Chapter 21 – Bam
Chapter Twenty-One
BAM
My first impulse is to tie her up and then drag her into a bedroom surrounded by a refrigerator full of foods that will keep her insulin in check, and then never let her out.
But I can sense fear radiating from her.
Josie is an outside girl, a doer. She likes being at the front of the line, not peering over someone’s shoulders.
She’d waste away to nothing locked up in a room.
“I gave you what you wanted, now you need to get gone. The last thing I need is an ambulance coming in here to carry out a dead girl.” The bartender’s sharp words stop me in my tracks.
“She’s not dying,” I bark out.
“I’m fine,” Josie adds, but her voice is weak, and I don’t think it carries far enough for the burly guy to hear her.
He shrugs. “I recognize a diabetic when I see one. My mom is insulin dependent, but she’s not having these kinds of spells because we take good care of her. You’re not doing your job.”
This time, his words pierce my skin like an actual knife. He’s not wrong. I should have been more careful with Josie. She should have never gotten to the place where she was feeling woozy, let alone where she needed a shot.
“I know,” I say simply because I deserve the lashings. I reach down and lift Josie into my arms. She thumps her fists against my shoulder.
“I can walk.”
“I can carry you.”
“Hey, you may want to check the courts on Sixth and Grand. Heard it’s a pay for play.
” The bartender goes back to wiping down his bar top after that.
He must feel sorry for us. I’ll take it.
I heft Josie higher and carry her out of the pool hall and onto the sidewalk.
I let her slide out of my grasp while I order up a car.
It pulls up moments later, and a short time after that, we’re home.
Inside, as she forces a snack down, she says, “You leaving me here?”
“I want to.”
“I’ll hate that.”
“I know.”
We stare at each other for too long before she interrupts the silence with a half plea, half promise. “I’ll be more careful.”
I hate that she feels at fault here when I’m supposed to be watching out for her.
“You got some athletic shoes at home?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because we’re going to the basketball court.”
“We? As in the both of us?”
“No other people around but you and me.”
I didn’t really bring her home to get new footwear. I wanted her to eat. While she changes, I look up what to make her and decide on a peanut butter sandwich on wheat toast with banana slices. She also has yogurt in her fridge, and I make a little berry parfait for her.
“Is this all for me?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.
“Yeah. Eat up.” I fold my arms across my chest as she takes a seat without argument.
“I could have made my own meal.”
“Sure, but I did it for you.” I stuff my face with another peanut butter sandwich while she dutifully eats everything I set out for her. Her face is blank, but the skin around her mouth is tight. She’s not happy, but neither am I.
I drive my truck over to Sixth Street, her hand held tightly in mine.
On the way there, we talk about peanut butter and her preference for creamy and mine for crunchy.
It’s dumb but fun, and by the time we reach the park, a lot of the tension has faded.
We walk up next to the ten-foot high chain-link fence.
“I thought for sure you’d order me to stay home.”
“How well would you have followed that command?” I brush her hair out of her face.
“Not well,” she admits.
I drop a kiss on her forehead. “I’m not fighting battles I’m not going to win.”
I sling my arm around her shoulders and direct her toward the side street where there’s a door to the fenced-in court. A few curious gazes slide our way, but I ignore them as I walk onto the court. The point guard notices me and immediately straightens and calls a time-out. He jogs over.
“Bam Bam, my main man. 'Sup?” He dabs me up.
“Hey, Rodney, I’m looking for info about this guy. His name is Cole Patton, and he played basketball for the Central Academy Raiders. He ever come here to play?” I show Rodney Cole’s yearbook photo rather than the dead body image.
“Never saw him before. We don’t get a lot of high school kids. They’re kind of soft. You should try the courts over on Crocker Street. They usually play pick-up there.”
“Okay, thanks, man.”
“This your girl?” Rodney dips his head toward Josie. “She’s cute.” He gives her a wink. Josie starts to smile back because Rodney has that effect on women. I cover her eyes.
“Yeah, Josie’s my girl”
Rodney bursts out laughing. “All right. I see how it is, but, Josie honey, if you ever want a real man, come back here and give me a holler. This one didn’t even know how to tie his shoelaces until he hit middle school.”
“Jesus, Rodney, why are you busting my balls?”
“Cuz Josie’s fine, and I’m always up for a fine girl.” He flashes his white smile again, and behind me I hear a chorus of giggles.
“This fine girl is happy with Bam,” Josie replies.
“You’re only saying that because you didn’t get a good look at me. Bam’s covering your eyes and keeping you from the good stuff. Anyway, honey, I’m almost always here, so come and check me out if Bam don’t treat you right.”
“I won’t lie and say I’m not tempted, but I’m also not the kind of girl to cut and run, so I’ll have to say no.”
“Tempted?” I gasp in mock dismay.
Rodney shrugs. “What can I say? The ladies love me. Don’t you, ladies?” He directs his question toward the girls lining the side of the court.
“We sure do.”
“Yes, we do.”
“I love you most, Rodney.”
“If you hear anything about a missing basketball player, shoot me a text, will you?” I say, ready to whisk Josie away before she decides she wants to be part of Rodney’s harem.
Rodney gives me a wave, and I help Josie back to the car, not uncovering her eyes until I unlock the door and shove her inside.
“I was just kidding about being tempted,” she says.
“That’s good because I like Rodney, and it would have been hard to snuff him out.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I stay quiet because hell if I know. I wouldn’t like to do it, but Josie’s mine now, and I’m not letting anyone take her from me.
I expect to be disappointed at the Crocker courts, but the face of the first guy we encounter lights up with recognition.
Mark Thomas is not clearing more than five ten, which may be why he’s sitting on the bleachers dribbling a ball between his knees and not running up and down the blacktop.
