QB1 (19 page)

The analysis at half time talked about Reilly
having the green light to run for the first time all year and what
that meant in the second half. The San Francisco locker room was
calm and confident. They had made some mistakes but knew they could
win this one. The coach’s final words before coming out from the
long half time, “Thirty minutes of football left, boys. Hold onto
the football and this game is ours.”

New England took over at the 34-yard line and
methodically marched down the field and scored with a one yard
plunge by their running back, pushing the lead back to 10 again. On
play action with 5 receivers in the pattern, Reilly hit Oliva on a
comeback route. On the next play, he again hit Oliva. Two passes in
a row, and San Francisco was in the red zone. Best took a flat pass
for 12 more. Reilly faked a run up the middle turned and again took
off with the ball, broke a tackle and put the ball over the line
with an outstretched hand before being pushed out of bounds at the
flag. On review the replay clearly showed the ball going over the
line and the call on the field was reversed for a touchdown.

New England drove the ball steadily downfield
but stalled at midfield and punted. San Francisco started inside
their 10. They drove with a ball control offense. Stretching the
field with long pass attempts followed by short passes and runs. A
22-yard run by Best got them to their own 45. Reggie Robinson came
in to spell Best and added 17 more on the next play. Reilly had
been operating in the shotgun with a hurry-up, no huddle offense
that had been so successful all year. This was tiring out the New
England defense. Reilly caught them offside with a quick snap when
New England tried to change personnel. With the defense out of
position, Reilly found his Tight End all alone in a defensive
mix-up for another 25 yards. The drive stalled and San Francisco
took the field goal at the end of the third quarter with the score
tied. You could see Reilly uncharacteristically rallying his
offense on the sidelines.

New England took the kick and marched 70
yards, but had to settle for a field goal. The teams traded the
ball back and forth. New England again started a time consuming
drive, but at the 12 yard line, Matt Benson made the defensive play
of the game, stripping the ball from the runner with SF recovering
with under 4 minutes to go, New England up three. On 3rd and eight,
Reilly found his tight end for 18. Best found daylight through the
line twice for runs of 9 and 11 to put San Francisco at midfield at
the two minute warning.

A pass interference call got San Francisco a
first down at the 33. With an empty backfield and five receivers in
the pattern, New England playing nickel defense, Reilly brought the
pass down and took off again for 10 yards. Playing hurry-up, San
Francisco quickly got to the line and hit Oliva for seven more. He
then hit his tight end for eight. They were now on the 15 yard
line, first down, one minute on the clock. Reilly called time and
slowly strolled over to his coach. He smiled at his coach and took
a drink from the water bottle. The TV camera stayed on him in close
up before going to the booth.

Announcer: Ice is on his game.

Color man: He certainly is. They got to be
talking about the clock here. Do you take a shot now if it’s there
or use up more time and not give New England another chance? I
think you take it here and play defense with a touchdown needed to
beat you.

Reilly said to his coach, “Too much time.
Let’s give it to Reggie.” They gave it to Robinson and he took it
to the eight and New England has to call their last time out. 2nd
and two, Robinson got the first down at the four. Reilly got his
team quickly to the line, handed it off to Robinson for a gain of
one and San Francisco called its last time out with 20 seconds
left. Reilly studied the scoreboard as he walked to the sideline.
He got the passing play from the offensive coordinator in the
booth.

“Ground the ball if it’s not there,” was all
the coach said to him on the field. It wasn’t. Reilly threw to
Robinson, but a linebacker got a hand on the ball. Clock stopped
with five seconds to go. Kick the field goal and send it in to
overtime or win the game right here? There was never any question.
Reilly again spread the offense, faked it to Robinson, spun and
sprinted for the sideline. Reilly dove into the end zone as a
linebacker made contact. Stretching the ball over the line as he
went in for his third touchdown.

Game.

Epilogue

I am sitting in a lounge chair with Liz, back
at Scottie’s place five days later, drinking a glass of Zin and
trying to put all the bullshit from the last few days behind me.
The sad funeral service for Tony Reilly had been televised. There
was a big crowd outside of Grace Cathedral as a Who’s Who of
celebrity and sports figures came to pay their last respects. Roger
and I sat that one out but Liz and I have been together the rest of
the time. I kissed her neck and she snuggled closer to me.

Solving the crime and killing Oscar Tierney
was bigger than the “Butcher”. The difference was, this time, we
were ready. We told it exactly like it happened and no one had a
problem with it, except fucking Special Agent Nelson, who wanted to
take Roger and me in. I just said I wasn’t talking to the FBI and
they could kiss my ass. Nelson was ready to cuff us and walk us out
into the press when cooler heads prevailed. That was after I told
Bob Forbes what happened and that I planned to go out and make an
immediate statement to the press and highlight the complete lack of
cooperation and investigative effort shown by the FBI in this whole
thing. Forbes got it and called off his dog. Two hours later we
were home and packing. Roger wanted no part of this.

“Not doing Leno tonight, Roge?”

“No thank you.”

“You’d be huge. You can tell them how you put
a bullet into the side of his head and his brain spurted out. Make
clever little jokes.” He gets really quiet when you’re bustin’ his
little cahones.

