Hit Squad Read Free Page A

five of them that particular night, were hanging loose, grins on their faces, enjoying Hulk’s embarrassment as the Mercedes roared off down the lane.
    Afterwards, Mickey thought about the nerve of that blonde kid. Even though she was scared, she faced up to Hulk. Hulk in his black T-shirt with the sleeves torn off. Menacing her with muscles, tattoos and a thirty-inch wrecking bar! Plus the tough-looking-but-mostly-harmless Cougars behind him in the glare of that single headlight.
    The blonde kid hadn’t noticed Mickey, of course. Back then he was only a skinny kid with a dirty face.
    And now, here she was again. A couple of years older. She was looking into Mickey’s eyes. She didn’t know him. But he recognized her all right. He’d never forget the way she’d stood there, the beam from the Mercedes backlighting her hair, and Mickey feeling like a frog, awestruck at the sight of the beautiful princess.

Chapter Four
    The band room was a quiet place. It was separated from the noise of the school by a long corridor and by its lonely basement location. Birgit’s voice was low, her upper-crust tones casual. Mickey willed his eyes from her face and looked at Peter Miller lounging easily beside her.
    â€œYou both know Peter from the football team,” said Birgit, smiling up at Peter.
    They were a couple. It was obvious. Peter was an eleventh grader.
    Peter smiled back at her like he owned her.
    Freshface from years ago? Mickey wondered. No. Peter was only two years older than Mickey. Freshface, whoever he was, was graduated and long gone.
    Peter was big and good-looking: blue eyes, expensively cut hair that flopped carelessly over onto his forehead. He wore sharp-looking jeans, cell phone clipped to the belt, white shirt, maroon sweater, Nike Airs. He and Birgit sat on the desk like a pair of matching bookends. He smiled. White, even teeth. “Hi, Michael,” he said, following Birgit’s lead.
    It was the first time any member of the team had ever called Mickey by name—any name, Mickey or Michael.
    Mickey nodded and lowered himself onto an old collapsed sofa beside Whisper. Whisper’s real name was Winston Smith. He was a husky, thick-necked kid, almost as wide as he was tall. His face wore a permanentgrin. Everyone on the football team called him Whisper because of his quiet, scratchy voice.
    Whisper didn’t seem to notice that Mickey was there. His eyes were locked on Birgit. “So tell us what we’re doing here, baby,” he asked her, grinning.
    Except for two bottles of Snapple parked beside them on the desk, neither Birgit nor Peter appeared to have any lunch. They sat composed and unsmiling. They looked Mickey and Whisper over for several seconds without saying a word.
    Mickey took a bite of his cheese-and-tomato sandwich and discovered he was no longer hungry. He dropped the sandwich back into the bag. He studied Birgit, comparing the girl he saw before him now with that gutsy kid who had faced up to Hulk that night in the alley. He had admired her then, and he admired her now. She was older now, of course, and more sure of herself. Her hair was shining and fine like silk. He waited for her to speak.
    â€œI called this meeting,” she said, “because you boys have something in common: you’re football players and you’re tough.”
    â€œTough?” said Whisper.
    Birgit smiled. “That’s right, Whisper. I’ve watched you on the football field. You’re like a bulldozer.”
    Birgit looked at Mickey. “You too, Michael. I heard you nailed one of the Agostino brothers Monday with your locker door. Too bad they ganged up on you. I hear that you’re smart. And I’ve seen you play football. You play like it’s a war.”
    Mickey said nothing. This was embarrassing. He was no tough guy. Everyone seemed to think that because you came from Creekside you were tough. And Birgit could tell by just looking at him