Half Court Press

by A. J. Stewart

  “Your track record suggests maybe that’s not entirely true.”

  Despite that track record, knowing that Ronzoni was investing in his restaurant removed Draymond’s prime motive and struck him off my list. Ronzoni is a glory hound and a pedant, and he yanks my chain at times without even trying, but underneath all that he was no dummy. He wouldn’t toss his retirement savings or a big win at the track or wherever he had gotten the bundle of cash on a sentimental whim. He’d do his research; he would know what he was getting into. You can’t save a drowning man if he’s taking you down with him.

  Of course, it was possible that Draymond was lying about Ronzoni’s investment and suggesting we keep it secret to cover his tracks—people did that sort of thing all the time—but it was so easy to check that I discounted it. I would confirm it with Ronzoni, regardless.

  But knowing this, I suddenly felt like my purpose for being there was different. Ronzoni had hired me not just to find out who was threatening Tania but also to protect her, and right now protecting her didn’t feel like a matter of just standing in front of a bullet.

  Draymond picked up his soda but held it in place for a moment, inches from his mouth, and then he put it down and leaned back in his chair. He fell silent and his eyes glazed over. I’d seen the look on other faces before. A look of shame.

  “I’m not proud of what I’ve done. I admit I didn’t do well with the divorce. I didn’t handle myself the way a man should. I took a lot of things—and a lot of people—for granted.”

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “Marriage is harder than they tell you it’s going to be. And they don’t tell you that you don’t know everything you think you know. You don’t really know the person you’re marrying. It’s after you get married that you learn about them.”

  “What did you learn?”

  Draymond looked out the window for a moment and then back at his soda can.

  “Camille and me . . . we were different, not at the surface, but underneath. I guess when you’re young it’s the surface stuff you see, you know? We were both athletes, of a fashion.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, she ran track, I was a decathlete. We trained together, back in the day. We thought that was all there was. Then we got married, we had Tania, and we learned that there was more.”

  “More?”

  “Yeah, you know. The deeper stuff. Not what you do but what you believe. Like how to raise a child. It looks like there’s just one way to do it, but that ain’t so. There’s as many ways to raise a kid as there are stars in the sky, and me and Camille discovered that we had different ways of approaching it.”

  “To the point of divorce?”

  He nodded slowly, like an old man.

  “Yeah. See, the deeper stuff is like roots on a tree. They’re everything. Camille wanted to raise Tania to be a winner before Tania even knew what winning was, and I just wanted her to be happy.”

  “That’s not so bad.”

  “I didn’t think so, but it turned out Camille didn’t just want to raise a winner, she wanted to be married to one. Deep down, she thought I’d wasted my potential, that I could have gone to the Olympics, and she thought she was marrying someone who wanted that, too.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “Like I say, I just wanted to be happy. I liked running and jumping and throwing things. I liked sports, but I didn’t see it as a ticket out. I didn’t really think I was that good. She thought different, as it turns out.”

  “So you got divorced?”

  “Yeah, when it became obvious that we saw the world very differently. She wasn’t good enough to get beyond state finals on the track, and not enough for college, and she was determined to make sure Tania didn’t get tainted by what she called my lack of ambition. And then I went and proved her right.”

  “How?”

  “I became a drunk, sir, a drunk. She fell out of love with me but I hadn’t fallen out of love with her. I lost my two girls, and instead of fighting to make the best of it, I looked for answers in a bottle. And I found them. But they weren’t the kind of answers you want. The bottom of a bottle is a mirror, and it reflects who you are, not who you want to be. I let myself down, and let my daughter down. I know it, and I always will.”

  I watched the anguish wash across his face, and for a moment I drifted away to another time and place, to my own father losing the love of his life and hitting the bottle. He never came through the eye of the needle, never got what was left of his family back. I wondered, if he had lived, whether he would now wear the face I saw on Draymond Bryson. I didn’t know the particulars of Draymond’s story, or his motivations, but I understood the pain behind the look. You don’t have to see the bomb blast to recognize the damage.

  “You obviously got back on track,” I said.

  He shook his head and let out a long sigh. “Thanks to the grace of four people.”

  “Who?”

  “The Almighty, who helped me see the light; my daughter, who gave me a reason; Rochelle, who offered love I didn’t think I deserved; and Detective Ronzoni.”

  “What did he give you?”

  “Everything I asked for and a whole lot I didn’t. Camille don’t know, but Tania came to me and asked me to drop by her games at the Boys and Girls Club. I met Detective Ronzoni there. See, I heard he was a cop and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t breaking some law around the divorce, but he looked into it and said there was no warrant against me being around Tania in a public space, so he would bring me to the games, and she’d see me there, and I would see her play, and although we wouldn’t talk, it meant everything to me. After the game, he’d take me home, and then one day he asks if I ever thought about getting help, and he tells me to try it for Tania, and so I went to AA, and I still go to this day, not so often, but whenever the Devil whispers in my ear.”

