Caught Off Guard Page 12

  I pulled from Paulie’s words. “I wouldn’t be doing a good job if I came at this with preconceived beliefs. Is AJ my friend? Yes. Have I had friends kill people before? Yes.”

  Dear Lord. The fact that was true disturbed even me.

  “You need better friends,” he said.

  “Maybe.” I laughed nervously.

  Sweezy was my height, with dark-brown hair and brown eyes. He wore a scruff of facial hair that looked to be more than a five-o’clock shadow but not yet a scraggy early beard. I figured that was the look he was going for, trendy and cool. From his shirt pocket hung black-rimmed glasses. I suppose he used those to add “smart” to the look. He was dressed in black slacks and a dark-gray button-down. Whatever message he was trying to convey with his look, I wasn’t getting it. Unless “trying too hard” was the message.

  “Do you mind telling me how you became Keith McVay’s agent?”

  Sweezy leaned back in his chair and tucked his arms behind his head. A smile pulled at his lips. “College. I’d gone to Stanford too. Though a few years ahead of Keith. I was a young agent, trying to build my roster, and I was with a firm that had offices on both the East and West Coasts. I used to go back for the games, scout the talent. Keith was just moving into a starting position on the team, and I saw the potential.”

  I quirked an eyebrow. “The potential?” Not Keith’s potential.

  Sweezy looked sheepish. “Yeah, the potential for both of us. Word spreads slower on West Coast players. Stanford is Pac-12, but the Big Ten and SEC teams always draw the attention first. I had the cred of a well-known firm behind me at the time.” He gestured at the space around us. “As you can tell, I’ve since started my own firm.”

  “You were McVay’s agent for what… seven years?”

  Sweezy looked at the ceiling as if calculating then back at me. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

  “Until McVay decided to fire you? Why was that?”

  Paulie had explained to me that I could ask questions that were buttheaded in nature then backtrack as a way to seem apologetic.

  Sweezy waved a hand, dismissing my apparent rudeness. “We had a disagreement about how he should go about contract negotiations.” He folded his arms onto his desk and leaned into them. He continued in a hushed voice, “Listen, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. Keith was my friend, not just a client. We had a disagreement, and he refused to see reason. He only saw money. We came to an agreement that splitting would be best for both of us.”

  “You’re saying the split was amicable? Because the media did not spin it that way.”

  Sweezy rolled his eyes. “Clickbait. That’s all they were looking for. Not facts. Keith was headed down a dark path. I don’t know what had changed in his life. New friends? Bad influences? But my gut told me Keith was about to self-destruct and that if I ventured down this path with him, he was going to drag my company with him. Sometimes, you can make the PR spin in your favor. But what makes a squeaky-clean guy like Keith McVay suddenly do performance-enhancing drugs? What was the trigger?”

  I offered, “Relationship gone wrong?”

  Sweezy shook his head. “No sudden relationship breakup because there wasn’t any relationship. I don’t think he’d been on a date in more than a year. And his parents died several years ago, so that’s not the trigger. This shift in behaviors was alarming. The media would have eaten him alive, said he’d been this way all along and had tricked everyone. I’m good with PR, but I’m not good enough to combat that.”

  “You said there’s no girlfriend or significant other in the picture. Maybe he was lonely. Or maybe he was gay and afraid to come out. For as progressive as we are today, I imagine a gay man in the locker room isn’t warmly embraced just yet.”

  Arms still folded on his desk, Sweezy pointed at me. The small gesture made the conversation feel more intimate, honest. I’d had many conversations like this with my dad.

  Sweezy said, “I had those same thoughts. I even confronted Keith about it. Tried to be a safe space for him. But he laughed in my face.” Sweezy opened his mouth as if to say more then shut it.

  The unspoken words hung in the air between us disguised as a long pause.

  “So you and McVay split because he wanted more money in his new contract?” I asked. “Forgive my ignorance, but isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing for him?”

