law.
St. Louis County, Missouri
September 15
The doors from the locker room to the court slid open. The players stopped jawing and joking, leaving the only sound the echo of a solitary basketball dribbled on the hardwood, the squeak of sneaker soles, and then a silence followed by the rip of a ball hitting nothing but twine. They stepped onto the court and Coach Huffman stopped short.
Not at seeing Nikos Moriatis—he’d met Nik five times since the tycoon bought the Spiders at the end of last season. Not at the practice court with its herringbone parquet and the wheeled robots waiting like a line of butlers with balls, towels, sport drinks—Nik had given him a tour a few weeks ago, both of the facility and the rest of his estate. But since that earlier visit, Nik must have ordered the walls painted. A mural of great moments in St. Louis Spiders history towered above the court, and Huffman’s focus landed on an image of his younger self, hair thicker, eyes less baggy, hand outstretched and gaze on the ball arcing home to win the first, and last, championship in Spiders history.
Nik was certain he had the key to winning the second. He dribbled, practiced a juke, and shot a fadeaway jumper. Huffman had his doubts, but Nik had three of the top-five-selling neuropharmaceuticals of all time. Nik’s shot rattled the front of the rim, kicked off the back, and then fell. He picked up the ball, tucked it under his arm, and turned to the team, his cheeks flushed and his grin toothy. How do you like the new facility?
he asked.
J.S. scratched his beard and nodded. LeDwayne grinned back. "Man, this shit is cubed," he said, and some of the others spoke in agreement.
If Nik didn’t know the slang he didn’t show it. Aidan?
The center looked around and shrugged. You spent a lot of money, at least.
Shit, Aid,
LeDwayne said. If you got it, promulgate it.
Aidan scowled back. Huffman knew what LeDwayne was trying to do. Please, not the first day of training camp. Save the ego until
