Dead Drop by Jack Patterson (reading cloud ebooks txt) 📕

Cal nodded, partially in agreement, partially in disbelief at the scene unfolding. The whole city seemed to need something to celebrate after Westin’s tragic death. In some mystical way, the win served as a healing ointment, making everyone forget for just a moment about their grief and rally around a victory. To the outsider, Cal thought it would seem superficial. But it wasn’t. This was a coping mechanism, a short respite from the cruel realities of a world that isn’t so forgiving.

A half hour after the game ended, the players filed into the interview room to stand before a media anxious to grab a quote or a sound byte quickly enough to satisfy their tight deadlines. Seattle FC media relations director Paul Holloway grabbed a microphone and stood in the corner of the room.

“First up is Matt Norfolk,” Holloway said.

Immediately, Norfolk made a brief statement. Then the questions began raining down upon him. The first few questions danced around Westin’s death. It was almost as if the reporters were afraid to broach the subject out of respect for the dead. But once Holloway recognized Cal, he didn’t hesitate to ask the question everybody wanted to know the answer to.

“How much did you guys talk about Sid’s death tonight before the game?” Cal asked.

“A lot,” Norfolk said. “Before the game began, I wanted to dedicate my play on the field tonight to Sid.” He ripped his trademark wristband off and showed everyone the number 18 emblazoned on it—Sid’s number. “This game tonight was for him.”

Cal wasn’t finished.

“Without Sid here tonight, you really picked up the slack. How much of that was adrenaline? And how much of that was you finally getting an opportunity to step out of his shadow?”

Norfolk sighed and glared at Cal. “I know you’re not The Times’s regular reporter and aren’t too aware of what this team is capable of, but Sid Westin—with all due respect—wasn’t the only person scoring goals on this team.” He paused. “It was terrible what happened to him, and this team was much better with him on it. But am I worried about the future of this club? I think tonight’s performance answered that question. We just beat the defending league champs. We’re going to be just fine.”

Norfolk took a few more questions before slipping through the throng of reporters.

Cal scribbled down a few notes before meandering down the hallway toward the exit. He was almost to the door when he heard a familiar voice calling his name.

“Cal!”

Cal turned around to see Javier Martinez standing in front of him.

“Javy, good to see you. Great game tonight.”

Martinez ran his hand through his hair, still wet from his post-game shower. He glanced down the hallway and then looked back at Cal. “We did all right.” He looked over his shoulder again. “Look, I know the Matt Norfolk angle makes for an interesting story, but if you want to know the real secret behind this team’s success tonight, look at Shawn Lynch. His play at midfield is what’s keeping this team together.”

“Shawn’s kind of new to the scene, isn’t he?”

Martinez shook his head. “No, he’s been around a while. But he’s really come on strong lately, almost out of nowhere. I would’ve pegged him for a lifer on the practice squad if you would’ve asked me about him a year ago, but he’s improved more than anyone else on the team. That’s the story you’re really looking for.”

Cal shrugged. “Perhaps, but I’m beholden to the almighty editor for my assignments with you guys, and tonight he said to write a mood piece about Sid Westin.”

“Maybe another time then, huh?”

“Sure,” Cal said, firmly grabbing Martinez’s shoulder. “If not me, I’ll make sure Josh Moore gets on it.”

Martinez sighed. “Well, I think it should be you who writes it.”

“Okay, man. I didn’t know you had such strong feelings about who wrote what story in the paper.”

A smile spread across Martinez’s lips. “Sometimes, you want the very best.”

Cal chuckled and shook his head. “You’re too kind, my friend. Have a good night.”

Ambling across the parking lot, Cal nearly made it to his car before he felt a heavy hand laid upon his shoulder. He turned around to face Paul Holloway.

“Paul, how are you?”

Holloway glared at him.

“Okay,” Cal said as he took a step back. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

“You be careful out there,” Holloway said, wagging his finger at Cal. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Is there something specific that I should be concerned about?”

Holloway had already turned and was walking away. “You know what you’re doing out there, and you know when you cross the line. Just don’t cross the line.”

Cal took a deep breath and looked upward at the stars that were still bright enough to penetrate the light pollution from Seattle’s evening sky. For a moment, he enjoyed the serenity. Then he collected his thoughts and climbed into his car. The peace was fleeting. He couldn’t shake the sense that something dark was brooding over the team’s beloved soccer club. And he wasn’t going to stop digging until he learned what it was.

CHAPTER 12

LATE TUESDAY MORNING, Shawn Lynch ran passing drills with several members of the Seattle FC practice squad. Practice had ended ten minutes ago, but he still felt the need to take a few more reps before retreating to the locker room. It’s not like the media members were clamoring to interview him either. Letting it all clear out was a tertiary benefit of staying out on the field.

Lynch yelled at one of the production staff members. “Where’s my music?” he asked, throwing his hands in the air.

The staffer jogged toward midfield. He sat down at a table and started pushing buttons on a small soundboard there. In a matter of seconds, the sounds of Garth Brooks came blaring through the loudspeakers.

“Awww, come on, Lynch,” one of the practice squad members groaned. “More