First Three Chapters of Novel

 

 

 

AND THEN THERE WAS LIFE!

ANDRÉ MAXWELL JACOB

 

  

PROLOGUE

 

Prologue        

Special Agent Jeff Armstrong now sat across an old red oak wooded table looking dead into the greyish hue eyes of Miles Jacob. The digital clock on the wall ticked off numbers that just seemed to blend in like crashing waves. Miles Jacob, mathematically knew it had been three hours and nineteen minutes - one… two, three, four and now five seconds previously to when Special Agent Armstrong placed him into cuffs that would possibly cost him his freedom for the rest of his life. It was the second Friday in January; in fact, it was Friday the thirteenth. Friday the thirteenth and the clock on the wall read three nineteen – Miles heard Special Agent Armstrong somewhere in the back of his mind, something about three hundred and nineteen months. Somewhere in his mind, he calculated that three hundred and nineteen months was a little more than twenty-six and a half years. Special Agent Armstrong’s voice sounded something like a Charlie Brown dialogue from one of his many typical schoolhouse scenes…, “blah, blah, blah or wah-wok, wah-wok, wah-wok …” the noise you always heard when Charlie Brown held a conversation with his teacher. Miles was now facing life in prison, three hundred and nineteen months was just the minimum. Sitting in the home office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations in downtown Washington, D.C., Miles’ life was about to take a tremendous turnaround.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

   

THE EXIT

 

The Exit

            THREE YEARS – THIRTY-SIX MONTHS - ONE THOUSAND AND NINETY-FIVE DAYS - twenty six thousand and two hundred and eighty hours - 37,843,200 minutes and 2,270,592,000 seconds. That was the exact time; right down to the very second he had spent over the last three years in federal correctional facilities – prison. Now what? Wearing what he had on three years plus nine minutes, twenty-two seconds ago and counting Miles Jacob looked up to the silky blue sky and wondered what he was to do next. This was the exit from federal prison. Still looking fashionable: jet-black Armani suit, black Cole Haan shoes, a steel TAG Heuer on his wrist and a black Prada backpack slung over his right shoulder with a little more than forty-four thousand in cash - Miles Jacob preceded up East 4th Street – in the heart of downtown Austin, Texas. Austin was full of blissful memories for Miles but nothing that seemed even remotely close to what his life was now. Miles instantly saw moments of Austin flashing back somewhere in his mind. Somewhere in his mind he was back in Austin. Miles started daydreaming about the time Sydney and he had first visited Austin.

            They had shared what he thought was the best thirteen days of his entire life in this city. They brunched on Lake Austin and at Happy Hour they were in a spot that all of Austin envied. They sat overlooking Lake Travis - the Oasis –probably the most spectacular view of all of Lake Travis. They would share in the setting of the sun – a sunset to die for - then they would tango the night away. Lingering thoughts of Sydney kissing the back of his neck flashed farther into Miles’ afterthoughts. Miles could feel her breast pressing softly against his naked back as she molded herself to him. He could remember how she was a striking mid-twenty something young woman at the time – she had an incredible body - both strong and soft body features. Her drop-dead gorgeous looks always commanded second and third looks. If one had to sum her looks in one word, hands down that word would be stunning. But that was the past; this was now. Miles tried to toggle back from the flashback. Suddenly there was a loud car horn which helped Miles snap back into the present as he dreamt-walked. Miles was about to step off the curb into oncoming traffic. “Fuck,” he yelled to himself! The brush with death was enough to snap himself completely out of his last train of thought. “Focus,” he whispered to himself. Three years had seemed like a lifetime, after all that had transpired over the last thirty-six months. Miles had gone from being one of America’s most noticeable and elite people to what he now considered rock bottom. However, it was far from rock bottom - many would trade their first born to swap places with him in his current condition. Hell at thirty years of age Miles still had a chance of having a great life; there wasn’t anything that he really couldn’t achieve. It would take time to start all over again but Miles had the drive, education, and the one woman who vowed to stand beside him. Rome wasn’t built in a day. But perhaps it just might have been - built in one day - if Miles had been given the task of building the famous city.  

            Trying to focus Miles continued up East 4th Street, made a left onto Red River Street, and continued towards East 5th Street. Still in a daze, Miles unrelentingly continued to think of the past. He reflected on what had gotten him in all this mess. He had been doing this reflecting for three years. Still no closer to an answer today than when he asked himself that same question three years ago. Had greed done this to him? Or maybe it was his loyalty? Miles did not grow up being voracious in anything, but this one time occurrence had been different. Maybe it had something to do with him being slotted in the middle among his other siblings. Maybe?

            Being slotted in the middle amongst his four other siblings, this gave him infallible growth, experience and a learning curve that allowed him to flourish extremely well over all of his so called peers. Miles’ parents knew he would be very special. 

“Focus.”

