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“Bo is in a bunch of posted photos from the clubs. Parties, tourists, that kind of thing. So far, I’ve found two things that are relevant for you. One, there are no recent photographs of him. Nothing at all in the last five years.”
“So,” Myron said, “since he stopped posting—”
“No one has posted a photo of him anywhere. That’s right. And that’s rare. You really have to try to stay that off the radar.”
Myron took that in. “What’s the other thing?”
“There is one crowd shot of Bo that you’ll find very intriguing.”
“Crowd shot?”
“As in, he’s in a crowd. As in, a sporting event. As in, your friend Bo attended an NBA basketball game.”
Myron froze. “As in, a game coached by Greg Downing?”
Esperanza nodded. “Greg’s Milwaukee Bucks in Phoenix playing the Suns. Six years ago. I zoomed it in for you and printed it out.”
She handed him a photograph. Yep, crowd shot. Bo sat behind the Bucks’ bench next to an uber-tan, uber-blonde woman packed into a tight tank top.
“Can’t be a coincidence,” Myron said.
“Man, you’re good.”
He smiled. He was happy that Esperanza had found such satisfaction in this new job, but he missed working with her on a day-to-day basis. MB Reps wasn’t MB Reps without Esperanza.
“So how do we find Bo Storm after all this time?” Myron asked. “Maybe Man United had his real name for payroll?”
“Already tried that. They’re under new ownership and got rid of all the old records.”
An idea came to Myron. “Explain that facial recognition search thing you did.”
“It’s fairly self-explanatory.”
“So if you had a photo of me—”
“I could put it through the search engine and theoretically it would find every photograph with you in it on the web.”
“Open up Bo’s dormant Instagram page for a second.”
Esperanza did. Myron started scrolling through it. He stopped and pointed. “This guy,” Myron said. “He’s in at least a dozen of Bo’s photos.”
She read the captions out loud: “‘Me and Jord doing our thang.’ ‘Jord and me at the club.’ Hmm, both of these guys are hot. Gay guys keep in such great shape. A lot of shots of them at the club shirtless.”
“Yeah, but not that.” Myron scrolled some more. “Here’s one of Bo and Jord at a barbecue in a yard.”
“Still shirtless.”
“And look—‘Having the boys over for the Super Bowl.’”
“Still shirtless,” Esperanza repeated, making a face. “Who watches the Super Bowl shirtless?”
“Can we put this Jord guy through your search engine?”
Esperanza nodded. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“Every once in a while.”
“Give me an hour, okay?”
