ONE CUP (Part 17)

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62

Ian McGregor

One bit of wisdom my grandfather passed on to me, was, “You can never outrun your own shadow, Ian. You can’t hide from it. Wherever you go, it follows.” There has not been a day since Bobby Ogden was killed I haven’t reminded myself at least a dozen times he might not have been attacked, would still be living his dream, pitching in the major leagues, if only I had acted differently. Like my shadow, Bobby’s death has followed me everywhere I’ve gone.

I wished I could turn back the clock, change the way things had gone. But I couldn’t. I wished I could do something to make things right for Bobby’s family. But I couldn’t. And I wished I could find a way to live with it and stop blaming myself. But, again, I couldn’t. My grandfather had a saying for that, as well. “Wish in one hand, Ian,” he used to tell me. “and shit in the other. See which one fills up the quickest.”

63

Kayla Prescott

Praise God, I now had Michael where I wanted him. He knew I’d found out he was seeing a dominatrix. Plus, there was video showing him in some very compromising positions. And, best of all, it showed he has a very small penis, something I have been all too aware of for several years now.

Technically, maybe he had not in fact committed adultery, but would he really want to have the issue decided in court of public opinion? He would be the subject of scorn in the media and ridicule on late night talk shows. Would he want to endure the public humiliation, the taunts from the fans of opposing teams, snickers of his teammates who now understood why he never showered in their presence?

And what about his career after baseball? As a politician, could he win after a scandal such as this? As an actor, he would never be cast as a leading man—people don’t want to know their heroes have tiny little weenies.

On top of all that, Michael and his dominatrix were involved in a confrontation, and he now believed he accidentally killed her. His reputation was at stake, and worse still, he could go to jail for a very long time.

I walked to my car, retrieved my cell phone, went to my contact list and called for help.

64

Larry Brown

She called me a little before midnight. “Larry,” she said, “I need you to do something for me.” She said it was an emergency. Said she’d make it worth my time. I knew she meant money, but it did cross my mind maybe she was ready to give in to her natural female instincts. She’d kept her distance up ‘til then, but I knew it was only just a matter of time. She gave me an address and said get there fast as I could.

I got dressed. Called Leon and told him I was coming over on account of we had a job to do tonight. Leon ain’t had a real job since he got fired at the dairy farm for misusing the milking machines, so I can always count on him bein’ ready on short notice. I’ll say this about Leon: He may not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’s dependable and not afraid to get dirty gettin’ whatever needs doin’ done. Plus, he’s kind of a misfit, so he don’t talk much to anyone, which is good when you don’t want word getting’ around about what you been doin’.

I grabbed a couple of cold beers out of the icebox for the road, and hopped into my truck. I got over to Leon’s place in about twenty minutes.

When me and Leon pulled up, she was standing there, impatiently. She made a point of looking at her watch as I walked up to her. She said, “What took you so long?” It was kinda funny how she said it, though. Sort of like scolding and whispering at the same time. Making the point she was pissed, but not wanting to wake up the whole neighborhood.

It didn’t bother me none. “Got here quick as I could, Sugar,” I said, flashin’ her a smile I knew women couldn’t resist. “Damn, girl … You lookin’ mighty fine, even without the wig an’ them stupid sunglasses.” I moved in close enough for her to feel my warm breath on her neck. “What can ole Larry do you for tonight?”

She wasn’t havin’ none of it. She stepped aside, but not back, and pointed to a car parked a few feet away. “I need you to take the BMW someplace where nobody will ever find it and burn it. You understand me? Burn it , then bury it.”

Fine, I figured. You wanna be all buisness, it’s your loss. “That’s gonna cost you, Sugar.”

“Cut the crap!” she barked in that shouting whisper. Then, she motioned for me to move away from Leon, so we could confer in private. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars. Just get it done, and don’t screw it up.”

“You lookin’ to get back on the news again?” I asked. “You might want to tell them it was a couple of Mexicans this time. Don’t want to look like you’re pickin’ on the blacks.”

“Just do it.”

“I’ll do it, alright,” I said. “for two grand.” The look she gave me could have froze water. She was pissed, but we both knew she’d agree to it. “Hell, I’ll even throw in a half-O. I’m talkin’ prime shit, just for you, Sugar,” I said, just so she’d know my heart was in the right place.

65

Ray Garrett

I went to the door of Whitney’s apartment. Remembering she mentioned having a young daughter, I lightly tapped on the door. If Whitney was still up, she might hear it and I could avoid waking the child.

No answer.

I rang the doorbell. Knocked, this time a little louder.

Still no answer.

I rang and knocked again, hard enough this time that she should hear, even if she was asleep. “Whitney!” I called out. “It’s Ray. Ray Garrett.”

A neighbor, three doors down the hallway, opened her door and peeked out glaring at me with disapproval and said, “Some of us are trying to sleep!”

I made a wincing face, “Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t mean to disturb anyone.”

The neighbor stood there several more seconds, watching me, saying nothing. Eventually, she shut her door, latching it for added security.

I tried the doorbell one last time. Still nothing. Whitney was either asleep, or more likely gone to pick up her daughter. Rylee, was it?

I descended the stairs, and in the process stepped and slipped on something wet. Good thing for me I my hand was on the rail, or I would have fallen.

If I hurried, I might make it back to the hotel before the party ended. I know what you’re thinking. I should just let it go. But put yourself in my position. What would you do?

I turned out of the apartment complex, did a rolling stop at the corner, then pulled out onto Wiseman and accelerated. The cop was on me immediately. I swear he came out of nowhere. Rather than pull over onto the narrow shoulder by the side of the road, I slowed down, flipped on my turn signal, hoping it was working, and turned into a Walgreen parking lot a hundred yards or so further on.

