‘Here’s hoping.’

They both heard a basketball bouncing against marble tile. They both scowled.

‘Where’s Laslo?’ Kip asked.

‘Here.’ Laslo was right behind him. He had a sour look on his face. Angie had tapped a favor for a peek at the guy’s sheet. Laslo Zivcovik was small, compact, but he was good with a knife and he had no hesitations about using it. He’d done a stint in jail for slicing up a girl’s face, but the heavy time had come from a knife fight outside a bar. Somebody had ended up at the hospital. Somebody had ended up at the morgue.

And now Laslo was in Atlanta with his knife.

‘All right, gentlemen.’ Kip held the basketball under his arm. He retrieved a black folder from his desk. ‘We’ve got a problem.’

Dale leaned over and helped himself to the bowl of peanuts. ‘Rippy rape another squealer?’

Kip looked irritated, but he didn’t rise to the bait. ‘I don’t know if y’all noticed tonight, but LaDonna was more pissed off than usual.’

Laslo groaned. He sat down in the chair opposite Angie. ‘What’s wound her up this time?’

Angie guessed, ‘Her husband cheating on her?’

Harding said, ‘You get the bank, you take the spank.’

Everyone but Angie laughed. They never got it, these guys. They thought that the wives only wanted money.

She asked Harding, ‘Would you fuck Marcus Rippy for LaDonna’s checkbook?’

‘Ain’t that Kip’s job?’

‘Shut up, asshole.’ Kip was so far in the closet he practically lived in Narnia. ‘Remember where we are.’

Harding nodded. ‘All right. I get it.’

They all got it. 110’s athletes were jet-setting multi-millionaires, but they were also small-town boys whose mamas had dragged them to church every Sunday. Their religion skipped over serial adultery and smoking weed and stopped dead at two guys doing each other.

Laslo said, ‘What’s she up to?’ He meant LaDonna. He was trying to steer things back on track. ‘She find out about the girl?’

‘What girl?’ Harding was paying attention now.

‘Marcus has a little play in Vegas. That’s not it.’ Kip tossed the black file folder onto the couch beside Angie.

She didn’t pick it up.

Kip said, ‘It’s Jo Figaroa.’

Angie’s heart did a weird shake. She had never heard anyone say Jo’s name aloud before. It had a kind of music to it.

Kip said, ‘Polaski?’

She worked to keep her expression neutral as she picked up the folder. The first page had a photograph of Jo. Her hair was shorter. She was holding a small boy in her arms. She was smiling. Angie had never seen her daughter smile before.

Harding brushed peanut dust off his tie. ‘She popping pills again?’

‘She’s an addict?’ Angie felt a razor blade pump through her heart. ‘How long?’

‘Got pulled over in high school for a DWI. They found a stack of scripts in her glove compartment. Valium, Percocet, codeine.’

Angie thumbed through Jo’s background check. She found a juvenile arrest record. There was no mention of illegal prescriptions.

Harding explained, ‘Her dad had some rhythm with the local force. He got it bumped. She did some community service. Everybody got paid.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Talked to the AO.’

The arresting officer. Angie checked the address on the report. Thomaston. A small-town cop would be able to hide evidence, but it would take more than one payout.

‘Whatever. Drugs aren’t her problem.’ Kip had traded his basketball for a BankShot. He twisted off the cap and tossed it into the trashcan. ‘It’s Marcus.’

‘Marcus?’ Angie looked up from the file. She tried to keep her tone conversational, but the thought of Marcus Rippy sniffing around her daughter made her want to rip his face off. ‘What’s he got to do with her?’

‘They grew up together. He’s the reason she met her husband.’ Kip said this as if everyone already knew. ‘Christ, Polaski, don’t you ever read anything?’

‘Not if it has to do with sports.’

Harding explained, ‘Rippy grew up in Griffin. He and Jo had some kind of summer-lovin’ bullshit at junior Bible camp. Fast-forward to his senior year. He was being heavily scouted. Some teams sent players down to woo him. Informal stuff, nothing that wouldn’t pass inspection. That’s when Jo got her head turned.’

Angie said, ‘Reuben Figaroa was one of the players who was sent to woo Marcus.’ She had always wondered how Jo had met her future husband. Now she understood. And she also understood that Harding knew a hell of a lot more about her daughter than she did. It made sense. Kip would’ve wanted Jo seriously vetted before he took on Reuben Figaroa as a client. Wives and girlfriends were always the weakest points.

She asked, ‘Have you asked Marcus if anything is going on between him and Jo?’

There was collective guffawing. No one questioned Marcus Rippy. 110 took a paternal relationship with all of their athletes, with the understanding that at any time, their bratty kids could take their toys and leave.

Angie said, ‘Let me wrap my head around this. Junior high, Marcus and Jo are sweet on each other. Summer’s over. They break up. A few years later, LaDonna hooks up with Marcus. She would’ve known about his previous girlfriends. I don’t see her not getting a full history, even as a teenager.’ She asked, ‘Why is it a problem now?’

‘Because Jo is here, right under her nose,’ Laslo answered. ‘La D seemed okay with it at first. Brought Jo into the group. Threw a party for her. Took her to lunch. But lately she’s been giving Jo the hairy eyeball.’

Angie knew that this would not turn out well for Jo. LaDonna was stone-cold crazy when it came to her husband. Office lore had it that she had taken a shot at a cheerleader who had gotten too close to Marcus at a party. ‘What about Reuben? Is he suspicious?’

‘Who the hell knows? The guy is a sphinx. He’s probably said ten words to me the whole time I’ve known him. None of them “good job” or “thank you”, by the way.’ Kip chugged the rest of his energy drink. His throat worked like a goose being fattened up for pâté. Angie didn’t know which was worse, watching him play with his ball or listening to him gurgle cherry lime BankShot. Ninety percent of his day was spent doing one or the other. By quitting time, his upper lip was like the red on a beach ball.

‘Hey.’ Harding tapped Angie’s shoulder. ‘Nobody calls him Reuben. It’s Fig. Didn’t you read his bio?’

‘Why would I read his bio?’

Kip belched. ‘Because he’s Marcus’s go-to guy. Because he brings in millions of dollars to the firm. Because once his knee gets straightened out, he has the potential to bring in even more.’

Harding asked, ‘What’s wrong with his knee?’

Kip side-eyed Laslo. ‘Nothing’s wrong with his knee.’

Angie closed the file. ‘Okay, what’s the problem we’re all here to solve?’

‘The problem is that Marcus is getting close to Jo again, and LaDonna doesn’t like it, and when LaDonna isn’t happy, ain’t none of us happy.’