Alex

“Listen to me, Broadside. I need you to be contrite, here. The picture of humility and restraint. You need to be so utterly abashed that you make a puppy look arrogant by comparison. I want you so, so apologetic that your mom would let you off for putting your dick in the cookie jar. Which is not far from what you did.”

I look down at my agent, Louis Montgomery. Lou has represented me since the beginning when I was drafted straight out of college into the Philadelphia Corsairs. He handles the legal and financial shit. I handle the ball.

“This is chicken shit,” I tell him.

“Maybe it is, but you can’t go blasting through these podunk towns in your goddamn Ferrari. How can you even fit in that car?”

I grunt in reply.

Lou sits next to me in the gallery as I wait my turn to stand before the judge in Sylvester, Pennsylvania. I’ve never heard of it either. They have a cop and a cop car and they tagged me going 110 in a thirty-five zone.

The cop that caught me is here.

She is not my picture of a small town cop. My idea of a small town cop is a fat tub of guts in a Sam Browne Belt that pinches his waist like a tourniquet, chewing a stalk of grass or whatever it is, and glaring through mirror shades.

The day Officer Maguire hopped out of her liveried up Tahoe and glared at me for my horrific crime of speeding in the middle of nowhere on Saturday is still etched into my mind.

Her strawberry-blond hair is in a tight ponytail, just like then, though she doesn’t have to wear her hat in the courtroom. When she was writing me up, I caught a glimpse of sky-blue eyes hiding behind aviator shades. She’s not wearing them now. They leave a funny tan line on her freckled face.

Officer Maguire stares me down with severe, cold anger and it makes her cuter. She’s not really my type, being all skinny with boy hips and a modest chest that’s not at all flattered by the body armor she wears under her uniform shirt. She has a great ass, though. She must squat.

There’s something else about her, though. I’m used to classically beautiful but extremely dull women who’ve never had to develop anything interesting about themselves besides high cheekbones, a perfect complexion, an a designer evening gown draped over the best chest money can buy.

Officer Maguire is the exact opposite of that. It’s like she wants to completely hide that she’s a woman and her only concession to femininity is long hair.

Her eyes lock on me when she catches me looking, and I keep on looking. Her glare turns into a sneer and then she looks straight ahead, as if I no longer exist.

I sit in stone silence.

I have a talent for that.

When my name is called, I walk to the front of the room. It’s not much bigger than my living room and there’s no jury box. Looking at the judge, I wonder what he did to get this shitty job. The guy before me was fined a total of five dollars and a year’s probation for illegal frog gigging. Whatever that is.

I tower over my lawyer, one of Lou’s people whose name I don’t bother to remember. He shifts next to me, holding a file folder in his hands. I can’t imagine what could be in it. There isn’t much I can do here. I was speeding, and they caught me cold.

Oh, well.

The judge reads over some case file and looks at me with narrowed eyes under big bushy eyebrows. Half-rim reading glasses perch on his booze-reddened nose, always looking like they’re about to fall off as he mouths the words to himself while he scans the page.

“Mister Wright,” he says, “let me get this perfectly straight. You were doing over a hundred miles an hour in a thirty-five mile an hour zone. Do you have any explanation for this?”

I glance down at my lawyer. He gives me a little head shake. “No, Your Honor.”

“Are you aware that there was a school zone on this road?”

“It was Saturday, Your Honor.”

The judge visibly bristles. I can almost see coarse hairs standing on his wrinkly hands. His jaw sets. He looks a little like a wild boar in a black robe.

“Did you happen to note whether the yellow school zone lights were flashing?”

“No, Your Honor. It was--”

“Saturday, yes. We’ve established that.”

My lawyer shifts nervously.

“The law is that a school zone is in effect when children are present, Mr. Wright. Not when school is in session. As it happens, there was a peewee football game that day.”

I grind my teeth.

“So you blasted through this school zone, with a set speed limit of twenty, going over a hundred miles an hour in that silly car we impounded.”

“It’s not--” My lawyer elbows me to shut me up.

“Are you going to enter a plea?” the judge says.

I look down at my lawyer. He nods. We went over this with Lou before we came in. “Guilty with explanation, Your Honor.”

He sits back in his chair. It creaks loudly, the only sound in the dusty room. “Go on then, explain.”

“I was in a hurry, sir. I was on my way to visit my sick aunt.”

