Knights of Andreas 4.04: See No Evil

[SteVo+ 3,702]

Knights of Andreas

Part IV

Based on Characters Created by:

badgers

Bangy

Barracuda

Bay

BigBen07

BradyFan81

BwareDware94

Chernobyl426

DarthRaider

DonovanMcnabb for H.O.F

eightnine

FartWaffles

Favre4Ever

JetsFan4Life

Maverick

monstersofthemidway

RazorStar

Sarge

seanbrock

SteVo

Thanatos19

theMileHighGuy

Vin

Zack_of_Steel

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Five – See No Evil

 

 

 

Whistles start the play clock, and the fourth quarter begins. The noise level rises in Farmers Field as the Chargers line up for third and two.

 

Rivers takes the snap and hands off to former Knight, Jerome Jaxson. Black jerseys converge at the point of attack and Jaxson runs into a wall. He sweeps right in search of running space, but Grantzinger gets his hands on him. Rose runs in for the assist, both Knights putting something extra on their tackle as they throw Jaxson to the ground for one-yard loss.

 

Jaxson did what he had to do, took the best contract and reunited with his old coach to boot, but none of that sentimental thinking applies on the field. He’s just another opponent now, and all opponents get treated with equal prejudice.

 

After some more chirping, the punt teams come out. Harden crosses his arms and looks up at the scoreboard: Chargers 20, Knights 17. Despite the score, a 32-yard Phillip Rivers pass to Malcolm Floyd is the game’s only offensive touchdown. The Chargers returned a blocked punt for a touchdown, the Knights did the same with a blocked field goal, and Flash took a Rivers interception all the way.

 

The punt pins Los Angeles deep, and Harden hears McKenzie’s play call buzz in his ear. He can hear the frustration in his voice, courtesy of another underwhelming performance on offense. Buchanan has actually been decent today, throwing accurately outside of one interception, but the offense hasn’t found a spark, and is unable to match the intensity of the rivalry game, something that would never happen with Maverick under center.

 

McKenzie calls lots of runs and short passes, only down a field goal with plenty of time left. He dials up quick throws to Alex Johnson, who has developed into Buchanan’s favorite target. Two first downs later, the Knights are near midfield.

 

An off-tackle Jameson run gets bottled up on first down. McKenzie calls a screen to NesSmith, but the Chargers have that covered too, and it’s third and nine. Buchanan lines up in shotgun and hits Bishop down the seam. He takes a hit two yards short of a first down. The crowd immediately pipes with noise, urging the offense to go for it.

 

Harden checks the clock: 9:54 and counting. He covers his mouth and talks into his mouthpiece.

 

“Mac,” he says. “Do you have faith in Max on a play-action call here?”

 

“No,” McKenzie says, shielding his mouth with his laminated play sheet.

 

“Punt.”

 

Boos fill the stadium as both punt teams come out. Shane Lechler boots it deep, where Jaxson waits for it. A wave of black jerseys head for him, but he darts through one opening, then through another. Jaxson surges into green grass, crossing midfield as the crowd screams in horror. Only the punter to beat, Jaxson stutter steps and spins beautifully around him, running free into the end zone.

 

Harden stares down McKenzie as the boos turn angry, and the Knights sideline is too quiet to ignore them.

 

The score remains 27-17 as the Knights mount futile attempts to come back and the Chargers run out the clock. The intensity in the stadium fades with fans filtering out, but the game remains testy on the field.

 

The Chargers eventually face third and twelve at the two-minute warning. Rivers throws a receiver screen. Rose breaks off a block and wraps up the receiver, pushing him backward. Whistles blow the play dead. Rose keeps fighting and receives a hit in the facemask, so he throws the Charger to the grass. A crowd gathers as officials run in to break up the scrum, multiple flags on the field.

 

Harden looks across the field to Caden Daniel, his old boss, as the skirmish dissipates and the Chargers get ready to end the game in the victory formation. There’s no denying Knights/Chargers is more than just a divisional rivalry now, but Harden will worry about that later. These two teams will meet again. The Knights scoring only three offensive points and falling to 3-2 is more pressing.

 

 

 

Malik speeds past car after car, the loss just hours old, though football is the last thing on his mind right now. He gets off the highway and makes a few turns towards his neighborhood. One road away from the gate, he slows down, looking on the side of the road, and sees it.

