“If the FBI is goin’ to free the men what put him in a ditch— where he woulda died if Dog hadn’t been worried,” Micah said, “well, least the government can do is pay his hospital bills.”
“And any subsequent expenses he may incur from the attempted murder,” Sarah added. “Or we could pick up those two for conspiracy.”
Cam looked from one to another. “Talk about a tag team.”
“Didn’t know we were,” Micah said. “I think in terms of basketball. Been double-teamed.”
“Is that what this is about? A washed-up ex-jock?”
Micah sputtered.
Sarah glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “It’s been said, by a Butler player I think, that Hoosier basketball is a way of life. We support players on the court and after. Darby made one mistake and paid dearly for it. He was left in that ditch because he was trying to protect his nephew. To stop him from making one, big mistake. And to protect collegiate athletics from one more blow to its reputation. Since the government is going to reward gangsters, seems like the least it could do is spread the reward to an upstanding man.”
“Let me make a call.” Cam stepped out of the office but kept in sight. When he came back in he grinned. “Pulled in every favor owed me. It’s a deal. Can’t put it in writing, but you have my word. Operations at zero-six-hundred?”
“Not a second before,” Sarah said. “But be warned, should Darby have financial worries from his hospitalization, you’ll find out how being double-teamed can really feel.”
Micah and Sarah watched Cam weave his way through the bullpen desks and out of the door.
“You gonna trust a G-man?”
Sarah put a voice-activated digital recorder on the desk. “Wouldn’t stand up in any court of law, but it sure could ruin an agent’s career.”
Micah high-fived Sarah. “Slam-dunk, Sarah Anne.”
Reggie Miller
Tony Perona
Reggie Miller didn’t start out a Hoosier. Born in Riverside, California, he played for UCLA and was ranked nationally as a shooter both his junior and senior years. In 1987 he became a Hoosier when the Indiana Pacers selected him with their No. 11 draft pick. He spent the next 18 years with the organization. In the process, he became a legend in professional basketball.
When his career finished in 2005, he had made 2,560 three-point shots and was the NBA’s greatest long shooter. His 25,279 career points placed him 12th on the league’s all-time scoring list. But he was best known for coming through in the clutch. “Miller Time” was the catch phrase used to describe the ending stretch when Miller would take control of the game. His clutch shot made him much despised by other teams. He was routinely booed in Madison Square Garden.
In Indiana, Miller was a rock star. His rookie year he hit 61 three-pointers, more than any other rookie in NBA history at the time. In his third season, Miller led the Pacers to the NBA Playoffs. Though the team didn’t survive the first round, Miller led them back again and again. They reached the NBA Finals in 2000, losing to the Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant-led Los Angeles Lakers. Miller retired in 2005 in spectacular fashion. In his final game against the New York Knicks, he was initially booed (as usual), but near the end of the game the crowd chanted his name and gave him a standing ovation. In the closing minutes of his final game at Conseco Fieldhouse, Miller left the floor to an ovation that lasted for minutes.
Miller was inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame in 2012.
BREAKING AND ENTERING
Sara L. Gerow
Jamie Carr took away the basketball for the third time and, as if blessed by Mercury, brought it down court with dizzying speed. Those in the field house that night went silent as Jamie dodged away from his defender just beyond the three-point line and stretched upward, lifting his arms. The basketball floated high and seemed to hang suspended in air before, as if by magic, it fell through the basketball hoop. The field house crowd exploded, stomping, screaming, then chanting, “Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.” His third three-pointer that game. The bleachers shaking frightened those standing in the high rows.
Tears streamed down Molly Carr’s cheeks as the noise went on. She sank back down into her seat. The friend next to her rubbed her arm. Someone behind her massaged her shoulders. It was a gift to be Jamie’s mother, a gift to be raising him on her own. And doing a splendid job of it, she often told herself, for he excelled at whatever he did.
