I wrapped my arms around Vince’s neck, the blanket falling to the balcony floor. His hands slid up my back, one going to my nape, the other pushing against the spot between my shoulder blades, trying to draw me nearer.
Which was impossible. My body was squashed, delightfully so, against his.
And then Vince’s phone went off.
We both murmured curses, mine a bit more colorful than his. “Let me see if I need to take it,” he said, stepping away from me and pulling his phone from his pocket.
“Carla?” I asked as he looked at the caller ID.
He shook his head. “Carla has strict instructions not to bother me tonight. I don’t know this number.”
I liked the thought of what Carla’s no interruptions implied. Vince’s brow furrowed and he flipped the phone up to take the call.
“Yes?” After a second of listening, his eyes flew to me, and for one panicked second I thought something had happened to Ben. But no, Lorelei would have called me on my phone.
Which was in my jacket pocket hanging in Vince’s closet.
“Is it about Ben?” I whispered. Vince shook his head, and I started to relax.
Until I thought of Raymond Joseph.
We hadn’t talked about it tonight – I hadn’t wanted to think about it – but surely Vince knew about Raymond being caught. Was he getting information from somebody?
Was there anyone out there who knew more info than one of Jimmy’s “guys”?
“Now is not really convenient,” he said in a no-nonsense voice, then listened. “I see. Yes. All right. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He flipped the phone shut, let out a long sigh and reached out, putting his hand on my arm. “That was Jack Schiller,” he said, watching carefully for my reaction.
And damned if I didn’t give him one. I’m a professional poker player, I make a living at not letting people know what I’m thinking. But, on total reflex, as if Jack were right here on the balcony with us, I took a step away from Vince.
His hand dropped away from my arm.
“And?” I asked. “What did he want?”
“He says there’s been a break in Paulie’s case. He wants me to come down to the station.”
“Right now?” I asked, although I knew the answer.
Vince nodded. He looked out into the night then down into the parking lots below us at Palms Place and even across Arville Street to the Loose Caboose and its parking lot. “You think you’re being watched?” I asked.
He shrugged. “The timing’s a little suspect, that’s all.”
I didn’t say anything to that – what could I? I started to turn from Vince and head into the condo, but he pulled me to him, swept me into a deep dip and kissed the life out of me. When he let me back up, he said, “Just in case, I thought we’d give him a show.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I was immensely sorry that our night was ending.
“I have a feeling this is going to take a while, but you’re welcome to stay until I get back.”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll head home.”
“You’re okay to drive?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I really hadn’t had that much wine, and the cold air – as well as Jack’s phone call – had killed whatever buzz I had.
“I’m going to change before I go,” Vince said. “So I’ll say goodbye here.” He had his hand on the doorknob, but I put mine over his.
“Vince, you haven’t mentioned it at all, and I didn’t want to, but you do know about Raymond Joseph, right?”
He nodded, just a small movement of his head. He didn’t say any more, just took my elbow and walked me into the hallway, softly closing the door behind us.
“From what I understand, it has nothing to do with your transactions. He went rogue when he couldn’t get ahold of JoJo,” he said quietly.
“That’s how I understood it, too.”
Again, I wondered if Vince’s informants were any match for Jimmy’s? Hell, maybe they were even the same guys.
“If you hear anymore, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know.”
“Do you think he’ll rat you out?” Raymond didn’t know about Vince. JoJo was his only contact. And I was the only one who could link JoJo to Vince. Of course I never would, and I believe Vince knew that.
“No,” I said, instinctively knowing that Raymond wouldn’t do that.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I destroyed this kid’s life.”
“He was never going to make it in the pros anyway, he’s too small.”
“I know, but he might have had a good year or two at the league minimum, that would have set up his mom and sister for awhile. And then he could have, I don’t know, gone into coaching or something. That’s all dead to him now.”
