Read Online The Cut by Wil Mara - Free Book Online

it,” Bolton said. The green light went off again.
    The cameraman came out from behind the camera, pulling his headphones down around his neck.
    â€œPerfect,” he said to Bolton.
    â€œGood.”
    â€œSo who’s the anonymous inside source this time?”
    Bolton laughed. “You won’t believe this, but for the first time I have no idea. But I’m thankful I have him—everything he’s given me so far on this story has been dead on.”
    *   *   *
    Chet Palmer went to the bathroom around the same two times every day—ten thirty and two. He was as regular as Big Ben. He liked this because he liked things that were stable and predictable. He had long ago designed a generic daily schedule for himself, covering nearly every aspect of his life, to eliminate as many variables as possible. He accepted and tolerated a few, but when events arose that reduced his precious planning to a confused mess, he became edgy and worrisome. He clung to this habit like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver, and for the same reason—if he didn’t, he would sink and die. It never occurred to him that the world simply didn’t work the same way all the time, and that he was merely soothing numerous deep-seated insecurities.
    At precisely ten forty-four, he emerged from the stall in the men’s locker room. Players rarely came in here; it was mostly for management. There were two showers, several benches, and a tiled floor with recessed drains. Employees were encouraged to work out in the mornings, to keep their bodies healthy and their minds sharp. Palmer spent a half hour in the gym every day (from six to six thirty, without fail), then came here to shower and dress, at which time gossip and dirty jokes were exchanged.
    He went to the sink and washed his hands. As he did, the door from the hallway opened and Alan Gray came in.
    Spotting him in the mirror, Palmer said, “Hello, Alan.”
    â€œHow are ya?”
    â€œOkay.”
    Palmer shook the excess water from his hands and reached for a towel from the little pile that had been stacked on the stainless steel shelf over the basin. Gray, meanwhile, stood at the urinal.
    Palmer took a quick look around even though he was already sure no one else was with them. “Uh, Alan?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI received a call from Barry Sturtz about a half hour ago.”
    â€œOh? Did he apologize and relent?”
    â€œNo,” Palmer said. “In fact, he wanted to know if we were ready to relent.”
    Gray laughed and shook his head. “What did you say?”
    â€œI said we were holding our ground.”
    â€œGood.”
    â€œYeah, good. Then he asked if that was our final decision, and I said it was.”
    â€œExcellent.”
    â€œUh-huh. But look … I’ve been thinking a bit more about this situation, and maybe we should offer them something . Handling it the way we are is asking for trouble.”
    Gray zipped up and stepped back, triggering the automatic flush. “Without bringing in these three camp bodies, we have no leverage.”
    â€œAnd you have no trouble with the notion that these bodies are under the impression they’ve got a real shot at making the team?”
    Gray shrugged. “They’ll never know. That’s business.”
    Palmer, certainly guilty of a few transgressions of his own, was nevertheless forever fascinated by Alan Gray’s limitless lack of sympathy. “It’s still too great a risk, no matter how well you hide your true intentions.”
    â€œYeah? How so?”
    â€œWell, it’s pretty clear that Sturtz knows what T. J.’s worth, and he’s not the type of guy who’s going to just let us roll over him. We can get away with that with a few other guys, but not him. They’re in a decent position.”
    â€œWe’re in a better position,” Gray said, then walked around Palmer to get to the