Advantage Disadvantage (23 page)

“I find it odd that you are not constantly typing.
How do you get your stories in by the deadline?”

“Well, I’ve pre-written the story of this game with
background information and a general flow. The only things I have
to add are noteworthy occurrences such as the awkward way the game
started and the highest scores and which way the score tilts. Most
of it is already set.”

“Wow, it’s like you already know who will win this
game.”

“I can only wish I knew.”

***

“Boys, you are doing great,” Coach Venturi began in
his halftime meeting. “We knew this was a good team. Probably the
best team we have faced this year. They are quick. Let us play our
game and let the chips fall where they may. We just have to play
them even the rest of the way.”

In the other locker room, there was chaos. The
Markon coach was very unhappy with the effort. In between the
yelling and screaming, he kicked a 30-gallon garbage can across the
room. In his heart of hearts, he knew his team was better and
faster than East End. He told his team to be prepared to put on the
full-court press for the next two quarters. He wanted to pick up
the pace and run East End off the court.

Coach Venturi opened the second half with an unusual
zone defense. Errant three point shots rang out from Markon’s
guards much to chagrin of their coach and he quickly called time
out. He reminded his team that he wanted to out-quick East End’s
team with defense and full court pressure, not a half court game.
Markon came out of the timeout and obeyed their coach’s plans. They
contested every pass at all points on the court. If a player
appeared to back-off and concede a shot, the Markon coach benched
him for a fresh substitute.

This was more than Frank could take. East End was
hanging in there. They were up four points at the end of the third
quarter. Frank was still ahead on the bet – but only by 2 and ½
points. East End played a convincing game so far, and his
imagination was conjuring up the worst personal outcomes. Both
teams came back out to play the fourth quarter and they were
waiting for the referees to put the ball in play. Then Frank saw
the telltale sign. East End players put their hands on their hips
or on their knees instead of standing straight up – they looked
exhausted. As the quarter began, the Markon team was getting layups
off stolen passes from their full-court press. East End’s
limitations finally caught up to them. Markon grabbed their first
lead since halftime. Then they stole the ball more and scored.
Repeatedly they ran quick three-player weaves for easy baskets as
they completely dominated East End’s best efforts.

The East End High School basketball team fought
valiantly in the Super Sectional contest but towards the end, the
writing was on the wall. With two minutes left to go, Scott made
sure that all players made it into the game including Alex Austin.
The coach felt terrible; his stomach was upset. It hurt him to see
the disappointment in the team’s eyes as the buzzer sounded the end
of East End’s season. But this was an unexpected feeling for Scott;
he wasn’t so bothered that he did not get to win a state
championship or that any colleges would not be impressed by this
game, he felt badly for the boys. Markon eventually won by seven
points, covering Bobby G.’s point spread. As they rolled through
the good sportsmanship line shaking hands with Markon’s team, Coach
Venturi was contemplating his post game speech.

Instead of thinking about celebrating, Frank
wondered if he would be able to calm his nerves. He could not
imagine how horrible he would feel if they had lost the bet. Relief
overwhelmed him. But he was troubled about depending on Bobby G. to
lay low long enough to pay him.

Before joining his team, Coach Venturi had to take
care of some business. His stopped by the referee’s locker room.
Scott pushed past the security guard and barged through the door.
The officials were smiling and celebrating when they saw Venturi
enter. A silence overtook the room. Usually the locker room was out
of bounds after a game because losing coaches, players, and parents
can be highly emotional.

“Men, I wanted to thank you for working the game
tonight. We couldn’t have had a better crew.” thanked Scott.

Nobody said anything – they were in shock. When a
losing coach told a referee that he has done a great job when his
team has lost, it carried more weight than if the compliment came
from a winning coach.

“Coach, your boys played hard tonight. They should
be proud. Markon was the better team tonight, that’s all,” Billy
suggested.

“Well, that’s what I’m going to tell them in a few
minutes, but again, great job fellas. I’ll see you in summer camp!”
Scott finished.

