Last Shot (17 page)

By the time Stevie made it into the press room, the game was just about over. Duke was shooting free throws and the clock was under a minute. He walked to the phone next to his computer. Weiss was sitting nearby writing. He looked up quickly. “Long time no see, kid,” he said. “Having fun?”

“Oh yeah,” Stevie said. “Just need to use the phone.”

“Have at it,” Weiss said.

Stevie took out his notebook and found Chip’s cell phone number. He turned his back on Weiss, who was clearly focused on what he was writing. Graber answered on the first ring.

“It’s Stevie,” he said, not wanting to say Graber’s name on the off chance someone might hear him.

“Yeah. We’re eating right now,” Graber said softly. “What’s new?” He said it casually, clearly because people were around him.

“Well, first, congratulations. That was amazing.”

“Yeah. Very lucky. Thanks.”

“Second, we need to talk. We found Wojenski and he’s actually near here. He thinks he can help and wants us to come see him.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Oh my God. That’s incredible. Okay,” Graber said after a few seconds. He dropped his voice even lower. “Let’s do this. Meet me on the second floor of my hotel at eight in the morning. Where the radio guys were.”

“Um, I don’t think I want to run into them again.”

“You won’t. There won’t be anyone around that early. Everyone will sleep in. Can you do it?”

“We’ll do it.”

“Okay. See you then.”

He hung up. Stevie looked up to see people pouring into the press room. The second game had just ended.

Susan Carol arrived with a big smile on her face. Why not? Her team had won.

“Did you get him?” she said quietly when she reached him.

“Yes. He wants us to meet him at eight in the morning on the second floor of his hotel near where we met the radio guys.”

“Oooh,” she said, cringing slightly. “I don’t think I need to see those guys again.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said.

“Why? What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later. Meantime, we have to figure a way to ditch our dads again tomorrow.”

“We’ll deal with
that
later. Meantime, I have to get a story written.”

“Let me help you,” he said. “It will save time. I can go to the interview room, you go to the locker room, or vice versa.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks. That would help a lot. I want to check out the locker room scene. And I need some interview room quotes from UConn on why they thought Duke was able to control the game so easily. One good quote from Coach Calhoun, maybe one good player quote.”

“Done,” he said.

They went in different directions and met thirty minutes later back at her computer. He fed her the quotes she wanted and she had the story finished in forty-five minutes. Once again, Dick Weiss was still working. Once again, Bill Brill was finished. “Do you have to do radio?” Stevie asked.

“I have to do about five beers back at the hospitality room in the hotel,” Brill said. “Let’s go.”

It was exactly midnight when they walked out of the building. A steady rain was falling and the walkway from the Dome to the hotel was almost empty. Stevie was glad they had Brill with them.

They were all quite wet by the time they reached the
entrance to the mall that led to the Hyatt, and relieved that it had not been locked. When they reached the hotel, Brill headed to the media hospitality room. Stevie and Susan Carol headed for the elevators. “We need to make a plan for the morning before we go to bed,” Stevie said. He could feel the exhaustion in his bones, but he was also buzzing with adrenaline from the day.

They got off on 19, which was Stevie’s floor, and decided to talk there. No one was around, at least for the moment. Stevie briefly told Susan Carol what had happened with Ventura. “You think you convinced him?” she said.

“Yeah, I do. It was pretty close to the truth, really.”

“Yeah. And we’re just a couple of kids,” she said. “How much trouble could we be causing?”

“Speaking of trouble, you have any idea how to convince our dads we need to leave the hotel at seven-thirty in the morning?”

“Yes, I do,” she said.

He wasn’t surprised. “And?”

“There’s a Fellowship of Christian Athletes meeting and prayer service at eight-thirty tomorrow morning at the Hilton. I saw it on the schedule they gave my dad. I’ll tell him I’m going to go instead of going to church because I’ll get a service and maybe get a story on the players who show up.”

“What about me? I don’t go to church on Sundays.”

“Just tell your dad there may be a story there for you because a lot of the coaches attend.”

It was a good idea. The time was just about right and he could probably convince his father there was a story there.

“Okay. That sounds good. I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven-thirty.”

She nodded. She started toward the elevator, then stopped. She walked back to where he was standing, put an arm around his shoulder, leaned down, and brushed a kiss on his cheek. Stevie felt his legs get a little bit weak, and he wondered if he was supposed to do anything in response.

“Um, what was that for?” he said.

“For making me feel safe,” she said, turning away. “I’ll see you at seven-thirty.”

Stevie walked to his room feeling about ten feet tall. Or, at the very least, five foot eight.

His dad was lying on the bed reading a magazine when Stevie walked in. “Sorry I’m so late,” he said.

“You know, I was actually rethinking that cell phone for a while,” his dad said. “But I wasn’t really worried. I knew it would be a late night after that first game took so long. You must be tired.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But can you set the alarm for seven-fifteen?”

His father knitted his eyebrows. “Seven-fifteen? Why so early?”

Stevie sighed as if greatly burdened. “Well, there’s this Fellowship of Christian Athletes prayer breakfast at the Hilton, and a lot of big-time guys are supposed to be there. I thought I’d go and get my Sunday story early rather than wait until the afternoon press conferences with the teams.”

“A prayer breakfast?”

“Dad, I’m not going to pray, I’m going to report.”

“Uh-huh. And will Susan Carol be there, too?”

