Five names. Five dates. The first takes place in one week. I’m going to need some tech and help installing it, so I follow the steps Devon has set up and ask him to come to Florida.
* * *
I planned to watch Mitch Cameron court these players, but I didn’t anticipate I would also catch coaches from other schools visiting them too. These guys are the best of the best from this area and everyone wants them. While the university Mitch coaches for is a good one, there are a couple of bigger and better ones not far from here, so the competition is strong.
It was easier than I thought it would be for us to get in each player’s home to set up once Devon arrived with the equipment we needed. All their houses are in poor neighborhoods with little to no security in place. It’s hard to ignore how much money is at stake for colleges with a winning season, yet these boys aren’t even supposed to get their dinner paid for by anyone associated with the school. It doesn’t seem fair.
A week into spying on these guys, there’s another note in the mailbox.
All recordings, videos, and images of the subjects from the previous list that document meetings, conversations, or discussions （even discussions between family members） regarding any football program should be turned in. A courier will arrive at your apartment every night at 10 pm for pickup. Do not leave it in the mailbox.
I knew Mr. Smith would be keeping a close eye on me, but I didn’t realize just how close. It also weighs heavy in favor of the client being from a rival school. Mr. Smith doesn’t want the conversations just between the players and Mitch, but their conversations with all the coaches. But the coaches aren’t the only ones showing up to talk to these guys.
It’s quickly obvious who the most valued player is: Tyron Nichols. Tyron lives in one of the poorest Black communities in the same town as the university. His house consists of three small bedrooms and one tiny bathroom, but is home to Tyron, his parents, a grandmother, and five younger siblings. His parents work long hours while the grandmother tends to the kids who aren’t in school yet. It’s clear his parents have no idea what to do with all the attention Tyron is getting.
But Tyron is smart. Even though he’s been offered money, he hasn’t taken any of it. Because when it comes down to it, Tyron is the one with the most at stake. If he loses his eligibility, he doesn’t play. There’s a close to zero chance he’ll go to the NFL, where he’d finally get paid what he’s worth, if he doesn’t have a successful college football career first.
I watch on my small screen when men in starched button-down shirts show up at Tyron’s door. I notice how he handles himself with them and then later listen in on the conversations he has with his brother, who is only one year younger, about what’s being offered.
By the second week, I’m exhausted. Even though Devon and I are dividing and conquering, it takes us all day to skim through footage from all five locations and separate the relevant parts before George knocks on my door in his UPS uniform.
The only good thing is that George seems to be warming up to me. The first pickup or two, it was all business, but now he lingers in my doorway and chats a bit. I even gave him a few slices of pizza last night for the road since he looked as worn out as we did. Makes me wonder how much area he’s covering in a day if he’s got to be back here every night.
While we’ve gotten some dirt on some of the other coaches, Mitch Cameron hasn’t stepped out of bounds once in any of his meetings with potential players. He’s up front about his desire for them to be a part of his team, he’s courteous to the family, complimentary about whatever food or drink is put in front of him. He is the perfect guest.
I’m having flashbacks to my time with Andrew Marshall, and there’s a tight twist in my gut about what I might be asked to do.
I’m ready to know what the job is.
After another long day of scrolling through videos, I drop the thumb drive in an envelope and glance at the clock. George should be here any second.
Once Devon saw the last set of instructions, he wouldn’t come to this apartment at all since he doesn’t like the idea of George being so close by, so I’ve had to add in a trip to get what he’s recorded. Those meeting spots change daily.
Two quick taps on the door lets me know he’s here.
“Hey, George,” I say, handing him the small package.
His forehead crinkles. “You’re not looking so good.”
“Always the charmer.” I roll my eyes. “You watch surveillance videos all day long and let me see what you look like.”