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He was storing up information about Dan Calebow like nuts for winter, ready to be drawn out if he had to use it, but so far Calebow was screwing himself over. The Stars had won only a single game since the season opener, and all their turnovers made them look like a college team. With each loss, Ray felt a little better. Maybe Calebow was going to get himself fired for incompetence.
He waited until the Stars' coach had driven away before he drove home himself. Ellen met him at the door and right away started fussing over him. He walked past her without a word, heading into the den, where he locked the door, slumped down in his favorite chair, and lit a cigarette.
The small room was paneled in knotty pine, although hardly any of it was visible because every foot of wall space was covered with memorabilia: action photographs of Ray Junior, trophies, jerseys tacked up with pushpins, framed certificates, and newspaper stories. When he was in here, Ray sometimes pretended all these honors belonged to him. For the past few months he'd even been sleeping on the old couch under the room's only window.
He sucked on his cigarette and coughed. The spasms were lasting longer all the time and his heart had been kicking up again, but he wasn't going to die yet. Not until he'd made Calebow pay. He wanted the Stars to lose every game. He wanted the whole world to know that bastard had made the biggest mistake of his life when he'd cut Ray Junior. Then maybe Ray could go back to some of his old hangouts and have a few drinks with his buddies. Just once before he died, he wanted to feel like a big shot again.
Ray got up from his chair and walked over to the built-in cupboards, where he pulled out the whiskey bottle he kept behind some boxes. He unscrewed the top and took a swig, then he carried the bottle over to the couch. As he sat, he picked up the gun he'd left on the end table when he'd gotten home from working the auto show at the Midwest Sports Dome yesterday.
The Dome's empty tonight, he thought, but tomorrow night they had a religious crusade coming in. The next night, it was some nigger rap group. He hated working concerts, but other than that, he liked being a security guard at the dome. Especially on Sunday afternoons when the Stars were losing.
Taking another swig, he stroked the gun in his lap and listened to the crowd call out his name.
Hardesty!
Hardesty!
Hardesty!
Chapter 15
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Phoebe slid back the curtain she had been peering through as Dan pulled his Ferrari into the drive at precisely noon on Saturday. Her stomach quivered like a teenager's on her first date. She went to the bottom of the stairs and called up to Molly. "Dan's here. Let's go."
"I don't want to."
"I understand that, but you're coming with us anyway. I need a dog sitter."
"That's just an excuse, and you know it. You could leave Pooh here with me."
"She needs some exercise. Stop stalling, Molly. Just give it a chance. It's a beautiful day, and we'll have fun." She wanted her words to come true, but she knew it was more likely that she and Dan would have an argument. She was hoping Molly's presence would act as a buffer.
The story of Dan's suspension had broken in Tuesday morning's papers, and both she and Ron had been hounded by reporters all week. Some of the press had even managed to locate Dan at his vacation home in Alabama. Dan and Ron had issued separate statements, neither of them substantive, and she had finally been forced to take the NFL commissioner's phone call. Needless to say, he wasn't happy with her. On the positive side, the suspension had squashed rumors about her affair with Dan.
Molly appeared at the top of the stairs wearing one of her new pairs of jeans, a plaid, oxford collar blouse, and a scowl. Phoebe had thought about calling Dan to let him know she was bringing Molly along, but something had held her back, maybe the intensity of her desire to hear his voice.
Molly had pulled her hair back to show off the small gold studs in her newly pierced earlobes. Phoebe was delighted that she had also somehow managed to talk Molly into a shorter, breezier cut, so that her hair no longer overpowered her small features. She thought Molly looked darling, but her sister refused to accept any of Phoebe's compliments.
"It's not fair," Molly complained. "I don't know why you're making me do this."
"Because I'm mean and heartless."
The day was warm, and Phoebe was wearing a pair of pleated khaki shorts with a daffodil yellow blouse, matching socks, and white canvas Keds. Just before she picked up Pooh, she plunked a floppy-brimmed straw hat on her head, positioning the sassy pink silk rose that held up the brim exactly in the center.
"That hat's stupid."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Molly. A lady always likes to know she's looking her best."
Molly's eyes dropped. "I just think you should look your age, that's all."
Ignoring that ego-booster, she opened the front door. Dan was coming up the walk in a pair of faded jeans and white T-shirt, with a black and red Chicago Bulls' hat on his head. She reminded herself that she had met any number of men more physically beautiful. His nose wasn't entirely straight, his jaw was too square, and he was too muscular. But everything about him touched a hidden source of warmth inside her. She felt a connection with him that she couldn't explain, and she didn't like to remember how many times she'd thought of him during the week.
He greeted her with that drop-dead grin of his and stepped inside, while she busied herself scolding a yipping Pooh, who was twitching ecstatically in her arms in an effort to get to him.
"Quiet, Pooh, you're being obnoxious. Molly, would you get her leash?"
Pooh's pink tongue lapped and her eyes filled with adoration as she regarded Dan. He contemplated her warily.
