Lady Be Good (14 page)

When he was sure his guests were having a good time, Darrell said in Grace’s ear, “Are you the one asking about Jake Kendall?”

Grace felt a pang of dismay. “Did Luke tell you that? I thought he and I decided not to--”

“It’s okay. He’s prob’ly trying to protect Jake, even now. That’s what we do, y’know. Protect our brothers.”

“Did Luke tell you about a friend of mine who--”

“Emma Blackbird? Yeah, he did. We all knew Emma back when she was married to Jake. Sexy lady, hard partier--a good match with him. I saw her on a horse once, jumping fences. Big, big fences. She’s something, that girl. Fearless.”

“Yes. But she was badly hurt in the car crash.”

“I heard that. I shoulda gone to see her in the hospital, but none of us wanted to get mixed up in Jake’s shit, you know? Emma shouldn’t either—not now. She loved Jake, and he loved her like crazy. But she needs to let him rest in peace now. And you,” Darrell gave Grace a direct look and pointed at her face, “you gotta be careful who you ask about them. Around here, we were all his friends. But that doesn’t mean loose talk is a good idea.”

“I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”

“Nobody’s offended, Gracie. We’re just lookin’ out for the game, you know what I’m saying?”

“No, I don’t understand,” she said.

“The game, we gotta keep it pure. I played with Jake and so did a lot of the guys here. But Jake was the one got himself into a shithole. He’s gone now, you know? The rest of us, though, we’re still playing.”

So the other players didn’t want to be implicated in any gambling scheme Jake had been a part of. They wanted to move on, untainted, and the best way to do that was let Jake take all the blame. And maybe he was the only one at fault. Obviously Darrell wanted to believe that.

Grace said, “I didn’t mean to start any trouble.”

Darrell shook his head. “Trouble’s over now. Least we hope so. Ace, he’s a shithead. Maybe Luke shouldn’t have talked to him.”

“That was my fault. Luke thought he was doing me a favor.”

Darrell lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “No harm done, we hope. You hear of anybody else in trouble with the Abruzzo family, though, you keep it to yourself, okay?”

“But … “ Grace hesitated, then decided to ask the question on her mind. “Do you know anything about the accident?”

Darrell mustered some outrage. “You listening to me, girl?”

“I just want to know who was driving the other car—the one that hit Jake’s. Who was driving?”

Darrell wagged his head, as if frustrated with her tenacity. Unwillingly, he said, “Word had it, the driver was one of Big Frankie’s sons, but you didn’t hear it from me. I don’t know which one, and you shouldn’t either. If they got to Jake, they’re not afraid to get to anybody.”

“Was he hurt? The Abruzzo son?”

“Not too bad, far as I heard.”

“Where is he now?”

“What you gonna do? Go ring his doorbell and ask a lot of questions? Accuse a wise guy of murder?” Darrell sighed. “Gracie, you don’t look stupid. Why you doing this?”

Grace wasn’t sure why, except to help Nora somehow. But that was starting to feel foolhardy. If Darrell was to be believed, there were dangerous people out in the world.

“Darrell,” Grace said, “if there’s truly a problem in your sport, shouldn’t you report illegal gambling?”

“To the police?” Darrell reared back, pretending astonishment. “What they gonna do about it? They been letting the Abruzzo family operate for a lot of years, no fuss, no muss. That means crooked cops to me, so don’t expect any help from them. The league, now, they could get upset about what happened. But what they gonna do? Suspend players because one guy screwed up? A guy who’s dead now? Gambling’s all around us, Gracie. You can’t stop it. Players, we keep our own clean. That’s all we can do.”

“You didn’t help Jake, though.”

Darrell shook his head with regret. “Nobody knew how bad it was until it was too late. Jake was a smart guy. We didn’t suspect anything was wrong until he was in too deep. Now maybe we know better what to look for. So let us do what has to be done. You hear anything about the Abruzzo family, though, you keep it to yourself, okay? Or tell Luke, but otherwise, you button it up.”

“I understand that you don’t want professional football to be tainted in any way, but shouldn’t—”

“You’re not hearing me, girl.” Darrell put his big hand to her mouth and made a twisting motion, as if locking her lips with a key. Then he tapped her chin lightly with his forefinger. “Don’t be spreading any rumors or talking to the press. You don’t want to get yourself or Luke in any trouble, right?”

