What they didn’t look for were performance-enhancing drugs. They were easy to make, and it was easier to hide the fact that he was making them. In fact, he had seen many signs that authorities on campus made sure they didn’t know about anything untoward that helped their athletic programs. The agents who were going to represent these athletes gave big donations to those athletic programs. And alumni gave big donations when those same athletic programs did well. So Mike had plenty of support with grants and cushy jobs on campus, but no one actually acknowledged why.
Michael also received grants from the American Chemical Society and the university due to his work with polymer nanoparticles. They were black particles that could be sprayed onto cloth or neoprene and would hide a heat signature. Some very interested government agents had come in and talked to his professor when they went semipublic with the technology. All of a sudden everyone shut up about it, and he was warned to not talk about it. At the same time, he had received a tap on the shoulder from a headhunter at Dow Chemical. They assured him that he would have a lucrative career when he successfully graduated with his PhD.
Things were great for Michael. Everything was perfect. There was even a little intrigue beyond his love life. Though almost everyone knew what he did for those scholarships and grants, they all made sure it was clear that it absolutely had to be hidden. If he was ever caught, he would be lonelier than Tom Hanks on an island in the middle of the Pacific. A witch-hunt would ensue, and he would definitely end up being burned at the stake. No one would be there to step in and save him. So passing the drugs to his customers was done semidiscretely at a place called Woody’s, off campus.
_______
Michael walked into Dakota’s with his backpack full of cigar cases and moved over to the bar and ordered a beer. He turned and leaned against the bar as he took a drink. He watched the live country-and-western band as they butchered “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” He smiled and shook his head and watched as Luke Gideon approached him. Luke smiled back and sat his empty beer on the bar as he flicked his head at the bartender. The bartender nodded back and moved to grab him another beer. Luke turned around to position himself like Mike at the bar. “Two-a-days start next month. This will be the last I’ll need until next summer.”
Mike took a cigar case out of his backpack and put it on the bar. “You know you don’t have to worry about detection.”
Luke took the case and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans and then moved his hand to a front pocket as he shook his head. “Not taking any chances, Mike.”
Mike looked at him. “This is a special batch. You’re going to like it! But it’s a premium product, so there is a premium price.”
Luke stopped. “How much more?”
Mike took a drink of his beer. “One seventy-five.”
Luke stopped in the middle of tipping up his beer. “Shit! My agent is going to be pissed!”
Mike smiled. “I don’t think he’ll balk too much. You’re going to make him millions once you’re in the NFL. And besides, this strain is much harder to detect. It’s made with stuff no one has seen before. It’s going to make people call you Really Fast instead of just Fast.”
Luke looked at him with a sarcastic smile. “Riiiight.”
He took another drink of his beer and slapped a wad of cash into Mike’s hand. Luke’s teammates had nicknamed him Fast because they said he was the fastest white boy they had ever seen. Speed wasn’t his forte, though. He was one of those rare receivers who would line up in the slot and do cross routes among the beefy linebackers who were intent on tearing his head off his neck.
Luke chugged the rest of his beer as Randy set another on the bar. He grabbed it, nodded at Mike, and then walked back to where he had been sitting at a table when Mike walked in. Mike looked around at the sparse crowd; a few dancers were doing a line dance to “Cotton-Eyed Joe” now. The band wasn’t doing a very good version of this song either. But people seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Thinking about the mediocre country band, he turned his head toward the back of the bar and a Woody Woodpecker sign that was above a cove there. No one would believe that there was a rock ’n’ roll bar a hundred feet from where he stood. He couldn’t hear it even between songs. It was amazing to him that the popular place remained such a well-kept secret. Woody’s pulled in hundreds of customers, even during the week. Michael only went on Friday and Saturday nights and would pull in $3,000 or more in that time—plus spend both of those nights partying for free.
Luke was his only customer in this bar, so he chugged the rest of his beer and turned to put the empty on the bar. Randy pointed at the empty, and Mike shook his head as he threw $10 down on the bar. Randy grabbed the ten and held it up. “Keep it.”
Randy smiled and nodded his head at Mike in thanks.
He hiked his backpack back onto his shoulder and walked toward the sign.
When he reached the cove, he turned right and wound through several switchbacks with sound-absorbing panels. After passing several turns past the bathrooms, he started to hear a Nirvana song—“Come as You Are” was what he thought it was called. It sounded good. The live bands they got at Woody’s were much better than the ones they got for Dakota’s.
He turned around a switchback and saw a huge black man. Huge! As in tall and muscular.
“Mikey!”
Joey Johnson was a defensive end for the football team. Everyone was sure he was going to be recruited before he graduated.
“Hey, Joey.”
Mike had to talk loud because the band was loud here at the top of the stairs leading down to the basement bar. Joey gave him a handshake and a bro hug.
“What’s going on, Mikey? You got something for me?”
Mike backed up and gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t know what you could be talking about, Mister Johnson.”
Joey got a baffled look on his face and looked around as if someone could be listening. Mike looked around too and laughed.
Joey continued to look baffled for a few seconds and then cracked a smile. “You bastard, quit fuckin’ with me, man.”