As Coach Venturi walked back to join his team in the
locker room, he passed all of the team’s parents (except
Elizabeth), school administrators, and others. The parents gave him
a gauntlet of clapping, cheering, and pats on his back. He felt
great and approached his team inside the locker room.

“Gentleman, the State of Illinois certifies me to
teach mathematics and to coach basketball in this state, but this
season, I didn’t teach as much as I learned. I picked up something
from each of you this year, and most of all, you helped me
reconnect with my love of coaching high school basketball. If I
could have accomplish three things this year I would have been
happy; 1) to improve each of your basketball skill sets, 2) to
teach you the value of respecting your peers and coming together as
a team, and 3) to have fun. I believe that we accomplished all of
these goals. Look, heads up, do not feel bad. Be positive, we are
Sectional Champions. You are all headed for greatness in your
lives. You guys know I’m right. Captain Jamal Imari I need your
help. I want you to go around the room and tell each player how you
think they’ve improved this year … go ahead Jamal, be honest.”

Jamal, holding back sniffles, began, “Uh, well,
James. You are East End’s best passer. You led the team in assists
and set school records.”

“That’s right,” Scott said as he started a round of
applause for James.

One by one, Jamal worked his way around the room.
Finally, when Jamal was finished, Scott concluded, “Boys … uh men.
I have said this before, and I will say it again – you picked a
great captain for our team. Jamal worked hard for you and for
himself, and we will all be following his terrific college career
during the next four years at EPSU. Let’s show your captain your
appreciation for how he represented you this year.”

A rousing applause roared from inside the locker
room. The parents outside were anxious to see the team and console
them, but is sounded like they did not need too much mending.

Scott continued inside at the team meeting. “I also
need to thank Jamal’s dad, Coach Imari, for his hard work and
contribution this year. Beside his help at East End, he’s become my
best friend.”

The two men high-fived each other.

“Finally men, you know the drill – thank your
friends and families for coming to see you play tonight, and all
season.”

With the team business completed for the night they
opened the locker room doors and Scott watched proudly as the
players were reunited with their families and friends. Many stopped
by to thank Coach Venturi for the most memorable basketball year in
memory. If he heard it once, he had heard it twelve times, “Great
job this year Coach – well done!”

The IIAA dignitaries were milling around courtside
as Frank sent his article to his editor electronically. He packed
up his laptop. The theme of the article was, of course, a huge
upset of Frank’s pick to win it all. Although nervous, Frank was
riding high, trying to believe that he would soon have a half
million dollars.

Chapter Thirty-six. For Mutual Benefit

Frank finished the high school basketball season
with excellent coverage of the state finals. He was able to go
downstate relaxed and critically report on the games because he no
longer cared about who won the games. Even the state observer who,
again, sat beside him at the finals commented how much better Frank
looked. The sportswriter blamed his earlier disposition on the flu,
and the two enjoyed the games together at the end of the scorer’s
desk.

A week and a half had passed since the game at the
United Center and there was no word from Bobby G. Every idle minute
found Frank thinking about the bookie and the money. Was Bobby G.
able to evade the angry gangbang betters? Alternatively, did he
skip town with the money? Maybe he was in police custody snitching
on Frank and spilling the Advantage/Disadvantage beans. He
nervously stared at the phone hour after hour, spending unusual
time at the newspaper office.

When the phone rang, he waited for the second ring
to register on the Caller ID. Horror filled his mind as the LED
display showed “Englewood Precinct 7 Chgo PD”. This could only be
bad news for Frank.

“Hello? This is Frank.”

“Detective T.J. Battle here. How’s my favorite
sportswriter doing?”

“Ok, I guess,” cautiously replied Frank.

“Look, I’ll be brief. I am still investigating the
gang activity on the west side. I know you run across several
people in the gyms so I thought that maybe we could exchange
information. I’ll tell you some stuff that you can use in your
column, and then perhaps you can help me.”

“Sounds alright. But I’m not sure I have anything to
give you.”

