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  Bobby Garrett ended the late night call from Marquise Chambers and thanked the gods. Chambers had fired Bitch Blake and wanted to be represented by BG3. Chambers was big-time. He’d only been in the league a few years, which meant he’d be a cash cow for some time to come. Bobby couldn’t be happier. He’d been waiting for her clients to wake up. With any luck, Quise would be the first of many to ask themselves what kind of man sent a bitch to handle his business. Who cared if she graduated near the top of her class in both undergrad and law school? A real man wanted a man guarding his back, not a pair of tits, and he planned to step into the breach. When he first formed his agency he’d tried to raid her clients, but they were loyal to her, to a man. In the years since, he’d managed to corner some of the second tier athletes coming out of college, but he didn’t want to be second best. He wanted the cream.

  Last year he’d snatched the Heisman Trophy winner right out from under her nose. By treating the much heralded University of Miami quarterback to all the women he could fuck, a shiny BMW, and a big new house for his babymama, Bobby made it next to impossible for the QB to say no, and he hadn’t. The player signed with his agency on the day before the draft. Per his reputation, in order to squeeze every last cent out of the team during contract negotiations, Bobby kept him out of training camp. Economically, the tactic worked, but missing camp cost the quarterback in terms of learning the playbook and in bonding with other members of the team. As a result, he rode the bench during the summer exhibition games and rarely played more than a down or two during the regular season. Bobby didn’t care. Of course he pretended that he did, and made noises on his client’s behalf to the team’s GM about the lack of playing time, but he didn’t really. All he cared about was being paid. Period. And now he was on his way. The agent’s cut of Quise’s salary would help plug the holes in his bank account, get Kelly off his back, and give him room to breathe, at least for now.

  “The new commish is sending the head of security to talk to you tomorrow,” Big Bo announced, walking into Matt’s office.

  Seated at his desk, Matt’s head shot up. “I already talked to the police.”

  “I know, but the league is conducting its own investigation.”

  “Can they do that? I mean, legally?”

  “Yes, Matt. They can. For God’s sake stop looking so damn scared.”

  “I’ve got reason to be scared.” Memory of the murder rose again but he forced it away.

  “Not if you stick to the script and keep your mouth shut.”

  His lips thinned. He thought about his wife and the prospect of spending the rest of his life in jail, or worse. California did have the death penalty. “I don’t know how long I can do this.”

  “You’ll do it for as long as we need to. So buck up. If you crumble, we all fall.”

  “You should never have gotten us involved in this mess in the first place.”

  Big Bo leaned down. “Boy, we’re losing cash like water flowing over a damn. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Take out a loan like every other legitimate businessman.”

  “And put us further into debt? Hell no. This is fast and painless.”

  “It wasn’t painless for Gus Pennington.”

  His father’s blue eyes blazed. “I took care of his family. What more do you want?”

  “For you to stop trying to take the easy way out all the time. We could do life!”

  “Not if you keep your damn mouth shut.”

  The eyes of father and son, so much alike, locked on each other, but as always, Matt looked away first.

  Big Bo smiled. “I’m leaving. Got a date with a young woman who wants to be a team cheerleader. Hooters out to here.” He gestured. “You just hold it together tomorrow. Another few deals and we can pull out.”

  Matt fumed silently. They were going straight to hell, and his father was driving.

  Bo gave him a wave. “See you tomorrow afternoon. My love to Melissa.”

  Alone again, Matt put his head down on his desk. It was all he had.

  Five

  Reese drove his rental car to the Grizzlies Stadium and pulled into a parking space. Getting out, he scanned the area of the lot where the police report indicated Pennington’s truck and body had been found. Studying the office buildings across the street and the early morning traffic flowing around the stadium, he spent a few moments trying to imagine the circumstances surrounding what went down that night, but because he had only a few tiny pieces of the puzzle, no images surfaced, so he walked around to the door leading to the team’s offices.

  Inside, he noted the red eyes of security cameras staring down as he stepped up to the desk marked INFORMATION. Behind it sat a good-looking blonde who was all smiles.

  Reese nodded. “Good morning. I’m here to see GM Wenzel. Name’s Reese Anthony.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Anthony,” she replied, looking him up and down like he was something she wanted to take home and try out. “I was told to expect you. Here’s your visitor badge. Take that hallway to the left, then the elevator to the third floor. I’ll call ahead and let Matt know you’re on your way.”

  Reese pressed the white tag onto his black sport coat. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you,” she countered, still smiling.

  The walk was a short one, and as the elevator doors closed and the car began its climb, he wondered if this was the elevator Pennington had taken the night of his death. Were the killers lying in wait when the old man stepped out, and if so, why? Nothing in the police report indicated Pennington to be anything other than the owner of a janitorial service. He had his family, his church, and his buddies at the barbershop. No drama in his life whatsoever. Yet he was dead.

