the poker room, while I saw
Frank walking behind me. We went to the coffee shop.
It was
crowded down there, jammed with customers, plates clattering, waitresses moving
around, lots of noisy talk. You know, just the kind of place where you want to
go and unwind. We were shown to a small booth.
Frank
spoke first. "You made the right decision to fold, Jack. Don't forget
that. He's gonna have queens full ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Don't
beat yourself up over it."
I
wanted to believe him, but I knew better. If I'd called him, I'd have won a
thousand-dollar-plus pot.
The
waitress took our order, two coffees. Just then, my cell phone rang. I didn't
recognize the number on my caller ID.
"Hello."
"Barnett,
it's Colby Farrow."
I sat
up straight. "Yes, Colby. What's happening?"
"I
can hardly hear you, it's so loud there. Where are you?"
I
modulated my voice up a notch or two. "I'm in a crowded restaurant. What's
up?"
"I
thought you'd want to clear your appointment calendar for Thursday."
"Why
would I do that?"
"Because
Hector Olivera will be coming to town for the latter part of the week."
A jolt
ran through me. I'm sure Frank saw it. I motioned to him for a pen. He pulled
one out of his shirt pocket.
I
said, "What time, and where is he staying?"
"If
he comes on Wednesday, he'll be here around twelve-thirty. He's staying at the
Venetian."
"What
do you mean, if he comes on Wednesday?"
"He's
on his way to Chicago right now for the Marlins series against the Cubs.
Apparently, if the Cubs win tomorrow's game, it's all over for the Marlins. If
the Marlins win, then he says there'll be another game on Wednesday night. And
if that's the case, he'll stay for it and come on Thursday morning."
I
jotted it all down on a napkin. "What's he doing here?"
"He's
coming for Ryan's funeral, which is Thursday afternoon. Then on Friday, he'll
be meeting with me and a rep from the California pension fund that's going to
lend him the money for the downtown land. He won't miss that meeting, I promise
you. He goes back to Miami Saturday. Or, to New York for the World Series if
the Marlins win two from the Cubs."
"Thanks,
Colby. Where's the funeral?"
He
told me the name of the church and gave me the directions, while I scribbled it
down. I flipped my phone shut, then handed Frank his pen, as the waitress
brought our coffees.
"Colby
Farrow?" he asked.
"Right.
Olivera's coming to town. He'll be staying at the Ven —"
"Save
it, Jack. There's nothing we want from him. As far as we're concerned, he's a
respectable businessman in town representing his company, which is operating
well within the law. If it even looks like we're harassing him or interfering with
his business, we'd only be inviting trouble for ourselves."
He
stirred cream into his coffee and took a sip. Too hot. Then, he shifted his big
body in his seat, leaning halfway across the table toward me. His pale blue
eyes darted around to make sure no one was listening. Finally, they burned into
mine, and he said in a hushed tone, "However … if, uh, if you wanted to go
nosing around, we won't get in your way."
I
threw him a knowing nod, pulling my coffee cup up to my lips. Before it could
get there, he put a firm hand on my arm, nearly spilling the coffee into my
lap. He said, "Of course, if you should happen to find out anything,
you'll come straight to me with it. Right?"
"Right,
Frank. Straight to you."
I took
a drink of my coffee. It was just right.
15
I took the next day off. There was a lot of personal business
that had piled up on me which I had to attend to. Bills, a quick run to the
supermarket, a minor repair on my car, and other little shit like that.
Worst
of all was a dreaded trip to the Post Office. Something about going there just
depresses me, you know what I mean? Like it spreads a black cloud over my whole
day. I think it's the certain knowledge that no matter what time of day I
arrive, there will be a long, long line
Frank walking behind me. We went to the coffee shop.
It was
crowded down there, jammed with customers, plates clattering, waitresses moving
around, lots of noisy talk. You know, just the kind of place where you want to
go and unwind. We were shown to a small booth.
Frank
spoke first. "You made the right decision to fold, Jack. Don't forget
that. He's gonna have queens full ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Don't
beat yourself up over it."
I
wanted to believe him, but I knew better. If I'd called him, I'd have won a
thousand-dollar-plus pot.
The
waitress took our order, two coffees. Just then, my cell phone rang. I didn't
recognize the number on my caller ID.
"Hello."
"Barnett,
it's Colby Farrow."
I sat
up straight. "Yes, Colby. What's happening?"
"I
can hardly hear you, it's so loud there. Where are you?"
I
modulated my voice up a notch or two. "I'm in a crowded restaurant. What's
up?"
"I
thought you'd want to clear your appointment calendar for Thursday."
"Why
would I do that?"
"Because
Hector Olivera will be coming to town for the latter part of the week."
A jolt
ran through me. I'm sure Frank saw it. I motioned to him for a pen. He pulled
one out of his shirt pocket.
I
said, "What time, and where is he staying?"
"If
he comes on Wednesday, he'll be here around twelve-thirty. He's staying at the
Venetian."
"What
do you mean, if he comes on Wednesday?"
"He's
on his way to Chicago right now for the Marlins series against the Cubs.
Apparently, if the Cubs win tomorrow's game, it's all over for the Marlins. If
the Marlins win, then he says there'll be another game on Wednesday night. And
if that's the case, he'll stay for it and come on Thursday morning."
I
jotted it all down on a napkin. "What's he doing here?"
"He's
coming for Ryan's funeral, which is Thursday afternoon. Then on Friday, he'll
be meeting with me and a rep from the California pension fund that's going to
lend him the money for the downtown land. He won't miss that meeting, I promise
you. He goes back to Miami Saturday. Or, to New York for the World Series if
the Marlins win two from the Cubs."
"Thanks,
Colby. Where's the funeral?"
He
told me the name of the church and gave me the directions, while I scribbled it
down. I flipped my phone shut, then handed Frank his pen, as the waitress
brought our coffees.
"Colby
Farrow?" he asked.
"Right.
Olivera's coming to town. He'll be staying at the Ven —"
"Save
it, Jack. There's nothing we want from him. As far as we're concerned, he's a
respectable businessman in town representing his company, which is operating
well within the law. If it even looks like we're harassing him or interfering with
his business, we'd only be inviting trouble for ourselves."
He
stirred cream into his coffee and took a sip. Too hot. Then, he shifted his big
body in his seat, leaning halfway across the table toward me. His pale blue
eyes darted around to make sure no one was listening. Finally, they burned into
mine, and he said in a hushed tone, "However … if, uh, if you wanted to go
nosing around, we won't get in your way."
I
threw him a knowing nod, pulling my coffee cup up to my lips. Before it could
get there, he put a firm hand on my arm, nearly spilling the coffee into my
lap. He said, "Of course, if you should happen to find out anything,
you'll come straight to me with it. Right?"
"Right,
Frank. Straight to you."
I took
a drink of my coffee. It was just right.
15
I took the next day off. There was a lot of personal business
that had piled up on me which I had to attend to. Bills, a quick run to the
supermarket, a minor repair on my car, and other little shit like that.
Worst
of all was a dreaded trip to the Post Office. Something about going there just
depresses me, you know what I mean? Like it spreads a black cloud over my whole
day. I think it's the certain knowledge that no matter what time of day I
arrive, there will be a long, long line
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