by Tim Green
Chapter TWENTY-SIX
Gavin Collins made his way through the bustle of the locker room. The players were all cleaning out their lockers. Most of them were either headed back to their homes or at least on some vacation for a month or so. Gavin, like many of the players, had a large grin on his face. Clay was sitting glumly in his locker, sorting through different pairs of football shoes and worn socks. Gavin sat down on an empty stool next to him. Clay looked up.
"How's it going?" Gavin said.
"Fine."
"Hey, I got the Giants job."
"Yeah, I heard, congratulations, Gavin. You get to get out of here after all, huh?"
"Can we talk?" Gavin said quietly.
"Sure."
"How about in my office?" Gavin said after looking around.
"Sure," Clay said and followed him upstairs.
"Clay," Gavin said when they were both sitting down, "last week you came to me with an idea, and I said I wanted to think about it."
Clay straightened up and looked Gavin in the eye. "Did you?"
"Not only did I think about it . . . well, believe it or not, I've had the same idea myself," Gavin said. "But before I talked with you, I wanted to see if the Giants thing panned out."
"And . . ." Clay said.
"You don't happen to have that stuff with you, do you?" Gavin asked.
"It's in the trunk of my car."
"Get it," Collins said.
A half hour later, the two of them walked right past Wendy, Humphry Lyles's secretary, who blurted something about a private meeting. They burst in on White and Lyles. In Clay's hand was a clear plastic bag.
The two men that Gavin and Clay interrupted were happy ones. The Ruffians had failed to go all the way to the Super Bowl. They'd lost to the 49ers in the NFC championship only two days ago. Still, they had made history. Humphry Lyles and Vance White had done the impossible. They'd taken a lowly expansion club and a bunch of unknown players and turned them into a team of bad guys that were now the darling of American sports fans. In fact, the meeting they were interrupting was a cheerful strategy session for the upcoming year.
"... I know we're going to win it all," were the exact words coming from Humphry Lyles's mouth as Clay and Gavin entered. White and Lyles both looked up in surprise.
"Sorry to interrupt you," Gavin said blandly, "but I thought you'd be as happy about my news as I am." Looking directly at White, he continued, "I'm taking the coordinator job in New York with the Giants. I know you'll be more than happy to let me out of my contract and let me go."
White chuckled condescendingly. "So they've got quotas to make in New York too?"
Gavin let the slur go. He had more important things to talk about.
"He's taking me with him," Clay said authoritatively. "We figure you two can trade me for the Giants first-round pick this year."
Both the other men laughed out loud before Lyles could gain enough control to scowl and say, "Get the hell out of here, Collins. You're no longer part of this organization, and that's a damn good thing in my eyes.
Blackwell, you're a fucking problem, but you might as well buy a big house here, boy, 'cause this is your home."
"No, Mr. Lyles," Clay said, "this isn't my home, and I'm not your boy."
He tossed a clear plastic bag onto Lyles's desk.
"What the hell is this!" Lyles shrieked.
White, sitting in a chair opposite the desk, craned his neck to see what was in the bag.
"You know damn well what it is, Mr. Lyles," said Clay, "or you ought to. It's an almost empty vial of the shit you've been pumping into this team for the past eight months. There are also a few used syringes for effect."
"I've never seen this before, Blackwell. I don't know what the hell you're talking about. What the hell is this all about, Collins?" Lyles glared. "I'll have your ass."
"No," Gavin said, "we've already got your ass. Humphry."
Clay wondered which had shocked the owner more--being called by his first name, or what Gavin had actually said.
"You will trade Clay like he said," Gavin continued. "You'll get a decent pick for him, and no one will ask why. You may look a little foolish after the way he's played, but you can cite personality differences as the reason."
"You're forgetting one thing!" said White, grabbing the bag from the desk and clutching it to him. "This stuff never existed! And even if it did, you're both into this as much as anyone! You'll be blackballed from coaching, Collins! You're a traitorous motherfucker!"
It was Clay's and Gavin's turn to laugh. White looked silly, standing there clutching the plastic bag.
"Do you really think that's all we've got?" Gavin sneered. "That's just Clay's stuff. There's an envelope full of things that I've collected that a friend of mine is holding for me. It's got the same stuff that's in there. I thought someone might want to put that shit through some tests or something. Anyway, the best part of the whole thing is a little note in your handwriting, Vance. It's the name and address of a Dr. Kyle Borne. Along with all that is a nice little story I put together about the two of you that I'm sure all your fans would like to see. It's all in an envelope-- addressed to the New York Times"
He looked from the coach to the owner to see the effect of his words.
"Don't tell me you'll take me down too," Gavin said, "because it's bullshit, and even if you did, I don't really care. I'm not letting you two have your cake and eat it too. If you want to keep the Ruffians, then I get Clay."
Clay could tell by the look on the two men's faces, and their lack of response, that the deal was done, but he wanted to hear them say it. "Do we have a deal, Mr. Lyles?" he said.
Lyles was looking down at his desk, his hands bunched in rage. "Go," he said. "Get the hell out of here, both of you."
Clay looked at the astonished White and grinned. White twisted his mouth in rage and glared at Clay.
"Make a move," Clay said, his face suddenly dark and threatening. "You're not my coach anymore, and you know what I got."
White sprung from his seat, but stopped, standing.
Clay's fists were tight. His muscles quivered and his eyes were lit with that same fire that separated him from the rest.
White studied his eyes for a moment, then sat down.
Gavin nodded to Clay that it was time to leave. On his way out Clay paused and looked up at the painting of the small-town street of Humphry Lyles's humble beginnings and said, "What a shitty little town."
He shut the door firmly behind them.
"It worked," Gavin said, breaking into a grin as soon as they were out the door.
"It worked," Clay said, beaming. He shook Gavin's hand firmly, and the coach pulled him into a hug.
"Let's get the hell out of here," Clay said.