            Miles continue up East 4th Street but his thoughts were still elsewhere… he was still thinking about his incarceration and Sydney.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

   

THE INCARCERATION

 

The Incarceration

            Many psychoanalysts or psychiatrists would rattle off a lot of psychobabble about how people who ended up incarcerated were most likely from homes that were absent of a male father figure and probably lacked the proper love and nurturing from their mothers. Miles had heard that from the prisons’ psychiatrists a hundred times. They all insisted he too came from this type of home environment. Granted that scenario might have been true for ninety-nine percent of the prison inmates but for Miles this was the farthest from the truth. Miles grew up in a very stable environment and was blessed with much in life. Love was the foundation that his parents used to raise him and his siblings. Miles was an exceptionally gifted person almost right from birth. Having been born into a traditional family he had been given plenty in life. There was nothing as a child or young adult he wanted for. Miles did not live a hard life by any means; and he was far from being a spoiled brat like the one most would be if their parents had the monetary means that the Jacobs had. Born into a family that placed an extremely high value on education, Miles followed in those same footsteps by graduating from the University of Florida with a Bachelors of Arts in Business Economics. He then proceeded to the famed Harvard Business School, obtaining his MBA in Micro Finance - graduating Magna Cum Laude. Having a master’s from Harvard Business School, he knew he had a gateway in life to do almost anything his heart desired.

             Nevertheless, Miles worked extremely hard at everything he did. He gave one hundred and ten percent no matter what the task was. If he started something he was sure to finish it and it would be nothing less than flawless. If Miles thought anything wasn’t one hundred percent perfect he simply would not approve of its passing. There had been many projects that Miles had restarted because ninety-nine percent just wasn’t good enough for him. This was the way he was. Early in life he seemed to do everything ahead of a normal schedule; he was walking without assistance at six and a half months, forming basic words at eleven months and at four years of age his parents had him tested and his intellectual awareness registered an amazing one hundred and eighty-one on the IQ charts. He could have easily finished college by the early age of seventeen and that would have been with a master’s. However, his parents long ago decided that he would go through the more traditional route of things in life. Miles was to have a normal life as a child going through all the stages. Miles was to be like every other child his age in America, there was no rush for him to grow up; many times, they had to hold Miles back from himself. So sitting in Dr. Silivan’s office Miles just waited – how many more of these sessions?

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

 Five Weeks Later

            The intercom jumped to life, “Miles Jacob please report to the Searchers’ Desk,” a voice announced in a monotonous tone. All heard the announcement summoning Miles. Miles, who was playing chess, told Jason, his current competition, he would have to place their game on hold. Not like Jason really cared, he wasn’t going anywhere – Jason was serving a sixty-year sentence, besides that he had never even come close to beating Miles – not even just once. So what was the problem of waiting? He would study the board more and plot possibly a strategy – maybe even change the position of a few pieces. That would do no good; Miles simply would return and reset the board accordingly to what it was before he departed. The incarceration could be funny like that – made you do silly little things or maybe it was just Jason.

             Miles slipped his green prison scrub top over his bleach white t-shirt and headed out to see what was wanted of him. Reporting to the Searchers’ Desk he found Lieutenant Wiley. An average size man who gave much respect just as he demanded much respect back, “Mr. Jacob, good afternoon. You need to go see Dr. Silivan.” Miles turned abruptly and headed to the administration suites of the unit. “Miles! …Wait,” shouted the lieutenant! Miles froze but did not turn around, “If I don’t see you … again… stay out of trouble… this place isn’t for the likes of you.” Miles tossed up two fingers in the sign of the peace symbol and resumed his walk toward the administration building. There he checked in with the officer on post and was shepherded to Dr. Silivan’s office. Miles had been made to speak with Dr. Silivan for the last six months since being transferred to Rutland, Vermont’s Wayne P. Rogets Federal ISP. 

            Miles had come to hate these visits but knew this was to be the last meeting. In three days he'd be out – this was the so-called exit exam. Miles would just sit and listen - be agreeable here and there. Dr. Silivan was just like all her other counterparts – she was no different from the ones at all the other facilities Miles had been sent to.

            Dr. Silivan’s door was open; she sat behind a cheap desk - a faux Maplewood or something of that type. She eyed him and motioned him to have a seat then dismissed the guard with a simple wave. The guard turned, closed the door, and left quietly. Miles did not intend to pass the next hour or so listening to a bunch of B.S. especially from the likes of Dr. Silivan. Just like her counterparts, Dr. Silivan too had rattled off the same psychobabble about people that ended up incarcerated came from homes that were absent of a male father figure… lacking the proper love… nurturing…. Miles had heard it all from the prisons’ psychiatrists and Dr. Silivan. Did they all have the same script? Probably. 

            … Miles just sat and waited. “So what are your plans Miles?” Miles thought and stared out a window before he answered the question. This lasted for several seconds. Dr. Silivan had grown accustomed to Miles’ antics. “Why?” “Why, because I’m asking,” stated Dr. Silivan firmly. “Does it really matter?” Miles snapped back. “Well Mr. Jacob the United States government sure as hell thinks it does.” “Well I don’t know. We all have some ideas but until we are truly free beyond those enclosed walls to do as we feel it’s all just a guess at best. I could give you some rehearsed B.S. about getting a job and becoming one of Uncle Sam’s productive citizens but let’s face it; I don’t know what’s going to happen once I walk out these doors. Let’s not waste any more of the taxpayers’ money on that question.” “Miles, you have always been different.” “Or is difficult? I’ve heard that a few times… but what’s so different in me?” And at that Dr. Silivan sat puzzled for the first time in her life. Being left speechless was not in her nature – she wanted one last crack at Miles. Miles slowly rose and in a soft voice told Dr. Silivan, “Good bye and I’ll be alright – I’m sure Uncle Sam will agree.” Dr. Silivan could do nothing but sit and watch Miles exit her office. That would be the last time she would ever see the likes of Miles D. Jacob. 

