Dixie picked it up, opened his drawer, took out a pair of horn-rimmed half glasses, put them low on his nose and started to put his feet up. He stopped suddenly just after he started and put them back on the floor, and opened the folder and started to read. While he read, I looked around the room. It was classic gym cinder block, painted white. There was a picture of Dixie with Troy Murphy, who'd been an all-American point guard for Dixie and was now a star with the Portland Trail Blazers. But there weren't any others. No team pictures, no memorabilia. In the corner across from Dixie's desk was a big screen television set and a VCR on a yellow oak table. Three or four folding chairs leaned against the wall. I looked back at Dixie. He had one page flipped over and was reading the second one. I waited. Dixie flipped the second page. His face had no expression. Somewhere, faintly echoing off the cinder block, I could hear a basketball pounding on a floor.
Dixie finished the typescript. He put it down on his desk, reached out and assembled the videocassettes in a neat pile, stood carefully, and walked somewhat stiffly, carrying the tapes to the VCR. He arranged them in order, turned on the VCR and the TV, put a cassette into the VCR, punched PLAY and walked back, slowly, to his desk. He lowered himself carefully into his chair and leaned back and began to watch the videotape. I leaned on the wall and watched it too, for maybe the fifth time.
Dixie watched the tapes, the way he'd read the transcript. There was no expression on his face. He had no reaction. He didn't say a word. When the first tape was over, he started to push himself up.
'Stay,' I said. 'I'll run the machine.'
Dixie settled back into his chair. I went to the VCR and changed cassettes. When the last one was finished, it was midafternoon. I picked all the cassettes up and put them into the gym bag. Dixie still sat. Neither one of us made a sound. I went back to leaning on the wall. After a while Dixie swiveled his chair toward me.
'Dwayne's shaving points,' Dixie said. 'Maybe Danny Davis, too.'
I nodded.
'You see what you want to see, I guess,' Dixie said. 'You say he can't read.'
I nodded.
'Shit,' Dixie said.
I leaned on the wall some more. Dixie sat. The sound of basketballs bouncing had stopped.
'What we going to do?' Dixie said. 'East regionals start next Saturday.'
'I don't know for sure what we're going to do,' I said. 'But I've got some goals. One, the kid's involved with New York wiseguys and I want to get him unhooked from them. Two, I want to be able to preserve his future. Three, I want him to learn to read.'
'If we turn him in, his future is zero,' Dixie said. 'Pros won't touch him.'
'I know,' I said.
'Means you're going to cover up for him?'
'Yeah, I guess it does,' I said. 'How about you?'
Dixie shook his head. 'He's the best player I ever had. Better than Troy, even.' Dixie jerked his head toward the picture on the wall.
I waited.
'People can't trust the score, any game goes to hell,' he said.
I shifted shoulders against the wall.
'I don't know,' Dixie said. 'I don't know what to do,'
'Let's take it a step at a time,' I said. 'Let's talk with the kid. If he'll admit it, then we can move on the guys who rigged him to do it.'
'What if he denies it?' Dixie said.
'You tell him you looked at the tapes, you know he did it. If he still won't admit anything, you sit him down.'
'Sit him down?' Dixie said the words very slowly, with space between them.
'Yeah.'
'For how long?'
'Until he tells us what's going on. Until he names names.'
'Jesus Christ,' Dixie said. 'I got the East regionals next week. We get through those I got the tourney at Salt Lake. In about three weeks I could be playing for the national championship.'
'I didn't say my plan was fun,' I said.
'Fun, my God. Can't we use the tapes for proof?'
'Probably not in court, but even so, we don't want to go to court. And if we did, what have we got? The fact that Dwayne, maybe Danny Davis, is shaving points. We don't have for whom. And for whom is what we need if we're going to pull this off without screwing the kid.'
'So what are you going to do if he does tell you?' Dixie said, 'You say you don't want to ruin the kid, so you can't go to the cops.'
'Dixie,' I said, 'you got to understand this kind of work. I don't have a game plan. I sort of feel my way along. When I run into something I don't know, I try to find out. When I find out enough, then maybe there's a way to figure out what to do. And maybe there isn't. You can't know until you find out what there is to find out.'
Dixie rocked slowly in his swivel chair. His hands were folded across his stomach, and he seemed to be studying his thumbnails. Finally, without looking up, Dixie said, 'I'll talk with Dwayne.'