Detective Battle began, “There’s a kid on my NAU
team who is attracting lots of attention. His father is shopping
this boy to the highest bidder to land him in a suburban district.
I am fucking appalled. The kid’s father is interviewing coaches who
must know exactly what he is doing. They cannot be that naïve, but
hell, the kid is a seventh grader. IIAA would not approve I am
sure. The boy’s name is Gary J. Stevens. He’s a hooper, but this
crap makes me sick.”

“That’s pretty interesting. The family is willing to
move to get him with the best coach?” Frank asked smelling a great
expose.

“I don’t even know if they are looking for the best
coach, maybe they are shaking down coaches for money. What if the
family is being paid to move somewhere by some crazy school
booster? I’m thinking if you break the story maybe that will stop
this whole situation in its tracks,” the detective pondered.

“That’s good stuff that I can check out, T.J. I
cannot believe some of these parents. I wish I could help you with
something.”

“Alright, I’ll tip my hand here. I am trying to
track down that ghetto-bookie – you and I have talked about Bobby
the Greek aka Bobby G. I know you met him years ago and you
probably keep running into him around the high school gyms. Have
you seen him lately?”

Frank wiped the sweat off his forehead and switched
the phone to his other ear. His tongue was sticking to the back of
his teeth with terrible, nervous cottonmouth. “No, the last time I
saw him was around halftime at the UC Super Sectional game ten days
ago. What’s up with him?”

“Rumors are flying on the street. I have heard that
there are a couple open contracts sent out to gang hit men to take
Bobby G. down. There is not a trace of him. His crib has been under
our surveillance for a week. We have caught a few baby bangers
ransacking his belongings, but he has not been seen anywhere. I am
not sure if he is alive or dead as we speak. Do you have any idea
why they are trying to kill this guy?”

Frank was trying to figure out if the detective was
testing him. Scrambling to think about what to say in the event
that Bobby G. had secretly confessed about their betting scheme,
Frank decided to tell half-truths to give him some wiggle room.

“Well T.J., I heard that Bobby G. made a killing on
the East End versus Carl Markon Super Sectional game. Not just
homer money – he walloped the gangs’ big time. Maybe that is why he
was not downstate at the finals. That’s all I know.” He was hoping
that the detective could not sense the nervousness in his
voice.

“Oh. That helps add a piece to this puzzle. Our gang
insiders will not give up anything about Bobby G. Now I understand
why. I will tell you, they have a take-no-prisoner attitude about
him; he is marked to die unless the department finds him first. If
you hear anything about him or his whereabouts, call me at the
seventh precinct, will ya?”

“Sure will, and thanks for the info about Gary J.
Stevens. I’ll check it out and write a column that might dissuade
any financial offers for the seventh grader.”

“Look, if you report about his situation you have to
disguise your information. I don’t want the parents to know that I
betrayed their trust, as disgusting as their high school search is
turning out to be.”

“I know how to protect sources. Done.”

Frank was not sure what to make of the phone call.
There certainly was no accusatory tone to the conversation, and he
reasoned that if the police discovered his role in
Advantage/Disadvantage, he did not lie to Detective T.J. He merely
omitted some facts. More waiting to hear from the bookie was in
store for Frank.

Chapter Thirty-seven. The Gem of South Chicago

Paranoia was an understatement to describe Bobby
G.’s mood. He watched from across the street as the police staffed
round-the-clock surveillance of his apartment and he witnessed
their inaction while baby thugs were carting away his belongings.
He knew he needed to blow out of town like a Midwest twister. He
surmised that the gangs might be watching Midway and O’Hare, and
probably the Greyhound Station as well. He waited until nightfall
to walk several miles ultimately ending up at the South Shore
Cultural Center. The Park District property was a beautiful expanse
of golf course, lakefront beach and horse stable recreational area.
The pavilion looked magnificent with its late-night minimalist
electric lighting and overhead natural moonlight. The clear spring
night was beautiful. It was crisp enough that Bobby G. could see
his breath, but not too cold. Bobby G. began casing the perimeter
to ensure he was alone. He was on the run for so many days; he
trusted no one and left nothing to chance. The last thing he wanted
to do was stumbling on a couple of innocent kids using the
beautiful park as an improvised cheap motel.