Chapter 19 #3
Two deep, slow breaths— maybe five— and I set my phone to speaker so my little lapel pin would catch everything, hovered my finger over Uncle Wayne’s contact, pressed it.
After a couple of rings, Uncle Wayne answered. “Whadda ya want?”
“I found a package in my car.”
“So? You lost. You got paid. Right?”
I took a quick breath, because that was step one. Get Uncle Wayne on record about the cheating. Forcing my tone deep and loud, I said, “That wasn’t ten thousand dollars. You motherfucker, you shorted me!”
“Hey! Not my idea,” Uncle Wayne retorted. “Your pathetic team would’ve lost tonight no matter who was in goal. Why should he pay you the full amount when you didn’t do anything useful?”
I blinked, scrambling to rearrange my thoughts. I’d figured he’d deny it. So the money really was short? Um. Uh. I fumbled for the right approach. “Hey! I did what I was told. Why should I make our plan obvious by letting in extra goals when there was no need? We had a deal.”
“You’ll learn Mr. Smith can change deals when he wants to.”
“Oh, really?” I thought fast. “So his word isn’t any good? Does he know you go around telling people he’s a liar?”
Uncle Wayne’s tone pitched higher. “Hey, I didn’t say that. Did I say that? Just, he’s in charge. If he says you get ten K, that’s his choice. If he only delivers five, that’s his choice too.”
Five thousand missing? I bet Uncle Wayne had something to do with that. And even if he didn’t, it made the accusation plausible. “Wait. Did you skim the rest? I bet you did. I bet he sent ten, and you took five off the top and figured he’d never know.”
“No! I wouldn’t touch Mr. Smith’s money. That was his decision.”
“I don’t believe you. I want to talk to him, right now. Or I’ll…” I fumbled for a threat.
“Or you’ll what, pussy boy?” Uncle Wayne laughed. “I got no problem with queers, but that’s not true for hockey or the pigs, is it? You and that cop next door. You threaten me, and I’ll out you both on Twitter.”
“It’s called X now, as you’d know if you hadn’t been in the slammer for years.”
“I know that. I just forgot.” Uncle Wayne’s voice went sly. “What do you think will happen if the boys in blue find out there’s a queer hiding among them.”
I barked a laugh. “Zeke was interviewed about being gay on the force in a magazine, years ago. He’s out, you asshole, and my team knows too.
” That landed a little punch under my ribs that made me catch a breath, but the worry was followed by a fierce tide of relief.
I’m out. Maybe not all the way, maybe he can screw with me, but not like before.
I ordered, “Get me in touch with Mr. Smith. Let him tell me to my face that he only sent five grand. Or I’ll go to the cops and tell them you tried to bribe me. I bet your prints are on the money, on the envelope.”
“Fuck you. Smith will bury you.”
“Maybe. But if he doesn’t bury you first, you’ll be back in prison for years. You want to take that risk?”
The line went dead. Was that good or bad? I couldn’t tell. It suggested I’d rattled him anyhow.
I drove a few blocks away from the arena before I had to pull over.
My hands shook. What if he calls my team?
What if he outs me to some gossip rag online?
I need to call Zeke. Zeke wasn’t at risk for simply being gay, but if his name got linked to mine, he might face nasty media publicity he really wouldn’t want.
I unpinned my voice recorder, left it on the seat next to the envelope, and got out. Pacing a dozen strides away from the car let me get my breath under control.
Zeke answered on the first ring. “Callum. You okay?”
“I’m fine. Uncle Wayne said the money really was short. Apparently only five grand in the envelope, instead of ten.”
Zeke barked a laugh. “Nothing like making your story work, eh? You think the shortage was his doing or Smith’s?”
“I don’t know, but it was a good excuse to demand to speak to Smith.”
“What did Wayne say?”
“He hung up. I’m waiting.” I paced back and forth on the sidewalk. “He threatened to out both of us to the media. I’m sorry.”
“For what? None of this is your fault. He can’t do me any damage, and I hope your team would stand by you.”
“I told them tonight,” I admitted. “Not management, but Coach and the guys.”
“You did? How’d that go? Are you okay?” Concern softened Zeke’s voice.
