Think Twice

“I think he’s buried somewhere out in the desert. I think they killed him too.”

Myron considered that. Donna studied his face.

“You don’t agree,” she said.

“I don’t know.”

“But?”

“But I think Bo’s alive.”

“Why?”

Myron said nothing.

“The attorney-client privilege again?”

“Do you know Bo’s real name?” Myron asked.

Now it was Donna Kravat who stayed quiet.

“Donna?”

“You seem like a good guy,” she said. “But I don’t really know you. I don’t know why you’re here.”

“I told you.”

“You found something out about Bo, and now you’re looking for him. Like I said before, I think he’s buried in the desert somewhere. But if he’s not, if he’s on the run, maybe a guy like you is part of the reason why.”

“It’s not. I want to help.”

Her face closed down. She put the sunglasses back on and lay back. Myron had to find a way to get her to speak to him again.

“You’re a basketball fan,” he said.

She didn’t reply.

“So you remember Greg Downing, right?”

That got her attention. She lowered the sunglasses and looked over the rims at him. “Of course. I even saw you two go head-to-head in college. I was sorry to hear he died so young. I was a fan.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“Greg Downing? No.”

“Did your son ever mention him?”

“No, never.” She sat all the way back up now. “How would Jordan have been connected to Greg Downing?”

“Bo may have been friends with Greg.”

“What? When?”

She met Myron’s eye. Myron just nodded.

“I don’t understand. You think Bo and Greg Downing...”

“I don’t know. It’s why I’m here. I need to find Bo. Please, Donna. What was Bo’s real name?”

“No, sorry, that’s not how that works,” she said. “You come here unannounced. You ask about my murdered son. What aren’t you telling me?”

“There’s nothing to tell right now,” Myron said. “If I learn anything, I promise to tell you. Please.”

She stood now and slipped into a cover-up. She put her hands on her hips and let loose a big sigh. “He claimed his real name was Brian Connors.”

“Claimed?”

“He wouldn’t give me a Social Security number or anything. It was all off the books. So I don’t know if it’s real or not.”

“Did he say where he was from?”

“Somewhere in Oklahoma.”

“Do you know if he has any family?”

“He was close to his mother. Her name is Grace.”

“Father? Siblings?”

“The parents were divorced a long time. The father’s dead. There may be a brother, I’m not sure. Bo was very secretive about his past. I don’t know why.” She moved closer to him. “How long are you in town?”

“Probably just overnight.”

“Do you want to have dinner with me?”

Myron hesitated. She held his eye and boy, it seemed like a come-on, but he really wasn’t sure. He raised his left hand feebly, pointed to his ring, and cringingly said, “I’m married.”

“Me too.”

And then, because Myron was smooth, he said, “Oh.”

“But you know what they say: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“Yeah,” Myron said. Then: “That’s not really my style.”

“Then how about as two former ACC athletes? I think there’s more we should discuss. But I can’t right now. Where are you staying?”

“The Wynn.”

“I’ll meet you at Mizumi. Tonight. Eight o’clock.”

Chapter Seven

Myron called Esperanza as he walked back to the Mercedes SUV.

“There’s going to be a lot of Brian Connors.”

“Mother is named Grace.” Myron slid into the backseat of the car with the phone on his ear. The driver shifted the SUV into drive and started down the road. “He’s maybe from Oklahoma.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“Thanks.” Myron hung up and sat back.

They’d traveled about two more blocks when Myron realized something was wrong.

“Excuse me,” he said to the driver. “Where’s Harold?”

“He had to take off. I’m his replacement.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sal.”

“Sal, I’m Myron.”

“Nice to meet you, Myron.”

“Likewise. Harold said something about his wife being sick.”

“Yeah, that’s why he had to leave. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“No worries,” Myron said.

Myron surreptitiously tried the car door. Locked. Not unexpected. He checked his phone to make sure the phone locator was on. It was. It always was. He and Win shared locations all the time.

Just in case.

Just in case something like this arose. Myron dropped a pin and pressed the silent alarm button on his phone. It would reach Win and let him know that trouble was a-brewing.

Then, with the car stopped at a traffic light, Myron leaned forward, snaked his arm around Sal’s neck, and pulled back hard against the man’s throat.

Sal made a gurgling noise.

Myron dug in deeper, cutting off the air supply. Sal’s hands flew up to the crook of Myron’s elbow, feebly clawing at it, trying to find some way to dislodge or loosen the grip.

Myron held tight.

With his mouth close to Sal’s ear, Myron whispered, “My driver’s name was Fred. And he’s single.”

Myron flexed the bicep to get an even tighter squeeze.

Sal’s body bucked.