Chapter 89: Oh Look, a Gauntlet

“Hey, I thought North Shore was supposed to be a good team. They just got wasted by a bunch of wetbacks from San Antonio,” one of the backup offensive linemen from Duncanville told the other players watching the game on a 98-inch flat-screen OLED TV in the upstairs rec room of Antwaun Gibbs’ home. The senior offensive tackle had invited his fellow offensive linemen and several other superstars from his high school football team to watch who they would be playing for their fourth straight Texas 6A Division I State Championship.

Gibbs was considered the number one high school football player in the entire country and had been ranked at that spot since his sophomore year on the Duncanville Panthers Varsity football team. A mountain of a man at six-foot-eight inches and weighing 395 pounds, the five-star football prodigy had been under the microscope of college football recruiters and the various industries vying for the crumbs falling from the NCAA’s table.

“Hey now, none of that kinda talking, man,” the large man chided the large boy. “I freakin’ live here, ya know!”

“My bad, Ant.”

“Just watch your mouth,” Gibbs explained. “Or at least wait until we outside.”

The group all laughed at their leader’s joke.

“But yo, Ant,” a player aiming at cell phone at Gibbs spoke up from the group. “That Mayhem is a bad boy. You worried about him? Maybe, like, a little bit?” Gibbs got ready to ham it up extra for the internet fans who would be watching this soon enough after being shared on social media.

“You kidding me? I see that motherfucker across the line of scrimmage, and I’ll pimp slap him with my dick. Homeboy will get laid out on the floor gasping for air after I lay him out with Moby,” he joked to his friends while comparatively miming the size of his manhood with the size of his arm. “Straight up scare his ass to his core, and then we run the ball up and down his fuckin’ ass all game long!” He then shared several handshakes and high-fives with his friends.

“But seriously, he’s good,” Antwaun answered honestly. “But I seen dudes like him before. I seen ‘em come an’ I seen ‘em go. I always get the win for the ‘Ville.” Several members of the group took the confidence to heart and began trading complicated handshakes back and forth with others watching the end of the Rough Riders victory.

“Well, let’s go on and get to the party,” Antwaun announced. He and several others stood up and gathered their belongings. “Besides, we did our win, and I think it’s just about time to get our dicks sucked all proper-like!”

The congratulations and boisterous agreements started as the group made their way out to the front driveway of the luxurious house. It was quite a sight to watch as nearly twenty gorged-on-testosterone high school football players divided themselves into four different cars and peeled off out of the driveway and onto the road toward another small neighborhood of high-priced McMansions just a few streets away.

Exiting their cars, Gibbs and his fellow conquering heroes announced their presence with authority by bypassing the house and entering the large pool area in the backyard. Nearly 50 kids in different stages of undress were enjoying the water or each other on furniture surrounding the Olympic-length pool.

After directing a couple of his girls to bring him treats from the assortments donated by different families, Gibbs parked himself at a spot at one of the picnic tables. There were sweets and barbecued meats for any taste, as well as many different alcoholic beverages. The kids at this party never worried about where their next taste of alcohol would come from since money and celebrity ensured an education on how a high school kid could get these things.

Gibbs joked, ate, and drank to his heart’s content. He even managed to look like he was paying attention to the inane chatter between all the girls vying for his attention that night. However, the star was remembering how Mayhem had destroyed the offensive line from North Shore in the second half. He could not help but admire the skill of the young kid. He would love to work with him in practice day in and day out just to help himself improve. “Iron sharpens iron” was a popular phrase from the Duncanville coaches.

Those coaches and the booster clubs worked backroom deals to get players to transfer into the Duncanville district to be on the football team. Gibbs was one of the few who did not need to be recruited this way, as his father had moved the family there while Antwaun was still in elementary school. Even so, he was already considered a fine athlete and worked with private coaches all year to prepare himself for high school football.

A large splash caused several girls at his table to scream and rock Antwaun out of his stroll down memory lane. “Yo, my guys! Quit it with the water! If I wanted to swim, I would,” the country’s number one football player barked out of anger. He took a moment to calm down. “Keep it over there,” the superstar pointed to the other side of the pool.