 

Same car, same spot.

 

Malik maintains his speed as he passes the car. The windows are tinted, but he can see a silhouette of someone sitting in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t need to guess who it is. He turns into the gated community, driving through winding roads to his house. He walks up to the front door, especially looking forward to seeing his two beautiful girls and hearing the same two questions.

 

“Daddy!” Jasmin exclaims, running up to hug her dad. “Did you win?”

 

“No, baby, we lost.”

 

“Aww. Were you good?”

 

“Daddy was the best.”

 

“Yay!”

 

He looks up to see Eva enter the room and notices the look on her face. She doesn’t need to say anything.

 

“Jasmin, go check on your sister. I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”

 

“Okay!”

 

She runs off, and Malik faces his wife.

 

“Car’s still there,” she says.

 

“I know. I saw it.”

 

“Malik, I don’t feel safe. It’s—”

 

“You are safe. Jasmin’s safe. Tatyiana’s safe. Nobody’s coming near this house. Including him.”

 

“Then tell me who he is. I deserve to know why the man is stalking us just outside our neighborhood!”

 

“It was a street race.”

 

“You’ve told me about those.”

 

“Not this one.”

 

He doesn’t want to say his name, though he can’t forget it: Javion Torrey. He knew it was him ever since he saw the car, the 1967 Dodge Charger decked out in a way only Javion Torrey would.

 

Javion’s presence in Los Angeles represents everything that could derail Malik’s NFL career, everything that almost derailed it back when he was just a kid, just a talented defensive back growing up in Atlanta’s suburbs, just a great cornerback at the University of Alabama with a dangerous past.

 

He can still remember everything about that night and the race. The crash, of course, has burned in his memory forever, and Malik hasn’t been in a street race since.

 

He hasn’t done a lot of things since.

 

Malik tells the story, recounting how he and Javion had decided to race for pink slips, how Javion was winning going into the final turn, how Malik’s attempt to bump him out of the way spun him around and into a ditch.

 

“Why couldn’t you go back for him?” Eva asks.

 

“This was only a few weeks before the draft. It would have ruined everything. I wouldn’t have been drafted, we wouldn’t be living here, in this house.”

 

Malik looks around at the multi-million-dollar mansion, thankful for every inch.

 

“I know you’ve been running from this a long time,” Eva says. “But this is your family, Malik. And this is your problem now. When you go out and play football, this doesn’t go away.”

 

“You think that’s what this is? You think this is me just trying to make things go away?”

 

“That’s exactly what it is. You just close your eyes and hope that things won’t touch you.”

 

“You would too if you grew up the way I did.”

 

Eva takes a breath and lowers her voice. “I didn’t know you then, Malik. But every time I hear you talk about it, I’m convinced whoever the Malik Rose was you mention, he’s not the man I see today. He’s not the man I married.”

 

“Listen. When I step on the field, certain things go away. You’re not one of them. Our girls aren’t either. This is what I live for. For my wife and my baby girls. I don’t live for football. I play football so I can come home to you three.”

 

Eva gets close, looks at him like she’s about to kiss him, then backs off.

 

“Some days I think that’s only half true,” she says, walking away.

 

 

 

 

Less than an hour into Monday morning’s taping of the Dan Patrick Show, the program comes out of a commercial break with an interview scheduled. Patrick hears word through his headphones that the caller is on the line.

 

“We’re gonna stay in the NFL for a bit,” Patrick says, “and joining us now is a plugged in reporter from Los Angeles. He covers the Knights for the L.A. Mobile. Adam Javad joining us. Adam, what’s the mood in L.A. after Sunday’s loss to the Chargers?”

 

From his apartment, Javad takes a deep breath (covering the phone so it doesn’t get picked up) and talks.

 

“You know, Dan, I think it’s always frustrating after a divisional loss, but the team is still fairly upbeat about the season. Obviously a big game next Sunday against Arizona, and if the Knights lose that one and fall to 3-3, I think you might see some panic.”

 

“Adam, you wrote a column that was published last Friday titled, ‘See No Evil,’ in which you took objection to the sports world’s perception of the Los Angeles Knights. You were particularly critical of the media’s role in supporting the narrative that the Knights are a dirty team. I would argue that teams don’t get that sort of image unless it’s deserved. Tell me why I’m wrong.”

