Harlan Coben - Play Dead

‘Hold him tight!’

The man twisted David’s foot all the way around until he heard the ankle snap. Then he twisted it a little farther for good measure. The bones in his foot grated against one another. David’s scream was lost in the pillow.

The men quickly left. They had never even turned on the lights so David had no chance of identifying them. His ankle was badly broken. He was in a cast for two months. That week, David had two of his worst head attacks. They were so bad that T. C. feared for his friend’s life.

Michigan lost to Notre Dame by fifteen points.

‘There’s more to this story, isn’t there?’

T.C. nodded.

Stan could not hide forever. He needed to pay back his debt in a hurry. And he figured out a foolproof way of doing it.

The details are not important. No one ever found out for certain how Stan did what he did. But there are a million different ways to go about it. Stan might have gotten power of attorney. Mrs Baskin might have signed something while on some hospital medication. Who knows? What was important was the end result:

Stan stole the money from his mother.

Imagine a son who would wipe out his cancer-stricken mother’s savings account to pay a gambling debt to the mob. Imagine a son who could leave his poor, sick mother penniless and without any way of paying off her medical bills while she lay dying in a hospital bed. It boggles the mind.

After that, David did his best to take care of her, but she was very ill and now she was also heartbroken over what her own son had done to her.

She died six months later. Stan never went to the funeral.

‘Now do you understand, Laura?’

Laura just sat there. She felt drained by just listening to the story. ‘But this all happened years ago. I’m not going to defend it, but supposed you just looked at Gloria’s past? What would you conclude? You’d say she’s trouble, right?’

‘Wrong. I may think she’s weak or self-destructive, but she never meant to hurt anybody but herself. And more important, her past is just that. The past.’

T.C. opened up his folder. ‘This is Stan’s record. He’s been arrested twice in the last three years for fraud. I called the arresting officer, a Lieutenant Robert Orian. He told me that Stan is well known for using his charm and good looks to seduce wealthy women. It’s hardly an original bit. He bilks them for as much as he can and then gambles it away. He does however add a strange twist to the old game.’

‘What?’

T.C. hesitated. ‘He doesn’t just walk away. He dumps them. He dumps them as cruelly as possible. Makes the woman feel like a worthless hunk of shit. One of his victims had a nervous breakdown. Another attempted suicide. Stan has been diagnosed as having a narcissistic personality disorder with a rather unhealthy hatred of the female sex. He knows how to hurt and degrade women, Laura, and he likes to do so.’

‘Jesus.’

‘I did a little more investigating,’ T.C. continued. ‘Stan owes again. He owes big bucks to some bookie with a propensity for breaking bones.’

Laura sat up. ‘His hand?’

‘Broken. Actually, it’s just his finger. Very mean break. Stan needs the money fast. You’re his new scam, Laura, but I’m not too worried about that. You can handle yourself.’

T.C. lifted the picture of Stan kissing Gloria and handed it to Laura. ‘But what about Gloria?’

The patient read Sunday’s Boston Globe. He had always loved Sunday papers. During his college years, he and his roommates would emerge noon time Sunday from the dormitory after a particularly rough Saturday night, grab some brunch, and spread out with a few Sunday papers. By dinner time, the newspapers resembled a floor covering.

It was a tradition he continued to maintain.

He put down the Parade Magazine section and rummaged through the different sections until he found Sports. Usually he skipped the sports section, and that surprised a lot of people. But lately, he had changed his thinking.

Section C. Page 1. An article by Mike Logan. The patient had always liked Mike Logan. He was a good reporter who had a genuine love for his job and the Boston Celtics

CELTS GEARING UP FOR ROUGH ROAD

by Mike Logan

My team – our team – is in trouble, folks. Big trouble. You may remember last season’s Eastern Conference play-offs. The Celtics barely squeaked by the Chicago Bulls and the Detroit Pistons. And I mean barely. No room to spare for mistakes.

Then the Boys from Beantown faced the Los Angeles Lakers for the NBA Championship. Let’s face it. They should have lost. Had it not been for a last-minute miracle by David Baskin, the Celtics would not be the defending champions today.

Yes, other NBA teams are rising. And yes, the Celtics are sinking. Sinking fast.

It’s not their fault. The David Baskin tragedy was not their doing. But excuses don’t win championships. Great players, coaches and organization do. The coaching is no problem. The same with Clip Arnstein’s organization.

Ah, but the players!

No one could argue about the talent of team center Earl Roberts or the outside shooting touch of Timmy Daniels or the ball-handling of Johnny Dennison. They’re great. No doubt about it. But without White Lightning, this is just a good team. Not a great one. They need a great forward.

But how do they get one?

In the past Clip Arnstein, alias ‘The Miracle Worker,’ came up with something. And why not this time? After all, the Celtics still have the best organization in basketball. The Miracle Worker thrives in these situations. Usually he digs up a surprise draft pick. But this year, even Clip admits the draft picks are mediocre at best. Maybe he’ll find a free agent. But no, the free agent camp has produced no superstars. Maybe he’ll make another great trade. Uh-uh. The other teams don’t want to help out the Celtics and most organizations are afraid of getting burned by Clip.

So what’s left?

You got me. I’m a reporter. It’s not my job, thank God. Clip Arnstein is the ageless genius and he doesn’t even know. But when you’ve watched the Celtics as long as I have you start to believe in miracles. Somebody will come along. Somebody will be the Celtics Savior.

The patient looked up. He had a pretty good idea who that somebody might be.

‘Stan Baskin is here to see you.’

Laura felt her leg begin to shake. ‘Send him in.’

A few seconds later, Stan opened the door. He smiled brightly. ‘Hi, Laura.’

She tried to keep an even tone. ‘Come in, Stan.’

He closed the door behind him and kissed Laura on the cheek. ‘You look as beautiful as always.’

‘Thank you. Won’t you sit down?’

He did so as the intercom buzzed.

‘Laura?’

‘Yes, Estelle?’

‘Is it okay if I go to lunch now?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘I’ll be back in an hour.’

Laura realized her leg was shaking more than usual. She made a conscious effort to stop it. ‘I wanted to speak to you about your mall idea.’

‘Yes?’

‘Can you give me a few details on it?’

‘Details?’

‘Yes. I’d like to hear more about it.’

Stan sensed something different in her voice. ‘Not much to tell. It will be gorgeous when it’s finished. I’d say there will be about two hundred stores.’

‘How many square feet?’

‘Uh, I’m not sure.’

‘Where is it going to be located?’

‘In Boston.’

‘Central Boston?’

‘Sure.’

Laura leaned back. ‘But there’s no room to build something that large in central Boston. And you’ll need a lot more than a million dollars to get started.’