by Michael Beck
I rounded the next wall and shot two before they could move. They yelled out a warning to their teammates. I cut through on the inside of the next wall and jumped through the window. Two men fell over, trying to turn towards me. I shot them both and their lights turned red. Dead. That left two, but one of them was Bear.
Bear was probably bigger than any of his Big Store teammates but any similarity ended there. No one had ever called Bear slow.
There was only one wall left. Fatty and Skinny were still doing their elephant shuffle along the side. I ran into the middle, making a target of myself. Fatty and Skinny broke into a sprint for the flag. Bear and his teammate stood up and fired at me from their window. As I returned fire, Skinny tripped and shot Fatty in the back. Skinny clambered back up and stepped on Fatty's back as he went for the flag. I shot Bear's teammate, but then got taken out by Bear. Bear turned towards Skinny but he was already holding the flag, waving it above his head like he had just successfully stormed the beaches of Normandy.
What do players from the Big Store do after a hard, physical bout of exercise designed to tone bodies and minds? They stand around drinking soft drinks and hot dogs of course. While The Big Store people kept getting bigger, Bear and I packed away the guns. Jade sat on the carpet with Bear's eight-year-old daughter, Jessica, who was braiding Jade's hair. Jessica was a pretty, mini, blonde version of her mom, Angie. Although Jade never spoke, during these times with Bear's daughters, there seemed a stronger sense of contentment about her. Did she realize that she was being looked after by someone who cared for her? I liked to think so but perhaps I was just transferring my feelings to her.
"So, do you think this Symonds is a third victim of Cupid?" said Bear, continuing the conversation we had begun earlier.
"He could be. He's male, was burnt to death and he had severe chest wounds."
"Was the wound like Abrahams' or your dad's?"
"I don't think so but that's not necessarily a negative. Apparently his chest was crushed. If you were Cupid and you were trying to disguise your work, what would you do?"
"Crush his chest and then make it look like a gas explosion did it?"
"Exactly."
"But, Tan, there's one big problem with this one."
"You mean the heart?"
"Yeah. If it was Cupid the heart would be gone, wouldn't it? That's what he does."
"I know. That worries me too. But two things tell me this was him. If this guy gets stung by a fire ant he goes into anaphylactic shock. So, if you were he, would you go outside, barefooted at night in an area where they have fire ant nests?"
"Do the cops have this one?"
"It was on their list. But I don't think they've looked at it yet."
"Are you going to pass on your suspicions?"
"I haven't decided."
I sensed Bear watching me.
"Bensen will be really pissed if he finds out you've been talking to potential witnesses," he said.
I could feel the smile spread on my face.
Bear grinned back at me. "All right then," he said as he locked the laser gun cabinet. "Oh. What's number two?"
"Two?"
"You said there were two things that convinced you this might be Cupid. What's the other one?"
Jessica, after finishing braiding Jade's hair, turned her iPhone on and stuck one earpiece in Jade's ear and one in her own. Jessica began singing and clapping to the beat, her hands on Jade's thighs. Jade didn't move and continued to stare straight ahead. My eye was caught by a tiny movement. I looked down and stared, not believing what I was seeing. Jade's foot was moving to the beat of Jessica's hands. Not much. In fact, only a bare centimeter. But it was moving.
"The other one?" I said abstractedly. "The other one was the medical report on Symonds. Symonds had a fractured skull." I looked at Bear to see if he understood.
"Where on the skull?"
He did.
"The fracture was on the back of his head. He was hit from behind."
Just like Abrahams and my dad.
CHAPTER 22
Decker and I had just finished changing into our gear for training when a bald, elderly trainer appeared.
"Sanderson, wants to see you in his office," he said to Decker.
Decker rolled his eyes. "Here it comes. Guess who's about to get the chop?"
"Come on. I'll go with you."
"He only said Decker," said the trainer. He reminded me of a mummified body I had seen one time in a museum: small, withered and brown.
"Sanderson and I are close friends," I said, "He'll be disappointed if I don't drop by." The trainer regarded me doubtfully. I slapped him on the back. "How about those Cardinals winning the Championship back in 1925? You'll have to tell me about it sometime."
He opened his mouth and closed it, throwing me a puzzled glance as Decker and I moved off.
Sanderson's office overlooked the main training field. I could see Jeffries practicing on-side kicks, while Hawk was running kick returns. The team had lost to the Redskins yesterday 42 to 22, so the mood was not as high as it had been lately. Decker didn't show it but the loss was good for him. If Hastings kept winning it would be hard for him to force his way back in the team. I had to give Decker credit. He seemed happy for the team to win even when he wasn't playing.
Decker's agent, Chester, was in the office as well as two suits.
"Troy, thanks for coming," said Sanderson. "I asked Chester to pop in as this meeting concerns him. This is Spencer Jackson, representing the NFL, and Kyle Hillwall from our legal team."
Jackson was tall and thin with glasses. Hillwall reminded me of a seal: plump, slicked-back, black hair and oily skin.
"Mark, this meeting is private, if you don't mind," said Sanderson.
"I want him to be here," said Decker.