“May I ask where she was?”

“Back in Philadelphia, Your Honor.”

He nods. “I see. According to your driver license, you reside in Philadelphia. May I ask how is it that your route to see your sick relative went fifty miles out of your way?”

“I was in the Amish country, sir. Antiquing.”

“Antiquing.”

“Yeah, shopping for antiques.”

He rocks in his seat. “May I ask what kind of antiques.”

“A settee.”

“A set-tee,” he says, over pronouncing the word. “Do you take me for an idiot, Mr. Wright?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Well, your lawyer does if that’s the story he concocted for you to sell me. I’ve heard your explanation and it’s not acceptable. I know your type, Wright. You think you’re hot to trot because you get paid a lot of money to run around in your underwear. Well, the law is the law, and it doesn’t care how many passing yards you have this year--”

“Your Honor, I’m a linebacker—”

“Shut up. This is how it’s going to work. I’m giving you an option. Considering your financial resources, I don’t think you’re going to learn much of a lesson from a five hundred dollar fine. To start, that car is staying impounded until your sentence is served. I’m fining you the maximum of six thousand eight hundred dollars, plus court costs, and a percentage contribution to the Victim’s Compensation Fund. Your speed here crosses from civil into criminal territory, so there’s a question of your sentencing.”

I look at my lawyer and he shifts nervously on his feet.

“You’re fucking fired,” I growl at him.

“You can spend six months in the county jail followed by two years probation, or you can do community service for one year, here in town. As it so happens, I know the head of the peewee league. They could use a new coach. I’m sure we can find something else to occupy your time once the season is over.”

I blink a few times. “Are you fucking crazy?”

The judge smiles. “Watch your mouth, or I’ll throw your silver spoon ass in county for contempt.”

I turn around to Lou. “What the fuck?” I mouth.

He runs to me. “Alex, you have to take the community service thing.”

“What? Are you out of your mind? I can’t do that.”

“What, you’d rather go to jail?”

“I hate kids.”

“You hate kids more than you hate incarceration? Alex, see reason.”

“I don’t deal with kids.”

“Alex, for the love of God…”

He walks past me. “Your Honor, my client will take the community service.”

“Are you an attorney?”

“I’m an agent.”

“So, no. Shut up or I’ll have you escorted out of the courtroom.”

Lou turns to my lawyer and motions at him. “My client will take the community service,” he says, in a squeaky voice.

“I thought I fired you,” I growl.

“You can’t in the middle of proceedings,” the judge corrects. “These are the terms.”

I stand, listening in a daze.

I have to reside in the town for the entire duration of my community service.

I have to wear a GPS ankle monitor.

I will be coaching fucking peewee football. Games on Saturdays in the daytime and Wednesday nights.

Pee. Wee. Football.

As I walk out of the courtroom, Louis looks like someone just used his cat to bludgeon his mother to death. “You… you…”

“You what?” I round on him.

“You realize what this means for your career? The school year runs parallel to the football season, you big ape. You can’t play like this. The league isn’t going to be happy about this after all the shit you’ve already pulled.”

“So, what? I sit out a year.”

He scrubs his hands through his hair. “Your contract is up after this year, you fucking meathead. You’re going to lose everything.”

“Nah, you’re going to lose everything. I’m rich. Unlike most of your other clients, I’m not a giant shithead with my money.”

“You have a promising career--”

I shrug. “I’m twenty-eight, Lou. I’m ancient for a linebacker. I’m almost done and you know it.”

“Don’t you fucking care about anything? What is wrong with you?”

“Six years of best in the league salary and endorsements are enough for me. I’m tired of this shit, getting followed around.”

“Right,” he sighs. “Look, let me talk to some people. The team, the league. Damage control. We can spin this. You made a mistake because of your sick aunt—”

“Lou,” I growl. “I don’t have a sick aunt. That was your idea.”

“You made a mistake and you’re paying for it in the sweetest, most media friendly way possible. We can control the narrative on this, my friend.”

“Hey,” a voice calls from behind me. I grind my teeth. It’s her.

Officer Maguire strides up to me in her uniform. She’s a townie cop, so she doesn’t get the imposing slate gray outfit the state troopers wear, she gets a black shirt stretched tightly over flat body armor that hides whatever curves she may have, matching pants and a pair of immaculately polished jackboots that clack on the floor. I can see my reflection in her calves.

