With remarkable speed, she served them coffee and biscuits, with butter and sorghum molasses. Mal plunged into the first one, a thick brownish concoction of lard and flour that weighed at least a pound. Neely, on his left, and Paul, on his right, followed along.
"Heard you boys talkin' last night up in the bleachers," Mal said, shifting from Vietnam to football. He took a large bite and began chewing ferociously. "About the '87 game. I was there, so was everybody else. We figured somethin' happened at halftime, in the locker room, some kind of altercation between you and Rake. Never heard the real story, you know, 'cause you boys never talked about it."
"You could call it an altercation," Neely said, still prepping his first and only biscuit.
"No one's ever talked about it," Paul said.
"So what happened?"
"An altercation."
"Got that. Rake's dead now."
"So?"
"So, it's been fifteen years. I wanna know the story," Mal said as if he were drilling a murder suspect in the back room of the jail.
Neely put the biscuit on his plate and stared at it. Then he glanced over at Paul, who nodded. Go ahead. You can finally tell the story.
Neely sipped his coffee and ignored the food. He stared at the counter and drifted away. "We were down thirty-one to zip, just getting the hell beaten out of us," he said slowly and very softly.
"I was there," Mal said, chewing without interruption.
"We got to the locker room at halftime and waited for Rake. We waited and waited, knowing that we were about to be eaten alive. He finally walked in, with the other coaches. He was way beyond furious. We were terrified. He walked straight up to me, pure hatred in his eyes. I had no idea what to expect. He said, "You miserable excuse for a football player.' I said, 'Thanks, Coach.' As soon as I got the words out, he took his left hand and backhanded me across the face."
"It sounded like a wooden bat hitting a baseball," Paul said. He, too, had lost interest in the food.
"That broke your nose?" Mal said, still quite interested in his breakfast.
"Yep."
"What'd you do?"
"By instinct, I swung. I didn't know if he planned to hit me again, and I wasn't about to wait. So I threw a right hook with everything I could put into it. Caught him perfectly on the left jaw, flush to the face."
"It wasn't a right hook," Paul said. "It was a bomb. Rake's head jerked like he'd been shot, and he fell like a bag of cement."
"Knocked him out?"
"Cold. Coach Upchurch rushed forward, yelling, cussing, like he was going to finish me off," Neely said. "I couldn't see, there was blood all over my face."
"Silo stepped up and grabbed Upchurch by the throat with both hands," Paul said. "He lifted him up, threw him against the wall, said he'd kill him right there if he made another move. Rake was dead on the floor. Snake Thomas and Rabbit and one of the trainers were squatting beside him. It was chaos for a few seconds, then Silo threw Upchurch to the floor and told all of them to get out of the locker room. Thomas said something and Silo kicked him in the ass. They dragged Rake out of the room and we locked the door."
"For some reason I was crying, and I couldn't stop," Neely said.
Mal had stopped eating. All three were staring straight ahead at the little lady by the stove.
"We found some ice," Paul continued. "Neely said his hand was broken. His nose was bleeding like crazy. He was delirious. Silo was screaming at the team. It was a pretty wild scene."
Mal slurped down some coffee, then tore off a piece of a biscuit, which he dragged across his plate as if he might eat it, or he might not.
"Neely was lying on the floor, ice on his nose, ice on his hand, blood running down his ears. We hated Rake like no man has ever been hated. We wanted to kill somebody, and those poor boys from East Pike were the nearest targets."
After a long pause, Neely said, "Silo knelt beside me and yelled, 'Get your ass up, Mr. Ail-American. We gotta score five touchdowns.'"
"When Neely got up, we stormed out of the locker room. Rabbit poked his head out of a door, and the last thing I heard was Silo yelling at him, 'Keep those sumbitches away from our sideline.'"
"Hindu threw a bloody towel at him," Neely said, still softly.
"Late in the fourth quarter, Neely and Silo got the team together by the bench and told us that after the game we were running back to the locker room, locking the door, and not coming out until the crowd was gone."
"And we did. We waited in there for a long time," Neely said. "It took an hour just to settle down."
The door opened behind them as one group of locals left while another trooped in.
"And y'all never talked about it?" Mal asked.
"No. We agreed to bury it," Neely said.
"Until now?"
"I guess. Rake's dead, it doesn't matter anymore."
"Why was it such a secret?"
"We were afraid there'd be trouble," Paul said. "We hated Rake, but he was still Rake. He'd punched a player, and not just anybody. Neely's nose was still bleeding after the game."
"And we were so emotional," Neely said. "I think all fifty of us were crying when the game was over. We'd just pulled off a miracle, against impossible odds. With no coaches. Nothing but sheer guts. Just a bunch of kids who'd survived under enormous pressure. We decided it would be our secret. Silo went around the room, looked every player in the eyes and demanded a vow of silence."
"Said he'd kill anyone who ever told," Paul said with chuckle.
Mal skillfully poured a pint of molasses over his next target. "That's a good story. I figured as much."
Paul said, "The odd part is that the coaches never talked about it either. Rabbit kept his mouth shut. Total silence."
Chomp, chomp, then, "We sorta figured it out," Mal said. "Knew something bad happened at halftime. Neely couldn't pass, then word leaked that he was wearing a cast the next week at school. Figured he hit something. Figured it might've been Rake. Lots of rumors over the years, which, as you know, ain't hard to find in Messina."
"I've never heard anyone talk about it," Paul said.
A pull on the coffee. Neither Neely nor Paul were eating or drinking. "Remember that Tugdale kid, from out near Black Rock? A year or two behind you boys."
"Andy Tugdale," Neely said. "Hundred-and-forty-pound guard. Mean as a yard dog."
"That's him. We picked him up years ago for beatin' his wife, had him in jail for a few weeks. I played cards with him, somethin' I always do when we get one of Rake's boys in. I give 'em a special cell, better food, weekend passes."
"The perks of brotherhood," Paul said.
"Somethin' like that. You'll appreciate it when I arrest your little banker's ass."
"Anyway."
"Anyway, we were talkin' one day and I asked Tugdale what happened at halftime during the '87 title game. Clammed up, tight as a tick, not a word. I said I knew there'd been a fight of some sort. Not a word. I waited a few days, tried again. He finally said that Silo had kicked the coaches out of the locker room, told 'em to stay away from the sideline. Said there had been a rather serious disagreement between Rake and Neely. I asked him what Neely had hit to break his hand. A wall? A locker? A chalkboard? None of the above. Somebody else? Bingo. But he wouldn't say who."