Page 30 of 40-Yard Line

“Asbestos?” frowned Ghost.

“Asbestos. A former player, Tim Runyon, claimed that the building had made him sick when he was diagnosed with advanced-stage lung disease most likely caused by asbestos exposure.”

“That should have been easy to prove,” said Gaspar.

“Apparently, the building was tested twice, and both times showed no signs of asbestos. What do you want to bet she paid off the companies who came in and did the testing?” said Angel.

“That’s an easy bet to win,” said Nine. “I’m seeing several reports from the team doctors around suspected symptoms from the concussions. Chronic headaches, mood swings, even episodes of psychosis. These poor bastards have been abused beyond belief.”

“That’s not all,” said Trak. “The helmets don’t meet the standards that the NFL set forth for its players. They’re using helmets that have been modified but are from the eighties and nineties. The safety technology has advanced beyond belief since then. These guys have been abused, lied to, poisoned, and disabled.”

“What about the contract you found?” asked Ian.

“We took photos of it and sent it to Georgie. She said she’d look at it first thing this morning and let us know what it says. I do think we need to speak with him and Kurt, the new QB.”

“Good morning,” said Trevon, stepping into the room. “I just got a weird call from Petey Rossi. He sounds bad. He said he wasn’t feeling like himself and needed help. I was going to go to him.”

“We’ll go with you,” said Ghost. “You don’t know what’s going on with him.”

Ghost, Gaspar, and Trevon piled into an SUV, and he directed them toward Petey’s townhouse in the city. When they pulled up, it didn’t look like anyone was home. Then Trevon noticed Petey looking through blinds as if he was worried that someone was coming for him.

“Has he ever shown signs of paranoia before?” asked Gaspar.

“Not to me, but we weren’t exactly best friends,” said Trevon. He knocked on the door, and Petey opened it quickly, waving him inside.

“Who are they?”

“They’re friends, Petey. What’s going on?”

“My head. My head is killing me, and I told them I couldn’t practice today, but now they’re saying they’ll let me go, and I won’t get any money.”

“Petey, my name is Gaspar. We’re working with Trevon now.”

“Working with him? Y’all are playing football?”

“No,” smirked Ghost. “We’re a bit old for that. We’re helping him to find out what happened with Butch.”

“She found someone to kill him. That’s what happened,” he said, pacing back and forth in his living room.

“She?” asked Gaspar.

“Glenda. She wanted me to get rid of Butch. She said if I did it, it would free up a lot of money for the rest of us. I told her no.”

“Why?” asked Trevon. Petey stared at him. “Come on, Petey. There was no love loss between you and Butch. You even said you thought he needed to retire.”

“Retire, yes. Die, no. I didn’t wish him dead. He was hurting, like the rest of us. This game, that place, it makes us sick, and we’re all slowly dying!”

“How did she want you to kill him?” asked Gaspar.

“She wanted me to allow the others to get to him, not cover him like I was supposed to. The problem with that is that it makes me look like a shitty O-lineman!”

“Okay, man. Why don’t you come with us?” said Trevon. Petey looked at him, then back at the other two men.

“Where? Are you taking me to a hospital?”

“No,” said Ghost. “We run a business that has a clinic on it. We can have someone check you out to be sure you’re okay. Then we can provide any treatment you need.”

“Where’s Debra? Where are the kids?” asked Trevon. Petey turned from him, nibbling on his lower lip.

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