On Sunday, Omaha played the Patriots in the Wrangler Stadium. They acquired four tickets behind the Omaha bench from a scalper outside the stadium. Inside, Chuck bought a Wranglers football—
"I wonder if I can get some of the players to sign it after the game?"
"You're a groupie, aren't you?" Dwayne said.
—Dwayne an orange team color plastic cowboy hat that made him look like a kid waiting in line for the pony ride, Chico T-shirts for his girls, and Frank a poster. He borrowed Dwayne's Sharpie. They found their seats. When the teams came out for the game, they screamed, "Bo!" until they caught his attention on the sideline. When he found them in the stands, Frank held up the poster on the back of which he had written BO CANTRELL IS A KILLER LINEBACKER. Bo stalked down the sideline.
"Boo! Boo!"
The fans booed Bo. He had missed an assignment; his man caught a short pass and ran for a touchdown. The Patriots were running over the Wranglers. Over Bo Cantrell in particular. He came to the sideline and kicked over the Gatorade table. Then he glanced up at them in the stands. Frank held up the sign again.
"Now this is what I call a haunting," Dwayne said.
Bo's game went from bad to horrible. He missed assignments and tackles. The Patriots ran over him, around him, and through him. The coaches yelled at him, his teammates yelled at him, and the fans yelled at him. The Wranglers lost 48-7.
"Hey, Bo, sign my football!"
Bo had just exited the players' locker room at the stadium. A few fans had gathered in hopes of snagging an autograph. Chuck held his football out to Bo as he walked by.
"Bo! Come on, man!" Chuck yelled.
Bo gave Chuck a glare as if he wanted to deck him. He didn't. Sign his ball or deck him. He stormed past and to his truck in the parking lot. He drove directly to his favorite strip joint. He closed the place down at 2:00 A.M. They followed him home and parked on the street. He stumbled inside and apparently to bed as all the lights went out. They rolled the windows down and sat quietly for an hour. And another. They took turns napping. Chuck snored; Chico talked in his sleep. Frank couldn't sleep. He and Dwayne talked about the old days in Houston. Which seemed so long ago. A different life.
"The haunting didn't work," Frank said. "It's four-thirty. Same time in Austin. William is set to plead at nine. What do we do now?"
"Get out of the fuckin' car."
Bo Cantrell stood outside the car and pointed a big handgun inside the car.