Page 38 of 40-Yard Line

It took some convincing, but Trevon was finally able to get Kurt to meet them at the café. Like Glen Pinken, he wanted something early in the morning when no one would see him or recognize him. This time, it wasn’t three men waiting for him but five.

Ghost, Ian, Nine, Gaspar, and Trevon waited at two tables for the car to pull up.

“You gonna get mad at this boy?” asked Jackie. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“I can’t guarantee I won’t, Miss Jackie, but all these men will keep me from making a mess in the diner if I do.”

“Mmhmm,” she said with a side grin. “Look, you’re a big man, grown full. Control your temper, or someone will get hurt. You want this boy to tell you things be nice, and maybe he will.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiled. She left his coffee and five plates with cinnamon rolls and walked back behind the counter. It wouldn’t start getting really busy for another hour or so.

“Glenda bought out Glen yesterday,” said Ian. “She’s the sole owner. Sole person responsible for everything. If the kingdom falls, it’s on her.”

“It will fall,” said Trevon. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

“Trevon? Miller, Kari, Antoine, and Jean went to see Joe Sheffler yesterday,” said Gaspar. “He was paid by Glenda to make that hit on Butch. She wanted him dead, but Sheffler couldn’t do it.”

“No, he could just ruin his career and nearly kill him,” he frowned. “It doesn’t surprise me. He’s been making dirty hits for a while now. I’m surprised he’s still allowed to play.”

“He’s allowed to play because she’s paying the refs as well.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “What is wrong with people?”

“That’s a loaded question,” said Ian. “There’s a helluva lot wrong with people. We try to weed through it all but aren’t always successful with that. Did you see Riley about an x-ray on your lungs?”

“Yes, sir. She said everything looked good but was pretty sure that your warm pond had something to do with it,” he said, shrugging. The men all nodded, smiling at the young man. “Hey, I think that’s him.”

Sure enough, the bell above the door rang, and Kurt Michaels walked into the café. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt, looking like he’d just crawled out of bed.

“Kurt, thanks for meeting me,” said Trevon.

“Sure. Sure,” he said nervously. “You look good. Are you doing alright? Do you need anything?”

“Naw, man. I don’t need anything except information.” Kurt nodded, looking at the other men. “They’re friends. They can be trusted. I just want to find the truth about what happened with Butch.”

Kurt was quiet for a long moment. Jackie poured him a cup of coffee and set down a cinnamon roll for him. He nodded but never looked up. Trevon started to speak, but Ghost gripped his hand beneath the table, telling him to remain silent.

“I couldn’t tell him no.” The other men frowned at him, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“What do you mean?” asked Trevon.

“Butch. I couldn’t tell him no. After practice that day, I found him in the training room in that damn ice bath. He said he’d help me better understand the defense of the team we were playing that week.”

“And did he?” asked Nine.

“Yes, sir. He was great. He knew everything and everyone. Told me all sorts of things I wouldn’t have thought of. He was amazing.” They noticed that Kurt was near tears and quieted, letting him collect his thoughts.

“When he finished talking about football, he gripped my arm and asked me to do one favor for him.”

“What did he want?” asked Trevon.

“He asked me to kill him.”

“What?” said the five men in unison.

“He said he had to die but and that an autopsy needed to happen on his body. He didn’t want to put a bullet in his head because he said they would want to look at his head. He didn’t want to take pills because he said they would write it off as an overdose.”

“So he asked you to slit his wrists?” said Ghost.

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