Jake finally made his way up to the entrance of BBG’s sports bar, which sat in the middle of a strip of other bars. He paused for a moment and scanned the crowd inside. There was a long bar top on the right side and tables lining the other side. Nearly every chair was taken. There were probably fifty large TVs stuck on every bit of wall space available, showing various college football games and other sports. It took Jake a moment to find Drew sitting by himself near the back of the room at the end of the bar. Drew was a big man at six four and probably 250 pounds with a thick beard. He wore a maroon Austin High ball cap and a gray sweatshirt. It was strange to think of him as the head football coach when the man had been Jake’s top assistant for more than a decade.
A year ago, Jake had returned to his head-coaching duties only a week after Sarah’s death, against his doctor’s recommendation. He had been climbing the walls sitting around and just being sad all day. It was a stupid decision. Especially because he had also started drinking more heavily to help numb the pain. His team was riding a seven-game losing streak into the final game of the year but had found themselves up by three points late in the game against their rival. It was intense. Jake had been all over one referee the whole night whom he felt had made several calls going against them.
Then it happened. One of the opposing team’s players clearly held one his guys right in front of the same ref and made the way for a go-ahead touchdown. Jake was irate and, truthfully, a little drunk. He let the referee have it with some descriptive words as they jawed at each other up close and personal. Then the referee leaned in and said, “Sober up, coach. Don’t let your dead wife ruin my night, too.” Without realizing what he was doing, Jake had his right hand wrapped around the ref’s neck, squeezing with all his strength, before Drew had pulled him away. He was fired the next day. Jake might’ve been terminated regardless, but that incident had made it much easier for the school to get rid of a head coach who had just tragically lost his wife.
Taking one more glance behind him, checking for police and not finding any around, Jake stepped fully into BBG’s. He weaved through the crowd until he made his way back to Drew and then slid onto a stool next to his friend.
Drew turned, said, “Sorry, pal, this one is taken.”
Jake looked over at him. “Hey, man, it’s me.”
Drew cocked his head. “Dude, what’s with the glasses and ski cap?”
“Long story.”
They shared a quick bro hug.
“It’s really good to see you,” Drew said. “Even if you do look like a weirdo.”
“Same. Listen, I don’t have much time.”
Drew’s forehead bunched. “Everything OK?”
“No. I can’t explain right now. But I need your help.”
“Of course, man. What’s going on?”
“I need to find Judd McGee ASAP.”
This seemed to catch Drew off guard. “Why?”
“Like I said, long story. But it’s important to me. Do you know where he lives? Or have a way of finding his address for me?”
“I can probably pull it up from the school server on my phone.”
“I need you to do that for me.”
“What’s going on, Jake?”
“I don’t have time to explain. I’m sorry. I just need this right now.”
“All right, all right.” Drew typed on his phone screen and a minute later had found an address listed on a player contact list. Jake borrowed a pen from the bartender, wrote it down on a napkin, and stuffed it in his pocket.
“His son is back on the team, you know,” Drew mentioned. “I felt like he deserved another chance.”
“I know. It’s fine. I don’t care.”
“Really? Because I figured that might be why you stopped responding to my calls and texts.”
“No, it’s OK. You did what you had to do. Let me ask you something. Does Judd ever drive a tow truck?”
Drew shrugged. “No idea.”
“He still work at an auto shop?”
“I think so. Seriously, Jake, what is this all about?”
Jake considered whether he should say anything more to Drew. After all, the man was his best friend. Maybe his only friend left. Drew was one of the few guys who had stood by him in the days that followed his firing last year. He actually told Jake that he wouldn’t take over the head coaching job at Austin High if Jake didn’t want him to do it. Of course, Jake insisted he take it.
Jake’s eyes drifted over to a TV on the wall behind the bar to his left—one of the few that didn’t have sports on it. Instead, it was tuned to a local cable news station. Jake cursed, his eyes widening. An up-close photo of him during his coaching days was currently plastered on the TV. Although Jake couldn’t hear anything, the TV had closed captioning, so he could see the words scrolling across the bottom. Jake Slater . . . suspect in death of a twenty-two-year-old woman . . . former disgraced coach of Austin High . . . Police are searching . . . The FBI is also involved.