Driven_589066

“No way.” Caulley stood, pointing her tablet at the guard. “You’re going to go back out there and you’re going to play this game. We’re not going to let

these people down. You can bet we’re going to challenge these calls, but we can’t do it now. All we can do it give it our best shot.”

Diana looked at each of her players and she could see that mentally, they were beaten, but she wasn’t going to let them give in. “I promise you all that this

will work out. Not today and maybe not tomorrow, but it will work out. You have to act like the professionals you are. So go back out there and do your best.

Party at Dylan’s house tonight for the best damn team in the league.”

Everyone couldn’t help but laugh as they made their plans to finish the game.

Dylan zipped her warm-up jacket as she strode down the short, dark hallway toward the Skybox that held one Horace Johnson. Standing next to the closed

door was Mac, resplendent in a dark suit and crisp white shirt, his face grim. “D….”

“Buzz off, Mac.”

“But—”

“I’m serious. You don’t want to be here right now. I’ll catch up with you later.” She reached for the door handle, only to have Mac’s huge hand clamp onto

her wrist at the last second. She looked down at the hand for a moment, then turned cold, steel-colored eyes to her friend. One eyebrow slowly rose.

Clearing his throat, Mac released her wrist, and thrust a folder into her face. “Before you do anything, just take a look at this, alright?”

After a moment, she relaxed her muscles and, with a frustrated breath, grabbed the folder. Inside were three summary sheets. She began to smile. It

wasn’t a pleasant one, by any means, but its very presence caused Mac to breathe a silent sigh of relief.

“We got the bastard,” she said finally, eyes sparkling fiercely.

“Yeah, we got him. Safely, and legally. D, listen to me, please. You don’t have to do…whatever it is that you’re going in there to do. You do something

stupid, and this could all blow up in our faces.”

“‘Stupid’ as in using his fat head to test the tensile strength of the window glass inside his skybox?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Dylan patted his chest with the folder. “No worries, my friend.”

“But—”

“I mean it. This is between Horace and me. You were never here. Now buzz off.”

“Dylan….”

“Now.”

With a grunt, he pushed himself away from the wall. “Don’t make me have to bail you out of jail, D. Not again. Please.”

“Just go.”

A last, pleading look, and he went.

Dylan twisted the door handle, opened the heavy door, and slipped silently inside. Horace was alone, standing before the huge windows of his box, staring

down onto the court. He was rocking on his toes, hands clamped behind his back. He looked, in short, like a naughty little boy whose dreams were one

second away from coming true.

“Always were a little lax with your personal security, weren’t ya, Horace?”

Johnson slowly turned. His smirk seemed a permanent fixture on his seamed, homely face. “Ms. Lambert, how wonderful to see you here, darkening my

doorstep.” He looked down at the folder in her hand. “Your letter of resignation, I presume? It’s a terrible pity, though it has been fully documented that

ones of your particular…perversion…never were able to accept responsibility.”

Dylan crossed the room in a few long, silent strides. “You’ll probably want to be rethinking that…boss.”

“Really? Why?” His eyes were filled with a babe’s innocence, but the smirk never left his face. “Whatever you’re going to show me, Ms. Lambert, please do

it quickly. I’m missing the end of the game.”

“As if you didn’t know how it was gonna end already. Does the name Tony Scippone ring any kind of a bell with you, Horace?”

A muscle twitched, just briefly, near the corner of one eye. Then his brow smoothed and the smug look returned. “Can’t say as it does, Ms. Lambert. Friend

of yours? Fellow Sodomite, perhaps?”

“Las Vegas bookie, actually. Some degenerate laid down two hundred grand on the Badgers to lose by fourteen or more points.”

“Really,” he drawled, rocking on his toes again. “I’d say that that person was in for quite a handsome profit, given that the team is currently losing by….” A

quick look over his shoulder, “...twenty one.”

Dylan shrugged. “Guess you’re going to have to fire the help, then. Seems that your new admin assistant…Bambi….Barbie….Bimbo…whomever placed the

bet in her name, but used your line of credit with ol’ Tony to do it.”

The muscle twitched again, then smoothed. “Pity. She had the makings of an excellent assistant.”

“Betting against your own team, Horace. That’s a new low, even for you. Of course, it’s not just the kind of thing that’s against league rules. It’s also

illegal.”

“What you lack, Ms. Lambert, other than good breeding and good manners, is proof. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to the game. Leave now,

or I’ll have security escort you out, and it’s you who will be spending the night in jail.”

“I wonder how many of those refs your purchased tonight will stay bought?” she mused, as if to herself.