Page 37 of Token

“Believe me, it comes in handy sometimes. Okay, I’ve spoken briefly to your coach and I listened to the audio. In your own words, I want you to tell me what happened and anything else you think I should know.”

The damning audio in question was of Roger calling his friend the N-word but with what some considered the more acceptable “gga” ending, because that wasn’t offensive. Cue mental eye roll. It was like some people never learned.

“Me and my buddy were playingGTAand talking shit the way we always do. When I called him the—you know—N-word, I didn’t say it in a nasty way. It’s just a name we call each other sometimes. I wasn’t saying it to be racist. How could I—he’s white.”

That was his saving grace in the entire situation. Had he said it to a Black person, he wouldn’t be sitting in front of her.

“But why that word when there’s a host of other names you could choose from? My best friend is white, and I call her Ror or Rory because her name is Aurora. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Weston.”

“Then why not West or Wes? Or maybe evendickface, if your aim is to be affectionately insulting?” Of course, she knew why, but her job was to get him to understand his own motivation.

“I’m sorry, but dickface? That’s fucking lame,” he huffed, because apparentlythatwas insulting.

“Ah, so you think calling Weston the N-word sounds cool?” He’d probably watched one too many rap videos.

A look of discomfort contorted his face. “I don’t know.Maybe. I mean, that’s what some of the Black guys I know call each other.”

Kennedy wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I know. And I’m not a fan of that either.” She really wanted to sayif they jumped off a cliff, would you?but wisely refrained. There was a graveyard of recalcitrant youth at the bottom of that cliff. No need to add to the ever-growing body count.

However, in the good-news category, he knew some Black guys. “All right, then. How many Black men do you know and how well do you know them?”

Two or more would be a godsend, but she’d settle for one.

He shifted in his seat and started drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. “There’re a few guys who hang out at a sports bar downtown. I usually see them there when I go out with my teammates.”

Hmm.What initially sounded promising was beginning to look less so.

“Would you consider them acquaintances?”

“Not exactly,” he hedged.

“Ever talk to them?” Kennedy picked up a pen and held it poised over her notepad as she continued to regard him.

“Maybe once or twice.”

She bet the number was closer to a lonely one. “Could you pick them out in a lineup?” she asked dryly.

Dark brows furrowed in contemplation, he answered with the solemnity of a murder witness under oath. “I think I’d recognize them if I saw them.”

He onlythoughthe could pick them out of a lineup. The suspected murderer was walking for sure.

Kennedy carefully placed her pen on the lined pad. “So let me get this straight. You don’t know these men, you wouldn’t consider them acquaintances, and you aren’t one hundred percent sure you’d recognize them if you saw them again, but you’re suggesting they influenced you enough for you to pick up their slang?”

With each incriminating point, the NHL left winger seemed to sink lower in the chair. Only four years separated them, yet his chastened expression made her feel much, much older.

“I think the wordknowis doing a lot of heavy lifting here, wouldn’t you agree?”

He grimaced. “I guess I don’t technically know them.”

“Technically or otherwise, I’d say.” Picking up the pen again, she absently jotted his name at the top of the page. “Do you haveanyBlack friends?” Despite enormous skepticism, she had to make sure to cover all the bases.

Roger hesitated before reluctantly shaking his head.

She treated him to what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Don’t be embarrassed. There are no wrong answers. I’m simply trying to get a lay of the land. Get an idea of what I have to work with. Now, have youeverhad a Black friend?”

Despite her assurances, he responded with more sheepish head shaking and red-tipped ears.