That night, toward the end of the game, Danny Washington found the moment he’d been waiting for. He’d just got possession of the ball from his center, who’d fired him a distant lob after a rebound from a missed shot by the Pistons. All alone, Washington jogged fast toward the net and could’ve gone in for an easy dunk but he suddenly braked to a stop outside of the arc. Turning toward the nearest ESPN cameraman filming him, he glanced into the lens of the camera, offered a faint smile and pointed toward his right eye. Then he sank down real slow, leapt high into the air and let fly a long trey. The instant the ball left his hands, he looked away from the hoop and jogged back down the court to take up his defensive position.
BANK SHOTS
Sue DeNymme
Manny swallowed the last drop of tequila and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. So his wife was going to kill him, what else was new? He couldn’t afford to worry about it now. He couldn’t afford much of anything after last night’s game. Besides, he didn’t have the energy. His drinking binge had made him ill, and the wife would be home any minute. Time to get the hell up and cover his ass.
He stumbled to the toilet and heaved, then heaved again, his insides swirling like water down the drain as he sank to his knees in front of the bowl and prayed for the room to stop spinning.
Then it came to him, the only way out.
He pushed himself off the tiles and shuffled to his wife’s dressing bureau. Undergarments slipped through his fingers until he worked his hands to the far corner of her lingerie drawer where she’d hidden the last valuable thing in the apartment: a costly diamond bracelet recently inherited from her grandma’s estate.
As he inspected the glistening band that his wife had cherished, his forehead felt damp and hot. His heart throbbed in his chest, and his palms felt clammy, but he took a deep breath and swiped the bracelet anyway.
Even if Becky could forgive him for losing their nest egg on last night’s basketball game, she’d definitely kill him for this.
He crammed the heirloom into the pocket of his jeans, slinked across the hall and slipped down the stairs of the walkup where they lived.
Scanning the street for any sign of his wife, he clutched the bracelet in his jacket and headed toward the river. There was always a chance that he could plead for mercy and beg his way out, but that would be up to Tony the Ear.
Every basketball season, which in New York meant whenever there wasn’t actually snow on the ground, the Ear sat courtside at Riverside Park, watching the talented local kids play hoops with such concentrated energy you’d think their lives depended on it. With a notebook and pen at the ready, he liked that spot on his favorite bench, and everyone knew where to find him. His tiny feet were planted on the ground, sun warming the back of his neck.
“Tony.” Manny caught his breath. “I have to get my money back from last night’s bet.”
Tony didn’t say a word. His eyes were fixed on the kids shooting, running, passing and banging bodies.
He was dressed, as usual, in an old satin New York Knicks jacket that probably predated the Walt Frazier, Willis Reed glory years, when the Knicks still played in the old Madison Square Garden at Fiftieth Street and Eighth Avenue. His jeans last saw soap and water a decade before he got the jacket, and his sneakers belonged in the Smithsonian.
“Tony,” Manny said again, a little more urgently, but the bookie never moved, never took his eyes off the game. He knew Tony could hear perfectly well with his one good ear, but he didn’t turn around and didn’t answer.
Manny tried not to stare at Tony’s strange left ear, but he could never get used to the pea-sized lobe that popped out from that indentation where his ear should have been. The story was that an overeager doctor had torn off his ear with the forceps as he wrenched Tony out of the birth canal. Then the doctor smoothed it all over with skin from the right side of his face, and that’s why his nose was slanted and his mouth was scrunched to the right, so that he always looked as if he were speaking in asides.
Finally, he stepped directly in front of the Ear. “Tony, I need my money back.”
“What are you talking about? You bet, you lost, game over. Get outta my way. I’m watching a game here.”
“Listen,” Manny pleaded. “Can’t you just forget it? I mean, pretend I never made the bet? Give me my money back?”
“Sorry, kid.” Suddenly, he jumped up to get a better view of the court as a cornrowed kid in a lime-green T-shirt stole the ball and led a fast break. “Run,” he screamed, “move your damn ass.” Probably since his lips were permanently sphinctered on his right cheek, Tony spoke with a lisp. He turned to look Manny in the eye. “I really am sorry for you.” He nodded and looked at the ground. “Maybe you should borrow some money. You got friends.”
