Charlie nodded, held up a finger, and continued to work his numbers, furiously jotting down figures on a legal pad.
"What's up?" Luther smiled, strolling closer. "Nice room."
"Yeah," Frank agreed. "Listen, I need you guys to stay out of the locker room for a few minutes, all right? I got some local business to take care of."
Luther nodded knowingly. "No problem, brother."
Frank turned back to Benny. "Tell our two friends I'll be with them in a minute. As soon as I clear them out you and your crew secure the locker room and gymnasium entrances and exits. But get Vincent first and tell him I need him here pronto. Also, what's the word on the state athletic commission boys?"
"They should be here about five."
"I don't want any surprises, Benny. Make sure I know the bastards are here the minute they hit the parking lot."
"Always."
"Also, has anyone seen Delvecchio?"
"He was right behind us on the highway," Luther said. "He should be landing any minute."
Charlie approached Frank and Benny slowly, his expression cautious. "What's going on?"
Frank looked at Benny. "Anything else I need to know?"
"Nothing that can't wait."
"Okay, go." Frank turned his attention to Charlie. "Payroll all set?"
"Of course."
"Here's what I need you to do. Luther, come in on this." Frank sat on the edge of the first row of bleachers and opened his briefcase. "This guy needs to move seven hundred tickets to break even tonight. As of this moment he's only sold a little over five hundred."
Charlie ran a hand through his hair. "Shit, he's gonna eat a couple grand. So much for a return date."
"I told him he'd probably get a few hundred people at the gate, but we know that's bullshit. In a town this size he'll be doing something if he pulls an extra fifty or sixty."
Luther shook his head. "It's a strong card, Frank. Didn't he promote it?"
"Evidently not." After a quick search of his briefcase Frank found a business card and handed it to Charlie. "That guy's our local radio connection. We did a commercial trade with him and they've been giving tickets away all week."
"I'll see if we can set up a phone link with Luther and…" Charlie turned to Luther. "Who are you working with tonight?"
"The Lariat."
"The Lariat, good. I'll get us on the air, you give them some heat, talk up the shot – you know what to do. Maybe it'll generate something. Hell, even if it doesn't, it'll look good."
Frank managed a slight smile. "The athletic director's waiting for you in his office. Down the hall and hang a left. Make the call from there."
"Let's do it."
"One more thing, Luther," Frank said, pulling him close and lowering his voice. "You and I know this guy's going to lose money. I don't want him to be able to blame the show."
Luther nodded. "I don't do bad shots, Frank."
"I know, brother, I know, but I want a little something extra on this one."
"We can juice it up."
Charlie winced. "Frank, you sure? Blood doesn't always go over well in these little towns."
"I want the people who are here whipped into a frenzy from start to finish," Frank told Luther, dismissing Charlie's comment. "You got me?"
"Loud and clear, brother."
As Charlie and Luther moved away, Vincent materialized to Frank's right. He was still knotting his tie. "Benny said we got some local fishermen visiting."
Frank nodded wearily. "What else is new?"
"Got the money on you?"
"Yup."
"Hard or soft act on these guys?"
"Never met them before."
"We gonna be back next year?"
"Doubtful."
"What's the cap?"
"Four."
"Let's go."
The locker room had an antiseptic odor that barely masked the more caustic smells normally associated with such areas. In the rear of the room, just beyond an enormous gang shower, two men stood alongside several narrow alleys of metal lockers.
"Gentlemen," Frank said with an enthusiastic smile. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm Frank Ponte, and this is my partner, Vincent Santangelo."
A bald, bloated man well over six feet tall, dressed in a police uniform, stepped forward and offered an enormous paw of a hand. "I'm Chief Montgomery," he said in a booming, official tone. "And this is Phillip Lawson, senior selectman in town."
Lawson was a small, mousy man with glasses, bad skin, and a dated wardrobe. His tepid smile revealed nicotine-stained teeth. "Nice to meet you boys."
"The pleasure's ours," Vincent said. "What can we do for you?"
"I assume you boys have the appropriate licenses required by law?" Montgomery asked.
"We carry a state license," Frank explained. "I've got it right here in my briefcase."
"Of course, there's also the matter of the town license," Lawson said, beady eyes darting between all three men.
"Of course." Frank found both documents in his briefcase and handed them to Montgomery. He passed the paperwork to Lawson without looking at it. "We got the town license two weeks ago. We mailed in the fee and it was sent directly to our Massachusetts office."
Lawson returned the state license to Frank but continued studying the other. "Yes… it's just like I figured."
"I certainly hope there isn't a problem." Frank smiled.
"Afraid so," the small man said. "See, this license is only valid during the week. Monday through Friday – that's it."
"Today's Saturday," Montgomery reminded them.
Vincent looked at Frank, waited for his signal before he took control of the conversation. "That's funny, it doesn't say anything on the license itself about that."
Lawson removed his glasses and began to clean them with the tail of his shirt. "I've been a selectman here for more than ten years, Mr. Ponte. Rest assured, I'm well aware of our licensing and permit practices."
"I have no doubt that you are," Vincent countered. "The question, is what can we do to resolve the situation?"
Montgomery released a dramatic sigh. "I'm not sure there's anything we can do. As much as I'd like to help you boys out, I'm sworn to uphold the laws of this town, and according to Mr. Lawson, this license is invalid."
"Meaning?"
"We'll have to shut you down."
Vincent did his best to appear surprised. "Shut us down? Hell, you can't do that. We've got an entire show ready to go here, and remember, the proceeds are going to the school's athletic department. Besides, I'm sure the state athletic commission guys are already on their way."
"I know most of those boys." Montgomery smiled. "They'll understand."
"Can't we just buy a weekend license?"
"It's Saturday," Lawson said. "Everything is closed."
"Couldn't a man in your position issue a temporary license just to get us through this?" Vincent asked. "We'd be happy to pay the necessary fees, of course."
Lawson exchanged glances with Montgomery then returned his gaze to Vincent. "I don't know. That'd be highly unusual."
"I'd just hate to see the school lose an opportunity to make some money," Frank said softly. "It doesn't seem right."
Montgomery turned to Lawson right on cue. "How about it, Phil? Is there anything we can do?"
"Phil," Frank smiled warmly. "You don't mind if I call you Phil, do you? There must be some way to make this right."
"I might be able to sign off on the existing document," he said, handing the license back to Frank. "Thereby making it valid for a weekend event. But weekend licenses cost more."
"How much more?"
"Considerably more."
Frank wrapped two hundred dollars around the license and nonchalantly handed it to Lawson. "Why don't you take another look at it and make sure there's room for your signature?"
Lawson angled the license toward Montgomery so he could clearly see the amount of money that had been offered. The policeman seemed unimpressed.