Risky Secrets Page 8

  Joel pulled back to look Martin in the eyes. “Why would you think that? You’re not going to lose me.”

  “Well, if I can’t find anything around here,” Martin stopped talking. They had a history of losing touch with each other when miles came between them.

  “That’s not something to worry about.” Joel knew where Martin’s mind went. “I don’t care anymore.”

  “It was an interesting experience.” Martin stood up and paced the suite. Joel got up from his knees and pivoted to sit on the sofa. “All this time I was worried about all the wrong things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  After what he’d experienced, it was time to share with Joel what he knew. “I think something is going on with the team and Durant.”

  “You mentioned him before.” Joel made a face that suggested he was bored with Martin’s theory. “Was he at the meeting today? Because if he was—”

  “He wasn’t there. Neither was Key. But I know something is going on with them and the coaches.”

  “I feel like you’re going down a path of paranoia again.”

  “Not exactly,” Martin responded. “I had some blood work sent out to an independent lab.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, I thought Key felt a little smarmy. He’s the kind of guy that lobbies against parents who think cigarettes kill kids.” Martin went to the dresser and opened it. “He reminded me of the kind of guy that went looking for deep pockets.” He handed Joel a small stack of papers.

  Joel began to read. After a few minutes, there was a look of recognition on his face that Martin needed to see for affirmation.

  “He’s a big shot in the pharmaceutical company.” Joel read more of the paperwork Martin printed. “He’s got his hand in Durant’s pocket.”

  “I did a little digging after I got the blood work back. It turns out that most of Durant’s long-term investments are involved in overseas pharmaceutical companies. Along comes a guy like Key and says, ‘hey, I know a way to make your team excel at everything they do.’ And he has something that some if not all the team is experimenting with.”

  “Oh.” It was recognition, but Martin felt Joel’s response was layered.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Well, I saw a couple of the guys with something that didn’t add up a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Let me guess, did it look like a small inhaler?”

  The look on Joel’s face spoke volumes. There was a sense of vindication that Martin couldn’t deny. After everything he’d experienced, the feeling like he didn’t belong, all came to a neatly organized rewritten formal contract that allowed him to get out of his agreement and they added a substantial reward for leaving gracefully. But Martin felt a lot of the money attached to the settlement came from big pharmaceutical.

  “Did you get anything from the blood work?”

  “Nothing conclusive that suggests some involvement for supplements or sports enhancements. But if I had blood from the rest of the team, we’d have a bigger picture and probably a huge lawsuit.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to do anything unnecessary now.”

  Martin frowned at Joel. “Are you suggesting I’m afraid of them?”

  “No. But I am suggesting you think about what’s at stake if you do something that’s potentially volatile.” Joel shook his head. “It’s big business. It’s a lot of money at stake.” Before Martin gave him an earful about integrity, Joel held up an empty palm and continued. “And there’s a lot of kids lives you’re about to turn over if you decide to take everything you know to the press.

  “These kids live and breathe baseball. They look at you who doesn’t understand the game and wonder how that’s possible. It’s like living your whole life inside a team environment and discovering there is something more out there than your teammates. You see these kids hitting a ball, running around in circles. They look at their ballgames as careers and life choices. They choose to play ball, and a lot of them play as hard as they can.

  “If you do something that compromises even one of these players, like suggesting Key is feeding these kids drugs to play better, then you’re destroying the Cloverdale Coyotes, and each and every one of these kids. And not only them,” Joel added. “There are a lot of kids who have passed through this stadium with the same aspirations and went on to the major leagues. If you call into question their legitimacy, whether they’re playing the game because they’re good athletes or just mediocre players who take enhancements to be better, then you’re making a serious mistake that has life-changing ramification.”

  Joel stood in front of Martin by the time he stopped talking. It was something Martin hadn’t considered. Looking for a way to expose the truth only caused more problems for a lot more people.

  “Give it a little time. Let’s see what happens.” Joel wanted to make sure Martin had the level head and the right path before he started walking in a chosen direction.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Together with Joel at his side, Martin sat in the lavish waiting room. It hadn’t changed in the short time since Martin last set foot in the place. The office assistant offered him and Joel the choice of beverages while they waited. He had made a decision, and Joel gave him enough support to accompany him for the task.

  But the waiting gave Martin some apprehension. While it was unlikely anyone from the Tampa training camp knew they’d traveled several hundred miles to have an impromptu meeting with the boss, there was an air of suspicion. After the hard presses to have Martin resign after training camp, he felt there wasn’t anything to lose. He felt something press against his side, sitting on the waiting room sofa. Joel’s hand lightly pressed against Martin’s thigh. It was intimate contact in an open setting — not something he expected of Joel.

  “I see that look on your face,” Joel whispered when he leaned toward Martin. “I wanted you to know you’re not alone in this.”

  “Thank you,” he breathed.

