Forced Out (40 page)

"Does this mean they cops will be coming for Rosario?" she asked apprehensively.

"I don't know, but I'll find out tomorrow." Biff was going to be one pissed-off EMT

when he realized the deal hadn't gone down. But there was still a chance everything could work out. "Don't worry."

"Oh, sure," she answered, her lower lip starting to tremble. "You know me. I never worry."

He'd shoot Biff before he'd let the bastard have Rosario. "How was your afternoon with the Kid?" he asked, trying to distract her.

"Fun. He's nice."

He could see he hadn't distracted her at all. "Is he here?"

"Yeah. He said he was tired, so I told him to take a nap in your room. I didn't think you'd mind."

"No, of course not. Are you still going out with Bobby tonight?" She nodded, then forced a happy expression to her face. "I've got a surprise for you."

"You got the Kid to agree to go back to New York." He assumed that wasn't it, but he had to keep pushing her. She might end up being the key.

"No. And I don't think he should, either, I really don't. But let's not talk about it now," she said, hoisting the baby into her left arm and taking Jack's hand. "Come with me," she said, pulling him toward the kitchen. "Come on."

As he came around the corner he saw a man sitting at the kitchen table. A white-haired, ruddy-faced man about his age. "Jesus H. Christ," he whispered. It was Howard "Fin" Olsen. His best friend in the world. "What in the world are you doing here?"

"Hello, Fast Jack," Fin said in his deep voice, standing up and spreading his arms. "As warm as ever, aren't you?" He laughed. "It's good to see you, old friend." Jack smiled. "Good to see you, too."

They met where the kitchen and the living room came together and embraced for a long time. The way two old friends who hadn't seen each other in what seemed like forever ought to embrace.

* * *

Johnny moved along the concourse of Tarpon Stadium, checking the printed black numbers on his ticket stub against the painted red numbers on the cement walls. Looking for the tunnel that would lead him to his seat. He felt better, a lot better. He'd gotten almost five hours' sleep at the condo this afternoon, and though his shoulder was still tender as hell and he still didn't have much range of motion with his left arm, he could tell he was on the mend. It would take awhile to get back to normal, but there wasn't any sign of infection, which was the most important thing. He was still changing the dressing and the bandages religiously--he'd changed them twice on the plane from New York--

and he'd keep doing that as long as the wound was raw.

He'd wanted to call Karen while he was driving down here from Tampa, wanted just to hear her voice for a few seconds. But he'd managed to keep his fingertips off the phone. There was no reason to risk Treviso finding out at this point. They were so close to getting what they wanted. He'd cap McLean tonight, snap a few pictures of the body with the digital camera in his pocket, then hop a flight back tomorrow morning and be in New York by early afternoon. Treviso would be a dead man in short order, and he and Karen would be free to live their lives happily ever after.

Johnny spotted the number on the wall matching his ticket and headed into the tunnel. When he emerged, he gestured at an usher wearing a red cap with a shiny black visor. An old man with age-spotted arms who was leaning on a yellow railing. "Yo."

"Yes, sir." The old man shuffled right over. "Let me see your ticket and we'll get you seated as fast as we can."

"No, it's not that."

"Oh, no? Then how can I help you?"

Johnny pointed toward the field and the players. "Which one of those guys is Mikey Clement?"

The old man squinted at the field, then touched his forehead. "Oh, gosh, none of them."

"What?" That didn't sound good. "Aren't those guys the home team? Aren't those guys the Sarasota Tarpons?"

"They sure are, but Mikey isn't out there tonight."

"Where is he?"

"Suspended."

"Suspended?"
Holy shit. Wasn't that just par for the fucking course right now? What was he going to tell Marconi? "How long is he--"

"Don't worry, sir. At first I heard he was going to be out for two weeks. That was yesterday. But when I got to the ballpark today, I heard they settled everything this afternoon. He'll be back out on the field tomorrow night." The usher got a concerned look. "Unless you're vacationing and tonight is your last--"

"No, it's fine." Johnny let out a relieved breath. McLean's suspension meant spending one more night than he wanted to in Florida, but hey, things could be worse. This could be Arkansas or Rhode Island or some other shithole. "Thanks," he said, turning away from the old man and making sure not to look directly in his eyes so he wouldn't remember him. "Thanks a lot."

