Ironman by Chris Crutcher Page A

choke ’im to death if he don’t.”
    But Shuja couldn’t take it, and he leaped up and said, “Hey, man, I got to go to the bathroom, man, no shit, it jus’ come up on me.” Mr. Nak took his hand away and Shuja was gone . Left his shoes right there by his chair. Hudge hadn’t heard a word, just kept making that ssssss! sound and feeling the worst feeling of them all. Mr. Nak walked behind him and began massaging his shoulders, and when Hudgie finally opened his eyes, he looked surprised and disoriented to see us there. Mr. Nak dismissed us then, but he stayed there with Hudge, rubbing his shoulders and talking in that slow, easy voice.
    I didn’t notice how far under my skin that whole episode got when it happened, Lar, but it’s been with me all day, even through a thirty-five-mile bike ride and a monster workout at the university weight room. Mr. Nak’s take on anger touches me someplace deep, and what was going on with Hudgie was the real thing. Shuja knew it; hell, his shoes are probably still in the anger management room. And as crazy as ol’ Hudge looked, something about him connected with me.
    Hey, I’m calling it a night, Lar. Gotta get up bright andearly—actually, dark and early—to face Wyrack, who I think is going to want a piece of me. I’ve been beating him pretty regular. Be cool on the air today. Let the loons have their say.
    Ever your loyal fan,
The Mighty B

CHAPTER 5
    As he snaps his bicycle lock onto the bike rack in the parking lot adjacent to the Clark Fork University swimming pool in the early morning darkness, Bo glances up to see Ian Wyrack step out of his 1992 Geo Storm. Instinct tells him to run for it, but at least forty yards separate him from the pool entrance, and if Wyrack has to chase him down, he might be harder to deal with.
    Bo notices two more swimmer’s cars pull into the lot, and he pretends not to hear Wyrack’s quickening footsteps closing the distance between them. Ten yards from the door he breaks into an easy jog, hoping to show no fear, but a vise clamps onto his shoulder. “You cost me some extra mileage these last few days,” Wyrack says.
    Bo turns, smiling. “Yeah, we’re putting in somepretty fast repeats.”
    Wyrack’s steel grip guides Bo to the solid brick next to the pool entrance, shoving his back flat against it. “Yeah, well, maybe a little too fast,” he says. “Coach can’t get it out of his head that I’m dogging anytime I don’t kick your ass.”
    Hey, you’re the one who said it first, asshole, Bo thinks. “Yeah, I guess he does.”
    Three more swimmers approach and Bo anticipates serious carnage. “I’ll warn you once,” Wyrack says. “You better not give him any reason to think I’m dogging today, got it?”
    Bo doesn’t answer, glancing past Ian to determine the state of mind of the approaching swimmers, obscured in the predawn darkness. The first to reach them, a butterflier named Ron Koch, punches Wyrack’s arm. “Hey, Wyrack, what’s going on?”
    â€œNothing’s going on, Koch. Go on in and get suited up. Tell Coach I’ll be there in a minute. Soon as I get some speed tips from the Ironman.”
    â€œC’mon, Wyrack. He’s just a high schooler. Leave him alone.”
    â€œHey, up yours, Koch. I’m just talking to him.”
    Koch persists. “Wyrack, I know you. Just leave him alone, man.”
    Wyrack releases Bo to face Koch square on. Ian is a full head taller and every bit as stocky. “Hey, Koch, unless you want a piece of me, get out of here.”
    â€œOne of these days I might take you up on that. You’re a real asshole, you know that, Wyrack?”
    â€œYeah. Keep your flattering remarks to yourself. Get out of here.”
    The other two keep their distance, following Koch as he reluctantly turns away, and in that moment of Wyrack’s