New Games

by Mel Todd

  Perc scribbled it down on one of the sheets and tore it off, handing it to the man. "Thanks again. I don't mean to pry but why are you being so helpful? Has to be more than just us both turning into animals."

  The man shrugged. "McKenna's out there somewhere and I'd be seriously surprised if by the time this is done she hasn't had to kill. I just hope if she does, someone helps her."

  Perc tilted his head a bit. "You in love with her?"

  Again, that grin as he shook his head. "Love her? Sure. In love, no way. She's like my sister and best friend. But she's also my partner and knowing she is out there alone, is making me go insane. Hence, working while I wait for news."

  The man shrugged, and Perc could see the anger and rage hiding behind his eyes. But the spurt of joy in his chest at the knowledge that this man wasn't involved with McKenna made Perc blink. He shoved that reaction down and focused instead on the cop. "I can't imagine what you are going through. If I can do anything, let me know?"

  "Thanks. Let me go get your lawyer's number for you."

  He walked out of the room and Perc focused on the yellow pad.

  Treat this as an exam, the more accurate details you provide, the more points you'll get on the question. The question is - what happened?

  Putting his mind in exam mode helped, and he began to write. His mother had required legible penmanship while law school beat into him logical and linear thinking. By the time Davidson walked back into the room, a number scribbled on the piece of paper, Perc had two pages covered in details. He listed out every step, each observation, and the correct sequence of events from the point he got into the car.

  A low whistle pulled his attention to the cop as he laid the paper and a bottle of soda on the table. "The prosecutors are going to love you. You sure you play football?"

  "Yea, but I also have my masters, and another degree, plus I'm studying for the Bar. Should be taking it after the season is done."

  "More power to you. I'll let you be." He walked back out and closed the door behind him, shutting out the noises from outside.

  Perc looked down at his notes, hesitated, then stood and walked over to the phone. Dialing the number written down for him he waited and asked to speak to Laura Granger.

  "This is Laura."

  "Hey, I'm… well not in jail but I need your advice."

  "Wait, Perc? You never get in trouble. What's going on?"

  He told her the bare bones in quick easy tones and then finished with, "So how much do I tell them?"

  Laura Granger had been his lawyer since he started his career, his ongoing mentor for his law degree and over the last few years a good friend. She practiced contract law and checked all his contracts. He knew criminal law wasn't her specialty but if she thought he was in trouble, she'd have a criminal lawyer there within the hour.

  "Take this with a grain of salt but I'm pretty sure you're in the clear. You killed one man who you saw murder another, rescued two people and exposed a major crime. Tell them the truth, don't exaggerate, and don't lie or hide anything. But for now, I can't see that a lawyer will do you any good. You're smart enough to not incriminate yourself, so I think you're fine. But if you want one there, I'll call someone and send them your way. I'm not a criminal lawyer and my showing up won't do you any good."

  "Nah, thanks though. That was what I figured, I just needed my sanity double checked. Thanks."

  "Always. Call me and let me know how it goes."

  "Will do. Hey, can you see if there are any case studies or rulings about discrimination based on medical or genetic aspects?"

  "Sure. What's up? That can't have anything to do with what is going on now?" She sounded confused and he didn't blame her but the 'shifters need to stick together' comment kept bouncing around in his head.

  "No. Something with the NFL. I'm looking to see if a group of people have ever been released from their jobs for something they were. Maybe even something that made them really good at the job. I'd like to see what the grounds of the court case was and what the results were. I'm interested to know if anyone could get fired for their 'own safety'?"

  "Interesting. So not a medical condition that prevented them from working but more like Asperger's syndrome where they were so good at it because it fit their mental framework?"

  "Maybe. They keep using the phrase 'for the safety and well-being of the players' but it doesn't make any sense. We don't know enough about shifters yet to know if there are any risks. Hell, we know there are risks with concussions but we still play, just with better equipment."