            Miles headed back out of the building, stepping back into the sunny yet cool 42-degree weather of Rutland, Vermont - he headed towards the rec-yard. As he approached, Andre Brown formally of the Miami Dolphins threw a rifle of a pass that Miles instantly snapped up in his hands. “Good damn catch Miles,” Brown said in a sarcastically sly tone – all others on the yard fell silent... “Miles come play a game.” Miles knew this was Brown’s way of baiting him in. Brown had wanted to play against Miles from the very first day he arrived on the unit.

            Brown still standing 6’3” but now weighing 258 pounds of pure prison muscle, he had once been a great receiver for the University of Miami back in mid and late eighties. Having been suspended for his final game against the University of Nebraska - the National Championship, Brown’s stock dropped in the draft and fast. Rumor had it that Jimmy Johnson had to make this tough decision because Brown had allegedly failed a drug test – namely for the banned substance of cocaine. In fact, his stock dropped so much he went completely undrafted in the 1989 NFL Draft. But, because of his gifted play at Miami, his height and more so his ability to catch the ball under the most difficult of situations – Brown landed in the NFL with the Miami Dolphins as a free agent. This too ended after two pretty good years with the Dolphins. Brown’s attitude and repeatedly failed drug tests had gotten him bounced out of the league. Spiraling downward in the realm of life, Brown’s luck finally ran out – after repeated drug trafficking offenses the federal government decided a long vacation was now in store for Mr. Brown. Now into his twentieth year of a thirty-year sentence Brown called Rogets home. All here had heard and knew he had the talent and Brown was still in top shape. Even at fifty years of age Brown still looked like he could play in the NFL. But looks and playing are far in between each other. Of course playing semi-contact here at Rogets was nothing; he was by far ahead of all the competition and told all who would listen how he would mop up the floor with the likes of Miles Jacob.

            Miles had no desire to compete with neither Brown nor the others. Miles was here to do his time and go home. So many had uttered that very same statement but for Miles it was his epitaph. “Damn Miles… with all those college awards, championship rings and the MVPs – Rookie, League, and Super Bowl – surely you could grace us just once in a game.” “Not today Brown.” “Then when Mr. Jacob? Being that you are scheduled to leave us soon.” “Not ever Brown.” “See that’s not how it works. I want a shot at your ass – to see how good you really are.” “And what would that prove, Brown?” “It would prove my point!” shouted Brown. “And again… that point would be?” Miles said peacefully. “That I’m still good enough to play in the league and that I am better than you – the golden boy of the NFL.” “Brown, I no longer play in the NFL and nor have I for a few years. So no.”

Miles didn’t care what Brown wanted. Football was not a part of him anymore and nor would it be.

             Miles began toggling into a flashback state of mind; he would have hard times with these episodes but then again he was still suffering from memory loss. Falling deeper into the flashback… 

            After sustaining a Grade Four concussion in the final seconds of the Super Bowl on a game winning catch, Miles knew it was over. After that hit Miles could not remember much of his life, much less  of his life as a successful professional football player. It was as if his whole career had been wiped clean – completely erased from his memory. Other than knowing that his mom was his mother and his dad his father - Miles was at a great lost. Within hours he started to regain some of the pieces – he knew who his brothers and sisters were, add in Sydney, and yes even Taylor. After that, it was anyone’s guess. It took close to three months to start remembering people outside of his family or close friends. But remembering them did not mean he remembered the things he shared with them. At the very beginning Miles was completely blank on the last six months of his life. It took another three months to start regaining bits and pieces outside of that. Football had turned out the lights on a great deal of his life thus it was that final play that ended football. It was a bittersweet ending - going out on one of the greatest catches in the history of the game. Ironically on that same play he ended his professional career as an NFL player – that catch said it all. Everyone standing on the yard knew or had seen that catch. It was the AP’s picture of choice as well as for every newspaper across America – Miles’ final catch was a landmark. There weren’t too many Americans who did not know the catch, even the non-football fan knew that catch, replay after replay aired on almost everyone’s media outlets. ESPN and local sport outlets continued to show the catch for weeks on end and of course the hit. In fact the hit was just as incredible. All were in awe of Miles’ catch, especially knowing he had been knocked unconscious for six minutes. After regaining consciousness Miles was helped up by team trainers and doctors, then a host of teammates came over and paraded him off the field with 2.1 seconds left on the clock it was a wrap – but so was Miles’ budding career.... When he rose off the ground with the help of team personnel the crowd went wild, it was maddening. In the months that followed the world would soon learn the news of what that catch had cost Miles. Miles of course knew something was wrong on the field almost instantly or did he? It was weird – here he was surrounded by people in a place with even more people and yet he did not know why or who or what was going on. He thought he knew something. He didn’t even know something was wrong. He just went with the flow. Allowing himself to be shuttled off the field. He could not pinpoint why he didn’t know anyone on the field yet all were there patting him on his shoulders and rubbing his head. He just sat on the bench as everyone ran around in a crazed celebratory state. Seconds after New England kicked off the ball to Dallas for the final seconds of the game things really became crazy. Somewhere out of left field a bucket of Gatorade was poured over him. “Ughhhh,” Miles screamed as he shivered from the ice water running down his chest and back! The trophy presentation was next, he was ushered to dead center to accept the game’s MVP Award – all the while he, said nothing. Miles just drifted into the background of the madness. A teammate wrapped his arm around him with comforts of congratulations. This was it. Miles last few moments of football and he still didn’t even really know what was going on. The team began exiting the field and he just followed along while being pushed and pulled by fellow teammates until they entered the team’s locker room. He was surrounded by all and soon was handed a bottle of champagne to drink. For what? Not sure of anything, he told himself, “Sure why not – I don’t know what’s going on but it is champagne. Why not?”

