close to the action. You'd be surprised how much mileage you could get out of a few hor d'oeuvres and some skybox seats.'
Kingsley's smile stretched across his face. 'Do you like cigars?' he asked, opening a wooden humidor on his desk.
At first, Bobby genuinely admired the man who was to become his boss and later his father-in-law. The charismatic Texan could be warm, generous and giving. What Bobby only realized much later was that every gift- paying off the house mortgage, the Mercedes at Christmas-came with a price.
An All Pro quid pro quo.
Martin Kingsley required unwavering, unquestioning loyalty. A willingness to follow orders without so much as a 'why,' 'but,' or 'maybe.'
When Bobby was hired, Kingsley was still in his honeymoon phase with the news media and the fans. He gave great interviews, allowing himself to be quoted on every subject from the length of the cheerleaders' short- shorts-'Bubba ain't paying to see no Vestal Virgins'-to his players' taunting, flaunting, swaggering style-'It ain't braggin' if you kin do it.' He was country with a wink and a nod.
Slick as owl shit as they say west of the Pecos.
But the charm soon gave way to something never seen at press conferences and cocktail parties, the cold- blooded pursuit of victories and profits at any cost.
Finally, Kingsley asked why Bobby had come around so early. They were settled into the plush office, decorated in silver and blue and large enough for a decent down-and-out pass. Bobby glanced at the Super Bowl memorabilia lining the walls and wondered if he'd ever see them again.
'Nightlife Jackson,' he said, evenly.
'Ah yes.' Kingsley propped his cowboy boots on his desk. 'Is that taken care of?'
'I wanted to talk to you first.'
'Make sure bond is arranged before going downtown. I don't want him to sit in jail and miss practice.'
'That's not what I wanted to talk about. It's more complex than that.'
'Set a meeting with that P.R. woman we used when Buckwalter busted up that tavern. Get your investigator to find out if the woman's ever cried 'rape' before.'. Let me know when a judge is assigned to the case. If it's Wilford Adams, I'll call the old bastard myself. If it's one of those young Turks, you'll have to orchestrate some dog and pony show.'
'That's not what I had in mind,' Bobby said. He gripped the chair and tried not to fidget. He felt a rivulet of sweat streaking down his temple.
'No? What's your strategy?'
'Martin, this is a great opportunity to do something right, to take a stand on principle.'
'I don't follow you.'
'We can win without him.'
'What are you talking about?'
Bobby felt jumpy, as if his chest were filled with fluttering birds. 'Let's use the morals clause in his contract to cut Nightlife from the team. Make a public statement. You won't tolerate immoral behavior. From now own, the players must adhere to principles and values. Zero tolerance for violence against women, drug abuse, or criminal conduct of any kind. You'll clean out all the thugs and lawbreakers.'
A moment of dead silence sucked all the air from the room. Kingsley looked at Bobby as if he were speaking some strange, foreign language.
'Cut Nightlife Jackson? Is that what you're saying?'
'We'll be setting an example for the league and for all the kids who look up to athletes. We'll let the whole country know you've got to be a good citizen to play for the Mustangs.'
Kingsley swung his boots to the floor and leaned across his desk toward Bobby, fixing him with a look as vicious as a pit bull guarding a bone. 'Nightlife would be signed by another team in an instant. We'd face him in the playoffs, for Christ's sake!'
'No one will sign him because he'll be in jail. I plan on pleading him guilty.'
'The hell you will! What's gotten into you?'
Bobby wasn't sure what to say. His seduction and corruption had occurred slowly, the drip from a faucet that eventually overflows the sink. After a moment, he said, 'I took an oath, Martin, but I never heard the words.'
'What the hell does that mean?'
'Last summer, we took Scott to Washington,' Bobby said. 'We did the Smithsonian, the White House, all the tourist things. I went to the Supreme Court. Hell, I'll never argue a case there, but I wanted to see it. On the front steps are these two marble statues, one representing justice the other law. I started to believe the words carved in the marble.'
'What words!'
''Equal Justice Under Law.' The blindfolded lady with the scales, the whole nine yards.'
Kingsley ground his teeth and his craggy face knotted up like burled oak. When he spoke again, his voice cut the air with the hiss of a swinging scythe. 'Lady Justice is a whore who can be bought and sold. A good lawyer bends Lady Justice over his desk and fucks her up the ass.'
'That's pretty much what Nightlife Jackson did to Janet Petty.'
'Just get down off your high horse and fix this thing. Christ, by now, you should know your job.'
'Nightlife's a menace. He raped that perfume clerk two years ago, and now he's done it again. It's our fault, Martin. Yours and mine. We're as guilty as he is.'
Kingsley stared a long, hard moment at his son-in-law, his eyes dead and cold as stones in a mountain creek. 'My fault?' Disbelief in his voice.
'We could have put a stop to it. We could have helped put him away.'
'This woman the other night, this barmaid, went back to the hotel room with him, didn't she?' Kingsley asked in a cross examination tone.
'Yes, but she didn't consent to having sex. He beat her up.'
'Maybe she liked it rough,' Kingsley suggested. 'Women these days…'
'He raped her!' Bobby shouted. It was the first time he'd ever raised his voice to his father-in-law, and he felt his hands tremble. 'He told me so! He laughed about it. You want to hear about the drugs, the young girls he gets to his hotel room half blitzed, how he humiliates them, dirties them.'
Kingsley's ice-blue eyes narrowed and he thrust his chin upward at a pugnacious angle. 'For Christ's sake, Robert, get your priorities straight. Your job is to protect the good name of this franchise.'
'Not any more.' Bobby shook his head. 'It's time to do what's right, Martin. He's got to own up to what he's done, and so do we.'
'We?'
'Both of us, Martin.'
'Why, you piss ant!' You want to start looking for a real job in this economy?'
'No matter what happens to me, I'll make sure the truth gets out.'
'Let me give you some Texas advice, young man.' Kingsley's voice was low, his features as hard as granite. 'When you're standing chin-deep in manure, you're best to keep your mouth shut.'
Kingsley's rage sizzled from every pore, like cold butter dropped on a hot skillet. 'I have a dossier on you, fellow. I could get you disbarred, tarred, feathered, and strung up like a nine-point buck on the first day of hunting season. And don't think just because you're married to my daughter I won't do it. She's my blood, not you. You're the hired help.'
A delicious feeling coursed through Bobby's veins. He no longer felt fear. Now, he was indestructible. With each insult, he grew stronger, with each threat, braver. 'Do what you want to me, Martin, but you mess with the justice system, I'll bring you down.'
Kingsley stared hard at him, the fury burning like coal in his eyes. 'You ungrateful piece of shit. I made you what you are today.'
A derisive laugh exploded out of Bobby. 'Right, Martin. You made me a cheap carbon copy of yourself. But I'm a lousy you. I can't lie, cheat, and steal and still smile all the way to the bank. I can't be the biggest phony in town and still sleep at night.'