Molly could be charitable and so she stood up and applauded when another kid made a basket but her mind was on Jamie. When he was bringing the ball down the court again, she heard a familiar shout. To her left she saw his father leaning over the railing, waving his arms as if he wanted his son to acknowledge him from the basketball court. So Kevin had managed to break away from his social life in Indianapolis to drive fifty miles and arrive just before half-time. A little blond in a faux fur jacket put her arm around his waist. Molly thought she wasn’t much older than Jamie. She danced and waved too but Molly figured she didn’t care who won the game.
The bright lights were dim now. Old hurts smoldered. She stretched and, turning away with disgust, saw Trey Harris in the upper rows. He and his wife Kitty were neighbors and best of friends. Trey was running for mayor when autumn rolled around. Now he worked the crowd above her, shaking hands, slapping backs, handing out cards. She gave him a thumbs up when she caught his eye. He returned the gesture.
When she turned around again, Kevin waved at her and mouthed a greeting. She thought he’d come by and say hello at half-time but he didn’t. Instead he and the blond claimed seats in the front row.
The Cougars won by twenty points that night and Jamie made four three-pointers. Molly stayed in her place, munching on stale popcorn, and waited for the crowd to file out. She’d meet Jamie near the locker room. Maybe they’d go to the Dairy Bar and have an ice cream. Their ritual whether the Cougars won or lost.
But Kevin and his date, with her tentative smile, were coming toward her. Before he could speak, Trey Harris came between them.
“The colleges will soon come courting,” he warned, shaking Kevin’s hand. They clapped each other on their backs. Stiffly Molly got to her feet and forced a smile. The blond hugged Kevin’s arm as if to say, “I’ve got him now.”
“You’re looking good, Molly. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up Jamie last week but—boy, am I proud of him.”
Molly nodded and brushed popcorn kernels off her blue jeans. Kevin touched her arm as if there might still be something between them.
“Lisa and I want to take Jamie out for pizza.”
“It’s a school night.” Her tone was stiff and severe.
“We’ll have him home by eleven.”
Molly thought Lisa’s grin idiotic.
“Whatever Jamie wants,” she said.
The light by the garage door was out when Molly drove into the driveway alone. She always left it on when she was gone of an evening. The light bulb must have burned out. She’d check in the morning. She cursed as she pawed through her handbag. She fumbled in the darkness in putting key to lock. As soon as she entered the kitchen she felt a disconcerting presence, as if something lurked in the darkness. It was more than Jamie not being with her or the light being out. Perhaps it was the resentment that she’d carried home from the field house. She slung her handbag onto the kitchen table and went about turning on lights. In the dining room, she switched on the chandelier and the violation was immediate. The pre-Columbian ceramic bowl that she and Kevin bought in Ecuador when they were in love was not in its place on the buffet. They had quarreled over the pre-Columbian relics during their divorce and ended up dividing the collection, Kevin snarling because he’d paid for it all.
Molly saw the chain of events. He had a key and he came into the house and took the bowl before he went to the field house. She collapsed in a dining room chair until she could control her rage and set about determining her next step. She found the ancient stone ax head, left on her family farm by a pre-historic hunter, and fon
dled it. Its weight and smoothness comforted her. At her elbow, sorted, aligned in rows, her collection of signed costume jewelry, pieces with the designer’s name stamped on the back, gleamed under the chandelier lights. Every evening she realigned and examined her fifty-five pieces. The Miriam Haskell brooch was gone, the one with the coral flowers. As well as the pre-Columbian bowl, he’d taken her favorite piece, no doubt for that bimbo he was pursuing. She pulled herself together and put the ax head down on a pile of unpaid bills. She pulled her coat around her shoulders and marched across the street to her neighbor and best friend, Kitty Harris, who peeked between her shutters before she pulled open the door.
“Molly, what’s the matter?”
She pulled Molly into her bright kitchen redolent of chocolate cake cooling on the table. Molly didn’t take the seat she offered but took the glass of red wine Kitty poured for her.
“Did you see anything going on at my house tonight?”
Kitty looked surprised.