“I’m good. The guys were fine. Maybe not all of them, but enough. Coach has a lesbian aunt. He’s backing me up.”
“That’s a relief, right? Takes some of Wayne’s power away from him too.”
“Yeah. I liked telling him I didn’t give a fuck what he did. Except it’s not really true. He could sell any story he likes, make me out to be some kind of man-whore, send the paps to peek in your windows.”
“Whatever he does, we’ll handle it. You and me together. And babe, as incredible as you are, I think a gay man in the PHL isn’t the big story it once was. Anything else he tells them is a lie and can be ignored.”
“I’m not good at ignoring shit.” I had to hide how I’d liked hearing him call me babe. I was a tough, six-foot-three hockey player. I shouldn’t like pet names. “I prefer to punch my enemies.”
Zeke chuckled. “I’ve noticed. Sticking him back in a prison cell will be more effective, if less satisfying.”
“I guess.” I paced some more. “What’s Iverson doing? Shouldn’t he be getting back to us?”
“I don’t know. I’m not really in the loop. They weren’t happy about me asking Olivia to plant the bug.”
“Why not? They couldn’t be bothered.”
“Yeah, but I’m connected to you, and even asking Olivia to do it for me was ethically dicey. Not really impartial. A lawyer might be able to make that a problem.”
“Fuck them.”
“Probably shouldn’t have said that while you’re recording.”
“I left my voice recorder in the car. I’m twenty feet away.”
“Ah. Well then, yeah, fuck ’em.” Zeke lowered his tone. “And if we’re not being recorded, can I tell you how awesome you were on the ice? That game you played was fire.”
“I probably should’ve played worse. We might’ve won and screwed all this up.”
“I was glad you didn’t half-ass it. I’ve been worried…”
“About what?”
“About what it would do to you, if you agreed to lose. Even under threats and even if the GREC asked you to. Whatever came afterwards, you’d have always known you threw a game you could’ve won. You’re an honest guy. I think that would eat at you.”
The lump in my throat made it hard to speak. He really gets me. “I’ve been lying about who I am, though.”
“Different kind of lie. You never promised anyone to be open about your sexuality. You did promise to play your best for the team when you signed your contract. You’re a guy who keeps his promises.”
I nodded a few times, there on that dark street. “Right.” My phone chimed an incoming call, so I mumbled, “Thanks,” and switched over.
Iverson said, “Your uncle called Smith after he hung up with you, told the guy you’re a scammer. He said he gave you the ten grand, but you’re claiming you only got five. You’re a cheat, looking to increase your payoff for basically not doing anything. Threatening to go to the cops.”
“Did Smith believe that?”
“Hard to say. He told Wayne to deal with you, keep you under control. Good job so far.”
“Uncle Wayne was the one who told me there’s only five grand in the envelope. I think he skimmed it.”
“Well, that is serendipitous.” Iverson laughed. “Putting the pressure on at both ends. Although it might make your uncle more determined to shut you up.”
“I’m not afraid of Uncle Wayne.”
“Good. Your uncle’s between a rock and a hard place, if he’s a fool who skimmed his boss’s money. I have zero sympathy.”
“Me either. Now what?”
“Now we’re going to arrest your uncle. That takes him out of the mix, and leaves Smith with a big question mark next to you.”
“Arrest my uncle for what?”
“Car theft, like we talked about. You signed the complaint, remember?”
“Of course I remember.” Iverson had sat me down and gone through options and leverage. The truck was half in my name, and if they needed to get Uncle Wayne into custody, it made a handy excuse. “What do you think Smith will do?”
“Ah, that will be the interesting part. Perhaps nothing, write you off as a one-time shot, take the money he made on tonight’s game, and assume you know too little to screw him over. Or perhaps he’ll contact you.”
“So I just wait?”
“Welcome to policing, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”
The condescension in his tone made me grit my teeth. “At least you have my uncle and a place to start. You’re welcome.”
“You might as well head home. Make a stop at the EZGas station on 6th. I’ll send someone by to retrieve the money and sign the envelope into evidence. Oh, sorry you had to lose the game.”
“Got it.” I hung up, headed back to the car and got in, pinned the recorder back on my suit lapel, slammed the car into gear, and drove off.