Big Leagues (31 page)

“Well then, I accept the challenge and hope to
provide you with mediocre results.”

She smiled. “I would be utterly
grateful.”

He cocked his head. “
Utterly?
So
utterly
you’d consider dinner afterwards?”

“Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“There’s a restaurant off the Strip that has
the best sushi this side of the Pacific.” Cat wrinkled her nose.
“No Tobiko? Fair enough. How about an Italian restaurant that
claims its pizza tastes like it came from Rush Street?”

She licked her lips. “Well I’d have to be a
fool to turn down a man in Hulk pajamas.”

“Oh uh, yes.” He blushed and looked down at the
flannel pants. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

“Well that’d be a change.”

“So tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll come find you on
campus?”

“My office is on the second floor of the
Biological Sciences building.”

“It’s a date.”

Benji took her hand and lured her into his
cologne scented aura. “You’re not staying?” He pretended to
pout.

“It’s late.” She crinkled her nose. “I have to
be at work super early.”

“I’ll be good.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

He smiled and brought his pouting lips toward
hers. Cat melted and allowed herself to crumble into his
arms.

He pulled his head back enough to whisper,
“Sure you can’t stay?”

Cat was sure. The next road trip would take the
club to Miami, and she was overdue for a night of beauty
rest.

Before I’m known as “that reporter with the
halitosis … and Chia legs,” or worse, “that neighbor with the Chia
legs.”

She ran her fingers through his soft hair and
caressed the nape of his neck. “Oh … I really can’t. I promised
myself I’d finally finish unpacking tonight. But tomorrow, four
thirty.”

“At your service.”

Cat twirled on the metal stool as she observed
the university’s chemistry lab. Humming fluorescent lights were
reflected in the freshly waxed floor tiles. There were emergency
wash stations every ten feet and fire extinguishers hanging at the
end of each six-foot lab table. The walls were papered with lab
rules, safety warnings and periodic tables.

“It’s not what I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

She gave him a onceover, head to toe. “Well,
for starters, aren’t you supposed to be wearing one of those white
lab coats?”

He looked down at his clothing. “Are you not
getting the professional vibe? I’m wearing a jacket and
tie.”

She giggled and pointed at his shirt. “A tie
with monkeys.”

“Apes.”

“What’s the difference?”

He opened his mouth to protest, and she
laughed. “Just kidding.”

Dimpling in appreciation for her humor, he
stuck a prepared slide under a microscope. “Okay, remember my
disclaimer. I’m not a chemist. I did study a little deformulation
in college, but my group got a B on our final project.” He looked
up from the lens with a wry grin. “We tried to decipher the recipe
to New Coke.”

“Any luck?”

Pretending to zip his lips, he whispered,
“Sworn to secrecy.” He removed the slide and hopped to his feet.
“Ready or not, here we come.”

She followed him to a metal box in the back
corner of the lab. “What is this thing?”

“This
thing
is a
chromatograph.”

“Oh.” She peered behind the large machine. “It
looks like a microwave.”

“Yes. It’s an eighty-five thousand dollar
microwave.” Benji pressed a series of buttons on the keypad and
inserted the sample through a small slot on the side.

She peeked over his shoulder.
“Neat.”

“Very much so. See, the chromatograph does all
the heavy lifting. It will separate the liquid into its compounds
and analyze the fragments against a database of, well,
everything.”

She nodded. “So, whattaya got?”

“Again, it’s not a microwave.” He tugged on her
arm playfully. “It’ll take a little bit longer than warming up a
Hot Pocket.” The machine grunted and squawked before settling into
a low buzz. “It’ll probably go for about an hour. Would you like a
tour of the Biological Sciences building?”

Cat hooked his arm with hers as they walked to
the door. “Benjamin Levy, you really know how to show a girl a good
time.”

Benji unlocked the door, and they walked into
the silent lab.

Cat surveyed the room. “It’s quiet. Does that
mean it’s done?”

He placed a couple of chairs next to the
chromatograph’s screen. “Looks like.” Cat tapped her foot on the
tile.

Flipping back and forth through a series of
windows on the monitor, he said, “Okay. This … this is
weird.”

She squinted at the screen. “Weird? Is that a
good weird? Or an ‘I’m about to learn something that will cost me
my job’ weird?”

He retrieved the sample out of the machine,
spun his chair over to a lab table, and stuck it under a
microscope. “Definitely job-weird.”

She watched as he focused the lens and peered
in.

“According to my calculations …” Benji trailed
off to shoot her a smile.

“Yes?” She held her breath.

He bit his lip sheepishly. “I always wanted to
start a sentence like that for the benefit of a pretty girl in need
of my expertise.”

She pointed to the microscope and frowned.
“You’re killing me here.”

“Oh, sorry. First off, this isn’t B-12. Or B-8.
Or B anything. In fact, this isn’t something the chromatograph can
recognize.”

Her shoulders slunk. “I thought that was its
job.”

“Well, the machine can’t analyze something
that’s not in its database, things with an inexplicable
makeup.”

“Inexplicable? You mean like a
Twinkie?”

“More like things that don’t exist.”

“Don’t exist? It exists.” She tapped the table.
“Benji, it’s existing right in front of you.

“Not according to the
chromatograph.”

Cat frowned. “So that’s it?
Nothing?”

He wheeled back over to the machine as she
hurried behind him. He scanned the results again and shrugged. “It
looks like there could be a minuscule trace of Lanthanum, an
extracellular application. Lanthanum is—”

“I know what it is. You’re not the only one
with the Periodic Table, Jimmy Neutron. It’s an um … gas,
right?”

