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TERRENCE SAW ROSE FALL ahead of him. She was crumpled over a boulder. From his periphery, he saw someone waving. He slowed, watching as the figure approached. He glanced back at Rose. She was struggling to her feet and off running again.
“Coach Terrence, I’m so glad I ran into you.” The man was stout and boisterous. A vulture that had flown in to interrupt the meal the coach was preying on. He had no intent to hurt the young Rose. He just wanted to speak to her, to set things right.
The dark-skinned man stood two feet away, clad in dingy overalls stained with grass and dirt. He smelled of grass, dirt, and smoke. An unlit, stubby cigar hung from his mouth. Stubble coated his face like dust. A diesel engine was chugging up behind the coach’s car. It was a black dually towing lawn mowers. It parked. The engine idled at the curb like a rowdy, uninvited neighbor.
“What can I do for you?” A flash of recognition in Terrence's face. “Oh, hey. You’re the one who usually tends to the football field.”
“That’s me. Carter.” The grubby man pulled off his grimy glove and thrust a hand toward Terrence.
The men shook. “I know you’re a busy man, but I’ve been hoping to run into you,” Carter said. “You see, my son wants desperately to play on your team.” Carter scraped a hand across the stubby hairs on his face. “He swears by you. Says you’re the best.”
Terrence was nodding his head in agreement with the man. “What’s your son’s name?”
Carter showed a neon smile to the coach. “Carter Jr.”
Terrence returned the sentiment with his signature plastered on grin.
“I told my son that if I ever ran into you, I’d give you his resume. I have it, Coach. It’s right over there in the truck.” He tossed his thumb behind him toward the idling black dually.
“Well, Carter, I have to go in that direction anyway. You’re parked right behind my car.”
The two men began a leisurely descent toward the truck. Carter tipped his chin in the direction of the coach’s car and said, “She’s a beaut. I bet you spend your weekends washing and polishing that baby.”
“Not me, but she gets taken care of.”
They arrived at the truck. Carter went to the driver side, reached in and came out with a green folder. The driver of the truck was missing—stepped out unseen by Carter or Terrence. Carter was leafing through the folder as he approached Terrence on the passenger side of the truck. As he began to hand the papers over to Terrence, he tripped on his shoestring, stumbled, but did not fall. The papers scattered.
Terrence leaned over, reaching for the papers, helping the grungy man to gather his son’s fallen treasures.
“What the hell...” Terrence’s hand went to his neck—a sharp stabbing pain. His body instantly felt like lead. His jaw went slack. He watched as another man approached. The second man was white, dressed in matching overalls, and equally grimy. Gloved hands hoisted him into the truck as if he was as light as a feather. His body thudded against the imitation leather seat. A door slammed. Blackness ensued.