“You didn’t destroy his life, Anna. You’re not going to come forward, so only he can tie himself to the games he’s already shaved. And he’s not going to do that. I watched those games, there’s no way to prove he shaved points. He’s a very smart kid.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s why I chose him.” Vince’s clinical eye to the situation didn’t make me feel any better, but I could tell Vince didn’t want to continue that line of conversation.
He opened the door behind him, stepped back. “I’ll call you soon?”
“Thank you for what was – mostly – a lovely evening.”
He gave me a small smile. “Rain check on dessert?”
“Definitely.” He placed a quick kiss on my lips, much less dramatic than the one on his balcony, and went back into his condo while I turned and walked down the hallway to the elevator.
The next morning at breakfast Jimmy again got me alone to update me on Raymond. “My sources say he’s left school.”
“They kicked him off the team?”
Jimmy shrugged. “Nobody knew for sure. He mighta left on his own, they mighta kicked him out. He ain’t playing tomorrow, they know that for sure.”
“Jesus,” I murmured.
“I do know all they got is the guy that says this Joseph kid came to him. Still nothing about…”
“Yeah.” I nodded, trying to think. “So what do your guys think is happening?”
“They think the Feds are trying to make a case. Probably looking at games he’s played in. But it won’t stick if they can’t either turn Joseph or find a paper trail.”
“They won’t.”
“Which? Turn him, or find the money?”
“Both. Neither.”
“Well. That’s good, then.”
“Yeah,” I said, but I certainly didn’t feel any better. “Keep me posted,” I said to Jimmy, but didn’t really need to.
I’d told Jimmy they wouldn’t find anything on Raymond – he was that good at what he’d done. But there had been that Penn State game. Where he not only had to shave points, he had had to make sure the Hogs lost outright. He’d had to do something extra in that game, and he had. The kid he’d guarded had had the game of his life.
Would it be noticed?
After I dropped Ben and Gus off at home, I headed back to the Orleans to play poker. After eight hours at a cash game, I was down about three hundred and decided to call it a day. Well, night actually, I thought after looking at my watch. It was past dinnertime, but I’d bet there’d be some leftovers in the fridge. My back ached a little, but I figured eight hours would only be half a session in the upcoming Marathon.
I left the table and cashed out. I got to the end of the poker room and stopped. I would turn left to go to the parking deck, right would take me to the casino floor. And from there to the book.
Friday night. All of the Saturday college basketball games would be on the board. I wondered if the CIU game would even be on the board, or if they’d pull it due to the allegations against Raymond?
Maybe I should just check. I wouldn’t bet on it or anything. Just look and see if it was on the board. And if it was, what was the spread. I turned right. Four steps later and I was already mentally calculating how much money I had left in my pocket from my poker bank roll, my hand even reaching for it.
Damn.
I took a ninety-degree turn to my right, trying to get myself under control. After three steps I stopped, my head down, breathing much harder than normal.
“Hi, welcome to Fuddrucker’s, what can I get you?”
I looked into the pimply face of a kid behind a food court counter. “What?” I asked as I took in my surroundings.
“What can I get you?” he asked again.
Yes. Food. That’s what I’d come this way for. “I’ll have a large chocolate shake,” I said, knowing better than to order anything that would take more than a couple of minutes to prepare. In my current state, I didn’t think I’d stick around for it.
I paid the kid and thankfully one of his co-workers had my shake made even before the kid could make change. I took the shake to a table, used a spoon to scoop out some of the whipped cream. Dangled the cherry over my mouth and let it drop. Took a long drag from my straw, giving myself brain freeze.
And slowly, so slowly, I gathered control. My hand eased away from the wad of cash in my pants pocket. My breathing returned to normal.
I might need to get a firmer handle on this, or I was going to end up splitting my pants. I stood up, tossed my empty cup away and headed for the parking deck.
Eight days without placing a bet.
I crashed right after raiding the fridge. Raided. Destroyed. Totally cleaned out.
Yeah, I definitely had to get a better handle on this. Can’t just trade betting for eating. What was that called? Sublimation? Something like that. At least if I was going to sublimate, it should be with something not so fattening.
