She smiled.
“Wait,” I said, sharing the smile. “I know what it is. I was right that you’ve been beautiful your whole life.”
She grinned, and I cocked my head at her.
“Ms. N. Crouch,” I said. “Did you just wink at me?”
And thus began my professional relationship with Nadine.
Chapter 8
The word on Teddy Boy Turner was that the gambling bug bit him long before he scored the bartending gig at the Grantline Bar & Grill in Darnell, West Virginia. As a teenager, he mowed lawns and washed cars until he amassed enough money to start betting the sports book.
In gambling, winning early in life usually leads to financial ruin down the road, and Teddy Boy’s experience was no different. His current losing streak had put his life in serious jeopardy. He was deeper in debt than his Grantline salary could ever pull him out—to Salvatore Bonadello, no less, one of the biggest and most notorious crime bosses in the country.
Teddy Boy lived in the constant fear that one day soon the goons would walk in around closing time and demand payment. He was prepared to get a broken arm or leg, maybe some cracked ribs. What he wasn’t prepared for was a personal phone call from Sal Bonadello himself.
According to Sal, the call went this way:
“I been looking over your account,” Sal said.
“I’m doing my best, Mr. Bonadello. I just need a little more time.”
“How would you like your—whatcha call—slate cleared?”
Teddy Boy thought about that. “I can smack someone around with a baseball bat for you, but I’m not a professional,” he said. “I never took a life or nothin’.”
“Naw, not like that,” Sal said. “I need some information and a favor. You do a good job, maybe I wipe your slate clean. How would that be?”
“It’d be like getting a new lease on life, Mr. Bonadello. Not to complain, but I’m working day and night just to pay the vig. I haven’t been able to make a dent in the loan.”
“You know this kid, Charlie Beck?”
“Everyone knows Charlie.”
“He a friend of yours?”
Teddy Boy paused. “Not unless you say so, Mr. Bonadello.”
“Good answer. You seen him in your place with any girls?”
“Yeah, sure. He gets a lot of action. Looks sort of like Tom Brady.”
“Ever seen him with a high school girl? Short blond hair, name of Kimberly Creed?”
“Not that I know of,” Teddy Boy said.
Sal said, “Ted, you disappoint me. I was hoping to help you out with your—whatcha call—lethal problem.”
There was a long pause and then Teddy Boy cleared his voice and said, “Well, there is a rumor going around.”
“Ted?”
“Yes sir?”
“Gimme something I can use.”
Chapter 9
Ned Denhollen awoke confused and disoriented. He looked at one arm, then the other, trying to get his bearings. Ned probably remembered setting the alarm, closing up the drugstore and walking across the parking lot toward his car. Now here he was, lying on his back on the floor of a room he couldn’t possibly recognize, and—could this be possible?
