“No. The Gonzalezes. She’s very Catholic and she thought she was purchasing actual artifacts from the Vatican, but they were, in fact, excellent fakes.”
“Ahh. Yeah. Streep’s family does do that sometimes. I mean, they probably”—she paused a moment to think of a safe word to use—“acquired the originals from the Vatican, but those are in the main family home in the Philippines or at one of their local churches. They’re big fans of the pope. Anything he’s touched means a lot to them.”
“Well, whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. I want you guys with me. You guys are my secret weapon. Nothing is concrete yet, but I wanted to see if the five of you would even be interested.”
“Interested? Well . . . let me think a moment.” And Tock did, though she did her thinking out loud. “Mads just bought a house here. And she’s fucking one of the Malone boys. So that will definitely go in your favor. Max just met her very young half-sister, and I know she’s not ready to leave her yet, at least until they know whether she’s more MacKilligan sociopath or MacKilligan sociopath adjacent. Nelle has access to a bunch of private jets, so she can travel wherever, whenever and doesn’t really stress about which team she’s on as long as Mads and the rest of us are there. Nelle doesn’t say it much, but she really likes to win. As for Streep, she’ll be near Broadway. She’ll happily move here.”
“And you?”
“I don’t care.”
“What do you mean, you don’t care? You don’t care about what? Basketball? The team? Life? Oh, my God, are you depressed? Should I get you mental health assistance? There’s no shame in asking for help, Tock.”
“No, I’m fine,” she said simply. Because she was. “But I can live anywhere as long as my team’s with me. Well . . . anywhere except Alaska. I refuse to move to Alaska.”
“I didn’t know you were so anti-Alaska.”
“I’m not anti-Alaska. I just know my limits. And not being able to walk from the local grocery store to my house without being mauled by a wandering polar bear does not sound like a good time to me.”
“Don’t Max and Mads currently live on a street—”
“Full of bears. Yes. But that’s different. Those are suburban bears. Not crazed, full-blooded polars that have lost most of their ice shelf. Besides, Charlie keeps them under control by making this upside-down honey-pineapple cake that is to die for.”
“Is it really that good?”
“It’s amazing.”
“So if I made you guys an offer . . .”
“Very high probability.”
“Okay. This is good.” She nodded. “This is very good. Just don’t mention it to anyone yet.”
“So you want me to pretend I won’t tell Mads and the others . . . ?”
She sighed. “Fine. Tell them but keep it among you five, please. I am still working out offers and whatnot.”
“Are you sure you want to tie yourself to us?” Tock asked her. “I mean, I know we’re great in a game and all. But . . . it’s us. I could say we start shit, but really, shit tends to follow us.”
“Are you worried about prison time?”
“Why do you mention prison? Have the cops been sniffing around?” Tock leaned forward. “Do we need to use our extra passports?”
“No, no,” Coach quickly replied. “And I don’t want to hear about your ‘extra’ passports,” she said with air quotes. “Plus, I already know you guys are not welcome in many Florida cities.” She thought a moment. “And all of Idaho.”
Relieved she didn’t have to tell the others to “make a run for it!,” Tock relaxed back in her chair. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. That’s true. But no. We’re not worried about anything.”
“Good. Okay. That helps.” She again played with some papers on her desk before finally asking, “What happened in Idaho anyway?”
Tock shook her head. “Coach, unless you want to risk being pulled into a federal grand jury, I’d probably let it go. I mean, we were underage and everything, but there are some things that have no statute of limitations.”
Coach let out a long sigh. “Thank God you guys are good at basketball.”
“That’s funny.”
“What is?”
“My mom has always said the same thing. And she hates basketball.”
*
“What are they wearing?” Jerry asked his coworker Gregg.
Jerry didn’t mind Gregg. True. The others found him freakish and cold and a little terrifying. But the dude was just tall. And wide. Like a Mac truck or a building.
It wasn’t just his massive size, though. It was the silence. Gregg didn’t say much unless he had something to say. He would just stand there, staring. It was easy to be freaked out by that. But since Jerry was one of the few who didn’t mind being around Gregg, they were always assigned to work together.
Jerry was okay with that. He made lots of extra money at times like this due to Gregg’s connections. But this was the first time Jerry had ever felt the need to involve himself beyond letting people in and out and pretending nothing had happened. This time, however, how could he ignore what he was looking at?
Both women looked like they’d been in a bad 1970s baseball-related soft porn. Both wore cutoff denim shorts, sweat socks, sneakers, and blue baseball jerseys. The sleeves had been torn off the slightly taller one’s jersey, revealing giant shoulders; and the dark-haired hottie—who was actually chewing gum like a true seventies’ soft porn star—had a cutoff jersey that barely covered her ample chest. Both also had on blue baseball caps, but the hottie had hers turned backward, so you could easily see her pretty face. The other one, though, had her cap pulled so low you could barely see her eyes. Her cold, weird, off-putting eyes.
The plan had been like all the others: to allow two people inside to pick up their “cargo,” and get them out before anyone asked any questions. The problem now, though, was how could that happen when the two people who had been sent were these women. And they were looking like that?
“He’s kind of right,” Gregg grumbled to the women.
“Sorry, but we just came from a game,” the hottie said.
“Softball league?”
“The Malone Pub against Dolly’s Dinner Den.”
“Did you win?”
“Got our asses handed to us.” She shook her head. “We’re kind of the worst at softball.”
“It’ll be fine, y’all. Let’s just go,” the tall one muttered with an accent that made his skin crawl. Made him think of the movie Deliverance. He had seen that movie when he was twelve and he had never recovered.
“Yeah,” the hottie said. “We’re supposed to be meeting people for beers.”
“But,” Jerry argued, “they’re going to have to walk past—”
“It’ll be fine,” Gregg insisted with a sigh.
Look, if that’s what they wanted, Jerry wouldn’t argue the point. But if he was female . . . he’d never do it. To walk past prison bars and have the scum of the earth say things to him that absolutely no one wanted to hear . . . Well, it was up to these women and Gregg. Jerry just wanted to make his money.