“No, Dan. It’s called Winstrol. It’s called a PED.”
“A what?”
“Performance-enhancing drug. Better known to the layman as steroids.”
Dan turned and moved right up into the little stranger’s face. The stranger just kept smiling. “What did you say?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Dan. It’s all in that manila folder. Your son went to Silk Road. You know what that is? The Deep Web? The online underworld economy? Bitcoin? I don’t know if you gave Kenny your blessing or if your son paid for it on his own, but you know the truth, don’t you?”
Dan just stood there.
“What do you think all these scouts are going to say when that file goes public?”
“You’re full of it. You’re making this up. This is all—”
“Ten thousand dollars, Dan.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to go into this in detail right now. You’ll see all the proof in that manila envelope. Kenny started with Winstrol. That was his main PED, but he also took Anadrol and Deca Durabolin. You’ll see how often he bought it, his method of payment, even the IP address on your home computer. Kenny started taking them junior year, so all those trophies, all those victories, all those stats . . . well, if the truth comes out, they all go away, Dan. All those congratulatory slaps on the back when you go into O’Malley’s Pub, all those well-wishers, all those townspeople who think so highly of the nice boy you raised—what are they going to think of you when they find out your son cheated? What are they going to think of Carly?”
Dan put his finger on the little guy’s chest. “Are you threatening me?”
“No, Dan. I’m asking for ten thousand dollars. A one-time payment. You know I could demand a lot more, what with how much college costs nowadays. So consider yourself lucky.”
Then the voice that always brought the tears sounded to his right: “Dad?”
Kenny was jogging over with a look of joy and hope on his face. Dan just froze and stared at his son, unable to move for a moment.
“I’m going to leave you now, Dan. All the information is in that manila envelope I just gave you. Look at it when you get home. What happens tomorrow is up to you, but for right now”—the stranger gestured toward Kenny coming toward them—“why don’t you enjoy this special moment with your son?”
Chapter 29
The American Legion Hall was close to the relative bustle of downtown Cedarfield. This made it a tempting place to park when the limited metered spots on the streets filled up. To combat this, the American Legion powers that be hired a local guy, John Bonner, to “guard” the lot. Bonner had grown up in this town—had even been captain of the basketball team his senior year—but somewhere along the way, mental health issues began to gnaw at his edges before they moved inside and settled in for the long haul. Now Bonner was the closest thing to what Cedarfield might call a homeless guy. He spent his nights at Pines Mental Health and his days shuffling around town muttering to himself about various political conspiracies involving the current mayor and Stonewall Jackson. Some of Bonner’s old classmates at Cedarfield High felt bad about his predicament and wanted to help. Rex Davies, the president of the American Legion, came up with the idea of giving Bonner the lot job just so he’d stop wandering so much.
Bonner, Adam knew, took his new job seriously. Too seriously. With his natural tendency toward OCD, he kept an extensive notebook that contained a potent blend of vague paranoid ramblings and ultra specifics about the makes, colors, and license plates of every vehicle that entered his lot. When you pulled in to park for something other than American Legion Hall business, Bonner would either warn you off, sometimes with a little too much gusto, or would intentionally let you illegally park, make sure that you had indeed gone to the Stop & Shop or Backyard Living instead of the hall, and then he’d call his old teammate Rex Davies, who coincidentally owned a body shop and car towing service.
Everything’s a racket.
Bonner eyed Adam suspiciously as he pulled into the American Legion lot. He wore, as he always did, a blue blazer with too many buttons so that it looked like something used in a Civil War reenactment, and a red-and-white checkered tablecloth-cum-shirt. His pants were frayed at the cuffs, and a pair of laceless Chucks adorned his feet.
Adam had realized that he could no longer afford to sit back and wait for Corinne’s return. There were enough lies and deception to go around, he thought, but whatever it was that had gone terribly wrong in the past few days had started here, at the American Legion Hall, when the stranger told him about that damned website.
“Hey, Bonner.”
Bonner may have recognized him, may have not. “Hey,” he said cautiously.
Adam put the car in park and got out. “I got a problem.”
Bonner wriggled eyebrows so bushy they reminded Adam of Ryan’s gerbils. “Oh?”
“I’m hoping you can help me.”
“You like buffalo wings?”
Adam nodded. “Sure.” Supposedly, Bonner had been a genius before his illness, but wasn’t that what they always say about someone with serious mental health issues? “You want me to get you some from Bub’s?”
Bonner looked aghast. “Bub’s is shit!”
“Right, sorry.”
“Ah, go away.” He waved a hand at Adam. “You don’t know nothing, man.”
“Sorry. Really. Look, I need your help.”
“Lots of people need my help. But I can’t be everywhere, now, can I?”
“No. But you can be here, right?”
“Huh?”
“In this lot. You can help with a problem in this lot. You can be here.”
Bonner lowered his bushy eyebrows to the point where Adam couldn’t see his eyes. “A problem? In my lot?”
“Yes. See, I was here the other night.”
“For the lacrosse draft,” Bonner said. “I know.”
The sudden recollection should have startled Adam, but for some reason, it didn’t. “Right, so anyway, my car got sideswiped by some out-of-towners.”
“What?”
“Did some pretty serious damage.”
“In my lot?
“Yeah. Young out-of-towners, I think. They were driving a gray Honda Accord.”
Bonner’s face reddened at the injustice. “You get the plate number?”
“No, that’s what I was hoping you could give me. So I can file a claim. They left at approximately ten fifteen.”