 

Javad’s column wasn’t his genuine opinion, so he bullshits as well as he can.

 

“Well, like I said in the column, I think it’s a problem that affects all sports. I don’t think it’s unique to the Knights, or to the NFL. I think we, as—I guess a culture—see a few dirty plays here and there on the same team, we extend that to the entire team. And that’s been happening with the Knights.”

 

“So what about yesterday, when you have a very testy game, lots of pushing and shoving after the whistle, and three personal fouls called on the Knights?”

 

“First of all, it’s a divisional game. And it’s a rivalry. I don’t think that can be debated anymore about the Knights and Chargers. Don’t forget there were two personal fouls called on San Diego, so there was intensity on both sides.”

 

“Why write this column, Adam? You cover the Knights but you’re not a Knights fan, correct?”

 

“Well—”

 

“Just answer that: do you consider yourself a Knights fan?”

 

“I’m not from Los Angeles originally, so the answer to that would be no, but I think any beat writer would like to see the team they cover do well.”

 

“Fair enough, but again, why write the column? You’re under no obligation to write positively about the Knights. You’re under no obligation to prop up their image. In fact, as a journalist, you probably have more material to work with if the team is considered dirty. So what gives?”

 

“Because, Dan, I have an obligation to write it the way I see it. I’ve written editorials on league-wide issues I felt strongly about, and this was no different. And my biggest thing on this one in particular, and this isn’t directed at you, is I think some members of the media simply find it easier to support narratives that already exist, whether or not they actually believe them. This is obviously an extreme example, but if you think Tom Brady is a bad quarterback, are you gonna dig up all the stats and put yourself out there? No way. You’re gonna go with the flow and call him one of the best ever like everybody else does.”

 

 

 

Tuesday afternoon, before hitting the field for practice, the Knights defense watches film on their next opponent. Year two under Bruce Arians has seen the Arizona Cardinals jump out to a 4-1 record, establishing themselves as contenders in the NFC. Sunday, the Knights will play them on their second Sunday Night Football appearance this season.

 

From the back of the room, Coach Harden controls the videos of the Cardinals’ offense. A few good throws by Carson Palmer prompt a rant.

 

“I swear, every goddamn press conference everyone asks me what I think of ‘the resurgence of Carson Palmer’ or some bullshit. I guess no one remembers how good he was a few years back in Cincinnati. What’s the fucking surprise? Anyway, their offensive line is definitely weak, particularly on the interior. Luck, that’s all you, and Anthrax, it’d be nice if you learned how to rush the passer. Might give us a boost. Their receivers are pretty good, but we know Fitzgerald will be shut down. Right, Malik?”

 

Harden looks to where Rose sits but hears no response. He doesn’t look asleep. If he is, this meeting is about to go south really quick.

 

“Malik!”

 

Sitting next to Rose, Flash sees that Rose’s eyes are open as if he’s fixated on the screen. Flash nudges him in the ribs, and he snaps out of it.

 

“Yeah, coach?”

 

“I’m sorry, were we interrupting a fantasy?”

 

Schwinn yells, “I bet it was about Brock’s girlfriend!”

 

Everyone laughs except Brock, Rose, and Harden.

 

“Malik,” Harden says when the laughter dies down, “just do us a favor and pay the fuck attention. If you let Fitzgerald get the best of you, we’re all fucked, because you’re not getting any help over the top.”

 

“That’s all me, coach,” Flash says.

 

“No can do. Need you to keep an eye on this Charlie Brown fucker. Oh, John Brown, my mistake. Fuck it, he’s Charlie. Flash, you’re covering Charlie Brown.”

 

 

 

By Friday night, the game plan for Arizona is set. Not long after the team has gone home for the day, Phillips, DeMartine, and Keegan crunch some numbers in Phillips’ office. Keegan rambles about how the media is overrating the Cardinals defense while Schneider walks in, almost unnoticed. He approaches the trio and silences them with his stern facial expression.

 

“We’re less than two weeks away from the trade deadline,” Schneider says. “Anything going on?”

 

Phillips glances at his two assistants nervously. “Paul, Michal, could you guys excuse us for a minute?”