  “I love you, dope.” He sighed, his breath was wintery from the mints Joel sucked on before meetings. “I know I don’t show it sometimes. And this isn’t the place you expect me to say something like that. But it’s how I feel, and I think—”

  “Mr. Brant will see you now,” the office assist said through her smile.

  “Here we go.” Joel finished speaking close to Martin’s ear. Whatever his words of encouragement, they were lost to the abrupt announcement.

  They passed through the heavy office door into the inner chamber of Brant’s decadent office.

  “Doctor Craft, Mr. Bray, this is an interesting surprise meeting.” Brant shook hands with them and went back to the other side of the wide desk. It was his enterprise, where he made a lot of money and communicated to the world through the internet and phone, Brant felt safe there. “You’re lucky you caught me before my trip to California.” After his back pressed against the high back leather chair, he gave Martin a look of misgiving. “I got word that you’re leaving us at the end of camp.”

  Before Martin spoke, before he let Brant’s word unshaken him, he felt Joel’s foot press against his shoe. It was a cautious contact that helped Martin focus. Instead of snapping a response, he swallowed and nodded.

  “There was some concern of my attention to details that I overlooked during an away game.”

  Brant snickered at the declaration. “That’s an understatement.”

  He tapped out something on the keyboard and swiveled the large flat screen monitor around to present to Joel and Martin. The video from social media accounts, and a local news outlet covering the minor league game, showed a close up view of Martin, dressed in a Coyote uniform jersey and looking uncomfortable about it, having a conversation with a man who was a little older, ampler around the waist, wearing an opposing team’s uniform. There was no dialogue available, only the images.

  “You can guess I got a few phone calls about that one.” While Brant seemed cheerfully amused by the whole social media blip, Mart
in caused, something in his eyes suggested he’d had time to tamp out any fires within the baseball circles Martin inadvertently caused. “It was a good media hike for the team. We got a spike in team interests after the incident.” He closed down the video and swiveled the monitor back facing him. “Press is press,” he said with a shrug. “But something tells me you’re not here for that.”

  “I’m here because I think there are some issues with some of your players.” Martin brought his slim attaché case, a gift from his parents, presuming all doctors carried something that looked official when they went on job interviews. While Martin hadn’t brought the briefcase the first time, he’d met, Brant, this time he used it for the files. He removed a new manila folder and a stack of scientific documents.

  “I sent William Reyes’ blood work for an independent study, outside the hospital your company uses for drug testing.”

  There was a look on Brant’s face as he looked up from the folder contents at Martin as if he’d been handed a bomb.

  “Before you suggest I did anything outside my contract, or the contract with the hospital about exclusivity to drug testing, I used the contract for a formality. There is a clause that offers independent out-of-pocket expenses if the drug tests are disputed.” Martin gave Brant enough time to allow the legal aspect of a contract to sink in and take hold. “The laboratory ran several non-exclusionary tests on the sample I sent. It turns out there were several chemical markers that don’t show up under normal athletic drug testing.”

  “So, a former ballplayer decided to take some enhancement drug,” Brant said. There was a tone of hostility that was undeniable. “You know they see something on the internet and think it’s going improve their game. Maybe it’s better he got cut now before something happened later.”

  “You can keep that file,” Martin offered. Brant glanced from the folder on his desk to Martin and Joel. Joel gave him a modest smile.

  “Is there a reason my promotion director is sitting in the seat next to a doctor that thinks the team is in trouble?” The question came out indirectly. But Joel caught it.

  “It might be in your best interest to think about what this has to do with the rest of the team and the upper management.”

  “So, if I get this straight, are you suggesting management had something to do with this?”

  “Well, I started to do a little digging after I received the results.” Martin removed another folder from the handy attaché case. He handed it to Brant. “Turns out Vincent Key was once a lobbyist for an overseas pharmaceutical company.” Brant opened the file to Key’s dossier. “He did some work with the company a few years ago that got an African soccer team some notice. But Key’s been lying low since then. Now he shows up here, huddling close to a man with deep pockets who has such a love for minor league baseball that he thinks he’s part of the management.”

  “I told you last year I didn’t think it was a good idea to allow Irving Durant to buy his way into the clubhouse.” Joel stared at Brant, waiting for the man to challenge the statement. “This is a lot bigger than just Reyes. You know if there is any indication that Key is still associated with the pharmaceutical company, and word gets out, that might be the end of the team altogether.”

  Brant didn’t speak immediately. There was a series of thoughts that went through his head and showed through the animation of his face. Crow’s feet deepened around his eyes as he frowned in concentration. His brain worked as fast as his eyes darted from Martin to Joel and back again.

  “He brings a lot of money to the table.” Brant’s only defense of Durant came from what he’d lose if the man suddenly left.

  Martin scratched his chin dramatically. “That’s true,” he conceded. “But how much of that funding toward the Coyotes is channeled through Durant from the pharmaceutical company? I mean, I look at Durant, and I look at Key. Other than golfing buddies, what holds them together except maybe vested interests? And if Durant decided to move on, I bet Key would follow because like you, he’s interested in the money.”

