ONE CUP (Part 24)

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98

Ian McGregor

Lou Brannigan and I were with Mike and Kayla Prescott, seated in their living room, sorting things out.

“So far there’s been no mention of the girl’s disappearance in the news. I checked at the station,” Kayla said. “The girl has been reported as missing, but they’re not running the story.”

“Why would you do that?” I asked. “Won’t your asking around draw attention?”

“No,” Kayla replied. “I didn’t ask about it specifically. I just checked in with Simon, he’s the gatekeeper. He lets me take a look at whatever comes across his desk, you know, in case I see a human interest story I want to go with. And he said—”

“Wait a minute,” Mike said. “Gatekeeper? What’s a gatekeeper?”

Kayla sighed heavily. “The gatekeeper is the one who decides which stories we run. The public wants urgent, breaking news. A simple missing person report, at least in the early stages, is neither.

“So anyway, I looked at the list of stories. Like I said, it’s there, on the police blotter, but they aren’t pursuing the story.”

“Oh.” Mike nodded.

“They haven’t found a body. She’s not dead yet. Probably never will find her body once that is taken care of. But that doesn’t mean they won’t still prosecute for kidnapping and murder.”

“Oh, my God,” Mike said. He stood, and began pacing. I could see he was breathing rapidly, clutching his chest. On wobbly legs, he stumbled toward Kayla’s chair, a faraway look on his face, like he was leaving us, floating away.

“Michael!” Kayla slapped him. “Focus! “We need to think this through.”

I wasn’t so sure slapping him was the thing to do, but then again, I’m not a doc, and she was right. We did need to think this thing through.

Mike nodded weakly, staring straight ahead, still sucking air like a marathoner at the end of a race. I noticed him shaking his right hand, as it dangled by his side, the way I do when my hand goes to sleep. Kayla saw it, too. She looked at him, then glanced at me. I wondered if maybe we should call for an ambo, and started to say something. Kayla shook her head ‘No’.

“Look. Whatever happened, however it happened, was an accident,” Kayla said. “No one in this room did anything with intent to harm anyone.”

She looked around the room, into our eyes, one at a time. “In fact,” she said, “I think nothing happened.”

“But,” I spoke up, “You saw her. You—”

“No, Ian,” she corrected me. “I was never there. Nor were you. None of us were.”

“But,” I protested, “Mike called and said—”

“Ian! Nothing. Happened. We. Were. Never. There!”

“How do we explain—”

“We have nothing to explain,” she said. “We will all simply go about our lives.”

“It’s not right,” I said.

“What’s not right, Ian?” Kayla said. “Would it be right for all of us to go to prison for what we did?”

“Well, no,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“You’d better,” she said. “The girl is as good as dead. She can’t be allowed to harm us.”

“Money talks,” Michael said. “We can pay her.”

Kayla shook her head. “Nothing we can do about it. Michael made a mistake. A huge mistake.” She glared at her husband. “And he and I will discuss that.”

“Well, what about Ray Garrett?” I said. “All it would take would be for him to tell the cops he took the girl home from the party, and she was right as rain when he dropped her off.”

Kayla nodded. “You’re right, Ian. Ray does present a problem. And we need to deal with him as well. The sooner, the better.” The room grew silent as we each contemplated the statement.

99

“Let’s consider this,” Kayla said. “Michael is probably the best player in the major leagues right now.” She looked to Brannigan, then to me. Neither of us contradicted her. She went on, “Obviously, he has a lot to lose if he is involved in a scandal. His reputation would be ruined. Endorsements would dry up. After-baseball career options would be limited, if not completely evaporated.”

“But you said they aren’t pursuing the story,” Michael said. “How can there be a scandal?”

“Because, Michael,” Kayla made no effort to conceal her irritation, “If Ray Garrett were to talk with the authorities, tell them what he knows, it would arouse curiosity and suspicion. It would then become a murder investigation. AND, if you three losers are associated with it, it becomes international news. Three major leaguers and a dominatrix. Think O.J. Think Casey Anthony. Think George Zimmerman. All rolled into one, they might equal the press that would be devoted to this story.”

Kayla turned to face Brannigan. “Lou, you’re what, thirty-six, thirty-seven years old?

“Thirty-five,” Brannigan said, with a hint of defiance, as if it really made a difference.

“Okay, thirty-five,” Kayla said. “How much longer do you figure you have in the game? Honestly?”

