Volley Bowl, an annual naked volleyball tournament that was always scheduled for the weekend after Labor Day. It was a huge event, one that was the focus of nudists—even many non-nudists—throughout North America. Every fall several thousand players and fans from all across America and Canada descended on Black Oak, a large nudist resort located in western Pennsylvania, near the Ohio state line. It was four days filled with non-stop play. During that time, on more than fifteen courts, hundreds of naked players battled it out to see who would become the reigning team for the year. It literally exposed fans to some of the best volleyball players on the continent. For participants and spectators alike, this tournament was one of the most exciting, intense sporting events of the season. For the diehards, it was ‘volleyball heaven.’ And, according to Nick and Brandon, it was also ‘chick heaven’ since there were a number of girls and young women involved in the tournament play.

Two years ago, Nick had asked Zach if he would be interested in going. Zach replied that the interest was there, but he wasn’t sure if he could actually do it since he had never been naked with a group of people before.

“You mean you’ve not even done any skinny-dipping with friends?” asked Nick.

“Nope, not even that,” replied Zach.

Nick’s responded with a smile, saying, “Dude, we can change that real quick. Why don’t you come out to Sylvan Acres with me next weekend.” With a grin on his face, Zach said, “Okay.”

It was on a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon that Zach bravely stripped off his outer wear and had his first experience of naked volleyball. And naked swimming. And a naked picnic. He loved it all. So much so that he was quickly on board for a trip to SVB that fall. And for every fall after that. “I’ll be going there forever,” he had said with a smile.

So, to Nick’s present question, Zach replied, “Oh, yeah, dude. Wouldn’t miss ‘The Bowl’ for the world.”

“Good to hear.”

Looking at his watch, Zach said, “Well, gotta get going.” He was just about to walk away from Nick when he said, “Dude, be careful. I know you’re going to be alone with Clarkson tonight. I don’t want anything to happen to my best bud. Hear?” With that he knocked knuckles with Nick and walked away.

“Peace, bud” was Nick’s reply as he formed the ‘peace’ sign with his two first fingers.

It was not more than five minutes later that Nick was in the shower, washing away the salty sweat from his body. Once clean, he stepped out of the tub and toweled himself off. As he did so, he looked up and saw his reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door. Although not a narcissist, he couldn’t help but stop and scan his well-tanned, well-toned body. He smiled as he saw that it was taking on a shape that he had longed for since his early teen years. His chest had added some girth over the last year and was much more defined than even six months ago. That was true for most of his body: the arms, the abdominals, the legs—all were more muscled than when he entered community college last August. His workouts at the gym, his swimming numerous laps at the pool and his jogging or biking miles at a time had all paid off.

Although a little self-conscious at first, Nick was curious. After dropping the towel to the floor, he began posing in a variety of positions, postures that young men typically put themselves into when wanting to show off their muscles. With his arms held out to the side, he curled his arms—flexing them—so that his biceps popped up into two well-rounded balls of muscle perched on either side of his broad shoulders. The same thing happened when he pushed out his chest, bringing tension to the pecs, tautness to each one of the fleshy mounds that produced two well-defined bulges of striated muscle. Then there were the muscles of his back and side. When put into the right position, his lat muscles flared so much that they looked somewhat like bat wings.

Once self-approval was given to the upper body, his eyes dropped downward. He could not help but notice the sinewy definition of the muscles of the calves and quads as he posed, flexing one leg and then the other. Because of his low body fat, Nick’s long legs were well sculpted, showing the effects of the many squats he had done over the last year. Now in the pelvic area, his eyes lingered on the neatly trimmed bush of blond hair between his legs and what lay below it. It was there that he viewed what some guys called their manhood. Although not quite as big as that of his buddy, Zach, he was pleased with what he saw. For that reason he allowed his eyes to briefly loiter as he smiled.

Finally, he turned around so that he could see his backside. It was in that position—as he forced a pose—that he noticed the fibrous muscles of his buttocks, that part of his body that seemed to be especially attractive to the females. In acknowledgement of what he saw, Nick smiled once again.

Before leaving the bathroom, he scanned his entire body one more time, silently giving approval to all that he was viewing in the mirror. Damn, he thought to himself, I’m more than ready for ‘The Bowl’ this year. Especially for the chicks!