“A metal.”

“A metal? That couldn’t make you stronger,
could it?”

Benji snorted. “Not unless it’s
Adamantium.”

She looked at him blankly.

“Wolverine?” He flipped out his hands and
demonstrated a clawing motion.

Cat shook her head. “So, I don’t get
it.”

“You know, from X-Men?”

“No, not the mutant. This.” She tapped on the
machine. “Was the sample not big enough or something?”

“No, plenty. I only needed a tenth of a
microliter for the chromatograph. I’m not really sure where to go
from here.” He drummed his fingers on the counter.

“You’re thinking something.”

“Well, if the compound isn’t something the
chromatograph can find then it’s … new.”

“Like?”

“Like a designer drug.”

“Steroids?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I can’t say for sure
but judging by its formation under the ’scope …” He shook his head
and sighed.

“Yes?”

“Not steroids. Not even in the same ballpark as
steroids. Hey, I just made a joke.”

“Gloat later. Explain now.”

“If I were a betting man, I’d go with an
amphetamine.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Say it ain’t so,
Joe!”

“I’m still going by Benji. Or again, the judges
will also accept ‘Stallion.’ ”

“I don’t see how that would be possible,
Stallion.”

He picked up the sample and frowned.
“Amphetamines are kinda like steroids for the central nervous
system. They can speed up reaction time, increase alertness and
concentration, boost energy. It’s the perfect candidate for
performance enhancing.”

“No, no, no.” Cat’s hair followed her head from
side to side. “I know for a fact amphetamine is specifically tested
for. It’s one of the biggies. Just last month a player in our
division was suspended for using greenies.”

“That’s the thing about amphetamines. There are
hundreds. They are constantly being developed and at such a rapid
pace it’s extremely hard for the testing labs to keep up with the
latest masking agent’s molecular compounds. They do, don’t get me
wrong, especially the company I’m sure the league uses. With
pharmaceuticals, the bad guys are usually two steps ahead.” He
placed the sample in a protective plastic case and snapped the
lid.

Cat rested her chin on her palm. “This is
huge.”

“Like I said, I can’t confirm amphetamine. Not
even the chromatograph can confirm that, which is what’s really
suspicious to me.” Benji patted the machine proudly. “This baby
detects every drug from here to … well, Amsterdam.” His eyes
pierced hers. “If we’re right, then your players didn’t mess
around. This is the real deal. Where would they even get the
resources to develop such a sophisticated drug?”

Cat’s heart was in her throat. “
They
didn’t.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been doing a little background
research. Erich König was a billionaire before he came to Nevada.
Well, his family anyway. His grandfather started Königetix
Research, a subsidiary of Oberpfalz Industries. Benji, they’re one
of the largest pharmaceutical companies in Europe.”

“They’re a chemical giant. I’m grimly familiar
with their infamous creation used in World War II concentration
camps.” He frowned. “You think the players don’t know they’re being
doped?”

She shook her head. “No way.”

“You sure?”

“I’d swear on Ernie Banks.”

“Who’s Ernie Banks?”

Cat looked taken aback, and Benji grinned.
“Just kidding. That was for the monkeys.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cute.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing
the black locks out of his eyes. “Okay. If the players don’t know,
do you think they’d care?”

Cat scoffed. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but biologists aren’t really known
as a profession given to ’roid rage.”

“I’ll have you know most athletes are fueled by
talent and conditioning, not a prescription bottle.”

“I just read a study claiming that fifteen
percent of high school athletes use performance
enhancers.”

“Oh really?” She gave him a playful nudge. “I
just read an e-mail that said ninety percent of statistics are made
up on the spot.”

Benji nudged her back. “My point is,
professional athletes aren’t exactly celebrated for treating their
bodies like a temple. This could be a team effort.”

“There’s no way they know. Especially after
Jamal. Someone would’ve come out.”

Benji tapped his chin thoughtfully.

“I’ll tell you who would have to know,” Cat
continued. “The man behind the needle, Dr. Kevin Goodall.” She
hopped off the chair. “The syringe. I need to take it.”

He packaged it up in a sterile baggie and
sealed the top. “What are you going to do?”

“This whole thing has left me sick. I think
I’ll see if the doctor’s still in.” He pulled the baggie back. “No,
no, no, no. You’re not going back there.”

“I work there.”

“So did Jamal and Brad Derhoff.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Call the cops.”

“The cops. And hand them what, a dirty syringe
and a microwave readout that says nothing?”

“Tell them what we know and let them sort it
out. Get as far away from that place as you can.”

Cat sighed. “It’s not that simple. This job is
my everything. It’s my dream job.”

“There are other jobs.”

“Yeah. Jobs that involve coming home to my
grandma’s mobile home covered in shrimp poop.” A tear began to roll
down her cheek.

Benji scrambled for a tissue and came up with a
coarse paper towel next to the eye sink.

She dabbed her eyes with it. “I’m not like
you.”

“What does that mean?”

“On your dresser ... There was a picture of you
in France, with your parents.”

“Yeah?”

“What are they like?”

He frowned, exasperated. “I don’t understand.
You want to know about my family? Right now?”

She nodded.

“Um … okay. Well, they’re both teachers. They
retired from the public school system last May and, uh, they sold
their house, joined this volunteer program and now they teach
English at a kibbutz school in Israel.”