“There’s one on his watch too.”
Joey the Toe shook his head. “How did my morons miss that?”
“There was also the car.”
“What about it?”
“Your guys drove my friend in the limo driver’s SUV. The limo company tracks all its cars.”
“To make sure none of the drivers takes a little side action,” Joey noted with an approving nod. “Smart. So what do you want?”
Win leaned back and steepled his fingers. “You’re searching for Bo Storm.”
“Duh.”
“I can hurt you. You can hurt me. Neither of us needs the headache. So let me explain the situation: We will find Bo Storm. And when we do, we will notify you.”
Joey the Toe gave him the stink eye. “Notify me.”
Win said nothing.
“Why do you want to find him?” Joey asked.
“He may be connected to another murder.”
“Really?” Joey the Toe found that amusing. “Interesting, eh? Then this Jordan Kravat kid, he isn’t the only one Bo murdered? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Joey the Toe leaned back and stroked his beard. “This other murder,” he said. “Do the cops like someone other than Bo for it?”
The question caught Win off guard. He considered how to answer the question and decided to go with the truth. “Yes. How did you know?”
“And let me guess. Someone you know — a friend maybe — is about to go down for it?”
“More of a client than a friend,” Win said. “But yes.”
Joey smiled.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t murder Jordan Kravat. Yeah, yeah, I know you hear that all the time, but I got no reason to lie to you, do I?”
“You don’t.”
“I got framed. This other murder you’re talking about, your client, friend, whatever, he’s also being framed. Like me. What kind of evidence do they got on him? DNA? Fingerprints?”
“DNA.”
Joey shook his head with a grin. “Hot damn. He’s done it again.”
Chapter Ten
Win’s penthouse suite at the Wynn wasn’t as palatial as one might think. Oh, it was pretty fantastic and it had the mirror on the ceiling and all of that, but the biggest ones were more homes near the golf courses and Win didn’t like that. He wanted to be inside, where the action is.
“I have a lead,” Win said to Myron.
“Oh?”
“Correction: Esperanza found the lead. I came up with an inspired idea with what to do with the lead.”
“Teamwork makes the dream work.”
Win blanched. “Never say that again.”
“Right, my bad. The lead?”
“Esperanza didn’t find anything on your Brian Connors.”
“That’s the lead?”
“Does that sound like a lead? As you know, she ran that image search for our friend Bo-Storm-né-Brian-Connors over the last five years.”
“And nothing came up.”
“So she ran it the other direction.”
“Going further backward in time?”
“Yes.”
“So photos more than five years old.”
“This one is more than ten. Here.”
Win handed Myron an 8 × 10 glossy photograph. Myron looked at it. He felt his pulse pick up a step.
“Whoa.”
“Always a way with words.”
There were two people in the photograph. One was a very young Bo Storm. Myron would guess that he was sixteen, maybe seventeen. He wore a tank top. His muscles were big but not as defined as they would later be. Bo was tall from what Myron could see. Myron was six four and he’d guess that Bo was about the same.
The other man in the photograph made Bo look small.
The other man was enormous — six nine, maybe six ten, and two hundred seventy pounds minimum. He wore an Oklahoma State basketball uniform. Myron remembered him. Good rebounder, good defender, good three-point jumper for a guy his size.
“Spark Konners,” Myron said. “With a K.”
“Correct.”
Myron looked over at Win. “Spark worked as an assistant coach under Greg in Milwaukee.”
“Again correct. What else do you know about him?”
“He never made it to the NBA — I think maybe Spark played a year or two in Italy or Spain — but I remember Greg saying the kid was smart. Had a big future in coaching. So Bo is...?”
“Brian Konners,” Win said. “Spark’s younger brother. Esperanza did a background check. There is no record of Bo or Brian anywhere over the past five years — no credit cards, no bank accounts, nothing.”
“What the hell, Win?”
“It is perplexing.”
“So maybe Bo and Greg didn’t meet online by chance.”
“Seems unlikely.”
“They met through Greg’s assistant coach Spark Konners.” Myron looked up. “I wonder whether Spark invited his brother to that game in Phoenix. That’s probably where Bo-Brian and Greg met.”
“Could be.”
“We need to talk to Spark.”
“We do indeed.”
Myron thought about it. “After Greg quit coaching, Milwaukee cleaned house, so I know Spark isn’t working there anymore.”
“Esperanza already tracked him down. Spark Konners is plying his trade as an assistant coach at Amherst College.”
“Big step down.” Myron made a face. “Isn’t Amherst a Division 3 school?”
“It’s hard to stay on top.”
“We have to talk to him.”
Win smiled. “Remember I said that Esperanza came up with a lead?”
“And you came up with an inspired idea off it. I remember.”
“Spark Konners just arrived in the lobby. He’s on his way up.”
“He’s here? Wait, how?”
“I sent a plane for him.”
“And he got on just like that?”
“He may be under the impression that the NBA is creating a franchise in Las Vegas and that he may be in line to coach for them.”
Myron stared at Win. “Wow.”
“Right? So the impetuous owner of this new franchise sent a plane for him.”
“You’re the owner?”
“The impetuous owner,” Win corrected. Then: “I always wanted to own a basketball franchise.”
“You don’t like pro basketball.”
“Too much fouling,” Win said. “Too many time-outs. It’s so boring after a while. You know what would make the game more exciting?”
“You being one of the teams’ impetuous owners?”
“Yes, that, but also—” The doorbell sounded. “He’s here. I’ll tell you my ideas later.”
“Can’t wait.”
Win called out, “Ladies.”
Three modelesque women appeared from the other room. They all worked the same look — shiny, sleek, jet-black hair perfectly transitioning to shiny, sleek, jet-black dresses. They pouted and strutted in perfect, confident unison, as though they’d rehearsed this.
“Why are they here?” Myron asked.
“For appearances.”
“I’m not following.”
“They’re all hot social media influencers with huge followings. And you know who would hang out with hot social media influencers with huge followings?”
Myron saw where this was going. “An impetuous owner?”
Win smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”
When Win opened the door, Spark filled the doorway like a solar eclipse. The huge man had to bend his way into the room. He gave Win a firm handshake.
“Okay, ladies, time to go,” Win said. “Let the boys have some space to talk.”
The influencers tee-heed and filed out, giving Spark Konners little waves as they did. Spark waved back with an unsure smile on his face. He wore an ill-fitted dark blue suit with a dark blue tie that was too short on him.
Win introduced himself to the big man. Spark nodded, smiled, and nervously wrung his hands. Perspiration dotted his brow.