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“I’ve thought about that. I’ll tell Gerry I’ve confronted you. Once he knows that I’ve realized you’re his spy, he won’t ask you to snoop around anymore.”
Vanessa’s sigh of relief was audible. Her eyes were wet with new tears. “Thank you, Jackie. I’m so grateful to you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost this job. I’m so close to completing my finance degree.” She stood to leave. “I hope you’re able to find a way to stop Gerry from moving the team.”
“Thanks, Nessa. Good luck with your classes.” Jaclyn blinked back her own tears. To think her initial reaction had been to fire Vanessa. She hadn’t realized she was dealing with another one of Gerald’s victims and not a coconspirator.
Jaclyn stared out her door. She heard the phones ringing, murmurs of conversation, footsteps coming closer then walking away from her office.
Gerald had warned Vanessa not to tell people about the plans to move the team to Nevada, but had he told anyone else his lie? How many other people working for her believed she was trying to move the Monarchs out of Brooklyn? Were they committed to helping Gerald as well?
“Is it true you’re snorting coke?” Barron Douglas slouched his six-foot-five-inch frame onto the silver-cushioned chair on the other side of the small conversation table in DeMarcus’s office.
This is the reason DeMarcus hadn’t done these get-to-know-you chats with the players sooner. The team’s captain didn’t want to be here any more than DeMarcus wanted to bond with him. But Jaclyn wanted him to better understand his players and DeMarcus wanted to prove he didn’t have a problem having her as his boss. Besides, he was out of ideas to turn the team around.
DeMarcus drew a deep breath and counted to ten. “No, it’s not. I don’t do drugs. Didn’t you see the New York Sports article? Gerry planted that story because he’s trying to throw the season.”
Barron’s eyebrows hopped up his forehead. “That was true?”
“Didn’t you believe it?”
“You can’t believe everything you read in the papers.”
“You believed I was taking drugs.” DeMarcus couldn’t ignore a twinge of anger.
Barron raised his hands, palms out. “No. I asked if you were taking drugs.”
“Is this rumor the reason the team’s been losing?”
Anger flashed in the point guard’s dark eyes. He obviously wasn’t keen on discussing his failures. “The team’s been wondering whether drugs were the reason for some of the coaching decisions you’ve made.”
Were they going to parry insults all morning? “Such as?”
“Jamal. He’s a jack—”
“The Monarchs didn’t pay all that money for Jamal’s contract to sit him on the bench.” DeMarcus was tired of having all of the team’s problems dumped on Jamal. Didn’t anyone have anything constructive—and realistic—to say?
“Get the money back.”
Apparently not.
DeMarcus rubbed his forehead. “Besides his personality, what other issues do you have with Jamal?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“No, it’s not. Disliking a teammate isn’t a good enough reason to lose.” Regardless of what Oscar thought. “Why do you think the team has dropped five straight games?”
Barron scowled. “I told you. It’s Jamal.”
Why was he putting himself through this? The Monarchs had lost to the Detroit Pistons last night. He should be preparing for their trip to Canada to play the Toronto Raptors Friday. Instead, on his off day between games, he was holding a pop psychology session with the team’s captain, something neither of them
was interested in doing.
“We’ve won thirty-two games with Jamal, so he can’t be the reason we’re losing again.”
Barron leaned into the table. “I’m tired of having to play twice as hard to cover up for his mistakes. I can’t get into my game with him throwing me off my rhythm.”
DeMarcus spread his hands. “You’re the team captain. Step up and help your teammates. Find a way to calm Jamal down.”
“He doesn’t listen.” Barron made a fist with his left hand. “When Rick was on the court, he handled his business. He knew where he had to be and what he had to do. I didn’t have to worry about him. I just had to worry about making sure that I shined.”