“Sorry about that, Ant. We’ll take this party over to the other side.” One of the backup wide receivers collected a couple of topless girls and led them to the other side of the pool to continue their games.

While the receiver and his prey were swimming to the other side of the pool, Antwaun noticed a preview from ESPN on one of the pool-side TVs talking about high school football. He immediately thought they were going to talk about how he is all but guaranteed to bring Duncanville their fourth state championship in a row. Antwaun picked up one of his drinks and excused himself from the girls for a moment, feigning a need for the restroom. Instead, he headed to the TV when the ESPN talking head began an entire segment on the amazing half of football from Mayhem.

“Now, long-time viewers of our show may recognize Tim ‘Mayhem’ Murphy from Roosevelt High School in San Antonio, Texas. Normally, we’d show footage of this young man just manhandling some mother’s child week in and week out on the football field, but you’ve never seen him do this!” The small preview window over the talking head’s shoulder filled up the entire screen, and it was Tim’s first long-distance touchdown in which he simply outran everyone for the touchdown. The talking heads’ voice-over continued, “After their opponents got the ball back and a quick three and out led by Murphy and his defensive teammates, he did it again, this time beating a couple of close-by defenders for a second touchdown. “This would already be the most amazing feat for a high school football star, but watch as he does it again,” the talking head punctuated the third touchdown, and the hyperbole rose.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before. This is easily the best high school football player in the country, and next week, Mayhem Murphy and his Roosevelt Rough Riders are going for the Texas state championship against three-time state champions Antwaun Gibbs and the Duncanville Panthers.”

The other talking head at the desk decided to enter the fray. “Oh yeah, watching those highlights, I almost forgot about Gibbs. I wish him and his team luck. Duncanville is going to need as much luck as they can get for their next championship.”

Antwaun Gibbs was now in danger of losing control of his anger. The last time that happened was during a game against a five-star defensive end recruit playing for the DeSoto Eagles. The DeSoto product had an unbelievably fast first and second step, so when the ball was snapped, he was already two steps into his pass rush when the opposing offensive linemen were just coming out of their stances. That was during Gibbs’ junior season, and deep into the fourth quarter, Antwaun was beginning to tire and becoming ever more desperate to stop the relentless pass rush.

Antwaun decided he was going to stop this guy from embarrassing him further. When the DeSoto defensive end faked going inside, he was able to step around Antwaun and had a free rush to the quarterback. Antwaun jumped on his back, his body landing on the back of the end’s legs while holding onto his shoulder pads, and both players crashed to the ground. Antwaun Gibbs fell with all his body weight onto the hamstring and Achilles tendons of the rushing defensive end. Antwaun remembered vividly the screams of pain from the defensive end.

Hearing the ESPN anchor joking that Duncanville and Antwaun Gibbs would have difficulty winning their fourth straight state championship set him off. Antwaun grabbed a nearby wooden Adirondack chair and, in a single motion, tossed it over several wooden tables and guests, destroying the TV hanging on a red brick wall. All the other party-goers were scared silent.

The curious ringtone on the office phone in the makeshift offices for Onyx this week drew Mr. Moon’s attention. He was happy to stop reading the boring reports from the various parties worldwide from this last week. “Yes, Alicia, what is it?”

“I have an immediate black flash notice on one of our initiates. In fact, he is your preferred initiate from San Antonio.”

That got Mr. Moon’s attention. “Black flash notice, huh? Okay, please come on in.”

He pressed the buzzer to unlock the front door to the office they occupied for the next week in Las Vegas. Mr. Moon preferred the office and setup here to their home office in Los Angeles. He reminded himself to bring up moving the primary office out of Los Angeles and to Las Vegas while quickly closing the collection of classified reports on his desk. Mr. Moon’s position called for him to be up-to-date with all the weekly reports for his organization.

“Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but this came as an immediate black flash notice from the Texas office,” Alicia touched a few buttons on her iPad and forwarded the black flash report to her supervisor.

