Think Twice

“Left.”

“Yikes. That’s my favorite toe. What happened?”

“A bad man tried to cut it off with pruning shears.”

“And what happened to the bad man?”

“Win happened to him.”

“Is it okay if I’m okay with that?”

“It is.”

“Myron?”

“Yes.”

“I’m keeping it light to stave off my panic.”

“I know,” Myron said. “Me too. But it’s okay.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Maybe later. Right now, I just want to hear your voice.”

“Is that code for phone sex?” she asked.

“I’m on Win’s plane.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

Myron smiled and felt the warmth spread through him. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too. Are you free Tuesday?”

“I can be.”

“I’ll be in town to interview the Manhattan district attorney.”

“Oh wow, great.”

The phone clicked. Myron checked and saw it was Chaz calling him back. Through the line, Terese said, “Incoming call?”

“Yeah. Can I get back to you in a few?”

“I’m half asleep. Let’s talk in the morning, okay?”

Terese was the least needy person he knew, far less needy than Myron, but he said okay and they both said love you again and then Myron clicked over to the other call. Mee brought him over a Yoo-hoo, already shaken and poured into a glass. Myron hoped she hadn’t thrown in any absinthe.

“Myron!” Chaz said with the genuine enthusiasm that had made him such a popular player, sportscaster, and now coach. “As I live and breathe.”

“Thanks for calling me back so fast.”

“For you? Always.”

There had been a time many years ago when Chaz Landreaux, so-called “street kid” (when that euphemism was too often used) from the South Ward, had gotten himself in trouble with mob-connected agents. Myron and Win helped him out of that mess, and Chaz had ended up as one of Myron’s first clients. When Myron chose to close MB Reps and leave the business, Chaz had moved on to a new agency with young Black talent. When Myron returned, Chaz did not. Chaz was a loyal guy. He would never have left Myron of his own accord. But Myron had chosen to quit the business and so Chaz had found alternative representation, and his new agency had done good by him. It wouldn’t be fair, Chaz explained, to move back. Myron understood.

“Congrats on the new job,” Myron said.

Chaz had just landed the job as the University of Kentucky’s new men’s head basketball coach.

“Thanks,” Chaz said. “But you already congratulated me about that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Even sent a gift basket of food.”

“Was it any good?”

“Gift baskets of food are never any good.”

“True,” Myron said. Then: “I need a favor, Chaz.”

“Okay.”

“I’m hoping it’ll end up being a favor for you too.”

“Oh boy, what a pitch,” Chaz said. “You’re a great salesman.”

Everyone’s a wiseass.

“I hear you’re looking for a head assistant coach.”

“Ah. You want to pitch a client?”

“Not a client,” Myron said. “But can you give Spark Konners an interview?”

“Funny.”

“What?”

“I got his résumé on my desk here. Of course, I got about a thousand résumés. How do you know him? Oh wait. Greg Downing, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Greg liked him a lot. That much I can say. The truth is, I really don’t know much about his qualifications other than that.”

“Uh-huh,” Chaz said.

Myron sipped the Yoo-hoo. He thought he’d outgrown the taste years ago. Now, maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was fear of aging, maybe it was almost losing Terese’s favorite toe, but he found comfort in the old nectar.

“So you don’t know if he’s any good,” Chaz continued.

“I don’t, no.”

“So why are you making this call?”

“I owe him,” Myron said.

“Like you owe him a favor?”

“Worse,” Myron said. “I wronged him.”

“How?”

“Long story and one I can’t tell you. I just did him wrong.”

“And you’re trying to make amends?”

“This won’t make amends. But maybe something is better than nothing.”

Chaz didn’t say anything for a few beats. Then: “I know you, Myron. You don’t ‘wrong’ people without a reason.”

“There was a reason. But it’s not a reflection on Spark. He’s an innocent.”

“Fair enough,” Chaz said. “His résumé looks pretty solid anyway. I’ll interview him.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’ll announce it publicly. Even if he doesn’t get the job, that should get him some cred.”

Myron told Chaz he appreciated it. They hung up. He sat back.

The plane began its descent. Myron looked out the window. Montana. A whole lot of beautiful nothingness. That wasn’t a judgment. When you live on the East Coast, it’s just different. Montana is twenty times bigger than Myron’s home state of New Jersey. Twenty times bigger. Montana has about a million people while New Jersey has over nine million. Not to be all mathy, but that means that New Jersey has 1,260 people per square mile. Montana? About 7.5 people per square mile.

Different.

Myron checked the app. The phone he was tracking — he was still assuming it belonged to Spark’s brother Bo/Brian — was still at the Budget Inn. A rental car waited for Myron at the airport. He put the Budget Inn into Google Maps. The app told him it would be a nine-minute ride.