As O'Toole spoke, Karp stood up. His wounded leg tended to ache if he sat in one place too long, but he thought best on his feet. "One thing I don't get is, if the object is to placate Big John and get his son on the team, why not just fire you?"
"Well, a year ago, when we almost made the College World Series, and before any of this went down," O'Toole replied, "they gave me a five-year contract extension with fifteen-percent increases every year and a double buyout clause if they wanted to terminate me for anything other than cause. Being suspended by the ACAA qualifies as cause, by the way. The university, meaning Huttington, was also worried about the public fallout of firing me. Most folks were behind me; if they'd just fired me based on a flimsy accusation that I was plying eighteen-year-old recruits with sex and booze, Huttington and Barnhill, and probably even Big John Porter, would have been ridden out of town on a rail. I go to church with these people. They know me. But if the ACAA suspended me and I couldn't coach, well, the university would be off the hook."
"So, Mikey, tell me about the ACAA hearing and where you're going with this lawsuit," Karp said.
"I better let my buddy Richie fill you in on the legal stuff," O'Toole replied, and looked over at Meyers, who had been silent for the past few minutes with good reason: he was fast asleep with his chin on his chest.
Marlene got up and walked over to the young attorney and removed the empty bottle of beer from his hand. "It's late," she said. "This can wait until tomorrow."
"Marlene's right," Karp said. "It's way past my bedtime, and we'll want clearer heads for this tomorrow."
"What time?" O'Toole asked.
"Well, it's Saturday, and I'm taking the boys to basketball practice in the morning and then to the synagogue in the afternoon," Karp replied. "I teach a bar mitzvah class, plus they're making up for some missed Hebrew lessons. Why don't you and Richie sleep in as long as you like and then do a little sightseeing; we can meet back here, say around six o'clock. Marlene has promised to whip up some of her world-famous sausage and peppers and gnocchi with marinara sauce. Then we can discuss the lawsuit."
"Sounds like a plan, a delicious plan," O'Toole said, then poked his sleeping friend with a finger.
Meyers's eyes flew open and he looked around like a confused owl. "Oh, gee, sorry," he apologized. "Can't believe I did that."
"That's all right," Marlene replied. "Travel can be tiring. Let me show you guys to your room."
Karp watched the two visitors follow Marlene down the hallway. Looking down, he noticed Gilgamesh was looking at him. "What do you say, boy, you smell a rat?" he asked.
"Woof," the dog replied.
"Couldn't have said it better myself," Karp agreed. "But I guess we'll know more about that tomorrow."
9
Standing outside a former tenement building in the East Village, Lucy Karp jumped at the sudden shriek of a passing ambulance's siren. Easy, girl, you'd think you hadn't grown up in the heart of Manhattan, she chided herself. Sirens were your lullabies and yellow cab horns your wake-up calls.
Then again, she had reason to be a little jumpy. Less than twelve hours earlier, in her room at the Sagebrush Inn, Espey Jaxon had given her fifteen minutes to pack a few items and then they headed out the door, which had made Ned a very unhappy, and horny, cowboy. She'd promised to make it up to him, but he'd stomped off.
In a field behind the inn, a black helicopter had been waiting to whisk them to the Taos County airport, where an unmarked black-what else, she thought-jet waited on the tarmac with its engines already turning. They'd arrived at Fort Dix army base in New Jersey in the early morning. Given the hour, Jaxon suggested that they grab some sleep in a small apartment complex on the base.
The sky was just beginning to get less dark in the east when Jaxon knocked on the door of the room she was staying in. When she was dressed, he escorted her to a reception area and asked her to wait while he went off "to make a couple of calls."
Jaxon seemed agitated and distant when he returned. But he quickly buried whatever was bothering him and took her to breakfast in the same apartment complex, where he ate quickly without talking, lost in his own thoughts.
There were only a few other people in the dining room, most of whom sat alone or in small groups, none of them interacting with anybody else outside of their comrades. "What is this place and who are these people?" Lucy asked.
"You don't want to know," Jaxon replied, looking up from his coffee. "It's the sort of place where nobody questions anybody else about who they are or what they're doing. Which is convenient at the moment because I'm officially not here and neither are you."
After breakfast, Jaxon led her to a small office and pointed to the telephone. "It's a safe phone," he said. "Cell phones can be monitored. Is it too early to call your friend now?"
Lucy looked at the clock on the walclass="underline" 7:00 a.m. "No time like the present," she said. "He doesn't sleep much." She quickly dialed a number and waited for the answer.
"Hi, Cian, it's Lucy," she said. She listened for a moment, then giggled. "Never say that around my boyfriend, even if it's Irish Gaelic. He has a terrible temper and if he saw me blush, he'd know you were up to no good. Hey, I know it's early, but would you mind if I dropped by? I have something I'd like your help with. What? No, Cian, I do not need any help with that, thank you very much. Good, see you then, and is it okay if I bring a friend? No, he, not she, is not an attractive female. Besides, how could you even suggest that you'd have eyes for anyone but me? Uh-huh, okay, I'll accept your apology this time, but don't let it happen again."
Jaxon had followed the conversation with an amused look. Lucy grinned back at him, happy that his scowl was gone. "If you're ready to go, Uncle Espey, I'd like to make this quick. I have a handsome young cowboy to get back to in New Mexico."
An hour later, Lucy calmed herself after the ambulance passed and walked down the worn steps leading to the cellar of the former tenement on East Fourth Street. She arrived at the bottom with Jaxon behind her and pressed the buzzer beneath a small sign that read: Celtic Bookworks, Go mbeannai Dia duit.
May God bless you, Lucy translated in her head, and quietly responded, "Gurab amhlaidh duit. The same to you."
A shadow appeared behind the peephole. As several bolts clicked and slid open, Lucy was tempted to start humming the Mission Impossible theme music. Maybe Tom Cruise will open the door; even if some others think he's gone off the deep end, he's still cute.
Instead, an enormously fat man of about fifty with gray mutton-chop sideburns and wearing a stained wool caftan appeared when the door opened. He squinted at her like an overweight mole from behind thick square-rimmed glasses that rested on top of a small upturned nose. But he was smiling broadly as he fumbled for the key that would open the security gate between him and his visitors.
"My dear Lucy, dear child, do come in," he gushed, unlocking the gate and pushing it open. "How very nice to see you again. You look absolutely wonderful. Apparently your new life in the desert has suited you well. I do believe your breasts are larger."
Lucy stepped forward to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek that made him smile all the wider, showing tobacco-stained teeth. "Ciamar a tha thu, Cian?"
"Tha mi gu math, tapadh leibh/leat," the fat man replied. "Ciamar a thu sibh/thu fhein?"
"Gle mhath!"
Lucy turned back to Jaxon, who was standing behind her looking perplexed. "Cian Magee, this is federal agent Espey Jaxon, an old family friend as well as a true gais cioch," she said.
Jaxon reached around and shook Magee's meaty hand. "I have no idea what you two are saying, but pleased to meet you," he said.