  "I'll look, I seem to remember something. I'll let you know."

  He hung up and started to walk back to the table, then turned and went back to the phone, dialing a number he did know by heart.

  "All-Star Agents, this is Alicia. How may I help you?"

  "Hey, Alicia, it's Perc. Can you get my contract, the hard copy, copy it and send it to my house, same day?"

  "Sure, you hear anything else?"

  "Oh, lots of stuff. But I want to check something."

  "I'll have it done within the hour."

  He thanked her, and this time made it back to his table. The loss of his phone already bugged him. He cracked open the Coke, full sugar, and drank half of it, the bubbling carbonation chasing away the last of the funk of blood from his mouth and nose. Feeling better he sat back down and started to write, going through every minute and adding all the details he could.

  9

  Honor

  We've been receiving reports of athletes across multiple sports being suspended. Several of them are taking to Twitter and the common reason is their ability to shift citing 'unfair advantage'. At this point, nothing has happened as people are still trying to figure out if they can even do this. Is this the wave of the future? Are we going to restrict people based on their abilities? I thought this was the country of the free, where you were encouraged to succeed? ~ Harvey Klein Talk show host

  Davidson got a squad car to drop Perc off at home after being provided with the warnings of 'please don't leave town' and 'we might have further questions' but the cops’ entire attitude seemed to follow the lines of 'good job'. That alone made him feel semi -human. The ride to his house wasn't as nice, he did have to ride in the back but mainly because there were two cops in the car. They were friendly, dropping him off in good time, but the connection he'd felt with JD didn't exist.

  Shaking his head, he walked up to his house, still in the old t-shirt, sweats, and thick socks. The reflection from the glass in his door told him he looked like an absolute bum. With a heartfelt sigh, too tired to even get frustrated, he entered his access code, unlocking the door. Having your house wired when you'd lost your keys and your phone created a definite advantage.

  Thirty minutes later showered, dressed, and with another fortifying cup of coffee, though the only thing he wanted to do was stuff his face and fall asleep, he got in his car and drove to Linda Shatton's house. The entire drive over he kept wanting to turn around, to run, anything to not face her. But he couldn't do that. He might not be married but if someone watched him die, he hoped they'd let his parents know.

  He pulled up as cops were walking back down from the front door, they paused looking at him.

  "You're the witness?" A heavyset cop asked, tight black hair cut short and eyes narrowed as he looked at Perc.

  "Yeah. I saw Rick die."

  The cop nodded. "We just told her. She's pretty broken up. You sure you want to talk to her now?"

  No, I have no fucking desire to talk to her now, I want to be home drinking until I can't see him bleeding out in front of me.

  "I owe her this at least."

  The cop nodded at him, and Perc thought there might have been respect in his eyes.

  "Good luck. Be nice to her."

  "As much as I can figure out how to be."

  The man nodded at him and got back into his car. Perc watched him leave and closed his eyes concentrating on breathing. Then stiffening his spine, he
walked forward and knocked on the door. Linda yanked it open at once, her eyes red, face blotchy and her dark brown hair a mess. When she saw him her face crumpled, and he wondered who she had hoped it would be.

  "Sorry, Mr. Alexander, I can't really talk now," she mumbled and started to close the door.

  "Linda. I was there. I saw them kill him." The words were blunt, harsh, cold but he didn't know how else to say them.

  She just looked at him her face going blank. For a moment he thought she would shut the door in his face, and he wouldn't have blamed her, instead she stepped back turned and walked deeper into the house. Perc followed her in, shutting the door behind him. He'd never been here before, so he had no idea where she headed. Inspecting the house as he walked he saw comfort and ease. He tried to remember what he knew about Rick. He was young, only played for a few years, and if he remembered correctly Linda and Rick had been high school sweethearts but had only gotten married recently. Pictures of them, some of what he assumed were their parents. The house cost about the same as his, and with insurance, he figured she would be able to pay it off. The NFL kept life insurance on all players, just in case.

