Think Twice

Their eyes met and for the briefest of moments, they were back on the court, Greg dribbling, Myron low in a defensive stance, trying to force him right. It was Greg’s weakness. He was a great player and despite being a righty, he preferred penetrating the middle using his left. The memory was a moment, no more, but it was there, and Myron could tell that they both sort of experienced it.

Myron leaned forward, keeping all his attention on Greg. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Greg said nothing.

“You know me. You know Win. You know what we can do.”

Greg nodded. “I thought about it.” Then, glancing next to him, he said, “We thought about it. But in the end, Grace didn’t think it was the right move.”

“Violence is never the answer,” Grace said.

Myron said nothing. Greg said nothing.

Grace shook her head. “Men.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Myron said. “So what did you guys decide to do?”

“Grace convinced her son to turn state’s evidence. Wear a wire. All that.”

Makes sense, Myron thought. “And then?”

“Somehow Joey the Toe gets wind of it. He breaks into the house at night. He murders Jordan.”

“Why?” Myron asked.

“What?”

“You said Jordan was part of his operation. Bo was the one who was the threat. So why kill Jordan?”

“We wondered about that too,” Grace said.

“Want to know our theory?” Greg asked.

Myron nodded for him to go ahead.

“It was an accident.”

“An accident?”

“Turant meant to kill Bo. Bo and Jordan lived together. It was dark.”

“Bo was home at the time,” Grace added. “He heard a commotion and ran.”

“You know the rest. Joey the Toe gets arrested. Bo testifies against him. Suddenly we are all on the run from the mob. Grace and I make sure Bo has a new identity, and then” — Greg turned and looked at Grace — “we just followed our original plan.”

Myron nodded slowly. “And you faked your death.”

Silence.

“Why?”

“That’s not really your business, Myron.” Greg shifted in his chair, suddenly agitated. “Why are you here anyway? Why couldn’t you just let us be?”

“Because the feds came to me looking for you. Do you know Cecelia Callister?”

“She was murdered, right?”

“Did you know her?”

“A little, a long time ago. She was friends with Emily. We went out a couple of times as couples.”

“Anything more?”

“Like?”

“Like, anything more. Like, did you sleep with her? Like, when was the last time you saw her?”

“I didn’t touch her, and I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Because your DNA was found at the crime scene.”

Greg froze. “Are you serious?”

“No, I’m being funny. I tracked you down and did all this because I thought it might make a good comedy bit.”

“I don’t get it,” Greg said. “How could my DNA be at her murder scene?”

“You tell me.”

“It has to be a mistake.”

“They found it under the victim’s fingernails.”

“My DNA? Bullshit. I mean, absolute and utter bullshit. They’re lying to you.”

“Who? The cops? Wait, why would the cops lie?”

Silence.

“And why did you fake your death? You just let everyone who cares about you think you were dead.”

Greg chuckled then. “Who cares about me?”

“What?”

“Who cares about me? Come on. You may have mourned a day or two, then went back to your real life. Emily? Ha. My mom is dead, my dad has advanced Alzheimer’s.”

“What about Jeremy?”

“Ah, now we are getting to it.” Greg smiled. “You mean, our son?”

Myron didn’t take the bait. Not right away anyway. He stayed silent. Win was good with silence. He could hold it a long time. Myron on the other hand was not so good. So eventually he said, “Yeah, fine, our son. How could you not let him know?”

And then Greg smiled again. “Who said I didn’t?”

It was then, as Myron was struggling to take in what Greg was saying, that they heard the crackle of the bullhorn. Myron looked out the kitchen window. Greg and Grace did the same. At least a dozen armed officers were positioned in the backyard.

“Oh shit,” Greg said.

There, in the center of the backyard holding a bullhorn, was FBI agent Monica Hawes with FBI agent Beluga Whale by her side.

Greg muttered “Oh shit” again as the bullhorn sounded again.

“Greg Downing,” Hawes said into the bullhorn. “This is Special Agent Monica Hawes with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You’re surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

Chapter Sixteen

Still seated at the kitchen table, Greg swiveled his head as though searching for an escape route. But that lasted only a few seconds. Grace put a calming hand on his forearm and shook her head. Greg deflated, nodded. Myron started shouting that they were surrendering peacefully. As the police swarmed in, Myron warned Greg not to say anything, not a word, that he’d follow Greg and get him the best legal counsel available. By the time Hawes and Beluga stepped into the kitchen, Greg was cuffed, his stomach on the kitchen floor.

“You’re not to question him without his counsel present,” Myron said.

Beluga patted his mouth for a fake yawn.