 

“No,” Schneider says. “No. You both stay. They need to hear this too.”

 

Phillips nods, accepting defeat, and Schneider goes on.

 

“Buchanan’s not going to get this team into the playoffs. Not the way I see it. Why aren’t we discussing options?”

 

“We have discussed options,” Phillips says, “and none of them are good.”

 

“Kirk Cousins? Mark Sanchez? At the very least, maybe it’s time to give Clemens a shot?”

 

“These aren’t very inspiring names, Wayne.”

 

“So Max Buchanan inspires you?”

 

“Not just yet, no. But McKenzie’s working with him. We’ve got a second-year quarterback and a first-year coordinator. They’re doing the best they can. And with the defense playing the way it is, that’s enough for us to win games right now. We’ve considered every realistic trade scenario, and in none of those scenarios is shaking things up again going to benefit us. Not in my estimation.”

 

“And if we drop the next two and are 3-4 the week of the deadline, then what?”

 

Phillips doesn’t respond. DeMartine looks just as concerned, and Keegan looks confused.

 

“You’re in a contract year, Chance. I hope you remember that.”

 

“Hard to forget.”

 

“Then understand this: your fate is tied to this season. And if you’re willing to ride out the storm with Buchanan under center, that’s your call. And you’re gonna have to live with it either way.”

 

As Schneider walks out, his footsteps echo through the hallway. Phillips almost feels queasy, preferring not to dwell on the fact that his contract has less than six months left on it, as does DeMartine’s. They’ve talked about this, of course, but they know nothing’s changing at this point. Keegan is under contract for a few years, but if he’s as smart as Phillips thinks he is, he knows his fate is tied to Phillips as well.

 

Phillips gets back to work without saying anything, taking petty solace in the fact that he probably won’t have to talk about this with Melissa again. Not tonight, anyway.

 

 

 

Buchanan steps toward the line of scrimmage with Farmers Field roaring. He waves his arms to quiet the fans, but it barely makes a difference. The Knights set up on the Cardinals’ seventeen-yard line courtesy of a fumble, forced by Martin and recovered by Anthrax. Down 7-3 with halftime just 1:28 away, they have a chance to take the lead into the locker room.

 

Buchanan drops back and stares down Johnson. He’s open as he breaks on a hitch, so Buchanan fires. Johnson catches it and goes down with defenders closing for a six-yard gain.

 

Clock ticking, McKenzie radios the next call to Buchanan, the rest of his offensive staff communicating with hand signals. Twenty seconds later, the Knights are lined up in shotgun. Buchanan takes the snap, and pressure comes from his blind side. He rolls right to avoid a sack, doesn’t see anybody open, and throws it away.

 

Third and four. McKenzie sends in four receivers with Banks in the backfield. He realizes Jameson has barely touched the ball this half and makes a mental note for halftime.

 

Buchanan drops back and stares down Wilkes, running to the end zone. A safety runs to meet them in the corner as the pass comes in. Wilkes gets under it with two white jerseys mobbing him. Practically playing defense, Wilkes gets a hand on it and the ball tips into the air past everyone’s reach. The stadium lets out a collective gasp of frustration, and Wilkes gets into a shoving match with Patrick Peterson as the field goal units come out.

 

With 0:43 on the clock, McCabe kicks the twenty-eight-yarder through the uprights, and it’s 7-6, Cardinals.

 

 

 

Carson Palmer drops back with a blitz coming and lobs the ball to his left. Michael Floyd leaps over Richard Marshall, grabs the pass, and somehow comes down with it for a deflating conversion on third and eleven.

 

Harden calls the next play, trying his best to avoid screaming, even though this is the start to the second half he warned his defense about in the locker room. He keeps the blitzes coming. Palmer has faced pressure all night save for the game’s opening drive, where Harden decided to take it easy and rely on his secondary, resulting in a ten-play, seventy-nine-yard touchdown drive. It’s been no mercy ever since.

 

Wide right, Rose lines up against Larry Fitzgerald, surprisingly catchless so far today. Fitzgerald runs left for a slant, then cuts back toward the sideline, and Rose loses a step. He panics, three yards behind, but Fitzgerald eases up, the play already over. Rose catches his breath and lines up again.

