“Well, don’t get used to it,” said Jupe, cutting a cheese danish in half. “You’re going to have to give the money back.”
“Jupe.” Pete suddenly focused on all the half-eaten food spread out in front of his well-padded friend. “I really don’t think your diet is going to work.”
“It’s working — slowly,” Jupe insisted. “I’ve lost half a pound in the past two weeks.”
“You probably
Jupe shuddered, and his stomach turned over. The picture of him dangling over the edge of the parking garage was still crystal clear in his mind. “If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed, I would have fought harder myself. You and Bob arrived at the right — ” He was interrupted by the telephone. “I got it!” Pete shouted to his mom in the other room. He picked up the cordless phone in his kitchen. “Hello... Yeah, this is him.”
“This is
“Yeah, I sure did,” Pete said, snapping his fingers to get Jupe’s attention. Pete’s voice dropped. “I got the note and the money last night... Yeah?”
It was driving Jupe crazy hearing only half the conversation.
“Yeah, okay, sure,” Pete said. “I’d like to meet you, too. Where and when?”
Pete listened some more, nodding, and Jupe held his breath.
“Yeah, I know where that is,” Pete said. “In an hour?”
Jupe shook his head no and waved two fingers at Pete.
“How about two hours?” Pete asked. “Okay, I’ll be there.”
“Was it Duggan?” Jupe asked as soon as Pete had hung up.
“I don’t know,” Pete said. His face was angry and scared at the same time. “Sometimes it sounded like him and sometimes it didn’t. He was real friendly, Jupe. The piece of scum is breaking every law that means anything in college sports and he acts like we’re buddies.”
“That’s perfect,” Jupe said. “It means he thinks you’re playing along with him. Now tell me everything he said.”
“He asked if I got his envelope last night, and he said there was plenty more where that came from if I played ball with him. Some joke.”
“Then what?”
“He said he thought it was time we meet and talk about my future, and then he set the place — ten minutes north of here on the Coast Highway. Why’d you want me to make it two hours?”
“Because the microphone I used in the parrot costume is a wireless mike. If I hook it up to a portable transmitter — ”
“You can wire me for sound and hear everything that goes on!” Pete finished. “That’s great.”
“Let’s get over to the workshop and hook you up,” Jupe said.
Two hours later Pete turned off the Pacific Coast Highway at a scenic overlook. He talked the whole time he pulled into the parking lot, giving a full description for Jupe’s benefit. Jupe was squeezed into the trunk of the big Cadillac with a radio receiver tuned to the same frequency Pete was broadcasting on. The trunk lid was tied to look like it wouldn’t stay closed. In fact, it was tied that way so Jupe could get some air.
“Jupe, I hope you can hear me. Man, with this microphone and transmitter taped around my chest, I feel like I can’t breathe. There are a couple of cars parked here. One’s a Porsche 911 Targa. It’s blue and it’s bad. There are a few people looking around. One guy’s standing by himself without a camera. I bet that’s our guy. He’s medium height. About thirty, maybe. Aviator shades. He’s wearing a blue business shirt with a tie. He’s got the sleeves rolled, and he’s looking right at me now. I’ll try to let him do most of the talking. I stopped the car. He’s coming this way. Here I go.”
Pete stepped out of the car, tossing his sunglasses on the seat behind him.
“Hi, Pete,” said the man, slipping off his sunglasses and holding his hand out. Pete shook it, noticing the man had blue eyes.
“You want to talk in the car or look at the scenery?” the man asked.
“Uh, outside,” Pete said,
“Fine,” said the man, putting his sunglasses back on and walking back toward the railing overlooking the Pacific Ocean. “Let me say a couple of things. First, we think you’ve got the potential to become quite a basketball player.”
“You’ve been talking to Coach Duggan?”
The man smiled. “Maybe the first thing I should have said was not to ask me any questions, Pete. I’m going to tell you everything I want you to know.”
Why’s this guy so calm? Pete wondered. I guess he’s done this a hundred times.
“When we meet or when I phone you — and that won’t be often, you’ll know me as Michael Anthony.” The man laughed. “It’s a name I’m using just for fun, because Michael Anthony was a character on an old TV show. He worked for a very rich man who gave people checks for a million dollars. Anthony was the messenger, and he was never allowed to tell anyone who was sending the money.”
“Uh — huh,” Pete said.
“I’m working for someone, too, Pete, and I’m never going to tell you who, and you don’t ask, right?”
“Uh — huh,” Pete said again.
“Good.” Michael Anthony took out a pack of gum. “I quit smoking,” he said. “Want a stick?”
Pete shook his head no — then yes. Maybe he could get the guy’s fingerprint. Probably Jupe wouldn’t have thought of that.
No luck. Michael Anthony held out the pack for Pete to take his own stick.
“This someone is willing to pay you a lot of money to play basketball for Shoremont. You’re the kind of player Shoremont really needs. We know you’re interested because you’ve already accepted our first two payments. Well, to tell you the truth, four thousand dollars is chicken feed.” Pete gulped and almost swallowed his gum. “But you’ll never know how much your next payment will be. That’s one of my employer’s rules. But I’ll tell you this: the better you play, the bigger the payoffs.”
“And that’s it? I just play basketball?” Pete said.
“The rules are simple.” Anthony raised a finger for each one as he listed them. “You play like a star — that’s first. You keep your grades up. We can’t always help you in that department. But sometimes we’ll tell you what courses to take. You never discuss our arrangements with a living soul — not your family, not your friends, not anyone else on the team. And you never try to find out who I am or who is sending you the money. What do you say?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” Pete said, following Jupe’s instructions. Jupe had said to drag it out as long as possible. But Pete could tell Michael Anthony was getting impatient.
“Pete, you’ve had enough time to think about it,” said Anthony, increasing the firmness in his still-calm voice. “Well, think about this: Every kid who plays college ball hopes he gets into the NBA. That’s the only big money chance a basketball player has. And you know how many of the thousands and thousands of college players get into the NBA each year?”
“A hundred?” Pete guessed. “Fifty. Not much of a chance to make the big bucks, is it? If you’re smart, you’ll make your college career pay off. And I’ve got a hunch you’re smart, Pete. Now, I’ve got a basketball team to recruit. Are you on the team or not?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Pete said. “Can I let you know for sure in a few days?”
Michael Anthony chewed his gum for a minute. “It’s a big step, an important decision.” He put his arm around Pete’s shoulder and turned Pete away from the ocean, until they were facing the cars in the parking lot again. “See the Porsche?”
“The Targa?”
“Yes. It’s not brand new.”
“I know. It’s an ’86, right?”
“Right. Pete, here are the keys.”
Pete looked down. The sun flashed on silver keys lying in Michael Anthony’s palm.
“What do you mean?” asked Pete, his heart shifting into a higher gear.
“The car’s yours, as a loan right now. But it could be yours to keep, and I think you know what I need to