This surprised me. He hadn't said two words to me since our spat the other day.
Sanderson shrugged. "Very well, it's your call. Troy, I've called this meeting because of some concerns we have regarding some incidents that have happened lately. Namely, you being arrested by the police for possession and carrying an unregistered weapon. Also, your involvement in a number of incidents that might bring the Turbos' reputation into disrepute is a key concern."
"What are you saying?" said Decker.
"Hey, let me tell you right now, whether Troy plays or sits out I want his contract honored," said Chester, who was looking like a kid who had found his Christmas stocking empty.
"Whether I play? Of course I'm going to play." Decker turned to Sanderson. "Aren't I?"
"Look, Troy, I would love for you to play, but we feel that, with all the negative publicity you have been drawing lately, it might be better for the team if you sit out a while. Just until all this blows over."
"Blows over? If I wait until this blows over, do you think Coach will want to renew my contract for next year?"
"I don't know. That's Coach's call."
"If I sit out it will be the end of my career. No one will want to pick me up."
"I don't know, Troy. Michael Vick came back and he's doing better than ever. As a free agent we might do pretty well," said Chester.
"We?" Decker said disgustedly. "There's no 'we' about it. It's my career we're talking about. Are you my manager or what? Do something!"
"Legally, we are quite within our rights to enforce this," Hillwall, the legal eagle, said. "Remember, you have a behavior and criminal offence clause in your contract. We can sack you if you commit a criminal offence and if your behavior brings the Turbos into disrepute."
"But you aren't sacking him, right?" said Chester.
"No, we just want Troy to sit out until some of this blows over," said Sanderson. "For Troy's sake, we don't want to have to enforce our rights in this matter. It's in everyone's favor if he accepts this. Troy will still be paid."
This was obviously directed at Chester who seemed happy with this.
"So Troy's got a criminal offense clause in his contract, is that righ
t?" I said to Hillwall.
Hillwall turned to me. "Ah, yes. That's right."
"So this clause, I imagine, states something to the effect that if Decker is charged or convicted of a criminal offence his contract can be terminated. Right?"
"Well, yes. Something like that."
"Here, have a look at this."
I placed my phone on Sanderson's desk, bought up the video text message and pressed play. They all gathered around the desk and silently watched it.
"Sorry, I must be missing something," said Hillwall. "What are we watching this for?"
"That's someone planting the drugs and gun in Decker's car."
"Well, I'm sure this will all come out in the police investigation. We just have to let time take its course."
"Decker doesn't have time. You know it. Sanderson knows it. In effect, you're sacking him without sacking him to avoid more negative publicity."
"No, no, no. I told you, we aren't sacking Troy, even though we would be in our rights to do so," protested Sanderson.
"No, you aren't. All charges against Troy were dropped yesterday so he hasn't been charged with a criminal offence."
"Yes, well that might be," said Hillwall, "but there are strict behavior guidelines that, it could be said, Decker is in breach of."
"Behavior guidelines? Are you serious? Here we have a man who is being stalked and attacked, whose very life and career have been threatened by some dangerous lunatic, and you want to talk about behavior guidelines? You mentioned waiting for this to blow over with the media. How long do you think it would take to blow over if Decker took this public?
"What a story! And I don't think you would come out of it very well, Sanderson. A club that bails out on their best player when he has been physically assaulted and framed by a dangerous lunatic isn't going to go down to well with John Q Citizen. And, Mr. Hillwall, I think there might be a hefty lawsuit in the wings for defamation and unfair dismissal. What did you earn this year, Troy?"
"Ten million."
"Ten million? I might change my mind about charging you. You sure you want to go down this track, Sanderson?"
Sanderson was quiet except for the drumming of one hand on his desk. Hillwall began to speak but Jackson, the NFL rep who had been silent up until now, held up his hand.
"This obviously is a complex issue," said Jackson. "While the League is concerned about the image of our teams, the player's welfare always comes first. Perhaps the Turbos may be acting too hastily in their attempt to prevent any more damage to Troy's reputation. We would all hate to see the name of such a great player sullied by our acting prematurely, even if it is for his own welfare. So in the spirit of fair play, let's all move forward and look to the future."
Decker shot me a bemused glance. "So? Can I play?"
"I reckon that's what he said but let me check my bullshit meter first."
After leaving Sanderson's office, Decker and I headed back towards the locker room.
"Thanks," Decker said.
"No problem."
I felt him inspecting me.
"Why did you help me? After the other night, I thought..."
"You thought wrong. Liz wants you to play."
"So you're doing this for Liz?"
"Of course."
"Even though you hate my guts?"
"I don't hate your guts," I said, surprised.
"You think I'm hiding something?"
"Aren't you?"
He was silent. "Do you believe in atonement?" he said, finally.
I thought back to Afghanistan. "Yes." If I didn't, I would be damned forever.
"What about serial killers and murderers?"
"That's different. Some things are so bad you can't take them back."
Decker nodded. "That's right. Some are, aren't they?"
His face was expressionless and, for the life of me, I couldn't read him.
We ran through a pack of reporters onto the field, with a barrage of questions flying over Decker's head.
