He slipped it into the front pocket of his gym shorts and said, turning back to the locker, “There they are.”
Ignoring José, he took the canister of squash balls from the shelf, popped off the plastic lid, upended the tube, and dropped one into his palm. He affected an indifference to the attendant. As if the kid was a distraction, an annoyance. Nothing more.
He pocketed the ball, then looked around at José, as if he’d just noticed him. Now his disinterested expression turned supercilious. Danny had learned from his time as a Lyman parent. “Mr. Galvin would like a bottle of water. Uh, you know, agua? Could you please get me a couple? Thanks very much.”
As if the locker room attendant were his personal retainer. Which was probably how most of the club’s members regarded him.
In the arsenal of human expressions, arrogance was an effective weapon of offense. Whether or not José suspected Danny was rummaging around in Tom Galvin’s locker, he had a job to do. That was his first priority.
José shifted uncomfortably. He looked wary. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Of course.”
He could see Danny had opened Galvin’s locker. But was he there at Galvin’s behest? José would have to assume it. Whatever he thought, he would never dare accuse a guest of such petty criminality. Job security trumped loyalty every time.
The moment José was gone, Danny closed Galvin’s locker and raced to his own. Before Galvin’s phone could ring again, Danny unlocked his locker and set Galvin’s phone on top of his Under Armour gym bag.
Now José had returned, a water bottle in each hand.
“Thank you,” Danny said, taking them, setting them down on the bench. He smiled.
José nodded but didn’t smile back.
After José had circled back to his desk, Danny again opened his locker. He unzipped the end compartment of his gym bag and took out a wadded-up shirt, inside of which was the little oblong device.
Standing in front of his locker now, he worked quickly. He connected the MobilXtract gadget to the micro USB port on the side of Galvin’s BlackBerry. He’d already set up the MobilXtract as much as he could in advance, entering the model number of Galvin’s phone, selecting the option for working around the password, selecting EXTRACT ALL. Now all he had to do was press the START button on the thing and let it go to work.
The MobilXtract’s display came to life. It said DETECTING… CONNECTING… and then EXTRACTING CONTENTS.
A green progress bar came up. Yeager had told him it would take anywhere from forty-five seconds to three or four minutes, depending on how many photos Galvin kept on his phones. Photos, videos, and ringtones were the main memory hogs, Yeager had said.
But the progress bar seemed stuck. It was just a little sliver of green. It wasn’t moving. He waited. No voices in the locker room. Nobody else in sight.
He checked his watch. Four minutes had gone by. That was a lot of time, but he could finesse it. He’d got the water and used the john. Why not?
He looked again at the green progress bar, watched it inch along. Actually, inching wasn’t the right word. Millimetering, maybe. Slowly, slowly, almost unbearably so.
But at least it was moving, if incrementally. It was working. But this wouldn’t be finished in a minute or two. It looked like the job was going to take a while. Maybe five minutes. Maybe more.
He couldn’t stay here while the transfer happened.
He had to leave Galvin’s BlackBerry connected and go back to the squash courts.
It was a risk. A fairly big one, actually.
If Galvin abruptly decided to return to the locker room…?
But he had no choice.
Danny handed Galvin the bottle of water. His stomach was tight, but he managed to keep his facial expression relaxed.
“I’m all set,” Galvin said. He set it down on the floor, not far from where he’d earlier deposited his squash case and his key. The key that was no longer there.
Galvin’s key was in Danny’s pocket.
Looking at his watch, Galvin said, “Ready to rock ’n’ roll?”
Danny nodded. Somehow he had to get back to his locker, disconnect Galvin’s BlackBerry, and put it back.
Before Galvin noticed his locker key was missing.
Or decided he needed to use his BlackBerry, damn the club’s rules.
Powered by nervous energy, but even more by simple competitiveness, he played better and more forcefully than he had before the break. Maybe because he was beginning to learn Galvin’s serve, or maybe he just got lucky, but Danny returned the serve, hit a drive, and Galvin hit a drive back. Then Danny hit a backhand drop shot and scored a point. He’d pulled even. Eight all.
Then came a long rally. Not just a long rally, but the Bataan Death March of rallies. A cramp emerged in his left side, spreading and blooming, its raptor claws clutching and twisting his insides. The only noise in the court was the squeak of their gum soles on the floor and the th-pock th-pock th-pock of their racquets hitting the ball.
Galvin began panting.
Then Danny backed away from the ball and bent deeply, stepping back as if clearing space for a big backhand drive. But at the last second, he hit the ball softly. It kissed the side wall, barely touched the front wall, and there it died.
Galvin had lost the point and the game. He laughed loudly. “Ha! The old trickle boast! Nice!”
“Thanks.”
“Good job of-deception there.” Galvin gasped. “Ya got me.”
“Thanks.” Danny scooped up the ball to serve, but Galvin put up a hand to stop him. He was breathing heavily.
“You almost killed me.”
Danny smiled.
“All-right,” Galvin said. He leaned over, bracing himself with his palms on his thighs. He looked up at Danny, face dark, glowering. “The hell did you-do in the locker room?”
Danny’s stomach did a flip. “What?”
“That break you just took,” Galvin said. “I know what-you were up to.”
“Hold on…”
“That wasn’t a water break. You went-you found some Red Bull, right?” He attempted a pallid grin. “PowerBar, maybe? I mean, you musta taken something back there. Now, that-was a game.”
Relief flooded Danny’s body like a warm bath. He smiled, nodded. “Damn near killed myself. Listen, my bladder’s about to explode. Gotta use the bathroom real quick. This time I won’t take as long. Promise.”
“Gonna take another hit of that Red Bull, is that it?”
Danny chuckled. “Be right back.” It would take only about a minute to disconnect Galvin’s BlackBerry-the gizmo had to be finished hoovering up the data-and return it to Galvin’s locker.
“Know what?” Galvin said. “I think-it’s nature’s way-telling us it’s quitting time.”
Danny’s mind began spinning, a hamster on a wheel. He had to get back to his locker before Galvin opened his own and noticed his BlackBerry missing.
Before-oh God-Galvin realized his locker key was missing.
Screwed, he thought. Now I’m screwed.
“No way. I’m making a comeback.”
“Three to one-Danny-don’t know what kind of miracle you’re hoping for.”
“I thought we said best of seven.”
“Naaah, I’ve got to get back. Got an afternoon from hell ahead of me.”
“I’ll make it quick. You can spare ten more minutes, right?”
“Sorry, man. I’m-done. You’re welcome to stay and-do drills or whatever.”
“That’s all right. See you in there,” Danny said, hoping to get there ahead of him. When he reached the swinging doors to the locker room, he heard Galvin groan loudly.
“My damn locker key.”
Danny froze. Swiveled his head toward Galvin. “Oh, jeez. Sorry, man, I must have spaced out, grabbed yours.” He fished Galvin’s key out of his left pocket, held it out sheepishly, then tossed it to Galvin, who caught it in the air. “No wonder I couldn’t open my locker.”