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“I made a call. Fraser made a call. I think maybe the president got involved.”
“The president?”
“Of the United States? President White? Yeah. Or maybe not him exactly, but his people.”
His people. Got Hudson out of an international murder charge? Although he hadn’t actually been charged. “I told them everything that happened.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.” Ned jangled keys in his hand and led Hud outside to a skinny Toyota Rav 4.
He stopped then, on the sidewalk. Around them, amidst the tall, narrow, historic buildings, bicyclists rode the cobblestone streets, a few motorcyclists drove by, the smell of street food—waffles, maybe?—hung in the air. And over it all, a gorgeous, blue-skied day, void of clouds or blemish or any hint of trouble.
Yh. Wh. He took another breath. He hadn’t a clue what Ned meant, but he was okay with whatever went down.
“Iris would have met you, but she had to be at the arena.”
He looked at Ned. “Iris is here?”
“She’s officiating the game.”
He swallowed. “Okay.” Wow, he wanted to see her, but— “Wait. Did she send you?”
“Of course she did, my dude. My sister is crazy about you.”
Crazy. Abouthim? “What?”
“Yeah. You should have seen her last night—I think she would have dressed in black and attempted a breakout if the Caleb Group hadn’t gotten involved. Get in. Hungry?”
“Famished.” But his thoughts were stuck oncrazy about you.
“Perfect. We’ll pick up some food on the way to the arena.”
Hud got in, his knees nearly to his chest. Ned drove out into traffic. “I can’t believe they arrested you.”
“Yeah, well, apparently my fingerprints were all over his flat.”
“Except on the gun.”
“Yep. Still, I thought I was in big trouble—they had put together a file connecting Iris and me and then Vogel and had come up with a pretty reasonable story.”
“Except, no prints on the gun.”
“Yep. I’d be a pretty sloppy murderer if I left prints everywhere but wore gloves to kill the guy.”
They stopped at a FEBO and grabbed a burger out of vending machine, and a drink, and sat in the car and ate. Hud practically inhaled his food, which he’d probably lose in the game with one hard hit, but at least now his stomach wasn’t rubbing against his spine.
They gathered up their refuse and dumped it into a trash bin, then Ned pulled out again toward Johan Cruijff Arena, located south of the city. He’d pulled up directions on his GPS.
“You okay to play today?”
Hud tried not to comment on the driving and held onto his seatbelt. “If they let me. Not sure.” He sighed. “This might be my last game.”
Ned looked at him. “Really?”
“I’m a walking time bomb, and it’s time I stopped running and faced that. I can’t play forever, and maybe I shouldn’t be playing now. The USFL probably doesn’t have a place for me, and even if the Minnesota Vikings or another NFL team takes a chance on me, I’m probably riding the bench, hanging out on the practice team until they cut me loose. I’m thinking I’ll wait and see what God brings onto my horizon.”
“Like what?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Once upon a time, I wanted to be a cowboy.”
