'I never told anyone until now. It's such a sleazy business.'
'You took fifty thousand dollars in cash from Tech?' Paul asked slowly.
'Five hundred one-hundred-dollarbills, stuffed in an unmarked red canvas bag and placed in the trunk of my car one night while I was at the movies with Screamer. Next morning, I committed to Tech.'
'Did your parents know?'
'Are you crazy? My father would've called the NCAA.'
'Why'd you take it?'
'Every school offered cash, Paul, don't be naive. It was part of the game.'
'I'm notnaive, I'm just surprised at you.'
'Why? I could've signed with Tech for nothing, or I could've taken the money. Fifty thousand bucks to an eighteen-year-old idiot is like winning the lottery.'
'But still—'
'Every recruiter offered cash, Paul. There wasn't a single exception. I figured it was just part of the business.'
'How'd you hide the money?'
'Stuffed it here and there.When I got to Tech, I paid cash for a new car. It didn't last long.'
'And your parents weren't suspicious?'
'They were, but I was away at college and they couldn't keep up with everything.'
'You saved none of it?'
'Why save money when you're on the payroll?'
'What payroll?'
Neely reshifted his weight and gave an indulging smile.
'Don't patronize me, asshole,' Paul said. 'Oddly enough most of us didn't play football at the Division One level.'
'Remember the Gator Bowl my freshman year?'
'Sure. Everyone here watched it.'
'I came off the bench in the second half, threw three touchdowns, ran for a hundred yards,won the game on a last-second pass. A star isborn, I'm the greatest freshman in the country, blah, blah, blah. Well, when I got back to school there was a small package in my P.O.box .Five thousand bucks in cash. The note said: 'Nice game. Keep it up.' It was anonymous. Themessage was clear—keep winning and the money will keep coming. So I wasn't interested in saving money.'
Silo's pickup had a custom paint job that was an odd mix between gold and red. The wheels glistened with silver and the windows werepitch black. 'There he is,' Paul said asthe truck rolled to a stop near the gate.
'What kind of truck is that?'Neely asked.
'Stolen I'm sure.'
Silo himself had been customized—a leather WWII bomber jacket, black denim pants, black boots. He hadn't lost weight, hadn't gained any either, and still looked like a nose tackle as he walked slowly around the edge of the field. It was the walk of a Messina Spartan, almost a strut, almost a challenge to anyone to utter a careless word. Silo could still put on the pads, snap the ball, and draw blood.
Instead he gazed at something in the middle of the field, perhaps it was himself a long time ago, perhaps he heard Rake barking at him. Whatever Silo heard or saw stopped him on the sideline for a moment,then he climbed the steps with his hands stuck deep in the pockets of his jacket. He was breathing hard when he got toNeely . He
