CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Colt
I probably shouldn’t get into details about what happened in that room. I mean, it wasn’t like we were waterboarding Jimmy, but two football players versus an equipment assistant slash cafeteria cashier? No contest, no bullshit, the pain only goes one way.
We beat him, yeah, that’s obvious, and we know how not to leave marks. Football is a contact sport, we know how the body works, where to strike, when to pull our punches, how to triple the terror so that your mind’s screaming with pain even as your throat clenches silently in agony.
There are non-violent ways to solve problems but Cain and I don’t preach that story. We’re about action, going for the kill when necessary, and Jimmy Long’s number was up.
So yeah, when he came out of the room, he was worse for the wear. The dude was almost unconscious, his head lolling back and forth, supported between my twin and I. It was a joke. He was so scrawny that either of us could have slung him over our shoulder except that neither of us wanted that kind of physical contact with the loser.
We lowered him into a wheelchair Karlie had waiting, her eyes big.
“Brothers, is he going to be okay?” she breathed. I could tell why she asked. Although there was neither blood nor bruises, the small man was lethargic, the whites of his eyes visible, his breathing labored.
“Oh yeah,” grunted Cain. “Trust me, he’ll survive because he’s gotta testify before the NCAA.”
And that was the second part of our plan. Jimmy was about to write a letter to the NCAA retracting all his claims, stating that he’d made the whole thing up as a misguided effort to blackmail Karlie. Our favorite girl had already ghost written the letter and she pulled it out now.
“Come on Jimmy,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Time to sign.”
And I was merciless. I grabbed the dude’s limp wrist, helping him form a fist around the pen.
“No cameras around here, right?” I growled, scanning the walls and ceilings.
“None,” confirmed Karlie.
And that was that. With his hand in mine, I signed the letter with Jimmy’s name, topping it off with a flourish. Okay, it was a little shaky but what needed to be done had to be done.
Karlie whipped the letter away and stowed it into her purse, to be mailed to the Commissioner himself. In the meantime, Cain went outside to find the dude’s car.
“We’re going to drive him home?” she asked timorously.
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Our job’s not over yet. This fucker’s getting a ride with us as his chauffeurs.”
And that’s what happened. We wheeled him into the car, positioning him in the backseat, even strapping him in with a seatbelt. So close to the end zone, there was no sense in risking his life.
Slowly, we pulled into a shitty neighborhood, the yards overgrown, the houses dumpy, the bark of pitbulls audible behind rotting fences.
“Man, he’s from here?” growled Cain, his eagle eyes scanning the scenery. I knew what he was thinking. Poor Jimmy Long, he must have been from some trashy family, if he even had any family.
But pretty soon, we pulled up to a duplex, the paint fading, the shutters sagging on their hinges.
A woman ran out when she saw the car pull up with Jimmy slumped in the backseat. Her hair was in curlers, dark roots with the most awful bleach, too much make-up, dressed in ripped denim shorts.
“Jimmeeeee!” she screeched. “What ya done now, ya fuckwad?”
“Who are you lady? His mom?” grunted Cain, eyeing her with disgust. I’d gotten a glimpse of her teeth and they were rotted, open sores on her face. Yeah, she was probably a meth user.
“His mom?” screeched the woman. “Fuck you, I’m his baby mama! Me and Jimboy, we have two kids together.”
The three of us stopped in our tracks, gaping at each other. Shit, Jimbo was sleeping with this? Even worse, he had kids with her? Life was tougher for Jimmy than we’d previously thought. No wonder he’d thrown himself at Karlie, hoping for a piece of her delicious ass, going so far as to blackmail my brother and I. His life was so twisted and depressing that he was willing to risk anything for a high, pretend he was someone else.
But Cain and I were done with the douchebag. I was tempted to leave him on the sidewalk, let the witch get him inside, but Karlie’s eyes pleaded with me silently. Oh yeah, our sister was too nice, too giving, and I nodded my assent.
“Come on,” I said to my brother. “Let’s go.”
And we hauled his scrawny ass inside, leaving him right inside the door. Heartbreakingly, we could hear a baby crying, its howls loud and angry even as the sickly smell of marijuana hung heavy in the air.
“Listen bitch, stop toking with your kids here,” growled my brother to the woman, who’d followed us with her bare feet.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” she screeched. “What you done to my man? You owe us money for this damage!”
I looked around the home skeptically. The furniture was broken down, the carpet with obvious burn marks, a pile of something indescribable in the corner, the windows papered over.
“There’s no money that can help you,” I ground out. “But I’m tempted to call Child Protective Services.”
“You take my baby away from me and you’ll regret it!” screeched the woman again. Looks like threats and blackmail ran rampant in this family unit.
I just shook my head at her, my massive form taking up way too much room in the tiny, dank space.
“Come on,” I said to my brother, “Let’s get outta here.”
And we were back outside, our sister waiting for us, her eyes big as she watched.
“Everything okay?” she asked quietly.
I loved Karlie for that. She hadn’t questioned our tactics, she understood the value of quick action and a “Shock and Awe” strategy. Because yeah, we’d completely overwhelmed the enemy, pounding him into the ground as necessary.
“Fine,” I said, slinging my arm around her tiny shoulders. “Let’s beat feet.”
And holding her close to me, her slight form pressed against my big body, we made our way out of the trash … and into the light.