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"You'd get fired if you bet on a game?" I root around in my bag for a pen and paper to take some notes.
"For betting on AHL games? Possibly. For betting on your own games? You're likely to be permanently banned from the league. It's essentially insider trading," he explains. "As a player on the team, you have access to information others don't, like tension in lines, plays, and player injuries. Using that to place bets on your own games gives you an unfair advantage."
"Oh. Guess I never thought of it that way." I scribble notes, trying to hit the highlights.
"Not to mention, every team in the AHL is associated with an NHL team. The NHL is strict about shit like this. Most of the guys in the AHL want to be called up to the NHL. Getting busted for betting on AHL games will sink those dreams fast."
"So why would someone do it?"
"Money talks. We aren't making bank playing for the AHL, Trouble. Most players make less than sixty a year. If the price is right, certain players might be willing to impact the outcome of the game to line their pockets."
"Seems like a lot to risk to me," I mutter, glancing up from my notebook. The parking lot of the grocery store is filling up with late afternoon shoppers. Most look like parents grabbing things on their way to pick up the kids from school. They're all in a hurry. Gavin's Range Rover still straddles two spots near the doors.
"Isn't that usually how it works?" Colter asks. "People bet the farm hoping for the mansion. They win a little and get hooked."
"You think that's what happened with Bruce Gordon? He tried to throw the game because he's hooked?"
"I'm not sure Gordon was trying to throw the game."
"You aren't?" That surprises me. Why is he helping me if he thinks Bruce Gordon is innocent?
Colter shakes his head, his brows furrowed. "He wasn't playing to lose out there," he murmurs. "His only goal was taking me out."
I consider that for a moment. Why would Bruce want Colter out of the game so badly? Why would Gavin? "I don't suppose you're a hockey prodigy, are you?"
"I played for the NHL for a few seasons before I got sent back down for an injury," he says. "But that was a decade ago. I'm good, but not like I used to be."
I sigh. "Well, there goes my theory, then."
His lips twitch. "I'm almost afraid to ask."
"There's a hockey bounty on your head," I say as dramatically as possible. "Fifty pounds to any player that takes you down."
He chuckles and then his laughter fades. He sits forward abruptly. "Fuck. Why didn't I think of that?"
"What?"
"The NFL."
"Huh?"
"Ten years ago, there was a scandal in the NFL with a team that was allegedly paying players to injure players on other teams. They called it Bountygate." Colter grabs his phone and pulls up an article before passing it over to me.
I quickly skim it, my brows climbing as I read what happened. Apparently, it was a huge deal that resulted in the team involved paying a massive fine, the coaching staff and general manager facing sanctions with the NFL, and players being suspended, though the player suspensions were later overturned since the entire situation was instigated by the coaching staff.
"Wow," I whisper, passing the phone back to Colter. "You think something like that is happening here?"
"Who met with Gavin last week?"
"Jimmy Brinks."
Colter shoves his phone into his pocket, his expression grim. "He tried like hell to needle Reid into a fight last week."
My stomach sinks.
"If bookies are paying players to injure or knock players out of games, perhaps they're trying to find a way to capitalize on a nationwide bounty system."
"That's not good."