  He sighed again. It was a story worthy of a good long sigh.

  “So, you see, I know I did my daughter wrong. I know I wasn’t there when I should have been. I know I was no kind of father, at the time when a girl needs her daddy. But I learned at AA that I can’t change the past, I can just atone. I can just be a better man in the future.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I a better man? That’s not for me to say. Ask the people around me.”

  “I did, and the general consensus seems to be that you’re a stand-up guy.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I’m not convinced.”

  “Well, Mr. Jones, you’re entitled to that opinion, but you’ll have to forgive me if I say your opinion don’t mean as much to me as some.”

  “Like your daughter’s?”

  “That means everything.”

  “Then let me speak straight. Your daughter is a mess. She puts on a good game face, but she’s hanging by a thread.”

  The frown returned. “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t have any skin in this game, so I get to see it for what it is. And I’m telling you, Tania is twenty-three, smart and pretty and has the world at her feet, but she can’t move because she’s so messed up over you.”

  “She don’t look messed up to me.”

  “Because she wants you to see her that way, and that’s how you want to see her, too. But let me tell you, it isn’t normal for a college athlete to come home every weekend to be near her daddy. Homesickness is normal, but not that. Not for four full years. She’s still looking for the things she missed as a little girl—things she didn’t get from you.”

  “I told you, I can’t go back in time.”

  “I’m not talking about time travel, I’m talking about now. You’re sorting yourself out and you’re moving on, but she’s not. You need to sort that out. You need to let her go. You need to make her understand that moving on won’t mean losing you. In fact, scratch that. You don’t need to let her go—you need to make her go. And then you need to be there to support her through it.”

  H
e looked at me and I could see the moisture in his eyes.

  “I will.”

  “Don’t say it to me. Hell, don’t say it to anybody. Just do it. She’s more important than this place. Don’t get me wrong—it’s great for her to see you being successful, at being sober and being a good man and at this business, but what’s more important is that she knows that if she calls from Atlanta or Chicago or Beijing that you’ll drop everything to be there. Not like when she was young. She needs to be able to depend on you.”

  “I can’t live her life for her.”

  “I’m not saying that. She doesn’t need you to be there every single minute. That’s not growing up and it’s not moving on. What she needs is to know—and I’m saying know it, in the pit of her guts—is that you will be there if she needs you. That you’re the safety net she needs now that you weren’t back then. It’s not about presence, it’s about dependability.”

  He looked out the window again, and I sipped my drink and waited. It was obvious to me that he wasn’t behind the threats, and I casually cursed Ronzoni for keeping his business so close to his chest, because I could have crossed Draymond off the list much earlier. Which made me think about my list, and then made me think about the guy from the pawnshop, about being a consulting detective, about Sherlock Holmes. And a line lit up the synapses in my brain:

  If you eliminate all that is possible, then whatever is left, however improbable, must be the truth.

  I might have been paraphrasing, because the last time I’d read Holmes and Watson my mother was still alive, but the notion kicked all kinds of things into place, and my Venn diagram became an individual circle with one singular focus.

  “Mr. Jones, thank you.”

  “For what? I’m not sure I’ve been very kind right now.”

  “Harsh words can be kind words, with the right intent. I am having everyone over to the restaurant tomorrow. I will talk to Tania. I will set her free.”

  “Just remember, words are cheap. She needs to know.”

  He nodded and opened a drawer in his desk. He took out a small cardboard folder and slid it across the desk to me. I opened it. There were two airline tickets from Palm Beach International to Atlanta, in the names of Draymond Bryson and Rochelle Ongaro, and two tickets to the home opener for the Atlanta Dream WNBA team.

  “I told her I had to be there for her first game. I told her I’d be there for any other. AA tells us to make these things right. I can’t show her that until she starts playing, but if you think I need to, I’ll tell her again.”

  I slid the folder back to Draymond and then I stood, put my hand on his shoulder, and walked out. I thought I knew what was keeping Tania from taking her opportunities, but now I wasn’t so sure.

  I had some calls to make.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  My car may not have been a T-bird but it did have hands-free calling. It was a marvel. I could drive and talk to people like they were right there in the passenger seat, except that I could really annoy them if I wanted to and not fear getting punched and crashing my SUV. Most people don’t pay a moment’s notice to that stuff, but I found the black magic behind technology fascinating. How I could drive down the Florida Turnpike and chat to someone speeding along the Autobahn outside Munich simply defied comprehension, and if I ever met someone from Germany I was definitely going to try it.

  I headed south along A1A and made my first call. It took a bit more doing than necessary since I didn’t actually know the number, but the little librarian with the sexy voice who was the brain of my car sorted it all out, found the place, retrieved the number, and made the call.

  When a human finally answered at the salon, I asked for Keisha. The woman on the line paused, and I could see her in my mind’s eye glaring at the floor sweeper, who should never be getting personal calls at work.

