Harlan Coben - Play Dead

‘He’s entitled to shit!’

‘That’s your opinion.’

T.C. stood quickly and once again began pacing. He was fuming. ‘How much is he taking you for?’

‘If you want to know the truth, I had to force him to accept it.’

‘I’m sure you had to twist his arm. How much?’

‘A million dollars. It’s for a mall in David’s name.’ T.C. wanted to laugh. ‘He’s using the mall scheme? And you fell for it?’

Now it was Laura who was getting angry. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Just this: for someone so goddamn smart, you can be so fucking gullible.’

‘Don’t start this with me again, T.C. I am giving him the money.’

‘No, you’re not.’ T.C. reached into his folder and tossed a photograph on Laura’s desk.

Laura picked up the photograph. Her face twisted in confusion. She put down the picture and looked over to T.C.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘I am going to tell you why David hated his brother.’

Laura could not believe what she was seeing. ‘What is this supposed to mean?’

‘It’s a picture of Stan and your sister,’ T.C. said.

‘I can see that.’

‘Gloria spent last night with him.’

‘Jesus, you’re a nosy bastard. Have you been following me too?’

‘I’m not following Stan to be nosy. I’m following him because I know him.’

‘And what great plot has your investigation revealed?’

‘You’re not going to like it.’

Laura shook her head in disbelief. ‘You had the gall to criticize me for intimidating the guy at the bank and then you go around playing Peeping Tom with my sister? I can’t believe it.’

‘Are you ready to listen or do you want to keep calling me names?’

Laura looked at his eyes. A chill rushed through her. Suddenly, she was not so sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. ‘Go ahead.’

T.C. was not sure where to begin. He lit another cigar and considered his words.

Stan Baskin had been scum for most of his life. He was a high-school delinquent who was fortunate enough to possess an enormous amount of superficial style and charm. It always got him through. He was intensely lazy, always looking for the easy way out, always looking for the easy money. Stan would do anything for money. Except work. He preferred setting up scams and cons and he was good. Damn good. Good enough to pilfer big bucks from his unsuspecting victims. But then his Achille’s heel always took it away:

He gambled.

David tried to convince Stan to get help for his gambling problem. But Stan was like a drug addict or an alcoholic. He was sure he could stop any time he wanted. He just didn’t want to stop. Especially when the Redskins were such a sure thing against the Vikings or Rambling Shoe in the fourth race could not lose. Maybe David should have tried harder. Maybe he should have forced him to get help, but it probably would not have done any good. Stan was naturally jealous of his brother. To Stan’s way of seeing things, David had it all. His basketball talent was going to be his ticket to the easy money. Stan preferred to ignore the fact that David had worked hard and spent countless hours on his basketball and academics. But again, maybe that was understandable.

David and T.C. were freshmen when Stan got in over his head. Way over his head. It seemed that an especially large quantity of Stan’s ‘sure things’ had not been so sure. He owed some very bad people a lot of money. He needed a major scam and he came up with a beauty.

It was March. Their mother was in the hospital with ovarian cancer. The basketball season was coming to an end. Everyone on campus was excited because the University of Michigan had reached the NCAA Final Four for the first time in God knows how long. There were constant fraternity parties and all anyone talked about was the big game against U.C.L.A. If Michigan could beat them, they would be in the finals.

Michigan was favored to win by three points.

Laura interrupted him. ‘I don’t know anything about gambling. What do you mean Michigan was favored by three points?’

‘Let’s say you bet on Michigan. In order to win your bet, Michigan must win by more than three points. If Michigan wins by less than three points or if U.C.L.A. wins, you lose your bet. Got it?’

Stan came up with a plan on the day of the game, a plan that involved David. Stan reasoned his baby brother would welcome the opportunity to help him out. And he wasn’t asking much. All he wanted David to do was shave off a few points. What difference would it make to David if Michigan only won by two points instead of five? David didn’t have to throw the game. All he had to do was keep it close.

David of course did not see it that way. ‘I can’t believe you’re asking me this.’

‘But I need your help.’

‘No way, Stan. You got yourself into this. You get yourself out. Then do yourself a favor. Get some help.’

‘I will. I promise. Just do this one – ’

‘Bullshit. Get help and then we’ll talk.’

The conversation became nasty and David threw Stan out.

‘And that’s what happened between them?’ Laura asked.

T.C. shook his head. ‘That’s just the beginning.’

Stan had no money to gamble with. He had hoped to pay off his debt by convincing his rather unfriendly mob friends to bet on U.C.L.A. He had told them that David had promised to go along with his plan. Now Stan was in big trouble. He couldn’t go back and tell the mob that he had lied and his brother had refused to do it. They would have done a slam dance on his ribs with a crowbar.

As one might have guessed, Michigan won big. Nine points to be exact. The mob was really steamed. They had lost major dough in Stan’s scam and someone was going to pay for that. The word went out: find Stan Baskin.

But Stan knew how to survive no matter what the cost to others. He was already hiding in the outskirts of South Dakota. He knew that the mob would track him down eventually, but by then he would have the money. The mob however has never been known for its patience. They wanted blood. They wanted to recoup their losses. And they wanted to do it in a hurry. The mob wanted a fall guy and Stan Baskin was not around.

So they chose David.

The championship game between Michigan and Notre Dame was to take place two nights after the U.C.L.A. game. Everyone agreed that the teams were even and hence the game would be too close to predict. If you wanted to bet on it, you bet straight up. If your team won, you won the bet. It was that simple. The media meanwhile spent most of its time building up the confrontation between the two freshmen sensations, Michigan’s David Baskin and Notre Dame’s Earl Roberts.

It would be three years before that confrontation took place.

The mob’s plan was simple. Get the money back by fixing the championship game. And how do you do that? Again, keep it simple. Bet on Notre Dame and then make sure Michigan’s superstar cannot play.

The night before the game, David was sleeping in his hotel room – or at least trying to sleep. Who would blame him for tossing and turning the night before the biggest game of his life? This was the game he had dreamed of all his life and so sleep would come only in small spurts.

Around three a.m., the lock on David’s door was jimmied open. Five men quickly entered.

David sat up. ‘What the…?’

Before he could move, four of the men pinned him down on the bed. David struggled but he was dealing with professionals who had done this kind of thing plenty of times before. He didn’t have a chance.

‘Cover his mouth,’ one whispered. ‘I don’t want anyone to hear him scream.’

David’s eyes widened with fright as someone pushed a pillow into his face. He flailed his head back and forth in panic, but it was a worthless maneuver. He felt one of the men grab his right foot, one hand by the toes, the other on the heel.