"Usually the problem is you don't know what happened. Here I know what happened, I don't know what to do about it."
Everyone was watching me now, except Susan, who was watching Dwayne, and Hawk, who was watching Deegan.
"I know that Deegan stuck up an OTB in New York and started investing the money in a gambling scheme that involved point spread control by Dwayne. I know that Madelaine was the intermediary in the deal. I know that when I got involved and Bobby needed a shooter to take me out of it Madelaine put him in touch with her old school chum Gerry Broz, who without knowing the shootee recommended Hawk."
"Why not send the very best," Hawk said in a radio announcer voice with no hint of ethnicity.
"Hawk, being my frequent associate, reported this plan to me and hung around with me thereafter to help me foil it."
"You can't prove any of this," Deegan said.
"Might be able to prove the solicitation of a shooter," I said, "but your point is well taken. So far we can't prove anything much unless Dwayne is willing to talk about you."
"Dwayne is not a squealer," Deegan said.
Dwayne nodded silently.
"Or we could probably get this proved if we turned it all over to the D.A., but that would sink Dwayne."
"And you don't want to do that," Deegan said.
"No."
Chantel said, "I didn't know you was a friend of Mr. Deegan's, Dr. Roth."
"You know that, Dwayne?" I said.
Dwayne looked at Deegan. He didn't answer me.
"Did you know that they met at Queens College while they were both in grad school?" Dwayne didn't move.
"You know she picked you out to help him control the spread?"
Madelaine said, "You don't know any of that, it's simply supposition."
"You pick Dwayne out for any special reason, Bobby?" I said.
Dwayne was frowning, slightly. Deegan didn't answer me. He simply shook his head.
"Makes sense, I suppose, to find a star you can buy."
The room was quiet. I didn't know where I was going, I was just trying to keep it going. I knew Deegan wouldn't say anything. He didn't know I wasn't wearing a wire.
"What made you think Bobby could buy him, Madelaine?"
"I don't know what you're driving at," she said.
"You steered Bobby, you must have. How does a Brooklyn wiseguy end up buying a Boston basketball player."
"I'm from Brooklyn," Dwayne said suddenly.
"Did you know Deegan before?" I said.
"No," Dwayne said.
I waited. No one else said anything. "We from the same city," Dwayne said.
"That how you guys got together?" I said.
Dwayne looked back at Deegan. The arrogance and pizzazz were gone. Dwayne was scared and confused and trying to disappear in upon himself like a rabbit trapped in an open field.
"Didn't Dr. Roth introduce you?"
"You don't have to say a word, big guy," Deegan said. "These people got no right to be treating you and me like this. And they couldn't get away with it if they didn't have guns."
"Dwayne," Chantel said, "how you meet Mr. Deegan?"
Dwayne made a shushing sound with his hand at Chantel.
"You want to get up and walk out of here now, Mr. Deegan," Dwayne said, "you and Dr. Roth, I walk ahead of you. I don't give a fuck about these motherfuckers. Dwayne Woodcock want to leave, he leave and his friends go with him. You want, Mr. Deegan, I take you both out of here."
I liked him better then. It was a moment much better than the ones in which he sat looking at the floor. But I didn't like the development. Hawk and I weren't going to shoot him and he'd be a handful otherwise, with Deegan thrown in, who didn't look like a day at the beach himself. I would have thought of something, but Chantel saved me from it.
"They aren't your friends, Dwayne. Mr. Spenser's your friend. These people going to throw you away when they through."
"Dwayne," Deegan said, "have I ever lied to you? Have I ever given it to you any way but straight? You get out I'm going to represent you. I'm going to get you a deal with the Knicks, like Willis Reed never had, like Ewing never had. You know that. I know that. These people don't know. They don't matter, buddy. We matter."
"Let's walk out of here, Mr. Deegan," Dwayne said. In the doorway Hawk was motionless. The prospect of stopping a six-foot-nine-inch, two-hundred-fifty-five pound guy without shooting him seemed to present him no perplexities. He leaned against the jamb, his body loose, his face blank except for the hint of distant amusement that he almost always showed.
Chantel moved in front of Dwayne and took hold of his shirt with both hands. Her face as she stood was nearly level with his as he sat.
"No," she said, and her voice was scraping out of her throat. "No. You walk out with him and it's over for you. He's a crook. The cops want him. He's not going to get you a deal with the Knicks. You stay with me, Dwayne. You do what I say."
Dwayne said, "Don't you grab me, Chantel."
"I will," she said. "I gonna hang onto you so you won't drown. I won't let you drown with these people."
Dwayne said, "Chantel."
Chantel shook her head doggedly. She still hung onto Dwayne's shirt. He took her wrist and gently tried to pull her hands away. She hung on tighter.
"He going to ruin you, Dwayne." Intensity, made her voice rasp. "Ruin you."
Deegan said, "Dwayne, you shut that little fucker up."
Dwayne still had hold of Chantel's wrists. "She ain't no little fucker," he said, softly, a little embarrassed.
"Well, she's your broad," Deegan said. "Keep her quiet."
"See," Chantel said. "See what I am? See what he thinks of me? That what you think Dwayne?"
Dwayne shook his head as if he had a bee in his ear.
"No," he said. Still soft, still a little embarrassed. "No, Chantel, you know I don't."
"He don't care about me. He don't care abou you," Chantel said. "He just care about gambling and making money. He call her a little fucker?" Chantel tossed her chin at Madelaine who was sitting as far back in a white armles chair as the chair would let her.
"Dwayne," Deegan said, "you let her come between us and the dream is over. You understand? Now you shut her the fuck up, or someone else will have to."
The minute he said it Deegan knew it was mistake. But it was out and he couldn't reel it back in. Dwayne's head came up and he looked at Deegan as if he were a sudden intrusion.
He said softly, "Let go, Chantel," and she did and he stood, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He looked down at Deegan. "Who gonna do that, Bobby?" he said.
"Hey, buddy," Deegan said, "I just mean we got to have quiet so we can talk. We can't have hysteria, you know?"
"Who gonna shut her up if I don't?" Dwayne said. There was no referring to himself in the third person now. No swagger; and there wasn't any petulance either, any sulky confusion. "You gonna do that, Bobby? You gonna have somebody do that, like you tried to do with this guy?" He jerked his head at me.
"Dwayne, cool it, big guy. You misunderstood me. Hey, if I offended Chantel, I'm sorry. Chantel. No harm intended, hon, none of us want to be talking out of turn."
"How long you been sleeping with her?" Dwayne said. He was looking at Madelaine, who managed to look frightened and embarrassed and angry and above it all at the same time. If I got a chance I would ask her how she did that.
"Hey, Dwayne, nice talk," Deegan said.
"How long, Bobby? You scoring her while she telling me that you be a good guy to meet cause you had important sports contacts in New York?"
"Dwayne," Deegan said. "You're talking yourself right into big trouble."
"What kind of trouble, Bobby?"
"The kind that will take you down too, Dwayne. Don't forget it. I go, you go."
"I been a stand up guy for you, Bobby," Dwayne said.
"Better keep it that way, Dwayne."
"No, I don't think so. I don't think you a stand up guy for me, Bobby."
"I'm not going alone, Dwayne. What you think you're going to do? Tell everything you can think of about me and nobody'll notice that you've been shaving points. That you're on the fucking pad? Get sensible, kid. I go, you go."