CHEN’S AFTERNOON WAS A WALK in the park. Literally. With the morning consisting of an early breakfast with a deputy consular from Bolivia, a mid-morning meeting with a Wall Street financial analyst and lunch with a potential target from a small Manhattan-based brokerage house, Chen felt the need to be outside. To get some exercise. So, after donning a short-sleeved shirt, kaki pants and a pair of comfortable shoes, he made his way to Central Park, only a few blocks east of the Chateaux 54. Although a hot day, Chen found that the trees lining the park’s paths shaded him from the direct rays of the sun, making his walk a refreshing change from all the fumes and noise of city traffic.

After strolling through some of the more famous areas of the park, places like Strawberry Fields and Cherry Hill, he stopped at a large body of water, one simply called The Lake. He lingered there for several minutes to take in the beauty of the scene before him: several miniature radio-controlled sailboats skimming along the water’s edge with green grass, flowering bushes and a virtual forest as a backdrop. He thought it a bit surreal to see this pristine view disrupted by the tops of lofty skyscrapers poking upward, breaking through the horizon of trees, evidence that Chen was still surrounded by of one of the most densely populated cities in the world.

Finally, having moved on—and after more than an hour of exploring the park’s many pathways—Chen walked out of Central Park, this time on the east side. Again, he found himself in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the city. Standing on the sidewalk near the corner of a busy intersection with numerous occupied cabs whizzing by him, Chen decided to continue to walk rather than ride toward the East River.

It didn’t take long until Chen found himself at the corner of York and 72^nd Street facing the sleek, contemporary façade of a building housing Sotheby’s. A few more steps and he was at the upscale auction house’s front entrance being welcomed by a smiling doorman. Once inside, Chen found the cool and quiet of the spacious, high-ceilinged foyer a delight, especially after his long walk in the heat of the day. Even more delightful was what he saw as he walked toward the reception desk. Just to the left was an object that quickly grabbed his attention. Surrounded by a thick velvet rope and bathed in bright white gallery lighting was one of the most beautiful automobiles he had ever seen. There, richly clad in a deep burgundy-red color, topped with a light beige cloth convertible roof, stood one of the jewels the 1930s. And like a gem it sparkled as it sat center stage—big and brash and bold—displayed for all the world to see.

Drawn by his love of older cars, Chen could not help but walk toward the focus of his attention to begin a closer inspection. As he moved around the aerodynamically shaped body, carefully noting the massive fenders that covered the thick white-walled tires, he recognized a joy welling up from deep inside himself, one that he did not often feel. Much like the allure of a woman, this car was now demanding his attention, acting like a magnet to Chen’s senses, slowly but surely bringing them to the surface. The shiny chrome of the massive grill, the flowing lines of the body and the creamy texture of the leather seats, all beckoned to his sense of style and elegance. And to his touch. In fact, had it not been for hearing his name called out Chen just might have reached out and caressed the gleaming surface that so strongly summoned his hand.

The voice that stopped him from breaching the rope barrier came from someone nearby. It was a voice that was male and French and pleasant. As Chen turned around he saw someone approaching him, smiling, saying, “Monsieur Chen. Bonjour!”

Chen, recognizing the man, smiled back as he replied, “Bonjour, Huber.”

Huber Roget, a slim, silver-haired man of medium height, was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit and a starched white shirt fronted by a peach colored silk tie. It was with an outthrust hand that Roget continued his warm greeting. “Welcome, Monsieur Chen. So good to see you, sir.”

“And you, too, Huber.” Chen habitually gave a slight bow as he returned the Frenchman’s handshake. After glancing ever so quickly at the displayed car, Chen spoke of the reason for his visit. “I had some time this afternoon so I thought I would come over and see that painting you called me about.”

“Oui, Monsieur. The Matisse,” came the reply. “I will be happy to show you. It’s in our estate gallery on the tenth floor.”

Seeing Chen torn between his wish to see the painting and wanting to continue his viewing of the car, Roget wisely paused a moment. As Chen’s eyes moved once again to the shiny, red-bodied vehicle on display, Roget said, “It’s a real beauty, no?”

“Yes, quite,” was Chen’s answer.

“It is a true American classic. A Duesenberg. Do you know of the name?”

“Oh, yes. Quite a famous line of cars. But never have I seen one as beautiful as this. Certainly not in person.”

“Monsieur Chen, this is one of the most beautiful automobiles we’ve had the privilege of offering here at Sotheby’s.

It was then that Roget, with a sense of pride, took hold of the velvet-covered rope barrier, opened up the no-touch zone, and invited Chen to step closer. Now standing just inches from the bumper, Chen watched as Roget made a grand sweeping motion with his one hand as he said, “This, Monsieur Chen, is a truly unique automobile. A 1935 SJ Duesenberg Convertible Coupe. Everything has been fully restored. Just like new.” It was then that Roget lowered his voice a bit, speaking almost as if he was revealing a secret. “Actually, there was not much need of restoration since it has been garaged since 1937. It seems the original owner had gone to France and stayed there during the war years. For whatever reason, he never returned to America. We have documented proof of it being in storage for all those years.”

