TheBayouBullet
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Saturday, Feb. 23rd, 2008
3:42 p.m.
Dan Morgan walks out of his weight room, exhausted from a grueling two-hour workout. Towel slung over his shoulder, he steps into the living room of his house.
The phone rings.
He eyes the phone for several seconds, casting a quick glance in every direction to see if anyone else is home. With his radio turned up during workouts, he's never sure if someone left the house. No one picks up the line. So he does.
"Morgan," he answers it. As soon as he hears the voice on the other end, he knows who it is.
"Hi Dan, it's Drew Rosenhaus."
Once again, Dan spares the house a scrutinizing glance. No one else is there, to be sure. His voice lowers, and he affirms his agent's greeting. "What is it?"
Drew's tone lowers as well. "The deal is in place. We leave at 2100." No further words are said. Rosenhaus just hangs up the phone.
Dan does, too.
**** LATER THAT NIGHT ****
It's minutes to midnight as Dan Morgan arrives at the Saints' facility in Metairie, Rosenhaus cautiously at his side. The former Carolina defensive star takes a moment to glance at the parking lot lights. It's well lit.
Too well lit.
His eyes return to the glass doors before him, until a new man makes his presence known. It's a man Dan Morgan knows well. Sean. Tiberius. Payton.
In Payton's hand is a single metal briefcase, handcuffed to his wrist for protection. There are no other present. No associates. No security. No one at all. The men continue to walk closer, until they meet right outside the glass doors.
None of them make a sound. The only sounds at all are of the precious few mosquitoes buzzing about - rarer at this time of year. But none of the three men pay them mind. There's something more important to discuss.
"Payton," Dan says under his breath.
Payton casts a scrutinizing eye himself. "Morgan."
There was a certain tension in the air. There always was. Both men hesitate for a moment, before Dan finally looks at the brief case. "Is that all of it?"
"Three years," Payton says, his voice still distrusting. "Not a day less."
Dan nods. "Three years."
Reaching for a key in his pocket, Sean Payton unlocks the handcuffs. The brief case changes hands.
No other words are spoken. No thank you's. No good bye's. Nothing at all. The men simply turn and part ways.
As Dan Morgan returns to his automobile, a red 2008 Camry from Hertz, he sits down in the back seat. Drew took his place behind the wheel. As the car sped out of the Saints' facility, Dan finally opened the brief case. It was full of bananas. Bright, yellow bananas.
Just like he wanted.
OM! NOM! NOM!
His massive jaws move up and down as he devours the delectable fruit.
And just like that...the Saints have their man.
3:42 p.m.
Dan Morgan walks out of his weight room, exhausted from a grueling two-hour workout. Towel slung over his shoulder, he steps into the living room of his house.
The phone rings.
He eyes the phone for several seconds, casting a quick glance in every direction to see if anyone else is home. With his radio turned up during workouts, he's never sure if someone left the house. No one picks up the line. So he does.
"Morgan," he answers it. As soon as he hears the voice on the other end, he knows who it is.
"Hi Dan, it's Drew Rosenhaus."
Once again, Dan spares the house a scrutinizing glance. No one else is there, to be sure. His voice lowers, and he affirms his agent's greeting. "What is it?"
Drew's tone lowers as well. "The deal is in place. We leave at 2100." No further words are said. Rosenhaus just hangs up the phone.
Dan does, too.
**** LATER THAT NIGHT ****
It's minutes to midnight as Dan Morgan arrives at the Saints' facility in Metairie, Rosenhaus cautiously at his side. The former Carolina defensive star takes a moment to glance at the parking lot lights. It's well lit.
Too well lit.
His eyes return to the glass doors before him, until a new man makes his presence known. It's a man Dan Morgan knows well. Sean. Tiberius. Payton.
In Payton's hand is a single metal briefcase, handcuffed to his wrist for protection. There are no other present. No associates. No security. No one at all. The men continue to walk closer, until they meet right outside the glass doors.
None of them make a sound. The only sounds at all are of the precious few mosquitoes buzzing about - rarer at this time of year. But none of the three men pay them mind. There's something more important to discuss.
"Payton," Dan says under his breath.
Payton casts a scrutinizing eye himself. "Morgan."
There was a certain tension in the air. There always was. Both men hesitate for a moment, before Dan finally looks at the brief case. "Is that all of it?"
"Three years," Payton says, his voice still distrusting. "Not a day less."
Dan nods. "Three years."
Reaching for a key in his pocket, Sean Payton unlocks the handcuffs. The brief case changes hands.
No other words are spoken. No thank you's. No good bye's. Nothing at all. The men simply turn and part ways.
As Dan Morgan returns to his automobile, a red 2008 Camry from Hertz, he sits down in the back seat. Drew took his place behind the wheel. As the car sped out of the Saints' facility, Dan finally opened the brief case. It was full of bananas. Bright, yellow bananas.
Just like he wanted.
OM! NOM! NOM!
His massive jaws move up and down as he devours the delectable fruit.
And just like that...the Saints have their man.
