I waited in my rental car in the deserted parking lot Raymond had directed me to during our brief phone conversation. I was glad he wasn’t pushing his luck and choosing another bar, but it was cold as hell in Iowa at the end of February. I kept the car running and the heater blasting.
A bright, sunny, Sunday afternoon. Beautiful day, really, if you didn’t mind the frigid temperatures.
I’d met Vince to pick up Raymond’s winnings late Saturday night. He’d asked me if I was in JoJo mode. When I’d said yes, he handed me an envelope with the cash and said he’d call me on Monday, when Anna was available.
No judgment. No shaking his head at my alter-ego. He just wanted to talk with Anna, not JoJo.
I’d almost kissed him.
Instead, I’d said I looked forward to his call then tried to get a flight to Dubuque under my fake flying name, Marie VanSipe, only to find that I’d missed the last flight out that night. So, I got a flight for Sunday morning and went home.
I came home after everyone was in bed, and I was gone before anybody was up, so Lor and Ben would have thought I was still playing cards. And given that I was planning on playing some long hours this week, it wouldn’t raise any flags.
I wouldn’t outright lie to them if they asked, but they probably wouldn’t. With the time change, I’d be home in time for Sunday dinner.
I started thinking about all those great meals of Lorelei’s that I’d be available for now that I wasn’t betting games. My vision of her homemade mac and cheese was cut short by a burst of cold air as Raymond Joseph plunked down in the passenger seat.
Great double agent I am. The kid – hell, his whole car – totally snuck up on me.
I looked across him to see a beat-up, late model piece of shit parked next to me. Happily, I noted that Raymond hadn’t raised suspicions by using any of his ill-gotten gains on new wheels.
Not surprised, though. Raymond was smarter than that.
“JoJo,” Raymond said, distaste evident in his voice.
“Raymond,” I said and handed him the envelope Vince had given me. “Nice work yesterday.”
He snorted. “Shit, I let it get too close. We almost lost.”
“But you didn’t”
He shot me a if-looks-could-kill glance. “But we almost did.”
I ignored his look. “It’ll help you in the playoffs, people will underestimate you.”
“Yeah, but if I do this shit then, I –”
“Raymond,” I cut him off. “You won’t be asked to do this in the playoffs.”
I wasn’t sure what emotion was keener in his eyes, the relief, or then the panic. “What do ya mean?”
“You’re at the top of the conference, yes, but everybody says the Big Ten is overrated this year.”
“So?”
“You’ll be underdogs.”
He looked at me questioningly. Of course he didn’t get it. Only a degenerate gambler like myself would.
“You’ll be no good in the playoffs. CIU will be the underdogs after the first round.”
“So?”
“So? You can’t fix a game if you’re the underdog. What are you going to do, have people put thousands of dollars on your promise that you’ll try really, really hard to win? It’s a situation you have no control over, Raymond.”
“Shit, like I have control over any of this.” The disgust on his face was obvious.
I almost patted his arm but knew he’d rebuke me.
“There’s two weeks left of regular season, and then this is all over.”
“You gonna leave me alone next year?”
“Yes. Pros don’t hold any interest to my…associate. Pro players make so much money there’s no incentive for the risk that’s involved.”
“That’s why you go after the refs in the pros.”
“I don’t go after anyone,” I justified.
He shot me another look. “You came after me.”
I nodded. “You’re the only one.”
“The only one that knew.” It wasn’t a question. His eyes bored into me.
“Yes.”
“Fuck,” he said and looked away from me, out the window.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“They say I’m too little for the pros,” he said softly. “That I’m a great college ball player, but that’s as far as I’m gonna get.”
“I’d heard that, too.”
“Another reason you picked me?”
“Yeah. But you know what? I’ve never seen a player play with as much heart as you, Raymond. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true. Prove them wrong.”
Raymond Joseph had better people in his life to give him a pep talk than the woman who’d lured him to the dark side, but I said it anyway.
“Take the Hogs to the Final Four and show them what you’ve got.”
“Christ, shut up,” he said.
“Sorry.”
He started to chuckle. “You know how you were telling me about the voice you hear?”
“Yes?”
“My voice is named L’il Roy.”
“Is that a rapper or something?”
