Cover-up (9 page)

Susan Carol had her hand on the doorknob when, much to Stevie's surprise, she started to laugh.

“What's so funny?” he said.

“How is it,” she said, “that this
always
happens to us?”

He laughed too. “Just lucky, I guess.”

She turned to face him. He wished he had a box to stand on. But Susan Carol stepped out of her shoes and leaned in to hug him. So Stevie took his chance and kissed her—a really
good
kiss.

“Don't give another thought to Jamie Whitsitt,” she said.

He smiled. Actually, he probably grinned goofily. “Don't worry,” he said. “He's the last thing on my mind right now.”

She kissed him again quickly, then stepped back into her shoes. “Here we go again,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Here we go again.”

9:
READING THE DEFENSE

STEVIE RARELY HAD TROUBLE SLEEPING,
especially when he was exhausted—which he certainly was after Susan Carol left the room. But he tossed and turned for a while, trying to figure out what had just happened and, most important, what should happen next.

Part of him was still reveling in his encounter with Susan Carol, not just the kiss but her comment about him being the only one she could come to with this story. But every time he caught himself smiling about it, he flashed back to how serious this was. He was pretty much convinced Dr. Snow had been telling the truth. His father always said that drinking too much alcohol was almost like taking truth serum: somehow you ended up revealing things you really shouldn't. And in his obvious desire to impress Susan Carol, Dr. Snow had revealed a piece of information he would never have shared had he been sober.

The last time Stevie looked at the clock, it read 4:12. He finally dropped off to sleep, but was awakened just before seven by a dream in which Susan Carol was telling him she had decided Dr. Snow was her one true love. Tired as he felt, he knew he wasn't going back to sleep, so he got up and took a long shower. He decided a cup of coffee would give him an extra jolt, so he went downstairs to the coffee shop and was finishing his first cup when Bobby and Tamara walked in to join him.

“Long night, Stevie?” Kelleher said, pointing at the coffee mug in his hands.

“Didn't sleep very well,” Stevie said.

Tamara gave him a smile, the one that showed her dimples, and put an arm around him as she sat down. “You'll work it out with Susan Carol. Just give it a little time.”

Stevie was tempted to tell them what he and Susan Carol really needed to work out, but resisted. They had agreed to sleep on it and talk more before bringing in Kelleher and Mearns. Though Stevie wasn't doubting the story even in the cold morning light. He almost wished he did.

Once Stevie had bolted down some French toast and had half of a second cup of coffee, he had to leave to get to the CBS compound by eight. He was tingling slightly from the coffee as he crossed the street in front of the hotel. It was snowing again, and traffic around the Dome was moving very slowly. When he walked into the compound, a man whom he guessed to be in his early thirties was hovering near the doorway.

“Steve Thomas?” he asked. When Stevie nodded, he put out a hand and said, “Andy Kaplan. We met yesterday for a second. I'm going to be producing you today. In fact, if I don't screw up, I'll probably be producing you all week.”

Stevie laughed and shook hands with Kaplan, who was soft-spoken and had an easy smile. Stevie liked him right away.

“You want some coffee?” Kaplan asked as they walked back through the maze of desks and temporary cubicles. “Wait, I forgot. You're fourteen. We've got juice around here somewhere.”

“Had some coffee already,” Stevie said, feeling quite adult. “I probably better not have any more.”

Kaplan smiled as they reached a cubicle that had a desk with a computer on it and a chair on either side of the desk. “Look, I think today will be easy,” he said. “I read your story on Darin Kerns and Eddie Brennan in the
Herald
this morning. You did the impossible: you wrote a story on media day at the Super Bowl no one else had.”

“I can't take credit,” Stevie said. “Bobby Kelleher fed me the idea. I just talked to the two guys and the story wrote itself.”

Kaplan nodded. “Well, then Kelleher is good
and
nice. You did a good job writing it too. So I'm thinking we should do almost the same story: get Kerns and Brennan on camera. I've already got a guy in New York tracking down some video and still shots from Summit High we can use with the piece.”

