A Game of Inches

by Webb Hubbell

  “Who would do such a thing and why?” he asked.

  “Well, it wasn’t Billy—he’s in jail. It’s as if someone doesn’t want Nadia to ever have even existed.”

  I was glad to have been able to share easy information with him and hoped he would keep to his side of the bargain.

  I phoned Micki to tell her about Paul’s discovery, but she didn’t pick up. She must still be with Billy’s agent. I had the same frustrating result when I called Clovis.

  I fidgeted with the pens on the desk, frustrated that I couldn’t reach my colleagues. Micki finally returned my call, and I filled her in on my conversation with Novak and Paul’s discovery.

  She brought me back down to earth.

  “You may trust Alexander Novak, but I don’t. I don’t believe a word he says, certainly no judge or jury would. As far as her house being empty, did it occur to you she might be moving? According to your questionable source she was retiring, going away to an island. What do you do when you move? You empty the closets and give everything away.”

  I decided not to argue with her.

  “You’re probably right. How’d it go with Billy’s agent?”

  She laughed, “I just got out of the shower.”

  “That bad, huh,” I smiled.

  “I can’t wait to ask Billy how he ended up with this jerk. The first thing he wanted to make clear was that he was entitled to twenty percent of any monies Billy receives from the Lobos. I reminded him that he had been widely quoted as having said he had already dropped Billy as a client, but it didn’t faze him. He said, and I quote, ‘So what? He still owes me my cut, that’s the way it works.’ What a sleaze.”

  “Let’s hope one day you and I get to defend that lawsuit.” I would enjoy that kind of case right now.

  “He brought an accounting, but initially refused to let me see it saying it was between Billy and him. He sang a different tune after I showed him a Power of Attorney from Billy giving Marshall control over his assets and Marshall’s notarized letter directing him to turn over all Billy’s records to me. He backed off real quick, said he was just being careful, and wanted to cooperate anyway he could,” she snickered.

  “Sure he does.”

  “I’ve hired an accountant to do an audit of the account and told the agent his failure to cooperate would be reported to the NFL Player’s Association. He was gone before I could say shoo.”

  “What about the banquet?” I asked.

  “He swears it was Billy’s idea that he come and that he’d assumed Billy was staying at the Mandarin when he booked his room. That story doesn’t wash because Marshall says it was the agent’s office that booked Billy in at the Mayflower. The agent also claims that his date for the evening was an old family friend, sort of a favor. I didn’t buy it for a minute—his eyes were all over the room. He claims he’d never met Claudia before that night. That might be true, but from what Clovis got from the staff at the Mandarin, the two of them hit it off for more than one night.”

  “That’s not surprising. She’s very attractive, Beth would call her hot, and has already demonstrated bad judgment in her choice of men,” I said.

  “Attractive like a snake, I suspect.” Micki came back. “If I believed in fantasies, I’d bet your Claudia was hired to distract Billy’s agent so he didn’t even think about his client that evening.”

  “You could be spot on with that one. Anyway, Ms. Claudia is becoming more and more interesting.”

  “Don’t even go there, Jack Patterson. I’ll handle the interview when the time is right. You’d end up in her bed, and try to convince us she has some fine qualities. By the way, where do you come up with these women?”

  I declined to answer. Micki was scheduled to meet with the team late in the afternoon and would send me a report before she and Larry went to dinner. I felt fairly useless—didn’t much like Micki taking the lead, but it was a necessary evil.

  I was bored with reading so I went downstairs to the gym and worked out hard; maybe a good sweat would get me thinking straight. As I worked out, I was bothered more and more by questions for which I had no answers and less and less by the bit players. For example, what was Nadia doing at the Mayflower that night if she wasn’t meeting Billy? And how did she get in the room. Where were the three girls and their pimp? What really happened in Billy’s room?

