Max

  Chapter 13

  A week had passed since the Herald had hired the investigators to learn what they could about Max Aries background. They had come with zilch, nada, nothing.

  He appeared on the field from apparently nowhere, dressed to practice or play. No one knew whether he came by car, taxi or mule. He was just “here.”

  Same for his leaving at the end of a practice session or game. Once Max entered the tunnel leading to the dressing room he evaporated into thin air.

  The Rams were on the road that weekend, playing the Cardinals in Arizona. Max sat in the chartered plane with one of the other rookies. He came with a paperback book and the playbook under his arm. While the other team members were horsing around or conversing, Max spent the time in the air reading or studying the playbook.

  Max was sharing a hotel room with Bobo Gamble. Ham Gleason, in his job as beat reporter for the Rams had flown in a day before the game. He tried to pry information about Max from his road roommate. After the Saturday practice session, he invited Bobo to join him in the hotel bar for a beer. After Bobo’s second, Gleason said, “Bobo, you room with Max on the road, do you talk about your private lives?”

  Bobo, a guard with big muscles but small brain said, “ Sure, but I do most of the talking.”

  “Does Max date girls?”

  “Hey, you asking me if Max has a girl friend?”

  “Uh-huh. I wondered if he was going with anyone.”

  Bobo shrugged. “If he does, he don’t tell me, and I don’t ask.”

  Ham could see he was getting nowhere. Max Aries remained as much a mystery as before and the Herald was out the price of a couple of beers.

  Ham Gleason tried to pump the coach for information, but as far as Marv Jones was concerned, he didn’t care one way or the other about Max’s private life. All he wanted to do was win games, and thanks to his receiver who could catch anything thrown near him, Jones was considered a genius. Marv just prayed that the young man’s catching was limited to footballs, not colds or something more serious.

  J.J. Heywood felt the same way. What Max did off the playing field was no concern of his as long as it was legal. He saw that Max’s paychecks were left in his locker each week and, although they disappeared, none of them had been cashed. He worried only that Max would come back at him one day and demand a ridiculous bonus. Not that he wasn’t entitled to it. Max had earned every cent— and more— that his contract called for, but J.J. would be just as happy if the matter was left as it was.

  On Sunday, the Cardinals with the best defensive record, tried any number of ways to devise a defense aimed at Max Aries. The Arizona team had allowed an average of only ten points a game before meeting up with the Rams. When the Rams had the ball during the first quarter, the Cardinals put two 300-pound linemen to block Max from getting downfield. One would drive him to the ground, the other would lay on him to keep him from getting up. The scheme worked for a few plays, but Rams offensive coaches quickly shifted to a running game and the Cardinals’ “Points Allowed per Game” average suffered a sickening blow. The final score: Rams 41, Cardinals 28.

  Ham wangled a ride on the charter for the return trip, he even managed a seat alongside Max. But his prey, along with most of the men, exhausted following the game, snoozed.

  After another week during which the investigators had failed to find out even where Max lived, let alone any information concerning his private life, Gene Hancock, the Herald’s publisher, fired them and hired another private detective. He had no more success than his predecessors, bumbling aound the stadium locker room like an Inspector Jacques Clouseau until he, too, was booted out.

  Hancock called his friend Harry Thompson, the Herald editor. “Harry, I know you’re anxious to get a featured article about Max Aries.”

  “You’ve got that right, Gene.”

  Hancock laughed. “As you know, the P.I.s we hired couldn’t find their rear ends with both hands. I’m open for suggestions. What do we do next?”

  Thompson said, “Looks like we’re swinging at wild pitches. But I do have some snitches who owe me. If you don’t care how I do it, I’ll sic them on the case.”

  “As long as it’s legal and doesn’t hurt Aries, be my guest.”

  Thompson cleared his throat. “Uh, Gene, I’m not sure our budget—.”

  “Don’t let the expense get in your way.”

  “You mean you’ve got deep pockets?”

  Hancock said, “Within reason. And I expect an itemized account.”

  “We’ve got a deal.” He hung up, rubbed his hands together and punched a number in his phone.