“I know. And I?m trying to get to the bottom of it. And I will, I promise.”

“By then, it might be too late.”

“Let me do my job, D,” he replied, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing lightly. “You just concentrate on winning this damn thing. If it?s what you think, and he?s stacking his cards against the Badgers taking it all, winning will piss him off more than anything else could. Then we?ll see what happens.”

Dylan sighed. “I don?t like it.”

“Either do I. Just?trust me, okay?”

“Alright,” Dylan replied, summoning up a small smile. “Good luck.”

“To you as well, my friend. Kick some ass.”

Dylan took a blistering pass from Cat on the fly and didn?t even bother to dribble as she left her feet for a thunderous jam. At the last second, Tanisha Bradford, center for the Monarch, slipped into a blocking stance after Dylan?s feet had already left the ground. The two collided and Jackson, no doubt trying for the Best Actress award at the next year?s Oscars, fell to her back with a loud cry.

“Foul!” the ref shouted, waving his arm. “No basket!”

“What the hell?!?” Cat yelled, running up to the ref. She would have grabbed his arm and spun him around, no doubt earning her an ejection, if Chaney hadn?t luckily gotten there first and grabbed her arm, pulling her quickly away. “Let me go,” Cat growled from between clenched teeth. “Now!”

“No way, man!” Chaney growled back, shaking Cat like a terrier with a bone. “That?s just what they want, don?t you get it? The refs are shit, man! They?re gettin? paid off!” The guard held tight as Cat tried to wriggle free, her gaze rapt to Dylan as she pulled herself out of a tangle of arms and legs and slowly straightened, testing out the strength in her knee. “Listen, Shortchange. This ain?t college ball.” Chaney?s breath was hot on her face. “This is business, man! All fuckin? business! Look at it! Big D?s got three fouls on her and she ain?t touched nobody! You! You got four fuckin traveling calls! I bet you ain?t traveled since you were in grade school!”

Chaney?s words finally got through, and Cat stopped struggling, then turned to her friend, expression set. “What are you saying?”

“It?s a sham, Cat! Nothin? but a fuckin? sham. We?re pawns in some fuckin? chess game so Johnson can get his latest ?ho a new Mercedes. Don?t you get it? He?s bettin? against us!”

“But that—.”

“But nothin?, Shortchange. Face the facts here. He wants us to lose and he?s paid off the fuckin? refs to make sure it happens.”

“But why would he bet against his own team?”

Chaney snorted. “He don?t give a shit about no fucking championship trophy, Cat. It?s all about the green, man. If he can make more dough bettin? against us, that?s what he?s gonna do. Face it, Cat. We?re bein? played.”

“You don?t sound too upset about it,” Cat observed.

“I guess I ain?t,” Chaney replied, shrugging. “My contract?s up after this game anyway, and a pro team in Spain offered me some big bucks to come play for them.” She shrugged again. “I?ll probably take ?em up on it.”

“You?d do that, leave the team, leave Dylan like that, even if we win?”

Chaney?s smile was sad as she reached out and gently clasped Cat?s shoulder. “Hon, we ain?t gonna win this one. We gave it a damn good try, but?.” Shaking her head, she walked away, leaving Cat standing alone at center court, her heart a whirl of emotions.

Catching the towel tossed to her by the trainer, Cat sat down on the bench next to Dylan, who was adjusting her knee brace. “You okay?” Cat asked.

“Yeah,” Dylan replied, straightening up and guzzling a bottle of water before turning to look at her lover. “You?”

Cat looked down at her knotted fingers briefly before raising her head to meet Dylan?s intense stare. “Was?what Chaney said to me back there true?”

Looking over Cat?s head, Dylan lifted an eyebrow in Chaney?s direction. Chaney looked back, shame-faced, giving Dylan all the answer she needed to answer that particular unasked question. She returned her attention to her lover. “It?s true.”

Cat?s shoulders sagged. “But why? I don?t mean to come off as terminally naive here, but isn?t betting against your own team, betting at all, you know, illegal?”

“And your point would be??”

“This isn?t a joke, Dylan.”

“Sure it is. Look around you, Cat. This whole thing is a joke. And by now, everybody?s in on it.”

“Except us.”

“We?ve got the starring role, Cat.”

“How long have you known?”

“I suspected something over the past couple of days. The bastard was just a bit too smug. When I actually knew?well, let?s just say in the eight months that I?ve known you as a player, I?ve never seen you travel. And I still haven?t.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Do? What we?ve been doing all year. Play to win.”

“Even if they won?t let us?”

“Especially then. He might be able to keep us from winning, but he?ll never make us lose.”

Cat wanted to have a fit of temper and lay into the referees and opposing players, but she knew that wasn?t really her style and that Dylan would be disappointed in her. As she stood to retake her place on the court, she looked into the seats where the fans were all cheering for the Badgers and she knew she wouldn?t let them down either. She?d play the best game she could and if they lost because the game was rigged, she would know that she did her best against impossible odds.

The thing that bothered her most was the attitude of the other team; they really seemed to be getting off on what was happening. She wondered if they were in on it too, or just stupid. It was true that they were a damn good team, and under normal circumstances the Badgers would be working hard to give them a run for their money, but now the game was being handed to them and they seemed to be enjoying it.

She took a deep breath, as the ball was returned to play. This moment seemed to be going well. They were moving the ball down the court for a shot; the ball came to her and made a fast pass to Dylan who was clear and ready for a beautiful three pointer.

Then it happened. As they tried to block Dylan she whirled to get around them and the whistle blew. She had felt her elbow make contact with her opponent when she tried to make the turn, but she knew, the opponent knew and the fans knew it was accidental and would have been ?incidental? contact in a normal game. But this was not a normal game.