 

Fitzgerald runs a yard and stops—receiver screen. Rose runs in for an interception, but Fitzgerald takes off, beating Rose again. He sprints to catch up and sees Fitzgerald’s eyes. He knows the pass is coming. As Fitzgerald positions his hands for the catch, Rose jumps and hurls his arms into the air, somehow swatting the pass away toward the sideline. He tackles Fitzgerald for good measure.

 

The crowd cheers for the play, but it was a lucky miracle, and Rose knows it. From the sideline, Harden had a good view, and he knows it too. He shrugs it off, preferring not to think of the ramifications of Rose having an off day. Harden calls every play banking on Rose eliminating his assigned receiver from contributing. And if that were ever to change, so would the entire dynamic of the defense.

 

A few running plays punch through more blitzes, and the Cardinals near field goal range. The defense tightens up, eventually forcing third and ten. Farmers Field gets loud again as the Cardinals line up with five wide receivers, Fitzgerald getting stare down by Rose.

 

Palmer takes the snap. Fitzgerald runs a post route, Rose gives him some room, and Palmer’s pass hits him in stride. Rose wraps his arms around him, slows them both down, and tries to wrangle the receiver down, but he loses his grip and falls, leaving Fitzgerald alone. Schwinn comes out of nowhere and tackles him two yards short of a first down, and the crowd screams in approval.

 

Schwinn extends his arm to Rose and helps his teammate to his feet.

 

“Tryin’ a little too hard there, partner!”

 

Rose doesn’t even look at him. Despite the stop, the eight-yard-gain lets Arizona attempt a fifty-three-yard field goal. Chandler Catanzaro boots it deep enough, curving it just inside the right upright, and the Cardinals extend their lead to 10-6.

 

 

 

The Knights take over on their own thirty with 8:35 to go in the fourth quarter. The offense has found some momentum this half, leading two drives into field goal range. McCabe made one kick from thirty-eight yards out but missed from forty-one. In the meantime, the defense has gone on lockdown mode, so the Knights trail, 10-9.

 

McKenzie calls plays aggressively, knowing he still has eight minutes, but he wants to save as much time as possible in case this drive stalls.

 

Buchanan drops back and hits Bishop over the middle for ten yards. He has enjoyed a cleaner pocket this half, mostly thanks to Grodd helping Adams with Calais Campbell. On the right side, Fowler is holding his own, and Penner and Zeitler have been predictably reliable.

 

After a few Jameson carries, it’s third and two near midfield. The clock ticks under six minutes as both teams prepare for the game’s biggest play.

 

In the huddle, Buchanan relays McKenzie’s call: play-action, Watson and Wilkes both running deep posts.

 

“D-Jam,” Bishop says, “if you see that single safety, don’t cut on the post, just go for it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Wilkes says. “I know what to do.”

 

The huddle breaks, and the crowd gets loud. Buchanan doesn’t bother trying to quiet them this time. With the play clock running low, he hurries the snap. He sells a handoff to Jameson and multiple defenders break free. He runs left, escaping their reach, and looks deep. Wilkes is running in single coverage. Buchanan steps up and fires it far downfield. Wilkes keeps running, tracks the pass, and catches it in stride. The crowd cheers in unison as Wilkes applies a firm stiff arm to the Cardinals’ safety, and the stadium booms as Wilkes runs alone into the end zone.

 

Wilkes lets his momentum take him past the goal posts, where he dunks it and runs along the edge of the crowd, egging them on and loving every second of it. What a relief to find the end zone again, after what feels like an eternity.

 

McKenzie keeps his offense on the field, trying for a seven-point lead. The stadium is still in a frenzy as the Knights line up in a goal line formation. Wilkes is isolated wide left with everyone else in the box.

 

Buchanan takes the snap and looks to Wilkes immediately. He throws up a jump ball. Wilkes jukes and gets some separation, but the wobbly pass sails way off target, and Wilkes nearly commits offensive pass interference trying to catch it. It falls incomplete, and the Knights lead, 15-10.

 

On the sideline, McKenzie praises his offense for a good drive, though he has to scream over the crowd noise. Buchanan high-fives his teammates with a goofy smile on his face—until Wilkes finds him.

 

“What the fuck, man? What kinda pass is that?”