Mike smiled. “Of course I got something, Joey. In fact, I have something extra special for you tonight, man.” Mike pulled out a cigar pack and laid it on the podium where Joey was standing. Joey picked it up and pulled the cap off, showing the top of the syringes inside. Michael shot his hand out and pushed Joey’s hands down as he heard someone approaching from behind.
Joey could see who it was before Mike could and started smiling. “What’s up, Digga!”
Joey moved toward Mark “Digger” Vernon and gave him the same bro hug.
Digger turned to Mike after returning Joey’s platitude. “Hey, Mikey, you my man tonight?”
“You know I am, Digger! I’ll see you downstairs. Just finishing up with Joey.”
Joey beamed a smile as Digger punched him in the arm lightly as he passed.
Digger was a center. He had gained his name in high school from the way he dug his toes in before setting himself over the football. He was really good and was also being looked at by NFL scouts. In fact, most of Mike’s athlete customers were represented and would eventually be professional athletes. This was good because the agents would pay for his product. It was a good investment for them.
Michael watched Digger and his entourage go down the stairs and thought, Too bad I don’t like girls. This place is crawling with them.
He turned back to Joey and flicked his head at him.
Joey smiled and turned his attention back to Michael. “Damn! How does that white boy get all that pussy to follow him around?”
“You would know better than me, Joey! You shower with the man.”
Joey turned to him with a frown. “You don’t think I be checking out men’s dicks, do ya?”
Michael smiled. “No way, J. I’ve seen you walkin’ around with some p
retty smokin’ pussy too!”
Joey smiled at that and held his hand over his shoulder with the money in it. Michael held out his hand, and Joey slapped the money into it and pulled him in again for another bro hug, but he released it a bit quicker this time, realizing what Michael had just alluded to with him and Digger. Michael chuckled and turned to go down the stairs as he heard the band start up again. “Heart-Shaped Box.”
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, several people in the room noticed him and waved. Some tried to get him to come over, but he kept scanning the room for Digger, finally spotting him sitting with several other football players. He walked to the table and clapped one of them on the shoulder.
Digger noticed him then and jumped up, saying, “Mikey! My man! Sit down, buddy.”
He started to grab a chair for him, but one of them stood up and said, “That’s OK, Dig. I’m gonna go find better company.”
He turned to walk away as Digger said, “Come on, Chucky. Don’t be like that. Mikey’s a good guy.”
Chucky turned back and pointed at Digger. “You guys are puttin’ poison in your body, and it’s going to kill you eventually.”
Digger smiled. “Fine, we’ll catch up later.”
Michael didn’t look at him, but he could feel Chuck Stoner staring at him.
That particular kind of situation was his biggest fear. Chuck Stoner was particularly concerning. Digger startled him by smacking his hand down on the table and yelling, “Mikey!”
Michael jumped and smiled at Digger. Digger smiled back and tipped his head back for a loud “Ha ha!”
Michael chuckled again with the rest of the guys at the table.
“Don’t worry about Chucky. You’re his meal ticket too. Even if he doesn’t use the stuff, the NFL scouts don’t look too close at teams that suck!”
Michael only gave him a polite smile at that comment. He was sure Chucky would dime on him in a New York minute.
After having a couple of drinks and taking care of the other guys at that table, he moved on with fist bumps all around. Then he made his rounds, doing basically the same thing at several more tables before settling down to enjoy himself. That night he walked out drunk and $1,900 richer. Life was good!
_______
It had been a sunny spring, so when Digger pulled down his shorts enough to inject himself, there was a tan line that made his exposed ass shine as if it were florescent.
Joey glanced over with a smile. “Damn, put that thing away, Digga! You’re going to blind someone.”
Digger was awkwardly trying to poke himself. “Come here and do this, Joey. I can’t stand needles.”
Joey remembered what Michael had teased him about last night. “No way, motherfucker! I ain’t no faggot!”
Digger got an angry look on his face and growled, “Goddammit Joey, my asshole is way over here. Get your ass over here and help me before someone comes in that shouldn’t see me getting it.”
Joey walked over and grabbed the syringe from Digger and jabbed it in hard. Then he squeezed the contents into Digger’s buttocks and pulled it out.
“What the fuck, man! That fuckin’ hurt!”
Joey smiled at him as he took his own and jabbed his own butt cheek. “That’s how a man does it!”
Digger shook his head and grabbed his towel to head out to the weight room. Joey grabbed his towel and jogged to catch up to him.
Digger and Joey went straight to the bench lift station, and Digger checked the weight on the bar already in the cradle. He counted 250 pounds.
“Put on another fifty for me, Dig.”
Digger slid off the outermost twenty-five-pound disc and replaced it with a fifty while Joey did the same on the other side. Joey bounced on the balls of his feet and stretched out his pectorals. After shaking out his arms a couple of times, he slid into place under the bar and placed his hands just a little wider than his shoulders’ width. Digger moved over to spot him and clenched his teeth. “Come on, Joey. Let’s go! I want ten, man!”