Chen’s reply was a nod followed by, “Interesting.”

Roget, a man of great knowledge when it came to the items being sold at Sotheby’s, continued on. “As I’m sure you know, the Duesenbergs were all one of a kind, each one being hand built as ordered. They were like… like sculptures on wheels. But this one, Monsieur Chen, is extremely rare. There were only three of this particular style ever built.” Leaning toward his visitor, Roget softened his voice as he repeated, “A very rare item indeed.”

“Yes,” said Chen, his eyes filled with fascination. “I’m sure it is.”

Recognizing the level of Chen’s interest, Roget continued. “Did you know, Monsieur, that the Duesenbergs were known not just for their elegance in style, but also for their engines?” With his hands now visually expressing ‘bigness,’ Roget said, “They had large engines.. huge ones… designed for racing. Several of their sport models were driven by winners of the Indianapolis 500.”

Upon hearing that, Chen asked about the motor on this particular model.

“Ah, Monsieur Chen. Powerful, very powerful.” Now pointing to the hood that seemed to go on forever, Roget said, “Under here is a 320 horsepower engine. Supercharged, believe it or not. I am told that it has a top speed of almost 140 miles per hour. In it’s day that was very, very fast.”

Chen grinned at the thought of sitting behind the wheel of this beauty at any speed.

Letting a little time pass for introspective thinking, Roget then said, “This classic will be in our auction next month along with several others including a 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300Sc Coupe. That, too, is a beautiful example of design and speed.

Still concentrating on the Duesenberg, Chen asked, “And what is the value of this one, Huber?”

Seemingly pleased that Chen had asked that question, Roget replied with, “It is expected to sell for somewhere between three-and-a-half and four million dollars.” Seeing that Chen didn’t flinch at the numbers, Roget continued. “If you ask my opinion, Monsieur, I think it’s going to be a wise investment for whoever buys it. For an automobile so rare, especially in mint condition, the price can only go up as the years pass.” Roget, knowing of Chen’s history of buying—and why—added, “I would think that this would be a good investment for you, would it not?”

Chen smiled as he looked at Roget and said, “You know me well, Huber.”

Trying to add even more of a reason for Chen to think about a purchase of such magnitude, Roget said, “And, as you know, Monsieur, we can keep such an item for you in our secure, climate-controlled storage area. For as long as you would need.”

Still eyeing the red beauty, Chen added, “Tempting, Huber, very tempting. But, unfortunately, I’ll not be in New York next month.”

Not one to let absence be an excuse, Roget replied, “But, Monsieur, here’s always telephone bidding.”

Chen nodded. “Yes, of course there is.”

It was not many seconds later that Chen looked at his watch. Seeing the time, he abruptly—and reluctantly—withdrew his gaze from the car known in its day as a ‘Duesy’ in order to focus on the painting he had come to see. “So, Huber, tell me more about the Matisse.”

CHEN AND ROGET WERE JUST WALKING off the elevator, about to enter the tenth floor estate gallery, when Chen’s cell phone rang. Seeing that it was from his ‘eyes’ in Reading, Chen excused himself, asking Roget to walk ahead to the gallery. “I shouldn’t be long, Huber. I’ll meet you in there.”

Chen walked to a corner of the hallway and, in a quiet voice, answered his phone with a simple, “Yes?”

He listened for less than a minute and then quietly said, “Okay. That’s good. But I want to continue the tail on the target 24/7. Do you understand? Round the clock. 24/7.”

Obviously, there was an affirmative answer, probably something like, “yes, sir.”

After clicking off his phone, Chen walked toward the estate gallery. After passing through the double door entry, he walked into the first of a series of large gallery rooms where the collections of several persons of wealth, either deceased or ‘downsizing,’ were on display for examination before being auctioned. A quick perusal of the area made Chen aware of several paintings by Monet, a few by Renior and, at least. two Picassos, one filling the larger part of the wall on the far side.

Roget, who had been speaking with one of the security guards, saw Chen and approached him saying, “Monsieur, if you will follow me I’ll take you to the Matisse.” Noting Chen’s eyes moving slowly—appreciatively—about the room, Roget added, “There may also be a few others that you would be interested in. I think you would be especially pleased with the Chagall we have in the next room.”

Still thinking of his Reading contact, Chen answered Roget with, “Lead on, Huber. Lead on.”