            At the post game interviews Miles watched play after play of himself in the game, yet unable to recollect any memories of any of it. He even made comments to several writers and reports, “Whoever that number 18 is, you need to give him the game’s MVP.” They all laughed thinking Miles was just joshing with them. But to Miles he was being dead serious albeit with a joking manner. Miles was elected and awarded the honor of being the games’ MVP along with one of the many game balls that were being awarded to several players. After being told that he was the one who wore the number eighteen, Miles was left in a state of shock and at that point began to worry. Team physicians again arrived at his locker and ushered him away to a more secure area of the stadium. They took him to one of the six examining rooms. Going through a series of questions they determined Miles was suffering somewhere between a Grade Two and Three concussion. To only discover later upon further testing that Miles actually had a level Four Grade concussion. What was even more profound was Miles being able to function at the level he was. At that point the doctors advised the team owner and head coach that Miles was in no shape to be doing interviews and that it would be best served if he did not do any of the normal post game stuff either. Instead they wanted to get him to Jackson Memorial as soon as possible to begin more comprehensive testing on his current condition. Thereafter Miles’ agent, Leigh Steinberg was always at his side and adamantly agreeing with the doctors that Miles be whisked away secretively to the hospital immediately for further testing. 

            Days following his observation and MRIs at Jackson Memorial, Miles was released and was taken by his mother and family including Sydney for treatment in Houston, Texas. Houston was home to the nation’s leading memory center sponsored and ran by Baylor College of Medicine. There he again underwent extensive and intense examinations and testing. Miles was tired; it was more mental than physically. He was starting to regain a sense of who the people were around him - his family. He knew his sister, motherr and of course Sydney. Hearing his dad’s voice on the phone mentally jarred who his dad was, still he couldn’t place a face with the voice and it was the same with his brothers Aaron and Marc and even extended to his sisters Karen and Ari. His daughter Taylor fell into this category. This was frustrating to him. After six days at the center, Miles began wandering the halls of the center daily. Miles knew he was an NFL superstar yet he really didn’t. One day while wandering around on his daily stroll, Miles saw her. The sight of her sent shock waves through his brain.  

            “Miles!” Brown stood staring at him. Miles stood with a weird funny look on his face, somewhat perplexed. He snapped back to the present. “What?” “Are you going to play today?”

             Miles had actually come to the yard to get Will. Will had become somewhat of a little brother of Miles. But unlike Miles, Will constantly stayed involved in bullshit. Unbeknownst to Miles, Will currently owed Brown a great deal of money, well over one grand and in prison that was like one hundred thousand grand. Is that even a monetary amount? And Brown was seeking to be paid in full today or he and his boys were fully prepared to seriously fuck Will up. Will was a fit 6’4”, two hundred and twenty-six pound ex-Notre Dame back-up quarterback, who while at Notre Dame decided to wager a bet or two. It was those or twos that had done Will in and before long; He was buried in over his head with debts to Atlantic City. With that he became a part of a few crime bosses’ payroll. Will had a gambling problem – thought he could win. What addict didn’t? He was always “just one win from being back on top.” Placing bad bets after bad bets Will’s future came to a crashing halt when he owed one particular crime boss to a tune of over 300K. His life came to a cross road – the time had come when he had just one way out and like it or not he had to take it. The mob wanted a USC win over the heavily favored Notre Dame. USC was ranked #18 and Dame #2 in both national polls. The game being played in South Bend didn’t give USC much of a chance thus Notre Dame was favored by 16 points. Notre Dame’s average margin of victory that season had been 22 points. Each week they just went out and performed an offensive clinic. Only one team was doing it better – the number one ranked Florida Gators, who averaged a winning margin of 29 points per game.  

            The majority of the bets were being placed on a sure win by Notre Dame – bettors had no problem giving up the 16 points to land down bets on Notre Dame. Notre Dame had been playing flawless ball throughout the season; mainly due to All-American quarterback Todd Carroll. Todd was the son of legendary USC head coach Pete Carroll. Todd had decided to pass on a chance to play for his father by taking a scholarship with Notre Dame. It wasn’t so much a slap in his father’s face but more of Todd wanting to make it on his own. He had always gotten everything in life through his father. It was time for him to receive recognition outside of his father’s name. He had and was doing it well – Notre Dame was only second to the University of Florida in the polls. A BCS Championship game against Florida was all but sealed once Todd and the Fighting Irish closed out their regular season with a win over rivaled Trojans – Florida had just given in state rival FSU a beat down earlier in the day. So if Notre Dame closed out with a win it would be a mute point who would play for the national championship against Florida. Notre Dame was looking for a chance to win a national title, which it hadn’t done since 1988. There was just this game then the nation’s top team, University of Florida. That team had the nation’s best defense but also the number one offense in the country as well. The high-powered Gators were lead by Miles Jacob and Tyland Grossman; no one seemed to be able to derail them all season – but Notre Dame seemed to feel if anyone had a chance it was them. They just had to get past USC.

