“I downgrade our loss tonight from ten to nothing to fifteen to nothing,” I grumble.
“Better make it an even twenty.” Bramms nudges me and jerks his head.
Murphy’s Law is puking his guts out into a skeletal bush on which someone has hung green and red ornaments. It’s a metaphor for something… this team, my life.
Coach Candy Cane still can’t find the key to get the stadium open.
I grab them from her, pick one at random.
“I already tried that one,” she protests.
“Well, I’m trying it again.”
The SUV that brought her does a J-turn, knocks over a trash can, and parks halfway on the sidewalk.
Ellie’s friend Harlowe, the girl who helped me get situated with a place to live and bought the train ticket when I first got called up from the minor league, starts unloading boxes.
“Yum.” Jovi sniffs the air. “Something smells good.”
“I told you,” Ellie is saying, jumping up and down as I fiddle with the keys.
“This is the right key.” I shove my shoulder to the door and turn the key. “See. I was right. You were wrong. I’ll take that apology now.”
“For someone on a probationary contract, he sure is cocky.” She sniffs.
An elderly woman and Harlowe carry a stack of boxes to the door.
The guys just watch.
I wait a beat. “Get those boxes,” I finally snap at them.
Ziggy and Bramms jump into action and gather the boxes from the women.
“Those snacks are for after practice,” Ellie warns as we stomp into the stadium.
“Harlowe,” Ellie whispers as we gaze out over the ice. The rough, chopped-up ice. “Where is the Zamboni driver? Why didn’t anyone clean this?”
“Equipment guys all quit. Heinze took the whole crew with him,” I call over my shoulder as I head to the locker room. “Zamboni key is this one.” I toss it back to her.
Ellie sighs.
“I just have to say”—I turn toward her fully and spread my arms—“and I know it’s not my place—a lowly minor league player—but this NHL team is very poorly run.”
“Well, you could step up and help.”
“They don’t pay me enough to help.” I turn on my heel and head to the locker room.
Well, pretend to. The FBI raided the offices yesterday, but there has to be something left there I can get to Hudson, right? I’ve been on this team for a week, and I have nothing to show for myself. I have to clear that debt off. I have to.
Pressing myself flat against the wall down the windowless corridor, I sneak to the offices. The doors are busted from the FBI, and it’s nothing to slip inside.
But there’s nothing in there that will point to the team being used for money laundering.Like it would be that easy. I stew as I head back to the ice.
Heavy metal music blares over the speaker as I exit the corridor.
“What the—” I pause, watching as the gates open and the giant Zamboni machine rolls onto the ice.
“Granny Murray, be careful!” Ellie is calling to her grandmother.
