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“What fucking evidence?” Pence demanded. “There can’t be evidence of me because I didn’t do it.”
“Exactly,” Mac said. “Me either.”
“There are photos,” Bennett said. “And the guy who did this drives the same make and model of car that you all drive.”
“Okay, wait.” Singh was on his feet now. “This is based on a car? Lots of people drive a black Mercedes SUV.”
“Six Reign players drive that car.” He gestured to the group in the room. “The six of you. And whoever drugged this woman led her out of The Loop and toward that car, only dumping her on the sidewalk when she started vomiting.”
“How do we know it was one of our teammates?” asked Pence. “This woman could be—”
Bennett pointed at Pence and his expression turned frigid. “If you say she’s making it up, we’re going to have a serious problem, Pence.”
“I was going to say mistaken,” Pence clarified. “How do we know for sure it was a Reign player?”
“She remembers seeing an equipment bag with our logo on it in the back seat, the kind the team issues us. And he was bragging about holding the Cup at one point. Unfortunately, she doesn’t remember the player’s face at all.”
“Fuck.” Taylor dropped his forehead onto one of his hands.
“So, like, what does all this mean, Cap?” Campbell asked. “Who is this girl and why the break-ins?”
This was the part he dreaded. “It turns out the girl is related to a very powerful, very criminal family in Toronto. The head of that criminal family is seriously pissed that someone did this to a member of his family. And he’s not going to stop until he discovers who did it.”
“Do you mean the mob?” McPherson screeched.
“Holy shit,” Singh said. “The guy who did this is toast.”
“Yes, that’s an accurate way of putting it.” Bennett stared at all of his teammates. “So, it would be helpful to learn who is responsible before this guy does. Everything points to one of you. I don’t expect a confession here, now, but you gotta tell me soon. Like, tonight.”
“It’s not me!”
“Or me!”
“Fuck, I didn’t do it!”
“Well, I didn’t do it either!”
They all spoke at once, except for Noah, who was silent. “Calm the fuck down!” Bennett shouted and put up his palms. More reasonably, he said, “I understand you won’t want to tell me here and I’m not asking for a public confession. But please, go back to your rooms and someone confess. Because if you wait too long, it’ll be too late.”
“Dude,” Taylor said to the group. “I have kids. I can’t be murdered by the mob over something I didn’t do. Whoever did this needs to confess and let the rest of us live in peace.”
“I also have kids, asshole!” Campbell added. “I can’t be murdered, either.”
“Shit,” Singh hissed. “I have to call my wife and warn her. Better yet, I’ll send her and the kids to her parents’ house in Vancouver for a while. Damn it!” He kicked the bedframe. “Whoever did this needs to speak up right the fuck now.”
“I think you’re safe,” Bennett told Singh. “Remember the photos? The player had white skin.”
“Thank fuck,” Singh murmured, bending over and exhaling heavily. “About time a brown person in this sport catches a break.”
“Wait, so there’s only the five of us now?” Campbell was on his feet, glancing at the room. “Oh, you assholes. Whichever one of you did it needs to own up to it now. Throw yourself on this mob guy’s mercy or whatever. Because I will not end up at the bottom of Lake Ontario for one of you.”
“No one is ending up at the bottom of Lake Ontario,” Bennett promised, hoping to calm everyone down. “That’s why I need to know who it is. I’m going to handle this through the proper channels so whoever did it stays alive.” No need to bring up the TPS and spook whoever was guilty. Bennett needed a confession.
Pence looked carefully at Bennett, examining him. “Can’t you speak to this mob guy on our behalf? Tell him we’re innocent or something?”
“It won’t work. He sees this as a personal attack on a family member. He wants retribution.”
“Fuuuuuuck,” McPherson said, closing his eyes and dropping his head into his hands. “This is insane. Can’t we talk to the league? The players’ association? Someone?”