  Reese stepped off the elevator. The team’s logo, the image of a snarling grizzly, dominated the walls of the executive wing. Mounted beside the glass doors of the GM’s office was a huge snarling grizzly standing on his hind legs. It appeared to be eight feet tall and loomed so ferociously lifelike, an impressed Reese paused to check it out. The claws on the massive arms were awesome, the teeth no joke either. Then he saw the small gold plaque on the base of the stand: SHOT BY BIG BO WENZEL, 2003. Reese looked back up at the bear. “So you are real, or at least were.” Pity. Alive, it would have been both magnificent and terrifying. He couldn’t see himself shooting anything so primal unless it was trying to make him dinner.

  “I see you’re admiring Ursus.”

  Reese turned. The man was Matt Wenzel. Reese recognized him from the file. “Morning, Mr. Wenzel. I’m Reese Anthony.”

  The two shook hands.

  Reese nodded toward Ursus. “Didn’t know your mascot had a name.”

  “Can’t have a mascot without one, Mr. Anthony. The fans expect it. Come on in. Would you care for coffee?”

  Wenzel led him past a couple of desks manned by more pretty blondes who looked as if they had names like Bambi and Chrissi. The cop in Reese gave the place a slow, discreet study, still trying to connect the dots on the crime. The conference room where Pennington was allegedly killed would be around the corner from the main exec office Wenzel was escorting him into now.

  “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks.” Reese made himself comfortable in one of the cocoa brown leather chairs. The office was plush. The Grizzlies team colors of brown and gold were reflected in the carpeting and drapes. The stuffed head of another growling grizzly centered the wall behind Wenzel’s cluttered desk. He wondered if Bo Wenzel had killed that one too.

  Wenzel took a seat at his desk, then spoke into his intercom. “We’ll have that coffee now, please.”

  A lilting female voice replied, “Be right there, Mr. Wenzel.”

  He then turned his attention to Reese. “Welcome to Southern California, Mr. Anthony. This isn’t your first trip, is it?”

  “It is. Been in Michigan most of my life.”

  “I hear the weather there can get pretty fierce.”

  “We fry in the summer and freeze in the winter.”<
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  A blonde in a short but tasteful skirt came into the office pushing a cart topped with coffee and pastries. Her firm tanned legs were perched atop stiletto sandals made of clear acrylic. “Here you go, sirs.” She gave Reese a deep look. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, let me know.”

  Wenzel said coolly, “Thank you, Cami.”

  “No problem.” She gave Reese a flirty little wink then switched out.

  After her departure, Reese asked, “You running a cloning company on the side?”

  Wenzel shook his head knowingly. “My father handles office personnel. Luckily, they’re fairly competent if the task isn’t real complicated.”

  He and Reese shared a grin, then Reese asked, “Is your father here?”

  “I’m afraid he’s out of town on business. He’ll be back next week sometime.”

  Once they both had cups, Reese launched into the reason for his visit. “Commissioner McNair wants to make sure the team is cooperating with local law enforcement.”

  “And we are. When the detective was here, I told him everything I knew, which wasn’t much, I’m afraid.”

  “Tell me about Gus Pennington.”

  “Like I told the detective, Pennington’s company had the cleaning contract for the offices. My father hired him, and since the cleaning crews work nights, I rarely saw them. I may have met Mr. Pennington once, twice, at the most. “

  “No problems with the work not being done. Employees bringing friends in?”

  “Nothing like that. The work was always done and on time. That’s why we think it had to be a robbery.”

  Reese studied Wenzel’s blue eyes for a moment before asking, “How do you think they got inside?”

  Wenzel took a sip of his coffee and shrugged. “No idea. Our cameras were down for maintenance.”

  “Saw that in the police report. Was there anything stolen from any of the other offices on the floor? Computer equipment, drawers pried open?”

  “No. Everything is where it should be.”

  Reese set his coffee cup on the tray. “Can I see the conference room?”

  Wenzel seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, “Sure,” and stood. “I was shocked when the detective told me they think he was shot there. No one’s wanted to use the room since.”

  Reese followed him out and into the conference room. It was pretty standard as conference rooms went. Long wooden table. Chairs around it. Mendes hadn’t said where the coke traces had been found, but Reese guessed one place would have been the polished oak tabletop. Wood grain had a tendency to hold onto things like dust and minute particles of blood. The grout in the tiled floor was another good place for Forensics to look for evidence. Anyone with a bathroom knew how hard it was getting grout to come clean. And if it was blood, forget it.

  Reese gave the space another slow scan, then asked, “Is the floor in here cleaned nightly? Every other night?”

  “Nightly.”

  Reese made a note to ask Mendes what Forensics had found, if anything, in the mop bucket Reese assumed the old man must have had with him. He also wanted to know if the other offices on the floor had been mopped that night. “Okay, Mr. Wenzel. I think I’m done in here. Thanks.”

  “Will there be anything else?”

  “Just a couple more questions then I’ll let you get back to work. Who has keys if someone wants to get into the stadium after hours?”

  “Besides my father and me, the coach, Mr. Pennington’s people, of course, and that’s about it.”

  “About it, or, it?”

  Their eyes met. Wenzel showed a small smile. “It. The detective asked the very same question using your exact words. Are you sure you aren’t a cop, Mr. Anthony?”

  “In a former life I was. Worked vice in Detroit.”