“Whose friends have that kind of cash? Besides, they only laugh when I ask.” Manny watched one of the players score from the charity line. “My own wife pushes for Gamblers Anonymous.”
“I know.” He smirked out of the side of his mouth. “I used to get that line myself.” Tony peered around Manny’s torso, and Manny turned to see the same kid take two huge steps from the foul line and dunk over two taller kids without shirts.
Manny stumbled, still a little tipsy from his self-pity binge. “Why don’t you give me back the money I bet? I’ll never ask again.”
Tony sat down. “I don’t have it, pal.” He ran a hand over his filthy jeans. “You wanna play? You gotta pay. Ain’t that our deal?” Tony raised a finger. “Have you hit up your mother?”
“She won’t give me a dime. I already owe her forty grand.” He put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You gotta help me. I’m desperate here.”
Tony brushed away Manny’s hand. “What you need is a shower and a shave… and brush your stinking teeth because you smell like a goddamn dump.”
“Give me a break.” Manny shrugged, palms in the air. “I’m dying.”
“Did you see that shot?” Tony shouted and pointed at the court. “Unbelievable.”
Manny snorted and clenched his fists. “You don’t give a fuck about anyone but yourself.”
“What do you mean?” He pointed at the home team. “I bought their uniforms.”
“What? A dozen T-shirts?” Manny shoved a finger in his face and poked out the words. “Give me back my cash.”
“Take it easy, pal,” Tony yelled. Palms up, he motioned him back. “Relax.”
Manny wiped Tony’s spittle off his cheek. “I don’t want to relax.” He pushed Tony back down to the bench. “You think I’m gonna go easy because you’re some kind of cripple? I oughta do you a favor and kick that mouth back to the other side of your head where it belongs.” He fisted Tony in the chest. “You, pal, are gonna give me back my money. Now.”
Tony reached into his jacket and pulled out a pocketknife.
“What the fuck is that?” Manny’s eyes skittered from the blade to the basketball decal on the handle, then back to Tony’s face.
“What we’re gonna do”—Tony waved the knife like a nun waving a ruler—“is sit the fuck down and take a minute to sort things out.” He patted the seat with the blade. “You want to turn your luck around or you want to stand there whining like some kinda pussy?”
One of the players missed a bounce pass, and the ball popped off the court and hit Manny in the back of his head.
“Sorry, Tony!” A sinewy Puerto Rican kid scooped up the ball and dribbled back to the game.
“Hopeless.” Tony took an apple from the brown paper bag on the bench.
“I can’t believe my rotten luck.” Manny crumbled to his seat and leaned his forehead on his hands. “When did you get a knife?” He rubbed his neck and asked, “And when did you start pulling it on your pals?”
“You take yourself too serious.” Tony shrugged and cut into the apple. “I can’t stand the sight of blood.” He stuck his chin out and took a deep breath. “I was only making a point.”
“What point?”
“Listen up, ’cause I’m
the smartest guy you know. I everything goes in one ear and stays there.”
Manny chuckled. “You’re nuts.”
Tony offered him a slice of fruit. “You want your money back. Well, it’s all a zero-sum game. Somebody has to lose for somebody else to win. So what are the odds for you, my friend?” Tony chewed a slice and swallowed. His Adam’s apple rose like a ball in his throat. “The odds are nil if you’re out of the game. Am I right or am I right?”
Manny nodded, pretending to understand.
“You got no hope if you’re out of the game.” He swallowed again. “If you’re out, it’s your own fault. Luck has nothing to do with it. So you gonna die by the odds here? You gonna let them slaughter you or will you jump up swinging?” He paused for effect. “And here’s the most important piece of advice you will ever get in life. Never ever let the odds get you down. You’re gonna die by the odds or you’re gonna live by the odds.”