  Sweezy grinned, his head bobbing in agreement. “Totally, but sometimes more money isn’t the best move up front. Sometimes, you have to give a little to get a lot.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand.” I sort of did, but I needed him to be more transparent.

  “Keith wanted a three-digit-million-dollar deal. Currently, one hundred and forty million is the benchmark. For a ten-year contract. But the problem with those deals is salary cap. Are you familiar with that?”

  I nodded. The salary cap was the limit a team could spend on players' total. “If you spend a lot on the quarterback, then you have less for the other players. In the past, teams have found themselves with a record-breaking player yet unable to pay that player what he wants because of a salary cap. Then they lose that player to another team, and now time and effort goes into trying to get a replacement player up to speed. And time and effort in that area means less chance of a payoff or Super Bowl opportunity.”

  Sweezy’s grin spread wider. “Wow, I’m impressed.”

  “I like football. And my dad’s a sportswriter.”

  Sweezy nodded. “That concept was something Keith couldn’t grasp. Austin Strong wanted to keep Keith with the Pioneers. Desperately. And he wasn’t opposed to paying him. He just wanted to do it in bonuses and other ways. Austin wanted to have enough money to pay some of his other players. Austin believed—we all believed—this was the team’s year to make the playoffs and maybe even the Super Bowl. And if they didn’t get there this year, they would be even stronger and better next year if they kept their players. But they couldn’t keep them if they couldn't pay them. Keith didn’t care that he might get a Super Bowl ring, that adding this to his résumé would likely make him a Hall of Fame candidate. Keith only saw the money.”

  How Sweezy was describing McVay was in direct opposition to the goals of any professional player. Who walks away from the ultimate win? Who doesn’t prioritize that?

  “Can you tell me if any other team was interested?” Maybe McVay thought he could make a lateral move, not that such a thing existed outside of theory.

  “Yeah, a few teams showed interest. But I don’t know how far that got because we parted ways. You’d have to ask his new agent about all that.” Sweezy leaned closer, stretching across his desk. “But I’ll say this: there was lots of speculation that teams were pulling back once he failed that drug test.”

  “Which is stupid to me because troublemaker players are signed all the time. Why would McVay be different?”

  Sweezy shrugged. “Goes back to social media and the PR spin. Those other troublemaker guys already have that reputation. Keith didn’t. His positive test was a stunner. And talk was ‘What else was he hiding?’”

  “And? What else was he hiding?”

  Sweezy shook his head. “Sadly, I don’t know. We weren’t close enough for him to bear his soul to me.”

  Sweezy wasn’t much of a friend, then, even though he’d said they were, even though his note on the picture called them a team, a power team.

  I let out a sigh. “Thanks for your time.” I stood.

  Sweezy did too. “I hope I helped. Though I’m not sure how I could have.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. You’re also Lil’ Megalodon’s agent too, right?”

  Sweezy’s brows shot up. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

  “I saw a picture of you three. McVay and Lil’ Megalodon.”

  “DeShawn went to Stanford as well. I met him through Keith.”

  “And signed him back then too?”

  Sweezy nodded.

  “I didn’t realize he and McVay were close.”


  Sweezy laughed. “So close they’re neighbors.”

  “Seriously?”

  Paulie’s words echoed through my head. I guessed I should check out the neighbor.

  “And do you mind me asking how things are between you and DeShawn?” I asked. “If he and Keith were tight and all, and you and Keith had a falling out, I’m guessing that would affect your relationship too. If nothing else, it would make it awkward.”

  Sweezy stood and wiped his hands down his pants then straightened his untucked shirt. “Nah, DeShawn and I are good. Solid.”

  “I see.” I did see. I just saw a man lie with ease, just like Paulie said he would. I happened to know DeShawn was hiring Precious because of his anger at his agent.

  I held up one finger. “One more. Where were you the night McVay died?”

