Cat used the shuttle ride to the airport to finish up her work, so that the redeye charter flight back to Buffalo would be free for an hour of shuteye.
She took the first seat she could find. The closer she sat to the door, the sooner she’d be hailing a taxi back to the loft. She’d already put her carry-on bag in the overhead compartment and slammed the lid shut when she spotted the freckled face of Joel Faulk in the next seat. She hesitated for only a second, but dismissed any escape plans. There was no sly way to grab her bag and switch seats. Besides, the rows on each side were full. She plopped down with a polite smile.
“Hey Joel.”
“Are you sure we should be sitting next to each other?” His hazel eyes darted around the plane, flashing from seat to seat before landing on the door where players continued to file in. “You know, after everything that’s happened? I don’t want any more trouble for either of us.”
Now you’re worried about that? Where was this concern when accusations were being flung at me like Feller fastballs?
“As long as I don’t get out a deck of cards, I don’t think anyone will mind.”
He didn’t smile. She playfully nudged him with her elbow.
“That was a joke. Kind of.”
“Funny,” he replied, with a tone as flat as his expression.
“You know, for a guy who singlehandedly saved the series, at least for two days, you look like ….” Cat cut herself off. She’d been about to say “like you lost your best friend,” but given the circumstances, she let the sentence trail off. “You seem sad.”
“I’m just worried about Damien.”
“Me, too.”
Joel leaned his seat back and turned his head toward the window. Cat followed his gaze. There wasn’t much to see outside in the black night, but the overhead lights provided just enough glare to reveal his worried reflection in the glass.
It was two in the morning when she made it into the apartment building. As was her ritual for late games throughout the season, she unzipped her boots and slipped them off as soon as she got up the stairs, quietly stuck her key into the door and grasped the handle with a slow turn. She gingerly pushed open the door until she saw the apartment walls light up with the glow of the living room television. No longer worried about awakening Benji, she let the door fling open so she could drag her luggage in. She left it in the hallway and made her way to the living room.
“You’re still up?” She turned the corner and saw Quinn, not Benji, on the couch. “Oh. Of course you are.” Benji had to work in the morning, but Quinn wouldn’t be up before noon.
“Yeah. Benji tried to wait up, but he ended up hitting the sack about an hour ago. He said to tell you congrats.” Quinn raised an eyebrow. “That’s from him, not me.”
“Let me guess, you lost money tonight?”
She plopped down next to him. She’d only recently pledged her allegiance to the Buffalo Soldiers and it wasn’t as though she’d be getting their logo tattooed on her lower back or naming her firstborn Soldier; however, she was a fan of the team that signed her paychecks. So, like any fan, she took pleasure in her right to gloat. After all, half the fun of rooting for your team is bragging to those who didn’t.
“Do I need to work on my poker face?”
“Nah, you just need to get a new game. What are you doing anyway? I thought you used to say betting on baseball was a sucker’s game.”
“In the long run, yes, but sometimes you get a hunch.”
She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and fastened the dark red strands into a ponytail. “You had a hunch about the Soldiers?”
“No.” He turned down the volume on the television and dropped the remote on the coffee table. “But I had a pretty good feeling about Chicago.”
“Then you’re the only one. I may not understand the terminology, but I check the run lines for every game and no one from here to Vegas thought Chicago would make it past three games.”
“Whatever happened to the little girl who used to root for the underdog?”
“She turned off the cartoons and started watching baseball. Cartoon canines notwithstanding, underdogs usually lose.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Why even play the games then? ESPN should just call Cat McDaniel to get their bottom line. Think of all the time that would save.”
She pressed her lips together, refusing to let his sarcasm ruffle her. “I’m just saying that Chicago barely grabbed the wildcard. They were lucky to even make it into the playoffs. The Soldiers have been the best team in the division since summer. Unless your feeling came with house money, you should’ve ignored it. You’d have a fatter wallet right now.”
And I’d have my office back.
She’d never admit it out loud, but if the Soldiers did lose the next game, it would have one positive outcome: Quinn could take his winnings and hit the road.
“There’s still one more game. I can get it back.”
“The momentum’s in our favor.” Cat walked across the living room and flipped on the balcony light, looking outside the glass doors for any leftover police gear. “Let’s go outside, I don’t wanna wake Benji.” She slid open the door and stepped out onto the balcony. It was chilly, but she still had her wool pea coat on. Her socks soaked up the cold concrete and she hopped over to a patio chair, sitting down and pulling her knees up to her chest.
Quinn had draped the couch afghan around his hunching shoulders. He quietly slid the glass door shut and pulled a plastic patio chair across the balcony, positioning it next to hers. He combed his shaggy reddish-blond locks off his face. “This place is pretty decent. I’m glad you’re doing so well for yourself.”
She gauged him for a short second to see if he was teasing her. Quinn was so often sarcastic that his rare moments of sincerity took her by surprise. He didn’t notice her stare; instead his pale eyes were as big as moons as he gazed into her living room like a sad kid outside a toy store window.
