Black Cat Weekly #73

Chapter 7-3

“Sounds good,” Dawna agreed.

From the corner of her eye, she picked up movement, Ryane bending over her desk, turning her face away from her uncle. Dawna caught a glimpse of a satisfied smile, the same expression she’d seen on coaches’ faces when their game plans were being executed perfectly.

Why was Ryane so happy?

Driving to the woman’s apartment, Dawna ordered herself to watch for any additional hints of what Ryane might be thinking. She’d evaluate her information later, when no hunky dude was taking her attention off business. After pausing at a liquor store to pick up a fifth of Walker Black, she reached her destination as said dude was tossing a match to his starter-soaked charcoal.

For the next three hours, she focused on the pleasures of their temporary partnership. The immediate one being that Tommy knew how to feed a big girl. Perfectly broiled T-bones with grilled peppers, mushrooms, and onions on the side, plus a pint of high-fat sour cream for the huge potatoes Ryane baked as accompaniment. All served in a perfect tropical setting.

Bougainvillea draped the six-foot-high fence, its fragrance blending with the faint grassy odor of the lush, well-watered lawn and the scent of charring beef and peppers. The balmy evening air caressed Dawna’s bare back and arms, and she felt sexy as hell.

She ate enthusiastically as they worked out how to stage an exciting four-player exhibition match using only one hoop and discussed the best way to publicize it. At intervals, Tommy and Ryane tried to top each other as amusing hosts, interjecting anecdotes from bounty hunting and assistant coaching that were more entertaining than relevant.

By the time Dawna’s plate was empty, their plan was ready to go live on Sunday at 1400. That settled, Ryane insisted on handling dishwashing and kitchen cleanup by herself. Neither Tommy nor Dawna objected. He was apparently as pleased to be alone with Dawna as Ryane seemed to be arranging the twosome.

Hunched companionably over their drinks, Tommy revealed the alias Winslow was using. Aaron Martin, a common name among the plain folk.

Dawna passed him a blowup of the farmers’ market shot in which Winslow, aka Martin, appeared.

“Hard for me to see any difference between him and at least six other guys,” she said. “He blends into the crowd so well, you won’t be certain you’ve got the right man.”

Tommy grunted in disagreement.

“A snapshot is misleading,” he said. “You can’t see if Winslow was in motion when it was taken. And he had to have been. We know he trusts no one. He won’t linger in one place for idle chitchat or to make a friendly comment. I’ll be looking for a restless guy who interacts with nobody but the bookie.”

“Winslow won’t get much of a thrill betting on our match,” Dawna said. “Be obvious to him and most everyone else that Ryane teamed up with Carlie will cream me and Jacob.”

“Not when Winslow sees how you’re training Jacob to play.” Tommy lowered his left shoulder meaningfully by way of explanation.

He was telling her to teach Jacob to use his tough male body against the young women. Carlie had played few regulation minutes her freshman season. She’d had little experience with the aggressive tactics of college ball. A few heavy body blocks and well-placed elbows would rattle the woman, and she’d have trouble scoring despite her height advantage.

“Winslow will think he’s got insider knowledge,” Dawna said. “He’ll believe he can do a better job of predicting the final score. Give him an edge over the bookie.”

“Irresistible advantage for a gambler,” Tommy said. “I watch the bettors, I’ll find him. Shoes are bound to give him away.”

Dawna made a scoffing noise. “He’s a detail man. He’ll have on the same type shoes as everyone else.”

“But he doesn’t slip on his dress shoes once a week for church. Or clomp through muddy fields in his work boats. Or don his rubber-soled oxfords to shingle a roof. Might see him in any of that footgear, but his will show a different wear pattern. They’ll stand out.”

“Clever.” Dawna’s admiration flavored her tone. “Still, you’ll have to examine more feet in forty-five minutes than may be humanly possible. You’ll need help.”

“Too risky. He might merely note one observer more interested in the crowd than the players. He’ll be alarmed by two.”

“Maybe,” Dawna admitted.

“Definitely,” Tommy corrected. His fingertips brushed the back of her hand, traced a line along her forearm. “I know what I’m doing.”

Boy, did he. Little hairs had risen where he’d touched her, the tingling sensation setting off matching charges through her system. Relaxed by the fine meal and excellent Scotch, Dawna wanted to let the man continue to work his magic on her. Lovely warm moments might follow. Possibly hot ones.

Not tonight, she told herself. She never mixed work and romance.

Leaning back to break the skin contact, she drained her glass and clunked it on the table. “Sunday afternoon. We’ll see what you know.”

At home later that evening, she reviewed what she knew. The addition of promising new Stingrayette Carlie George put fresh, prime bait in the trap she’d set. And Dawna controlled the only other pre-match variable.

sheIf, as seemed likely, Paul Winslow managed to observe her practicing with Jacob, he’d get an eyeful. Basketball-savvy, Winslow would instantly grasp their strategy. And he’d bet on it. The odds were good that he’d show up at Pinecraft Park on Sunday afternoon to watch the match and collect his winnings.

One thing she couldn’t count on was that Tommy would pluck Winslow out of the crowd. His strange-shoes argument was compelling but no guarantee. She needed to give him another pair of eyes.