"Was that your gun, Troy?"
"Do you have a drug problem, Troy?"
"How did they get into your car, Troy?"
Decker paid them no attention and kept running. Instead of doing laps, we ran up and down the far side of the field to stay away from the reporters.
"It's going to be like this every day now, even though I did nothing wrong."
"The truth has never gotten in the way of a good story," I agreed. "You'll have to give them a better story, that's all. Something that will chase this one away."
"Like what?"
"How about 'Decker defies odds to take Turbos to the Superbowl'?"
Decker laughed. "How about 'Decker pisses on Turbos contract and signs for fifty million with Miami."
"Now you're getting it. The press don't really care what they write about, so long as it's big and bold and sells a truckload of newspapers. You just have to give them something bigger and better than 'Decker does Drugs.'"
We commenced a series of sprints with a short rest between each run.
"I can't do that until I start playing. And so long as nothing else happens."
"Keep your head down and train your butt off. You're not far away."
"The leg's feeling better every day. I think I'll be right for the Colts game." He nodded toward Coach, who was walking across the field towards us. "It just depends on whether Coach will play me."
"How's the leg going, Troy?" Coach said when he came near.
"Good. I think I might be right for the Colts."
"We'll see. We don't want to rush it, do we?"
"Coach, it wasn't your idea to bench me, was it?"
"No. If I don't want you on the team, I'll tell you. I think Sanderson was under pressure from the League to be seen to do something. You leave Sanderson to me. I'll speak to him. You just get fit. If you were playing, all of this shit would blow over." Coach pinned me with a look. "Keep him out of trouble. If anything else happens I don't know if I can keep him."
After training we showered and began dressing. The locker room was packed with players, trainers and fitness staff. Decker lay on a massage table, being checked over by the team physio and doctor. Hawk walked past, dripping wet, with a towel around his waist.
"Hey, Troy, I'm going hunting this week," he said. "Know where I can pick up a cheap gun?"
"No. But I can tell you where to pick up a cheap girl. That's the kind you like, isn't it?"
All of the players laughed.
"Hey, Troy, want to come over for my kid's birthday party this weekend?" called out another. "Hold it. I just remembered we're watching some cartoons. Think you can handle it? My kid can sit with you if that will help."
Troy surprised me. He took all the ribbing good naturedly and gave back as good as he got.
I had just pulled on my boxers when reporters started entering the locker-room. Bob was among them. I turned my back and quickly pulled on my t-shirt. I didn't want her seeing my tattoo or scars. The date was more than enough for someone of Bob's quick intelligence to trace my real identity.
"Hey there, informed, reliable, inside-source," she said. "What do you have for me?"
"Hawk's got crotch itch and I think I have athletes' foot. Would you like a photo?"
"Well, it was great while it lasted. Did you see my story?"
"Uh huh."
She sat down next to me in my corral. She was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt that said Scooped you! "I owe it all to you." She patted my leg. Her fingers were long and soft. "Did you see what everyone else had? They all went with the Decker arrested or Decker charged angle. I was the only one who predicted that no charges would be laid and that Decker was framed. All of the other publications were left with egg on their faces. My boss was ecstatic."
She leaned closer to me, her hand still on my thigh, and whispered, "He was so impressed, there is a chance I might get moved up and get my own column. I just need one or two more good stories to show him I've got what it takes."
&n
bsp; "Oh, I'm sure you've got what it takes all right," I said, while lifting her hand off my leg.
She grinned, her blue eyes bright and shining. "Sorry. Hey, any more news on who was trying to frame Decker? That could be a great follow up piece."
"Why don't you ask him." I gestured toward Decker, still lying on the massage table. There were at least ten reporters around him asking questions. Just then Chester arrived and announced he would be holding a press conference in ten minutes in the media room. The reporters scattered.
"Cheesy Chester," said Bob. "The man's a buffoon. He wouldn't know the inside story of his own life. You on the other hand seem to be Decker's best friend. Which is pretty amazing, because no one had heard of you until you joined the team nine days ago. And yet you were the only one who knew that Decker wouldn't be charged."
"I told you I was psychic."
"Well, then, what I am about to say will come as no surprise to you. I checked your high school records and a Mark Rennat did play for Roosevelt twelve years ago. And your coach, you will be happy to know, gave you a glowing report."
That was Dan Oldfield. Dan's teenage daughter had been sexually groomed online by an older man posing as a teenager three years ago. He had duped her into sending him naked photos of herself, which he was threatening to publish online unless she paid him twenty thousand dollars. Mole traced the man and Bear and I paid him a visit. The problem went away. Dan, as a result, was quite happy to help with the alter ego Mole had created for me.
"He was a great coach," I said.
Bob studied me. "Yes. Well, Oldfield might have thought you were great but it seems you didn't make much of an impression on any of the other teachers. I asked round and not one other teacher remembered you. You had seven different teachers and only the football coach remembers you. What do you think about that?"
"I was pretty nerdy, so most teachers didn't really notice me. It wasn't until I left school that I grew tall and handsome like I am now. Hard to believe, isn't it?"