It’s actually not a bad look. The pants are so tight, she must have to jump off the roof to get them on.

“You got off easy,” she growls.

If she wasn’t the one that saddled me with all this bullshit, it would be sort of cute. She’s very serious, scrunching her freckled face. She eschews makeup entirely, but is nevertheless pretty in a natural, girl-next-door kind of way.

“Did I? You ruined my fucking career. If you’d just talked to me about this--”

“Talked to you?” she says, tilting her chin up to stare down her nose at me. The effect is blunted by her being a full foot and a half shorter than I am. “I know your type. You think you’re above the law, right? You can just do whatever you damn well please.”

I bend at the waist and lower my face to hers. I lower my voice too, into a husky promise. “Is that an invitation, Officer?”

She jerks back. “Excuse me?”

I stand to my full height. I absolutely tower over her. For effect, I fold my arms over my chest. I’m pretty sure each of my arms is as big around as her slender waist.

“An invitation. You look like you know some off the clock uses for those handcuffs you carry.”

“I can think of a few uses for this,” she says, patting the butt of her Taser.

“Oh, kinky.”

“Alex,” Lou pleads. “She’s trying to bait you into a harassment charge or something.”

“No,” she says. She touches her fingers to her cheeks below her eyes, then points them at me in an I’m-watching-you motion. “This is my town. You just remember that while you’re our guest here.”

“Come on,” Lou says, “Let’s get you fitted for your anklet.”

I have a feeling he’s said that to clients before.

* * *

After two nights in the Royal Park Motel on the edge of Sylvester, Pennsylvania, I’m ready to rip the shower pipes out of the wall. The water is hot and then cold and back again, and half the time I turn it on, it’s brown.

It was either this or Old Mrs. So-and-So’s Bed and Breakfast. I’m sure the proprietor would limit herself to spitting in my food. The way the locals glare at me when I go outside, you’d think I’d skinned a cat and offered it to the devil instead of speeding on a deserted road on Saturday.

Lou fixed me up with the best real estate agent in town, a guy named Larry Fine. My ankle bracelet itches whenever he talks. The stupid thing is a heavy black box I have to keep on at all times. Whoever is tracking me must be bored as hell. I’ve been holed up in that dumb motel for the last two days.

Lou is on the phone with me as I ride with Larry. Lou. Larry. Too many fucking Ls in my life.

“This is a disaster of biblical proportions,” Lou bleats in my ear. “I’ll have to offer the team my firstborn son to keep you on the roster for the season after this one. I’ve just barely talked them out of going after you for a breach of contract.”

“So offer your firstborn son.”

“What?” Larry says. I glance at him, annoyed. His SUV smells like breakfast cereal.

“I don’t care, Lou. As long as they don’t touch what I’ve already got, I really don’t care.” I hang up on him and sit back in the seat.

“So, I’ve got six for us to look at today,” Larry says, cheerfully.

“Yeah? Why so many?”

“Well, I--”

“Just show me one I can move into today so I can get out of that shitty motel.”

“Right. Rentals then.”

“Yeah, I’m not staying in this town, not a chance in hell.”

He glances at me and turns away.

I don’t care what you think, Larry.

He drives in silence and I roll the window down to get the scent of Fruit Loops out of my nose. The town rolls by, and I try my best to ignore it. The house he’s showing me is off the main drag, or what passes for a main drag in this place. I’m sure it’s all very cute and full of rich country charm, but right now, I just want to leave.

The house is on a side street. It’s old, like nineteen-teens, big and square with two floors and an attic. Larry pretends to be friendly as I grunt along the tour. There’s a nice living room, good set up for a TV, a dining room I won’t use, a big kitchen, three bedrooms upstairs with a jetted bathtub, and the attic.

“Oil heat, electric water--”

“I don’t care,” I tell him. “How much a month?”

“Twelve hundred plus all utilities. First and last month’s rent up front with one month’s rent as a utility deposit.”

“Call Lou. Get it handled now. I want to move in today.”

“The owner might--”

“If the owner gives you any shit, tell him I’ll pay a full year’s rent now, today. That’ll shut him up. I want you to bring me the keys by the end of the day so I can get set up.”

“Right.” He scowls.

I watch him walk out of the house and clap his cell phone to his ear and wonder who put a bug up his ass. Doesn’t he get commission on something like this?