            Getting past USC - the boys in Atlantic City had different plans for that. In fact they planned to change that right before the game. The plan was to have Carroll’s leg broken twenty-four hours before the game. That way all bets would be locked in and the scales would slide down in favor of USC with the points. Notre Dame would still probably win the game, just not by 16. To ensure that Notre Dame did not win by 16 they would have Will – Will was their insurance policy or at least he better had well be with the 300K plus owed to the underworld. He could play if he wanted to. They had plans of Will going from being the second string quarterback to being named the game’s starter. He could then control the game and if need be throw it.

             Will got his first start just as he was told he would. He was more nervous than if he was just playing a game. A lot weighed on his shoulders – a three hundred thousand pound gorilla. Knowing what was at stake he manned up the nerves to ensure what the boys in Atlantic City wanted. Will ensured USC’s chance of beating the spread and then some. When it was all said and done on this Saturday night USC not only beat the spread but they also had beat Notre Dame outright – 21-19 and Will was left as the scapegoat. Will had three costly interceptions and two fatal fumbles. The NCAA’s red flags went on high alert; Vegas started crying over the game and soon there was an all out investigation. The FBI launched its own investigation. With millions at stake, this was serious. What made this especially interesting was the money that was being placed on USC in the very beginning – too many people took USC. They tried to spread the bets over a complex betting system but an investigation involving the FBI would reveal all of this - which it eventually did. Too many bettors came out taking USC over Notre Dame; Notre Dame’s margin of victory over the six top 25 teams was 21 points – just one point shy of their season average. To be favored by only 16 points the obvious bet would be to give up the 16 and take Notre Dame over USC. But, that was the obvious. The bets were streaming in the other way, not by many but enough and at strange amounts – they were betting for a win by USC with the points. The second thing that the feds found a little funny was the strange mugging of Carroll and of all things getting his broken leg - strange. However, what really helped guarantee the case being solved was an undercover FBI Special Agent by the name of Jeff Armstrong. Armstrong had gotten a tip while having a meeting one night with petty criminal Tony Parrazi. Armstrong sat in a small diner booth off State Route 10 in Denville, New Jersey – the Alexis Diner. There Tony rambled on about the USC Notre Dame game. Tony loved to brag about what and whom he knew; so just two days after the game Tony was telling all. Tony boasted about having gotten an inside tip of what was to happen to Todd Carroll. Then he went on to explain to Armstrong the facts of the crime, how the mob had an even better tool in place to ensure their bets were covered – the backup quarterback for Notre Dame – the mob had William Philips. This information was sent straight to the lead investigator for the FBI and in the end Armstrong was given an award for his due diligence on this case. Days later, raids and arrests followed - ironically Will was arrested on campus right after a class on legal ethics and to add insult to injury - all in front of tons of friends and fellow students. Will was left out to dry – no one came to his defense, absolutely no one. When it was all said and done three crime bosses, thirty-two underlings and of course Will were all looking at sixty to ninety month sentences. Will was handed down a sixty-five month sentence – five years and five months during a special plea bargaining deal. 

            Three years, ten months and eighteen days into his sentence Will was now in deep shit again. What was his problem? Brown wanted his money or he wanted a football game with Miles. Those were Will’s choices. He had to deliver or it would be his neck on the chopping block – AGAIN. This time was no different from the last. There was no getting out of this – Will’s luck had run a dry – one too many bets…. “Will talk to your boy,” announced Brown curtly. Will stepped to Miles – “Just one game Miles.” Miles’ look was that of shock. There had been many nights when Miles and Will would talk – Miles had told Will his many reasons of never playing football again. Hell Will had seen the hit. There were a few occasions that he and Will would play catch and for those who saw these rare occurrences saw nothing but true grace and athleticism on Miles’ part. They could see why Miles was able to do what he did on the field. Will’s voice started to quiver, “Miles you have to play.” “No Will I do not!” “They are going to kill me.” “What! …What for?” “I owe them….” “You owe them for what?” “I know you told me to stop gambling but I just knew I could win.” “Damn it Will - you always think you can win, that’s the fucking problem.” “Miles I am sorry but I owe Brown over a grand and he wants it today.” Miles stood in puzzlement. “I’ll settle this for you; I’ll pay your debt with Brown.” 

            Miles went over to Brown looking back at Will with a venomous look in his eyes. Will bowed his head low and dared not to return the look towards Miles. Miles jerked his head back around towards Brown. “Yo, Brown I’ll give you the grand and whatever interest you want but no game. Plus one condition…, you are not to accept any more bets from Will – that’s for remainder of his sentence and for that I’ll give you another four grand.” Brown thought about this for all of one second. “No deal!” “I want the game or Will’s head is mine. You can’t protect him forever.” Miles was pissed. “So what’s it going to be Mr. Jacob?” Miles marched back to Will and pushed him to the ground, “You stupid mutherfucker – you must want to end up dead,” he shouted! “How the fuck do you keep getting involved in this shit?… Don't you remember what you are in prison for?” “Miles just one game, please,” Will begged as his voice trailed off softly. Miles started to walk off the yard. “Miles they’ll kill me.” Then Brown’s distinctive voice bellowed out, “One game Miles – win or lose Will’s debt is paid and he’s off limits but if you lose - you owe me the ring for my troubles.” What was with his rings? Miles turned – looked at Will, then shouted to Brown, “Be back in ten minutes.”

