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  “Ellen, get the hell outta here,” Big Joe told the brunette. “I’m going to ream this boy a new asshole, and I can’t concentrate with you standing around here looking like you do.”

  Monroe deposited Lenny in the brunette’s chair as she left the table to join the short blonde at the bar across the room.

  “Good evening, Mister Banks. I sure hope you have come to give me something. Monroe here gets mighty upset when I don’t get what I’m supposed to.”

  “Evening, Big Joe. Those sure are some nice-looking ladies you have there.”

  Big Joe’s top lip curled. “Don’t try and blow smoke up my ass boy,” he barked from across the table. “Did you bring me my money, or are you gonna sit there and bullshit me?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean no, sir. I mean I’ve got the money, and I’m not trying to bullshit you. I’ve got it . . . all four-thousand.”

  “Well, now you’re talking. Give me my money and get your ass outa’ here.”

  “Well, Big Joe . . . I was wondering if maybe . . . if maybe I could try again on the Cubs’ game on Saturday with Colorado.”

  Big Joe leaned back in his chair as his pudgy fingers caressed his chin. “You see the spread on that game, boy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Cubs are favored, two-to-one odds. You put all four thousand dollars up on that and they win . . . you walk away with eight-grand—after I take out what you owe me, of course.”

  “Yeah, that’s the idea. The Cubs are hot. I can’t lose. We both come out winners.”

  Big Joe smiled. “Okay, boy, I tell you what. You got balls. Big balls. I like that. Hell, I like all you Air Force boys. Y’all make me a lot of money. I’ll cut you some slack this time.”

  “Thanks, Big Joe. I think this will make us both some money.”

  “Kid, you just don’t get it, do you?” Big Joe said, laughing. “I make money whether you win or lose.”

  Everyone at the table laughed along with Big Joe—even Monroe and Bob Allen, whose faces had been nothing but stone since they first laid eyes on him.

  “Bob Allen—you and Monroe escort Mister Banks out the front door of this fine establishment and send Ellen back over here.”

  “Sure thing, Big Joe.”

  Monroe and Bob Allen each grabbed an arm and lifted Lenny out of his seat as the shapely brunette walked back to the table. She ran her hand across Lenny’s chest in a teasing manner, as she passed.

  “Oh, and Mister Banks,” Big Joe said before he took a drag off his cigar. “If you lose, you owe me eight thousand dollars.”

  12

  August 19, 1995

  * * *

  IT HAD BEEN A LONG GAME on a warm, clear, Saturday afternoon. Not since Game One of the 1970 World Series in which the Baltimore Orioles beat the Cincinnati Reds, had a game been more controversial. The Cubs trailed most of the game. Colorado had a rally in the second inning and scored six runs. They followed with another two in the third. The Cubs awakened from their slumber and held the Rockies scoreless for the next six innings. They had staged a gradual comeback; the Cubs scored one in the third and one in the fourth. But here, in the top of the ninth, the Cubs came alive. Five runs, bases loaded, and one out. Leftfielder Corky Johnson stood at the plate. On a two-and-one count, he swung at a pitch low and outside. Johnson’s bat was an inch from the ground when he connected. The ball took a quick bounce and headed straight toward the first baseman. The runners, when they saw the ball on the ground, took off to advance their position. Alfonzo Lopez, the runner on third, was twelve steps from home before the ball was caught. The first baseman caught the ball, and aware the runner would score regardless of his actions, casually stepped on first.

  In the tradition of the 1970’s World Series blunder, home plate umpire Alan Peterson ruled the ball a line drive, and thus a double play. Game over, Cubs lose. The sportscasters saw it, the fans saw it, and the players saw it. Lenny Banks saw it—and he cried.

  The next Thursday had come and gone. Lenny didn’t go to work that day or the next, he had claimed illness, which wasn’t far from the truth. It wasn’t every day a UPT student owed eight-thousand dollars to one of Oklahoma’s biggest bookies. Now here he was, eight-grand in debt to Big Joe, and he failed to show at the usual meeting at Eskimo Joe’s to pay up. He had to figure out how to get the rest of the money. Lenny pushed the outside of the envelope on his last transaction with Vince. He had to think of something because they would be coming for him soon.

