Think Twice

Win filled Myron in on what Kabir had told him at the Frick. Myron listened. He didn’t like it. Myron had played in basketball pickup games his whole life. Pickup games were celestial, magic, nirvana, a place where everyone starts anew, where your wealth or status are meaningless, where your game matters and only your game, where you can suddenly form a bond and even a friendship with people you’ve never met before. You didn’t know what your fellow players did for a living. You didn’t know if they were married or had kids or anything about them, except that maybe they couldn’t dribble with their weak hand or they played too lax on defense or man, could they jump high for a rebound. They were Ronnie or Ace or TJ or if there were two guys with the same name, they’d be Big Jim and Little Jim, and most of the time, even if you played with the guys for years, you might not know their last name. Because it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the game. It was childish and warm and competitive and a bubble. There was the stale smell of a small gym, the dribbling of the ball, the squeaks of sneakers on the wood floor. You called out screens and high-fived and argued whether the contact constituted calling a foul and most of the time, nah, forget it and get payback on the next play.

But even when Myron dialed his game back, even when he saw the competition was not good enough for him to go more than 20 or 30 percent, the other players still knew — this guy had game. This guy was great. Myron could never hide that.

And neither could someone like Greg.

It was bothersome, no doubt, but when Win finished, Myron said, “You didn’t text me about Greg’s basketball game.”

“No, I did not.”

“So?”

“Jeremy Downing is not in the military.”

It took a few seconds for Myron to register what Win said. “Wait, what?”

“After you told me that Jeremy had not flown in from overseas, I began an extensive background check on him.”

“On him,” Myron repeated.

“Yes.”

“On my son. You ran an extensive background check on my son.”

Win put a black long-sleeved shirt over his head. “Is this how we are going to do this?”

Myron said nothing.

“You say he’s your son, I remind you that it’s only biological, that you barely know him, you say that doesn’t matter, that I should have asked you before I did anything like this, I say there is no harm in doing a background check, that if I found nothing you would be none the wiser, you say yes but you should have, I interrupt you and remind you that there is no one on this planet I care about more than you, that I would never do anything to harm you, that whatever I do, I do to protect you because I love you. Is that how we are going to have to play this?”

Myron shook his head. “You’re something.”

“I am. Can we skip past all that now?”

Myron nodded. “We can. But one thing first.”

“Go on.”

“You gave up Bo without telling me. Then you did a background check on Jeremy without telling me. This keeping things from me — it needs to stop.”

Win considered that. “You are correct. I will stop.”

Nothing more bizarre than a reasonable Win. “So tell me what you found,” Myron said.

“Jeremy did indeed serve in the military in various elite and clandestine divisions. Just as he told us. But he was discharged three years ago.”

“Voluntarily?”

“I don’t know yet. This is the top echelon of our military apparatus. There is intentional misdirection and confusion in any kind of records.”

“So maybe he’s still there,” Myron said. “Maybe saying he was discharged is a cover.”

“It could be,” Win said.

“But you don’t think so.”

“His discharge wasn’t announced. I had to dig deep to find it.”

Win picked up a barbell and started to do Zottman curls. The up move is a standard bicep curl, but then you flip your wrist so that the downward move, slow and under control, works the forearms.

“Jeremy also lives in New Orleans under the pseudonym Paul Simpson. ‘Paul’ works in IT at a Dillard’s department store in nearby Gretna.”

“Again: Could be a cover,” Myron said.

“Again: Could be indeed. I draw no conclusions. We report, you decide.”

Myron frowned. “You did not just say that.”

“I wish I hadn’t now that I think about it. Either way, Kabir will continue to dig unless you tell me to call him off.”

Myron thought about it. “There’s probably nothing to this.”

“Then there’s no reason not to continue,” Win said. His watch vibrated. He checked it. “Sadie just landed.”

“You loaned her your plane?”

“Not loaned. Chartered. I will bill her for it, and she in turn will bill Greg Downing.”

“Makes sense. How did she hook up with Bo Storm?”

“This will interest you,” Win said. “She got a call from our hefty friend Spark Konners.”

“Bo’s brother.”

“You felt bad about that, didn’t you?”

“Conning Spark into coming under the pretense of a job offer and then holding him against his will?” Myron asked. “Yeah, a little.”

“So you recommended his services to Chaz.”

“I asked Chaz to interview him. That a problem?”

“Not for me, no. Apparently, when Bo was released by Joey the Toe’s men, Spark flew into Vegas to help.”