 

“Let it go, D-Jam,” Penner says before Buchanan can respond. “Let it go.”

 

“C’mon, D-Jam,” Buchanan says, “you scored the touchdown, dude.”

 

“Man, fuck y’all!”

 

Wilkes sulks off to find a quiet spot on the bench, sporting the only frown on the sideline.

 

 

 

The Cardinals get the ball back on their own ten with 2:41 to go. Still up by five, Harden refrains from deviating from his strategy of frequent blitzes.

 

Palmer, however, hits receivers quickly and accurately for decent gains, though the clock runs. Three completions later, the Cardinals are on their forty at the two-minute warning.

 

Palmer drops back against a blitz that gets picked up. He steps up and fires toward the sideline. John Carlson catches the pass and goes out of bounds for a twelve-yard gain.

 

For Harden, that’s enough. He subs in Jamari Price for Brock, hoping for a spark. Brock runs to the sideline, arms extended.

 

“I’m not tired, coach!”

 

“Sit the fuck down,” Harden says, eyes on the field.

 

Price and Grantzinger both rush, and Price gets stuffed. This time, though, Palmer fires deep, hitting Michael Floyd for a twenty-six-yard gain, and a nervous energy swells through the stadium as Harden and other coaches step toward the end zone, following the line of scrimmage.

 

The Cardinals keep passing with the Knights’ pass rush lacking. Palmer hits receivers for short gains, everything to the end zone well covered. Floyd for five yards, Carlson for three, Brown for six. Harden finally sends an all-out blitz, and Palmer hands off to Ellington, somehow finding a seam and reaching the four-yard-line.

 

Arizona calls timeout. First and goal, 0:42 left. Harden makes substitutions, getting his entire first team back in, Brock included. If his starting defense can’t make a stop here, they deserve to lose the game.

 

Ellington takes a carry off-tackle left and runs into a crowd, plowing ahead for two yards. Second and goal from the two. Palmer shouts a play call, hurrying everyone back to the line and preserving Arizona’s final timeout.

 

Palmer fakes a handoff and looks to the end zone. Brock crushes him with a blindside hit, and he hits the grass for a six-yard loss. The crowd comes surging back as Brock performs his sack dance. Palmer calls timeout, and the clock freezes at 0:18.

 

Harden considers his final calls. Do the Cardinals have the balls to run it from eight yards out and no timeouts? No, they don’t. He calls a conservative pass defense to blanket the end zone.

 

Third and goal. The stadium is in an uproar for the dramatic finish under the lights. Palmer drops back behind a clean pocket. He looks all over the field without throwing. Luck breaks through, forcing Palmer to throw it out of the back of the end zone. Fourth and goal.

 

Harden calls a similar play, and the entire stadium prepares for the game’s conclusion. The Cardinals line up in shotgun with four wide receivers, the Knights in their 2-4-5.

 

Palmer takes the snap against a three-man rush. He looks right, looks left—nothing. He shifts around in the pocket with no pressure. Randall moves laterally in the middle of the end zone. He spots a receiver running toward him, about to break open, and picks him up. Then Fitzgerald cuts across, into the middle where Randall should be, wide open. Palmer fires over the middle for Fitzgerald. The bullet pass is caught by the outstretched arms of Grantzinger, diving across the goal line.

 

The linebacker gets mobbed by his teammates as the officials rule a touchback, and the Knights celebrate along with their fans.

 

 

 

The team gets back to the MedComm Center with spirits riding high, and plans are put in motion for a club outing. Brock astoundingly turns down an invite, but Grodd, Jameson, Anthrax, Randall, Grantzinger, Flash, and Rose are in.

 

They head to a familiar club, one where they know they can keep a low profile and celebrate comfortably. The Knights are 4-2 now, a record any team will accept after seven weeks. They’ll face a difficult road to the postseason again, with the Broncos 5-1 and Chargers 5-2, but they’ll get their chance in the AFC West, with five of six divisional games still to be played.

 

A few minutes after the first round of drinks arrive, Rose steps away, feeling his phone vibrating.

 

“C’mon, Malik!” Randall says. “Your first time out all year and you’re gonna spend it on the phone?”

 

Rose sees the caller is Eva and answers. “Hello?”

 

“I just saw the car parked outside.”