  He turned and found her in the kitchen pulling out a bottle of Ciroc Red Berry vodka from the freezer and two tumblers from the cupboard. She filled both tumblers and pushed one towards him. Without hesitation she downed the entire tumbler in three long swallows.

  Perc couldn't blame her but he only sipped at his vodka. When he got drunk, he planned on being home with all the doors locked and something with lots of explosions on TV.

  She set the glass down on the counter with exquisite care and looked at him. "Tell me." Her voice flat, uninflected, and her eyes speared him through his soul and he couldn't look away.

  Wanting badly to drain the tumbler, he forced himself to only take a sip, then started talking. He didn't leave anything out, his frozen horror, the drugs, the fear, and the decision. Linda didn't move as he talked, her hands in a white-knuckled grip along the heavy crystal tumbler.

  He wound down, looking at her, waiting for her to attack to blame him, something. Anything to punish him for the death of Rick.

  She blinked, then poured another full tumbler of vodka. This time she only took a long swallow and set it back down, the glass clinked on the granite counter making a sound like something irreparable breaking.

  Linda opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again.

  "I'm not sure what to say. Part of me wants to hate you, 'cause you lived, and he didn't. But if you hadn't been there, he would still have been killed. I want to hate you for not stopping them but I'm a realist and if you had said anything or even made a noise while still chained they would have re-drugged you or killed you. And I can't say I would have reacted as well as you did. I'd probably have screamed like a stupid idiot." She closed her eyes. "Thank you for telling, letting me know it was fast. Thank you for having the courage to come and tell me to my face. Now, please get the hell out of my house before I lose what little sanity I have."

  Perc wanted to salute her, hug her, and let her beat on him all at the same time. Instead, he pulled a business card out of his wallet and lay it down on the counter.

  "If you need anything or have questions. Here's my number." He wanted to offer advice, to get her to call someone, to not let her be alone. But it wasn't his place and hell if he would want anyone telling him how to grieve.

  She didn't look at him, instead focused on the tumbler, but she nodded once. With that Perc walked out. Once in the car, he flipped on the radio and the story about the missing kids and cop came on, and rage swelled up in him again.

  Shifters need to stick together.

  The five-thousand-dollar reward stuck in his craw, that wasn't even a thousand for each person, not to mention the cop that had been killed.

  By the time he got home, frustration, rage, and a need to do something ate him. He still had a landline, mainly because the house had come with it, more than any other reason.

  I need to get a new phone.

  Looking up the number he needed on the computer, he called the hotline about the missing kids, and McKenna.

  "Thank you for calling, do you have any information on the missing kids or officer?" a voice said without missing a beat. The lack of hope in that voice ate at him and he gritted his teeth.

  "I'd like to offer some money to increase the reward. Can you connect me to someone I can talk to about that?"

  A startled pause before the voice came back on the line, a bit more energy to the voice. "Sure, one minute please."

  A few clicks, a ring, and a man picked up. "This is Captain Greg Kirk. I was informed you wanted to contribute to the reward fund for Officer Largo and the kids."

  "Yes, my name is Percival Alexander, and I wanted to contribute two hundred-fifty thousand to the fund. That should bring it up to an amount that matters. Maybe someone will come forward."

  "Percival Alexander? Weren't you just in my station regarding an incident involving shifters and them being skinned? You killed the men but lost a friend to them?"

  "I'm that person, I didn't realize it was your station, but yes."

  "That is an extremely generous offer. Mind if I ask why you are making it?" The man sounded wary, and Perc couldn't blame him.

  "Because no one should be taken from their families for any reason and if money is the only thing that I can do to help get these people back, then I'll throw money at it. Though I do have one condition."

  "And what would that be?" His voice had dropped in warmth but Perc didn't care.

  "If Officer Largo rescues herself, which from what I've seen of her she will, she gets the reward, or at least my portion of it."

