Page 30 of Linebacker
“Who?” she asks, bringing up my list of contacts.
“You know them better than I do,” I reply. “Which of them are likely to keep their mouths shut?”
“All of them it they think that they might lose the best linebacker the teams ever had. I’ll ring T.J. He’s more likely to answer the phone straight away if he sees that it’s you who’s calling.”
“Why would you say that?” My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. I know that T.J. can be a bit flirty, but that’s just him. Isn’t it?
“Doh! It’s obvious that he’s got a major crush on you.”
“Bhaaa! Not likely. But if you think he’s our best shot, then go ahead. Get him to grab whoever he’s bunking with to come as well. Tell him to get a cab and ask the driver to wait outside so we can get going pronto. Tell them that under no circumstances can they let Coach Scully, the rest of the coach team or players get wind of this.” I look back at Mars and wonder why the hell I’m letting myself get tied up with all this mess. But I know why. Because all those years ago, he stepped up to help me. This is my chance to repay the favour. “Oh, one more thing. Tell them to bring some cash, lots of cash. I have a feeling that we might have to splash a good amount of it to keep this under wraps.”
CHAPTER25
Thankfully, T.J brought Mack Conner with him because, by the time they got to us, Mars was comatose. Mack, the defensive tackle, was big and strong and exactly the powerhouse we needed. As per Lucy’s instruction, they had come dressed in similar inconspicuous clothes as Mars, hoodies and dark jeans. So, with their heads covered and faces obscured, they were barely recognisable as two top Longhorn, NFL players. Mars was like a dead weight, but with T.J. and Mack’s help, we’d manage to get him up on his feet, using themselves as human crutches. As I’d surmised, there was a back door that the staff used which led out to the side of the building, reducing the risk of us bumping into anyone while we got Mars outside and into the cab. T.J. and Mack had to all but carry Mars to the taxi with his feet dragging across the pavement. But eventually, we’d manage to squeeze him into the back seat, with Lucy and I squashed at each side of him, trying to keep him sat up and less obvious that he was wasted. Luck would have it that it was a five-seater, so T.J. and Mack grabbed the two jump seats and sat with their back to the driver. It’s a bloody good job we’d all managed to go back to the hotel together, because getting Mars out of the cab had been twice as difficult as getting him in. T.J. managed to sweet-talk the concierge along with a big tip, of course, to let us in through the delivery entrance at the back. The service elevator had been useful too, with the task of getting Mars back in his room without any of the coaches or other players getting wind of it.
T.J. and Mack have just this minute dropped Mars’ body onto his bed. Even though he bounced a couple of inches on the springy mattress, he didn’t open his eyes or utter a word. He was well and truly out of it.
T.J. had called forward while we’d still been in the taxi to fill Buzzy in, who was bunking with Mars, on what had gone on and to work on how we were going to get Mars back into his room. Apparently, Buzzy knew all about Marshall’s vanishing act and had been happy to cover for him. Dickhead. Well, now it was time for him to redeem himself.
“Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with him?” Mack asks with a scowl on his face. He’s leaning over Mars; Buzzy stands right beside him as they both check out the state of him.
“He’s drunk, and a lightweight one at that,” I huff out from the other side of the room. “He can’t have been in the club more that, what?” I look to Lucy for confirmation. “Thirty, forty minutes?”
“At the most,” Lucy validates before disappearing into the bathroom for a pee.
“When we got to him, he was already wasted,” I stand with my fisted hands resting on my hips, legs slightly apart, annoyed at the state Mars has got himself in, in such a short space of time.
“Nah, that can’t be right,” T.J. walks over to where Mack is standing over Mars to check him out too. “I’ve seen Marshall drink a ton of beer, hard liquor, the lot and you can barely tell. Sure, when he’s drinking some of his behaviour is inappropriate but he’s aware of what he’s doing, even though I’m pretty sure he knows that he shouldn’t. This isn’t alcohol, this is something else, and I’d bet my right nut sack that he wouldn’t have taken any shit like that knowingly.”
“Do you think he’s been drugged?” I gasp, taking up position on the opposite side of the bed so I can check him out too.
“He might be lacking in morals, and be a total jackass with the women, but no way would he risk getting pulled over a bad drug test. The club do random testing all the time. You do that shit; you might as well wave your football career goodbye.”
“Then it must have been those slag bags that he was with in the club.” Lucy adds as she comes out of the bathroom carrying a hand towel and a glass of water. “They must have slipped him something so they could get some dirt on him.” She places the items on the bedside table along with what looks like a couple of Advil.
“Dirt?” Buzzy questions, already looking guilty.
“They were taking photos of him,” I share. “The type of pictures that will do him absolutely no favours if they hit tomorrows tabloids. They’d obviously recognised him as soon as he got there and thought, ‘Whoopie, chance to make some easy dollar’, cheeky pole shaggers.” I give Buzzy a fierce look. “Why the hell did you let him go out?” I snap. Buzzy jumps back like I’ve slapped him hard across the face.
“Hey, lay off him, Hope,” T.J. comes to his defence. “You know what a stubborn, arrogant ass, Marshall is. Hell, he’s done nothing but be a dick to you since you got here. When off duty, Marshall does what Marshall wants, period.”
“Well, Marshall needs to get his head out of his arse,” I warn. “Or it’s going to be well and truly on the chopping board.”
“You seem to be forgetting what’s more important here,” Mack urges. “We need to find out what exactly he’s taken and find a way to get it out of his system, otherwise tomorrow’s game is going to be a waking nightmare.”
“Holy shit,” I groan. “I’ve no idea how we can do that without involving Coach Scully.”
“Let me ring my brother,” Buzzy suggests. “He’s an ER doctor at Lenox Hill Hospital in New York. He’s got some experience in dealing with drug users, he might be able to help.”
“Do it,” I say quickly, and at once, Buzzy opens his phone up and hits buttons and puts it to his ear. “It’s worth a try, at the very least he might be able to tell us how serious this is and if we need to get Mars to a hospital.”
The phone can’t have rung for long before Buzzy speaks at speed. We all watch him as he walks over to Mars and starts feeding back information to his brother. Tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder, Buzzy takes Mars’ wrist and places two fingers at the pulse point while checking his wristwatch. He then reaches over and pulls back his eyelids one at a time. Mars grunts out and rolls over onto his side.
“Okay. Thanks for that. Yeah, I’ll give mom a call after the game tomorrow. Love you, brother.”
Finally, Buzzy finishes the call and walks over to where we’re all standing waiting for the news, good or bad.
“As far as he can tell without actually examining him, it looks like he’s been given sleeping pills. His pulse rate is a little slow and his pupils are slightly dilated, but that’s not uncommon and he doesn’t think it’s anything to be too worried about. Because he responded to my checking him out, he doesn’t think that he’s been given much more than a standard dosage.”
