Good Game

This game just got un-fixed. They couldn’t control me. I wasn’t going to let some lousy thugs and gangsters blackmail me into losing. I never lost. Their money be damned. They might control the betting, but they sure as hell wouldn’t push me around and undercut my game. It made my heart pound.

The game started. I tapped the ball to Luca and he took it right down the middle, dashing past a midfielder. He met heavy resistance after that, pulled up short, and swung a pass outside, splitting the defense. I saw an opportunity for a run. I worked my way towards the far goal post, making sure I seemed unhurried. Then, with a sudden dodge, I sprinted full-speed past a defender. I looked up, and Carlos had sent me a beautiful pass sailing through the air over everyone’s heads. I lined up and struck the ball before it even hit the ground. It whipped through the air, right past the goalkeeper’s hands and into the back of the net.

At the end of the game, we were up by two points. I had scored two of our total four, and had an assist with the final goal. Thoroughly un-fixed. Nobody could make me lose if I didn’t want to. I could carry this whole team on my back just from sheer force of will. Those mafia boys had another thing coming if they wanted me to just roll over.

I was the last one out of the locker room. I heard a noise in the back. The hair on my neck stood up. I lugged my duffle bag up onto my right-hand shoulder and went to leave. I should have gotten out sooner. A goon came out of nowhere with a pistol, and another one with an American baseball bat. I pulled my own pistol up out of the bag and shot them both before they could start talking. Nobody was going to make me lose at my own game. Nobody.