  I showered and headed to the bar. I chose a table so I could read without the distraction of Barb’s constant chatter. I noticed a hurt look on her face, but honestly didn’t care. I tried to make it up to her by being friendly when she took my order.

  I followed pro football and knew a little bit about Billy’s career from ESPN highlights, a few articles about him after the murder, and of course a little bit of his background from Marshall, but while I sipped on my martini I began to read.

  Honors graduate of the University of the South, Rhodes scholar and star of the Los Angeles Lobos dominated every article until I came across a tidbit that had nothing to do with football or education.

  “Damn,” I thought and called Clovis.

  51

  IN THE COURSE of an interview, Billy was asked what he ate before each game. Who knows why they asked or who would care, but he answered that he was pescatarian, a vegetarian who eats fish. I also found an article in a California style magazine about his diet, including a few of his favorite recipes.

  After learning what a pescatarian was, Clovis asked, “So?”

  I smiled before I answered. “Why does someone who only eats vegetables and fish need a steak knife?”

  There was a pause on the other line.

  Clovis finally responded. “I’m on it.”

  There could be a million explanations for the presence of a steak knife in Billy’s room, and I was sure the prosecution had already developed a chain of custody for the murder weapon, but somehow this small discovery made me feel good. Everyone else was working hard at solving the jigsaw, and I had finally contributed a puzzle piece.

  To celebrate I ordered a juicy rib eye and a twice-baked potato, justifying my indulgence by the hour I’d just spent in the gym. I emailed the article about Billy to Maggie and continued to read about my client. For a sports junkie, it was a fascinating read.

  Billy had almost been cut the first day of practice because of his slow time in the forty-yard dash, but the Lobos quarterback pointed out that Billy hadn’t dropped a pass the entire practice. What made Billy unique wasn’t speed, but his elusiveness and his hands of glue. Each day of the first practice week the coach was prepared to cut Billy when he dropped his first pass or busted an assignment, but neither ever happened. Pretty soon the Lobos coaching staff knew they had a find, but worried he couldn’t stand up to the physical blows an NFL receiver endures. Once again, Billy surprised everybody, using that same elusiveness to avoid receiving direct hits.

  His good looks, his slight build, and quiet manner made him an immediate fan favorite. Equally as important, he impressed the opposing coaches, sportswriters, and even the referees by not engaging in trash talk with opponents. When Billy scored a touchdown he didn’t dance; he sought a referee and handed him the football.

  I was tickled when I read that the coach for the Patriots got in a heated argument with the refs, demanding that Billy should be penalized and ejected after a fifty-seven yard touchdown catch. He said Billy was guilty of wearing stick-em on his hands, even went so far as to accuse the Lobos of deflating the football to make it easier to catch. He claimed nobody could have held on to that pass without cheating. Of course Billy’s hands were found to be perfectly clean and the ball fully inflated. Life is full of ironies.

  I pulled up a highlight video of Billy’s first season put together by ESPN. Because the Lobos didn’t play the Redskins during the regular season, I hadn’t followed him that much. Billy was as elusive a receiver as everyone said. He really did seem to glide by the defender, but what impressed me was his ability to catch and hold on to the ball. No matter how vicious the hit on him,
he never dropped the ball. Billy wasn’t a vicious blocker, but he always managed to be in the perfect position to prevent his man from getting to the ball carrier.

  Billy sounded and looked almost too good to be true after an hour’s reading and viewing videos, which gave me pause. I mean, nobody’s really too good to be true.

  I also found no articles detailing any crazy antics on the town or showing him with some blonde draped all over him. In a city like LA the absence of such stories was puzzling and a little bit disturbing. Once she knew that the victim was a high-priced hooker, a good prosecutor would use Billy’s lack of a girlfriend against him.

  Most NFL teams go to great lengths to prevent their ball players from fraternizing with the inevitable celebrity hounds who seek out famous people and often get them in trouble. Maybe Maggie could ask Red’s people how they dealt with this issue.