I sipped my wine and thanked whoever was
above; it was over. “What are you reading, Roger?” He had his
netbook out and was reading, sitting in a lounge chair. I had to
get him out of town. We’d gone to the mattresses.

“Josef Stalin, wow, if ever a guy needed a
bullet in the side of the head…You know he was responsible for
killing at least 35 million of his own people?”

“Oh, here we go,” I whispered in Liz’s
ear.

“Just going by the numbers, this guy was
close to the worst person in the history of the world. He put
another 18 million in slave labor camps! Most of the time, these
people weren’t even involved in any political movement or connected
with the government, they were just exterminated.”

“I think most people think Hitler was the
number one murderer,” I said.

“Hitler had a body count of only around 12
million.”

“Ahhh, just a piker,” I said.

“But, Jolting Joe Stalin ruled for 30 years
with a reign of terror. What a piece of work. Right up until his
last days, he kept at it. He was a psychopath’s psychopath.”

“Where does he get these books?” asked
Liz.

“Number one, murderous piece of shit, has to
be Mao Zedong,” continued Roger, “70 million of his own
people.”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” I said.

“He used to say all the time, ‘Too lenient,
not killing enough’. You know what the funny thing is, Mr.
Mullins?”

“No, Roge.”

“Stalin and Mao are still revered in their
countries. I don’t get it.”

“Maybe that’s where Hitler went wrong, not
killing enough of his own.”

“When you control the story, you can make it
read anyway you like,” said Liz.

“These three were the worst in terms of
numbers, but they didn’t do the actual killing themselves. They had
people doing it for them,” said Roger. For sheer bloodthirsty
sadism, you can’t overlook Vlad the Impaler. He was also known as
Dracula. He got his Impaler name from his favorite method of
execution. He would have wooden stakes inserted into the intestines
of his victims.”

“Okay, that’s enough for me. I’m going in to
lie down. I’m exhausted,” said Liz. “I’ve had all the murder I can
handle for awhile.”

“You don’t want to hear more about Vlad?” I
grabbed her hand as she got up.”

“Later.”

“I’ll be in a few minutes,” I said as she
walked off.

“He’s another who went after his own people,”
Roger said.

“And you know what, Mr. Mullins? Romanians
think of him as a freedom fighter, a great warrior.”

I shook my head and looked over at Roger,
“Are you done?”

“Yea, the three worst people in the world
plus one.”

I looked at him and sipped my wine. “How you
doing?”

He looked up from the computer, “I’m
okay.”

“You worry me. You’ve got significantly less
remorse than I had.”

He thought about for a moment and said,
matter of factly, “I’ve killed a lot of people online.”

I laughed at him. “I gotta remember that
one,” shaking my head.

“What’s going on at work?”

“It’s busy, lots of interesting
opportunities.”

“Like what?” I didn’t want to go back to
work.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I watched as he typed and
changed screens. “There is a Formula One race car team that wants
us to investigate an issue.”

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t know. They won’t say. Offer is a fat
consulting fee and first class tickets.”

“First class tickets to where?”

“Madrid, Spain.”

“I know where Madrid is, dickhead.”

“I know you’re geographically challenged. 6
million people, capitol of the country. It’s a beautiful city, rich
in history.”

“Soccer and bull fighting," I said.

“They call it football.”

“Why us?” I asked.

“Might as well get the best. Those Formula
One teams burn through $500 million a year.”

“You checking it out?” I asked him.

“I sent them a contract with ridiculous terms
but they seem to want us.”

I finished my wine and said to him, “When
were you going to tell me about it?”

“When a decision had to be made. You know, we
should re-brand the company into a security consulting company.
Easy to sell contracts to sports people.”

“What are our terms with Spain?”

“Do you really want to discuss the
negotiations of our terms?”

I thought about it and let it go. I don’t
really give a shit.

“Terms include a ticket for Liz.” He looked
up at me. “She speaks Spanish.” He was typing on the computer, half
paying attention to me. “They want us tomorrow. I think I can put
them off for a couple of days.”

I got up and started for the house. “There is
food in the kitchen. I’ll make dinner later.”

“Okay.”

I opened the door and looked back at him,
buried in the computer. “We’ve been lucky,” I said.

“I’ve been lucky. I’ll be lucky again. Betty
Davis said that." He looked over at me. He thought for a moment,
“Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity…You want a
few more?”

I walked into the house and made my way to
the back bedroom. Liz was naked under the sheets. I took off my
clothes and slipped into bed with her. She spooned up against
me.

“You going to impale me, Vlad?”

“This won’t hurt.” I pulled her into me. She
let out a little passionate groan.

We laid there for a minute before I whispered
into her ear, “Ever been to Spain?”

She hesitated and then quietly sang to me in
her incredible voice:

“
Well, I’ve never been to Spain

But I kinda like the music...

Say the ladies are insane there

And they sure know how to use it;

They don’t abuse it

Never gonna lose it

I can’t refuse it.”

THE END

###

About the author:

After growing up in the Boston area and
living in the San Francisco Bay Area, Pete Bowen now lives in
Phuket, Thailand. He walks a Golden Retriever along Kamala Beach
every day.

He can be contacted at [email protected]