  Sweezy’s eyebrows arched. “I was waiting for that question. I was here. Working. Security keeps a log of who comes and goes twenty-four hours. And they have video.” He lifted a folder from his desk and handed it to me. “I worked late and ended up sleeping here.”

  Opening the folder, I saw video images with timestamps of Sweezy entering the building at eight in the morning and exiting the next day at seven, dressed in the same clothes. That wasn’t proof yet, but it might be. I would have to look more into the images and video.

  I extended a hand. “Thanks for your time.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry it was under these circumstances.”

  I smiled then let myself out of his office.

  Sitting in LC, parked in the garage next to Sweezy’s building, I called Lockett and relayed everything Sweezy had told me. Then I called Precious and told her I’d met with Lil’ Megalodon’s agent, didn’t trust him, and was requesting a formal meeting with her client.

  I was about to pull out of my spot when an unknown number popped up on my screen. Typically, I ignored those, but since I joined the PI business, unknown numbers could mean clients.

  “Hello, Samantha True speaking.”

  “This the lady who had her face pressed up against my neighbor’s sliding glass door?” The voice belonged to an older woman.

  “Um…” I wracked my brain for the moment she was referring to, and I suppose my pause was too long.

  “You know, the sports guy: Mr. Loud and yells at the TV.”

  “Yes, Brad Jenson.” I remembered his neighbor with the curlers in her hair and the dog tucked under her arm. “I thought you weren’t going to help me.”

  She huffed. “I’m not. At least, I don’t want to. But the idiot is back with his TV blaring, and I can’t call the cops. There’s nothing they can do about it. Maybe since you wanted to see him and all, you could get him to turn it down when you talk to him.”

  I smiled. “I’m on my way. But I’m a few hours out. You think you can make it?”

  She let loose a colorful word. “If I have to.”

  “I’ll drive fast,” I promised.

  “You’d better.” She ended the call.

  18

  Wednesday

  On the drive down, the traffic was light as I’d timed it at midday, fortunately. And the path from Seattle to Brad Jenson’s was all interstate except for the last twenty minutes, which required me to go through town.

  I stopped once for food, a potty break, and a check on LC’s oil. Once we both were topped off, I pushed the gas pedal down, scanning nonstop for highway patrol.

  Rush hour was starting as I crossed into Oregon. I called Lockett on my hands-free and told him what was up. Afterward, I called Toby.

  “What up, dudette?” Toby said.

  “Are you at home, or do you have a drive to do?”

  Toby was also a private driver for the popular companies that people were using.

  “Home. I didn’t feel like going out today. I’ve got my chip-eating pants on, a show I’m gonna binge on Netflix, and four bags of chips calling my name.”

  “I hate to bother you,” I said with fake sarcasm, but actually, I was envious. “But can you see if there’s been any activity on Jenson’s cards?”

  Toby did some clacking on his keyboard then said, “Nope, nothing. No use of his debit or credit. And no activity on his cell phone either. It’s not pinging.”

  I had no reason to think anything was amiss except for Jenson’s sudden absence, the absence of activity on his cards and phone, and his sudden reappearance.

  “His neighbor just called and said he’s home. I’m on my way now. I just think the no activity is weird.”

  The sound of a cellophane bag opening was followed by the crunch of a chip. Then Toby said, “The dude’s a gambler. Maybe all this business at work was too stressful, and he had a line or something at a casino and he went and played it. Maybe he’s been binge gambling.”

  “But not show up anywhere?”

  “Sure. Not unheard of if the house was sponsoring him.”

  “Okay, that’s reasonable,” I said.

  “Call me if you want someone on the line when you talk to him. I know you’re, like, in super-cautious mode these days.”

  “Thanks, I will. In the meantime, also look into Lil’ Megalodon and his agent, Sweezy, and see if you can pick up why Precious said Megalodon was angry with him.”

  “You could ask her,” Toby said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “I could, but then I’d be asking her to break the coach-client privilege that Precious holds so dear.”

