McGill's Short Cases 1-3, Three Jim McGill Short Stories

by Joseph Flynn

  Harker sighed and nodded.

  “I stand by my people, too. I respect what you’re saying. Could I maybe get something to drink?”

  “Soft drink or sparkling water?” Sweetie asked.

  “I could use some caffeine,” Harker said.

  Sweetie gently put a hand on Matthew’s arm. He almost jumped.

  He made himself relax, and Sweetie asked, “How about you?”

  “Water, ma’am. Thank you.”

  McGill heard a note of Caribbean creole with an overlay of the American South in the young man’s voice. His skin color, light cocoa, and eyes, hazel, pointed to a multiethnic heritage. Sweetie was back in a moment with three bottles of sparkling Poland Spring and a cola for Harker.

  She and McGill leaned against his desk.

  Their prospective clients stood and faced them.

  “So what’s the problem?” McGill asked.

  Harker said, “You know, I thought I’d seen it all in football.”

  “But?” McGill asked.

  “But this fine young man standing next to me, someone who should play fifteen years before he goes into the Hall of Fame, someone I’m on the hook to for twenty million dollars in guaranteed money … he went and got himself on the wrong side of a voodoo queen.”

  McGill and Sweetie looked at each other.

  Then they looked at Matthew Mingo.

  He nodded in confirmation of Harker’s claim.

  Matthew told his story.

  “Maman gave me up for adoption in Port-au-Prince. I was ten years old. Hard as she worked, she couldn’t make enough money to keep me fed. I’ve always eaten a lot. I told Maman, though, I’d eat only one meal a day, if she’d keep me. We tried that for a while, but it didn’t work. I was so hungry by the time I ate that only meal I had to beg for more.

  “That broke Maman’s heart, she told me. Made her cry to think she couldn’t do right for me. I told her I’d try to get by on what she could give me. I made sure she didn’t hear me complain one little bit. Only way I could do that, though, was to steal food from other people. At first, I robbed our neighbors. I was already so big nobody tried to stop me. What stopped me was hearing other kids cry from going hungry ‘cause I stole their food. I knew how it felt to be hungry all the time, so I couldn’t do that any more.

  “I started stealing from trucks that brought mangos, bananas, oranges and cashews to market. At first, I just stole for myself, what I could eat. It wasn’t hard. People saw how big I was were scared to try and stop me. Some of the men were as big as I was then, but none of them could catch me when I took to running. For the first time I could remember, I wasn’t hungry.

  “That was also the first time I noticed how skinny Maman was. So I started stealing food for her, too. That scared her. Not so bad that she didn’t eat what I brought her. But she was sure I’d be caught, maybe beaten to death by thugs hired by the people I robbed. Maybe sent to prison if the police took an interest in catching me. Maman worried every day about bad things happening to me, but I could see she wasn’t hungry now either, and that made me feel good.

  “If I kept going, just robbing for the two of us, it might have worked out, but I got the idea of helping other people have enough to eat, too. I got some boys from the families I used to take food from and they helped me steal from the trucks. That was when I went too far. Men with guns came and beat Maman when I wasn’t home. Said they’d kill her if she didn’t help them catch me.”

  Matthew paused to fight back tears.

  “I was playing soccer with some of my boys on a ragged old field when the men with the guns came for me. Maman told them where they could find me. But she’d also told me they’d be coming. I thought she was just trying to scare me, saying that, get me to stop stealing from the trucks. When my boys and me saw those men we ran like the devil was after us.

  “Maman had told me where I should go, a fine hotel on the beach where only people from America and Europe could afford to stay. Funny thing was, I had to hide in the kitchen when I got there. The cooks fed me. They gave me a hamburger, and I’d never tasted anything so good. I swallowed it in three bites and then licked my fingers for ten minutes.

