“Who?”
“Casey Kasem.”
“Get out,” Myron said. “The top-forty radio guy?”
“The very same.”
“Live and learn.”
On the floor Hans and Franz started to stir. Win showed FJ the gun he had semihidden in his one hand. “For the safety of all concerned,” Win said, “please ask your employees to refrain from moving.”
FJ told them. He was not scared. His father was Frank Ache. That was protection enough. The muscles here were for show.
“You’ve been following me for weeks now,” Myron said. “I want it to end.”
“Then I suggest that you stop interfering with my company.”
Myron sighed. “Fine, FJ, I’ll bite. How am I interfering with your company?”
“Did you or did you not visit Sophie and Jared Mayor this morning?” FJ asked.
“You know I did.”
“For what purpose?”
“It had nothing to do with you, FJ.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Wrong answer?”
“You visited the owner of the New York Yankees even though you currently represent no one who plays for the team.”
“So?”
“So why were you there?”
Myron looked at Win. Win shrugged. “Not that I need to explain myself to you, FJ, but just to assuage your paranoid delusions, I was there about Clu Haid.”
“What about him?”
“I was asking about his drug tests.”
FJ’s eyes narrowed. “That’s interesting.”
“Glad you think so, FJ.”
“You see, I’m just a new guy trying to learn this confusing business.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m young and inexperienced.”
Win said, “Ah, how often I’ve heard that line.”
Myron just shook his head.
FJ leaned forward, his scaly features coming closer. Myron feared his tongue would dart out and sniff him. “I want to learn, Myron. So please tell me: What possible significance could Clu’s drug test results have now?”
Myron quickly debated answering and decided, What’s the harm? “If I can show the drug test was faulty, his contract would still be active.”
FJ nodded, seeing the thought trail now. “You’d be able to get his contract paid out.”
“Right.”
“Do you have reason to believe that the test was faulty?”
“I’m afraid that’s confidential, FJ. Agent-client privilege or whatever you want to call it. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do,” FJ said.
“Good.”
“But you, Myron, are not his agent.”
“I am still responsible for his estate’s financial well-being. Clu’s death doesn’t alter my obligation.”
“Wrong answer.”
Myron looked at Win. “Again with the wrong answer?”
“You are not responsible.” FJ reached to the floor and pulled a briefcase into view. He snapped it open with as much flair as possible. His finger danced through a stack of papers before withdrawing the one he sought. He handed it to Myron and smiled. Myron looked into FJ’s eyes, and again he was reminded of the eyes of that mounted deer.
Myron skimmed it over. He read the first line, felt a thump, checked the signature. “What the hell is this?”
FJ’s smile was like a dripping candle now. “Exactly what it looks like. Clu Haid changed representation. He fired MB SportsReps and hired TruPro.”
He remembered what Sophie Mayor had said in her office, about his having no legal standing. “He never told us.”
“Never told us, Myron, or never told you?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You weren’t around. Perhaps he tried to tell you. Perhaps he told your associate.”
“So he just happened by you, FJ?”
“How I recruit is none of your business. If you kept your clients happy, the best recruitment efforts wouldn’t work.”
Myron checked the date. “This is quite a coincidence, FJ.”
“What’s that?”
“He dies two days after he signs with you.”
“Yes, Myron, I agree. I don’t think it was a coincidence. Fortunately for me, it means that I had no motive to kill him. Unfortunately for the sizzling Esperanza, the opposite is true.”
Myron glanced over at Win. Win was staring down at Hans and Franz. They were both awake now, face to the floor, hands behind their heads. Customers occasionally came into the coffee bar. Some saw the two men on the floor and exited right away. Others were unfazed, walking past as though Hans and Franz were just two more Manhattan panhandlers.
“Very convenient,” Myron said.
“What’s that?”
“Clu signing with you so close to his death. On the surface it eliminates you as a serious suspect.”
“On the surface?”
“It draws attention away from you, makes it look like his death hurts your interests.”
“It does hurt my interests.”
Myron shook his head. “He had failed a drug test. His contract was null and void. He’s thirty-five years old with several suspensions. As a monetary commodity Clu was fairly worthless.”
“Clu had overcome adversity before,” FJ said.
“Not like this. He was through.”
“If he stayed with MB, yes, that’s probably true. But TruPro has influence. We would have found a way to relaunch his career.”
Doubtful. But all this raised some interesting questions. The signature looked real, the contract legit. So maybe Clu had left him. Why? Well, lots of reasons. His life was being flushed down the toilet while Myron lollygagged in the sands of the Caribbean. Okay, but why TruPro? Clu knew their reputation. He knew what the Aches were all about. Why would he choose them?
Unless he had to.
Unless Clu was in debt to them. Myron remembered the missing two hundred thousand dollars. Could Clu have been in debt to FJ? Had he gotten in too deep—so deep he had to sign with TruPro? But if that was the case, why not take out more money? He still had more in the account.
No, maybe this was far simpler. Maybe Clu got himself in big trouble. He looked to Myron for help. Myron wasn’t there. Clu felt abandoned. He had no one. In desperation he turned to his old friend Billy Lee Palms. But Billy Lee was too messed up to help anyone. He looked again for Myron. But Myron was still gone, possibly avoiding him. Clu was weak and alone, and FJ was there with promises and power.