Whatever.

“Hey,” I ask him as I step out of the house. “I’m going to walk around. You’ve got my number. Call me when you’ve got the keys.”

“Yeah,” he says, forcing a horrifically fake smile.

I walk past him without further comment and stride down the street.

I barely make it two blocks before I hear a whoop whoop from a cop’s siren.

Turning back, I find myself staring at the same plain SUV that pulled me over before. It’s the kind that looks unmarked from the front, with the sneaky, skinny light bar instead of the big red and blue bubbles.

“I’m walkin’, here,” I snap. The cop rolls up and her window slides down. Yeah. It’s her. “Officer Maguire. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Enjoying the afternoon air?”

I take in a deep breath. “Absolutely. Is there something you want?”

“Just curious to see what a criminal is doing walking down the street in my town. Maybe you’re casing houses.”

I give her a flat look. She gives me a flatter look.

“Are you flirting with me?” I ask her.

“No. I’ve just got my eye on you, Wright.”

“So you are flirting with me.”

Her window slides up and she moves on, the big engine snarling. Man, who decided to give someone with a height complex that job?

I keep walking, blissfully ignoring her. She’ll probably try to fuck with me the whole time I’m here. I can tell she really needs someone to bend her over and release some of that tension she’s carrying around, but I also spotted the wedding band on her hand when she rested her fingers on the door sill a moment ago.

I may be the biggest asshole in the Professional Football League, but I have rules, and married women are off limits. Not that she’d take me up on it.

Why am I still thinking about her? I should be thinking about my dying career instead of the cop who slapped me with this bullshit, and her cute little nose.

There’s nobody on the street this time of day. I’m probably lucky, or I’d get mobbed. I can’t go outside back home without fifty people trying to talk me into signing something or taking a selfie with them. I don’t get it. I run around and slam into people wearing football pads. People act like I’m the second coming because I play a game.

At least it pays well. There’s that.

I check my watch. Larry better hurry his ass up. I’m getting tired of waiting.

Finally my phone rings. “You can move in tomorrow,” he tells me. “You need a ride back to the motel?”

“No, I’ll walk it. I can find it. I told you today.”

“The owner is out of town, sir.” He puts a harsh emphasis on the sir, like it’s a curse.

I trudge back to the motel, as promised. I’m getting antsy. Haven’t exercised properly since I came out here to answer my summons. I make do with pushups on the motel floor, growing angrier each time my nose gets close to the old carpet. It must be from the sixties and probably hasn’t been vacuumed since then.

I can, at least, work up a sweat. Once again, the shower switches between scalding and freezing. Oddly enough that becomes soothing. I may have to try it more often. Feels good for my muscles.

There’s a delivery place that has fried chicken. That’s the best I can do for lean protein around here. The delivery guy seems confused by the amount that I ordered since it only appears to be one guy in the room, until he looks up at me and realizes why.

“You’re,” he says, “You’re you.”

“Yeah. I’m me. Here.” I feel magnanimous for the moment, so I give him a twenty dollar tip and sit to peel the crispy skin off the chicken. It’s not chain crap. It’s actually good and nice and meaty. After discarding the plate of chicken bones I leave behind, I settle in for a good nine hours of sleep.

The next morning, Lou has made a few calls for me. The house came unfurnished, so I had him rent some stuff from a local place. No sense in buying it, I won’t be keeping it.

As the delivery people carry it in, I stand on the front lawn and watch Larry take down the “FOR RENT” sign.

At that moment, I hear an angry “oh my God.”

I look over and see Officer Maguire striding across my lawn, all the cop stuff she carries on her belt jiggling with the waggle of her hips. She may look like Detective Pippi Longstocking, but at least walks like a woman.

“What are you doing?”

I round on her.

“Lady, if you think you’re going to follow me around the whole time I’m stuck in this place, check yourself. I’ll have my lawyers all over you for harassing me.”

She looks at me and blinks. “Oh.” She extends her arm and points at the house next door. “I live there. Hello, neighbor.”

We stand and glare at each other. The effect of her harsh expression is somewhat blunted by her height. The top of her head barely reaches my chest.

She’s in good shape, though. The stab vest she wears makes her upper body formless and flat but I can see the outlines of nice legs under her uniform trousers, and she’s got those tight muscular arms girls get when they spend a lot of time in the gym, and nice shoulders. If she let her hair down and dressed like an actual lady, she’d look halfway decent.