“The only problem might be getting Brennan alone for a couple minutes,” Stevie said.

Kaplan shook his head. “Remember who you're working for. Dewey Blanton will make it happen for CBS.”

Stevie leaned back and felt himself relax. He was relieved that Kaplan was doing all the thinking for him because he was in no condition to think about anything except what he and Susan Carol would do next. What's more, seeing Brennan again might give Stevie a chance to talk to him about the Dreams' offensive line.

“Steve?”

“Oh, sorry, I was just trying to think about getting my work done for you and finding something to write for the
Herald.
”

“Well, I wouldn't presume to tell you what to write, but the Dreams show up first today. We can knock out these interviews, and then you would have time to find a Ravens story when they show up.”

That made sense. Since the two teams would only be on the field for an hour this morning, there was a thirty-minute break between sessions. That would give him a chance to consult with Kelleher in case there was something he needed Stevie to write that day.

Kaplan said he'd gather a camera crew and talk to Dewey Blanton about getting time with Eddie. He asked if Stevie could track down Darin Kerns. So Stevie left Kaplan and walked through the tunnel onto the field. It was still a few minutes before nine and TV crews were setting up equipment in various places in anticipation of the Dreams' arrival. He spotted Dewey Blanton talking to a couple of cameramen and walked over to say hello.

Blanton saw him coming and, without saying hello, said, “Hey, Steve, great piece this morning.”

Stevie often forgot that in the age of the Internet, there was really no such thing as a local newspaper anymore. His story in the
Herald
was as available in Indianapolis as in Washington.

“I couldn't have done it without you,” he said. “Which makes me feel bad asking you another favor.”

Blanton laughed. “I just hung up with Andy,” he said. “We'll go back in the same room we were in yesterday as soon as Eddie finishes on the platform. Andy's going to set his crew up there so you guys can get right at it when Eddie walks in.”

“He doesn't have any other one-on-ones today?”

Blanton shook his head. “No. We got 'em all done yesterday. That was our deal. He'll be happy to talk to you for this story, though; I'm sure he saw the newspaper piece.”

He thanked Blanton and told him he was going back to the locker rooms to see if Kerns had arrived yet.

“If he's anything like our equipment guy, he's been here since six,” Blanton said. “If you have any trouble getting back there, let me know.”

“I should be okay, thanks,” Stevie said. He walked up the tunnel and, sure enough, the CBS pass caused the security men to part like a yellow curtain at each checkpoint. Kerns was in his office on the phone. He waved Stevie in and held up a finger to indicate he was almost finished.

“Well, thanks for having me on, Mike,” he said. “In fact, the guy who wrote the story just walked in here.” He nodded and said, “Will do. Take care.”

“Who was that?” Stevie asked.

“ESPN Radio,” he said. “The phone's been ringing off the hook all morning. I've got to stop answering.” He pointed a finger at Stevie. “And it's all
your
fault.”

He was smiling, clearly enjoying the attention.

“Well, I've got one more thing I need you to do even if you hate me,” he said.

“What's that?”

“My other bosses this week—CBS—want me to do basically the same piece for their late-night show. Have you got time to tape an interview before your guys get here?”

Kerns nodded. “Hey, anything for you—not to mention for CBS.”

Stevie nodded. He was beginning to not hate TV nearly as much as he had a few days earlier.

The Darin Kerns interview went quickly and smoothly. Andy Kaplan had his crew ready to go by 9:30, and Kerns was just as good a storyteller on camera as off, a relief to Stevie because he knew some people got nervous with a camera rolling. Once Kerns left, Stevie wondered if he should go on the field to make sure Brennan was coming. Kaplan advised against it: “Dewey's reliable,” he said. “Plus, it's better if you're here, miked up and ready to go when he gets here.”

He was right. Blanton was as good as his word. At 10:10, he and Brennan and four security people appeared in the doorway. Blanton told the security people to wait outside. Brennan walked over with a big smile on his face. “You and I are going to have to stop meeting like this,” he said, hand extended. “Great piece this morning. I'm sure Darin really enjoyed it.”