  “Wasn’t too longer before a man and woman came in and looked at me. They were white and both of them were bigger than me. I thought they were going to take me to the police or the men with the guns. I told them how sorry I was. I promised never to steal or do anything wrong again. I begged them to take me back to Maman.

  “That was when the woman smiled at me and said, ‘I’m your new mama.’ She showed me a piece of paper she said was from Maman giving the man and woman permission to adopt me.”

  Matthew couldn’t keep the tears from falling now.

  Sweetie gave him a tissue from the box in McGill’s desk.

  Matthew composed himself and continued. “I didn’t want to be adopted. But the man said they would take me to America and they would give me all the food I could eat. The woman said they would send money to Maman, too, so she wouldn’t be hungry either.

  “When the man and woman said they wouldn’t let the men with the guns get me, I went. My new parents adopted me officially in Louisiana, and Mathieu became Matthew.

  “I started school in Baton Rouge, they wouldn’t let me play football with the other kids because I was too big. I would’ve hurt somebody. I couldn’t even play soccer, not forward, midfield or defense, for the same reason. But they let me play goalkeeper.”

  A smile of fond remembrance lit his face. “Man, wasn’t anybody who could score on me. I had quick feet. I’d spread my arms wide and any little kid on the other team would see me and think not only was I gonna block his shot, I was gonna gobble him up for dinner.”

  That was when Harker said, “That’s just what I want the teams we play to think about Matthew when they line up against us.”

  McGill thought that was a little optimistic.

  Of course, if Matthew’s game-face ever matched his size, maybe not.

  He continued his narrative. “I played soccer right through high school. Made all-state. I was happy being in sports because that was how I made all my friends. I was really big by then, but people weren’t scared of me. I never felt so happy in my life. Only thing was, I didn’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Because of your size not your color,” Sweetie said.

  “Mostly because of my size. Some people liked me all right when I was playing. Not as much before or after a match.”

  “Okay,” Harker said, “now tell them about Hilaire.”

  Matthew nodded. “I went to LSU on a football scholarship. My soccer coach told the football coach at LSU about me. Coach said if I played football I would have the chance to bang against other guys who were almost my size. That made me smile, just the idea of it. Coach put me on the offensive line, told me to think of it like I was still a goalkeeper. The other team had eleven players. I had to think of each of them as a ball that was trying to get past me. My job was to stop one of them for sure. Maybe even two or three. If I could do that, I’d be rich and famous right after graduation.

  “I did pretty good,” Matthew said, smiling for the first time.

  McGill now remembered how well he’d done.

  “You were All-American, right?”

  Matthew nodded. “Won the Rotary Lombardi Award, too.”

  The prize for the top college lineman on offense or defense.

  “And then Hilaire came along?” McGill asked.

  “After freshman season, the team went out to dinner in New Orleans to celebrate our accomplishments and set goals for next year. After dinner, we were free to go our own ways, but coach said, ‘Don’t none of y’all get yourselfs arrested.’”

  “Did you,” Sweetie asked, “get arrested?”

  “No, ma’am. My Mama Louise and Daddy Lyle told me I had no choice in life but to stand out, and I should do it for somethin’ good, not somethin’ bad. I never forgot that — and I don’t never want any men with guns coming a
fter me again.”

  “So what did you do?” McGill asked.

  “I went out to hear some music and see the sights.”

  McGill said, “Did you do any drinking?”

  “I don’t drink alcohol at all, and I don’t do no drugs.”

  “All that leaves is someone pretty,” Sweetie said.

  “Yes, ma’am. That was the night I met Hilaire. I was sitting by myself outside a little café, sippin’ my ice tea. She sat down at the table like we knew each other forever and she’d just come back from the ladies’ room.”

  “What’d she have to say?” McGill asked.

  Matthew blushed. “She said I had more handsome on me than all the stars in Hollywood and half the angels in heaven.”

  Sweetie said, “Give her points for originality.”

  “She wasn’t hard to look at either, was she?” McGill asked.

