by Rita Ewing
“For my arrest? Is this some kind of joke?” Steve said, looking around for the culprit who was responsible for this untimely prank.
“I’m afraid not.”
Steve began to laugh.
“Mr. Tucker, you’re going to have to come with us,” the second officer said as he approached his partner.
This had to be a joke, and a bad one at that.
“Okay, fellas, whoever sent you, tell them it’s bad timing, but they can catch me on another night. I’ve got a shower to take and interviews to give after that.” Steve turned to leave again, when the other officer grabbed his elbow.
“You can shower later. Now you’re going to Central Booking,” the short officer said.
“Joke’s over; now, let go of my arm,” Steve said as he noticed a crowd of reporters begin to converge around them.
“Mr. Tucker, are you all right?” one of the Mecca’s uniformed security guards asked as he moved into the center of the crowd to where Steve was standing with the two New York City police officers.
“Actually, I’m not. I’m being harassed by Barney Fife and his sidekick.”
“Mr. Tucker, I’m Officer Hernandez and this is Officer Smith.” The shorter officer pulled out his badge, and his partner followed suit. “Here’s a copy of the warrant for your arrest. Now, you can come quietly without making a scene, or you can give these bloodthirsty reporters something else to write about in tomorrow’s papers.”
Steve glanced around the room as bulbs began to flash and reporters started moving their mikes in on him and the police officers. Steve felt as if he were in the twilight zone.
“What are the grounds for my arrest?” Steve asked, realizing that they were serious.
“Assault and battery,” Officer Smith said.
“Now, let’s try and make this as painless as possible. I need you to place your hands behind your back,” Officer Hernandez said with a Smirk on his face.
“You mean you’re going to handcuff me, right here in front of all these reporters? I haven’t even done anything! This is crazy!” Steve said incredulously.
“It’s routine procedure. We can’t make special allowances, even for a Flyer. Even you guys have to come down to earth sometimes,” Officer Hernandez said.
The cops were loving every moment of bringing down a star—that was clear. Steve could not believe this was happening to him. There had to be some sort of mistake. Quickly, desperately, he searched the room for Coach or Jake, anyone to help.
“Well, can’t I at least change out of my uniform?” Steve asked as the photographers went into feeding-frenzy mode, getting shots of him in handcuffs.
Steve thanked God when he saw Brent approaching as the officers began to lead him away from the swarm of reporters.
“Hey! Hey! What’s going on here?” Brent said, running up. “Steve, what’s going on, man?”
“Brent, call Jake for me …; Get that damn mike out of my face,” Steve said as a reporter shoved a microphone up to his mouth. “Tell him to meet me down at the … Can you guys at least tell me what precinct you’re taking me to?” Steve asked the officers.
“Central Booking, like I told you,” Officer Smith answered curtly, as he continued to pull Steve toward the arena exit.
“Officers, why are you arresting Mr. Tucker?” a female reporter asked with pen in hand, anxious to scoop the other beat writers.
“Brent, tell Jake to meet me at Central Booking ASAP,” Steve pleaded.
“What’s going on, man?” Brent asked, ignoring the reporters as he followed the officers leading Steve away.
“Brent, with God as my witness, I have no idea what this is about.”
“All right, man. I’ll take care of this right away, and if I can’t reach Jake, I’ll think of something else, but we’ll get you out of there, man. Don’t worry. If I have to come down there myself, I will,” Brent shouted after Steve as he left the Mecca surrounded by officers and followed by a flock of journalists.
“Thanks, man,” Steve hollered over his shoulder as the door slammed behind him.
Steve had not shut his eyes the whole night. He’d been kept awake by nightmare visions of Kelly and the last night he was at the house in Englewood. She’d retaliated for the eviction.
He had never spent a night in a jail cell before, and he could not believe that he had just done so, thanks to that lying bitch Kelly. Steve berated himself as he paced back and forth waiting for the clerk to return his personal effects. He should have learned his lesson the first time she lied—once a liar, always a liar.
