Page 41 of 40-Yard Line

“Coach, we need access to the training facility today so that we can take care of some things. We want to gather the evidence of the asbestos being in the building, as well as see if we can find evidence of chemicals still below the building from the chemical plant.”

“Jesus, she really did a number on all of us, didn’t she?”

“Yes, sir, she did,” said Trevon. “I started out trying to find justice for Butch, but this is much more. This is about finding justice for all of us. Most of those boys don’t even know what’s happening to them. We want to stop this.”

“I want to stop it as well. What about my assistant coaches? I’ve suspected for a while some of them were against me.”

“They are, sir,” said Kurt. “We’ve taken care of that as well. They’ll be, uh, indisposed on game day.”

“And I’m guessing you have coaches to take their place?” he frowned.

“You’re looking at ‘em,” smirked Ghost. “Me, Gaspar, Nine, and Ian. Old enough to be coaches, big enough to have played, smart enough to know what to do.” The coach let out a loud bark of laughter, shaking his head.

“I can’t argue with that.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“It’s their routine,” said Trevon, standing across the street from the Catfish Shack. “They come out here to eat, have a few beers, and get loose before a game.”

“Shame for them that we know the owners,” smirked Angel. “Stay out of sight, Trevon. We’re serious. The staff is going to start heading out back. Once they’re out of the building, we’ll be going in. We’re going to film and record the whole thing so that the news will know why this happened.”

“I trust y’all,” he said, nodding. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

Angel, Pork, Kegger, Otto, Wilson, Jean, Gabe, Rafe, and Cruz were dressed entirely in black, including black gloves and beanies on their heads. They had black grease paint on their faces and gas masks tucked into the backs of their trousers.

Gabe walked over to a large moving truck, nodding at the driver.

“You ready, Bubba?” he asked the driver.

“Always ready, cousin,” he smirked. “I don’t ‘dem fellas much, so we’re happy to hold ‘em for ‘ya for a while. Don’t worry. They won’t get nowhere fast.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” laughed Gabe at his cousins. He turned to the others and nodded. “Signal the staff.”

Jean dialed the number, telling the person who answered to exit out the back doors. They would be getting a very, very large tip for missing out on some diners for the next few hours.

They watched from across the street as the staff stepped outside, waving at them as they took a seat beneath the trees in the back parking lot. The defensive players were acting like complete animals, tossing food at one another and making a huge mess.

“Need some help?”

“Shit!”

“Asshole!”

“Fucking dick!” frowned Jean. “Trak, you’re a real jerk.”

“I know,” he smiled. “I’ll start this dance. You guys follow.”

Trak walked into the diner, turning to give a smirk at the other men as they slowly followed. Opening the door, the players all turned to see who was interfering with their pre-game dinner.

“Place is closed, buddy,” said one of the men.

“I’m not your buddy,” said Trak. Covered in black, his knives gleaming in the light of the diner, he almost hoped one of them would try something. He got his wish. A huge man stood from his seat, cracking his knuckles in an obnoxious show of superiority. Trak only grinned.

“Boy doesn’t know who he’s up against, does he, Danny?” laughed another man.

The bell above the door rang again. Jean, Kegger, and Rafe walked in. A few moments later, the rest followed. The man stood still at the table, counting heads. His cocky behavior said that he believed they could take the men in black.

Shoving his chair backwards, he decided to charge Trak like a raging bull. Trak only shook his head, easily moving out of the way.

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