Forced Out (39 page)

"Cameras," MJ said matter-of-factly.

"In the locker room? What is he? Some kind of--"

"No, no. In the hallway leading to the bullpen. Said he had tape of Whitney looking at the wallet just inside the doorway to the bullpen, then hiding it in a vent or something. He's off the team. Gone."

Well, that was good news. Sort of. Jack had been kind of glad Kyle didn't have anywhere to go for a couple of weeks so they had time to really get to know each other while he was setting up the tryout. "Good for you. You want to call Kyle and let him know? I'll give you my daughter's cell number. You can talk to him right away." MJ shook his head. "No. You tell him he's playing again. Make him think you got him back on the field. I already told Borden that was how it was gonna be. He didn't get it, but he said he'd play along."

"But--"

"Kyle needs to feel like he owes you. This'll help."

"I haven't even paid you yet."

"You will," MJ answered confidently. "You won't let me down."

"You're right," Jack said softly. "More right than you know."

"What do you mean?"

Jack put Rosario down on the driver's seat, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Twenty crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. "Here's two grand. This ought to settle us up."

MJ blinked several times in disbelief at the sight of so much cash. "That's more than you owe me, Ahab. Way more."

"It includes severance," Jack said with a smile, holding the bills out. "Sorry, but this ends the business relationship. At least for now. I wish it didn't, but I can't afford you anymore."

"I know."

"I'll help you get another job."

"Thanks." MJ took the money. "I'll probably do the batboy thing for a few more games. I actually like it. And I want at least one more chance to look Reggie McDaniel in the eye and tell him what I think of him."

"Don't go looking for trouble in life," Jack counseled. "Enough of it'll find you all on its own."

"Uh-huh. So where'd you get this?" MJ asked suspiciously, holding the cash up before slipping it in his pocket.

"Don't ask. It's too depressing."

MJ chewed softly on his lower lip for a moment. "How about you answer another question for me, and I won't ask you where you got the money again?"

"Depends on the question," Jack replied, smiling at Rosario, who was grabbing the steering wheel tightly with one of her precious little hands.

"What the hell happened in New York a coupla years ago?" Jack's eyes flickered to MJ's. "What do you mean?"

"Why'd you get fired from the Yankees? I tried researching it on the Internet," MJ

continued, "but there wasn't much there. The articles mostly just said you and the Yankees decided to go in different directions. There were a couple that implied you did something wrong, but there weren't many details."

Jack laughed harshly. "'Different directions.' What a crock."

"So what happened?" MJ asked again.

"I don't want to go into it." The weird thing was, he actually did. Suddenly he realized that enough time had passed, and he couldn't think of a better person to talk about it with than MJ. "I really don't."

"You sure?"

"It still hurts." Rosario was giggling as she grabbed the steering wheel with both hands.

"I got framed."

"For what?"

Jack took a deep breath. Man, this was hard. "I was supposed to have given some information to the Boston Red Sox right before we played them in the 2004 American League Championship Series. Inside information."

"Jesus," MJ whispered. "About what?"

"About who," Jack corrected. "I was supposed to have given them an injury report on Derek Jeter, on the Yankee captain, on the main man. I was supposed to have told them that Derek had a bad right wrist that
nobody
knew about. So if you jammed him inside with fastballs and hard sliders, he wouldn't be able to get the bat around."

"Whoa."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, whoa. Serious stuff. Because usually Jeter'll take you over the fence if you do that. But the Red Sox did pitch him inside with fastballs and hard sliders, and if you look at the tapes, he couldn't get the bat around. He went six-for-thirty in seven games. Terrible for him. Just one extra-base hit, a double. He didn't have a home run the entire series. It was a nightmare for him. A nightmare for the entire city."

"But how'd they pin it on you?"

"They found an e-mail on the server sent from me to some guy in the Red Sox organization."

"But why would you give the Red Sox that kind of information?" MJ asked, stunned.

"You'd been with the Yankees for more than thirty years at that point. Right?"

"You'd think I'd get the benefit of the doubt, wouldn't you?" Jack asked softly. "Well, I didn't." His tone turned bitter. "Not one damn crumb of it."

