Page 48

Tommy

The news hit hard as Amos began fighting the league for benching him for doing drag. Of course, politically, this was a hot-button issue. The news reported he even got some death threats from the prissy boys, as I called the notorious hate group.

God, I missed him. I reminded myself over and over that right now he needed space to deal with all the other stuff going on in his life, and I’d be seeing him later anyway, but how I wanted to be there for him as he processed all the shit.

To keep myself from becoming the overbearing needy whatever I am to Amos, I called Jake to set up a time to come see the kids play, and he told me that Amos had decided not to go back out to New Mexico, because of all the upheaval with his contract.

Despite that, I flew out to watch the kids play and even got a few interviews from the kids whose parents hadn’t reneged on their permission for me to do so. I guess homophobia lingered in small town New Mexico as well.

The team was doing much better than they had before. No, they weren’t going to make it to state, and when I interviewed the quarterback, he even said, “We had a lot of ground to cover, but Amos helped us get to where we are… If it wasn’t for him… and Coach Jake, we’d never have won a single game.”

“Do you think you’ll make it to state next year?” I asked.

He smiled and several of the other kids did too. “We’re going to clean house next year. Just you wait,” he said.

I sorta thought they might. Coach Jake had said basically the same thing when I interviewed him. “The kids are making significant progress…”

“What did Amos bring to this?”

I asked him.

He paused for a moment before responding, “Amos showed the kids that they were worth the effort, worth his effort. And now that all this came out about what he was dealing with, well, it’s inspired most of the team even that much more. When anyone else in his situation would’ve been licking their wounds, he was here helping the team get better. That shows just what kind of man he really is.”

I nodded and put down my notes. “Have you spoken to him?”

I asked, my interviewer voice shifting to one of concern. Even Owen hadn’t heard much from Amos since the shit hit the fan. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe… Well, I hoped he was okay.

“I spoke to him twice, once to confirm that he wasn’t going to make it down to see the team play and then again when I contacted him to update him on how the team was doing.”

This was good information—I’d put that in my article as well. It humanized Amos to show that even as the shit hit the fan for him he still wanted to know how the kids were doing.

I wrote my article the next day. I was proud of it. It highlighted just how good Amos’s heart was. I think it demonstrated his true character. That’s the least I could do for him.

I did a couple more edits before meeting the pilot to fly home, then sent it off. I was proud of what I’d done and hoped it would help Amos.

I grabbed a cab to get me home from the airport. I hadn’t wanted to leave my car parked over the weekend that I had been gone. We pulled up in front of the house just after the sun had set. I thanked the driver and grabbed my bag before heading in.

I stopped short when I saw the front door was standing open. “Um, hello,”

I yelled, but no one answered. I thought about going to the neighbors’ house, but they were elderly and would likely just tell me to call the cops and wait for them before going in.

I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. I told the operator I’d just gotten back into town, and my door was standing open.

“I’ll send someone out. Don’t go in,”

she admonished.

I waited only a few minutes before a police car pulled into the driveway. Okay, that’s impressive, I thought. We were in the middle of nowhere, sorta, but I had heard my grandpa complain on more than one occasion that their little town had too many cops for this size city.

After greeting the two female officers, I followed behind as they entered the house. I’d definitely been robbed. My belongings were tossed around the room haphazardly like someone had been in a hurry.

It was weird though. This house was set up as a B&B, so not officially a home. There weren’t many things worth stealing in here. I followed the women back to my bedroom and sighed when I saw the mattress had been thrown off and even cut through the middle.

“What could they have been looking for?” I asked.

The two cops looked at me skeptically. Ripping a mattress? Well, maybe whomever it was thought we had drugs. The cops could think what they wanted, but I wasn’t ever into that.

I looked over at the corner of the room where I kept my backpack and my heart fell to my stomach. “Fuck…”

I said and rushed over to look inside. The laptop was missing. I turned to the two women who were still staring at me, and I told them, “It’s old, like really old and heavy as shit. Even some drugged-out maniac would know it’s not worth shit… Why would they steal that?”

Then a cold sweat prickled up against my skin. “Unless…”

I swallowed hard. “Um, I’m a journalist, and sometimes I write things that I don’t want to get hacked or exposed so I use that laptop… It’s… it’s possible this was someone looking for that information.”

“What did you write?”

the taller of the two women asked.

“Do you know Amos Clark?

They both nodded.

“There was a lot of information about him on there.”

They stared at me like I’d lost my mind. I knew they had no idea what this meant. Fuck… I shouldn’t have written that damned book. I’d known better. But why would anyone want that laptop? Why would they even suspect it was worth anything?

One of the cops asked if I had any surveillance video. “No.”

I started to say we didn’t record anything because the house was usually used for guests, when I remembered I’d left my car parked outside. “Um… well, maybe…”

I said instead. “Let me check my car.”

I’d put in a video surveillance camera after getting sideswiped by some asshole while driving down the interstate. I hadn’t gotten their license plate number, which meant I was out-of-pocket for fixing my car. I was determined not to let that happen again—thus the camera.

Luckily, it recorded even when the car wasn’t running. The only question was when this happened. If longer than forty-eight hours ago, the camera would have recorded over it, starting from the beginning.

I popped out the SD card, handed it to the cops, and said, “That’s the last forty-eight hours. If whoever did this was here before that…”

They both smiled. “We’ll have it analyzed and let you know.”

I thanked them, and when they confirmed I was probably safe, I went in, locked the door, and wedged a chair under the doorknob. I’d only been broken into once before, and that was when I was doing my internship and lived in a low-rent basement apartment in New York. It’d scared the fucking shit out of me then, and I felt violated again now.

I crossed my fingers and hoped beyond hope that the video from my car had filmed the culprit and he or she could be apprehended before they came back to do it all again.