The box is much easier to handle now. I walk around the car toward the player’s entrance. Through the windows of the Camry I can see Anna, still and quiet. Somewhere inside, her brain is churning, trying to find someplace to settle, but nothing gives her peace.
I think about helping her with that. I think about not just getting her away from David’s place and the cops who will be showing up. I think about whoever is going to come along and take over where David left off. Will they know about his crazy sister-in-law? Will they think she had a hand in his murder? Possibly. They won’t know about me. I’m David’s ghost. No one knows about me except David and Branko, and the people I’ve hurt. I’m clear now. Clear and rich. And alone.
I think about showing Anna how to run. Protecting her. It’s a silly idea, childish. But I guess it’s to be expected. I thought I’d be dead by now, and I’m having to make up the rest of my life as I go along.
THERE’S A SECURITY guard just inside the entrance. I tell him I’m Miguel Arenas’s bodyguard. He checks out my bruises and tattoos. I guess he decides I fit the bill because he picks up a phone and makes a call and then waves me on down the corridor.
There’s a buzz in the air, the slow anticipation of the game that will start in a little less than two hours. A groundskeeper passes me, bases stacked in his arms. The door to the promotions room is open. It’s packed with giveaways: mini-bats, key chains, stuffed seagulls, hats, batting gloves. There’s a guy going through a pile of what look like hot dog costumes. Around the corner, Miguel is waiting for me outside the home clubhouse.
– Hey, man.
– Hey.
He looks me over.
– You’re a mess, man. Did you look that bad last night?
– Yeah. Pretty much.
– I was loaded.
– Yeah.
– Yeah.
He kicks at the concrete floor. He’s half dressed for the game: pants and cleats, but he’s wearing a Stanford T-shirt.
– How’s Jay?
He rubs the top of his head.
– They had to wire his jaw shut. It was broken. And his nose. And his cheekbone was cracked. They said he was lucky his eye didn’t pop out.
– You talk to him?
– A little. They got him totally stoned.
– He say anything?
– No, not really. Can’t talk with the jaw shut.
– How’s he gonna deal with that?
He grins.
– Gonna drive him nuts.
– Yo.
He laughs.
I point at the bruise on his neck.
– How’re you?
– OK. It’s sore. And I got some scrapes on my hands and stuff. No biggie.
– Uh-huh.
– Yeah. But. Someone in the emergency room recognized me. And they, I guess they know someone, so they called that Page Six deal and a photographer showed up.
– Oh, shit.
– No, it’s cool. My agent and a lawyer for the club made some calls. They promised those guys a better story later if they killed this one. Said publicity like that two days in a row would hurt my career. Whatever.
– That’s cool.
– Yeah, but. The club is sending me back down. After the game. Sending me back for rookie ball. Said I can play, but I’m not ready to handle life in the City. So. Shit.
– Sorry.
– Yeah.
Another player ducks out the clubhouse door. He nods at Miguel and heads for the tunnel to the field. Miguel watches him, and then turns back to me.
– So look. I’m thinking.
– Yeah?
– I’m thinking this is maybe not gonna work out with, you know, with your boss and all. I’m thinking. Man, you said those guys last night were hooked up with him?
– That’s right.
– Well. I mean, that’s not cool. Those guys hurt my best friend. That’s not. I can’t live like that, man.
– Uh-huh.
– So. I’m thinking you can talk to him. And tell him I want to make an arrangement. Start maybe making some payments. Work something out. And. I mean. I can’t.
He gestures, taking in the stadium above us.
– This, all this. The game. This chance. I don’t want to lose this. Jay. I can’t have that kind of thing happen. Ever. I can always play. That I can do. I can play this game wherever. But I can’t have my friends being hurt. So. Will you talk to him? Tell him. I don’t know what.
A guy comes around the corner. He’s carrying the hot dog costumes. I wait till he’s gone.
– Here’s the thing, Miguel. I talked to David this morning. And things are gonna change a little. Someone, I don’t know who, but someone else is going to have your paper. My guess is they won’t be interested in the kind of deal you had, that whole letting-the-debt-float thing. Payments won’t really cut it.
– Oh, shit.
– No. Now. Look. Don’t worry about it. It’s gonna be OK. I’m gonna help. And it will work out.
– I don’t know, man. This is. I need out.
– We’re gonna get you out. I. Hey. I’m gonna get you out. I am. I really. I am. So do something for me.
I put my hand on the box.
– This is for you. I mean, really, it’s for whoever comes to collect on your paper. What you do is, you put this someplace safe. When they come around, when they call, you give them this.
He looks sideways at the box.
– Man, do you know what I owe?
– Yeah.
– And you got something there that will cover it?
– Yeah. This will do it.
– And. Is that drugs?
– No.
– ’Cause I want nothing to do. No more trouble, OK. So no drugs.
– Miguel. Take the box. I want you to have this. Get out, man. Get out of trouble. This will do that. Take it, man. Take it and use it. Trust me.
He doesn’t say anything. Then he reaches out and puts his hand on the box.
– OK. OK, man. Thanks.
– Sure. OK. I. I got to go.
– What?
– I got to.
– The game!
– Yeah, I know.
– Maaan.