Brannigan opened his mouth, but was at a loss for words.

“And what plans have you made for retirement? You have enough money socked away to support yourself in style for another fifty years?”

Brannigan looked down, shook his head.

Kayla turned her attention to me. “Ian?”

“I spent probably ninety percent of what I’ve made on wine, women, and song,” I said. “The rest, I just wasted.”

“You think this is funny, Ian?” Kayla said, frustration in her voice, anger in her eyes. “You won’t think it’s so funny when you’re locked up.”

“Oh, come on, Kayla,” I said. “You really believe it would come to that?”

“I do,” she said. “I do believe that if Ray Garrett talks to the cops, eventually they will figure out enough to destroy all of us. We could all go to prison. Michael will never become a manager, or a sportscaster,” she looked at her husband, as she revealed the plans he had revealed to her in confidence. “Nor will he be an actor or be elected for political office.

“Lou will be finished. Soon forgotten. More career losses than wins. Lifetime ERA of five-point-something. No real highlights. His only hope of having anything to look back upon is dependent upon the Bobcats going all the way this year.” Kayla paused, letting her words soak in. Seeing that Brannigan’s face was flushed from her stinging words, she added, “No offense, Lou. Just trying to make a point.”

Brannigan’s nodded, but his twisted mouth and narrowed eyebrows said he was pissed. Can’t say I blame him.

“And you, Mr. McGregor. . . ‘Taz’,” she smirked. “You’ve had your moments. But you’re on your way out. You know it. We all know it.”

Mike Prescott leaned forward, his eyes narrowed and his mouth forming a frown. “What’s your point, Kayla? Why are you insulting my friends?” He clenched his jaw and tapped a finger on the table, waiting for her answer. The hyperventilating appeared to be under control now.

“My point, Michael, is we all have a lot to lose here. Myself included. I make no secret I have career ambitions beyond the local Indianapolis media.

“We all have a lot to lose,” she repeated. “And it goes beyond us.” She took a deep breath. “The team could suffer. Losing its star player, maybe even before the playoffs. The fans. The kids who look up to you guys. Major League Baseball would suffer. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it would go on without you, but you all would be an embarrassment. The scandal would follow you for the rest of your lives.” She let her words sink in. “But it doesn’t have to go that way. There’s another way this could go.”

100

“Ray Garrett is a nobody,” Kayla said. “He hasn’t made a name for himself. He’s been in what, one game?”

“Yeah,” Lou Brannigan said. “And it didn’t even count. We were rained out.”

Kayla nodded. “So, nobody has even heard of him, outside his little circle of family and friends.”

We all nodded, waiting to see just where she was going with this.

“Ray Garrett is single. Nobody depending upon him.” Kayla looked around the room. We all remained silent.

“Ray is a nice guy,” Kayla continued. “I wish him no harm.”

“But . . .” Lou Brannigan said what we were all thinking.

Kayla nodded. “But . . . If the cops start looking for this . . . whore—”

“She’s not a whore!” Mike Prescott blurted out. “I didn’t pay for sex.”

“What then, Michael?” Kayla said. “If she’s not a whore.”

“She’s a dominatrix,” he muttered.

Kayla said nothing, let his confession hang in the air for a long, awkward moment.

Kayla shook her head, rolled her eyes. “Either way,” she said, dismissing the information with a wave of the hand. “She invited this sort of thing into her life when she chose to go down that road. And if they look for her, they will eventually find out she was at the party.”

“And that Ray Garrison took her home,” Brannigan said.

“Garrett,” I corrected him.

“Whatever,” he shrugged.

“And if they talk with Ray Garrett,” Kayla went on, “they will connect the dots.”

“What are you suggesting, Honey,” Mike Prescott said. “We pay him off? Get him to come on board, cover the whole thing up?”

“God, Michael, you are so naïve,” Kayla sighed. “And after what you’ve done, don’t ever call me Honey again.”

We all knew what Kayla was going to say. It was the only option. The tension in the room was as heavy as a wet blanket, as we waited for her to say it.

Kayla said, “Ray Garrett cannot talk to the police. Period. If he were to be overcome with guilt, and kill himself, the whole thing goes away.”

“Why would he kill himself?” Brannigan said.

“Right,” I chimed in. “He didn’t do it. Why would he even feel guilty?”

