Rough Trade

to tell me about him that I should know.”
    “For one thing, he’s not a killer.”
    “What makes you say that? He almost killed that Amber Cunningham. They pled it down to agg battery, but the original indictment came down as attempted murder.”
    “Batting some chick around and shooting somebody are two different animals,” replied Jake.
    “Violence is violence,” I replied. “I don’t want to get into a discussion of how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.”
    “I’m with you on that.”
    “So then you tell me what he was doing at Beau Rendell’s house on Sunday?”
    “Well, that’s what I wanted to tell you about. I was in the locker room after the game yesterday and Hale Millon, another guy who plays on the offensive line with me, says he’s heard rumors that Fredericks is coming back to play for the Monarchs.”
    “Rumors? What kind of rumors?”
    “Millon and Fredericks, they use the same agent, a guy named Gorman out of New York. I guess Hale heard it from him.”
    “Do you know how I can reach this guy? The agent?”
    “I got his number right here.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to me. In his palm it looked like a postage stamp.
    I punched in the numbers scribbled on the sheet of paper while Jake attacked his lunch. Gorman’s office picked up and immediately put me on hold. I listened to the insipid music while Jake cleaned his plate. As soon as he was done the waitress appeared with another.
    “Got to keep up my strength,” he whispered confidentially. “The team nutritionist has me on a ten-thousand-calorie-a-day diet.”
    The secretary came back on the line and told me that regrettably Mr. Gorman was in a meeting. I told her that it was an emergency and left the number at Chrissy’s house as well as Jake’s cell phone number.
    “You know you’re wrong,” said Jake, judiciously cleaning the gravy from his plate with a piece of rye bread. “Wrong about what?”
    “Violence.”
    “In what way?” I asked, curious to see what a man who makes millions of dollars trying to knock his opponents unconscious had to say on the subject.
    “Violence is not all the same.”
    “I agree. What I said was a generalization. Sometimes violence is necessary—in war, for example, or self-defense.”
    “It’s more than that,” he declared. “There’s a place for violence. It’s okay when it’s in its place.”
    “You mean the football field.”
    “That’s one place.”
    “What about what Fredericks did to that girl?”
    “As far as I’m concerned he got what he deserved. Same thing with Coach when he choked that kid. That wasn’t part of the game and he got called on it.”
    “Who did Coach choke?” I demanded, feeling the stirrings of something very much like fear in the pit of my stomach.
    “Some kid back when he coached in Texas. A player. They fired him for it and he was banned from college ball for life. When Beau Rendell hired him I think he was working selling Chryslers.”
    “Tell me,” I said, rising quickly to my feet and throwing down a couple of bills to cover my lunch, “do you remember what Coach Bennato’s wife’s name is?”
    “Marie. Why do you ask?”
    “And what about his daughter?”
    “His daughter? I don’t know. She’s got some plain-assed name, I can’t remember. Bonnie, or Debbie or something boring like that.”
    “Listen,” I said urgently. “I have to go. But I also have to talk to this agent Gorman. If he calls you, I want you to try to reach me.” I grabbed a pen that had been left behind by some autograph hunter and scribbled down the number.
    “Where are you going?” he asked, surprised at my abrupt departure.
    “I’ve got to get to Chrissy Rendell’s house. It’s a matter of life and death.”
     
    I couldn’t believe I had been that stupid. It wasn’t Feiss who was behind Debmar, it was Bennato. It was Bennato who owned the land. It was Bennato who’d waited patiently for Beau Rendell to make good on his promise to make him rich. Bennato who’d lost his temper and confronted Beau. Bennato who’d reached up in a fit of temper and choked the object of his displeasure just as he had on the sidelines so many years ago.
    Bennato hadn’t meant to kill Beau, but once he had, he’d done everything within his power to throw suspicion on Jeff. The sleeping pills, the whispered hints about dark secrets at the wake, the assurances that the police would get nothing out of him—all the while