Bookmaker, The (5 page)

“How the fuck should
I know? He’s your best friend.”

“Look, Trigger’s a stand-up guy. He just wouldn’t do that, it ain’t in him!”

“Well he did, and he’s gone, probably with your slutty little sister he used to screw!”

“Now look here
, bitch!” Duane said, moving toward her.

I had to jump in. I moved between them
and before I could say anything, Duane cold-cocked me right in the eye. I went down fast and hard. Corynne went wild, swinging at Duane but was wrapped up by his two cronies. We must have started a commotion as people started heading our way, so Duane and his boys took off. Corynne knelt down to see if I was all right. I was probably more humiliated than hurt, and she apologized profusely. I told her not to sweat it—it happens—and managed a slight smile for her as we walked back to the car. We got in, I lit up a smoke, and we drove off past the crowd of onlookers.

Corynne kept apologizing all the way back to the house
, and I kept trying to say it was no big deal, trying to play the tough guy—like getting sucker-punched was a regular occurrence for me. When we got back to the house, we both decided we needed a nap; she said she’d come check on me later.

The knock on the door came three hours later, and it wasn’t Corynne, but Preston. “Heard you got into a bit of a scrape in town,” he said.

“Nothing I’m not used
to,” I said, now playing the tough guy routine with Preston.

“Corynne told me all about the confrontation with Duane and his boys, and I appreciate you standing up for my little girl. I assure you this is not the usual goings-on around here
, and I will see to it personally that Duane is dealt with. This is not the first trouble we’ve had with that boy, but it will be the last.”

Now who’s the tough guy?
I thought.

“Like I said
, no big deal. I didn’t like Corynne talked to that way,” I said.

“Well that’s all right,” he said
with a smile. “What we have here is a crusader, the last honorable man. Good for you. But seriously, you did the right thing and we all appreciate it. Now, get your shit together, Delotta made pork chops.”

“Sounds good
, I’m starving,” I said, feeling around the tender area of my eye.

“
Shiner’s coming in nicely, gonna be a doozy. Don’t worry about it, it’ll make you look tougher,” he said, which couldn’t help but make me feel not so tough.

“You think so?” I said.

“Oh, and no more dicking around town with Corynne, we start work first thing tomorrow. Now let’s eat.”

His office seemed less ominous in the morning, especially without Jimmy Ray Upshaw, Esq. around. It was just us
, and we had work to do. Preston sat opposite me on the leather couch; he didn’t bring anything except his cane and a scotch—he offered me one, I declined. I had my tape recorder, which I placed on the coffee table between us, and hit record.

“Let’s keep that off for a while
, shall we?” Preston said, nodding toward the tape recorder. “I feel I don’t know you very well. Before we get going, let’s find out a little bit about each other.”

“Well
, the main reason I’m here is to find out about you…so I guess that just leaves me.”

“I guess it does, how about you give me the abridged version,” Preston said
, taking a sip of scotch.

“Not much to tell really, spent my whole life in Huntington Beach, moved out of
Mom’s house when I was seventeen. I just graduated from Long Beach State with a BA in English. Coming out here was the first time I ever left California—first time I’ve ever been anywhere really.”

“You married, or ever been?”

“God, no,” I laughed back at him.

“You queer?”

“No.”

“Then why’
s that so funny?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered
, “I guess I just don’t know anyone my age who’s married yet.”

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“I’ll tell you what
, son, most kids out here are married with kids by your age.”

“Not where I’m from, maybe it’s a Mississippi thing.”

“Is there something wrong with Mississippi, son?” he said, raising his voice. “You got a problem with the way we do things down here?”

“No, no, not at all,” I said
, trying to quell the rising hostility in the room. “Just different lifestyles, I guess.”

“I’ll tell you what…you people out there in la la land could use some southern values
, from what I’ve seen.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that, you’re probably right.”

“Goddamn right, I’m right!” he bellowed, slamming his glass back down on the coaster, then he composed himself and mercifully changed the subject. “Now, tell me about that little operation you’re running out there that got my idiot grandson in so much trouble.”

“You mean the booking?”

“Hell yeah, sounds like you are quite the entrepreneur. I can always appreciate a man who goes out on his own in this world and takes what he wants.”

“Even if it’
s illegal?”

He chuckled, “Son, laws are just suggestions,
guidelines to keep people under control. Remember, laws are created by man, and there is nothing as fallible as man.”

“That’s an interesting philosophy,” I said
, learning a great deal about the man in one sentence.

“Call it what you want, that’s the way it is. You can either subjugate yourself to the laws of the land or twist them around and make them work in
your favor—adjusting the odds so you win, so to speak. That’s what you’re doing, son—that’s how I knew you were my guy.”

“But you don’t
even know me.”

“I think
maybe I do. Now, case in point,” he said, as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a neatly rolled joint. This took me by surprise as I hadn’t seen too many people his age smoke. Then I thought it might be for his condition.

I asked, “Did your doctor give that to you for your illness?” This was the first time I acknowledged the ALS and was wary of his reaction.

“Hell no, son, these backwoods sawbones wouldn’t dream of prescribing marijuana. I self-medicate. Do you partake?”

“As a matter of fact
, I do.”

He lit the joint with
a silver Zippo lighter with the Ole Miss emblem on both sides, then took a big hit. He knew what he was doing; while holding in the smoke, he handed it to me.

“I don’t know, I should probably keep a clear head while we do this,” I said.

“Look, you pussy,” he said as he blew out the smoke, “I am now your boss and I demand that you hit this.”

“Well, if you say so.”

I took a hit, a big hit, in an attempt to appease Preston, and quickly realized this was no ordinary skunk weed. This was high quality and it came on fast and hard, and right then I knew neither one of us would be very productive this morning.