             Miles went to his cell in the dorm – opened his locker and found his Super Bowl mouthpiece. No one exactly knew how Miles had gotten this into the prison but it was just one of several mementos he cherished from the free world. He put on his customized size 15 Nikes and grabbed one last item. Man what the hell are you doing? Have you lost your damn mind? Miles do you hear me? I’m talking to you – Miles! Miles!! Miles!!! Miles proceeded back to the yard. When he returned, Miles looked four times bigger or maybe it was just his stride – the swagger he owned or maybe it was just the anticipation of something special about to happen. Word had spread rapidly and now the yard that had only about twenty inmates before now swelled to well over two hundred inmates and guards. This was the biggest thing to happen on the unit since it had opened for business of housing *BOP prisoners. Bets were being placed – inmates and even guards had been waiting for this game to take place since Brown started mouthing off about how he would crush Jacob in a game of football.

*Federal Bureau of Prisons

            It didn’t look to be until just this very minute. The hope of it happening was now fanning out into air and it was now time. Miles entered the yard… still standing 6’3”, ten pounds heavier – now 247 pounds – still all muscle and power. With less than three percent body fat Miles was still the NFL prototype wide receiver. He had speed like Deion Sanders, hands like Cris Carter, savvy, reach and hops like Randy Moss and power like Terrell Owens. Yet he was still better – Miles had something that each of those greats didn’t – none of them, except for Sanders, had a Super Bowl. But Miles also had what no one could define; all the professional scouts, coaches, and players just called it the… it. Since arriving at Rogets, Miles hadn’t missed a single day of working out – running, lifting, and anything in between that kept his body in tip-top shape. Regardless of his memory loss, football was still in his blood. At thirty years of age Miles would have been in the prime of his NFL career barring the memory loss injury. 

            Miles walked up to Brown and the game was explained to him – it would consist of several ex-college and former professional players, a splash or two of high school standouts and the rest of the team would be I Wish I Could Have Played At Any Level caliber of player. Brown and Miles were by far the premiere players for this event. The rules were different from a normal game of football – each team would get four downs to make a touchdown. The field was sixty yards in long and that of forty yards in wide. Each touchdown would count as one point – first team to ten wins. The winning team had to win by two, there were no refs, all calls were decided on the field – it was to be semi-contact – something like flag football but many knew this small rule would probably be over looked once the game began. There was going to be some pain dealt out. Brown had his normal squad – they won every time they played. In fact, Brown had not lost a single game since arriving on the unit. The squads were pretty much balanced except for the addition of Brown to his squad. Brown would always tilt the scale in favor of his team. But today that would change, Miles was now playing and to many it just seemed that the scale was now slightly tilted toward Will’s team which was now Miles’ new team. Will might have been their leader before but when Miles entered his hand into this arena - make no doubts about it, Miles was now the real leader. His teammates would up their game just to play on the same team and field as Miles. Miles stepped to Will and in no uncertain terms or kindness told him coldly, “Don’t fuck this up too.” He then walked over to Ryan Page the unit bookie and told him to hold his ring – “I’ll be back for it.” Man what the fuck is you doing? Fuck Will - get that ring back. Miles you hear me?... damn Miles we are out of here in a few days. Why are you fucking it up now? 

            Miles then sprinted the sixty yards down the field – warming up, a few vertical leaps and stretching. He jogged to Brown – “Let’s play.” A coin was produced, which should have never been in the unit for inmate use but then again there are a lot of things in prison that inmates should not have but do. So the coin was flipped, a side was called, “Tails,” from somewhere and next thing you know Will had won the toss.  

            Brown’s team would kick off first. There was no half times - no quarters, just a straight game to ten, win by two. Brown stood in the end zone and flicked the football across the field in one swift motion. The throw was so powerful it sailed completely out of the opponent’s end zone. Will and his team would get the ball on their ten-yard line – fifty yards to go. They huddled, Miles told Will to throw him a twenty-yard sideline curl route pass to his outside shoulder – knee level. They broke huddle and Miles took his position on the field, Brown lined up across from Miles giving him five yards. Right then Miles knew he had the advantage. “Let’s do this pretty boy.” Miles gave no reply he just waited for the sound of Will’s voice, “86 South Pull Wheel Right 17… … GO!” and on GO everyone started to move. Miles started hard on the release then planted softly and started arching towards the sideline. Before he even came out of the break and worked three yards back for the football, Will had already released the ball from his hand – throwing a forty-yard rifling pass – knee level to Miles outside shoulder. Brown had tried back peddling during all of this – trying to anticipate Miles’ route, but when Miles broke off the hard release into a curl to the sideline Brown was unable to recover fast enough. Turning around Miles quickly located the ball and reached his hands out in full stride – snatching the ball out of the air. Brown quickly recovered. Closing the gap, he ran full speed to where Miles was – preparing himself to give Miles another mind-crushing blow – something like the one he had received in the Super Bowl. Miles had caught the ball at his knees, shifted his weight to the ball of his feet and stopped on a dime then u-turn back into the inside of the field and unleashed the 4.3 speed he was known for in the NFL. Brown tried to readjust to all of this but his erroneous calculation of trying to tackle Miles on the sidelines had cost him dearly. There was nothing Brown could do when Miles made the u-turn back to the inside of the field… he simply had to watch what little of Miles he could flash past him – a Now You See Him Now You Don’t Move. Seconds later Miles scored, this was the first time Miles had been in the end zone since the Super Bowl, even though it was nothing like scoring in the NFL it still felt good. Miles was happy – this felt good. Now that’s what the fuck I am talking about… smoke that mutherfucker – you own him. The crowd went wild, damns and awes went spreading over the rec-yard. Shouting and other un-intangible noises amassed from the yard. This was the game all wanted to see and now they were. More bets were being placed. Page was covering all bets favoring Miles’ team. Page had won tons of money on Miles throughout his college and professional career, so why stop now. Miles had been good to Page – 100 percent good – money in the fucking bank!  

