J Vernon Mcgee Commentary Novels & Stories

His eye shot daggers into me. "I don't remember offending you," I said. "I don't remember saying you could sit down. You think you're some big shot who's met the Emperor, and we should all be bowing down to you. We should be honored even to be talking to you." "Vernon, come on, man," said Calvin. "Fuck it. You make the liquor taste bad," Vernon said, getting up and heading out of the tavern. "Sounds like I'm not liked," I said.

Coach calls the next reporter. "You think kicking for a mediocre community college team makes you qualified to play pro football?" This comes from Mike Goodwyn, a local news sports reporter and radio personality. He slams the Pronghorns at every opportunity and seems to have the red-ass for me particularly. I've never liked the guy.

“Why don’t you seem happy about it?” “I am happy about it.” But I failed making my voice sound peppier. It was quiet in these rows of shelves so we talked freely. I was even tempted to just take the opposite side of the shelf and be with Catherine, but it would be quite an issue if we were seen alone. “You should be. It’s a great achievement, Vernon. If you played well, it could get you a scholarship into college.” “Yeah? You think I could?” “Of course. I believe in you.”

"Tell Theodore that the next time I see him, I will punch him." He hung up and looked out the window. *************** Vernon pursed his lips in thought as he watched the presentation on the screen. Despite the air-conditioning in the room, the omega felt a bit hot and he tugged at his collar multiple times. Theodore leaned towards him. "Are you alright?" He nodded, not taking his eyes off the screen. The presenter, Enzo Ferraro, looked at him. "What do you have to say about this?" Vernon blinked at the unexpected attention. His gaze swept across the room before he cleared his throat.

Then Marcus Vega opened his mouth. Vega was a winger, third line, the kind of player who filled space and occasionally made the right play and never understood when to stop talking. He turned to the two players beside him during a water break and said it loud enough for the bench to hear. Something about Calloway and the exhibition game clip. Something about the way we had looked at each other against the barrier. The specific words were the kind that get used when a man wants to be funny and does not care what he breaks to get the laugh. I was moving before I had made the decision to move.

Joshua responded. Vernon Chwe cut his medium-well done steak. The blood rushed at the center of the raw meat, creating sticky sounds as he moved his knife. “A groundless rumor about you, getting involve in drug’s dealing.” He met Joshua’s fake smile with a grin. “I am sensitive about anything that involves drug. So if ever the rumor is true, I’ll pull out my investment.”

The second her paws touched the ground, she trotted away without hesitation, abandoning me entirely. I gestured toward her retreating figure. “There,” I said smoothly. “She’s already expressed her position on the matter.” Vernon laughed softly. And unfortunately, it was the kind of laugh men immediately understood. Light and polite, but edged just enough to acknowledge the hostility underneath. Like two blades touching briefly in passing. “Since Lemon has apparently made her choice,” he said casually before turning back toward Evelyn, “we should probably go now.” His voice softened naturally when speaking to her.

Krieg stood up and grabbed McConney by the collar. "You're overworking yourself, McConney. What was the need to drain us of our money? You're exercising too much power because the law is on your side," he whispered menacingly. I remained seated with my legs crossed and my pistol resting on my lap. I'll let him vent his frustration on him. "V-Vernon—!" McConney grasped whatever air he could inhale and struggled in Krieg's chokehold. His eyes wide and his feet touching the ground, he said, "D-Don't kill—"

“Turns out when I say an artist is worth paying attention to, people listen.” I swallow hard, gripping my glass like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. Michael Vernon tilts his head, steps closer, and then he turns…. And walks straight toward me. “Oh, God,” McKenzy whispers. “Breathe, Harper. Don’t be weird.” I elbow her sharply, but I do take a quick breath. I could meet Michael Vernon a hundred times and still feel starstruck by him. “This is an impressive collection, Ms. Ward,” he says, nodding toward my work. His voice is deep, measured, like a man who doesn’t speak unless he has something worth saying.

I let out, resisting the urge to call his bullshit. “I can testify that we lost a friend and a prominent member of the court as well,” Vernon stated, his eyes falling to the ground as he tried too hard to express sympathy. However, that didn’t stop him from adding, “Which is why it is not fair to make us suspects, my king.” I scoffed. Then I chuckled, and then I began to laugh because they were so predictable. Amidst laughter, I asked, “Why are we here, Vernon?”