Grace nodded. She didn’t feel threatened. She saw a worried look in Darrell’s eyes. He was warning her, that’s all.

“Now, you have a good time tonight,” he said to her, putting his hand squarely on her butt and giving Grace a little push in Luke’s direction. He and Jaydonna were coming off the dance floor together, half-dancing and laughing.

Jaydonna wrapped herself around Darrell. “Come on, baby. Your turn. You promised me.”

Darrell and Jaydonna went off to the dance floor.

Grace ended up in Luke’s arms. He pulled her against him, still moving in time to the music while he ordered a drink from the bartender. He was loose and having a good time.

Holding onto Luke, Grace thought about Darrell’s warning. Stop asking questions, he’d told her. It was an Abruzzo son who’d killed Jake. But don’t spread rumors about football and gambling. Most of all? Watch out for the Abruzzo family.

And don’t get Luke into trouble.

8.

Luke hadn’t been kidding when he told Grace he liked to party. He drank—quite a bit, but he spaced out the drinks—he danced, he laughed, he talked to his friends. Grace kept up as best she could. She drank Darrell’s lemon water, but also had a couple of cocktails. She danced more than she had in all the years since college. Not just with Luke, but some of his friends, and a group of women, too, who dragged her out on the floor when a popular Beyonce song came up.

Hours into the party, Darrell reappeared and said, “We’re going back to my place, Laser. You coming?”

Luke looked at Grace, which made Darrell laugh. “What, you have to ask the little woman now? Blood and He’s Dead are coming, man, you have to show. I got game films!”

Luke groaned, but he agreed to go to the after-party party.

“Who’s dead?” Grace asked in alarm.

The music got louder, so Luke didn’t hear her. He caught the beat of the rock ‘n roll and danced along the hallway, weaving through the throng, pulling Grace along behind. They grabbed their coats and ended up back at the VIP entrance where Darrell and Jaydonna and a few others were piling into a stretch Hummer. Luke boosted Grace into the enormous vehicle. She found a seat, and he crashed beside her, but immediately, someone grabbed his hand to shake, and they started to talk. The music was louder in the Hummer than the club, so when Jaydonna struck up a conversation with her, Grace could only nod and smile and hope she wasn’t being insulting.

Darrell and Jaydonna’s home was a jaw-dropping estate--twice as spectacular as Luke’s had been. Inside--enormous rooms, tall ceilings, opulent furniture. Acres of beautiful carpets on marble floors, long cabinets full of awards and trophies. On the walls were large photographs of both Darrell in his uniform and Jaydonna swinging her tennis racket and looking fierce on the court. Lighted cases showed off team shirts and footballs that were signed by teammates. Jaydonna’s trophies out-numbered Darrell’s, but he was ahead in the jersey competition.

Through the windows, Grace caught sight of a basketball court and a tennis court drifted with snow, a swimming pool with an iced-over cover, and what might have been a putting green. She could see the flag fluttering in the winter wind. A veritable playground.

More guests had already gathered at the house in Darrell’s absence, and manly shouts erupted when Luke arrived. He was engulfed in a horde of huge men, and Grace instinctively shrank back against the door for safety’s sake. The men shouted and thumped each other’s backs while laughing and cussing and generally expressing delirious happiness at finding themselves together again.

Someone tossed a can of beer at Luke, and he snagged it out of the air with the nimble expertise of a man accustomed to catching flying objects.

He tugged Grace by the hand. “I want you to meet a few more friends of mine.”

A moment later, she was confronted by a mountain that turned out to be two men with their arms looped around each other’s shoulders. Luke said, “Grace, this is Leon Murzinski, who used to be my roommate at Notre Dame. And this is Blood Mitchell, plays for the Eagles. She’s a writer, Blood, so watch your language.”

The man called Blood cheerfully snorted an expletive, but he shook Grace’s hand.

“And this,” said Luke, turning to the last enormous football player, “is my greatest enemy on earth, He’s Dead Jim McCoy. Say hello to the lady. Nicely, please.”

Grace found herself standing in front of a man with a huge neck, gigantic torso, and short, but powerful-looking legs. He wore a Hawaiian flowered shirt that was stretched so tightly across his chest that the buttons might well have been screaming. Grotesque snake tattoos coiled around his bare forearms. His face was as pink as a cherub’s, but his eyes were dangerously black in color. Grace didn’t dare hold out her hand in greeting.