Kelly had filed a report that he had beaten her up a few hours before the game. Somehow she’d even found a witness to corroborate her lie. An officer arrived to remove him from the holding cell.
“Hey, star baller, you’ve been sprung—temporarily.” At thatmoment Steve was sure he’d never donate money to the PAL Association again.
As Steve was handed his uniform and NBA tube socks from the clerk, he felt as if he could kick Kelly’s ass.
“My gym shoes are missing,” Steve said to the giggling clerk sitting behind the counter.
“I didn’t have any gym shoes listed in your inventory, Mr. Tucker,” the clerk said, trying to suppress a smile.
“Oh, so I guess I just came in here barefoot when they arrested me off the basketball court. This is fucking ridiculous. Fuck it!” Steve said as he walked away from the counter and sat down to wait for Jake.
First I get arrested after the greatest night of my career, then I spend the night in jail, some imbecile steals my gym shoes, and now I have to leave here in socks.
Steve stood up again, too angry to remain seated. What the hell had taken Jake so long to get him out of jail anyway? He sure was around when it was time for him to collect his agent fees or when there was a celebrity-studded event, but he couldn’t even send one of his flunkies to post bail for Steve; he’d just left him there till this morning.
Damn! Stephanie had probably worried herself all night, and Steve was sure no one had had the thoughtfulness to call her. She’d probably read about him in the morning’s papers. Steve knew his name was smeared all over the Post and the Daily News. He shuddered just thinking about the headlines.
“Steve! You all right, man?” Brent said, appearing in the waiting area, accompanied by Paul.
Steve turned to see his teammates and felt so relieved at the sight of their faces that he had to hold back tears.
“What are you all doing, slumming? Is Jake with y’all?” Steve asked.
In unison they shook their heads, obviously reluctant to answer him.
“We brought your clothes from your locker. Why don’t you go and get changed, and we’ll talk in the car,” Paul said, handing Steve his bag.
“It’s a madhouse out there,” Steve said, looking out the window at all the reporters swarming the car. “I’d hate to see what the papers look like.”
Steve began to rub his temples as he leaned back on the soft leather seats of Brent’s Bentley.
“Yeah, the papers are real ugly,” Paul said from the backseat.
“That bad?” Steve asked, unsure how much he wanted to know.
“Steve, she jacked you up … made you look worse than Kobe Bryant with those rape charges,” Brent said, shaking his head.
“Damn! That girl is crazy. Now I want to seriously hurt her.” Steve was fuming.
“I wouldn’t repeat that to anybody else if I were you, Steve,” Brent advised.
Steve looked out the window as they sped through the city toward his apartment.
“Thanks for busting me out, guys. What happened to Jake anyway? I know he’s around.”
“I called and left several messages for him all night until I finally reached him at home about three in the morning. He was asleep and told me he would call me when he woke up. Can you believe that shit?” Brent said.
“And he knew I had been arrested?” Steve asked in disbelief.
“Yup.”
“W
hat the hell is wrong with him?” Steve asked. He felt betrayed, big time. And pissed off.
“That’s precisely what Paul and I are trying to figure out. He even tried to give me some lame excuse, claiming that there was nothing he could do until the morning anyway. That’s when I called in a few favors of my own and decided to handle this myself,” Brent said as he turned onto the West Side Highway.
“Now I want to hurt him too,” Steve said, punching his fist into the palm of his hand.
“I can’t say that I blame you, man,” Paul said.
“Our win’s gonna be tarnished because of this crap,” Steve said, wishing that he had never met Kelly. “I hurt you guys.”
“You can’t worry about that right now. You have to think about clearing your name and doing some damage control. The press is eating you alive right now,” Paul said.
“Whatever the papers say, you all know that I didn’t touch that girl. Y’all do know that, don’t you?” Steve asked, looking back at Paul and then at Brent.
Brent cleared his throat before he answered. “First, let me say that I know you didn’t hurt Kelly in any way except by maybe not giving her all the money she wanted. And second, I hope you don’t take this personally, but I knew she was bad news from the first time I ever met her. She was up to no good from the get-go. Just remember there’s a way out of this, and we’re gonna figure it out.”