He looked at me. “Man, you sure are white, aren’t you?”
I shrugged.
“No, L’il Roy’s no rapper. He’s somebody I grew up with in Chicago.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
He let out a half snort, half laugh. “There ain’t nothin’ nice ‘bout L’il Roy.” His voice seemed to grow more…city…as he went on. Maybe just thinking about the South Side of Chicago did that to him. I know a week back in Madison for the holidays and I’m talking like a character from Fargo.
“He was a year older than me, but got held back so we were in the same grade growing up. He had an older brother named Leroy, so he became known as Little Roy. His real name was James.”
I stayed silent. This was the most Raymond had ever said to me, so of course I didn’t interrupt him.
“James and I played together as kids. Played hoops every night. Until ‘bout the ninth grade. I kept playing hoops at night, but James fell in with LeRoy. And LeRoy was no good.”
I turned the heater down a little. It was warm enough, and Raymond’s voice was getting softer as his memory deepened.
“Anyway. Basketball saved me. Gave me a place to go in the evenings, after school, something to shoot for. That, and my momma wouldn’t let me fall in with that crowd.”
“She sounds like a great mom. Looking out for you the way she did. Trying to help your sister, now.”
His shoulders tensed. “Yeah. She is. And she always said no good would come to L’il Roy.”
“And was she right?”
“Depends who you ask. He’d say he was doing just fine.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised.
“You thought I’d say he was dead.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Nah. He’s too mean to die. Did some time, though. But now he runs three blocks.”
“Is that good?”
“For him, yeah. For everyone else that lives there, no. And not for his brother, LeRoy.”
“Why?”
“He ran those blocks…before L’il Roy killed him.”
“God.”
“He’s the voice I hear. Just like when we were ten-year-olds and he’d try to get me to come with him at night and I’d stay to play ball. In that same voice of his. ‘Come on, Raaaaymond’,” he said, his voice sing-songy. “I hate that fucking voice.”
Raymond’s self-loathing was like a third passenger in the car.
God, what had I done to this kid? He only had the voice now, but the feeling was coming, I knew it. And once the voice met the feeling it was all over.
It wasn’t really making amends, and he certainly wouldn’t see it that way, but it was something I could do for Raymond.
I could quiet his voice. Silence L’il Roy.
He turned to open the car door, and I slipped my JoJo phone into his jacket pocket. His only connection to me. I waited for him to notice, but he kept on with his exit. Too hasty to make a getaway to notice, plus his bulky parka helped.
“This was the last time,” he said over his shoulder just before he slammed the door. Repeating what he said to me every time. But this time he was right, even if he didn’t know it yet.
“Yes, Raymond,” I said to my empty car. “It is.”
Monday morning with the boys, I pulled out a magazine – and not even a Sports Illustrated or ESPN, but a Cosmo – to read after breakfast while the boys discussed the day’s games.
And even though I appeared to be deeply engrossed learning 101 ways to please my man (assuming I ever got the chance to try any of them out on anyone), I couldn’t help but overhear when Jimmy took a call on his cell phone then told Gus and Ben that his guy had just heard that the center for an ACC powerhouse was about to be picked up for questioning for allegedly beating up his girlfriend, and would most likely be out for tonight’s game.
News that hadn’t broken anywhere yet.
Jimmy knew those types of guys from his odds setting days and still maintained contact. Especially with tips like this.
You have about an hour to place that bet before the news breaks and the point spread changes, JoJo said in my head.
She might as well have spoken out loud for Jimmy and Gus both looked at their watches then signaled our waitress for the check.
“You getting in on this?” Jimmy asked me as he pulled some bills out of his wallet.
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll sit this one out.”
I didn’t explain. I still wasn’t able to say the words, “I’m going to stop betting.” They could have thought I didn’t have any money on me. And though they’d be happy to lend me some if I asked, they wouldn’t offer.
That’s not how things were done within The Corporation.
Ben, of course, wouldn’t make the bet. Ben never bet on games, never gambled at all beyond the friendly – well, okay, totally cutthroat – poker games at our dining room table.
Saul once alluded to Ben’s “past” with gambling. Ben never spoke of it, so I didn’t pry.
