|Two men in sport coats holding clipboards walk right into Bruce Drennan's house without so much as an invitation, like they'd done it countless times before - not like they're old chums, but like it is just as much their right to walk in as it is Drennan's right to be there.
Drennan looks at the men. He knows. He knows even before they take out their FBI identification.
"You know why we're here."
Damn straight he knows, but he can't say a word. His wife, Jackie, bless her heart, has no idea. She knows he gambles, wagers on baseball games, but she never realized the Feds might knock on her door and strut on in. But here they are. And they have boxes with them. And an order from a judge that they can take whatever they want.
The blood has long since rushed out of Bruce's face. His life is over. Maybe his marriage is over. His career is definitely over.
The men sit him down at the dining room table. Bruce knows it involves his gambling, but he has no idea the Feds have been listening to his phone calls and think he is a bookmaker, not just a player.
One of the agents, a middle-aged guy, says he's a fan, even asked to be on this raid because he likes Bruce's sports show.
If that is supposed to soften the blow, it doesn't. Bruce needs a glass of water.
Jackie looks at him, and she can tell. You'll get that after 25 years of marriage.
"Can I get Bruce a glass of water?" she asks. Sure, they say. But they follow her into the kitchen. Can't tell what she might do.
Busted. Totally busted. Where's that glass of water?
Check back Nov. 1 for the full story.