  A knock at the door broke him out of his trance. Lenny threw the sheets off to the side and crawled out of bed. He walked through the darkness and placed his ear against the door. Unable to hear anything, he took another gamble: he opened the door and hoped one of Big Joe’s thugs did not break his legs.

  “Jesus, Lenny, you look like crap.”

  The voice was familiar. Squinting into the bright sunlight, Lenny realized it was Jason. He breathed a sigh of relief and released the fist he subconsciously made.

  “What time is it?” Lenny asked.

  “About one-thirty.”

  “On Saturday?”

  “Yeah, Saturday.” Jason leaned against the brick wall opposite Lenny’s doorway. “Hey man, are you sick or what?”

  “Yeah, I’m sick. I mean, I’m not sick-sick. I’m just not feeling well.”

  “Did you go to the flight doc?”

  “Yeah, but I told him I had the runs . . . I couldn’t keep any food down.”

  “Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Have the runs?”

  “No, no, I’m just sick. I guess I’m better today,” Lenny said from behind the halfway open door. His eyes started to adjust to the light, and he felt less and less like a corpse.

  “Matt and I are on our way to the mall. I thought I’d check to see if you wanted to go.”

  “No. Thanks, though.”

  “You want to go to the party at Chicaros tonight?”

  Lenny hesitated for a moment. Chicaros was safe. No one would bother him in a bar full of people.

  “Yeah, I think I will.”

  “Okay, I’ll drive. We’ll leave about five-thirty.”

  “Thanks, buddy. Is Kathy gonna be there?”

  “Yeah. She said she wanted me to come by when I called her last night.”

  “How’s things going with her?” Lenny said.

  “Okay, I guess,” Jason said, pushing himself from the brick wall. “She’s awesome. Kind of cute too.”

  “Kind of cute, my ass. She’s gorgeous.”

  “I’m not sure I want another relationship, especially with the trouble I’m having with the books. Women detract from study time.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not a bad trade off,” Lenny said. “Hey, I’m gonna hit the shower. I’ll meet you guys later.” Lenny closed the door. He should be safe at Chicaros. What could happen to him surrounded by his friends?

  13

  August 26, 1995

  * * *

  THROUGHOUT THE COURSE OF THE EVENING, Jason’s eyes followed her. She was aware of it. After all, she watched him, too. They flirted back and forth all night. Occasionally she’d bring him a shot or another beer. The effects of the alcohol started to show. When she walked by, he reached out to her arm.

  “Kathy,” he said, drowned out by the Pink Floyd tunes that boomed on the stereo. “I’d really like to go out with you again.”

  “What? I can’t hear you. The music’s too loud.”

  “I said I’d really like to take you out. Again. On a date.” His eyes drooped, and his words slurred.

  “Oh, God, I’ve created a monster,” she said. “C’mon, let’s get you outside.”

  She steered him out the front door, into the parking lot, and leaned him against the SUV parked at the front door.

  “I told you I wanted to leave before I embarrassed myself.” He seemed to be in better shape than she thought, though certainly in no condition to drive a car. At least not legally.

  “I guess I shoul
d have laid off giving you the shots, huh?”

  “Yep.” He flinched and put up his free hand, as the headlights of a vehicle blinded him.

  Kathy turned as a truck across the street turned off its lights. She glimpsed back at Jason.

  “You poor thing. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Gonna be fine.” His voice had a tipsy sound to it. “Just wanted to let you know . . . you are the most remarkable woman ever I’ve met.”

  His words had a definite slur to them. He hoped she knew what he meant.

  “I wanted to let you know that I would like to see you when you’re not working so you couldn’t give me drinks and that way, I could see you and I would be able to talk an’ make a little more sense than I’m making now.”

  “You sweetheart, I’d love to—”

  “Hey, sweet cheeks,” a voice said, “we’ll give you a ride home if that weenie’s too drunk.”