            Score: one to nothing – nine more to go. Miles’ fellow teammates came over high-fiving - Miles returned the gesture and patted Will on the shoulders. “Nice throw. We still need nine more.” Brown’s teammates turned to him - Brown and asked, “What’s up?” To his frustration his reply was simple, “I got this – just play fucking ball!” 

            Will did as Brown did and toss the football out of the end zone for their kickoff. The ball now placed on the ten again. This time it was Brown’s turn to score. Miles decide he too would cover Brown – it made the most logical sense. Playing Brown man to man in a bump and run coverage. Brown was bigger so Miles was going to have to out skill him with speed and the ability to be on the ball first. Many did not know that Miles was so gifted in football that he had once been considered the number two defensive back in the country coming out of high school. Flashbacks riveted through Miles’ brain of his high school performances just as the ball was about to be snapped. Brown was running a fly pattern down the sideline with his right hand held up. Stride for stride Miles shadowed Brown, both with their heads turning to locate the flight of the ball in the air. The ball was like a tracking missile focused on its target – it was dead on. Both men leaped into the air and this is where Miles had the advantage; propelling into the air Miles used his 42” inch vertical which was just too much for Brown. Miles caught the ball at the peak of his jump - then landed back on the ground nano-seconds later. Brown stumbled just a bit and like anytime you make a mistake against Miles – he always capitalized on it. Five point three seconds later Miles was in the end zone for a second time – two to nothing. Again Brown’s teammates wanted to know if he was up to the task of handling Miles. “Play ball, don’t worry about me!” 

            Miles second touchdown had the crowd up in a howl, inmates began talking shit to one another. Others raised their counterparts’ bets - all were amazed at what Miles could do. They had seen him during his college and professional days and he was unbelievable then but now they were just feet away from witnessing a real Miles D. Jacob performance. Some were still holding out Brown’s way. Hell he had talked shit for over a year how Miles wasn’t shit, so he had to show up right? Soon even those supports would begin to have their doubt. 

            On the next kick off Will again threw the ball out of the end zone. Browns’ team got the ball again on the ten-yard line. Miles lined up again covering Brown, “Lucky ass mutherfucker… see if you can try that bullshit again… luck ass shit….” The ball snapped, Brown threw a vicious right hook at Miles landing squarely on his jaw – the entire yard saw this as Miles dropped to his knees. Guards raced in to secure Brown. Miles stood up, the guards started to walk Brown off. Miles then yelled, “Wait! Let him go – I slipped. Let’s play ball. Second down.” The guards looked at each other then back at Miles – shrugged at each other - then decided to released Brown from the handcuffs and slowly return to the sidelines – warning Brown, “Cut the bullshit, there won’t be any more warnings or chances.” Miles stared at Brown and said, “Good shot, I would have done that too if someone was smoking my ass… Your ball, second down.” With that he handed the ball to Brown dead in his stomach. Not knowing what to do next Brown’s quarterback called a quick play but unable to find an open teammate, he ended up throwing the ball away out of bounds – incomplete. The same thing happened again on third down. It was now fourth down. Needing something Brown huddled his team to call a play – Brown thought we need something – breaking the huddle the QB took the snap, slipped, and was tagged down by the opposing team. A big gust of air was let out of their sail. Not only could you see it in Brown’s teammates’ eyes but you could also see it in his. Will was excited! Turnover in downs. 

            Will now having the ball on the ten-yard line simply looked Miles in the eye and nodded… Seconds later he tossed a jump ball up for Miles in the back of the end zone, Brown tried his best to cover it and again Miles went up like he was climbing steps and he still hadn’t reached the top of those stairs. Miles reached his arms up and this time snagged the ball out of the air with a one handed catch over Brown’s shoulder. It was clear to all why Miles was so gifted. Even Brown had to start to respect Miles’ game. “Good catch man,” said a very humbled Brown. “Thanks.” Man, I know this fool isn’t giving up props now that he’s done took a fucking shot at your jaw. Miles you really need to watch that nicca – he’s got to be up to something. Watch him Miles, watch him. Three - zero. The ball back in Will’s hands – and again he tossed the ball out of the end zone. Lining up for the next play Brown called a timeout, then walked over to the center and quarterback and picked up the ball, Man what the hell is going on now… Brown walked over to Miles, Man watch this fool Miles – you know he ain’t right. “You win,” and with that Brown handed Miles the ball. That being done Brown along with his teammates headed for the rec-yard’s exit. Will leaped up for joy and raced to Miles’ side, “Thanks man – I owe you!” “Yeah you do – NO more gambling! That’s how you can repay me.” Miles left Will standing there to think about what he had just said. He then walked over to Page to retrieve his ring. “Nice performance Miles,” and handed Miles his ring back, “Nice ring.” “Thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

            Back on the block hours later Brown appeared at Miles’ cell with a football in tow. Miles sitting at his desk simply looked at Brown. Brown started, “I see why you make it look so easy. You were incredible out there today. Flawless in fact and even more-so a true gentleman – I should have never sucka punched you like that. Oh well, it is what it is. Sorry. One favor.” Miles was puzzled. “Could you please autograph this football for me?” As he completed the question he tossed the football to Miles, then a Sharpie. Miles caught both - signed the ball, then walked Sharpie and ball back over to Brown. “Thanks and you have my word – I’ll take no more bets from Will,” with that Brown turned and left Miles’ cell, “Take care Jacob.” As he walked away Brown read the football – We all make mistakes, Brown – stand strong – signed Miles D. Jacob – 3-0. 