The look Kayla gave us could freeze water. “Seriously? Do I have to spell out everything for you?”

“We have to do it,” Mike said. “We have to kill him. Otherwise, all that Kayla was talking about would come true.”

“We have to find him before they do,” Kayla said. “The truth has to die with him. Sure, there will be a scandal, him being on the team, but it will be minor. It will go away with the next news story that comes down the pike.”

“Kayla,” I tried to protest, but stopped. I may not have been hyperventilating, but I was feeling a pounding in my head, and pain in my chest. I told myself I was doing it because I owed Kayla for having cost Bobby his life. But I knew better. I was doing it to cover my own ass. God help me, I couldn’t stop this from happening. “I . . .” I cleared my throat. “I think I know where to find him.”

101

Whitney

I’ve no idea how long I’d been standing there, frozen in place, my mouth agape. I’d never seen anything that began to compare to what just happened before my eyes. Suddenly I was aware of a sound, coming from just around the shed. “Leon?” I called out, cautiously. “Leon, is that you?”

Leon emerged from around the corner. He looked like a little boy, standing there in his coveralls, with one hand in his pants pocket, the other covering his eyes. He was sobbing. Grieving for the puppy. “Larry shouldn’a done it!”

Despite the circumstances, I felt the urge to hug him, and I went to the end of my chain, holding out my arms. Tears welled in my eyes, overflowed down my cheeks as I held the big man in my arms, soothing him. He was so consumed by his grief, so grateful for the comfort that I provided, he failed to notice when I removed my gun from his waistband as he sobbed on my shoulder.

“Well, ain’t this a tender moment!” Leon and I both stiffened, instinctively stepping away from one another at the sound of Larry’s voice. I tucked my gun in my waistband, in the small of my back. When Leon turned to go, Larry followed, taunting him. “AWWW … What’samatta Wee-on? Does it make-ooooh sad to see da big mean dog hurt da wittle puppy? Hmmm?”

Leon turned on his heel, facing his tormentor. Larry stopped in his tracks, as if he thought his large friend might actually strike him. Leon just stood there, staring at him. His lower lip trembled and his chest was heaving as he first wiped the tears from his eyes, then wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve. He sniffed. “I don’t like it when you do that to puppies, Larry.”

“Well then Hell, Leon, I just won’t do it no more. We can forget all about the dog fights and convert this over to a place where people can fly in from New York City to come show their poodles and drink champagne!”

Larry saw he had confused Leon. “Hell, son! That damned puppy was a mix breed mutt. If I hadn’t a come along when I did, he’d have been in the pound waitin’ to be gassed to death. You ever seen a dog gassed, Leon?”

The big man shook his head, “No . . . I ain’t seen it.”

“Well, I have, and it ain’t pretty, Leon. It ain’t pretty at all. Them damn animals gasp for breath, and their insides is burnin’. They claw at the floor and throw themselves against the walls of the chamber, jus’ tryin’ to get out, “Larry said, acting out, miming what he was describing. His back was to me, and I could have shot him, but I I was trembling and didn’t trust my aim. “You can hear ’em moanin’ and whimperin’. Sometimes it takes 30 minutes for the damn dog to die. It’s a hell of a lot worse than that pup got. Hell, ole Pete done him a favor.”

Leon didn’t know quite what to think. He looked to me. I shook my head. Larry said, “You gotta suck it up, Leon! Get tough, cousin. Be a man.” He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder toward me. “You want her?”

Leon’s eyes went downward, studying his feet.

“How long since you been with a woman, Leon?”

Leon shrugged, shuffled his feet.

“Hell, Leon, have you ever been with a woman?” Larry taunted the big man. “You ain’t, have you? You ain’t never got any! Say the word, Leon, you can have her. Just don’t get attached to her. She ain’t gonna be around long.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Leon glanced up at me, then looked back down at his shoes and shook his head ‘no’.

“Alright, then. We got work to do before the dogfights tomorrow night. Let’s get to it.”

Leon turned and went to the barn. Larry, to the house. As he passed by me, Larry smirked. “I figured out where I know you from. You’re the bitch in the parking lot a few years back.”

I tried not to show my fear, but my trembling hands and retreating posture betrayed my emotions. Larry sneered, “I’ll even tell you how you’re gonna die. We’re gonna put you back in the trunk o’ the car and burn you alive like we was s’posed to have done. Whattaya think of that?”