“I’ll bring Gus by your place later if you guys wanna get going,” Jimmy said.
I looked at Gus. “Is that okay with you?”
Gus looked at Jimmy. “Can we make a couple of stops?”
Jimmy shrugged his mammoth shoulders. “Yeah, sure, why not.”
Gus looked back to me. “I’ll see you later? Cards tonight?”
God, yes, that would keep me from thinking about the game I didn’t bet. “Sounds good. Jimmy, can you stay? We’ll do dinner then cards? I’ll tell Lor.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said, and I knew he was already dreaming about Lorelei’s cooking.
“Okay,” I said, glad that Gus was going with Jimmy, and that Ben and I would be able to leave and not wait around for Gus to place his bet. I didn’t know how long I could be tempted with a tip like Jimmy got and not bet.
Gus and Jimmy left the table after we settled up. I stood and waited for Ben to ease his way away from the table and slowly glide his walker out of the casino.
I looked the other way as we walked past the book room.
Lorelei nearly tackled me when we came in the house. “There you are. Finally.”
Poor thing. I’d dropped the bombshell about Jack possibly being Ben’s son two days ago, and since then had either been gone or Ben had been around us.
Which he was now. I tried to be discreet but widened my eyes and nodded my head toward Ben who stood in front of me.
But Lor was sharper than that and had her alibi at the ready. “I got this bill in the mail for something that I didn’t order. Can you come into the office and take a look?”
“Sure, let me get Ben settled.”
Ben was about to wave me away when Lor piped in. “I’ll get him settled. Go take a look. I left the receipt right in the middle of your desk. I’ll be there in a second.”
She’d already started walking with Ben into the living room, helping him with his jacket as they went.
One did not wave off Lorelei.
I went down the hall to our office, prepared to take a seat and wait for Lorelei so that I could answer her sure to be many questions.
At least answer the ones I could. I probably had just as many questions myself.
But as I entered the office, I stopped dead in my tracks in the doorway. In the middle of my desk sat not a questionable receipt, but a white tablecloth spread out to cover every inch of desktop and upon that a box, several plastic sandwich bags, the urn with Saul’s ashes, and a colander.
I won’t go into the nasty details, but try to imagine dumping three or four full ashtrays into a colander and hoping it sifts through. The grittier stuff went through pretty easily, but there were lots of large flakes that just kind of sat there in Lor’s stainless steel strainer.
“You are so buying me a new colander,” Lor said as she gently shook the thing back and forth while I held the box underneath.
“Fine,” I answered.
“And not some Walmart one either. I want a Williams Sonoma.”
“Fine.”
One of the larger flakes floated up and came to rest on Lor’s thumb, holding fast to the colander handle. She closed her eyes, swallowed down whatever she was feeling, and flicked the ash back into the pile. “And a manicure.”
“Throw in a pedicure. I really appreciate this, Lor.”
“Then explain to me why we’re doing this.”
We switched places, she holding the box and me taking the colander, its handle already covered with a light film of…Saul.
“When Saul died, he said that Ben and Rachael had a child together that Rachael gave away and Ben never knew about.”
“Rachael was Saul’s wife?” The same disbelief I’d felt when Saul had told me about Ben and Rachael having an affair was evident on Lorelei’s face.
“Yeah.”
“Holy crap.”
“Yeah.”
“And he told you Jack was this child?”
I shook my head. “No. He died before he could tell me that.”
“Then why do you think it?”
“A couple of things Saul said about Jack moving to Vegas…kind of like he’d been keeping tabs on Jack.”
“That’s it? That’s kind of thin.”
I shrugged. “The very first time I met Jack, there was something so familiar about him.” I didn’t bother to tell her it was in front of a municipal building that housed all sorts of twelve-step program meetings. Jack was there to attend an AA meeting. I was there to go to Gambler’s Anonymous. Neither of us had ended up going into the building.
Kind of said a lot about what was to happen between us.
“And then when I looked at that picture of Rachael, Saul and Ben. The one in the dining room?” Lorelei nodded. “I mean, I’d seen that picture everyday for ten years, but after meeting Jack, it was just so astonishing, the resemblance to Rachael. Except the eyes. Jack has Ben’s eyes.”
