“Not until I have had a chance to finish my beer. I want to get more relaxed than last time,” I replied with a laugh.
I took a long pull of the ice tea in my bottle and smacked my lips.
“This is really good; I think I will be feeling great in a few minutes. Here, have another,” I whispered tossing him another bottle.
I noticed with satisfaction that he had a little trouble catching the bottle. By the time he had finished about half the second bottle, he had slumped down on the divan and kind of rolled back against the arm. Seconds later he was sound asleep. Grabbing my duffel bag, I quickly opened the sterile package Roxy had prepared for me. Dabbing some alcohol on his arm, I injected the two syringes of drugs into Troy’s arm, packed up the bag, then carefully checked to see if any signs of my presence were left. I collected the two bottles Troy had drank, and left closing the door quietly behind me. Roxy was waiting just down the road as planned, and ten minutes later, we were back at her house disposing of all the evidence.
At seven P.M. we tuned the radio to the station that always carried the local football games. The announcer was just finishing the pre-game chatter and was starting to announce the starting line up. Suddenly he stopped his chatter.
“What’s this? Troy Needham isn’t in the starting line up!”
He went on to speculate that the coach was planning some special strategy given that there were college scouts in the stands tonight. As the teams took the field, there was more and more speculation, especially when he realized that not only was Troy not in the starting line up, but wasn’t on the bench either!
The team played well, but without their star running back, the other team was steadily piling up touchdowns. Just after half time, Troy came jogging out to the bench.
“Staggering would be a better description,” quipped the announcer. “Obviously Troy is not up to his usual playing form.”
By the end of the game, he was on the field, but was unable to catch a pass, and was pounded hard by the other team. Speculation ran wild as to what was wrong with him, and after only about three plays the coach took him out of the game. When he came off the field, he threw a punch at the coach, then fell to the ground and had to be helped off the field.
The next morning the paper carried a full description of the incident, along with a statement from the family physician that Troy was suffering from some undisclosed illness that had caused him to be disoriented and confused. The paper was quite vague as to the exact cause of the illness. A couple of weeks later I got a copy of the paper from Roxy with an article circled in the sports section. The gist of the article explained that Troy had failed a drug test as required by the State Athletic Commission and was barred from playing football. The article went on to lament the waste of such talent, and that it almost certainly eliminated any chance of a scholarship to a major university.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number Roxy had given me. After a couple of rings, a lady answered. I asked for Troy, and a moment later he answered.
“This is Sandy,” I said brightly, “How are you doing?” “OK,” was the sullen reply.
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to call you and see how it feels to be raped!”
“You ruined my life, you bitch!” he screamed into the phone.
“That’s tough, maybe next time you decide to rape a girl you’ll remember that not all of us are going to take it without fighting back!”
Troy was still swearing when I gently placed the phone in the cradle.