  I was sipping on a glass of wine when Mr. Barker asked if he could join me.

  “We’ve had several inquiries concerning your presence, Mr. Patterson.” He stated, flatly.

  I looked Mr. Barker directly, matching his flat tone. “I appreciate Barker’s discretion more than I can express.”

  “Thank you. Of course, I will do everything in my power to ensure no one at Barker’s reveals your presence.” He smiled a discreet smile and I nodded. “Nevertheless, I feel I must warn you that our employees are human, and at some point your presence will be revealed by omission as much as commission.”

  He was right. If someone tries hard enough, I thought, they will find out I’m here.

  “You would tell us if you were hiding from any government authority?” He was serious, and I replied in kind.

  “I would, and I am not. Quite the opposite. Nonetheless, I hope you will appreciate that I can’t tell you why I have chosen to stay at Barker’s for a few days. And by the way, Barker’s is an exceedingly pleasant place to stay.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Patterson. I appreciate your good opinion. I trust that your presence will not put Barker’s, the members, or my staff at any risk.”

  We both enjoyed our polite wordplay, but I got the point.He excused himself soon thereafter.

  I was mulling over his intent when the phone buzzed again—Novak. He didn’t parse words.

  “Is your daughter safe?” he asked.

  A question a father never wants to hear.

  “I believe so. She is no longer in New Orleans, if that’s why you’re asking.”

  “I am, and I’m much relieved. Let me tell you what I know without revealing my source.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Novak told me that to a large extent a syndicate controls organized crime in New Orleans. No one is supposed to engage in underworld business without paying homage to the syndicate and receiving approval. Almost all the gangs pay a modest annual fee to the syndicate for the right to do business.

  “A former associate called me this morning. It seems that the syndicate is upset over an attempt to arrange a hit in New Orleans without prior approval. The target was your daughter,” he said soberly.

  I felt like I’d been sucker-punched.

  “How do you know this?”

  “I’m sorry, Jack, but I can’t tell you that. I also can’t tell you who ordered the hit because I don’t know. My contact assured me the syndicate would handle the affront. I called only to make sure your daughter is safe.”

  “What about the hit man? Where is he now?” I asked, worried he might be on the way to DC.

  “He was smart enough not to cross the syndicate. He’s the one who told them about his orders, and for his loyalty, he’s still alive in New Orleans. The man who placed the order will not be so fortunate.”

  “Can you tell me anything else?” I asked.

  “No. I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I am. But, Jack, if someone had the cojones to offend the New Orleans syndicate, he will try surely try again. Be sure she is well protected. You have made one serious enemy. Do you know who could have been so bold?”

  “No, but I have a feeling it may be the same person who ordered the murder of your niece.” I was pissed.

  “Tell me who he is, and he will cease to be a problem for either of us.”

  God knows, part of me was ready to hop right in that bed. But I knew it wouldn’t help Billy, and might put us all in even more danger. Besides—I didn’t know. I simply thanked Novak and asked him to keep in touch. I heard his phone click dead and punched in Clovis’s number immediately.

  He heard the anger and frustration in my voice and said, “Jack, we’ll keep your daughter safe. Maggie, too—I promise. Because she’s front and center, Micki’s a little tougher, but we’re doing our best.”

  I’d tried to keep those I loved safe by pretending to be out of the game. That strategy hadn’t worked very well so far. It was time to fish or cut bait, either publicly drop Billy or come out swinging.

  If I dropped the case, Micki would be left hanging, not to mention Billy. And who new if any of us would be truly safe? And there was Marshall to consider, both his safety and his good opinion. I decided to fish.

  “Clovis, I’m running out of clean clothes. Can you pick me up tomorrow morning?”

  * * *

  FRIDAY

  * * *

  April 29, 2016

  52

  NEXT MORNING I relaxed under the almost too hot shower and wondered if all mammals were so susceptible to this pleasure. I also wondered if the same hot water that loosens and soothes my muscles also stimulates my brain cells, because this morning I was thinking at breakneck speed.

