Back Spin (Myron Bolitar 4)

Myron nodded slowly. “We can look into that.”

“It’s important to me, Myron.”

“Okay, it sounds possible.”

“Second, I don’t want a raise.”

“Don’t?”

“That’s right.”

“Odd negotiating technique, Esperanza, but you convinced me. Much as I might like to give you a raise, you will not receive one penny more. I surrender.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Joking around when I’m serious. You don’t like change, Myron. I know that. It’s why you lived with your parents until a few months ago. It’s why you still keep Jessica around when you should have forgotten about her years ago.”

“Do me a favor,” he said wearily. “Spare me the amateur analysis, okay?”

“Just stating the facts. You don’t like change.”

“Who does? And I love Jessica. You know that.”

“Fine, you love her,” Esperanza said dismissively. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Good. Are we done?”

“No.” Esperanza stopped playing with the straw wrapper. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “This isn’t easy for me to talk about,” she said.

“Do you want to do it another time?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t want to do it another time. I want you to listen to me. Really listen.”

Myron stayed silent, leaned forward a little.

“The reason I don’t want a raise is because I don’t want to work for someone. My father worked his whole life doing menial jobs for a variety of assholes. My mother spent hers cleaning other people’s houses.” Esperanza stopped, swallowed, took a breath. “I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to spend my life working for anyone.”

“Including me?”

“I said anyone, didn’t I?” She shook her head. “Jesus, you just don’t listen sometimes.”

Myron opened his mouth, closed it. “Then I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“I want to be a part owner,” she said.

He made a face. “Of MB SportsReps?”

“No, of AT&T. Of course MB.”

“But the name is MB,” Myron said. “The M is for Myron. B for Bolitar. Your name is Esperanza Diaz. I can’t make it MBED. What kind of name is that?”

She just looked at him. “You’re doing it again. I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”

“Now? You pick now when I just got hit over the head with a tire iron—”

“Shoulder.”

“Whatever. Look, you know how much you mean to me—”

“This isn’t about our friendship,” she interrupted. “I don’t care what I mean to you right now. I care about what I mean to MB SportsReps.”

“You mean a lot to MB. A hell of a lot.” He stopped.

“But?”

“But nothing. You just caught me a little off balance, that’s all. I was just jumped by a group of neo-Nazis. That does funny things to the psyche of people of my persuasion. I’m also trying to solve a possible kidnapping. I know things have to change. I planned on giving you more to do, letting you handle more negotiations, hiring someone new. But a partnership … that’s a different kettle of gefilte.”

Her voice was unyielding. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I’d like to think about it, okay? How do you plan on becoming a partner? What percentage do you want? Do you want to buy in or work your way in or what? These are things we’ll have to go over, and I don’t think now is the time.”

“Fine.” She stood up. “I’m going to hang around the players’ lounge. See if I can strike up a conversation with one of the wives.”

“Good idea.”

“I’ll see you later.” She turned to leave.

Esperanza? She looked at him.

“You’re not mad, right?”

“Not mad,” she repeated.

“We’ll work something out,” he said.

She nodded. “Right.”

“Don’t forget. We’re meeting with Tad Crispin an hour after they finish. By the pro shop.”

“You want me there?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged. “Okay.” Then she left.

Myron leaned back and watched her go. Great. Just what he needed. His best friend in the world as a business partner. It never worked. Money screwed up relationships; it was simply one of life’s givens. His father and his uncle—two closer brothers you never saw—had tried it. The outcome had been disastrous. Dad finally bought Uncle Morris out, but the two men didn’t speak to each other for four years. Myron and Win had labored painstakingly to keep their businesses separate while maintaining the same interests and goals. It worked because there was no cross-interference or money to divide up. With Esperanza things had been great, but that was because the relationship had always been boss and employee. Their roles were well defined. But at the same time, he understood. Esperanza deserved this chance. She had earned it. She was more than an important employee to MB. She was a part of it.

So what to do?

He sat back and chugged the Yoo-Hoo, waiting for an idea. Fortunately, his thoughts were waylaid when someone tapped his shoulder.

17

“Hello.”

Myron turned around. It was Linda Coldren. Her head was wrapped in a semi-babushka and she wore dark sunglasses. Greta Garbo circa 1984. She opened her purse. “I forwarded the home phone here,” she whispered, pointing to a cellular phone in the purse. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Please do,” Myron said.

She sat facing him. The sunglasses were big, but Myron could still see a hint of redness around the rims of her eyes. Her nose, too, looked like it had been rubbed raw by a Kleenex overdose. “Anything new?” she asked.

He told her about the Crusty Nazis jumping him. Linda asked several follow-up questions. Again the internal paradox tore at her: She wanted her son to be safe, yet she did not want it all to be a hoax. Myron finished by saying, “I still think we should get in touch with the feds. I can do it quietly.”

She shook her head. “Too risky.”

“So is going on like this.”

Linda Coldren shook her head again and leaned back. For several moments they sat in silence. Her gaze was cast somewhere over his shoulder. Then she said, “When Chad was born, I took off nearly two years. Did you know that?”