The officer pressed his hand against the lid of my trunk as he approached my vehicle, his flashlight probing the back seat of my car. “License and registration,” the officer said as he came to my window and shined the beam on me.

I complied.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I didn’t stop completely back there.” Then it occurred to me this guy might be a Bobcats fan. “Guess I got in a hurry to get back to the team party,” I added, hoping maybe I could give him an autograph in exchange for a friendly warning, and be on my way.

“You been drinking tonight, sir?” he asked, shining the light into my face.

Involuntarily, I closed my eyes, turned my head slightly, and brought a hand up to shield myself from the light. I blinked rapidly a couple times. “No, sir,” I said, then corrected myself. “Well, yes, I mean.”

“Which is it?” the officer said, “Yes or no?”

Before I could answer the question, he said, “Sir, would you please step out of the car for me?”

I opened the door, stepped out. “I drank one beer,” I held up a finger for emphasis. “One.” I’m sure they hear that all the time, which would explain him not being impressed by it.

Right about then, another cop car pulled up. The officer who pulled me over said, “Sir, I need you to stand over there with your hands on the hood of your vehicle.” He then briefed the other cop. “I pulled him over for failing to stop. I was just about to administer a field sobriety test when you pulled up. I can smell it on him. I asked if he’d been drinking.”

“One beer, right?”

“Right.”

They came back to me. “Mr. Garrett, we’re going to ask you to submit to a field sobriety test. If you show below the limit, we’ll have you on your way in just a few minutes. That okay with you?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“You don’t mind if I take a look inside your vehicle do you?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I said. “Go ahead.”

The next few minutes were spent with me walking the line, touching my nose, reciting the alphabet backward, and blowing into a breathalyzer.

During that time, the other cop was opening the doors, shining a light inside my car, looking on the seats, on the floorboards, under the seats, in the glove box, and in the trunk for anything that might be used as evidence against me.

“Okay,” the cop who pulled me over said. “You show under the limit. You say you’re going back to a party?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking ‘Not that it’s any of your damned business.’

“Where’s the party?”

“At the Grand Hotel.”

That seemed to surprise him somewhat. “The Grand?”

“Yeah.” I said, “I’m with the Bobcats. We’re having a team party there tonight. Celebrating winning the division.”

He glanced at my piece of crap car, then back to me, his head cocked at an angle. “You’re with the Bobcats?”

“Yes sir,” I said. I could see he didn’t believe me. “Just called up at the end of the season.”

“Wait here.”

The cop went back to his unit for a couple of minutes.

When he came back, he said, “Okay, your story checks. Why’d you leave the party?”

“I gave a girl a ride home?”

“Hey Ed,” the other cop called. “There’s something over here I think you should take a look at.” He was standing next to the driver’s door, his flashlight shining on the floorboard.

He’d no sooner said it, than a call came over their portable radios, “All Units. Ten Zero Zero at 4685 Wiseman. Any available units respond.”

Suddenly I, and whatever was on the floor of my car, became low priority. “We gotta roll on that, Ed!” the cop by my car shouted, as he broke into a sprint toward his unit.

The one with me handed me my license and said on the run, “Don’t drink anymore tonight if you’re going to drive. You barely passed the breathalyzer.” And with that, he was gone, too.

I got back into my car and drove to the hotel.

66

Ian McGregor

“Ian!” Lou Brannigan sidled up to me, as I stood outside the front entrance of the hotel. He slipped an arm around my shoulder. “You doin’ okay?”

“No wuckin’ furries, Lou,” I said. “I’m waiting for a cab.” The party was breaking up, everyone was going home. I’d tossed down a few too many. Actually, I was off my face drunk, in no shape to drive.

Brannigan weaved on unsteady legs. “I’m not ready to call it a night yet” he said. “I say we go back inside, close the bar down. Whatta you think?”

Before I could answer, the ringtone on Brannigan’s phone made a quacking sound. “You got a duck in your pants, Lou,” I observed.

“Not the first time,” Lou said, a bit too seriously, I thought, as he reached into his pocket. “Yeah?”

I watched as Brannigan listened to the caller. His face turned ashen. “What happened?” he asked the caller. “Oh, my God!’ he listened a little longer. “Where are you?” Again, he listened to the other party, just as my cab pulled up. “Okay. Stay calm. We’ll be there right away.”

I waved goodnight to Brannigan, thankful my ride came while he was on the phone and saving me having to go round and round with him over my not wanting to stay. But, before I could get away, my luck ran out. “Wait!” he shouted.

“I’m not up for it, Lou,” I said. “I’m going home to get some sleep.”

“Mike’s in trouble!”

“Mike who?” I knew at least a dozen Mikes. Three or four I could think of on the team.

“Prescott.”

I exhaled, dropped my head, and my shoulders sagged. Mike Prescott may not be my best mate, but we go back a long way. I sighed. “What’s wrong?” I was thinking a flat tire, or he was catching hell from Kayla for something. It wasn’t public knowledge, but he’d confided in me some time ago their marriage was in trouble.

“I’ll fill you in on the way,” Brannigan said. “Come with me.”

I held up a hand. “I saw you putting away the booze tonight, Lou,” I said. “You’re more in the bag than me, I reckon. I’m not getting in a car with you driving.”

Brannigan started to argue, “But—”

I held up a hand, pointed to the approaching cab, motioned for him to join me.

“Where to, gentlemen?” the driver said as our doors shut.