"But it doesn't fit. There's something you're not telling me. Come on, Jack." That was the problem with smart people. They were
always
smart. They recognized when you hadn't told them everything. That all the facts didn't fit. "Okay, look, here's what happened." Jack hadn't told anyone but Cheryl this. "I got a son named David. He's my only other child. He's with the New York City Fire Department, has been since he graduated from high school. He's one of those guys who went to the World Trade Center on nine-eleven and saved a bunch of people. He's been decorated so many times for bravery in the line of duty I can't even remember them all. He was getting pretty senior in the department by 2004, and he was up for a big promotion." This was so hard to think about. "Well, a couple of days before the 2004 ALCS with the Red Sox starts, I find out David's got a drug problem. He's doing cocaine. Lots of it, all the time."

"Damn."

Jack rubbed his temples, remembering how David's wife had called that night at three in the morning, hysterical. Sobbing uncontrollably because he wouldn't stop snorting the powder. She was terrified he was going to lose his job, terrified they were going to lose everything they had, mostly terrified he was going to die. Remembering how he'd raced to David's place in Queens. Thinking--praying--that somehow David's wife had to be wrong. His prayers smashed to bits when he saw David. Red-eyed and hopped up, pacing around the basement like a caged bear.

"Yeah," Jack continued. "Damn. So I gotta do something, and I gotta do it fast. If somebody at the Fire Department finds out what's going on--"

"He won't get that promotion," MJ cut in.

Jack scoffed. "The promotion wasn't even on the radar screen anymore. David woulda gotten fired faster than you can say 'fired.' They're real strict about that stuff. They gotta be."

"What'd you do?"

"I drove him to a detox center in Iowa I knew about and told the department he was on vacation. I thought I had it all worked out. Until I got the call."

"Call?"

"The call that ruined my life. Some guy who claimed he was with the Red Sox," Jack explained. "The same guy I was supposed to have e-mailed. Turned out he knew everything about David's drug problem. Said he had a contact at the center in Iowa. Said if I didn't get him information about the Yankees he could use in the Series, he'd call the Fire Department and tell 'em everything." Jack shrugged and looked down. "And that's what happened."

"But you didn't send that e-mail. Did you?"

Jack shook his head. A sixteen-year-old kid he'd only known for a few weeks had more faith in him than people he'd played slave to for years. How much of a tragedy was that?

And yet he still wanted to work for them again, was still unfailingly loyal to them.
God
, he hated being human.

"Nope," Jack confirmed. "I never would have done that. I never would have sent that information about Jeter to the Red Sox. Not even to protect my own son."

"Who did send it?"

"I don't know. Somebody who must have
really
hated me." MJ moved beside Jack and patted him on the shoulder. "You know what I appreciate?" Jack glanced up. "What?"

MJ tapped his pocket with all the cash in it. "That you gave me the cash outside without my mother seeing. You gave it to me, not her. I appreciate that a lot. You know I'll give it to Momma, but you gave it to me to give to her. That's important to me."

"I trust you, MJ. I really do." He could hear the emotion in his own voice, and it embarrassed him. But it would have been worse for MJ not to hear that. "And I don't trust many people."

"I know. I trust you, too." MJ hesitated. "Jack."

* * *

Treviso trained the high-powered binoculars on the condo building entrance. Deuce Bondano should be coming out anytime to head down to Sarasota--about thirty minutes south of here--to do the deed. To kill Kyle McLean.

Well, Deuce was going to lead him right to the prey, but the bastard wasn't going to be the one who finished McLean off. It was going to go down different than that. A lot different.

Since losing the hundred grand to McLean two years ago, Treviso and Karen had lived like paupers. The new cut on loan profits Marconi had imposed made it nearly impossible to live, especially with a baby. But he hadn't bitched about it to anyone besides Karen because he was afraid Marconi might decide to pop him one day if he heard he had a malcontent in the family. He'd been forced into a life of theft to survive. So when Deuce Bondano had shown up at the apartment that morning to tell him McLean was still alive, it was all Treviso could do to control himself. Not to bust out shouting and yelling. Finally a chance at redemption.