Shopping? I hated shopping. And it could prove just as costly as betting.
Exercise? I knew compulsive runners. Even a couple of pro players I knew were health nuts, which is hard to do when you spend hours and hours sitting on your ass playing cards. My idea of exercise was the walk from the parking deck to the poker room.
Drinking? Thoughts of Jack and his demons rushed through me.
I’d take my chances with Lorelei’s leftovers. I could always buy bigger pants.
I set my alarm so I’d be up in time to watch the college games that started at noon on the east coast – CIU being one of them.
When I woke, I’d gotten a – for me – full night of sleep, but was still a bit out of it. I threw on some flannel pajama bottoms and a ratty Wisconsin sweatshirt leftover from my college days, slipped my feet into some slippers and groggily made my way to the book room.
Ben was there, already dressed and seated in the second row of seats, his little tablet and pen on a side table next to his chair, along with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate with a fully-loaded, half-eaten bagel on it.
The Corporation used to do breakfast every morning, but during college basketball season, they tended to do breakfast on their own on Saturdays and Sundays. Lorelei usually did bagels – that she ordered especially for Ben from New York – on Saturdays and then a nice, larger brunch on Sundays. Most Sundays, the boys came over for brunch, so it was kind of like meeting for breakfast anyway.
But this morning, it was just Ben and I, Lorelei having already left her breakfast contribution – the bagels and a large pot of coffee – on top of the little concession stand.
“Lor around?” I asked as I helped myself to a mug of coffee. I’d come back for a bagel later, once the caffeine had kicked in.
“She went to a dance class.”
“That’s good.” Lorelei liked to keep up with a few classes a week. I’m not sure when she fit them in, maybe when I took the boys to breakfast. In the early years with us, she’d pick up a subbing gig every now and then, but it had been a long time since her last one. I don’t know if it was hope or just maintenance that kept her going to classes, but I was glad she did it.
Dancing for my sublimation? Nah, when I took a class with Lor once, years ago, I discovered I had no grace. And I’d hated every minute of it.
I sat sideways on the large chair in the front row, my legs in front of me, knees in the air, toes curled under the arm of the chair. The same one I’d sat on when Vince was in here with me. It seemed like a thousand years ago.
I hadn’t heard from Vince since Thursday night. I didn’t really want to think about what that meant. Had whatever Jack had learned about Paulie’s murder led Vince to discover who the murderer was? Would Jack purposely on accident let something slip that would give Vince the answer and then try to trip Vince up? Was Vince even now driving out into the desert with a body in the trunk of his expensive car? With Jack following?
I really didn’t believe that.
Mostly didn’t believe it.
I took a deep swallow of the hot coffee, let it wash down my throat, let it burn.
“That’s a shame,” Ben said, pulling me out of my reverie.
“Hmmm?” I turned my head to the right, to see him behind me.
He pointed to the center, large screen. “That guard from Central Iowa. Such a shame.”
I turned my head forward, so that I stared at the wall, not able to look – not yet – at the screen. Knowing what I’d see.
“What have they been saying?” I asked Ben, taking another drink of coffee, burrowing myself deeper into the plush leather. Trying to hide.
“Not much. They don’t know much. Too much speculation. Not any facts. Putz,” Ben said, but I wasn’t sure if he was talking about Raymond or the announcer. “They’re ruining that boy’s life.”
No, I’d already done that.
“So, they don’t really know anything for sure?” I almost said yet, but cut myself off.
“No, they’ve made lots of noise, shown clips of the boy missing some shots. Three-pointers with the defender right on him. Bah.” He brushed his hand in a dismissive gesture in the general direction of the TV screens.
Good, keep looking in that vein, I silently urged the media. They’d never find what they wanted there. Raymond had shaved his points on defense. Being a step slower than the kid he covered, being half a step further back than normal when his guy would take a shot.
The media would never find it. But the Feds might. They’d know better where to look.
“And this is all from one guy accusing the kid?” I asked Ben.
