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THE RETURN
Chapter Three - Into the belly of the least
I grimace as I push the door open. ***** looks up from whatever bullshit paper he's been offending with his stupid pen strokes. Probably something about lax janitorial standards.
"Take a seat."
"Yes sir. By the way, Matt Cassel still sucks shit."
His lip curls. A slight tremble of his nose.
"No talking, or you'll have to deal with a lot more than a simple detention, Sam."
I take a seat and stare at his bald head. He's fatter now. After the NFL Network fired him, clearly he started feasting on Cannoli and Calzone thrice daily. Why would he give a shit, anyway? Out of the public eye, safe at his cushy little bullshit high school principal job. Always needing that power fix, though. He probably steals ice cream sandwiches from the cafeteria at lunchtime.
He looks up.
"I have to make a phone call. Stay here or you face suspension."
I'm shaking, I'm shaking. Jesus Christ, he hasn't changed a bit.
***** produces a pink iphone and steps outside. He reeks of fritos and bean dip, the pungent aroma infecting me as he passes the desk. Disgusting.
I can hear him outside.
"Yes, this is Scott *****. Is Matt around? It's urgent."
Hahaha. He's actually calling him. What a sad little bastard. This should be interesting.
"Hi, Matty. I saw the game. Great effort kid. You've still got it. Listen, I've been thinking...your contract with the Vikings isn't too big, right?"
It better not be.
"Wow, that's not bad at all. Yeah, you can get out of that. I've been thinking...we have unfinished business. Yeah, you know it. We were wronged."
What? You've got to be kidding me.
"No, Matt. No one gives a shit about Kansas City. We can do whatever we want. No one will even care. You know they can't stop me, anyway. This will be perfect."
That sounds...disturbing. Something's brewing. I've got to stop it before it starts.
I look at my watch. It's almost time for action.
"You got it. We'll connect after the dust clears. They will all be our bitches, Matty. It's time for revenge. And I'll be trading that dipshit Bowe this time."
The force of the door slamming open knocks ***** clean to the ground, his girly phone skittering across the slick floor. There's a momentary pang of fear in my gut as I realize I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing. ***** rolls over onto his fat ass, in shock, his brow furrowing as he realizes what the **** just happened.
"THAT'S IT, MISTER. YOU JUST BOUGHT YOURSELF A ONE WAY TICKET TO JUV-"
I leap across the hall in one step and hook him across the jaw. His mouth drops open in surprise, clearly appalled he's just had his clock cleaned by a 12th grader. As much as I'd enjoy prolonging this, there's no time to waste. I high tail it down the corridor.
Shouting. Something about police. Don't care, especially since his heart would burst before he caught me at this point. I still have no idea what I'm doing. First things first - I've got to get the hell out of Porkney.
I round a corner, slip and stumble backwards through a door into a tiny, dim room. Dammit.
I get up, brush myself off and take a deep breath. Smells like floor cleaner and turpentine in here. Must be the janitor's closet.
"What are you doing here?"
I look up. A familiar face.
Amazing.
"I...uh...could ask you the same thing, Nick."
He looks puzzled. I'm a mirror. But I've got to go. I reach for the door.
"Wait."
"Hurry up. *****'s planning something. I've got to act fast."
He nods.
"I know."
"I have inside information."
To be continued...
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