The District Manager (22 page)

We get to our seats just a few minutes before kickoff. They aren’t bad, near the fifty yard line.
No doubt it helps to know people.
The roof is open and it’s getting warm out.

The clock is winding down the first quarter. I’m thirsty. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“A beer?”

“Just one.”

I go over to the concession stand and wait in line. When I get to the stand I open my wallet and hand over the money…just like that.
I just bought two beers, without even thinking. First time in more than a year. It’s Brenna.

I move back to our seats, careful not to spill the expensive liquid gold in the plastic cups.

“Here ya go,” I say as I deliver her beverage to her eager, open palm.

This sun is hot. This beer is cold and sweating.
I take a long swig and savor the crispness.
This is the life: a beautiful girl, opening day football, and a cold beer.

About ten minutes into the second quarter, I have to take a piss. Plus, I’m getting a little hungry.

“Hey, I need to go to the restroom. I was thinking about snagging something at the concession. Want anything?”

“Uh, sure…how about one of those pizzas?”

“Pizza it is.”

As I approach the bathrooms I think,
you know this place is filled with tailgaters because it’s not even halftime and already there are several ridiculous lines to the men’s restroom.
It’s a cluster of agitated dudes with full bladders. When my turn comes up I hit the urinal in a mad dash.

I’m standing, taking care of business, when from the corner of my eye one guy flushes and vacates, then another steps up. Though my vision is all peripheral, this dude looks familiar. Not wanting to be weird, I refrain from staring right at him, but roll my eyes to the left as far as my sockets allow.

Holy shit! It’s Spider Monkey!

He finishes quickly and turns to his left to leave.

I don’t think he recognized me.

I zip up and forgo washing my hands. I want to follow this guy. He’s moving.

I exit the men’s room and begin jerking my head frantically in every direction, trying to locate his shaved head.

I see him!

I’m pacing quickly through the concession area, waving in and out of patrons. I’m almost within a comfortable shadowing range when an army of whistles blow in unison. It’s the end of the first half. The seats empty and the byways flood with bodies.

I’ve lost Spider Monkey.

I saunter back to where Brenna and I are seated. She looks at me both bewildered and a little irritated. “Uh, Mason, did you forget the pizzas?”

“Yeah, I think I did,” I answer, a little confused.

Again I was distracted.

Was that all Brenna was, an escape? Certainly not, but in a way…she was.

A fear was eating me as Sunday drew to a close. I had no change of clothes—hell, I wore what I wore Friday through the weekend.

But I knew if she asked if I wanted to stay the night again—and of course I did—I’d say yes.

Still…I was distracted. And the same affliction that plagued our love-making previously, reared itself again. And again, I was able to overcome it. But I was beginning to get concerned.

That Monday morning was all hustle and bustle. We kissed and parted.

Tuesday morning is brutal. I try to eat, but can’t.

My phone pings. Unknown, but I know it’s Rusty, from one of his numerous revolving cell phone numbers.
I thought he hated texting.

Get your head on straight and your shit together. Tonight we go in.

I text back:
Right.

It’s around 7:30 p.m. I’ve been distracted all day and have not accomplished much at the D.O. I look up and see that the sun is setting earlier (thank God).

My cell, which has remained silent all day, startles me from my computer trance.

“I’m on my way,” Rusty belts out into my ear.

“I was expecting you to call sooner. So what’s the game plan?” I’m suddenly infused with nervous life.

“The game plan is we take your car. My guess is these people have already run your plates. They know who you are and where you live.”

“Do they know what I do—who I work for?”

“Probably not. If they did they would probably have ceased their relationship with you. By what you’ve told me before, this Spider Monkey fellow seems to believe your story. You’ve brought dope from him twice now. That’s your cover. Believe me…you don’t come across like a cop.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“If it’s a trap, then we’re dead. It’s that simple. You do understand that, Mason…right?”

A silence falls between us filled only by the subtle boiling of the Pontiac’s engine in the background.

“Yeah, I understand.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll pick this discussion up when we get to our sports bar.”

“Good. There’s something I need to tell you.”

I walk in and glance over at Rusty. Gaudy neon greens and reds throb around his head. I go over so we can council prior to our mission.

“So what’s it you need to tell me?” He asks as I sit down.

“My girlfriend and I went to the Texans opener this past Sunday, and…well, maybe it’s nothing…but…”

“What happened?”

“I was taking a piss and next to me, in the other urinal, was Spider Monkey!”

“Okay.”

Why is Rusty unmoved by this?
“You don’t think that’s strange?”

“Why? Drug dealers like football too. Besides, he’s the public relations man, as far as I can tell, for a regional crime ring…they handle gambling too, hence tonight.”

“Right.”
I’m kinda disappointed. I thought it meant something.

“How did you get the tickets? Did you purchase them?”

“No. My boss gave them to me.”

“Representative Crane?”

“Of course.”

“Did he buy them?”

“No, he said a client gave them to him.”

“Who was the client?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“Well, you should ask. Probably nothing, but we should know.”

We order a couple of sodas, and then Rusty excuses himself to the restroom. While he’s gone I start to feel the wasp nest rattle awake. I’m staring into nothingness with a feeling of foreboding when he returns.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Maybe I’m seeing the future.”

“You sure you can handle this? It’s not too late to back out.”

“What is our objective?”

“Get inside. See what’s going on. Find what we’re looking for.”

“What are we looking for?”

“I won’t know that until I see it.”

“Until
you
see it?”
Does this guy really know what he’s doing?
I wonder.

“Look, the only reason you’re even going is because you’re my ‘in,’ it’s that simple. If there was any other way for me to get access, I would do it, and you’d be out.”

“You can’t say you’re into dog fighting? I mean how else do they get customers?”

“Maybe, but if these goons are part of something larger… something that killed Jules and maybe Harry Spencer…and several others…then they might know who I am. In effect, I would be delivering myself into their hands.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“Kill that Sprite. It’s game time, Mason.”

The drive out to the Old Adobe is grave. Rusty removes a pistol from his satchel and checks several clips to see if they’re full.

“A .45. You’re not going to try and bring that in, are you?” I ask, swallowing hard.

“Fuck no! I’m leaving it under this seat, or better in one of your wheel wells. We might need it. That is if we can make it to your car in time.”

“In time?”

“In time.”

I exit the Expedition off the highway and we begin the long descent into the underworld. The gate that barricaded the road previously is now wide open. No one is manning it. I pull in. My headlights spot a row of several cars behind the Adobe’s back wall. Again, there is no one directing traffic. A subtle glow emanates from inside the walls. A glow that is not visible from the front.

“I guess this is where I park?” I ask Rusty.
Like he’s supposed to know.

“Yes, park. But back in beside this Caddie. In case we have to bolt,” he orders.

Of course he knows. We’ve both been here before.
This dawns on me as we exit the Expedition.

“We need to play dumb,” I say.

“Just act natural, Mason,” Rusty scoffs. “Someone will appear shortly.”

“Eh hombres!” a Hispanic voice calls from the direction of the structure.

“What did I tell you?” Rusty says definitively.

“Over here!” the voice instructs. The outline of a man shining a flashlight becomes suddenly visible. He is standing at the back entrance of the Adobe. The very same medieval entrance I passed through on my virgin visit.