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Now they were willing to hit Ryan, even though they were taking another swing at me.
I was still trying to go about my business, reading through the file of clippings from around the league that Andy Chen put on my desk every afternoon, along with injury reports and the previous day’s player transactions. But I kept staring at my cell phone, waiting to hear the old-fashioned ringtone and see a familiar name pop up on the screen.
First I got a text from Ryan.
Anything?
I texted him right back, knowing that he was as anxious as I was.
Not yet
The phone finally rang a few minutes after seven o’clock.Uncleon the screen.
I took a deep breath and picked it up.
“It’s been handled,” the familiar gravelly voice said.
No greeting. No preamble. There never was. Then he told me how it had been handled.
“I’m still working on the other.”
“Believe me,” I said, “this will do fine for now. Thank you so much.”
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s what family does.”
“I love you,” I said.
“Ti amo anch’io.”
I love you, too.
There was a pause.
“Check your email,” he said.
I did.
Then I walked down the hall to Danny’s office, folder in my hand, hoping that he was still there and that I wouldn’t have to drive over to his house to have the face-to-face with him for which I was very much spoiling.
His assistant, Molly, was at her desk.
“He in?” I said.
“Let me tell him you’re here,” she said, reaching for the phone on her desk.
“No,” I said, and went through the door.
“Now I’ve got a proposition for you,” I said to my brother.
Forty-Three
THEY SAT AT Awindow table at the Top of the Mark bar, at what was now officially known as the InterContinental Mark Hopkins.
From Cantor’s youth, he remembered the expression “dressed to the nines.” But the woman across from him was clearly into much higher numbers than that. Pearl necklace. A diamond ring that looked as big as a golf ball. He assumed that the black sequined cocktail dress she was wearing cost more than his car. Even in the dim light of the bar, he suspected that she’d had some work done, especially around the eyes. But he could see, as a trained detective, that it had been artfully done. Maybe a tuck under the chin as well.
She was sipping on a martini. Cantor didn’t usually drink when he was working, but he had ordered an Anchor Steam beer to be polite.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he said to the second Mrs. Joe Wolf.