* * *

Kyle knocked on Cheryl's open bedroom door. "Hi."

She turned away from the mirror above the bureau. She'd been putting on an earring.

"Hey, you, come on in."

He took two steps into the room, then stopped dead in his tracks. "God, you look incredible."

Well, that was nice. Unprompted, too. She moaned under her breath. Why did he have to be so much younger than she? So nice and so good-looking, too. Oh, well, what she had wasn't that bad. She caught herself wondering how far Bobby would take it tonight.

"Thanks."

She'd finally taken the advice, finally decided to doll herself up. She'd just finished her hair--it was down on her shoulders, no more unruly bun, and styled. And she was wearing a sheer, clingy dress that fell halfway down her thighs along with a new pair of sexy heels. She'd bought the dress and shoes this afternoon at the mall while she'd gone off by herself for thirty minutes--thank God the credit card still worked--so Kyle wouldn't see what she got. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't want him to see until tonight--why she'd opened the door when she was almost finished. When she looked in the mirror, she had to admit it was quite a change. Judging from Kyle's expression and his reaction, it was a good change. A
very
good change.

"I...I really mean it, Cheryl. You look unbelievable."

"You should hang around more often." She was getting comfortable with him so fast. But thirteen years younger? A few years maybe, but
thirteen
. Besides, he probably didn't think about her in that way. She thought she'd caught him sneaking glances at her a couple of times at the mall, but it didn't make sense. She'd caught plenty of younger, very attractive girls gaping at him. Girls who were way more attractive than she was. "It would do wonders for my self-esteem."

"I'd be happy to," he said with a sincere smile. After a few moments his expression soured a little. "You going out with that guy tonight?"

She slid the other earring through the piercing in her left lobe. "What guy are you talking about?" Daddy must have told Kyle that Bobby was a loser.

"That guy you've been dating. Your dad says he's a real successful businessman in the area."

"Daddy said that?"

"Uh-huh."

Wow. That was amazing. Maybe Daddy was actually coming through on his promise. She grabbed her purse off the bureau, moved to where Kyle was standing, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I had fun this afternoon."

"Me, too."

"You sure you don't mind taking care of the baby tonight?"

"Nah. I used to babysit my cousins all the time. A couple of them were younger than Rosario. It's no problem."

Kyle was nice, really nice. And she still couldn't get over those eyes. It was like they were constantly searching the center of her soul. But not in a bad way, in a good way.

"You'll probably be here alone. I'm sure Daddy's going out with Fin tonight. They haven't seen each other in a year."

"You mean that guy in the kitchen?"

"Yup."

"Who is he?"

"Daddy's best friend. They worked together for years with the Yankees. Fin reported to Daddy in the scouting department. His name's Howard Olsen, but Daddy calls him Fin because his family's originally from Finland. He's my godfather."

"Is he still with the Yankees?"

"Yup. Still works on the scouting side. He complains all the time about how bad the guy they brought in to take Daddy's spot is." She glanced at her watch. "Well, I better get going." She started for the door, then stopped. "You know, you ought to think real hard about going back to New York. I know Daddy feels like the mob's forgotten you, but I don't think it's really about the mob forgetting. I think it's about an old man never forgetting about his grandson."

The Kid nodded soberly. "I hear you."

She gazed into those eyes for a few more moments. "You've got my cell number if anything happens. If Rosario gives you any trouble at all, don't hesitate to call."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. So will Rosario." He touched her arm lightly. "And hey. Don't have too much fun tonight."

* * *

Treviso had waited until he was certain Deuce Bondano was long gone before leaving the stadium parking lot. There was no reason to follow him back up I-75 to Tampa and risk being seen. There was still a little daylight left, and what if he passed Deuce unintentionally on the interstate and Deuce spotted him? After all, he knew where Deuce was going--back to his condo overlooking Tampa Bay. And he knew what Deuce knew: that Kyle McLean, a.k.a. Mikey Clemant, wasn't playing tonight because of a suspension but would be back in uniform tomorrow night. One of the ushers had told him everything. There certainly wasn't any reason to stick around here tonight. Trying to find McLean in Sarasota would be like trying to find Jimmy Hoffa's remains. Everything would have to wait until tomorrow night. Which was fine. He could wait one more night. After all, he'd waited two years.

