Van Giesing nodded imperiously.“That’s what I want to hear.Here’s how it works.”He proceeded to describe the basics of the scheme.It was simple, nothing Ben hadn’t expected but also nothing he’d been able to prove without this conversation.Trout would feed him information from the locker room, Van Giesing would bankroll a bet on an event only an insider to the team could know, and Trout would place the bet and take a cut of the proceeds.
“With you involved, we can aim for higher complexity, of course.Bet on healthy scratches or on trades.”
“Hmm.And what’s in it for me?I mean, it’s a pretty risky scheme.”It seemed politic not to agree too soon.Ben Morris, hockey coach, would care if he lost his job, his reputation, and got arrested.
Van Giesing stapled his fingers.“A cut of the pay, of course.Ten percent.”
Ben raised an eyebrow.“Ten percent of what?”
Van Giesing named a figure so ludicrously high Ben would never complain about Phil’s cleaning service again.
He haggled Van Giesing up to twelve to make himself less suspicious and then left with a promise to scratch Howie from the next game.Van Giesing couldn’t have chosen a worse victim.Howie’s self-confidence was a fragile flower, and his backcheck wouldn’t be improved by his belief in himself taking a hit.
Ben reminded himself he was a serious, professional journalist who did not care about hockey.
He drove to Golden Gate Park instead of directly to Phil’s.The team knew where he lived, but none of them talked to Trout or Van Giesing.Ben doubted this operation was deep enough to involve surveillance, but on the off chance someone had followed him, Ben didn’t want them tracking him home to Phil and Charlie.
In the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, only Ben and eight million tourists strolled through the Japanese Tea Garden.He walked past the tea ceremony in progress, inhaling the scent of jasmine.In August, when Ben had arrived ahead of the start of training camp, all the trees had been a deep rich green, but by now they’d lost most of their leaves.Even California bowed to the seasons sometimes.
He found a bench under a Japanese maple and called Pulvermacher.
“I have proof.”It would have been more satisfying to inform Pulvermacher in person, but Van Giesing and Trout would smell a rat if Ben marched straight into the GM’s office after agreeing to be a part of their scheme.
“Hello, Ben,” Martin said wearily.“You’ve caught me at a bad time.”
“Did you hear me?I have evidence.I can have a full write-up with a twenty-minute recording incriminating the responsible parties on your desk tomorrow.”
“I’m quitting.”
“What the hell?”
“Benjamin, please.”
Ben rolled his eyes.This was not the time to get prissy about swear words.“You hired me to do this job so you could stay on as GM of this team and actually start winning cups.What gives?”
“Certain events have made it clear it’s not a suitable position for me at this time.”
“Martin.”
Pulvermacher’s sigh blew a hefty gust of static over the line.“It’s all this shelter crap.My wife and her family,yourfamily, don’t want to be involved with a team getting themselves into that sort of business.”
“That sort of business,” Ben repeated dully.Of course.His family struck once again.
It wasn’t just the Mormonism of it all, as Pulvermacher proved when he said, “You knowIwould ignore it, but there’s a possibility I could take over the Arizona Prairie Dogs instead, and Maude says she’d like to be closer to home.”
It was Ben’s family, relentlessly awful everywhere they went.Nowhere in the Bible or the Book of Mormon did it say “you have to be an unmitigated homophobe,” or “if you go to bed without cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom your mother will wake you with a screaming fit,” or even “privacy is for people who don’t have secrets.”Ben’s family chose to be bigoted and abusive, and they also happened to be Mormons, which didn’t help.
They would never change their minds or come around.
“Their team is shit,” Ben said.
“I know.”
“What do you expect me to do now?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?!”
