Chapter 2: Second Period

Fred and Hank stood shivering at the door to the conference hall that made up part of the brand-new Sault Ste. Marie Convention and Sports Centre, having a smoke. The two had driven big inter-city buses from Barrie, loaded with a Peewee team and their coaching staff, parents and siblings. The parking lot was chockablock full of other big comfortable buses, from all points of the compass. Some had come from southern Ontario, two from the Ottawa/Hull area, some from the States and a couple were from Manitoba.

And of course you weren't allowed to smoke inside. Their rapidly-cooling coffees kept their hands warm, offsetting the impact of the vasoconstrictors in the tobacco which, by reducing the size of the veins, tended to keep their hands cool.

A trim young lady popped her head out the door just as a last car came screaming into the parking lot. The occupants emerged in somewhat of a hurry. "Mr. and Mrs. Fielding? And this would be Bobbie? Defence on the West Park Panthers?" The young miss, resplendent in a Panthers jersey under her winter coat, nodded. "You just made it. Hurry up and get inside. The meeting is just ready to start."

The lady then turned to the drivers. "You two just about finished? If you hurry, there's still some breakfast left. You may want to pitch those coffin nails."

With that she shooed the parents and child in to the building.

"Well," said Fred as he ground the remains of his cigarette under his boot, "ready to go inside?"

The perimeter suddenly turned grey.

"Fred," Hank gulped, terrified, "isn't that one of those fields they put up when they're doin' a pick-up?"

Fred was stunned. "Yeah ... they must be doin' an extraction at the mall across the street."

Hank paused for two beats as he assessed the likelihood of Fred's guess. "No," he said slowly, his eyes growing bigger. "We'd see the street..."

"And we'd see the buildings next door..." Fred was also coming to a radically different conclusion than his first.

"It's here, isn't it?" Hank's voice was strangled.

"Yep. We better get inside."

"And fast!" Hank added.

Both men dropped their coffees, and Hank dropped his cigarette. The puddle of coffee gave a hiss as the butt landed in it. The pair then yanked open the double doors and raced inside as fast as their legs could take them.

Just before they had a chance to dash into the conference room that the pre-Tournament Breakfast was being served in, they were stopped by a half-dozen big men. Very big men. Very Very Big Men. 'Do not argue with me' Big Men.

"Let's calm down a moment, shall we?" suggested the apparent leader of the Very Very Big Men, himself a Very Very Big Man. His voice was as calm as milk, and his accent faintly Scottish.

Fred and Hank didn't argue with the Very Very Big Man. You especially don't argue with 'do not argue with me' big men when they are both armed and wearing body armour. They were hefting big-ass blasters the size of a .50-cal as easily as if they were sawed-off shotguns.

"We're going to walk in there, and we're not going to say anything about what we have seen in the corridor, are we?"

Fred gulped. "Nossir," he assented, eyes like saucers.

Hank just shook his head, scared spitless.

"Good. Now go in there and grab a seat, nice and calm like."