“That’s your big tip?” Manny clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He sprung to his feet. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Tony wiped his crazy mouth with a paper napkin. “I can help you make back your losses, but what you really want is college money, right? Have you thought about that?” Tony flicked the knife closed and stuck it into his pocket. “You gotta act like a man now that you’re playing with the big boys.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Then you gotta think like Casanova. You know? The greatest lover in the world had it all figured out, see.” Tony turned his face toward Manny. “Know how Casanova won at gambling?”
Manny shoved his hands into his pockets. “How?”
“If Casanova lost, he redoubled his bet until he won.” He tapped his finger on the bench. “So that’s Casanova. Now, who the fuck are you?”
“I just want to get back what I lost.” Manny shook his head and scanned the park, seeing everything and nothing at once.
“Sit down here.” Tony nodded at the bench. “You’re out of the game now, right?”
Manny nodded and sat.
“Well, how can you win if you’re out of the goddamn game?” Tony paused. “Now, what do you say?” He leaned toward Manny with the only ear he had. “You got nothing to say. So sit the fuck down.” Tony cleared his throat. “You want a chance to get that money back?”
“I have to get that money back.”
“I’m telling you how to get your money back, kid. That’s all. You got a pretty wife, new baby. You’re young and you got your health. Everything to live for. I can help you. Your timing is right on the money, believe it or not.” Tony leaned toward Manny and grinned. “So.” Tony wiped his hands on his pants. “You wanna be a loser for the rest of your life or do you wanna win big this time? It’s up to you.”
Manny stared at his squashed-up mouth. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know basketball. You know the line on tonight’s game at the Garden, right?”
Manny nodded.
“Go double or nothing tonight.” Tony crumpled the empty bag and made a nice arcing shot into the can.
“You’re kidding.”
Tony chuckled. “Serious as cancer. Listen to me. I’m the smartest guy you know, remember?”
Manny spat on the ground. “What if I lose again?”
“Tonight’s the Connecticut game, and everyone loves that team, right? Well, the competition’s gonna shoot the lights out. Think of the odds.”
“Not a chance.” Manny shook his head. “UCLA’s been shooting bricks for years now.”
“So what? You think life’s random? It all runs in cycles, kid, even the NCAA tournament. I do the charts. It’s a technical analysis, see? It’s all in the cycles. Let the cycles call the shots and you can bank on them like you can bank on the stock market.” Tony raised a brow and stared Manny in the eye. “Now, you know this and I know this, but nobody else knows this. I even put a grand down for myself.”
“This is my house we’re talking about. The down payment on my house.” Manny kicked the dirt. “I can’t.”
“How long have we been doing this and how many times have we won? A lot, right? So you had a temporary slump. You’re only a loser if you take yourself out.”
Manny stood and looked around. He lifted his Knicks cap and wiped down his hair before returning the hat to his head. “It’s a long shot.”
Tony stood and slurped the last sip from his straw. “I gotta get back to the sports desk. What’s it gonna be?”
“Can you front me the money?”
“What do I look like, your father?”
Manny took the gold band from his wedding finger. “This is worth at least a hundred.”
Tony snorted. “That wouldn’t cover the vigorish.”
Manny pulled the bracelet from his shirt pocket. “It’s my wife’s inheritance.” He moved it in the light. “Platinum and diamonds. The real deal.”
Tony snapped up the jewelry and fingered the pieces in his palm. “I’ll do you a favor this time, kid. I’ll check these at Sal’s, and whatever he gives me, I’ll put that down for you.”
Manny took the bottle of mouthwash from his pocket and chugged some down. He held it out to Tony.
Tony grabbed the bottle. “Forty-five cents a pint?” Bright green liquid sloshed around the bottom. “What the hell is this?”
“Thirty percent alcohol. That’s what. A giant Yankee julep.”
Tony handed it back. “Looks like puke and backwash to me.”
“Thanks.” Manny smiled.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“And don’t forget the pawn ticket. I gotta get the jewelry back once the deal is done.”
Tony smiled. “Have I ever let you down?”
On the way back to the newspaper office, Tony stopped at Sal’s Pawnshop by the deli a few blocks uptown.