“So they say. Probably some schmuck who wanted his name in the papers. Or lost money on them himself and wanted revenge.”
“They’ve released his name?”
“Yes. Somebody named Bubba Kinney.”
“Bubba? Are you serious?”
“I assume it’s a nickname.”
I thought about the clientele in the bar I’d met at with Raymond. Yeah, any of those guys could definitely have been a Bubba. Maybe Raymond had even gone back there looking for a…sponsor.
From the corner of my eye I saw Ben pick up his pen and tablet. I heard the rustle of pages. “Who do you have today, Hannah, darling?”
“Nobody,” I said and took a gulp of coffee.
The rustle of Ben’s tablet silenced. After a moment, it began again. Ben never said a word about my lack of action on today’s games.
I silently blessed him for that.
At halftime, they recapped the Raymond Joseph story, now having a picture of Bubba Kinney. It looked like a mug shot. That wasn’t too surprising. Raymond would be smart enough to go to someone with a less-than-stellar reputation. It was just his bad luck that this guy turned out to have a moral streak about college basketball.
You never can tell with criminals.
All morning and into the afternoon my eyes flitted from screen to screen, seeing the games being played, but not really processing them. It was so much different when you didn’t have money on the outcome.
When there was no Hummer.
I had more coffee than usual, hoping the strong brew might give me the jump-start that I needed, but no. It only made me use the bathroom about every thirty minutes.
The games were drawing to a close by seven. Lorelei had brought some sandwiches in at some point, and I remember Ben and I eating them, but mostly I sat and pretended to watch the games I couldn’t have cared less about.
And thought about Raymond Joseph.
As the last of the game clocks ran out, I heard the rustle of Ben’s tablet. “How’d you do?” I asked.
Ben didn’t bet on the games. Never bet on them. Ben bet with himself. He’d take each game and declare the point spread and the over/under, writing them in his tablet. Before they were posted at the casinos. Then he’d write down the casinos’ predictions. He won if his point spread was closer to the actual than the professionals’ picks.
“I won,” he said, not surprisingly. Ben almost always won. He’d been setting point spreads – for pay and for fun – for over fifty years.
“That’s good,” I said. At least somebody was a winner today.
“Hannah, darling,” he said softly. “What is it? Maybe I can help.”
I turned to my side in the seat again, pulled my legs up, just like when I’d first came into the room hours ago. I wasn’t truly facing Ben, which was good. I didn’t want to see the disappointment.
There was irony in here somewhere. The whole reason JoJo came to life was because I was too ashamed for Ben – and The Boys, and Lorelei – to know I was in debt to a loan shark. And now, because JoJo’s life had caught up with her, he was likely to find it all out anyway.
“I…I did something I’m not very proud of,” I said quietly.
Ben didn’t say anything, but he must have hit the mute on the remote for the one screen that had the sound going, because the room fell silent.
“And because of it, somebody got hurt.”
“We all do things we’re not proud of sometimes,” he finally said.
I nodded, still staring at the wall ahead of me, giving Ben my profile. Like the side angle of a mug shot.
I didn’t need to burden him with the gory details. He’d know if I was even bringing it up it was bad. And of course he’d know it’d have something to do with my gambling. I dreaded this, had dreaded this moment, since JoJo came into being. But a small part of it was freeing.
Like one of those steps, I was giving myself up to a higher power. Only, in this case, my higher power was Ben.
“Hannah, darling.” He placed his small, wrinkly hand on my shoulder, and I turned my head to look at his warm, concerned, brown eyes. “You want I should help you with this?”
No need for details. No judgment. Just willing to help me out of whatever mess I’d gotten myself into. That was my Ben. Why I loved him. Why I so desperately did not want to tell him everything. To introduce him to JoJo.
“No, Ben. There’s nothing you could do to help.” I placed my hand on top of his. “But thank you.”
He squeezed my shoulder and removed his hand, sitting back in his chair. “Can you make it right?”
“I don’t know,” I truthfully answered. I waited a moment and added, “But I’m going to try.”