The second unknown was Ryane O’Brien. She wasn’t so pleased with herself because she’d orchestrated a date for her favorite uncle. Tommy needed no help charming women.

Perhaps Ryane was happy because she’d gotten Dawna paying less attention to her. Which could mean she was working with Tommy to run a number on Dawna. Or maybe it was Tommy’s scrutiny she wanted to avoid?

Dawna remembered Ryane’s assertion that she’d have returned to its rightful owners all the money Winslow had donated to the athletic program. Dawna’d heard something off in her voice. The words hadn’t rung true. But that less-than-credible statement was her only clue to Ryane’s personal agenda. It took her nowhere. She decided her own game plan had to give her maximum maneuvering room, allow her to counter anything unexpected.

Saturday, she told Jacob her knee was bothering her and cut their practice short by twenty minutes. He wrinkled his forehead and asked in a worried voice if she’d be able to play on Sunday. She lied, telling him that “elevation, an ice pack, and a good night’s sleep” would cure her. Two hours later, she rented a pair of metal crutches from a medical-equipment supply service and bought a multi-pocketed fisherman’s vest at the sporting-goods store.

Sunday at twenty minutes to two, she parked her rental on a side street bordering Pinecraft Park and crutched her way over the brown stubble to the basketball court. Jacob was waiting for her under the hoop, along with Ryane and Carlie, a tall dishwater-blonde with biceps as impressive as her calf muscles.

Ryane raised an incredulous eyebrow at Dawna’s crutches, taking in her street shoes, dark-blue slacks, pale-blue Old Navy T-shirt topped by the new vest. “What’s up?”

“Wrong move yesterday.” Dawna pointed at her right knee. “They think I tore that lateral meniscus too. Probably looking at more surgery to repair it.”

Jacob shook his head sadly. “You should have said. I could have borrowed a trike, driven you to the hospital.”

Dawna smiled ruefully. “Didn’t realize how much damage I’d done until I got halfway home. Had to call a cab. Spent most of yesterday evening waiting around for test results.” She turned to Ryane, prepared to defuse the angry and disbelieving reaction she expected. “You got any ideas how we can turn a four-player match into a three?”

“I’ll find a sub for you,” Ryane said.

Dawna heard neither sympathy nor suspicion in her tone, only a surprising indifference. The woman didn’t care if Dawna’s injury was real or fake. Which meant that to her, Dawna was irrelevant. Ryane yanked out a cell phone and stepped away to make the call, her back to the others.

Carlie, though, seemed sincerely regretful. “I was really looking forward to going up against you.”

“I wanted to play you too.” Dawna inclined her head toward Ryane. “How soon you think she can get someone?”

Carlie made a don’t-worry gesture with her hand. “Five minutes at most. Some of the girls were planning to come and watch.”

Sure enough, in four-and-a-half minutes, Dawna was explaining to Lindsay Reardon how best to use Jacob Zook in the match.

Lindsay, a five-foot-eleven sophomore forward, summed up the instructions. “He muscles the ball away from Carlie and Ryane, feeds it to me, and gets all over them while I shoot.”

Lindsay studied Jacob’s outfit. “You look like a peace-loving Amish gentleman. You’re willing to go warlike on women?”

He drew his chin down in a strong affirmative. “You can count on me. I understand Carlie needs to learn how to defend against those tactics.”

“Right,” Lindsay agreed. “Do her a world of good.”

“And could make you two the winners,” Dawna said. “No ref, so no foul. At least in the beginning. Build up as big a lead as you can before they figure out how to stop him.”

“Trash basketball.” Lindsay let out a man-size guffaw. “I love it.”

Dawna left them to work out details and hobbled off the concrete into the slowly forming crowd. Tommy wouldn’t be pleased she’d changed their plan. Luckily, he couldn’t confront her where Paul Winslow might see them. Still, she was happier not running into him.

Looking around, Dawna realized the gender composition of the crowd had changed. She encountered more solid-color ankle-length dresses than had been present earlier in the week. Had the addition of two women players drawn more female spectators? Possibly interested in playing basketball? The half-dozen she noticed were big women with thick wide shoulders. Had that upper-body strength come from tossing hay bales into lofts or hand-wringing baskets of wet sheets? Their long athletic strides tangled their gathered skirts around their legs, so they had to hitch the fabric out of the way, revealing big sockless feet in size-eleven Birkenstocks and flip-flops.

She heard the musical opening to “Camptown Races” and quickly turned from the women. She saw a bearded man in black wool pants and suspenders standing beneath a palm tree. He raised a cell phone to his ear and listened intently. Studying the calculator in his other hand, he barked out a terse reply ending in “minus twenty-six.” She guessed he was Pinecraft’s bookie, giving a bettor the point spread. Did the odds favor Ryane and Carlie by so much? Wait, he had to be giving the revised spread, with Lindsay as her sub.

revisedGiven his off-the-grid concealment strategy, Winslow wouldn’t have a cell phone. He’d have to go to the bookie to bet on the new configuration. Dawna scanned the other spectators quickly. In the crowd milling behind the suspendered-man, she spotted three approaching men who resembled Winslow.

Which one was he?