  Martin felt his heart hammering. He guessed a rate that came from delivering essential and relevant information. While it was subtle, Brant was quick about what he would lose or gain within the transaction or interaction. But he needed some clarification.

  “Are you suggesting you’d stay on as our team physician if Durant and Key went away?” Brant asked.

  Martin shook his head slowly. It wasn’t for pause; it was for rationalizing the conditions of why he came to Brant in the first place.

  “I didn’t know I had a choice on leaving. It’s been painfully clear that I am an outsider, that while I focus on sports medicine, the prospect of me continuing as your team doctor isn’t possible after the alienation I’ve felt from the staff.” Martin didn’t want to sound negative. He knew his future was uncertain, but he’d go somewhere, anywhere, that needed a sports doctor. “I get that I’m an outsider because I don’t understand the fascination of the sport. But I know medicine. And I took an oath that doesn’t allow me to harm people, especially for the sake of money.”

  “Well, we can work out some financial interest in your favor,” Brant said. He looked settled, eased into his chair and less pensive. His world involved money and not much more. “We’ll provide you a handsome severance from your contract.”

  “I’m not interested in what kind of money you throw at me. If my patients are experiencing side effects from experimental drug treatments for sports enhancement, then I’m bound to disclose the dangers to them.”

  Brant didn’t speak. It appeared he fell outside his comfort zone again. The conversation took a drastic turn away from filling holes with cash, and he didn’t know how to respond. Instead, he looked at Joel. There was a cloud that passed over his face. Something came to mind, and while he couldn’t take out his aggression on Martin, he could redirect fury at his employee.

  “And you’re sitting there all smug because you think it’s a game?”

  “Isn’t it?” Joel asked innocently. “This is about how you’ve allocated the test of performance-enhancing drugs on your team.”

  “That’s not true!” Brant snapped. “That’s something that can’t be proven.”

  “Well, actually, they isolated several chemical compounds in Reyes’ blood sample. When I called the hospital, I had any samples they shelved sent to the same laboratory. There were eight specimens that the hospital hadn’t tested but held.” Martin allowed the information to sink in deep, taking hold of Brant’s wallet. No amount of money would wash away the test results. “Turns out three of those eight samples were comprised of identical chemical markers.”

  Another reach into the briefcase, and Martin dropped a small inhaler on the desktop. Sealed in a clear plastic specimen bag, Brant looked at it as if it had the potential to explode.

  “It’s funny that I found this in the locker room trash and I hadn’t prescribed any of the players’ inhalers. And no one on record has asthma.” He let it trail off.

  Brant leaned forward and put his hands on the desk. “What is it you want Dr. Craft?”

  Martin hesitated. He didn’t have an immediate response because it didn’t occur to him that he would want anything from the exchange.

  “I’m concerned Reyes’ behavior was a side-effect of something that should have been avoided altogether. There is an aggression factor that needs studying. Part of the real problem comes from the fact these young men think it’s okay to take something to make them better ballplayers because someone from management said it was okay. And if the team doctor doesn’t know about it, then it can’t be wrong. And if the drug tests all come back negative, then it must be okay to use.”

  “Reyes was cut from the team because he fought with another player.”

  “But the drug tests prove he had contributing factors. And I don’t care what you say about that. If push came to shove, you can’t refute the evidence.”

  “What evidence?” Brant asked. “You’ve shown me something that need
s deciphering. And I feel you’re leading me into some entrapment.”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Martin snapped. Joel’s foot pressed against his show again. A measured sensor that allowed Martin to dial back any emotion that showed personal interest, he took a breath. “I’m pointing out to you there are considerable risks to experimenting with these combinations of chemical compounds. Reyes’ behavior might have contributing factors, and it might be just him. All I’m saying is you need to be aware something is going on besides baseball here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After the meeting, which ended as quickly as it started, Martin stared at Joel from across the table in a small diner halfway between Brant’s office and several states away from the training camp in Tampa, Florida. He felt no better after the meeting with the team owner than when he went there with good intentions.

  “You feel like you made a mistake,” Joel pointed out verbally what Martin felt brewing inside.

  “I just think it wasn’t such a good idea to do that.” He gave Joel a sheepish look. “I think you might lose your job too.”

  And in Joel’s carefree manner, he shrugged. Raised eyebrows, and serene face, he was a light in Martin’s darkness. “I expected that when I came with you.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  Joel’s smile lit up his face more. “I love you, dope. You needed someone to be there. This is big business. This is bigger than you and me, and you have no idea what’s going to happen now that you’ve exposed Brant’s team and the management.”

  “But you’ll lose your job.”

  “Are you worried about losing your job?” Joel asked him.

  “Well, a little. I was at first. But I know that I’m not tied to anything in Tampa with the team. I can go anywhere. As soon as I knew something was up with the drug testing, I updated my CV and surfed the internet for jobs.” He took a sip of coffee. “I’m employable, and I can still get a job in my field.”