“What are you looking at?” she demands.

I extend a hand. “Hi, neighbor. Can I borrow a cup of sugar? Maybe you want to invite me in for tea.”

She scowls. “F-”

“Mom?” a small voice says.

A little girl walks up to Officer Tightwad and takes her hand. She must be what, six years old? It’s hard for me to tell. I’m not big on kids. She’s about two thirds her mom’s height with the same coloring and hair, and she looks at me with wide blue-green eyes and shock on her face. Her little mouth falls open.

“Mom? Is he…”

I blink a few times.

“Are you Alexander Wright?”

“Yes,” I grunt.

“From the Philadelphia Corsairs?”

“Yes,” I say, a little more unsure this time.

“Oh my God!” she shouts, darting towards me.

“Carrie-”

The kid throws her arms around my legs. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” she chants.

“Get it off!”

Officer Maguire pulls her daughter back by the arms. “Carrie!” she snaps. Then she looks up at me. “My child is not an it.”

“How are you even old enough to--”

Her look actually shuts me up, as she rises to her feet. She is stronger than she looks, strong enough to pick up her kid in her arms.

The little girl gazes at me with a mixture of awe, terror, and surprise. Her mom lowers her little feet to the ground.

“Go back in the house, honey. It’s homework time.”

“But, Mom,” she protests.

“Stop calling me Butt Mom!”

The girl giggles, then looks and reddens, as if embarrassed by her mom’s dirty joking in my presence. She doesn’t argue any further, but instead scampers off to run through the open front door and into her house.

Officer Maguire turns to try to kill me with a harsh stare. “You have to pick this house.”

“I didn’t know the bitch queen of Shitkickerville was my next door neighbor.”

“Watch your language. My daughter could overhear you.”

“What was that about?”

She rolls her eyes. The gesture is actually a little cute. “She adores you. She’s a huge Corsairs fan. She even has your doll.”

“My what?”

“That little doll they make of you. It’s like this big,” she holds out her hands.

“That’s an action figure.”

“If a girl buys it,” she smirks, “it’s a doll. An Alexander Wright doll.”

“It’s not a doll.”

The corner of her lips twitches into a half sneer, half smirk. A little snaggletooth pokes out when she does, and something in me turns hot and wriggles in my chest. I’m suddenly looking at her in a different light. Take that stupid vest off her and she’d have a slender, athletic body that nicely fills out her uniform. My eyes keep falling to the way her handcuffs rest in a little leather pouch on her sleek hip.

She folds her arms and cocks her head to the side.

“Why are you eyeballing me like that?”

“Why do you have to be so harsh all the time?”

“Me? Oh, I’m harsh. I’m not the one who went flying past the school in the lime green death trap, jackass.”

“If you’d just listened to me--”

“About what? You realize my kid was there that day?”

“What, do they have peewee cheerleaders, too?”

She sneers at me even harder. “You’re a total jerk, you know that?”

“That was a really cutting barb, officer smarts.”

She rolls her eyes, so hard it makes her whole head move. “Yeah, you have a real rapier wit yourself.”

“You’re on my lawn. You have a warrant or something?”

“No, but I’d love to bust you for something else,” she says, stepping back onto her grass.

“I bet you’d like me to bust something.” I grin at her.

She snorts. “Oh, please. Waving your dick around doesn’t work any better than waving your wallet around.”

“I wasn’t trying to bribe you. I just wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, smooth talk your way out of a ticket after you showed complete disregard for the safety of--”

“I’m done here,” I snap, and turn on my heel to walk away from her.

“Hey! I was talking to you!”

“I’m done listening. Go inside and play happy homemaker. I’m sure your husband will be home soon. Do you keep the uniform on for him?”

It’s her silence, oddly enough, that makes me turn around.

I look back at her and see her with a horribly wounded look on her face, like she’s been physically struck. When her eyes meet mine she flinches and runs full tilt at the house, then slams the door behind her. It’s shocking how fast she can run.

“The hell,” I mutter to myself.

Shaking it off with a shrug, I head inside. The rent-a-room guys are done setting up and the delivery kid from the grocery store has finished stocking my pantry. I tip them all and Google the nearest gym. I have some pent up emotion to work out.