Preston must have felt the same way,
because now he only wanted to talk about his favorite subject—football, and in particular, Ole Miss Football.

“So, if you’ve been a book for so many years
, you’re probably a pro at picking the games?”

“I think I know my stuff,” I answered
, handing back the joint.

“Well
, all right then, I will definitely be picking your brain this Saturday with college football’s opening kickoff.”

“Fine by me, I’m not shy about giving my opinions.”

“Well, okay then, boy genius, the game we’re going to this Saturday, we got LSU favored by seven at Ole Miss. Who jumps out at ya?”

I watched him take another hit and said, “Now don’t be ridiculous, Ole Miss is the lock of the century.”

“Well, all right then,” he said with a grin as he handed the joint back to me.

The rest of the day was spent watching old Ole Miss games from Preston’s extensive video collection; he must have had every game they’ve ever played. And he knew exactly which games he wanted to watch on the
seventy-two-inch projection TV. We spent a lot of time on the 1959, 1960, and 1962 national championship teams—he was calling out the players throughout the years just by their number. Then we moved on to the Archie Manning years of the late 60s, early 70s, and all the way up to last season—with its breakout star running back Deuce McAllister, who Preston claims is, “The best running back to ever grace the Harvard Crimson and Yale Blue.”

I couldn’t help but join him in his exuberance; I envied his passion, his allegiance to
the team. I’d never known this phenomenon—in fact, it was discouraged in my line of work. I joined him in many a Johnny Walker, and his joints were endless. We engaged in good natured arguments about the wishbone vs. option vs. spread offenses and who was a better coach, Bear Bryant or Joe Paterno. We actually had a lot in common and discovered we shared a similar dark sense of humor, which pleased us both since we’d be spending the next week or so together.

Delotta found us both passed out on the couches around 3:00 in the afternoon. Upon waking
up and pulling himself off the couch with the aid of his cane, he said, “Now that’s how you should spend a day, son.” I agreed. We both retired to our separate quarters to continue our rest.

That evening, Corynne, Tucker
, and Delotta carrying a tray, came barging into my room. Tucker began struggling to pull himself up onto the bed I was trying to nap in.

“So you and Papa had a good time this afternoon,” Corynne said, a bit perturbed.

“Yeah, maybe we did indulge a little more than we should have. I know I did.”

Tucker had made it onto the bed and was jumping on me, which wasn’t helping my hangover.

“Papa is a sick man,” Corynne said with more worry in her voice than anger. “He can’t be over-doing it like that. Booze is the worst thing for him, and the last thing he needs is a drinking buddy.”

“You’re right, I was just trying to be a good guest, didn’t want to disappoint my host.”

“Bullshit, you were all for wasting the day away, indulging Papa in his whims. I think you two are gonna be trouble for each other,” she said with a smile starting to break over her face.

She grabbed Tucker off me, and he cried, “Car car, car car
!” Corynne had me find the toy car he dropped somewhere in my sheets. I handed it to him and he smiled, “Car car, car car,” pleased to have his toy back.

“That’s right Tuck, that is a car,” Delotta said. “Now
, Trent, you take it easy on Mr. Walker, he don’t need to get any get sicker than he already is,” she said as she placed a stinky plate of something that made want to vomit onto the nightstand. “Fried catfish—Mr. Walker’s all-time favorite. We’re off to his room next. It seems we won’t be having a traditional dinner tonight, on account of all the festivities this afternoon,” she said with slight disapproval, which I felt would have been far worse had she known me better.

As they filed out the door
, Corynne turned and said with a sad grin, “You know, Papa really is excited about having you here with us, we all are. Just promise you’ll take it easy with him and don’t egg him on, he can get into enough trouble on his own.”

“Point taken.”

“Good night, Trent.”

“Good night,” I replied and fell back into bed.

The smell of catfish overtook the room, there was no way I was going to eat it. I had to get out of bed and throw it in the outside trash to avoid a lingering stench.

Jay was excited to hear from me. It’d been a few days. I called at noon my time, knowing that I was two hours ahead of him
and hoping he was up by now.

“So how’s it going out there?” he asked.

“Actually, really good, Preston seems to be a cool enough guy and everyone else has gone out of their way to make sure I’m comfortable.”

“He tell you his story yet?”

“We tried yesterday but got drunk and high instead,” I said with a laugh.

“No shit?”

In the background, I heard the telltale sounds of fingers tapping buttons and knew they were playing Madden.

“Oh, and you gotta try this guy’s weed, it’s amazing.”

“Really, the old guy tokes? How cool, where does he get his shit from?”

Then I heard Jay yell at Nate, “Fucking pause it man!”

“I forgot to ask, didn’t wanna pry. Oh, and his granddaughter staying out here is hot. You remember Marcus’s little sister, Corynne?”

“No, not really, didn’t know he had a sister. But damn, sounds like you fell into a decent situation.”

“I’m in no hurry to get home.”

Jay’s tone turned serious, “Yeah, that might be a good idea bro, that bouncer guy came knocking on our door yesterday. I was at Dayla’s, but Nate was scared shitless, said the guy was a big motherfucker. Maybe you should try and extend your stay out there. I don’t think I want to have anything to do with that guy
, and I know you don’t.”

“Are you serious?” I said
nervously, yet also relieved I was two thousand miles away from that mess. “Maybe I will. I’ll feel these people out, see how long I can extend my stay.”

“Don’t worry about it
, bro, just have a good time out there,” Jay said, trying to reassure me.

“Look
, I gotta split, me and Nate are in a tight one over here, and he’s itching to unpause the game. I’ll call you if there’s any news on our end.”

“Thanks man, yeah call me if that bouncer comes back,” I said
, wondering how I’d get out of this situation.