Lorelei was looking away, off into space, I suppose trying to picture Jack and Ben’s eyes. She lost her hold on the box and it slipped a bit to the side, some of Saul’s ashes floating onto the white tablecloth.
“And a new tablecloth,” she added to her inventory.
“You got it.”
“If you’re so sure Ben is Jack’s father, why are we getting samples from Saul?”
“Because Saul and Rachael were married at the time. Saul felt he wasn’t able to father children, but I don’t think he knew that for sure.” I shrugged, causing the colander to kick up more dust. “I guess it’s just for process of elimination. This could all be a wild goose chase and the parents that raised Jack in California are the ones who gave birth to him.”
“But you don’t think so?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
In the end we were able to find a couple of bone slivers…sheesh…and we bagged them up. As we were cleaning up the mess, I mentioned to Lorelei that Jimmy would be coming over for dinner and cards afterward.
“Why not call Jack and invite him over, too?”
I looked at her like she was crazy.
“Why not? Ben misses him. Jack liked playing cards with us before.”
“That’s when it was foreplay.”
She snorted. “Don’t give yourself so much credit. He loved playing cards with us.”
“I know,” I admitted.
“We’d be killing two birds with one stone. Ben gets to spend some time with Jack, and we get a hair sample or saliva or something from Jack.”
“I can’t call Jack and ask him to come over,” I whined.
“I can,” she said. She took a pencil off of the desk and, so as not to touch the phone with her dusty hands, pushed first speaker then arched a brow at me until I told her Jack’s number.
“Johanna?” he answered.
“Uh, no. Sorry, Jack, it’s Lorelei.” She mouthed the words “caller ID” to me.
“Is everything alright? Is Johanna hurt?”
I admit it, I got a thrill over how concerned his voice sounded.
“She’s fine,” Lorelei said quickly, and I could hear Jack’s loud exhale through the speaker.
“Ben?”
“He’s fine. Look, Jack, totally social call, here.”
“Oh.” That seemed to stop him.
“We’re having the boys over tonight for dinner and cards. And they’ve all been missing you at the table, so I thought you might want to join us.”
“Is Johanna in town?”
“Yes, where else would she be?”
It was a small snort, but I heard it. He was probably lifting that one damn brow, too. “And she knows you’re inviting me?”
“Yes.”
Silence. Then, “Am I on speaker phone?”
“Yes, but only because my hands are…dirty.”
More silence. “Johanna?” he said so softly I barely heard him. It was the exact same tone of voice he’d whisper to me in bed.
I cleared my throat. “Yes?”
“You okay with me coming over?”
No. God, no. Verbally sparring with him at the station or a funeral was one thing. But in my home? Where he’d spent so much time? Playing cards and trash talking with the boys, our eyes meeting across the table? No.
“Yeah. Sure. It’s fine,” I said with as much nonchalance as I could muster.
“What time?”
“Dinner’s at six,” Lorelei said.
“Can I bring anything?”
She gave me an “isn’t he the sweetest thing” look, but answered, “No, I’ve got it all covered, thanks.”
“Never had a doubt about that,” he said, knowing just how to stroke Lorelei. “See you then.” When he hung up, Lorelei punched the disconnect button with the pencil then dropped it into the garbage bag she had at the ready.
We put the sealed Ziploc bags to the side and poured Saul’s ashes back into the urn trying to kick up as little dust as possible. The box then went into the trash bag. I wiped the sides of the now covered urn with the tablecloth and set it back in its spot on the shelf. Lorelei and I both used the ends of the tablecloth to wipe as much from our hands as possible then put the once nice tablecloth – now rag – into the trash bag and sealed it up.
“Thank God the cleaning lady comes tomorrow,” Lorelei said.
“You got that right.”
“I’m going to take a very long shower,” she said.
“Me, too.”
We left the office, me carrying the garbage bag to the garage and the trash cans. When we parted at the hallway Lorelei would take to her bedroom and bathroom, I said, “Lor, throw in a massage and facial when you get your mani/pedi.”
“Thanks, Jo,” she said.
“If you haven’t already,” I said hoisting the trash bag as evidence of my gratitude, “you’re certainly going to earn it tonight.”