“Son of a bi?” the look from Dylan stopped the words form Cat?s mouth as they waited for the ref to make his call. Dylan was warning her against getting pitched out for unsportsmanlike behavior, because the coach knew damn good and well the ref?s would do it.

When the foul call came down and Dylan was sent to the bench the fans were on their feet, screaming and yelling and booing. The referees (and coincidentally some players as well) were pelted with programs and wadded bits of paper that rained down on the court. A time out was called to get the litter cleaned up.

Cat closed her eyes and scratched her fingers over her scalp to work out some of the frustration she was feeling. She didn?t care if it did go against her personal code. Someone was going to die if this kept up. Striding over to the bench, she grabbed a towel and draped it over her head as she took a long hit from the water bottle thrust into her hand.

“Well that?s it; they?ve managed to wrack them up against us?” Caulley remarked, looking down at her ever-present clipboard. It was covered with scribbles that might as well be Egyptian hieroglyphics for all the good they were doing the team.

“It?s bullshit!” Cat growled as she toweled her neck.

“I know it is, Catherine, but we don?t have a choice. Dylan is done, so we need to do the best we can here. From this point forward, we?re playing a straight passing game and we?re going to do our damndest to keep ourselves and the ball away from them. If we can?t get close to them, then we don?t want them close to us.”

“They?ll just call us out for traveling.” Chaney grumbled from her position kneeling at the coach?s feet. “Look at what they?ve been doing to Shortchange.”

“There?s no easy answer here.”

“Maybe we should just forfeit.”

“No way.” Caulley stood, pointing her tablet at the guard. “You?re going to go back out there and you?re going to play this game. We?re not going to let these people down. You can bet we?re going to challenge these calls, but we can?t do it now. All we can do it give it our best shot.”

Diana looked at each of her players and she could see that mentally, they were beaten, but she wasn?t going to let them give in. “I promise you all that this will work out. Not today and maybe not tomorrow, but it will work out. You have to act like the professionals you are. So go back out there and do your best. Party at Dylan’s house tonight for the best damn team in the league.”

Everyone couldn?t help but laugh as they made their plans to finish the game.

Dylan zipped her warm-up jacket as she strode down the short, dark hallway toward the Skybox that held one Horace Johnson. Standing next to the closed door was Mac, resplendent in a dark suit and crisp white shirt, his face grim. “D….”

“Buzz off, Mac.”

“But—”

“I’m serious. You don’t want to be here right now. I’ll catch up with you later.” She reached for the door handle, only to have Mac’s huge hand clamp onto her wrist at the last second. She looked down at the hand for a moment, then turned cold, steel-colored eyes to her friend. One eyebrow slowly rose.

Clearing his throat, Mac released her wrist, and thrust a folder into her face. “Before you do anything, just take a look at this, alright?”

After a moment, she relaxed her muscles and, with a frustrated breath, grabbed the folder. Inside were three summary sheets. She began to smile. It wasn’t a pleasant one, by any means, but its very presence caused Mac to breathe a silent sigh of relief.

“We got the bastard,” she said finally, eyes sparkling fiercely.

“Yeah, we got him. Safely, and legally. D, listen to me, please. You don’t have to do…whatever it is that you’re going in there to do. You do something stupid, and this could all blow up in our faces.”

“‘Stupid’ as in using his fat head to test the tensile strength of the window glass inside his skybox?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Dylan patted his chest with the folder. “No worries, my friend.”

“But—”

“I mean it. This is between Horace and me. You were never here. Now buzz off.”

“Dylan….”

“Now.”

With a grunt, he pushed himself away from the wall. “Don’t make me have to bail you out of jail, D. Not again. Please.”

“Just go.”

A last, pleading look, and he went.

Dylan twisted the door handle, opened the heavy door, and slipped silently inside. Horace was alone, standing before the huge windows of his box, staring down onto the court. He was rocking on his toes, hands clamped behind his back. He looked, in short, like a naughty little boy whose dreams were one second away from coming true.

“Always were a little lax with your personal security, weren’t ya, Horace?”

Johnson slowly turned. His smirk seemed a permanent fixture on his seamed, homely face. “Ms. Lambert, how wonderful to see you here, darkening my doorstep.” He looked down at the folder in her hand. “Your letter of resignation, I presume? It’s a terrible pity, though it has been fully documented that ones of your particular…perversion…never were able to accept responsibility.”

Dylan crossed the room in a few long, silent strides. “You’ll probably want to be rethinking that…boss.”

“Really? Why?” His eyes were filled with a babe’s innocence, but the smirk never left his face. “Whatever you’re going to show me, Ms. Lambert, please do it quickly. I’m missing the end of the game.”

“As if you didn’t know how it was gonna end already. Does the name Tony Scippone ring any kind of a bell with you, Horace?”

A muscle twitched, just briefly, near the corner of one eye. Then his brow smoothed and the smug look returned. “Can’t say as it does, Ms. Lambert. Friend of yours? Fellow Sodomite, perhaps?”

“Las Vegas bookie, actually. Some degenerate laid down two hundred grand on the Badgers to lose by fourteen or more points.”

“Really,” he drawled, rocking on his toes again. “I’d say that that person was in for quite a handsome profit, given that the team is currently losing by….” A quick look over his shoulder, “...twenty one.”

Dylan shrugged. “Guess you’re going to have to fire the help, then. Seems that your new admin assistant…Bambi….Barbie….Bimbo…whomever placed the bet in her name, but used your line of credit with ol’ Tony to do it.”