“I hope so,” Steve said, staring out the front window.
“We’ve got to, man. We need you with us to kick the Lakers’ ass in the finals. We’re not trying to be playing up in Albany next year,” Paul said, reaching over the seat and grasping Steve’s shoulders.
Steve wished he could be as optimistic as Brent and Paul, but he knew how vindictive Kelly could be when she was scorned. There was no telling how far she would carry this charade. Her new focus in life must be to ruin him. And when Kelly focused, she could shoot you down like a high-powered rifle—hot, quick, painful, total destruction. Man, where had his head been?
Chapter 33
“The medid found out? How?” Brent demdnded in- credulously. Casey’s mouth dropped open as she turned to look at Hal. Oh my God, she thought, glancing at Paul and Lorraine, who were also talking with Hal. This was the last thing the Flyers needed right now.
“Hal, do you know who leaked it?” Paul asked.
“No,” Hal said, obviously upset. “Although
I do have a few names in mind.
For the first time, Casey noticed how much older Hal looked than when she first met him over eight years ago. The season had certainly taken its toll on the Flyers’ owner, and Casey felt sorry for him. She knew the Hirshfield history with the New York Flyers, and her heart went out to him as she imagined the burden he must be faced with having to consider selling his family’s legacy.
“Do you think it was Hightower, trying to put pressure on you now that we’ve made it to the final round?” Brent asked.
“Could be, could be not,” Hal thoughtfully responded, thrusting his weathered hands in his pockets. “It could have been any number of people, although I don’t see what incentive Hightower would have to let something like this out.”
“Yeah, if it was Hightower’s people, they’d just be setting themselves up for a bidding war. That wouldn’t be too smart,” Paul added.
“You’re right, Paul. I doubt that Hightower wants to sabotage his own offer. He’s already thirty percent higher than the market value of the team. Even though he may have all the money in the world, he’s still a businessman; it could become obscenely expensive if a bidding war resulted. I’m just sorry any of this has to even be going on,” Hal said tiredly.
“I have to confess, Hal, it could have been just about anyone. After that meeting you held, I had to tell the rest of the guys.” Brent looked around at Paul, Casey, and Lorraine with a guilty expression on his face. “It didn’t seem right for them not to know what was really at stake,” he finished, holding his hands helplessly out in front of himself.
“You’re right, Brent,” Hal said, nodding in agreement. “I probably should have held a team meeting anyway. It was only fair that everyone should’ve known what was going on.”
“I agree, man,” Paul said, looking at Brent. “You did the right thing.”
“Well,” Lorraine added. “If all the guys know, then that means all of the wives and girlfriends know too. Maybe even players and wives from other teams. With all those people knowing about Hightower’s offer, we may never find out who leaked it to the media.”
“It really doesn’t matter at this point,” Hal said. “Right now I’m more concerned about damage control. CNN-Sports Illustrated and ESPN have already aired it, and I heard the local stations are going to be airing their version of the full story on tonight’s news. But what’s most troubling to me is the phone calls from our season ticket holders. Some are already demanding refunds for next year. Not to mention our sponsors are in an uproar. A couple have even threatened to terminate relationships with the team. They don’t even want to think about the ‘Albany Flyers.’ “ Hal finished.
“What are you going to do, Hal?” Casey asked, noticing how dejected he looked.
“I’m not sure right now,” Hal said. “Tonight’s dinner was supposed to be a celebration. The team’s come so far. Now, with this leak and in light of Steve’s arrest, the press is going to have a field day. I’m not sure if I shouldn’t just go ahead and accept Hightower’s offer while it’s still in the best interest of the team.”
“Hal,” Brent interrupted, clearly upset, “his offer was never in our best interest. You can’t give up on us now. I told you up front that we could win the championship, and we’re almost there! Steve’s part of the team, and we still have a chance to kick the Lakers’ asses.” Brent was determined to convince Hal to let the Flyers lay the path for the team’s destiny.
