“Your father hurt Gladys Soft Wings’s feelings,” Running Bear said.
Gerry gripped the wheel. He’d read somewhere that I-95 ran over eighteen hundred miles and that the Miami stretch, which was less than ten of those miles, was the most dangerous. When they were free of the madness, he said, “Please apologize to her for me.”
“Your father needs to do that himself,” the chief said.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“Why?” the chief said. “Is your father above apologizing?”
Gerry pulled the car into a no-parking zone a hundred yards from the entrance to American Airlines Arena and threw it into park. Turning, he looked the chief in the eye.
“It’s like this. My father’s father was an abusive drunk who beat up my grandmother. When my father got old enough, he threw his father out of the house. Then he spent the next twenty years trying to make up to him for doing it.”
“Did he?”
“No,” Gerry said.
“So he carries around a lot of guilt.”
“Yes,” Gerry said.
Running Bear was about to say something, but then the front doors to the arena burst open, and a crowd of maniacal fans came pouring out.
Duke self-destructed in the final two minutes and lost by seven points. At the buzzer, screaming Miami College students stormed the court, cut down the nets, and carried their team out of the arena on their shoulders.
Through his binoculars, Valentine watched Rico, Nigel, and Candy leave. He hurried to the lobby and through the front doors, saw them standing in the VIP parking area.
He walked outside, and a car parked across the street flashed its brights. It was Gerry, with Running Bear in the passenger seat. He crossed and got in.
Rico’s limousine pulled out of VIP parking a minute later. His son threw his rental into drive and cut into traffic.
“You figure out what Rico’s doing?” his son said.
“Yeah. He brought in two pros, enrolled them in Miami College, and paid them to play like bums until this afternoon.”
Gerry nearly rear-ended the SUV filled with fans in front of them. “Miami College won? Do you know what the odds were on that happening?”
“Twenty-to-one,” Valentine said.
Gerry slapped the wheel. “You knew this was going down, didn’t you?”
“I knew the game was fixed, if that’s what you’re asking me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Valentine leaned forward so he was hanging between the seats. He shot a glance at Running Bear, who seemed amused by this exchange. He looked at his son, who wasn’t.
“Just drive,” he said. “Okay?”
Ray Hicks had parked in the municipal lot two blocks away from the center. Leaving Mr. Beauregard in the car with the Ultimate Rhythm and Blues Cruise on the jazz station, he’d walked to American Airlines Arena and waited for the crowd to come out. Rico Blanco and his two friends were among the last people to emerge. Rico looked happy. He wouldn’t look that way for long.
Hicks ran back to his car. Mr. Beauregard had jacked up the radio and was clapping his hands to an old Sam Cooke song. Hicks pulled out of the lot, handed the attendant his ticket, then waited impatiently while the attendant figured how much he owed.
“Just keep it,” he said, throwing the attendant a twenty.
Hicks raced down the street. Rico’s black limousine whisked past his car, going in the opposite direction. In his mirror, Hicks saw the limo hang a left at the light.
There was no place to turn around. Pulling into an alley, Hicks waited as dozens of cars whizzed past on the street. Mr. Beauregard grew agitated and played hurry-up music on his ukulele like in the old Westerns.
Hicks tapped his fingers on the wheel. There were times when his friend did not amuse him, and this was one of them.
43
Arthur Godfrey was a famous 1950s radio show host. One day, out of the blue, he fired his longtime sidekick on the air. Candy’s mother had told her about it, and Candy had hated Arthur Godfrey ever since, even though she knew nothing else about him.
Rico parked in front of Bobby Jewel’s newspaper store on the Arthur Godfrey Road. It was a beautiful night, the sidewalks teeming with blue-hairs. Candy put her hand on her stomach and groaned. Nigel glanced her way.
“Are you all right, my dear?”
“I . . . feel sick.”
“There’s ginger ale in the cooler,” Rico said from the front. “My mother always said carbonated bubbles were good for a bellyache.”
Candy feigned discomfort, then shut her eyes. Nigel petted her arm.
“You can stay in the car,” he said.
“Only if you stay with me,” she said.
“Of course,” Nigel said.
Candy slit her eyes just enough to see Rico’s reflection in the mirror. He was glaring at her, his teeth clenched. He wanted all three of them to go in, so Bobby Jewel wouldn’t be suspicious.
“Up to you,” Rico said.
Candy heard him get out of the car, and opened her eyes. Rico stood in front of the newspaper store, banging on the glass. Bobby Jewel appeared, scowling, and let him in. Candy heard a loud tap on the window on Nigel’s side of the car. Her boyfriend jumped an inch off the seat.
Tony Valentine stood outside. He had a no-nonsense look on his face.
“Is that the man who saved your life?” Nigel asked.
“Yes.”
“He looks rather mean.”
Candy didn’t think he looked mean at all. Just a man who knew what he wanted. She watched Valentine walk down a narrow alleyway next to the newspaper store. Then she got out of the limo and held out a hand to her boyfriend.
“Better hurry,” she said.
Bobby looked like he’d been run over by a truck. His hair stuck straight up, and his shirt was drenched with sweat. He flopped onto his stool behind the counter.
“Some game, huh,” Rico said.
“Missed it.”
“Duke lost!”
The bookie picked up a towel and wiped his face. “I’ve got some bad news for you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
Rico found himself looking around the store. The place was trashed. Then he saw something on the door to