Joey pushed out three quick breaths and pushed the bar up and out of the cradle. He let the weight down and pushed it back up, then got a puzzled look on his face. He did the same nine more times, much quicker than he had ever done this weight before. He put the bar back into its cradle and jumped up to start bouncing again and flexing his biceps. Joey looked at Digger’s shocked face.
“Check that weight, man. That didn’t feel like three hundred.”
Digger just glanced at the bar, because he knew.
“Three fifties on each side Joey. No doubt about what you just did! Spot me.”
Digger stretched the way Joey had, but without the bouncing. Then he slid into place on the bench and pushed the bar up and out over his chest. He pumped the bar twenty times before putting it back. He turned and sat up on the bench flexing his biceps. When he looked up, Joey had an incredulous look on his face.
“Holy fuck!”
Digger smiled at him. “Put two more fifties on there.”
Joey did as he said. As Digger turned to slide back under, he noticed several other guys moving toward them now. He looked at Joey. “It looks like we have an audience.”
Joey moved to spot him and grabbed the bar, ready to give a major assist with the four-hundred-pound weight. Digger slid under the bar again. Giving his three quick breaths, he pushed the bar out. Joey didn’t have to assist at all. Digger pumped the bar ten times. After he replaced the bar, he turned and sat up. When he looked up, he saw three stunned faces looking back at him.
“Mikey was right about this shit being special!”
Joey pointed at one of the other weight lifters. “You, put on another fifty over there.”
Joey grabbed another fifty also and added it to his side. This was the max weight one could put on the bar safely. He pushed Digger out of the way and positioned himself to lift. Digger hurried around to spot as Joey moved the weight out over his chest. Joey barely strained to pump it ten more times. After replacing it, he pointed at one of the other weight lifters and said, “You, move over here and lean on the bar as I lift.”
Digger moved out of the way for the smaller man. When Joey pushed out the weight, the man stretched out his arms and pushed down on the bar. Joey pumped the five hundred pounds and the weight of the man pushing down ten more times. This time Joey jumped up and gave a feral scream like the wrestlers do for televised events.
They decided to move on to other stations to test their limitations. The weights they could lift were inhuman. They had gathered quite a large audience when the O-line coach slammed the door open as he entered the gym.
“All right, somebody tell me what the fuck is going on in here right now!”
Somebody spoke up right away. “Digger and Joey are putting on a show, Coach!”
Digger was on the O-line, so the coach immediately yelled, “Where are you, Digger?”
He trotted over. “Hey, Coach, we got something to show you!”
Before the coach could reply, he waved him toward the bench-press station.
Digger pumped the five hundred pounds ten quick times and, without replacing it, nodded to Joey. Joey moved over and leaned on the bar. Digger pumped it ten more times.
The coach had a dumbfounded look on his face as he walked over to check the weight on the bar. “You idiots had better not be fuckin’ with me!”
Just then Digger got a sharp pain in his lower back and screamed out. “Aaggghhh!”
The pain was so great that he flipped off the bench backward. The coach put his hands on his hips as Digger rolled around in pain. He looked up at Joey as the same happened to him. Coach Nielson pointed at the guy who had greeted him at the door. “Go call an ambulance!”
He knelt down next to Digger and said to anyone, “What the hell have you guys gotten yourselves into?”
As if it were a cu
e for him to arrive, Chuck Stoner walked into the gym.
_______
Michael was awoken by a loud knock on his dorm-room door. He sat up and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands to focus enough to see the clock. Who would be pounding on his door at seven on a Sunday morning?
“Go away, asshole. Come back at noon.”
He plopped back down as the visitor banged again and loudly. “Michael Tanner, this is Campus Security. We need you to come with us.”
Michael sat back up. He quickly jumped out of bed and grabbed his backpack and dumped out the contents. There were three cigar cases inside. He opened them to find only cigars. With that, he breathed a sigh of relief and stuffed them back in. He yelled at the door, “Hold on. I need to get dressed.”
The campus policeman pounded again. “You need to open the door right now, Tanner!”
Michael pulled on his pants as he moved to open the door. Two campus policemen stepped into the room.
“Get a shirt and shoes on, Mr. Tanner. We need to take you to the president’s office right away.”
They didn’t cuff him, but he definitely felt as if he were under arrest. They put him in the back of their police car and drove across campus in silence. Michael didn’t want to know what this was about.
When the secretary led him toward the door of the president’s office, the rent-a-cops stayed out in the hallway as if they were settling in to wait for him. This made him even more nervous. President Whyte was behind his desk when the secretary opened the door for him. There were two other people in the room when he walked in. Coach Nielson was sitting against a wall by the windows, so he couldn’t see the expression on his face clearly. His posture was definitely one that told a pretty clear tale, though. He was pissed!
The other person in the room was a young man. He had a slight resemblance to the president, with a boyish, disheveled look. He turned to look at Michael, and their eyes met. His face was definitely that of a young man, but his eyes were those of a mature one. Electricity passed between them. Not only did Michael feel it, he could tell the slender, good-looking young man felt it too. Michael turned to look at President Whyte but still felt the young man’s eyes staring at him.
Origin Z Page 3
