KITTY AND DONTÉ ROUNDED THE BACK CORNER OF THE CLUB to find Coach Creed stumbling through the parking lot.
“’Maine Men!” he cried to no one in particular. “We have an emergency.” His face was bright red and slick with a layer of sweat.
“Coach?” Rex trotted up to him. “What are you doing here?”
Coach Creed gripped Rex by the shoulder. “The enemy is here,” he said. “Hiding in plain sight, son. Basking in their victory.”
“Um, okay.”
“We can’t let them have this triumph. It’s time to take the enemy down.” Coach Creed pounded on the front door of the club. “Open up! This is Major Sergeant Richard Creed. You are harboring a dangerous criminal and I demand you open this door immediately.”
Donté tightened his grip on Kitty’s hand, pulling her behind him for protection. “That suspension made him lose his damn mind.”
The door swung open and a bookish guy dressed in black stepped into the doorway. “I’m the manager of this establishment,” he said calmly. “Are you a cop?”
“I am Major Sergeant Richard Creed,” he repeated.
“So you’re not a cop.”
Coach Creed jabbed his finger in the manager’s chest. “You are harboring a criminal,” he said. “I demand that you give him up to my custody immediately.”
The manager arched his eyebrow. “A criminal, huh? And who would this be?”
“John Baggott.”
The manager sniffed Coach Creed’s breath. “Dude, you need to lay off the Wild Turkey.”
“Either give him up or face the consequences.”
Coach Creed tried to push his way past the manager, who straight-armed him square in the chest. “I seriously don’t need this tonight,” he said under his breath, then half-turned and called into the club. “Tiny? I need backup.”
Someone jostled against Kitty as he squeezed through the crowd. “What’s happening?” Theo asked. Where had he come from?
Donté shook his head. “I think Coach Creed is having a breakdown.”
Theo bobbed his head. “Awesome.”
Another figure stepped through the doorway into the parking lot. He was massive, six and a half feet tall and at least three feet wide, with shoulders so meaty it looked like he was wearing football pads under his black T-shirt.
The color drained out of Coach Creed’s face as Tiny the Bouncer cracked his knuckles in wordless warning.
Coach Creed hesitated as if he was considering retreat, then suddenly pointed to the door of the club. “You!”
Kitty’s eyes followed Coach Creed’s finger to Bree.
“You’re his accomplice,” he roared. “You’re protecting him.”
“That bullshit may work at school,” Bree said, fists balled up in defiance, “but not here. Leave us the hell alone.”
Coach Creed breathed faster, his eyes still locked on to Bree. “I’m going to get you both,” he yelled. “Make no mistake. You’re both dead!”
All around Kitty, students gasped. First he’d threatened Donté, now John and Bree. It was over the line, even for Coach Creed.
He made a sloppy fake-out move and tried to dash around the double-wide Tiny, but the bouncer was too quick for him. With one fluid motion, he grabbed Coach Creed’s wrist and twisted his arm around his back, then drove the coach forward and pinned him to the brick wall.
“How dare you attack an officer?” Coach Creed sputtered.
“Sorry about this, Tiny,” the manager said, strolling up behind the bouncer.
“No prob, Boss,”
“Listen up, moron,” the manager said. “This is my club, and no one comes in here threatening my customers or my bands. So unless you want the cops to bust you on a variety of counts, including but not limited to trespassing, disturbing the peace, and driving under the influence, I suggest you get the fuck out of here right now.”
Tiny released Coach Creed, who immediately crumpled to his knees, his cheek indented with the rugged surface of the brick wall.
“And if I ever catch you here again,” the manager said, following the bouncer back inside, “Tiny’s fist will be the last thing you’ll ever see.”