“I did see a car over there. Oh, sometime near eight o’clock. So many people come and go from your house. Jamie is popular. Someone is always stopping by.”
She paced up and down Kitty’s polished stainless-steel kitchen, gulping red wine.
“What did the car look like?”
“Too dark for me to tell. I’m sorry.”
Molly strode into her dining room, lit only by lights set in the china cabinet illuminating Haviland china. Just as Kitty switched on the chandelier, Molly was back in the kitchen and running her hand over the granite counter top on the kitchen island.
“I’m calling the police.”
“For heaven’s sake. Why? What’s going on?
“Kevin broke into the house before he came to the game. Well, he’s got a key. He took the pre-Columbian bowl he’s always thought he should have and then picked up my signed Miriam Haskell brooch. I’m sick.”
“I can tell that. Trey isn’t home yet. Maybe he should be with you—”
“He’s campaigning, shaking hands and talking to people at the field house. I’m not waiting on him.”
“I’d better come with you.”
The police were at Molly’s house when Kevin brought Jamie home.
“What’s going on?” he shouted, coming through the kitchen, Lisa trailing him.
Molly turned on him.
“I’ll bet you know what’s going on. The pre-Columbian bowl is gone. And my Miriam Haskell brooch. You have them, don’t you?”
“Like hell, I do.”
One of the policemen re-entered the dining room.
“There’s nobody else in the house. But—”
He laid eyes on Jamie.
“I heard how good you were tonight. Three three-pointers?”
“Four,” Kevin shouted, “Now if you’d like you can search me and Lisa too for that matter.”
Lisa jerked. She seemed ready to cry but nodded acquiescence.
“Then you can go out to my car and go through it with a fine-tooth comb. Bring in your dogs to sniff around.”
He paced around the dining room, looking up and down, as if trying to spot something else missing. His Lisa huddled on a dining room chair. Molly pointed at her.
“I’ll bet she knows where my Miriam Haskell brooch is?”
Lisa put her face in her hands. Kevin swung and pointed at Molly, eyes bulging.
“Thank God the other pieces from Ecuador are safe with me. The ceramic bowl is gone due to your negligence. You probably know who has it. One of those guys who traipse in and out of here all day.”
Kitty stepped in front of Molly as if to shield her.
“Kev, that’s unfair.”
Another policeman came in through the back door. “You’re sure the door was locked ma’am? There’s no sign of forced entry.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Jamie then betrayed her.
“We often forget to lock it. There’s a spare in a metal box under the air-conditioner in the garden.”
“Every burglar knows that hiding place,” one policeman murmured.
“And I’ll bet everybody in town does too,” added Kevin.
As his parents shouted at each other, Jamie bent over and picked up a green thread of tinsel from near the carved leg of the dining table.
“What’s this?
A policeman took it from him and studied it.
“It’s excelsior,” said Molly, “Packing material. You’ll probably find more in Kevin’s car.”
“Go look,” Kevin said softly.
The police did but found nothing of interest.
When they all had gone and Jamie was in his room, Kitty slipped her arm around Molly’s waist. “If you’d feel better, you and Jamie can come over to my house for the night—”
“Oh, thanks. We’ll be okay here. But I’m sleeping with a rifle by my bed.”
The next day Mollie went about changing locks on the doors and making sure the windows were secure. One was unlocked but she saw no sign that anyone had come in through it. She picked up the signed costume jewelry and hid it all away in a safe she kept in her home office. She counted her grandmother’s silver and all the vases and bowls around the house.
Two nights later she was back in the field house but all evening Jamie missed from the three-point line. The crowd groaned and the cries of “Jamie, Jamie” were sporadic. Trey went up and down the aisles again at half-time, lingering to chat with a couple who had many concerns. Kevin came in late again but without Lisa.
“He brought her along before just to taunt me,” she said to no one.
Now he made a spectacle of himself by leaping to his feet and yelling when the referee called a penalty on Jamie for pushing. But again, he wanted to take him for pizza and have a chat. Molly gave in because Jamie wanted it.