“Yeah, she’s the one who told me about it.”

His father smiled in a way that made Stevie blush but refrained from comment. Instead he changed the subject. “Tough night, huh? Amazing finish, but it’s too bad St. Joe’s lost.”

Stevie really wanted to relive the game with his dad, but he was crashing. “It was amazing,” he said through a jaw-breaking yawn.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” said his dad.

And then somehow the alarm was going off. Stevie’s father hit the snooze button while Stevie groaned and wondered how it could possibly be morning already. He lay perfectly still for a moment, wondering if he could roll over and go back to sleep. Maybe Susan Carol and Chip didn’t really need him. Yes they did, he finally thought, and rolled himself out of bed.

Seeing him up, his father turned over to go back to sleep. “Try to be back for lunch, okay?” he mumbled.

Stevie said nothing. He had no idea when he would be back. He pushed himself under the shower, which at least got his eyes open, got dressed, and slipped quietly out the door. His father was sound asleep.

Susan Carol was waiting for him, her hair tied back in a wet ponytail. She was holding a Styrofoam cup.

“Coffee?” he said, surprised.

“I drink it sometimes before morning swim practice when I’m really tired,” she said. “It helps.”

“You swim?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. I’m a butterflyer.”

They started walking. It was a cool morning and the shuttle buses weren’t running yet.

“Doesn’t that taste awful?”

“Not with milk and sugar,” she said. “Try a sip.”

She handed him the cup and he took a tiny sip. The hot liquid felt good going down and it really didn’t taste bad. “Pretty good, actually,” he said.

“My dad doesn’t know I drink it,” she said. “He’d be horrified. He says caffeine can be an addiction, too.”

The streets of the city were remarkably empty. There were a few people out running and some bleary-eyed tourists. That was about it.

“Looks like everyone is still asleep,” Susan Carol said.

“I don’t blame them,” Stevie answered with a yawn. Susan Carol gave him the last of her coffee.

It was 7:55 when they walked into the Marriott lobby, which was almost deserted. Just them and the security guards.

“You bring the key just in case?” he asked. She pulled it out of her pocket and Stevie felt better. They walked to the escalator unimpeded but Stevie was convinced they were being watched, if only because the security people had nothing better to do. There was another security guard at the top of the escalator. He nodded at Stevie and Susan Carol, who nodded back as casually as possible.

Stevie was relieved to see that the only sign of the MSU
radio network was the banner hanging over the table where they had been broadcasting the day before. Chip Graber was waiting for them, pacing. If Stevie hadn’t been expecting him, he might not have recognized him. He wore black sweatpants, a gray sweatshirt that said
HOLY CROSS BASKETBALL
, and a blue cap with a Mets orange
NY
on it. He had the cap pulled down so low on his head you couldn’t see his eyes.

“I thought you’d never get here,” Graber said. Neither Stevie nor Susan Carol saw much point in telling him they were a couple of minutes early.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he continued. “I want to put some distance between us and Whiting—or anyone else with the team, really.”

“Okay,” Susan Carol said, starting to turn back toward the escalator.

“No, no, there’s a better way,” he said. “Follow me.”

He walked them down the wide hallway until they reached an
EXIT
sign and then down a stairwell that came out on a side street. “First thing I figure out in every hotel is the back way out,” he said. “Most of the time, walking through the lobby is murder. Let’s head toward Jackson Square. We’ll blend in with the tourists.”

As they walked down the narrow streets of the French Quarter, Chip pelted them with questions.

“So you talked to Dean Wojenski? And he really thinks he can help? What did he say, how did you find him?”

Susan Carol quickly told him what they had learned and how they had learned it. Graber laughed when she told him that she was now his adopted little sister.

“And he wants us to go to his house?”

“Yes. He said he lives about an hour from here.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “He e-mailed me directions and I printed them out last night after the game. It’s exactly sixty-one miles from here according to the MapQuest thing he sent me.”

“So if we’re going, we need a car,” Stevie said.

Graber nodded. “That’s not a problem,” he said. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket, snapped it open, and dialed a number. It was apparently picked up quickly. “Bobby Mo,” he said. “Grabes.”

There was a pause while Bobby Mo said something. “Yeah, man, thanks. Better to be lucky than good, right?” He listened some more, laughed—a fake laugh if Stevie had ever heard one. “Well, I appreciate it. Listen, you said if I needed something, to call you. I need something.” Another pause. “No, no, nothing like that. Come on, I’m playing for the national championship tomorrow night. I need some wheels for a couple of hours. Can you hook me up?”

More talking by Bobby Mo. “Good. No, don’t bring it to the Marriott, too many people. We’re in Jackson Square. How soon can you be here? Twenty minutes? Okay. There’s an outdoor café on the corner—the Café du Monde, it says—meet us there?”

Bobby Mo must have said something in response to the word “us,” because Graber laughed. “I’ve got a couple of my cousins with me. I promised I’d take them for a drive to get away from the crowds.”

He snapped the phone closed. “All set.”

“Who was that?” Susan Carol asked about a split second before Stevie could.

“His name’s Bobby Maurice. He works for Brickley Shoes. All the shoe companies have been sniffing around since I was a sophomore. They all want to sign me because they think I’m ‘marketable.’ Basically, any of them will do anything I ask them to do, including get me a car for a few hours on twenty minutes’ notice.”