THE COACH’S WATCH SAID IT WASN’T yet time to stop practicing. In fact, it was a little earlier than the usual 8:00 quitting time. But that didn’t stop Clarkson from blowing his whistle. After wrapping up his usual pep talk, which tonight was very brief, he dismissed ‘his boys.’ Then the coach asked Jack and Max Fisher to put all the equipment away. “I’ve got to take Nick to the Baker’s place and then get home myself,” he said in an obvious attempt to leave quickly. “Max, you going to be okay staying with Jack? His mother should be here any minute.” Max answered, saying he had no problem.

It was only a short time later that Clarkson slammed the Lexus’ door fast and hard. In his desperate attempt to escape the heat and humidity of the evening air, he started the engine, reached toward the dash and pushed the air conditioner button to high. As he wiped the perspiration dripping from his forehead, he looked at his face in the rearview mirror. It was red and a bit bloated. He then turned toward Nick who was sitting next to him and said, “Damn this heat. It really gets to me.”

After putting the car into ‘drive,’ the Lexus made its way out of the Scott Recreation Center parking lot, then headed north on the road that led toward the Baker home. As he drove along, Clarkson couldn’t get his mind off the heat wave that had engulfed the area over the last few days. Looking up at his rearview mirror once again—at the temperature gauge—Clarkson’s head began shaking back and forth, indicating a high level of displeasure. “God, it’s still ninety degrees at eight o’clock. I hate this weather,” he said as he momentarily diverted his eyes toward his passenger. “How about you?”

“Yup,” was the only reply from Nick.

Without moving his eyes from the road, Clarkson said, “Nick, I really have appreciated all your help with the camp this week. You’ve got a real talent for teaching. I’ve been watching how you’ve been working with the kids, especially the ones that need the extra help. Like that Klinger kid. What’s his name?”

“Bill,” said Nick rather bluntly.

“With some practice I think Bill’s actually got a chance to do well. If he does, he’s got you to thank.”

“Good,” said Nick in a rather dry, detached voice.

Clarkson drove on for another few blocks without saying anything. From the corner of his eye he saw that Nick didn’t move. The young athlete’s body was rigid. His face was tense but his fingers were moving. They were restless, an indication that something was going on. Finally, Clarkson spoke up. “You okay, kid?”

“Yup,” was the single word reply after which there was quiet once again. At least, for a few moments.

“You worried about something, Nick?”

“Naw,” Nick said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s nothing.”

After several more blocks, Clarkson slowed his car and pulled into an empty parking space. Once the car was stopped, the coach turned the whole of his upper body toward Nick. “So, what’s with the silent treatment?”

Nick felt compelled to answer. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothin’ much,” Nick said, still looking forward. Knowing the coach was probably going to ask him more questions, he added, “Everything’s cool, Coach. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Handle? What do you mean by that?”

Again, silence pervaded the car’s interior.

“Nick, I don’t know what’s going on, but if you need to talk about something I’m here for you. I’m not just a volleyball coach, you know. I can be a friend, too.”

“Okay,” was the only response coming from Nick, who was still looking out through the windshield.

Almost defensively, Clarkson pressed on. “Is it me? Is there something I’ve done? Something I’ve said?”

“Naw, Coach, nothing like that.”

Clarkson noticed that Nick’s fingers were still fidgeting. And now his right leg was jumpy—nervously bouncing up and down—yet another sign of anxiety. “So what is it?” asked the coach.

Nick slowly turned his head toward the driver. “Well…” He intentionally left that word hang for a moment and then added, “…if you really wanna know.”

“I do,” said Clarkson, with a tone of sincerity.

The rigidity surrounding Nick’s eyes and mouth suddenly left. His face softened. “It’s my mom. I’m really worried about her.” Haltingly, he explained. “She’s had cancer for several years and now it’s gotten worse. She’s getting treatments but I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Nick’s words and expression were telling of his true emotions regarding his mother’s history with cancer. Her illness had, in fact, affected him significantly over the last couple of years.

“Yeah, I know how that must be,” Clarkson said in a compassionate tone. “My mother died a few years ago from breast cancer. It was really difficult to see her suffer.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Nick in an almost whispered voice as he glanced toward the floor.

“Thanks,” said Clarkson. “But I said that to let you know that I understand what you must be going through. It’s tough. I know. Especially, if you’re going through it alone.”