  “Who’s calling?” said the voice, with a tone that suggested this might be a fireable offense for Keisha. I thought about telling her the truth, but couldn’t sell the idea to myself, let alone to some grumpy voice, that a PI was a reasonable person to be calling, and I considered saying I was the police—since I was now a consulting detective—but figured getting calls from the cops was worse than a personal call.

  “It’s the union,” I said. A boss had to be pretty ballsy to fire someone for talking to a union rep.

  I heard nothing more. Not a please hold or a one moment or even a hang on. The next voice I heard was Keisha’s.

  “Yeah?” she said with a good dose of uncertainty.

  “Keisha, it’s Miami Jones.”

  “What? Why are you calling me here?”

  “I don’t have any other number for you. Now, listen up quick because I don’t want you to get in trouble. I need you and L’nita at the school gym tomorrow afternoon, you understand?”

  “Why?”

  “For Tania. It’s important.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Tell L’nita there’s something in it for her.”

  “There is?”

  “Yes, just tell her, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, just repeat the next sentences back to me.”

  “Why?”

  “So you don’t get fired. Just follow me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now say: Do I get paid less than minimum wage?”

  She said, “Do I get paid less than minimum wage?”

  “Now say: No, I get paid properly, according to the law.”

  She repeated it.

  “Now say: We don’t need a union here. They are very good to me.”

  “We don’t need a union here. They are very good to me.”

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s it.”

  “No, stop repeating now. Just get yourself and L’nita to the gym tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “See you then.”

  I hung up before I did any further damage. Then I asked my magic voice to call Camille. The person that answered wasn’t Camille’s.

  “Yeah?”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Publishers Clearing House.”

  “Seriously?”

  I got the impression it was Cousin Sheryl not Cousin Rami, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “Yes, I need to speak to Camille about our grand prize.”

  “She won the sweepstakes grand prize?”

  “Not if I don’t speak to her.”

  “Wait, don’t go anywhere. I’ll get her.”

  I wasn’t going anywhere, except south onto Old Dixie Highway. I waited. The next voice I heard was definitely Camille’s.

  “Is this a prank?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “It’s Miami Jones.”

  “What are you talking about Publishers Clearing House?”

  “It’s a means to an end. Listen, I need you to come to the high school gym tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Why?”

  “To sort out these threats Tania’s getting. To get her moving forward.”

  “You think she’ll sign?”

  “Let’s get to the gym tomorrow and find out, okay?”

  “All right.”

  “And bring your nieces.”

  “Both of them? They don’t go well together. They’re like oil and water.”

  “I’ll bring some mustard and make a vinaigrette. Just bring them.”

  “Okay. You know who’s behind all this?”

  “I’ve got my theories.”

  “I need more than theories.”

  “And tomorrow you will have it. Just be there.”

  I ended the call and kept driving, into West Palm and down toward my office. My lovely assistant made another call.

  “Kressic,” came the voice.

  “Kressic, it’s Miami Jones.”

  “Is Tania okay?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “I heard about Camille’s windshield,” he said. “Should I be worried?”


  “About Camille’s windshield?”

  “About Tania getting hurt. She’s no good to anyone hurt.”

  “She’s fine. Where are you?” I asked, even though I knew.

  “Huntsville, Alabama. Looking at some soccer players. Listen, Camille called me. She thinks this smashed window might have pushed Tania over the edge.”

  “Over the edge?”

  “Yeah, you know, made her decide to sign with the Chinese.”

  “She’s worried.”

  “Camille wants me there tomorrow, but I’m supposed to be here for the rest of the week.”

  “Your call.”

  “What I’m asking is, do you think I should come?”

  “Are you Tania’s agent or not?”

  “Of course I am, but you know how it is. I’m not handling $100 million clients here. I can’t be everywhere.”

  “I guess you gotta choose.”

  “I’m trying to, Jones. I don’t need another client earning forty thousand dollars a year. I need a score, and it ain’t in Huntsville.”

  “So you know what to do.”

  “What I’m asking is, do you think she’s ready to sign? Or am I just flying back down for nothing?”

  I waited a moment before answering.

  “I think she’s rethinking everything, but I don’t think she’s there yet on China.”

  “What’s it gonna take?”

  I thought about my little get-together at the gym tomorrow.

  “I think she’s clarifying her thoughts, but she still isn’t there.”

  “So the smashed window didn’t do it?”

  “She’s worried about it, if that’s what you mean. She’s thinking that maybe signing a deal in China will make the threats go away, but I’m not so sure.”

  “How can you not be sure? Having money gives her power.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Definitely. So she still needs a little motivation?”

  “I’m not sure that’s the problem.”

  “Well, you’re not an agent, are you?”

  “Got that right.”

  “It’s bigger than China. Signing that deal means international commercial opportunities. That’s where the real money is. Camille knows she needs to see that. She’s a kid; she doesn’t really know what she wants. She just needs to see the forest for the trees. A little motivation, that’s all she needs.”