He wrapped his arms around her. “I think that’s great. I’m so proud of you.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled him closer. “I want more.”
He took her by the hand and led her back to bed. “Me too, Rachel. Me too.”
Calvin woke up squinting at the blinding sun shining through the window. The curtains had been pulled back and tied with the strings. He took a moment to shake the cobwebs and then reached across the bed. Rachel was gone.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up on the edge. He tested his knee for stability and flexibility. It would never get any stronger. He had severely torn the anterior cruciate ligament in his right knee. Reconstructive surgery had replaced the ligament and two arthroscopic surgeries were necessary before he could walk. Even with the plates and rods, he was thankful when he made it through a day without agonizing pain.
He used the muscles in his arms to heave himself off the bed, rising to his feet and stretching his long, muscular body. He began his ritual knee workout, easing into each exercise, holding at the first point of discomfort. Using light enough resistance, he performed three sets of twenty repetitions of the various exercises. This was the most important time of the day for his knee and he couldn’t overdo it.
First, he lay on the floor, raising his leg up and down doing hamstring stretches. Placing a hand against the wall, he performed some quadriceps stretches, then moved to strengthening exercises—leg extensions, straight leg raises, buttock tucks, quarter squats (both single and double leg) and forward and lateral step-ups.
For three straight years at college, he’d been awarded the ‘Hard Hat’ award for the team’s hardest worker on and off the field. The amount of time and hard work he had put into preparing for football was still paying off now.
After twenty-five minutes, he was satisfied, though perspiration ran down the back of his neck. He showered and dressed, then strolled across the street to Ed’s Breakfast Grill. He’d wait until he had returned to his apartment to run the stairs, first walking and then progressing into a quick jog. His weightlifting was done at night before bed.
It was past the morning breakfast rush, so he sat down at a booth in the half- empty diner. A scowling, uniformed waitress set a fresh mug of coffee in front of him and slid the morning paper across the table.
“Good morning, Calvin. What’ll you have today, honey?” Her pen hovered over a notepad.
“The usual, I guess.” He tossed the menu down on the table.
She snatched up the menu and headed back to the counter. Calvin was no longer alarmed by how she screamed his order out through the window into the kitchen.
“Hey, Calvin!” Ed, owner and cook, nodded in Calvin’s direction.
He was a big man who sweated a lot, but Calvin thought of him as a friend, not just someone who was good to his steady customers.
Calvin gave a quick salute and turned to the morning paper. As he always did, he skimmed the news to the sports section first. He enjoyed keeping up with some of the players that he’d once played against and dominated in college. He couldn’t believe the money that players made in the NFL. Players with half his talent were making millions.
The slamming of a plate brought him back from the past. The waitress pulled some silverware from her apron and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” Calvin said. He always felt that eating was wasting time, so he gobbled it, paid his bill and left a modest tip.
He checked out of the motel, paying cash. He was part of the cash-only economy—no banks, no government and underreported income. To keep the IRS off his back, he did file taxes for a third of what he made and listed himself as a “freelance messenger.” Close enough.
He headed to work.
Donald Pitt sat at the desk in his tiny office eating an egg sandwich. As he bit into it, a clump of melted cheese dripped and landed on files that were scattered across his desk.
“For fuck’s sake! Dixie, get in here!” Pitt called out for his secretary.
“Hello, Donald.”
The voice that came from the doorway wasn’t Dixie’s and he dropped half the sandwich into his lap.
“Ace,” Don said. “I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
“Having trouble with the sandwich?”
Don used a napkin to wipe the egg from his pants. Never one to waste time on hygiene, he finger-combed what hair was left on his balding head, parting it to the side. He rushed to the door, greeting his best-paying and most frequent client, his arm extended the whole way.
He pulled a chair out for the casino owner.
“You called?” Don’s young secretary came to the doorway, one finger twirling a piece of gum in her mouth.
“Never mind, Dixie.” He waved the secretary away, who left rolling her eyes.
He shut the door and turned back to his visitor. “Please come in, Ace.”
Sanders entered but didn’t sit. They had met seven years ago and Don still didn’t trust him, but he’d already made a small fortune handling most of Sanders’ dirty work. He just needed to keep Ace happy for a little while longer.
“So…is everything set?” Sanders asked.
“Pretty much,” he replied, sitting back behind the desk.
“What about Watters ?”
“He won’t be a problem. I can handle him.” He smiled, but his partner didn’t return it. He thought that Ace probably didn’t like that Don was in control of this part.
“You just make sure that he’s in Grant’s private office by 9:30 tomorrow morning.” Sanders’ tone was hard.
Don leaned forward. “Tomorrow morning? Why so soon?”
“It needs to be done ASAP. Time is running out and I can’t wait any longer.”
“Will everything be ready?”
“Of course. You just take care of Watters. It’ll be perfect. It has to be. You better hope it is.”
“I don’t know. Sounds risky.”
Sanders pulled a brochure from his jacket. He opened it to the centerfold and set it on the desk. “A piece of this will be all yours.” He pointed to the layout of the new Greek Hotel and Casino.
Don’s eyes widened. The place would make millions. He tried to touch the paper, but Sanders grabbed it and stuck it inside his jacket.
“How about a deal memo for a sense of security?” Don said. “I would feel better knowing I have some documentation for my share.”
Grinning, Sanders slapped him on the back. “You’ll just have to trust me, Donald.”
He frowned.
When Sanders left, he relaxed back into his chair. All he could think about was that Sanders could no doubt pull this off and would be a real power in Vegas.
Chapter 5
Calvin didn’t get to work until after eleven, a good time for an impromptu visit. He walked into the little shop and the odor of cigarette smoke and sweat assaulted him. The noise he had grown accustomed to the last three years—fingers tapping keyboards, phones ringing and sports games from around the world on the televisions— greeted him like a punch in the gut. A couple of heads shot up from behind newspapers, but seeing a big black man, they returned to their reading.
The lines for the day were already posted on the board and he scanned them as he nodded to the secretary, who was busy painting red-lacquered nails. “You got something for me, Dixie?”
She opened a drawer and searched it. “Nothing here.”