Still looking at the floor, Nick said, “Well, I’m not really alone. I mean, I’ve got Brandon, my brother. Of course, he lives in Colorado. And there’s my dad. But he’s remarried and lives over near Hershey. My grandmother would like to be there for me. But, then, she’s kinda old and I have to look after her sometimes.” Nick suspended any further talk to let those words gain weight. Then, reflectively, he said, “Yeah, I guess I am kind of alone.”

At that moment Clarkson lifted his right arm and placed his hand on Nick’s shoulder. Nick immediately felt an increase in tension. It took all the inner strength Nick could muster to not pull back from the coach’s touch. But he didn’t move. Eventually, he felt not only the weight of Clarkson’s hand but a follow-up squeeze and a pat. “It must be tough on you, buddy.”

Nick cringed as he heard Clarkson use the word ‘buddy.’ Now calling upon more of his acting ability, Nick took a huge breath, encouraging his whole body to relax. It worked. As he exhaled it was as if his entire body melted into the seat. He wanted to cry—in fact, he tried to cry—but the tears didn’t come. He was too nervous. Stage fright, he thought to himself.

Clarkson noticed the change in Nick’s posture. In response, the coach almost whispered, “I understand. I really do.” He then moved his hand onto Nick’s neck and began to massage it. Nick closed his eyes as the massaging continued for what seemed like several minutes. Although it felt very good, he didn’t like the fact that it was Clarkson doing it. Especially since he hadn’t asked Nick’s permission. But Nick let it go on for a brief time since he really didn’t know what to do. That is, until Clarkson unbuckled his seat belt and began moving closer. Fearing a hug—possibly more—coming from the coach, Nick opened his eyes, moved slightly away from Clarkson and said, abruptly, “I think we’d better get going, Coach.”

Taking the hint, Clarkson’s hand dropped to his side as he backed off and, once again, settled back into the driver’s seat. “Yeah,” he said, a bit reluctantly, “I guess we should.”

It was about ten minutes later that the Lexus pulled onto the driveway of the Baker residence. As Nick reached for the door handle, he said, “Thanks for the lift, Coach.” He was already holding his day pack in his left hand and was just ready to get out of the car when Clarkson said, “Nick, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure. What is it?”

Clarkson picked up an almost empty water bottle. “Looks like I’m in need of some water. I’m really thirsty. Do you mind if I come in and fill this up?” Nick was pretty sure what this meant, that Clarkson had a plan in mind. And it wasn’t only about getting water.

As nonchalantly and naturally as possible, Nick said, “Well, yeah. No problem. But, tell you what, Coach. I’ll save you a trip.” Nick zipped open his daypack, pulled out a plastic water bottle, one he had pulled from the ice chest on the field, and thrust it in Clarkson’s direction. “Here you go. Never been opened. And it’s still cold.”

“Oh,” said Clarkson, seemingly perplexed. “Thanks.”

As Nick proceeded to get out of the car, he noted the look of disappointment on Clarkson’s face. It was when Nick was just about to close the door that Clarkson said, “Hey, Nick. You like to swim?”

Nick grinned. “Sure. I love it.”

“Well, you’ll have to come over to my place sometime. I’ve got a great pool in the backyard. It’s there for you anytime you want.”

Nick forced a smile as he said, “Hey, thanks, Coach. I’ll have to remember to stuff my swimsuit into my pack. Never know when I might get the urge.”

The next words from Clarkson were surprisingly bold, ones that actually stunned Nick. “That’s okay, Nick. No need of a suit if you come to my place.” Nick thought he saw the coach wink at that point. Seeing that Nick was taken aback by his statement, Clarkson followed with, “I’ve got extra swim suits at home.” And then, as if to tease, he added, “That is, if you decide to wear one.”

It didn’t take a genius to understand what the coach was offering—a chance for Nick to swim naked in his pool. Not wanting to dwell on that for long, Nick said, “Well, I’m outta here,” and shut the door. But not before Clarkson said, “Good night, Nick.”

As Nick walked to the Baker’s kitchen door, he thought about those parting words. His conclusion: it’s not a good night at all. At least, not with Clarkson on the loose.

IT WAS AROUND 9:30 WHEN ZACH called Nick. “So, how did it go? With Clarkson, I mean.”

Nick was quick with his reply. “Dude, he was trying to put the move on me.” He told Zach how the coach touched him in the car and tried moving closer to him. Also about how he tried to get inside the Baker residence by asking for water. Then, Nick said, “He ended with an invitation to come swim in his pool—naked.”

“Oh, god. So what are you gonna do next?”

“Not sure. I really wasn’t ready for anything major tonight. Quite frankly, his come-on was a surprise to me. But I gotta think of something soon. I wanna get that son-of-a-bitch off the streets as soon as possible.”