“Hmm. A possible problem with our number one initiate for the San Antonio desk. Have you heard of this character, Young Baller 69?” he sounded out. “I think that is how you pronounce the name – it is dreadfully spelled!”

Alicia, understanding who the boss was asking about, looked at the flash missive on her own tablet. “Oh, no, sir. That is spelled correctly, and yes, it is all one word, but you did pronounce it correctly. He was the young man who was embarrassed by the thumping given to him and his men in the near brawl in downtown San Antonio centering around our initiate. There was a thorough briefing on what happened and a reminder in the after-action report section on his initiate page of the internal site. Our people in the local police department could not stop calling the young man a hero for what he did to stop this YungBalla69’s cocky cadre of cretins.”

“Well done,” the boss smiled as he continued reading. “Oh yes, now I remember. So what does that have to do with this?”

“We have a minor action report given by one of our men in the area. He was worried about the change in activity of a local gang leader attending Roosevelt High and several other schools, both middle and other high schools in the area. Apparently, the formerly brutal gang members have all made a complete 180 and are now acting like top students in the school, even showing up in droves to school functions and cheering on the school teams.”

“Well, how is that a bad thing?”

“It is not necessarily a bad thing, but he did note it as strange for a formerly hardcore gang outfit selling drugs and causing general havoc everywhere to turn around and become model students. The new leader of the gang was rumored to have had several run-ins with our Mr. Murphy previously in the school year but now sits beside him in one of his classes. Unfortunately, the gang leader has guards watching outside of whichever class room he is in and so there is no opportunity for first-person reports. However, he does include second- and third-person reports of the leader living what he preaches and participates in class.”

“Well, easy for you to say,” her boss said, joking about the word salad of high school politics.

“The reporter also said while there was nothing apparent to worry about, it is worthy of watching, and he was waiting for any differing instructions. He suggested he would keep an eye on all accounts.”

The boss merely nodded in understanding and continued reading the flash report.

“Well, I do believe the initial report is coming true. A young man with way too much money and not enough parentage believes he can ruin the life of a young man who should have nothing to do with him,” the boss concluded. After checking the postscript at the end of the missive: “This riot. What is this about a girl?”

“If you remember in the action report,” the boss nodded, meaning he remembered but needed to be reminded, “the inebriated group of hangers-on began the unfortunate event trying to woo a group of young women who were guests of Miss Olivia King,” Alicia began her explanation.

“Oh, that sprite of a girl with that one music video where she is dressed like Glenda the Good Witch.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, okay. I know who you are talking about,” Mr. Moon expressed while sitting back in his well-cushioned office chair. He was very proud of himself for getting the correct answer to something related to popular culture.

“At the time of the incident, Olivia and her then-boyfriend, YungBalla69, were traveling together on a concert tour for their new albums,” Alicia continued explaining. “After the incident, they had apparently broken up. He did not take it so well and, according to rumors, had planned to get back at, and I quote...” she recited while looking over her iPad again. “He said, ‘I’ll get that roided-out freak and screw him up to show her she should have never left me.’”

“So how did the archivist connect the dots between a threat on our initiate and this low-rent rapper-turned-businessman?”

“He is not one hundred percent sure since he did not get this information first-hand but rather through other means, but when the cops took his entire entourage to jail, excluding one who needed a visit to the hospital, YungBalla69 met and chatted with our gang leader, Tommy,”

“Tommy, is that it? Just Tommy?”

“Yes and no, sir. This is the young man’s family name.” The administrative assistant handed Mr. Moon her tablet, which she had opened to a picture of Tommy with an older man, both barely smiling for the camera.

Moon took a furtive glance at the picture, then dramatically took a meaningful second glance before finally looking back at the face of his assistant. “Seriously?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered as she retook possession of her iPad.

“Does he know what is going on with his son?”

“Unclear, sir.”

Moon took a few moments to lightly stroke his chin while deep in thought. “Might as well have the archivist do a detailed write-up. I’ll place a warning on the package before sending the command further. This has the potential of being not a very good thing for anybody.” Moon looked his assistant in the eyes again. “Do you think this Tommy knows?”

