Page 18 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

The shakes finally settled around noon, during Davis’s fourth trip to the sauna in the basement. But he kept chugging water mixed with hydration salts, and he took a fourth cold shower before he felt even remotely normal.

As he dressed in black and red sweats, the captain once again tried to remember what he’d done after going into Bowman’s Sports Bar. But he always went to Bowman’s on Sundays during the season. Was this a memory of this past Sunday or another one?

Bowman’s had the best screens and setup for a football freak like Davis. He adored football. Football had given him almost everything in life, and he still loved watching pro games, especially the Ravens.

But the Ravens hadn’t played on Sunday. They were onMonday Night Football. And he’d missed the game!

Captain Davis groaned and thumbed the Ravens app on his phone; he was delighted to see they’d stomped on San Diego. That would keep his fantasy teams in tidy shape. Yes indeed. And he’d preset the DVR to record the entire game. He’d watch it that night.

At twenty minutes to two, Davis said goodbye to Johnny Unitas, left his sprawling home in an affluent neighborhood in Falls Church, Virginia, and drove his Mercedes to the Charles School, an elite private institution with a reputation for putting students in the best colleges and student-athletes in the best scholarships at the best colleges. Especially students who played football. The Charles School had one of the best football teams in Virginia. As Davis liked to boast, you’d have to drive at least three hours in any direction before you’d find a team that could rival the Badgers.

Davis pulled his Mercedes into an empty parking spot marked coach and got out. There was a crispness in the air. Good for football. Good for practice.

He entered the school through the front doors at two fifteen, his normal arrival time. The halls were empty. Sixth period was just getting started.

Davis walked past the school’s trophy collection. He normally did not give a glance at his own photographs in the case. But for some reason, he paused and saw a photo of his teenage self in a Charles School Badgers uniform, holding the statechampionship trophy over his head. Another featured him in a Baltimore Ravens uniform alongside aBaltimore Sunarticle about his decision to return to the air force and leave the NFL after several successful seasons as a backup center and full-time long snapper. The headline read “Captain Davis Reports for New Duty.”

“Captain?”

Davis turned to see Nicholas Hampstead III leaning out of his office wearing a bow tie, a crisp white shirt, and a Badgers booster pin and peering at him through horn-rimmed glasses that did little to disguise the bulging bug eyes he had because of a thyroid condition.

“May I see you a moment?” Hampstead said.

It was the last thing the football coach wanted to do, but he nodded and strode toward the headmaster of the Charles School as if he were about to snap a football or fly a combat jet into a war zone and had total confidence in the outcome.

Hampstead, who stood five seven, took several steps back when Davis came in. He motioned for the football coach to shut the door. Davis did, and when he turned around, he found the headmaster staring at him with his arms crossed and a furious expression on his face.

“Didn’t know you’d decided to cancel practice yesterday.”

Davis held up his palms. “My fault. My cell died and I got food poisoning from a crab boil I went to Sunday. I was on my back and out cold the entire day.”

“That’s funny, Captain, Coach Penny says he saw you at Bowman’s on Sunday.”

“I was, for an hour,” Davis said. “Then I hit the crab boil. It was ugly. Coming out both ends at one point.”

The headmaster looked away, curling his lip in disgust. “Thiscan’t happen again, Captain. Our athletes and coaches need a leader who’s not drinking his life away. Are we clear?”

“As day,” Davis said, making a note to talk with Troy Penny, his offensive-line coordinator, as soon as possible. “Again, I apologize, Nicholas.”

“We’ll see you on the field, Captain. Shut the door behind you.”

CHAPTER 19

CAPTAIN DAVIS SHUT THEdoor carefully. No use antagonizing the man when a little subservience would make him happy.

Nothing made a little turd like Nicholas Hampstead III feel better about himself than having someone who was twice his size and had twice his accomplishments lick his boots.

Just greases the wheels of life, and I’m beyond having an ego about it.

Well, maybe some ego,Davis thought as he set off toward his office in the athletic department.Can’t let Hampstead go too far or you’ll have to squash him. I mean, the alumni and the parents know what’s best for the school, and that’s having the best damn football team in the state.

“Hi there, Captain,” a woman said as he passed the teachers’ lounge.

Davis knew who it was without looking. “How are you, Ms. Plum?”

Fiona Plum, AP English and American history teacher at the Charles School, came up to him. “I’m fine now that you’ve reappeared. Where were you, Captain? Everyone was worried sick.”

He glanced over at her. Late thirties, cinnamon hair, creamy skin, quite pretty in her way. She was looking at him adoringly.

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