The light by the backdoor was on when she got home as well as the light over the sink where she’d left unwashed dishes. A half-eaten slice of cake was on the counter.
She stopped at the dining room entrance. Annoying apprehensions gripped her. A phantom hand pulled at her. Someone had been in the house. She flicked on the dining room chandelier. The room seemed as she’d left it. She started for the hall closet and came face to face with empty picture hangers against her floral wall paper. Her five Japanese water colors were not hanging in the foyer. Another possession that Kevin coveted but couldn’t claim because they were from her family. Her father had bought the collection in Yokohama at the end of World War II.
She cried aloud, then collapsed on the sofa. Her first impulse was to ring the police again. Instead she wrapped her arms around herself and sat still, as if paralyzed. Outside freezing rain pattered on the window panes. Through a gathering mist she could make out blurry lights in Kitty’s living room. A light shining beside the garage told her Trey wasn’t home yet. Molly got up and picked up the telephone receiver, then dropped it.
She was still sitting on the sofa when Kevin delivered Jamie to the back door. She tensed in anticipation of a meeting, but Kevin didn’t come in with him. Jamie was silent, glum after a disappointing night on the basketball court. As he was hanging his jacket in the closet, he asked, “Where are your Japanese water colors?”
“I took them down and put them away. They can be seen from the street. I don’t want your father tempted again.”
The next week Molly dropped off Jamie at the field house, next to the bus that would carry the Cougars to the away game in Goshen. She was to ride with other team parents in the backseat of the Mellen’s van. After the team bus rolled out of the parking lot, she told Connie Mellen that she’d changed her mind about the trip because she had a headache. Then she got in her own car but didn’t start the motor or turn on the lights. She pretended to rearrange the clutter in the passenger seat. The Mellen van started, then pulled away into the main street. Everyone in the Mellen van was chattering, paying no attention to what was going on behind them. Molly pulled a knitted cap over her hair and wrapped her long muffler around nose and mout
h. As she edged open the car door, she saw two teachers, a man and a woman, talking under the light by the field house entrance, almost on the sidewalk. The woman was Jamie’s English teacher. She would recognize Molly if she walked by her. She might even strike up a conversation. All evening it must seem as if she’d ridden with the Mellens to Goshen.
A sidewalk and steps led from the rear of the field house down to the football stadium, now deserted and dark. Melting snow on the steps had probably turned to ice. The two teachers continued their talk. Molly gently closed the car door and, head tucked down, hurried in the direction of the steps to the football field. As she feared, ice glazed walkways and steps behind the field house, forcing her to make her steps short and tentative as she made her way toward the football bleachers. Her legs ached when she reached the entrance to the football stadium. With her face buried in her muffler, she stayed under the bleachers until she came to a side street. This was not the route she had intended to take home.
She avoided downtown and its brightly lit main street, instead making her way along dimmer side streets. She avoided passing homes of friends and acquaintances. She took alley ways instead, nearly falling on ice patches. By the time she got home, snow was in the air again. Her fingers were numb with cold but she managed to turn her key in the backdoor lock. She turned on no lights. Molly crept through her own house, as if she were a burglar. She passed through the living room and into the closet off the foyer where she struggled out of her parka and dropped it behind her. The flashlight was on the shelf where she’d left it, amid scarves, hats and caps. Gently she eased the door closed and waited.
The clock in the den chimed every fifteen minutes. She waited through four chimes, leaning against the soft down of her winter coat, claustrophobia choking her, imagining the horror of solitary confinement in some nameless prison. She had almost decided that the burglar wasn’t coming that night when she heard movement at the back door. Molly held her breath. There came the soft creak of the back door being opened, then the sound of the kitchen door being opened. Footfalls in the kitchen. Then in the dining room. A beam of light from a flashlight darted here and there. She heard the familiar creak of her buffet door being opened.
Hoosier Hoops and Hijinks Page 20