  Kathy turned as the two cowboys walked toward them. Jason’s head rolled to the side to see who it was. These guys were definitely not from the base.

  “Whatcha’ say, hon? Ready to see how the west was won?” the smaller one said with a smirk.

  “Get lost,” she said.

  The large black guy laughed. The smaller one appeared angry at first, then laughed with his friend as he walked through the front door.

  THERE WAS A UNIQUE CHARACTERISTIC somehow instilled in the customers at Chicaros. When someone walked through the front door, everyone stopped what they were doing to see who entered. Perhaps it was brought about by life in a small town and the need for gossip. Lenny Banks, however, didn’t. Bud Bailey entertained everyone with a loud drunken story of his first solo ride, and Lenny was occupied with Bud’s humorous interpretation of the event. He didn’t notice the two cowboys move through the crowd toward the bar.

  “YOU GOT HIM YET?” Monroe said.

  “Nope.” Bob Allen cozied up to the bar as his eyes scanned the crowd.

  “Is he gonna be here? Hell, he might have gone to the movies, or anywhere.”

  “You seen this punk. Guys like him don’t stay home on no Saturday night. He’ll be here.”

  Big Joe had sent them to find Lenny Banks and collect his money. Bob Allen felt a tap on his arm and turned.

  The bartender eyed them skeptically. “Can I get you fellas something?”

  “Yeah—two Buds.”

  The bartender produced two longnecks, opened them, and set them on the bar.

  “Four dollars.”

  Bob Allen gave him a five. “Keep it.” He handed a beer to Monroe and took a long swig of his own.

  “So, what if we don’t see him tonight?”

  As Bob Allen pulled the bottle from his lips, he grinned at his partner. “Then we come back again next week.” He started to take another swig when a smile formed on his face. The heavy girl sitting across the bar and her friends stood to leave. And there he sat, right in front of him, not thirty feet away.

  “Monroe, there’s our boy.”

  “Well I’ll be damned. It’s gonna be an early night.”

  Bob Allen moved away from the bar with Monroe close behind him. There, at a table against the wall, sat Lenny Banks.

  Monroe’s forehead wrinkled. “What do we do now? We can’t just walk over there and grab him if we want to keep it quiet.”

  Bob Allen studied their unfamiliar environment. “I’ve got an idea. See the back door at the end of the bar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s gotta take a piss sometime. The bathroom is right by that door. When he goes in, I’ll follow him, and you wait for us out the back door.”

  “Sounds simple, man. I just hope he moves soon.”

  The two thugs hunkered down at the bar. Two beers and twenty minutes later, Lenny headed for the bathroom. He walked past the two cowboys without noticing them. They followed him in cautious pursuit.

  Bob Allen waited outside the door until Monroe slipped out the back. The old door to the bathroom sat crooked on the hinges and didn’t close all the way. He entered the bathroom. Lenny stood alone at the urinal. He finished his business and turned to leave and glanced up at the cowboy who blocked his path.

  “Oh, shit,” Lenny said.

  “Oh, shit is right, boy. You and me is gonna take a walk.”

  “Look, I’m going to get the money,” he said. “Got half of it. Didn’t want to show up without all of it because I know Big Joe would be pissed.”

  “Dumb move, kid. Big Joe is already pissed. But don’t worry, he knows he’s gonna get his money. We’re here to let you know we haven’t forgotten about you.” Bob Allen grabbed Lenny and shoved him toward the door. “We’re going out the back door nice and quiet. Then we’ll walk across the street to my truck. Understand?” He pressed Lenny’s face against the wall with a vise-like grip around his neck.

  Lenny tried to nod. “Aauugh . . . dammit. Take it easy.”

  “I said, do you understand, turdball?”

  “Yeah, I understand. Take it easy, okay?”

  The cowboy released his neck and opened the bathroom door. “Okay, let’s go. And kid . . . don’t piss me off.” They left the bathroom and shuffled out the back door.

  Monroe waited for them, his muscular arms crossed across his chest. “Hello, skinny white boy. We’ve been looking for you.”

