Max

  Chapter 3

  General Manager Heywood, seated at his desk puffing on a cigar, signed a paper, stuffed it into a box marked, “Out.” He reached for another when there was a soft knock on the glass panel of the office door. He looked up. “Yeah, who’s there?”

  The response was muffled, sounding like, “A package.”

  “Well bring it in.”

  The door slowly opened to reveal a tall, skinny kid, bushy red hair, looked to be in his twenties, standing in the doorway. Heywood said, “Where’s the package?”

  The kid shook his head. “Package?”

  Heywood realized he’d misunderstood. He had lots of work to do and didn’t need this interruption. How did this guy get past his secretary anyway? He’d have to have a little talk with Marion, tell her she’s have to screen visitors more carefully. “Who the hell are you?”

  The kid gulped. “You sent for me. Max Aries. Sir.”

  Heywood gazed over Max’s shoulder. “I sent for you?”

  “Mr. Heywood?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Max Aries. Coach Jones said you wanted me to sign a contract.”

  Heywood’s brow creased. He stood glaring at Max for a few seconds puffing cigar smoke, then a look of understanding came over him. Slowly, he swept his gaze from Max’s feet to his head. For five seconds he stared into Max’s face, then threw his head back and guffawed. He pointed at Max’s chest. “You’re the kid who caught the pass?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And kicked the ball?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And bent the weight bar?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Heywood beckoned Max in and pointed. “Have a seat, kid.”

  Max eased into the chair.

  Heywood leaned back and for half a minute sat staring at Max. Suddenly he leaned forward. Quietly, he said, “I don’t believe it.”

  Max said, “You don’t believe what, sir?”

  “This is a joke, right?”

  “Sir?”

  “You and Marv are pulling some kinda gag, no?”

  Max shook his head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  Heywood flapped his hand. “Okay. Okay. Go back to Marv and tell him I fell for it.” He busied himself with some papers on his desk, then looked up. “Look I’m busy, son. Joke is over, now beat it.”

  Max slowly rose. “What—what about the contract?”

  Heywood brought his head up. He snatched the cigar from his mouth and pounded it into an ashtray. “You’re really serious?”

  Max nodded.

  Heywood took in a deep breath and blew it out through puffed cheeks. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Max Aries—sir.”

  “How old are you, Max?”

  Max was unsure of his age in Earth years, but he knew the number of the Earth year he was born. “Eighty.”

  Heywood cocked his head. “You mean you were born in 1980?”

  “Sorry, sir. Yes sir.”

  “Married?”

  “No sir.”

  “You don’t have to keep calling me sir.”

  “Yes si—.I mean, yes.”

  Heywood paused, thinking. The kid’s about twenty-seven. Looks like a strong breeze would knock him over. “What makes you think you can play professional football?”

  Max leaned forward in his chair. “Oh, I know I can.”

  “Did you play in college?”

  Max gazed up to the ceiling, looking there for the answer. “We-l-l-l, not exactly.”

  Heywood’s brows came together. “Is that a yes or a no?

  Max swallowed. He looked down at his shoes. Softly. “I guess it’s a ‘no’.”

  At least the kid was honest. Heywood took a cigar from his shirt pocket and bit off the end. From the top of his desk he grabbed a lighter, flicked it on and lit the end of the cigar. All this gave him time to mull over what he should do. He knew what he should really do is throw this nutty kid out of his office. At the very least, he should watch this Max perform on the field. But Marv Jones had never before tried to sell him a player. Yet this time… Shaking his head, he reached into a drawer and brought out a contract form.

  “Okay, Max. What I’ve got here is a limited contract. In other words, you don’t get a signing fee. You get paid for the practice sessions and the games where you suit-up. You also have to sign a waiver, so if you get hurt, we’re not responsible.” Heywood hesitated. He hated taking advantage of the kid, but what the hell, business is business. “Maybe you want to talk this over with your lawyer before you sign.”

  Fifteen minutes later, still shaking his head, Heywood watched Max Aries skip out of the door carrying a duplicate of the contract he had just signed. The kid said he didn’t have a lawyer, didn’t need one, Heywood muttered to the wall, “I just gave away my job.”