“Once again, sir, unclear,” Alicia restated. She turned off her iPad and stood in her seat before being dismissed. “Do you think we should invite Mr. Murphy to another party?”

“No. Not yet. We don’t have anything close to him for like a few months, do we?” Alicia shook her head negatively. “Well, when the next one comes around, we’ll look into it again. With this new news, this might be the start of something, but make sure the archivist knows I do want to be kept appraised of all this, and discretely make sure he has no idea about Tommy’s parentage,” Mr. Moon said with a wave. “No reason to scare the chap.”

“Of course, sir,” Alicia said. Noting Mr. Moon’s return to other reports as her order to leave, she exited the office, returned to her desk, and continued preparations for the next Las Vegas party.

“Wow, would you look at all that?” Juanita exclaimed while watching the news with the rest of the family on Wednesday. The Murphy siblings’ homework was complete, and the older boy got home at his normal time after football practice.

The country was in the middle of the first major snowstorm to wash over the contiguous 48. Luckily, the severe weather was not supposed to cause any trouble as far south as San Antonio. There would be lower temperatures, but there was still a lack of precipitation. The lack of precipitation in South Texas was good news, but the North Texas (Dallas/Ft. Worth) area was going to see an extraordinary meeting of super cold air from the north meeting with a strong line of thunderstorms racing through the state from the South. When they met, it was not going to be an amicable meeting.

Weather forecasters had begun warning of possible mandatory shelter-in-place orders from the state political authority. The governor was already being pressured by the national authority, and folks on both sides of the aisle were picking sides.

The first meeting of the two storms was featured live by a TV reporter decked out in the finest Arctic wear but having trouble standing in the raging wind and freezing rain. It was apparent the rain was hitting the ground was frozen and began to coagulate on the poor man’s feet, practically freezing him in place.

It was great TV, but after a few minutes, the Murphy clan could not understand what the man was saying since the icicles forming off his bushy 1970s porn actor mustache were freezing over his mouth. Between sentences, the brave reporter had to chop at the ice forming over his mouth. The stalactites falling from his mustache met up with the stalagmites rising from his beard, reaching for each other with all their might over his gaping maw. His voice, at times, was muffled right before needing a karate chop to break them apart.

Before the station finally wised up, broke away from his feed, and ordered the reporter inside, a producer could be seen beating the rapidly forming ice on the ground at the reporter’s feet to rescue him.

“Wow! Now that is some rough ice,” Raymond announced to the family. The other members stared at him, incredulous that this same man was responsible for the family’s welfare.

After a few moments of Raymond blushing a beautiful amber, Carmen spoke up next, “Do you think they are gonna still have the game after all of that?”

No one knew the answer and just continued watching the news story. Tim explained, “I think the championship games were going to start up tomorrow night at Cowboys Stadium and go through the weekend with us being the last game, will be rescheduled.”

“Okay, we have some more breaking news, and it’s not directly due to the weather but it’s because of it. The University Interscholastic League, the governing body of sports for Texas, has announced a postponement for all the football state championships that were to begin tomorrow night,” the news anchor read off a sheet of paper handed to him from off-camera. “We are going to a report from a sister station from Dallas as they explain the reasoning.”

“Wow. It’s like he heard you or something, Timmy,” Carmen joked. The family encouraged her with honest snickers and giggles, but their attentions returned to the news reports.

“As we are hearing, the state football championships are being postponed, and this is the reason why,” the talking head behind the news desk said as a picture of Cowboys Stadium appeared. A large segment of a wall collapsed into the building. It looked like a wall had caved into the building, not just a facade. The picture then shifted a few feet and caught a second inner wall falling, exposing an inner hallway with pieces of glass artwork found all over the stadium crashing to the floor. There was no microphone, so there was no sound, but it didn’t take much of an imagination to figure out the sounds. The lights in the stadium and the newly exposed hallway began flickering and eventually blinked off.