  “No, sir. Not at all.”

  Sweetie said, “What happened next?”

  “She asked if she could see my right hand.”

  “Your palm?”

  “Both sides. She looked at my hand, ran her fingertips over it, sent chills right up my spine. Then she put both her hands over mine, and I felt warm, like gettin’ into a hot bath on a cold night. She smiled at me and said she saw great things in my future … but I wasn’t quite ready for her yet.”

  McGill said, “Did you think you were ready for her that night?”

  Matthew’s face darkened more than before.

  “I was ready to jump over the moon for her. But she said no, and both my mamas taught me to always behave myself with ladies. Hilaire told me she knew all the mysteries of life and could see the future. Even better, she would help me make the right choices in my life. If I had a big question that needed to be answered, I could ask her for advice.”

  “Did you ask for her help?” Sweetie asked.

  “I called her once a month. That was all she would allow. I told her about school and being on the football team. She always said I should be respectful of authority.”

  “Did you ever ask her about your social life?” Sweetie said.

  Matthew looked down, needed a long moment before he could answer.

  “I asked her about some girls I’d met, yes ma’am.”

  Sweetie told him, “She said you’d be better off without them.”

  Matthew only nodded.

  “She never wanted any money for her advice, did she?” McGill said.

  “No, sir. Not until later.”

  “Shortly after you were drafted to play in the NFL?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Right about the time the media announced what you’d get paid,” Sweetie said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Right after that.”

  Harker said, “Tell them why we’re here, Matthew.”

  “When I told her I wouldn’t give her half my money, that was when I started to hurt.”

  Harker took things from there.

  “The league and the players’ association have a symposium for rookies each year. The purpose is to educate our youngest players on what it means to become a professional athlete, the privileges and the pitfalls. Many of these guys find themselves with more money in their pockets and bank accounts than they ever could have imagined. In too many cases, they run through small fortunes before their playing days are over.

  “We try to help them understand that a million dollars or even several million isn’t all the money in the world. You can burn through it so fast you don’t even know how it got spent — or in some cases stolen. Schemers, moochers and even armed robbers come after players. These young men might be terrors on the field, but many of them are soft touches for their old friends and just plain naive when it comes to women.

  “So part of the program has to do with the responsible management of the money they’re getting paid. In a lot of cases, the classes might as well be taught in Greek, but Matthew’s adoptive parents are successful small business people. Between their dry cleaning shops and laundromats, they operate a dozen locations. They’re comfortably situated financially and they showed Matthew how it all works: revenues, expenses, taxes and net income. He knew just what he was hearing at the symposium. Don’t let any sharp dealers try to take your money away from you. Keep a close eye on your spending. Live within your means.

  “When Hilaire demanded half of his income, he knew just what to say: No.”

  “I did offer to buy her some new clothes,” Matthew said.

  Harker smiled. “Items with less décolletage.”

  “She’s pretty enough without showing so much,” Matthew said. “But she didn’t like that either. She said she’d been giving me the advice for three years that made me an honors student and the football player that got drafted so high, and she wanted half my contract and not a penny less.”

  “So you said no again,” Sweetie said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And she did what?” McGill asked. “Put a curse on you?”

  “Showed me this doll she’d made. Looks just like me. Wearing my Washington uniform, without the helmet. It was for anything else, I’d like to have one. But she stuck a pin in the doll’s right knee, and I got an awful pain in the same spot. All but dropped me to the ground.”

  “Did you think of grabbing the doll from her?” McGill asked.

  “I did, but I thought what if she makes another.”

  “Did you think of showing her she could get hurt, too?” Sweetie asked.

  Matthew shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’ve never hit anyone off a football field in my life, especially a woman. Like I said, my mamas were real clear about that. The league was, too. You can’t play football or do much else in a jail cell.”

  “What did you do?” McGill asked.