  The line on the other end went quiet and Perc just waited it out. That part was non-negotiable in his mind.

  "I'll have to check with IA and Ethics. I don't know if it works that way, or if there would be a conflict."

  That idea hadn't occurred to Perc and his righteous enthusiasm faded.

  "Oh. Can you ask? I'll still put it up, but if she does rescue herself…" He trailed off, feeling like an idiot. Just because he needed therapy after his adventure, didn't mean she would. Odds are she was way tougher than him any day.

  "I will. Give me your contact number and I'll get back to you. And Mr. Alexander? Thank you."

  The genuine warmth in the man's voice eased a bit of the flush from his cheeks. He passed over his contact information and hung up. A knock at the door changed his path from the liquor cabinet to the door. Glancing out the door, more than a bit wary after the last few days, he relaxed when he saw a FedEx guy standing there. He took the contract and looked at it but after today he couldn't process anything. With regret he set it on the counter and walked up to his room, passing out as he hit the pillow.

  9

  Complications

  The reward for any information leading to the recovery of the missing cop and the kids has jumped significantly. Sources aren't saying where the money came from, but the police depart has verified it is fully funded. If anyone has any info, there are multiple families that are terrified right now. In other news, the Olympics has come out with a statement regarding shifters. The entire statement is available on their website, but the gist of it is that while they will not remove any medals from athletes who have changed, at this time all shifters are prohibited from competing in qualifying contests until further notice. This follows on the heels of other professional sports groups in the US suspending all known shifter players. People are still trying to figure out what the motivation is. Disease doesn't seem valid especially given high profile athletes that played for years with positive HIV status. We will let you know as soon as any more information is obtained. - TNN News Anchor

  Perc reached for his phone as he woke, frowning when he couldn't find it next to his bed, then memories flooded back in. He sat up in bed with a jack-knife move, looking around heart pounding as everything from yesterday slammed back into his consciousness. The quiet
familiarity of his room let him calm down and he rolled out of bed, needing to wash away the remnants of physical reactions to emotions. He looked at the clock and realized he'd slept until almost noon.

  Not good. You have stuff to do.

  Showered, dressed, and his list in place, he stared at the house phone for a long time and then dialed Alicia's number.

  "Perc, oh my god, I heard on the news this morning. Are you okay? I can't believe Rick Shatton is dead. Are you sure you're okay? Why did you take so long to call me? It's after lunch. I've been freaking out."

  "Wow, no formal greeting? You must have been worried. Okay? No. But I am not harmed. I wanted to let you know I got the contract and I'll start working on it today. And yeah, I slept pretty hard last night. It qualified as a very long day."

  "I bet. Okay. Just call me if you need anything, seriously, anything."

  "Sure. Thanks, Alicia."

  He dealt with stuff that couldn't wait - paying bills, suspended a few subscriptions and starting laundry. Clothes didn't clean themselves.

  When all the chores were completed, he poured a tumbler full of rye and made himself a pile of food. Sitting down he took out the contract going over it line by line while he ate.

  The rye level in the glass went down a little but he inhaled the food. Sighing a bit in relief, he refocused on going through every page of the contract. Perc had been smart when he signed it and actually read it but so much qualified as boiler plate that you just skimmed. Now that boilerplate mattered.

  It took two hours of going through every line, analyzing the implications, and thinking through ramifications before he found it.

  "Yes!" His voice rang out in the empty house and he got up to refill his glass while he thought about it. The clause was listed as 'Integrity of the Game'. The section of the contract boiled down to the player understood that his behavior could be considered detrimental to the game, including things like gambling or the use of drugs. But the important part of the clause was this '… suspended only after giving the Player the opportunity for an optional hearing, at which the Player may be represented by counsel of the Player's choice…' could he be suspended or fined. Which none of them had gotten. And the hearing was optional for the player to accept, NOT for the player to be offered the hearing. Grammar could make or break anything.