Stevie loved the compliments, but he was struggling to focus on the interview at hand. The real work would begin once that was over. As with Kerns, the interview was easy. Brennan was a pro: he knew just what was needed to make the story work on television.

“Perfect,” Kaplan said when they were finished. “Steve, we'll need to tape an open and a close on the field once the Ravens finish their session. So we'll meet you on the fifty-yard line at eleven-thirty, okay?”

Stevie nodded and began unhooking his microphone, helped by one of the crew. Brennan was doing the same thing. He put out his hand to Stevie, who took it but said quietly, “I know this is a lot to ask, but can I talk to you for one more minute—alone?”

Brennan looked surprised, but shrugged and said, “Sure, I guess. Right now?”

Stevie nodded. “Maybe we can just walk down the hallway for a minute in whatever direction you need to go.”

Brennan looked at Blanton. “Dewey, we're done, right?”

“Uh-huh,” said Blanton, who had his cell phone out. “There's a car waiting for you at the exit down the hall past our locker room.”

“Like yesterday? Okay, fine. I'm just going to talk to Steve for a minute while we're walking. I'll see you later at the hotel.”

Blanton told whomever he was talking to on the phone to hang on for a minute and then said, “Perfect. Steve, he's got a meeting in thirty minutes, so don't hold on to him for too long, okay?”

“Not a problem, I promise,” Stevie answered.

Freed from their microphones, he and Brennan headed to the door. As soon as they were in the hallway, two of the security guards started walking ahead of them while the other two fell into step just behind.

“So what's up?” Brennan asked as they started walking.

Stevie glanced uneasily at the yellow jackets surrounding them. “I need to be sure no one else hears this,” he said.

Brennan gave him a quizzical look, but braked to a halt. “Fellas, give me a minute alone with my friend,” he said. The four men, who Stevie guessed had an average weight of about 250 pounds—which would have made them small for offensive linemen—peeled away, giving Brennan and Stevie some space. Brennan appeared to be looking straight down at Stevie, which reminded him that even though Eddie didn't look all that big when he was in the huddle, he
was
six foot five.

“Okay, we've got privacy,” he said, for the first time appearing just a tad impatient. “What's the big scoop?”

That was an interesting choice of words under the circumstances. Stevie took a deep breath. “Do you know Dr. Snow?” he asked.

“Tom Snow?” Brennan said. “He's one of our doctors. Sure, I know him.”

“Good guy?” Stevie didn't want to rush into this.

Brennan smiled. “He's okay. Why?”

Stevie looked around to make sure the security guys hadn't crept any closer. They hadn't. One of them was lighting a cigarette.

“He was at a party last night. He was talking to my friend, you know, Susan Carol?”

“The pretty girl from USTV. Your ex-partner. Oh God, don't tell me he got out of line with her?”

“Well, not exactly. But apparently he
had
been drinking.”

Brennan shook his head in disgust. “No surprise there. Jeez, how bad was he?”

Stevie took another deep breath. “Well, this bad: he told Susan Carol that your entire offensive line tested positive for HGH after the NFC Championship game.”

Stevie could see all the color drain from Brennan's face. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he said, “Snow told Susan Carol that? He actually said that?”

Stevie was almost hoping Brennan was going to say that Snow was nothing but a drunk and a show-off. But he didn't. Instead, he balled his right hand into a fist and punched his left hand with it, saying through gritted teeth, “That dumb, drunken SOB.”

“So it's true?” Stevie said.

Brennan looked at him almost as if he'd forgotten Stevie was standing there. “I don't know,” he said. But his eyes were now darting around the hallway. Stevie's gut told him Eddie was lying. He took a chance.

“Yes, you do,” he said. “I can tell by the look on your face.” He decided to throw out one more idea: “And you know there's some kind of cover-up going on.”

Brennan gasped. “Oh jeez, he told her
that
too?”

Stevie almost said, “No, you just did,” but he kept up the act.