Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Stone grins with the confidence of a man who’s already thought this through. “My cousin’s roommate is in film school, but secretly thinks he’s the next Tom Cruise or something. Dude’s always looking for ‘authentic experiences’ to test his acting chops. He’ll totally do it.”
“And like I said, we’ll set up cameras before they get to wherever they’re meeting,” Cruise adds. “And we’ll have the ‘dealer’ wear a mic to record the conversation, too, just in case. They have tons of recording devices now that are so small Garcia won’t even notice it. I mean, knock on wood, but I actually think it’ll be easy.”
He knocks on the scarred oak table as I glance back to Tank, trying to gauge his reaction. His jaw is working, the way it does when he’s deep in thought.
“It’s not a terrible plan,” he finally says. “But there are a lot of moving parts. A lot of ways it could go sideways.”
“True,” Stone acknowledges, taking a pull from his beer. “But if it works, Garcia’s credibility will be in the toilet and management will have to put their backing where it belongs. Behind you.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” I can’t help asking. “If something goes wrong, or he doesn’t take the bait?”
“Then we’re back where we started,” Cruise says with a shrug. “No worse off, anyway.”
I’m not so sure about that, but I keep the thought to myself, chewing on a fry instead. The thing is, I’m all for exposing Garcia as the lying snake he clearly is, but this feels like we’re jumping straight into the deep end.
And what if Garcia catches on? Then Tank will really be screwed.
Tank’s thoughts seem to be tracking along the same lines. “But if it looks like I had anything to do with this, guys, I’m fucked. I mean, I’ll help, but if he catches on and realizes I’m behind the set-up, it’ll only make everything worse. I know that sounds like a cop out, or like I’m passing the buck, but—”
“No, totally, man,” Stone cuts in. “We already agreed that was the best call. You’ll keep your hands clean, and let Justin and me handle everything. We just need you to give us the green light. We didn’t want to pull the trigger without letting you know about the plan, is all.”
“And I’m taking point,” Justin says, serious for once. “If things do go south, I have a long and successful history with the franchise. The worst that’s going to happen to me is a slap on the wrist. If someone needs to take the fall, I’ll take it. Both you and Stone will pretend you had no clue any of this was in the works.”
“Thanks, man,” Stone says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I appreciate that.”
“Just trying to be half the team captain my brother-in-law Brendan was to me when I was coming up,” Justin says, before adding with a grin, “And hell, I’m down to one or two years with the Badgers anyway. Tops. Libby won’t let me get her knocked-up again until I retire, and I really like knocking up my wife and making chaos babies, so…”
We all laugh.
Everyone except Tank.
He’s quiet, and I can see the gears turning behind his eyes.
I rest a hand on his thigh beneath the table. “It’s okay to accept help when it’s offered. You don’t have to be a lone wolf all the time.”
Justin hums in agreement around another nacho. “Yeah, dude. You’re not a lone wolf. You’re a badger, an adorable hockey-playing critter surrounded by other adorable critters known for fiercely defending each other and their territory. That’s how we roll here. And that’s the biggest reason I want Garcia out. He’s going against everything being a badger and a team mate stands for. Even if I didn’t like you and know you busted your ass to help my buddy Shane land his new contract, I would be taking action here.”
“I appreciate that, man. I really do,” Tank says, his fingers curling around mine as he pulls in a bracing breath. “Then, yeah, you have the green light from me. And my appreciation. I owe you one. Hell, I probably owe you five or six.”
“Fuck that. I don’t keep score anywhere but on the ice.” Cruise lifts a hand for him to high-five. “And I’m happy to help. I’m just sorry you’ve had to deal with this kind of shit when you should be getting to know your cool new team mates and concentrating on your game. Most of us are cool, I promise.”
Tank grins. “I believe you.”
“To Operation Catch a Weasel,” Stone says, lifting his mug.
We toast the official launch of the plan and spend the next hour hammering out details—how to tip Garcia off about this dealer, where the meeting should take place, what our Tom Cruise wannabe playing the drug lord should say, and how fast we can make this happen. Stone gets on the phone with his cousin’s friend, Tank reaches out to Yoda for advice on meeting locations in the “not so good, but not too bad” sections of Portland, and I jump online where I find a shockingly affordable hidden recording device bracelet that can be delivered to Stone’s place by noon tomorrow.