            Brown’s autograph ball with Miles message would become a message that Brown would read daily until his release – we all make mistakes, Brown – stand strong - Miles D. Jacob – 3-0, with a happy face underneath. That was Miles, never really one to hold a grudge. He went back to his prior doings before Brown interrupted him – packing his belongings.  

            Will arrived at his cell next and jumped up on Miles’ bunk. “Thanks Miles.” “Will - you are not always going to be that lucky – you need to grow-up. I have seen firsthand how gambling can get someone killed - the desperate acts they were reduced to; all behind needing money to repay their debts. Make some changes and do something with your life. You are not going to be at Rogets forever.” “I know Miles. It’s just not that easy for all of us, as it is for you. If you wanted you could do just about anything you desired in life. Me, I didn’t finish school and I am never going to play pro ball and I have no one.” “Will stop making excuses and grow-up,” Miles left it at that. He wrote a number down on a piece of paper and handed it to Will. “Call this number when you get out.” He took several books off his deck and placed them on Will’s desk, “And in the meantime read these.” 

            Minutes later a guard appeared outside their cell, “Jacob visit.” Miles grabbed his green prison top and slid it over his t-shirt and headed out to Visitation. He knew who it was – Sydney. His Sydney. Three years of incarceration and she had stood by the man she trusted and loved. Now at thirty, Sydney was even more beautiful than the first time Miles had laid eyes on her – she stood waiting for Miles to come to the table she was assigned to for their visit. Miles gave her a brief hug, as that was all that was permitted under the prison inmate guideline rules. He could smell the scent of cologne, it truly smelt better on her than him – light blue - it hadn’t changed one bit in three years. “Miles, what the hell happened to your face baby,” she said worriedly. “It’s nothing, Sydney.” “Nothing – Miles! You have a big black bruise on your jaw and you say it’s nothing? What’s going on Miles, baby what happened?” Miles did not say anything and at that Sydney knew that it was best to let it go but that did not dismiss the thoughts she had concerning Miles’ injury. God what are they doing to my baby? Sydney’s life had changed a lot over the years while Miles had been incarcerated. She had graduated from Harvard Medical School’s Obstetrics and Gynecology Residency Program and was now in the beginning of her first year of her fellowship program – which fine lined a sub-specialty within her specialty. Just completing her OB/GYN Residency Program in June at Somerville Women’s Health Center and the Brigham and Women’s Hospital things were becoming more complicated. Now at Boston General she was struggling in her fellowship year. With a budding career on the horizon, Sydney was starting to miss far too many days in her residency program because of these weekly visits  to Miles. Sydney had already taken off over a year in the program – she just couldn’t handle the task of a second year resident while Miles’ life loomed in the balance. In fact, 2018 had been a rough year for the both of them – her taking the year off, Miles going to trial and then being sentenced. Miles and Sydney were granted some relief in sentencing. Miles was looking at a minimum of twenty-six and a half years in prison but somehow he had managed to work out a deal for just thirty-six months. How was that possible?  

            Sydney needed to focus on her residency program Miles thought. He had already distracted her enough from the program. The OB/GYN Program required so many different types of deliveries, surgeries, and research. She was behind in it all. They - Harvard - had made allowances in her first three years, trying to be understanding with her special situation regarding Miles. But enough was enough - this was a profession that required that you gained x amount of training in your specialty. It was one thing to miss a few days a month but Sydney was now missing close to fifteen days a month, she was behind in all of her training. Soon there would be patient neglect and the program director, school and hospital would not continue to allow this. Miles had stressed to her to stop the visits or at least limit them to once a month. Sydney would hear nothing of it. So here she was again – Miles did not bother to fuss with Sydney – hell this was to be their last visit. The next time they would see each other he would be a free man. Miles had planned it all out and Sydney agreed. 

            At 11:00 a.m. Thursday morning they would meet in Austin, Texas. Right now Sydney had so much to say – she talked and talked… and talked. Miles just held her hand and listened. She had plans for the two of them – getting their lives back on track – then marriage – next followed by children. They went over their plan one final time. She planned to really talk with Miles more once he was out. She had not said what she had wanted to for three years what was a few more days going to hurt? But she vowed to herself she would be heard and she wanted to the truth. 

            Their visit was soon over. They went over their plan one final time. They were clear. “Jacob… times up,” yelled a guard off to the side. Miles stood – Sydney rose beside him, he gave her a brief hug not caring what the guards would say. They both looked deeply into each other’s eyes before Miles’ turned to exit the visitation room. Sydney was sad but knew in a matter of a few days her and Miles would be together again. There would not be any bars, walls, or guards hindering their relationship.  

            Miles walked back to his cell. There he continued to pack. While packing he came across a poem he had written while in prison: ... TO BE CONTINUED 

This is just the being. To finish reading this chapter and the rest of this fast pace action thriller purchase your copy today. All purchase before October 15th - 2010 will be entered into the Hudson Hotel VIP Contest: www.andthentherewaslife.com/hudsonhotelcontest.htm

 

WANT MORE CLICK HERE

 

 

® copyright 2010

and then there was life!