He’s Dead Jim McCoy didn’t crack a smile. Glowering at Grace out from under thick, threatening eyebrows, he looked up and down her figure. “You’re coming up in the world, Laser.”

The rest of the men burst out laughing. Grace flushed and tried to smile, but for the first time among Luke’s acquaintances, this man made her nervous. Luke pulled her back against his body and made a rude, physically impossible suggestion to Mr. McCoy.

Lightning fast, He’s Dead Jim McCoy shot out a hand and cracked Luke a glancing blow across the side of his head. If not for Luke’s quick reflexes, Grace might have been hit, too.

But McCoy laughed, as if he’d only been playing. “Let’s get some drinks. Where does Darrell keep the good stuff?”

Knowing her eyes were round, Grace turned into Luke. “Why do you call him that name?”

“He’s Dead Jim?” Luke asked.

“Easy.” Leon Murzinski said. “Remember
Star Trek?
The original TV show?”

“The starship doctor was called McCoy, but he didn’t have a very big part in the show,” Luke said. “In every episode, his big line was the same. He’d crouch down over the body of some other character and look up at Captain Kirk and say, ‘He’s dead, Jim.’ That was the only line he ever needed to learn.”

Grace looked warily after He’s Dead Jim McCoy. “So that’s why you call him that?”

He’s Dead turned and laughed unpleasantly. “There’s more. That’s the only line the refs ever had to say to me. I’d knock some poor slob on his back and the ref would come over and look at the guy I’d hit and say, ‘He’s dead, Jim.’ Like that time with you, Laser. How’s the leg these days?”

“Perfect,” Luke said. “I give you credit, man. If you break something, it stays broken for a long time.”

Grace couldn’t stop herself from shuddering, and her reaction made the men break up laughing again.

When McCoy stepped away, Blood Mitchell leaned down to Grace. “We know it’s not funny. McCoy is an animal. He used to beat on his wife and girlfriends, too. That’s why he’s not playing in the league anymore.”

Leon Murzinski added, “And he knocked out a kid in a Burger King once, remember that? Hit him from across the cash register, the whole thing on tape.”

Blood nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one got him fired. The tape played on the news for weeks. But he still hangs around us, trying to keep the glory days alive.”

“If he’s so horrible,” Grace said, “why are you still friends with him?”

Blood tapped his forehead. “McCoy’s got trouble. Too many concussions. Already he’s got some dementia started. We try to take care of him, but—as you can see, he makes it as hard as possible for us.”

Luke said, “I’m just glad he lives on the other side of the state from me.”

That wasn’t far enough, Grace thought. But she kept that opinion to herself.

After that, things got more sensible. Luke drew Grace along as he circulated among his friends, who all talked like human beings. Who was retiring now that the season was over, who was living where and how business was going. Who was the kid from Texas who was something called a first round draft choice. Some of them asked about Luke’s charity work. They were all involved in good causes, and Grace heard them inviting each other to various upcoming events—everything from golf outings to gala parties with movie stars. Somewhere in the world, she decided, a Big and Tall men’s clothing store was doing land office business in evening clothes.

As she listened Grace gradually figured out who among Luke’s friends had retired from football and who was still playing. Leon Murzinski, also known as the Reverend, had played for the New York Jets before retiring and going into the insurance business. Blood had gone to high school in Georgia, played football at some southern college Grace didn’t catch, and then had been a tackle for the Eagles. Grace gathered he was in danger of being let go from his team, and his friends seemed sympathetic. He was working on a second career as a motivational speaker, though. He’s Dead Jim McCoy had gone to that same Georgia high school and played safety in Philadelphia before getting fired for domestic abuse. Carrying a drink, he strolled around the edges of conversations, but only interacted to be unpleasant.

“I didn’t think there was so much fraternization among teams,” Grace observed when someone asked her what she thought of them so far. “I’m surprised that you’re all friends.”

“Friends?” He’s Dead objected. “Not with the Laser. I hate his guts.”

“But you admire my mind,” Luke taunted more gently.

To Grace, Leon said, “We all played together or against each other in college. We get traded around, too. Then there’s the Pro Bowl. Just about all of us have been there at least once. Luke went twice, right, man?”

He’s Dead snorted. “To sit on the bench, maybe.”