Think Twice

“Help how?”

“I don’t know. Be a supportive brother. You might be able to ask him yourself. He and Bo just landed with Sadie. Oh, one other thing. The Vegas DA’s office says it will look very closely at Joey’s conviction, but they denied pressuring Bo into lying.”

“Not surprising,” Myron said. “It’s not like they would just admit it.”

“True, but they claim to have audiotapes, proving that Bo Storm is lying. In fact — and this is where it gets interesting — they claim the only reason they homed in on Joseph Turant in the first place was because Bo claimed he saw Joey that night.”

Myron thought about that. “A lot of moving parts.”

“Yes.”

Myron’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID and looked up at Win.

Win spread his hands. “Well?”

“It’s Jeremy.”

Myron clicked the answer button. “Jeremy?”

“I assume you saw Sadie’s press conference.”

There was a lilt in Jeremy’s voice.

“I did, yeah.”

“I just talked to her on the phone. They’re going to release Dad in a few hours.”

Dad.

“Yeah, that’s great.”

“I’m coming back.”

“To New York?”

“Yes.”

Myron switched hands. Win had moved to a corner to give Myron space. He was doing push-ups on closed fists, his body a perfect plank.

“Didn’t you just get home?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect this to happen this fast. I want to be there for him.”

“I understand,” Myron said.

“I want to thank you. For helping him and all.”

“You’re welcome,” Myron said.

There was a brief silence.

“Something wrong, Myron?”

Win was still doing push-ups. His torso moved up and down with piston-machine-like precision. He did three sets of one hundred, twice a week. “If you do more than that,” Win had explained, “you will injure your rotator cuff.”

“Where are you coming in from?” Myron asked.

“I told you before—”

“Classified, I remember.” Then: “Are you still in the military?”

Silence. Long silence.

“Or were you discharged three years ago?”

More silence.

“Are you still in the military,” Myron continued, “or do you work IT at Dillard’s department store?”

Still more silence. Myron’s grip on the phone tightened.

Finally, Jeremy said, “You’ve been busy.”

“Do you want to explain?”

“Over a phone? No, I don’t think so.”

“When you arrive?”

“Sure,” Jeremy said. Then: “Myron?”

“Yes?”

“You’re probably expecting me to get all indignant and snap, ‘How dare you dig into my past’ or ‘I can’t believe you don’t trust your own son’ or something like that.”

Myron nodded. Of course, Jeremy couldn’t see it, so it was more to himself. But that was exactly what he’d been thinking.

“I’m not upset. I get why you did it. We’ll talk about it when I see you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So don’t worry,” Jeremy said. “It’s all good.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Metropolitan Correctional Center is a twelve-story high-rise in the Civic Center of Manhattan, near Chinatown, Tribeca, and the Financial District. John Gotti was held here. Sammy the Bull was held here. Bernie Madoff was held here. El Chapo was held here. Jeffrey Epstein was held — and purportedly killed himself — here.

And now, with a ton of media fanfare around the edifice, Greg Downing was being released from here.

Myron and Win watched from a spot across the street.

“Greg could just exit from inside,” Myron said.

“He could.”

“It’s a correctional center. There are ways in and out besides the front door.”

“True,” Win said. “But we both know Sadie won’t let that happen.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

Win nodded. “She’s very effective in advocating for the bullied and battered.”

“Look at you,” Myron said. “Finding a cause.”

“And she’s profitable. Insecure, violent narcissists are a growth industry.”

“Sad but true.”

“Sadie’s also a total smoke show.”

Win.

There was a podium set up on the sidewalk. On the right, just far enough away to not be a part of the proceedings, stood the Konnerses — Grace, Spark, Brian/Bo. Grace seemed to be hiding behind her hulking older son, Spark. Spark turned and spotted Myron. Their eyes met. Spark’s eyes narrowed. He said something to his mom and moved toward them.

“Uh-oh,” Win said.

Spark beelined straight to Myron. “Chaz Landreaux,” he said.

Myron didn’t reply.

“You called him for me, didn’t you?”

“I may have told him to give your résumé a look,” Myron said.

“You think that makes up for what you did?”

Win took that one. “He didn’t do anything to you,” he said. “I did.”

“Win,” Myron said.

Win put his hand up to let him handle it. He slid in between Myron and Spark, his chin facing Spark’s paddleball-wall chest, once again daring Spark to make the first move. “You lied to us, Sparkles. You knew Greg was alive. You knew your brother committed perjury on the stand.”

“You better take a step back,” Spark said, puffing out the chest.

“Oh my.” Win smiled and Myron didn’t like the gleam he saw in Win’s eyes. “Do you want to play this game again?”

“Win,” Myron said.

“Don’t sweat it,” Spark said, looking at Myron over Win’s head. “I just came by to make sure you’re the one who put me on Chaz’s radar.”

“I am, yes.”

“Then I’m not going to the interview.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Myron said. “Chaz would have given you a fair shake.”