  In other words, that wasn’t going to happen.

  A smacking sound came across the line. Then the familiar sound that made me think of locusts swarming followed. Lady M was crabbing, making her displeasure known.

  “What happened?”

  Toby sighed. “I just slapped myself on the dome because I shoulda known that about Precious, and now Lady M is upset.”

  “I’ll let you go deal with that.”

  We disconnected, and I pulled into Jenson’s complex, grabbing a spot next to his truck. His neighbor opened her front door and stepped out, dressed in the same robe and curlers as the last time we’d meet.

  “About time,” she said.

  I said, “I told you I was a few hours out. I wasn’t twenty minutes away.”

  “I got tired of the TV and banged on his door. He’s not answering.”

  Anxiety at having missed him again made me tense. “He didn’t leave, did he?”

  She shrugged and readjusted the little dog under her arm.

  “What time did he come home?”

  She shrugged again. “What do I look like, his mother? All I know is that TV started blasting sports at five this morning.”

  That was too early for most people to be leaving for work. But maybe someone saw him come home. I could only hope.

  “So he woke you up by blaring his TV?”

  She nodded.

  Wow, that must be really loud. I walked to Jenson’s door and listened. The TV came through muffled but not blaring. I cut my eyes to the neighbor.

  “From inside my apartment, it’s absurdly loud.” She cracked open her front door so that I could see inside her living room as she gestured for me to step over and listen.

  Jenson’s TV was coming through much more clearly.

  “Wow, those walls are paper-thin,” I said.

  “You’re telling me.”

  “Is it always this loud? Haven’t you complained to the complex?”

  She set her dog inside then closed her door. “It’s never been this loud. And the complex doesn’t care.”

  I went back to Jenson’s door. I said to the neighbor, “I can take it from here.”

  “Not gonna happen. When he opens that door, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. Can’t even take a nap in my place. And I love a good nap.”

  As a fellow lover of naps, I could relate to her frustration. “Fair enough.” I raised a hand to knock but paused and turned back to her. “Mind me asking your name? I’ll introduce you to him and point out how inconsiderate he is.” />
  She huffed and stuck her hands on her hips. “Inconsiderate is being too kind. I’m Carol, Carol Norton.”

  I nodded then turned back to the door. I rapped hard, knowing he needed to hear it over the TV.

  We waited. Nothing.

  I pounded on the door then pressed the doorbell several times in succession.

  Mrs. Norton snorted. “I did that too.”

  The blinds on the front windows were pulled closed. “Let’s take this around to the back.”

  She nodded and went into her house, not inviting me in to follow. Instead, I had to walk around the row of buildings and make my way back to Jenson’s, which was in the middle.

  I stepped up to the sliding door and pounded on it with a flat palm as I looked inside. No lights were on even though the sun was dipping lower in the sky. I glanced around the complex and verified that others were turning on their lights.

  The sliding door looked in on the kitchen-dining combination. That room was divided by a wall, and on the other side was the living room. From where I was standing, the opening into the living room showed the TV, which was the only light on inside. I pressed my face close, cupping my hands around my eyes to see inside better. A bright commercial came on and cast a light through the living room, and I caught sight of a foot. The tip of a shoe was extended as if someone were sitting in a chair and had their legs kicked out in front of them, in a stretch.

  Maybe he was sleeping. But then all the banging should have woken him. I pressed my forehead against the glass, thinking.

  “Is he coming?” Mrs. Norton asked.

  With one hand, I pushed off the glass. “No, but I think I see him. He’s in there.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I bet he’s drunk or passed out.”

  “Did he do that often?”

  “You have a better explanation?”

  I shook my head and tried the sliding door’s handle. It was unlocked.

  “Whoa, wasn’t that locked last time?” I don’t know why I expected it to be locked.

  Mrs. Norton nodded. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go in there and give him what for.” She pushed me aside and slid the door open.