  Lenny’s knees buckled at the sight of Monroe. It was business with Bob Allen, but Monroe took pleasure in a good beating. The black man dragged him to the field across the street, where they had parked the truck. Bob Allen’s head was on a swivel, to check if anyone observed them. The outside of the bar was deserted.

  They crossed the street at a brisk walk, Lenny stumbling to keep up with Monroe’s fast pace. As they reached the truck, Monroe slung Lenny’s one-hundred-and-fifty-pound frame against the fender. Off-balance, Lenny twisted as his back slammed against the truck. He fell to one knee and before he could stand, Monroe pounced. He jerked Lenny to his feet, and delivered two quick blows to his stomach, which knocked the breath out of him. Propped against the truck, Lenny struggled to regain his breath, unable to run, unable to move. All he could do was watch as Monroe threw a left cross to his right eye. Lenny never noticed the blood fly, only the immense pain. Dizziness overcame him, and he slumped to the ground.

  VINCE GREW TIRED OF CHICAROS; and Bud Bailey’s clinginess. Bud asked Vince, over and over, to help him study. He cited Vince’s perfect academic record as evidence of his ability to be his mentor. Bud was too chummy for Vince’s taste.

  He left his beer half-full and walked out front for some fresh air. The atmosphere outside was a pleasant change. No smoke, no loud music, no more drunken stories. Vince was not much of a drinker. His two beers had given him a buzz. Taking a deep breath, he savored the freshness of the cool evening air, a sign of the season. An early winter possibly. He always liked the snow. It reminded him of home.

  Across the street, two cowboy types picked their drunk buddy off the ground. The two cowboys stood him on his feet and the black one reared back and threw a crushing blow into the man’s stomach. The drunk doubled over and fell to his knees. Gasping for air as blood dripped down his face, he tried to crawl away. The smaller white guy jerked the drunk up by his shirt collar. Vince recognized the clothes . . . the hair . . . the scarecrow frame . . . Lenny!

  Darting from the shadows and across the street, Vince marched straight toward them. The black man saw him first and stepped in his direction.

  “Get outa here, boy. This here don’t concern you.”

  The small white guy looked up as Vince hustled toward them. He released his grip on Lenny and moved next to the larger black man. “Go back inside, kid. You got no business out here.”

  Vince didn’t slow down. His confidence and determination never ebbed. The black man reached out to grab him. Vince grabbed his right wrist and pulled the black man’s hand back toward his elbow. The black man screamed in pain. Pulling the arm like a chicken wing behind his back, Vince stepped dow
n and out, then kicked hard at his knee joint, and the oversized foe fell. As he hit the ground, Vince brought his left fist around in a roundhouse and smashed him in the left temple. The man went limp and Vince felt a hand on his shoulder. Vince grasped the hand, spun on his heels, twisted the arm, and flipped the guy with a judo move that put the man on his back. The smaller white cowboy leaped back to his feet and moved toward Vince. Vince dropped to all fours and swung his foot wide and knocked him back to the ground. Vince pounced, delivering two solid punches to the jaw, and left him dazed and bleeding in the wet grass.

  The enormous black man wobbled to his feet. Vince turned on him now and fired several solid blows to the stomach. He moved behind him and reached around with his right arm. Vince held the man’s collar on the left side, his fist snug against his neck. Vince made an “X” with his arms, a torturous vise-like hold, and as he applied more pressure, he cut off the blood flow to the man’s brain. Unable to breathe, the black man could no longer resist. Blood dripped from his mouth and he fell to the ground.

  Vince helped Lenny to his feet. He was in bad shape, but there appeared to be no permanent damage. Vince walked him across the street and looked back at the scene of the fight. The black man lay unconscious on the ground and the smaller white man couldn’t stand.

  He leaned Lenny against the wall of Chicaros and scurried back across the street. He bent over the white guy. “You gather your pal, climb in your damn truck, and go back to wherever the hell you’re from.” He didn’t wait for a reply, as he turned and headed back to the bar.