* * *

Fin saw her first and stood up immediately.

Jack saw Fin's reaction, glanced over his shoulder, then stood up, too. "Princess," he said in a hushed voice as Cheryl walked into the kitchen, "you look beautiful."

"I'll say," Fin seconded. "I've never seen you prettier." Cheryl smiled. "Thanks, Fin." She glanced at Daddy. "Kyle's going to take care of the baby tonight so you and Howard can go out."

"Who's Kyle?" Fin asked quickly.

"That would be me," the Kid answered, moving into the kitchen and holding out his right hand. He was cradling Rosario. The baby looked tiny tucked in his arm. "I'm the babysitter."

"And a heck of a baseball player," Cheryl added, instantly wishing she hadn't. She'd caught Jack's subtle slash sign across his throat an instant too late.

* * *

"What brings you down here?" Jack asked.

They'd come to a local watering hole near the house. They were both sitting at the bar, both drinking scotch. Like they always had. It was pretty low-key in here, not much atmosphere. But Jack liked that because the place never got too crowded.

"Sun and sand, Fast Jack, sun and sand."

"Don't give me that, Fin. It's June. Another two weeks and you'll have sun and sand up your way. Why'd you show up on my doorstep now with no warning?"

"The boy in the big office next to George's sent me down here. Apparently he was watching ESPN as he was nodding off to sleep in his Park Avenue penthouse the other night, and he saw a quick cut on some kid who had a phenomenal game in your town. Five-for-five with a couple of dingers or something. I've got it written down somewhere," Fin said, doing a quick but unsuccessful search of his pockets. "Anyway, he had me fly down here to check the guy out. It's probably a wild-goose chase, but I just shut up and do what I'm told these days. I want that pension, you know?" Fin grimaced. "Sorry."

"It's all right."

"You ever go to any of the games here?" Fin asked. "What's the team called, the Tarpons?"

"Yeah, the Tarpons." Jack shrugged. "I mean, it's Single-A," he said, watching Fin root around in his briefcase. "A crappy independent league, too. What can you expect?" Fin donned a pair of reading glasses after pulling a piece of paper out of the briefcase.

"His name's Mikey Clemant," he said, reading off the paper. "Ever heard of him?"

"Nah. I mean, I've
heard
of him, but I really don't follow the Tarpons. Like I said, it's Single-A. It's not worth it."

"Still haven't gotten back into baseball, huh? Still bitter about everything even after all this time?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

Fin took a sip of scotch. "You know you're never gonna figure out what happened up there. It sucks that the higher-ups pulled the trigger so fast, without even giving you a chance, but you gotta get over it, Jack. Otherwise it'll eat at you until the day you die. Might even
make
you die."

Jack actually considered it for a few moments, then waved. "Ah, what do you know?"

"Not much, I guess. Look at me, I'm sixty-three and I'm some forty-five-year-old guy's beck-and-call boy. He tells me to get on a plane, and I ask which one. Maybe I'm an old loser, but I'm trying to give my best friend in the world some good advice. Don't be angry all the time. It isn't worth it."

"How would you know?"

"I've had my own pain. Remember, Jack?"

"You still got your job."

"Yeah, but--"

"I'm sorry." Jack reached out and touched Fin's arm. "I...I guess I am still bitter. I wish I was still with the Yankees. I'm envious, you know? I'd take your job in a heartbeat." Fin rolled his eyes and glanced over Jack's shoulder at the television mounted above the bar. "The guy I report to is such an asshole."

"Don't start." Jack hated to admit it, but it felt good to hear that. "How's Janet?" Janet was Fin's only daughter. She was a year younger than Cheryl. "And those three grandkids?"

Fin didn't answer. He was staring up at the TV like he was watching a news bulletin about the president being shot. Jack turned quickly to see what was on the screen. And there was Kyle McLean's rugged face staring back. Still bearded because that was the press picture the Tarpons had. They were still talking about the game the other night--

and how the suspension had been reversed.