“Social work, maybe? There was this young woman last night, three small kids, a job that barely covers her rent. Some motherfucker stole her car, took it for a joyride, and wrecked it two blocks away. Total loss. We caught the drunk asshole, but he had no insurance, of course. She didn’t have collision coverage on a twenty-year-old car. She came running out of her building crying, asking how she was going to get the kids to her mom’s for daycare, how she was supposed to get to her job every night, with no car and no late bus. And all I could do was say, ‘Call social services. Maybe they can help.’ Because I was no help at all.”
“You caught the drunk guy so he wouldn’t do it again.”
“Yeah. We did that. But I wanted to help her, not punish him. No, not true. I wanted to do both, but mostly help.”
“Okay, social work isn’t such a stretch, then.” Zeke was a pretty take-charge guy, outside the bedroom, but maybe that could be okay in a different career.
“It’s what I was considering when I started university. But then Dad died, and… I guess criminal justice felt like what Dad would’ve wanted. Carrying on his work on the civilian side.”
“I didn’t know your dad well,” I said tentatively. Mr. Evans had been gone a lot when I was a kid. “Maybe he’d be okay with you doing good and being happy?”
“I can’t even say anymore.” Zeke rubbed his hand over his face. “And oops, way to make your bad news about me, huh? Sorry.”
“No, that was good.” A reminder I wasn’t the centre of the universe. “Except…” I tipped my head back and closed my eyes.
“What?”
“What if it does get out, that Shoemark tried to bribe me? What if he says he actually did it? What if Uncle Wayne tells people I threw those games, to get back at me for reporting Grandpa’s truck?”
“Surely that’s unlikely,” Zeke suggested.
“Yeah, maybe, but now I have that hanging over my head. Always waiting to see if the shoe will drop.”
“If it does, you either deny it or explain it.”
“Months or years after the fact?” I pitched my voice high. “Oh, yes, sir, someone did try to pay me to lose back then but I totally reported his ass. Court case? Well, the cops decided I wasn’t important enough to bother prosecuting for. But I swear, it’s all true. I’m the victim.”
“Maybe work on your story, and your tone? Hm?”
“Or maybe fuck this, get it over with now.” I sat up abruptly.
“Meaning what?”
“I tell them now. The whole story. I don’t have a note from the cops, but you’d back me up, right?”
“Of course, but Iverson’s not going to be happy if you start telling people left and right, while they’re still ironing out the plea deal.”
“You know what? I don’t give a fuck if Iverson is unhappy.” I remembered how wonderful I’d felt, thinking I’d ditched that backpack of rock-weighted secrets. Now I had a different secret hanging around my neck, and I was going to ditch this one too. “I’m going to the Foxes’ main office right now, and make sure management has a record of what happened. Free and clear. Then if, four years from now, Uncle Wayne gets out of jail and comes sniffing around, threatening to tell them I’m a cheat, I can laugh in his fucking face.”
“You might want to think it through a bit?—”
“If you don’t want to drive me, I can call for a ride.” I was fired up to get this done. Get out from under Uncle Wayne’s thumb once and for all.
“No, come on, I’ll drive you. I just don’t want you to regret it. Should you call your agent?”
“Fuck him too. He didn’t want me to come out. He’s not the boss of me.”Okay, that sounded immature.
Zeke snorted but put the truck in gear. “I only have an hour and a half before I have to get to work. Which way?”
Foxes’ and Dragons’ management shared offices on the third floor of the Dragons’ arena in downtown Vancouver. I’d been there once, to sign my contract with the Foxes. My irritation and desire to get this over with carried me through parking and taking the elevator to the business area and up to the receptionist. “Hi, I’m Callum Fitzpatrick with the Foxes. I need to speak to my GM, Mr. Petrosian.”
She flicked a look from me to Zeke. “Do you have an appointment?”
“Uh, no.” A little of my certainty leaked out. “I just need a few minutes. It’s important.”
“I can look at his calendar for the afternoon, but?—”
The door to Petrosian’s office opened and he came out with the Dragons’ GM, David Yin. They were laughing together, but both sobered when they saw me and Zeke. Petrosian said, “Fitzpatrick? Are you under arrest?”
