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“So then what happened?” Myron asked.
“This guy Jordan. I try to talk some sense into him. But he won’t listen.”
“The mob owns him,” Grace said. “Him and his mother.” Her face started to redden. “His mother’s the real criminal.”
“Yeah, that’s where it really went sideways,” Greg said. “Jordan’s mom. I forget her name.”
“Donna,” Myron said.
They looked up at him. Then they glanced at each other.
“You know her?” Grace asked.
“We met. When I was looking for Bo.”
“She owns this mobbed-up club, you know.”
“Owned,” Myron said, stressing the past tense. “Yeah, I know.”
“She teamed up with this awful mobster.”
“Joey the Toe,” Myron said.
“Wow,” Greg said. “You’ve been busy.”
Their eyes met and for the briefest of moments, they were back on the court, Greg dribbling, Myron low in a defensive stance, trying to force him right. It was Greg’s weakness. He was a great player and despite being a righty, he preferred penetrating the middle using his left. The memory was a moment, no more, but it was there, and Myron could tell that they both sort of experienced it.
Myron leaned forward, keeping all his attention on Greg. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
Greg said nothing.
“You know me. You know Win. You know what we can do.”
Greg nodded. “I thought about it.” Then, glancing next to him, he said, “We thought about it. But in the end, Grace didn’t think it was the right move.”
“Violence is never the answer,” Grace said.
Myron said nothing. Greg said nothing.
Grace shook her head. “Men.”
“No, no, you’re right,” Myron said. “So what did you guys decide to do?”
“Grace convinced her son to turn state’s evidence. Wear a wire. All that.”
Makes sense, Myron thought. “And then?”
“Somehow Joey the Toe gets wind of it. He breaks into the house at night. He murders Jordan.”
“Why?” Myron asked.
“What?”
“You said Jordan was part of his operation. Bo was the one who was the threat. So why kill Jordan?”
“We wondered about that too,” Grace said.
“Want to know our theory?” Greg asked.
