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He smiled then.
“And let’s just say, for the sake of conversation, that itistrue. What are you going to do about it? Fire me? If you were going to do that, you would have done it already.”
“Did you really hate Dad that much?” she said.
Danny leaned forward and put his chin in his hand, trying to look curious.
“Still assuming it’s true,” he said. “This Gallo thing.”
“Only because I know what a sneaky bastard you are and always have been.”
“This isn’t any of your business.”
“Now it is, whether you like it or not.”
“I forget,” Danny said. “Who was the one who walked away from our father, and this team, and this family? Was that your idea of family honor?”
“And what’s your idea of honor, Danny? Getting into bed with a cockroach like Gallo?”
“Why are we still having this conversation?” Danny said. “You’re the one in charge. Do what you have to do.”
“While my two older brothers do everything in their power to crush me.”
“But you’ve got Thomas now,” Danny said. “The legendary football executive, for as long as he stays clean and sober. Two against two. Fair fight, right?”
“You never fought fair,” Jenny said. “Neither did Jack.”
“You should know as well as anyone that’s how we were all raised,” Danny said to her. “When it’s all over, nobody cares how you won. They just remember that you won.”
“You’re taking this team away over my dead body,” she said.
“Isn’t that what Dad always used to say?”
“I’ll tell you what I told Jack,” Jenny said. “Take your best shot.”
“You want some brotherly advice?”
“Fromyou? Hard pass.”
“Stop being delusional. No shit, Sis. You think you’re the one respecting our dead father’s wishes? What you’re really doing is embarrassing him, embarrassing this team, and embarrassing a family that you’ve suddenly decided you care so much about.”
Jenny turned and walked out of his office, leaving the door open behind her. Danny was about to walk over and shut it when she appeared back in the doorway.
“I’ll tell you one more thing, and then you can pass it on to Jack.”
He waited.
“I haven’t takenmybest shot yet,” Jenny said.
Then she was gone.
Thirty-Two
“WHEN WAS THE LASTtime you played in an actual game?” I said to Billy McGee, who’d been the bad boy of professional football when he was still allowed to play professional football and before he really did do six months of prison time.
He smirked. After only ten minutes, it already seemed like his default look. Or attitude. Or both. Somehow he seemed to be slouching even when he wasn’t.
“Blackjack or football?”