But Bondano wasn't willing to help. Didn't give a damn about helping a man in a tough spot.

Treviso had settled on his plan a few hours after Bondano left. It had taken him those several hours to convince himself he could really handle the thought of Karen having sex with another man, with Johnny Bondano. Sure, he'd seen that awful lust in Bondano's eyes as the bastard stared into the hallway, thinking the husband didn't get it. Sure, Bondano hadn't taken the bait right away when Treviso had sent Karen back into the kitchen to "touch him a little and get him heated up" while he claimed he was taking a piss. Sure, Bondano had managed to refuse then. But it had been like water building behind a dam. Inevitable. Ultimately Bondano couldn't resist Karen. He was just like every other man. Treviso had known Bondano would come around, though not as fast as he had. Bondano had called Karen that same afternoon, for Christ's sake. Then she'd called Treviso on his cell phone right after hanging up with Bondano. Called to tell him that Bondano wanted her bad. She was a good girl.

Then the question became: Would Karen really go all the way? Sure, she'd been willing to flirt a little in the kitchen. But would she go all the way? It hadn't taken long to find out. Turned out Karen was sick of living like a pauper, too.

Treviso thought back on their lovemaking session last night. When she'd told him in detail everything she'd done for Johnny Bondano. When she'd told him how Johnny had told her how he was coming down here to Florida to kill Kyle McLean. When Karen had told him how easy it was to get information out of Johnny when she was kneeling in front of him doing what he wanted. Treviso felt himself becoming aroused all over again just thinking about it. Maybe he was one sick-as-all-sin man after all, but he'd never experienced anything so physically and mentally powerful in his entire life. And he couldn't wait to feel it again.

It was all going to work out perfectly, Treviso realized. So little in his life ever had. But now, when it counted the most, it seemed like this would. Well, the sun couldn't shine up the same dog's ass every day.

He brought the binoculars down. The only thing about it all that bothered Treviso was that he'd never seen Karen so turned on, either. And for a split second it occurred to him that maybe she wasn't doing Johnny Bondano just for the money. Maybe there was something more.

41

H
I, PRINCESS." JACK smiled at as he came through the front door of the house, carrying Rosario. "How are you?"

"Fine, Daddy. Here, I'll take her," Cheryl offered, holding out both hands. The little girl leaned toward her right away and broke into a big smile. "Hi, little one," she murmured, nuzzling the baby's velvety face.

After giving Cheryl the baby, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out another folded stack of bills. This one was thicker than the one he'd given MJ. This time it was five thousand dollars. "Here. This should take care of the bills." Cheryl gazed at the folded-over hundreds fearfully. "Oh, Daddy," she said with a gasp,

"what did you do?"

It had been one of the toughest thing he'd ever had to do. But it was better than stealing jewelry from a helpless, elderly woman who was being taken away in an ambulance by a Judas. He couldn't have lived with himself if he'd gone through with it. He'd actually gotten all the way to the door of the big house after Biff and Harry had driven off with the poor woman. Actually turned the doorknob to see if the house was unlocked. It was

--and it had scared him to death. He'd turned and hobbled away as fast as his old knees would carry him. Back through an open field to the Citation--parked in a strip mall a mile away. He'd just wanted to get out of there as fast as he could.

"I sold the last World Series ring," he said hoarsely. "The Subway Series ring. When we played the Mets in 2000."

Cheryl's expression turned sad, like she'd lost a good friend. "I'm sorry. I know how much that ring meant to you."

It was the last thing he'd owned that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that at least for a time he'd been an important cog in the Yankee organization. Now it was gone forever. Sold to some faceless guy on eBay.

"It's okay. You were right, Princess. I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd taken that woman's jewelry." He'd broken down and told Cheryl what Biff wanted him to do, and how everything was all interrelated. How Biff knew they had Rosario and how that was one way the guy could get revenge if Jack didn't take the jewelry. Unfortunately, he'd admitted to Biff how Cheryl and the baby had bonded so quickly. So Biff knew he had leverage.