 

“Parked outside where?”

 

“Right outside our house, Malik. I took one step outside and he drove away.”

 

Malik feels his heartbeat pick up. His eyes dart between the front door to the club and the crowd of his teammates.

 

“Stay inside. Keep the doors locked. I’m gonna call you back in a minute.”

 

“Malik, what—”

 

“I’ll call you back in a minute.”

 

He hangs up and brings up the contact list in his phone, finding a name and a number he hasn’t dialed in a long, long time.

 

“No fucking way!” Grodd yells, standing up.

 

Everyone notices a commotion near the front of the club as a couple strolls through the entrance. The woman turns heads with a low-cut dress showing off a large set of breasts, but it’s her face that’s unmistakable as one of Los Angeles’ most famous porn stars. She smiles and locks arms with Sean Brock, starting linebacker for Los Angeles’ NFL team.

 

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Randall says.

 

Rose pays no attention to the commotion, pressing his phone to his ear closely.

 

“Hey, it’s me…I know…Good, good. You in town?...Good. I need a favor.”

 

 

 

Rose drives the Charger into his reserved parking space and walks into the MedComm Center, ready for another week of work. The Knights have a road trip to Baltimore coming up, and Rose is eager to brush off his performance against Arizona. He takes a few steps into the lobby before a security guard approaches him.

 

“Sir, I need you to come with me.”

 

“The fuck? What’s going on?”

 

“Malik!” Rose looks up and sees Harden emerge from the elevator. “It’s okay. Come with me.”

 

“Where to, coach?”

 

“Mr. Schneider’s office.”

 

Rose and Harden take the elevator up to the second floor. Harden seems relaxed, so Rose doesn’t panic. They walk down a hallway lined with pictures Rose has never seen before. When they get to the office, a crowd awaits them: Schneider, the GM, and a few other people Rose doesn’t recognize. Schneider initiates a round of pleasantries, furthering the confusion.

 

“Malik, I’ll get straight to the point,” Schneider says. “We may have a situation. Do you know a man named Javion Torrey?”

 

“I used to. Why?”

 

“He’s at Good Samaritan Hospital right now, being treated for multiple injuries. It appears he was beaten up pretty badly last night by one or more assailants. Doctors say they nearly had to put him in a coma to get him through the night.”

 

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

 

“We need you to help us out on this one, Malik. We just spoke with your agent, and your attorney is on his way.”

 

“What do I need my lawyer for?”

 

“The police have named you a suspect in the Torrey case. They’re on their way here right now.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Sarge+ 3,436]

Holy shit...

 

This is more like your writing style.

 

Definitely didn't see the Rose thing coming though. I always thought if anyone got in trouble with the law it would be D-Jam or sean.

[ATL_Predator+ 1,196]

Oh man...

[Cherry 1,302]

Richard Marshall better than Rose. Sorry. Good character. Class act.

[Thanatos 2,847]

Did he actually use his favor to get someone to beat up Torrey? Oh my.

[BwareDWare94 723]

It's all...Rosey...in Knights country!

[BigBen07 285]

Terrific as always Stevo!

 

Holy hell, I didn't expect the ending of that chapter. Gonna be interesting to see how that turns out.

 

Nice defensive stand vs. the Cards

[Vin+ 3,121]

Dan Patrick.

 

Charlie Brown.

 

Thuggery,

 

 

:ooo:

[Sarge+ 3,436]

I just read this again. Gotta be one of the better chapters you've written.

[RazorStar 4,025]

Well I called Malik getting arrested, but not for this!

 

Excellent chapter SteVo, the tension building up is tighter than a piano wire now, and we've got Wayne Schnieder toying with the wire, flicking it without a care in the world. I am excite.

[Zack_of_Steel+ 3,014]

Defense saves the day again.

[ATL_Predator+ 1,196]

Rose>Grantzinger

[SteVo+ 3,702]

I'm a day late for Hump Day Bump Day, but make sure you (re)read before a new chapter tomorrow!

[Zack_of_Steel+ 3,014]

Rose>Grantzinger

[Bangy 19]

Currently reading through these now.

 

Come on now, y'all should know to not let Jaxson have room to run.

 

Also very interested in seeing how the Rose drama plays out and if May comes back healthy.