Tod Goldberg - The Bad Beat

“She came on her own recently and now she’s not welcome back,” I said.

“That happen a lot?”

“Yes,” I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the envelope Big Lumpy had delivered to my mother’s house that outlined the terms by which he’d leave Brent enough money to live on for a very long time. “I want you to read this, tell me if you think what’s outlined here is possible.”

“Legally possible?”

“Possible possible.”

“And then you’ll tell me why I’m dressed like this?”

“I will,” I said, “but those shoes were your choice.”

“I take my foot care seriously,” he said. “These I can just throw away later and I won’t feel like I’ve wasted your money after bad podiatry.”

He unfolded the letter and began to read. It wouldn’t take him long, since Big Lumpy had outlined Brent’s life into ten easy-to-digest points, perhaps because he wasn’t confident Brent had much in the way of reading comprehension skills:

1. In order for you to collect on the terms of my will, which, by the time you receive this, will already be in active probate, I ask first that Michael Westen make it clear to you that I was aware your father was not dead and that I chose, nevertheless, to go forward with this agreement. Surprisingly, Mr. Westen has your best interests at heart.

2. You shall receive the proceeds of the sale of your “technology,” minus the existing debts of Henry Grayson and Nate Westen (as have been outlined under separate cover), the small sum that will be needed to show that the transaction was made with my estate (no more than $1 million) to ensure prosecution of purchaser of “technology,” any middleman fees incurred by Mr. Westen and any property costs associated with fires, explosions or burials incurred by Mr. Westen, in monthly allotments until the age of 25. However, this money must go toward living expenses, schooling and research only. No gambling.

3. You shall attend MIT. You need only to apply. The rest has been taken care of.

4. You shall work for the United States Government until age 25. I would prefer that you not become a spy, but rather a scientist. If you must, a position at the NSA would be acceptable. The position in the United States government is also already taken care of.

5. You must provide your father with whatever medical or mental care he needs; however, you are to provide him with no money. You may pay his bills for the rest of his life if you choose, but he should not be in a position to actually spend money (apart from small items like groceries, toothpaste, etc.). If at any time your father has an outstanding debt to what would normally be considered an “underworld figure” your financial support will be removed, even if you are beyond the age-25 threshold. (Though I am dead, trust me that your accounts will be debited from the sum you’ve received thus far.)

6. After age 35, if you choose to embark on a life of crime, you are not allowed to go by any demeaning nicknames.

7. The money derived from the sale of your “technology” will be deposited into a foreign bank account, as the money will technically be from an enemy combatant. Either my associates will be able to facilitate this or certainly Mr. Westen will know some people of ill means who will be able to provide cover in this regard. I would recommend Iceland rather than a traditional island or an Eastern European haven.

8. Keep friends close. My associates are prepared to offer educational packages to at least one current friend that is not Sugar.

9. See that my grave is kept clean. As you will be in Massachusetts attending college, I expect that you will visit my grave in Cambridge at least twice a year with proper cleaning supplies.

10. In the event you are unable to secure funding for your “technology” or are otherwise damaged in the pursuit of said deal, all of the above is still valid, including your education and position in the United States government provided Nate Westen’s debt is paid in full. No further financial benefit shall be made from this estate.

Barry took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “Who is this from?” he asked.

“You ever hear of someone named Big Lumpy?”

Barry made a slicing motion over his face. “The eyelid guy?”

“That’s him.”

“He’s dead?”

“Yep,” I said. “Coroner confirmed it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Barry said. “You should ask to see a body. And even then, you never know. Voodoo and all that. Did you know Miami is considered one of the most haunted cities in the United States? So, who knows. I could be dead and you could be talking to my ghost.”

“Barry,” I said, “calm down.”

“He’s a bad guy, Michael,” Barry said. “I made a New Year’s resolution to spend less time with bad guys.”

“You’re a bad guy,” I said.

“I mean people who are evil,” Barry said. “I’m just a criminal. You drop your wallet, I’m giving it back to you. You need a fake passport to get out of the country, I’m your man, because I believe in a world without borders.”

“That’s why?”

“In a perfect utopian world, yes,” he said.

“You’d need to find a new line of work,” I said. “In any case, Big Lumpy just had a good press agent. He kidnapped Sugar and didn’t even torture him.”

“You have a weird idea of what torture is, bro,” Sugar said. “And that Denali parking across the street? That’s number twenty.”

I pulled out my wallet and handed Sugar a fifty. “You see that building over there with the flags?”

“Yeah?” Sugar said.

“I want you to walk over there and hand the security guard at the front desk this fifty-dollar bill and ask him how often Yuri Drubich visits the building.”

“What if he won’t tell me?”

“He will,” I said. “If he says he can’t tell you, that’s all the answer we need.”

Barry and I watched Sugar walk through the tea shop and then out into the street, where he was nearly hit from both sides.

“He’s not a smart person,” Barry said.

“He has his uses,” I said.

“Did you say Yuri Drubich?”

“Did I?” I said.

“Did you?”

“I don’t think I did,” I said. I needed to keep Barry rooted in time and space before I brought the Yuri element into play.

“I thought you told Sugar to go ask about Yuri Drubich, and, as policy, I don’t do business with ex-KGB. They aren’t very responsible people and they tend to act violently, like they still think they’re a superpower. I’m not down for that business. Russian Mafia? Not so bad. They’ve got a code, at least. So they wear leather trench coats and quote Scarface, fine. But they’re predictable. Move a little H. Do a little human trafficking, whatever. But these ex-KGB guys all think the Cold War is still going on and that the Soviets are winning. I can’t deal with that arrogance. You don’t see the English coming here and trying to refight the Revolutionary War. They understand, and look at us now. Kissing cousins.” He paused, took a breath and then leaned toward me. “Anyway, my point is some evil never dies,” Barry said. “I saw a movie about that. Be that Big Lumpy or Yuri Drubich.”

“If Big Lumpy’s ghost comes back and wants to hurt you, I’ll be there to stop it.”

“Oh, you’re a ghostbuster now?”

“He’s dead,” I said. “And even if he wasn’t, he would be soon.” I explained to Barry the condition Big Lumpy was in when last I’d seen him. And then I decided it was best to tell him the rest of the story, from the Web site to Brent’s deal with Yuri Drubich, to Big Lumpy’s role in this and, finally, that Henry Grayson was now in a safe location. The more I told him, the more pale he became.