“You know, you could have a nice apartment like this, too,” she said softly.
“Not with my work. It’s good money but not steady.”
“Well, when the money’s good why don’t you save some? That way when times are tough, it’ll tide you over.”
“Thanks for the economic lesson. And here I thought Benji was the teacher.”
She blew out a puff of air. His sincerity had been nice while it lasted.
“Nah, there’s not a whole lot to save. I cover my nut and the rest gets … reinvested. That’s just the way it works.”
“Have you ever thought about a different line of work?” Cat rushed to continue before he could protest. “I mean, I could get you a gig at the stadium. It’s nothing too fancy, but there are always openings in concessions.”
He scoffed and looked at her like she’d just suggested he become a gigolo. “I’m not exactly the hairnet type.”
“Oh, the guy sleeping on my secondhand futon is too good to serve nachos?”
“I’m a little old to work concessions.”
“There’s no age limit.”
“Are you telling me you’d slop cheese for minimum wage?”
“Do you know how many hot dogs I had to fling before I got to report?” She realized her voice had risen and took a deep breath, quieting herself before she incurred the wrath of Mr. Finley. “That’s how it works for Cabbage Patch Kids like us, Quinn. We can’t just nepotize our way into a corner office and an expense account. You gotta put the time in and work your way up.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“It is, but it’s worth it in the long run.” She sighed. “You’re always looking for the easy way out.”
“Yeah, but I really put my time into looking for the easy way out.” His smile had lost none of its charm.
The guy was hard to resist when he tried. Sometimes she envied him. Even when times were good, she didn’t go a day without worrying about something but Quinn, well, in his own words, “refused to be life’s bitch.”
She followed his nonchalant gaze around the apartment yard. Theirs was the only illuminated balcony in the complex, but the street lamps flooded the empty parking lot beneath them with light.
“You know, when we moved in here, the landlord showed us two units, but the other one didn’t have a balcony. Benji wanted to go with this one so he could grow tomatoes out here in the springtime. I can’t help but think if I’d just told him to go to the stinking Farmer’s Market instead, Ryan Brokaw never would’ve fallen and then—”
“Oh, Jesus. Don’t beat yourself up over that. The guy isn’t dead; he just broke his chicken wing.”
She expected Benji not to get it, but Quinn watched sports, he played sports … he should understand the repercussions of a star player being benched before the playoffs. She figured he did, but he just didn’t care. That was to be expected, after all. When you didn’t take your own life seriously, how could you see the value of someone else’s?
“A playoff appearance can be a once in a lifetime opportunity for a ballplayer. I feel like I took that away from him. I know that’s what everyone thinks.”
Quinn shivered and wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Who cares? You have no reason to feel guilty, Cat. He took the playoffs away from himself because he was acting like a drunken douchebag. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can just start telling people to back off.”
“I guess.”
She knew he was right but unlike Quinn, Cat was life’s bitch. Worse, she was baseball’s bitch.
Quinn nudged her chair leg with his foot. “Benji tell you that nosy pig was here again, sniffing around the apartment like it was a donut shop?”
She’d been waiting for the perfect time to broach the subject and now met his eyes, ready give him her pitch. It had occurred to her on the flight home that the only way she and Benji could get rid of the detective was by getting Quinn to cooperate.
“Detective Kahn? Yeah. Benji called me in the middle of a press conference last night. Did you talk to him?”
“He left another card but I don’t have anything to say to him.”
“Well, I’m going to need you to tell him that.”
He looked away and she reached out to touch him lightly on the shoulder.
“I really need your help on this. He keeps coming around the stadium, Quinn. It makes it hard for me to tell people I didn’t do anything wrong with a cop on my heels.”
He didn’t respond. The balcony air fell quiet except for a few gusts of chilly wind swirling around the siblings.
“I know why you don’t want to talk to the cops. Trust me, I get it.”
“Get out of my head, Cat.”
“I’m not in your head, I’m only saying that I don’t like dealing with them, either. The McDaniels haven’t had the best experiences with the justice system.”
He scoffed. “That’s like saying the Cubs haven’t had the best experiences with championships.”
Cat ignored his attempt to get her off topic. “But this cop isn’t going to stop until he’s satisfied and right now he thinks we’re all hiding something because you keep avoiding him. So can’t you just talk to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything. It’s one phone call.”
“Yeah, right. You open the door of communication with these guys and they won’t leave you alone. They’re like telemarketers, except instead of getting a week in a timeshare, I’m getting a week in Erie County lockup.”
“Come on, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just tell him what happened, no matter how many times he asks, and eventually he’ll go away.”
“Jeez.” Quinn took a long look at the night sky before meeting her gaze with regretful green eyes. “Fine, I’ll call him tomorrow.”
Relief flooded over her. She clasped her hands together and bowed her head toward him. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Sis.” He smirked. “Maybe I’ll even offer to meet him for coffee and a donut, the oink-oink special.”
She rose to her feet and patted his head softly. Her luck was running out and it was best not to push it any further. “I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow.”