  I needed to decide where to unpack my bags. If I moved back into my house, Beth would want to join me, clearly not a good idea. I could join Micki at the Hay-Adams, or I could remain at Barker’s. I reminded myself that the issue was security—I should let the experts figure it out.

  Clovis was waiting outside after breakfast. It felt really good to be outdoors, kind of like how you feel when you leave a hospital—relieved and sort of disjointed.

  We made the trip into town relatively quickly although nothing is quick in DC any more. Clovis pulled into the garage without incident.

  “Oh, my God. What are you doing here?” Maggie cried when I walked casually into our offices.

  I was glad no one else was in yet. It gave me time to tell her about the averted danger to Beth and why I had decided to give up my cover. I also asked her to call Rose and suggest she take a long weekend. I needed a tighter ship than Rose could provide.

  “Beth will be here any minute now. She’s driving in with Paul. She’ll be ecstatic. Talking to you on the phone is one thing, but seeing you will be different. She’s been worried about you being all alone at Barker’s.”

  “How about you?” I teased.

  “Oh, I figured you’d find some cute waitress to make a fool of you.”

  Maggie was quick with the comebacks and closer to the truth than I cared to admit.

  She continued when I didn’t respond. “You know Beth is now going to be worried sick about Jeff.”

  “Already taken care of—one of Martin’s men has been dispatched to New Orleans for the next week.”

  I didn’t tell her that I had also called Novak, or that Jeff had been put under the personal protection of the New Orleans syndicate. It was going to cost me, but we had no time to worry about Jeff’s safety right now.

  I poured a cup of coffee just as Beth came in. She broke into a grin and gave me an enormous hug. I have no idea how the coffee managed to stay in the cup.

  “What’s up, Dad?” she asked, pulling back as if to assess me. “Why did you come to the office?” She would have continued with twenty questions if I hadn’t held up my hand.

  “Let’s wait for Clovis, Stella, Martin, and Micki. I don’t want to repeat myself. Where’s Paul?” I asked.

  “He’s parking the car. Wherever he was last night he’s moving very slowly this morning. We all met with Micki late yesterday afternoon, to talk about where we sh
ould go from here. We were going to continue this morning. Have the plans changed?”

  “That depends on Micki,” I answered.

  “What depends on Micki?” I heard.

  Speak of the devil: she and Clovis came through the door together.

  Micki crossed the room and, to my surprise, planted a kiss flush on my mouth. “It’s about time you got your cute ass out of that hotel and back to work. We’re struggling here to figure out how we’re going save Billy from a life in solitary.”

  Well, as the Duke sang in Rigoletto, “La donna e mobile.”

  “You’re Billy’s lawyer, I’m just consulting,” I smiled.

  “Bull. I didn’t come here to be the lead lawyer. I understand criminal procedure and can take the lead in interviewing witnesses, but I have no idea how to get Billy off. If you don’t have a clue either, we better start working up an insanity defense.”

  “Which hasn’t got a chance in hell.”

  “Right, so come on Jack, work that magic.”

  Boy, did I like working with Micki. Clovis was grinning.

  “Let’s wait until Martin and Stella get here. Do you know if she’s going to Walter’s today?” I asked.

  Micki answered. “We had decided to all meet here this morning even if it did blow her cover. I admit that yesterday afternoon we were pretty lost despite all your emails.”

  It wasn’t long before Stella, Martin and Paul joined us in the conference room. Maggie had ordered in some breakfast pastries and big pot of coffee. Paul looked like death warmed over. I wondered what he’d been up to last night. I waited until everyone got coffee and settled down.

  “There’s been a change of plans. I have no idea where I’m going to stay, but it’s time to come out of hiding. Clovis, I’ll leave that up to you and Martin.”

  “What happened?” Micki asked.