  Wenzel paused. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Reese then stuck out his hand. “I’m going to head out. Thanks for taking the time. It was nice meeting you.”

  Wenzel returned the shake. “Same here. How long will you be in town?”

  “Until the job’s done.”

  “Then let’s hope for a speedy resolution so you can get back to your office and family.”

  Reese nodded. “I’ll be wanting to speak to your father, so let him know, if you would. I’ll have the commissioner set up a time with his office. Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Reese Anthony’s visit resonated ominously with Matt Wenzel as he went back into his office. At the sound of the door opening that connected his office to his father’s, he turned. “The commissioner’s man is a cop. Vice cop from Detroit.”

  Big Bo didn’t appear impressed. “So. He’s not going to find anything. What’s his name?”

  “Reese Anthony.”

  “Could be bluffing, trying to make you think he’s more important than he is.”

  “I don’t think so. He was pleasant enough, but there was something about him…I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until he told me what he used to do for a living. We need to back out of this deal right now, Dad.”

  “Too late. The wheels are already turning.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? He’s going to be trouble. I just know it.”

  “Just calm down. We’re fine.”

  “I’m telling you right now, I’m not going to jail for you or anyone else.”

  “And I’m telling you that if you even think about ratting out I will kill you with my bare hands and stuff your yellow ass like Ursus!”

  Matt’s face was mutinous. Their eyes battled for a few tense moments, and then, as always, Matt looked away. “I have work to do.”

  “And if you want to keep having work to do, you’ll play along until the game’s done. I’m going to Acapulco for a few days. I’ll call you when I get back. Try to grow some balls while I’m gone.” Big Bo went into his office and slammed the door.

  Furious, Matt forced himself to calm down. He was thirty-five years old and knew he should be used to his father’s verbal backhands by now. After all, he’d been battered by them since childhood. But admittance didn’t take the sting off his father’s berating words. He reached out and clicked off the small digital recorder lying so innocently on top of his cluttered desk and placed it back in his briefcase. He didn’t need balls. He had Big Bo’s on tape.

  JT spent the early part of the week making sure that everything in her office pertaining to Marquise Chambers was turned over to Bobby Garrett’s agency. All contracts, negotiation notes, copies of his parking tickets, court orders for child support, arrest warrants, and audit information on his investment accounts were sent, and good riddance. The two men deserved one another. She hoped they’d be happy.

  Thursday morning she’d just booted up her computer when her intercom buzzed. She hit the button that opened the speaker. “Yeah, Carole.”

  “Bobby Garrett’s here.”

  She stared at the intercom. “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Garrett wishes to speak with you.”

  She sighed. She was not in the mood for little boys this morning, or any morning if the truth be told. “Send him in.”

  A minute later she stared coolly into the smug face of Bobby Garrett. As usual he was dressed as if he’d just stepped off a model shoot. Expensive suit, snow white shirt, Italian shoes. And as usual she couldn’t stand the sight of him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Garrett?”

  “Was in town. Thought I’d stop by and make sure you sent over all of Quise’s documents.”

  “We did. Check with your office people. Anything else?”

  “How’s it feel to lose a big paycheck like Quise?”

  “Much better than you’re going to feel if you put your hands on my car again.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” he said innocently.

  “Don’t play with me, Bobby.”

  “Why would I want to play with you? I’m getting ready to turn your whole list.”

  “Only if they start doing crack. Anything else?”


  “You’re a bitch. You know that?”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing. What else you got?”

  The anger was evident. He’d always had a thin skin. “You just wait.”

  “Get out. I have work to do.” With any other person, she would have simply turned to her computer and ignored their further presence, but not him; him you had to watch. “Out or I call the police.”

  “What, you that scared of me?” he asked with a hard arrogant smile in his eyes.

  “No, Bobby. I’m not.” She reached beneath her desk and smoothly drew out her Colt. “And neither is she.”

  He jumped a half foot in the air. She was glad to finally have his full attention. “I keep this because of Lamont Keel. Remember when he put me in the hospital?”

  He nodded.

  “Never going to happen again.” Keel had been a disgruntled client who took out his anger on her. “Now say good-bye.”

  He didn’t, but he did leave, and that’s all that mattered.

  Carole rushed in. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Carole knew about the gun that was again safely tucked away on the shelf hidden beneath the desk, but JT didn’t mention its role in Bobby G3’s hasty exit.

  “He didn’t look happy.”

  “Good. Jerk. Let’s start the day over, shall we?”

  Carole’s concern was all over her face but she smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Alone again, JT allowed herself a few minutes to be angry over Garrett’s visit, then wished him to hell and went on with her morning. After making a note to call the Owens kid later to see where she stood on his choice of an agency for representing him, she picked up her coffee cup and turned her eyes to her computer screen. Every morning she started the day by scanning the Web for sports news. The process usually took an hour or two for her to scan the sports sections of the country’s major newspapers, surf the official league sites, and scroll through the sites of sports media outlets like ESPN. The daily routine kept her abreast of last night’s scores, along with any trade news, gossip, and more important, any troublesome off-court behavior by her clients that might have occurred while she was sleeping. She hated being blindsided by stuff like that.