Page 36 of 40-Yard Line

“She wanted him dead,” said Joe. “She wanted me to hit him so hard in the head that he wouldn’t get up. I couldn’t do it. It was an illegal hit. My head was down, and I went straight for his head, but I couldn’t ensure that the impact would kill him.”

“Couldn’t ensure the impact would kill him,” repeated Jean with disdain. “You fucking asshole. It could have killed you!”

“I know,” said Joe, waving a hand to get Jean to lower his voice. “I’m well aware. She was pissed and only paid me half the money.”

“I should take you out back and beat the fuck out of you,” said Miller. Joe scoffed, giving him a knowing smirk.

“If you think you can, old man.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Listen to me. You might be some tough football player, but you have no idea who and what these men are,” said Kari. “My husband would eat you alive and spit out the bones, hiding them where they’d never be found. Do not fuck with us!”

He swallowed, staring at the beautiful woman, shocked by the language she was using. He tried to relax against the sofa, but Antoine leaned forward on his elbows, inches from his face.

“Why the fuck did she want him dead?”

“Same reason she wanted Hardesty and Rossi dead. They’ve got injuries and diagnosed lung disease from the asbestos.” He stared at them like they were stupid as he spilled the tea to them. “I mean, you know about all that, right?”

“Yes, we knew about all that. Rossi killed himself,” said Kari. “Trevon was there when it happened.”

“He might have pulled the trigger on himself, but believe me, she was the one pulling the strings in the background. Look, not all the owners are like her, but she’s the fucking worst. She made sure that every contract ensured that she didn’t have to pay out a dime if they left due to injuries related to anything, and I do mean anything.”

“That’s not legal,” said Kari.

“Tell that to her,” he scoffed. “Look, all I did was make a hit on Butch. It’s football. It’s what we do.”

“No. You intentionally made a hit on a man for money to his head. The same man and head that had received multiple concussions, and you were paid to actually make the hit so severe you would kill him. That’s assault with intent to do harm and payment with intent to kill.”

“No one will believe you,” he smirked. Jean smiled at him, holding up his phone to show that he’d been recording the entire conversation.

“Wanna bet?”

“Hey! Hey, you can’t fucking do that!”

“Wanna bet?” laughed Antoine, repeating his brother’s words.

“What do you want?”

“Simple. I want you to help us nail Glenda Pinken. I want that woman behind bars, charged with murder and a myriad of other crimes.”

“And just how the hell am I supposed to help you do that? I’m not even on her team, and believe me, I have no intention of moving to her team.”

“We could arrange that,” said Miller. “See, I’m going to bet your owner would love to get rid of a man like you and happily give you to Glenda and her team.”

“No. No, please, don’t do that to me.”

Kari sat back, elegantly crossing her legs. She wiped her hand along her thigh, looking at her husband and brothers-in-law. She was a master at making men uncomfortable during interrogations.

“Lady, please.”

“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go back to Glenda, tell her you need money. Problems with a woman or something equally stupid that you might do.” He frowned at her, and Miller growled in his direction. “When she accepts, and we both know she’ll accept your help, you’re going to call me and tell me who she wants gone. Clear.”

“Clear.”

“Crystal clear?” asked Kari.

“Yes. Crystal clear.”

“When does your team play the Fire again?” asked Antoine.

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