Read Online Monday Night Jihad by Steve Jason & Yohn Elam - Free Book Online

limo, huh?” Widnall shouted. Evidently Riley’s prayer about the blown speakers had gone unheeded.
    “Yeah . . . uh, pretty sweet.” As Riley looked around, his impression was less of twenty-first-century luxury than of 1970s Huggy Bear.
    “And check this out! I had them stock the fridge in the bar with Diet Pepsi for you.” Widnall swung the refrigerator door open, proudly displaying its contents.
    “Thanks, man. That was very—”
    “You stocked it with what?” Keith Simmons interrupted, getting right in Widnall’s face. “I didn’t just hear you say Diet Pepsi, did I? Boy, don’t you know that my man Pach drinks Diet Coke? What’s the matter with you?”
    Widnall turned to Riley with big, pleading eyes.
    “Simm . . . ,” Riley warned, trying to defuse the situation.
    “When I want to talk to you, Pach, I’ll look at you. Now, Rook, get your little Humbone State backside in that building, and don’t come out until you find Mr. Covington some Diet Coke! Got it?”
    “Sure thing, Simm,” Widnall muttered as he scrambled out of the limo.
    Simmons stood up through the moon roof and called after him, “And you better hurry up, or I’m ordering three prime ribs tonight and giving two to my dog!” He fell back onto the leather seat laughing. “You see that boy run?”
    Riley didn’t want to laugh but couldn’t help it. Everyone had been on the wrong end of rookie night before, and it was never a pleasant experience. “Just do me a favor tonight, okay? Go easy on Jacks.”
    “Of course, Pach. I’ll treat him like he was my little brother. Man, I hated that punk.” Everyone in the Hummer burst out laughing.
    I was right, Riley thought. It’s going to be a very long night.
    Riley watched as Travis Marshall nervously folded and unfolded the thin brown straw that had come with his little four-dollar bottle of Coke. He could almost see the sixth-round offensive tackle out of William and Mary computing the tab in his head and dividing it by the dozen rookies on the team’s roster. He had received a $25,000 signing bonus back in July, but after a welcome to the wonderful world of taxes, agent fees, and a down payment on a condo in town, he was probably living paycheck to paycheck. He looked worried, as he should be. The vets were already doing some pretty heavy damage at the restaurant.
    “Hey, Travis,” Riley said, tapping Marshall on the forehead. “You in there?” Riley, Ricci, and Marshall were sitting in a booth just off the main tables.
    “Man, I think I better start filling some doggie bags here, because I don’t think I’ll be grocery shopping for a few weeks,” Marshall replied softly.
    “Well, you know you can always raid my refrigerator anytime you need to,” Riley offered.
    “I’d say the same thing,” Ricci said, “but Meg says we can’t afford you anymore. Every time you come over for an evening, she’s got to plan a trip back to Wild Oats the next day.”
    Chris Gorkowski slid into the booth next to Riley, pinning him to the wall. “Hey, Marsh, you’re not going to finish that, are you?”
    Before Marshall had a chance to reply, the veteran center reached over, picked up the younger man’s New York strip steak, and bit a chunk out of it the size of lower Manhattan.
    “You see what happens, Sal? I warned them about letting Snap here off of his leash,” Riley said.
    Gorkowski turned to Riley, gave him a full, meaty grin, and slid his enormous bulk even farther into the booth.
    “Uncle!” Riley gasped.
    “Marsh,” Gorkowski continued, the alcohol on his breath causing all three of the men to lean as far away as they could, “me and the boys have been missing you over at the O-line table. We think it’s time you came over and sang us a little William and Mary fight song, preferably in the voice of Mary rather than William.”
    “You can’t be serious,” Marshall pleaded.
    In response, Gorkowski bit off the borough of Brooklyn, dropped what little remained of the