“Brent’s right, Hal,” Paul said. “We didn’t come this far to watch you hand the Flyers over on a silver platter. We have a real chance at bringing home the championship, and once that happens, you can tell Hightower to kiss off.”
“We’ll see. A lot will probably be determined by the outcome of the game tomorrow night. I’m not sure how our big sponsors will react if the team loses now that they know about the potential sale. If they pull out on us now, there’s no question I’ll have to accept Hightower’s offer,” Hal explained.
“But come on, let’s go inside,” Hal said, placing his hands lightly on Casey’s and Lorraine’s shoulders. “Dinner is probably being served, and I know Coach has a speech to make tonight. I don’t want you guys to worry too much about all of this; you have enough to handle out on the court.”
Hal and the two women led the way into the private banquet room at the St. Regis Hotel where Hal and Coach had arranged for a team dinner to celebrate winning the Eastern Conference title. The dining room was beautiful, filled with Louis XV tables and chairs. Casey saw Remy and Collin sitting at a table alone, waving for them to join them. Hal walked off to his table, and Casey led her group across the room.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” Brent said to Collin as he held Casey’s chair out for her. He leaned down to kiss Remy on her cheek and sat down.
Paul and Lorraine exchanged greetings with Collin and Remy. Casey noticed Collin seemed a little more subdued than usual, and assumed that the leak to the media had done little to improve his free-agency status. If anything, it would prolong any talks of renegotiation with the Flyers. In light of the team’s concerns, Casey realized, Collin DuMott would not be a priority.
“Casey, I told you that dress would be perfect for tonight,” Remy said to her friend as she leaned over to kiss Casey’s cheek.
The two women had gone on a last-minute shopping spree at Prada earlier in the day. Remy had flown into town from her mini tour early that morning so she could accompany Collin this evening. They’d both agreed to ignore Alexis’s conservative dress code and splurged on chic, sexy designer outfits for the team di
nner.
Casey had wanted something that was form-fitting so she could show off her new figure. She had started weight training at the Reebok Club three months ago and was noticing firmness and muscles she’d never had before.
The dress she wore was a sleeveless dark red Nicole Doss original that fit her well. The dress dipped dangerously low both in the front and the back, and her figure was accentuated by a long slit that stretched from the top of one thigh down to the top strap of her sexy high-heeled Jimmy Choo sandal. Casey completed her sleek look by wearing her hair slicked back into an intricate twist she had seen modeled on the runway at a recent New York spring collection fashion show. A sparkling diamond stud decorated each ear, and her only other piece of jewelry besides her simple platinum wedding band was a diamond-encrusted Ebel watch.
“Thanks, girl, but you don’t look too shabby yourself,” Casey said, winking at Remy.
Remy looked stunning in a Chanel gown by Karl Lagerfeld. The cream-colored tight bodice created a beautiful contrast with Remy’s light brown-sugar coloring. Her dark brown eyes were offset with an intricate collar of Swarovski pastel-tinted crystals. The silk material of the dress had an iridescent shimmer that made Remy appear to have lights shining from within the folds of her gown. Her dress, like Casey’s, fit her perfectly and displayed her naturally model-like figure in a sexy but classy manner.
“Man,” said Collin as he looked at his two teammates. “I can’t believe the season’s just about over.”
“Yeah, well, we ain’t finished yet, not till we get our rings,” Brent declared, holding up his unadorned right hand.
“You got that right,” Paul chimed in. “I’m not walking away empty-handed.”
“You’ll still have me, baby,” Lorraine said as she smiled up at her husband. Paul laughed and put his arm around her chair, pulling her closer to him.
“Has Coach been brainwashing you with his ‘win, at all cost’ speeches?” Casey asked, looking around the table at the guys.
“I know, he never seems to stop with all that psychological mind-game stuff,” Lorraine said. “Remember the videotapes he sent you guys last summer showcasing your worst moments of the season?” She shook her head and took Paul’s hand in hers. “He’s crazy.”