The pawnbroker buzzed him in. Flashy in a Vegas sort of way, Sal overdressed most of the time, and today the pits of Sal’s shirt were circled in sweat despite the cool spring weather.
“What can I do you for?” Sal’s double chin jiggled as he stood up from the stool behind the counter. “How’s your pretty mama?” He reminded Tony of a Cuban pimp he once met on a hot Miami Beach, running the numbers with a silver-plated smile. “Did you tell her I asked about her?”
Tony crossed to the glass display case where Sal was leaning. “Yeah, I told her.” He smiled as nicely as he could with his grotesque mouth. “She says hello.” He lied. “She’s just so busy with the charities and all. Too busy to socialize much outside of church.” He scanned the gem-stuffed display case. “Don’t you already have a girl?”
Sal raised his brows. “If one’s good, two is better.”
Tony forced his jaw open so he wouldn’t grind his teeth. He took a deep breath and said, “I got twenty grand says UCLA wins with the points tonight.”
“Long shot.” Sal laughed. “So what do you want me to do about it?”
Tony shrugged. “I gotta lay off the bets.”
Sal raised a brow. “Street says you can’t pay your medical bills since they diagnosed your tumor. How do I know you’re still good for it?”
“I guess I better be, right?” Tony let out a nervous laugh before producing the bracelet and gold band that Manny had given him. He laid them out to glisten on the black velvet cloth that lay atop the display case.
Sal ambled back to his desk to get a loupe. Then he got personal with the diamond bracelet. A minute passed, and Sal grunted. He scratched his chin and took another look.
The canned lights buzzed in sync with Tony’s nerves. “You know me for years, Sal. You also know the house always wins.” Tony wiped the sweat from his brow. “And you should know I got a stack of bearer bonds for you if you don’t like the produce here.”
“Good.” Sal’s gut jiggled as he chuckled. He put the loupe down and sat on his stool. “ ’Cause this is some kind of joke.”
Tony nodded. “I swe
ar I’m good for it, Sal. Help a guy out.”
Sal examined the bad side of Tony’s face. “If I help you out, it’s only ’cause I like your mother.” He pushed the cloth away and waved his hand at it. “Two grand would be generous.”
A bead of sweat raced down Tony’s spine. “Then we have a deal.”
Sal licked his lips. “I gotta warn you.” Spittle flew from the corner of Sal’s mouth. “My brother isn’t happy with you. You still owe for last time, and you’re a credit risk what with the cancer. Can’t let you slide on this one.” He tapped the loupe on the countertop. “Remember what happened to your reporter friend who thought he was cute and tried to renege?”
Tony nodded. “Mack never came back to the sports desk.”
“Right. And don’t let it slip your memory.” Sal reached underneath a case and brought up an envelope that he pushed across the glass to Tony.
Tony took the envelope and leafed through the bills to count them.
“We get the cash back tomorrow.” Sal buzzed the door open. “That gives you twenty-four hours.”
Tony smiled and hurried out the door. “Thanks, Sal.”
The morning after Manny won, he felt like he’d won the lottery. Tony had been right! His luck would never have changed if he hadn’t been in the game. UCLA got killed, as everyone figured they would, but a last-minute flurry of meaningless points from a reserve guard meant that UConn didn’t cover the spread.
Manny raced through the drizzle to the newspaper building. He bounded the stairs from the subway stop and sprinted down the block through the revolving door to the Breaking News.
Inside, his footsteps echoed off the marble as he walked to the island in the middle of the lobby, where he greeted the receptionist, who watched him closely. “Hello, sweetheart.”
Young and attentive, the Latin receptionist spoke into her mouthpiece, pushed a few buttons on the switchboard and followed his fidgety fingers with her eyes. “May I help you?”
His grin felt so big that he was sure he looked like a mental patient. “I came to see Tony the Ear.”
“Tony Morelli.” She looked down and ran a finger down her clipboard, then shook her head and picked up a pencil. “Mr. Morelli hasn’t come in yet. Would you like to leave a message?”
Murder at the Foul Line Page 7