Harlan Coben - Home

Little Pocahontas had always been a fan favorite. She would always be winning on skill, all lithe and tiny and beautiful, dancing around the ring, darting to and fro, earning high marks and cheers from the crowd, when suddenly her evil opponents would cheat to turn the tide. This cheating usually took the form of either jamming sand in Little Pocahontas’s eyes (Esperanza was great at acting out “burning eyes”) or using the dreaded “foreign object” to render her helpless.

Tonight Commie Connie and Iron Curtain Irene did both.

With Big Chief Mama being distracted by the crooked referee, who had been seduced by Commie Connie’s promise of sexual favors, Iron Curtain Irene used the sand in the eye while Commie Connie jabbed Esperanza in the kidney with the foreign object. Little Pocahontas was in trouble! The two evil wrestlers now teamed up on Little Pocahontas-something else that was illegal!-pounding her mercilessly, the crowd begging someone to help the poor beauty, when finally Big Chief Mama saw what was happening, pushed the referee out of the ring, and rescued the hot heroine, and together Little Pocahontas and Big Chief Mama faced down the Axis of Evil.

Massively entertaining.

The crowd, including Myron and Mickey, stood and roared.

“So why were you in London?” Mickey asked.

“I was helping an old friend.”

“Do what?”

“We were trying to locate two missing kids.”

Mickey turned to him, his face suddenly serious. “Wasn’t one found?”

“You saw that?”

“It was on some news alert. Patrick something.”

“Patrick Moore.”

“He’s my age, right? Disappeared when he was six?”

“That’s right.”

“What about the other kid?”

“Rhys Baldwin.” Myron shook his head. “We’re still looking for him.”

Mickey swallowed, turned back to the match. In the ring, Little Pocahontas had just swept the leg of Iron Curtain Irene, knocking her to the mat. Commie Connie was already on the ground and-gasp-Big Chief Mama was standing on the top rope.

“The big finale,” Myron said with a grin.

Seemingly defying gravity, Big Chief Mama bent at the knees and leapt off the top rope and high into the air. The crowd held its collective breath as, almost in slow motion, she began to hurtle back toward earth, landing on both of her opponents with a clearly audible splat.

Neither opponent moved.

When Big Chief Mama rose, you half expected her two adversaries to be pancake flat on the canvas, like Silly Putty or something out of a cartoon. Big Chief Mama rolled over Connie. Pocahontas rolled over Irene. Together they pinned their opponents and the bell rang and the ring announcer shouted, “The winner and still Cougar Tag Team Champions, from the reservation straight to your heart, let’s hear it for Little Pocahontas and Big Chief Mama!”

With the entire arena up on its feet, Big Cyndi lifted Esperanza onto her shoulders. They waved and blew kisses as the applause rained down on them.

And then the next match began.

An hour later, Myron and Mickey flashed their passes and headed backstage. Big Cyndi, still in the leather merry widow and headdress, ran over to Myron and shouted, “Oh, Mr. Bolitar!”

Big Cyndi’s makeup had started to run, so that her face resembled a box of crayons left too close to the fireplace.

“Hey, Big Cyndi.”

She wrapped her tree-trunk arms around Myron and pulled him close, lifting him ever so slightly off his feet. Big Cyndi was still covered with sweat, and when she hugged you, it was all consuming, like being wrapped up in damp attic insulation.

Myron smiled and enjoyed the ride. When she finally put him back down, he said, “You remember my nephew.”

“Oh, Mr. Mickey!”

Big Cyndi bear-hugged him the same way. Mickey looked a little confused-it was a wild ride for the inexperienced-but he hung in there. “Hey, Cyndi, you were great out there.”

She gave Mickey a funny look. “Cyndi?”

“Sorry. Big Cyndi.”

That pleased her. Big Cyndi had been Myron’s receptionist when he and Esperanza had their sports agency. She preferred formalities, so Myron was always Mr. Bolitar and she had always insisted others call her Big Cyndi, not just Cyndi. She had even legally changed her name so that official documents now read, last name: Cyndi, first name: Big.

“Where’s Esperanza?” Myron asked.

“Doing a VIP meet-n-greet,” Big Cyndi said. “She’s very popular, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Most of the VIPs are men, Mr. Bolitar.”

“Right.”

“They pay five hundred dollars per ticket. The perk is they get a photograph with Little Pocahontas. Not that I don’t have my own fan base, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

“I charge a thousand, Mr. Bolitar. I’m more discriminating.”

“Good to know.”

“Care for a green smoothie? You don’t look good, Mr. Bolitar.”

“No, thanks.”

“Mr. Mickey?”

Mickey held up a hand. “I’m good.”

Two minutes later, Esperanza entered the room wrapping a bathrobe around the suede bikini costume. Mickey quickly stood when she entered. There were no two ways about it. Esperanza had the kind of looks that made all men and boys react. She had the kind of beauty that reminded you of sunsets on the Caribbean or moonlit strolls on the beach.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you to stand, Mickey.”

Esperanza frowned at Myron, who remained seated just to prove his point. She gave Mickey a quick kiss on the cheek. Mickey congratulated her on a great show. Myron sat and waited. He and Esperanza had been close friends for a long time. She’d worked with him at the sports agency, going to law school at night, and ended up being his partner. He knew her. She knew him.

So he waited.

After a few minutes of chatter, Esperanza took Mickey’s hand. “Do you mind if I talk to your uncle alone for a few minutes?”

“Oh, sure thing.”

“Come on, Mr. Mickey,” Big Cyndi said, beckoning him to follow her. “Commie Connie spotted you in the first row and said she wanted to meet you.”

“Uh, okay.”

“She said that you looked-and I quote her directly-‘delicious.’”

Mickey blanched, but he followed her out of the room.

“He’s a good kid,” Esperanza said.

“He is.”

“He stop hating you yet?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“And how are his parents?”

Myron lifted his hand, tipped it left, then right. “We’ll see.”

Esperanza closed the door. “So you were in London.”

“Yep.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going.”

“It was last-minute.”

“And I saw on the news that a missing boy was found in London.”

“Yep.”

“But not Win’s cousin.”

“No,” Myron said. “It was the other kid. Patrick Moore.”

“I also read about some big explosion where the kid was found. It took out an entire wall.”

“You know Win,” Myron said. “He isn’t much for subtlety.”

Esperanza met his eye. “So it’s true? You really saw Win?”

“Yes. He called me for help.”

“Is he okay?”

“Was he ever?”

“You know what I mean.”

“He seems fine.”

“So all those rumors about Win losing his mind and being a recluse…?”

“He started them.”

Myron filled her in on everything that had happened. Esperanza sat across from him and listened. It brought him back to better days, when they were younger and starting out and they would discuss contracts and endorsement deals for hours on end. For so many years, Esperanza had been a part of Myron’s everyday life. He missed that.

When he finished, Esperanza shook her head. “Something isn’t right here.”