  “I walked out on Hilaire, not saying another word, doing my best not to limp. Wasn’t easy. My leg hurt like it was on fire.”

  Harker said, “It’s not always Matthew’s knees. Sometimes it’s other joints: hips, ankles, shoulders.”

  “You look into early onset arthritis?” McGill asked.

  “It’s not always joints. Sometimes it’s headaches, rapid heart beat, intestinal distress. We’ve had internists, orthopedist, rheumatologists, more doctors than I ever heard of look at Matthew,” Harker said. “All the tests come back negative.”

  McGill and Sweetie glanced at each other.

  “Has Matthew seen a psychologist?” McGill asked.

  The general manager gestured to his new player.

  “Yes, sir. I spent three hours talking to Doctor Sandra Valenzuela. She says I’m well adjusted. Only thing maybe is wrong with me, I’m too suggestible. I didn’t know what that meant until she told me.”

  “You take to heart ideas you should ignore,” Sweetie said.

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s something I just can’t help, I guess.”

  McGill looked at Harker and asked, “What is it you think Ms. Sweeney and I might do for you and Matthew, Mr. Harker?”

  He said, “It was Doctor Valenzuela who gave me the idea. She thinks you should steal Hilaire’s juju. Not the doll, just the magic.”

  McGill and Sweetie were struck speechless. Momentarily.

  Then both of them began to smile. Each was sure there was no law against stealing juju, not that they’d ever heard of. Even if there was, how could such a thing be proven? Doctor Valenzuela surely knew she was suggesting a psychological ploy.

  McGill and Sweetie found the idea elegant.

  There was just one more thing McGill wanted to know.

  He asked Harker, “Does your team play the Chicago Bears this season?”

  “Unh-uh, they’re not on our schedule.”

  “Okay, we’ll give it a try,” McGill said.

  It would have been hard for him to make it possible for Matthew to abuse his favorite team.

  On his way out, Harker gave McGill his business card.

  That and mention Hilaire was in town, staying at The Willard.

&nb
sp; Right up the street from the White House, McGill thought.

  Leo drove McGill and Sweetie to the White House, after making a quick stop at The Willard. The manager assured McGill that the esteemed hotel, while having suites named after Washington, Jefferson, Adams and Lincoln, had no Voodoo Queen suite. Responding to the question of whether Ms. Hilaire DeVary was still a guest, McGill was told such information was confidential.

  McGill said, “I’ll check with the Washington Post to see if the story has leaked yet.”

  For just a moment a flicker of worry appeared in the man’s eyes.

  As if trouble might have come to his hotel.

  Telling McGill that Hilaire was still in the building.

  Moving along to the White House, McGill asked the president’s personal secretary, Edwina Byington, if it would be all right if he and Sweetie used the president’s personal library. Permission was granted, with the understanding that he could get Google elsewhere in the building, if he chose.

  Reading between the lines, he understood he shouldn’t go peeking into top secret stuff.

  McGill had always been good about that; not knowing presidential secrets made for more peaceful sleep. He didn’t want to use the room for poking his nose where it didn’t belong. He wanted it because it was off limits to more people than even his Hideaway. You could work there without interruption.

  Also, he suspected Google and the other civilian search engines tried to curry favor with the president by giving her faster and more thorough searches than your average Joe got.

  He and Sweetie entered the room.

  She looked around and said, “Nice, has a sense of self-restraint.”

  As a young woman, Sweetie had once lived in a convent.

  Her sense of self-indulgence was a mint on the pillow.

  “Let’s see what we can find out about sticking needles in dolls,” McGill said, pulling a chair up to the gleaming iMac that Patti used as her spyglass on the world. Among its more mundane functions, it could be used the way earlier generations turned to encyclopedias. McGill keyed in: sympathetic magic.

  He was referred to imitative magic.

  Sweetie pulled up a chair at McGill’s right shoulder.

  “Somebody always has to come along and put their own imprint on things,” she said.