“Yeah, I know him. He used to come and play every Wednesday. He stopped coming maybe four or five weeks ago.”
“How come?” Josie has her pen and notebook out.
I tuck the phone in my back pocket and watch my girl work her magic.
“Rumor was that he got banned because he was playing too rough, but personally I think it was money.”
“What do you mean?” Josie always uses these open-ended questions to prod more intel from her marks. It’s a good strategy.
“I heard that he was throwing games because of some gambling problem, so I figured he got suspended or something.” The guy shrugs.
“Wouldn’t that mean that he would have more time to play pick-up games?” asks Josie.
Mark catches the ball between his hands and frowns.
“I don’t know. He just stopped coming, and that’s when the rumors started.
I think the whole team was in on the fix.
Isn’t that why they pulled the fire alarm at your school?
'Cuz they needed to get into the principal’s office to get the evidence back that they were throwing games? ”
People fill in all kinds of details to make events make sense in their heads.
“Where did you hear this?”
“It’s what everybody’s saying. You telling me it’s wrong?”
“We don’t know. That’s why we’re here.”
“What are you? Some school police?” Suddenly Mark looks wary.
“No way. I’m a writer. Or I want to be a writer. I’m working on a piece about missing teens, and I hope to sell it.”
Mark doesn’t know what to make of that, tossing the ball back and forth between his hands until he comes to some internal decision. “If your boy is missing, it’s probably because he owed his bookies too much and couldn’t pay up.” With that, he stands, signaling that the conversation is over.
“What do you think?” Josie asks me as Mark jogs to the sideline and hands over some cash so he can be subbed into the game.
“I think he’s told us all he’s heard but that he doesn’t have any firsthand knowledge.”
“That’s what I think, too. The only fact we have is that Cole used to come here but stopped weeks ago.”
“We also know that the rumor of his game fixing spread to a lot of other schools.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire? Let me ask these other kids if they’ve heard anything.”
I follow as she questions everyone, but we don’t hear anything different. Either the person doesn’t know or they repeat the same rumors that Mark shared.
When we reach the truck, I say, “Sounds like he was killed by a bookie.”
“That doesn’t make sense based on what you told me before. A dead client is bad for business.”
“The puzzle pieces we have fit together:. He was fixing games, owed money to bookies, found dead.”
“We don’t have all the puzzle pieces.” Josie rubs her stomach. “All of this investigating is actually making me hungry. Let’s get a snack before we go back home.”
She leads me to a café that serves smoothies, acai bowls, and avocado toast. I must’ve made a face because she laughs. “Avocados are very good for diabetes. High fiber, low carbs.”
“If you say so.” I follow her inside, skepticism in my voice.
“Have you ever had one?”
When I don’t answer, she just laughs. The café is clearly geared to our age. There are only a couple of tables, and the rest of the seating is low benches and bean bags. There’s a pool table and pinball machine in the back where a bunch of students are clustered around.
“Avocado toast isn’t the main attraction here, is it?”
“Nope.” She grins. “But I wasn’t lying when I said it was good for me. I’ll order you one too so next time when you complain, it’ll be based on experience.”
If me eating avocado toast makes Josie smile like this, I’ll eat a bushel a day. We get our order and plop down in an oversized bean bag. The way it’s made forces Josie to be practically in my lap. I’m getting one of these for every room of her house and my apartment.
The avocado toast isn’t bad, but it’s not filling either. I gulp mine down in three bites while Josie nibbles on hers. She doesn’t talk, so I keep my mouth shut, too. Soon enough I start to hear the conversations around us.
“Did you hear that some kid from Central Academy is missing?”
“Dead for sure. No one is gone for an entire week unless they’ve run away or they’re dead.”
“He was on the basketball team.”
“Everyone says they were fixing games.”
“For who, though? Like who is betting on high school games?”
“People bet on everything. I saw someone made twenty grand on Reading’s backup quarterback to score a touchdown. The odds were like two thousand to one.”
“Twenty grand? It would have been twenty thousand to one.”
“Whatever. Do I look like I bet?” This comes from a redhead who scowls at her male friend.
The guy, who is clearly into her, shrinks back. “You were talking like you did,” he mumbles into his smoothie straw.
“Well, I don’t. Anyway, if you don’t pay, the Pipefitters send someone to beat you up.”
“What kind of fan fiction are you reading?” This guy is not getting laid anytime soon.
“It’s not fan fiction, asshole. I saw that kid take money from a gangbanger with the pipe tattoo on his arm right outside the Crocker courts. Everyone knows what that tattoo symbolizes. Or everyone with a brain.” The redhead jumps off her stool and grabs her drink cup. “See you never.”
“Wait.” The guy scrambles to his feet. “I was just kidding.”
But the girl has no interest in that.
“We’re not following her?”
“No. Didn’t you hear what she said? The Crocker courts. Do you think all those people lied to us?”
“All of them, no. But maybe the little weasel.” I rub my knuckles. I know exactly how to wring out some truths from that prick, though.
“None of that.” Josie covers my hand with her own. “We’re going back to Crocker courts and stake it out until we watch a money exchange. Then we follow the Pipefitter—”
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll support a lot of things for you, Josie, including going to the pool hall or Crocker courts, but I can’t let you follow a Pipefitter around.
You might as well ask me to cut off my balls and hang them like a wind chime in front of the school.
No self-respecting man puts his woman in that kind of danger. ”
Josie’s face tightens. “Is this because of my diabetes?”
“Fuck no. It’s because they’re a gang, Josie, that does bad things to sweet people like you.” I run an agitated hand through my hair. This fun little investigation of hers is taking a bad turn, and I don’t know how to handle it.