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.

"Thanks for coming so quickly," Win said to him.

"Thank you for sending the plane. Boy, that was a treat."

"Was everything on board to your liking?"

"It was great, yeah. I never flew private before. Thank you again."

"It was my pleasure," Win said. He spread his arm to where Myron now stood. "Do you know Myron Bolitar?"

Spark started toward him. "We've never met, but my old boss really admired you, Mr. Bolitar."

"Call me Myron."

Myron shook Spark's gigantic hand. It was like shaking hands with a throw pillow. "And Greg spoke highly of you too," Myron said.

"Which is why you're here," Win said. "Let me just give you some quick background before I leave you two alone. The NBA is hoping to open a Las Vegas franchise. I'll be the majority owner. Myron will be the team's president and general manager. We are now in the process of interviewing coaching candidates." Win looked toward Myron. "Did I forget anything?"

"Not that I can think of," Myron said.

"Then I'll leave you two to it. I promised the influencers I'd take them clubbing."

When Win first left the room, both Myron and Spark just stood there. The room felt suddenly quiet and empty without Win. Win belonged in a room like this. Myron and Spark didn't.

"Have a seat," Myron said.

He did. Myron sat where Win had left the file with the photograph. Myron opened it and saw other sheets of paper. "Your résumé is impressive," Myron said.

Spark's normally ruddy complexion turned a dark shade of aw-shucks red. He tried to make himself comfortable on the sofa, but he was the kind of big where everything around him looked too small for him. "Can I just say something before we start?"

"Of course."

"I don't want to come across as a kiss-ass, but I remember the way you dominated the Final Four your senior year. I was a kid then, just starting to play. You were one of the coolest players I'd ever seen."

Myron didn't know what to say to that, so he went with "Thank you." Then to get to the matter at hand: "It says here you worked three seasons under Greg Downing."

"That's right. All in Milwaukee."

"What was that like?"

"Working with Coach Downing? I learned a lot. No one was better at scouting, at planning, at coming up with a game plan than Coach Downing. He was meticulous in his preparation. A real details guy."

Myron nodded, remembering that that was how Greg had been on the court—the smartest and most prepared player he had ever seen. He could anticipate every play, every pass, every defense, every offensive set. He knew his opponents' strengths and weaknesses and how to counter and exploit them.

"But," Spark continued, "he also knew what buttons to push to get the maximum out of each player. Some guys needed to be coddled, some needed to be left alone, some needed tough love. Coach Downing understood that."

Okay, Myron thought, enough with this uncomfortable setup.

"Do you mind if we start with a few basics?" Myron asked.

"Shoot."

"What's your family situation?"

"I'm married to Kendra. We met at Oklahoma State. She works as a dental hygienist. We have two boys, Liam and Joshua. Liam is eight, Joshua is six. Right now we live outside of Boston. But I already talked to Kendra and we'd be more than willing to move out here. This is an exciting opportunity for me. She gets that."

Myron could see the hope in the man's eyes, and it was crushing. This had been Win's idea. Myron tried to take comfort in that, but it felt like a cop-out. He was participating, wasn't he? He was the one asking the questions. He was the one who was now perpetuating the lie.

It was time to move it along.

"Any other family?"

The blinks gave him away. The smile stayed on Spark's face, but it no longer reached his eyes. "Family?"

"Mother, father, siblings?"

He cleared his throat. "My father died a few years back."

"I'm sorry."

"We weren't particularly close. My mom's alive."

"Where does she live?"

The question slowed him down. "She travels a lot. Right now, I think she's in Rome, maybe Paris."

They were getting close to it now. "Any siblings?"

"No."

Just like that. Fast. No hesitation. He had been expecting the question by now, and he was ready with his answer.

Myron feigned going through the file. "It says here you have a younger brother. Brian."

"He's…"

Myron waited.

"It's not relevant. He hasn't been a part of my life in a long time."

"I'm sorry. Where does he live?"

"Is it okay if we don't talk about it?"

"Well, it's not really my decision. This is a new franchise. And it's in, let's face it, Sin City. There will be a ton of scrutiny, and the league is obviously nervous about that. We need to fully vet any possible employees. If there is any hint of scandal—"

"There isn't."

"So where is your brother, Spark?"

The smile fled.

"He lived in this city under the name of Bo Storm," Myron said, dropping the pretense. "You know this. His boyfriend was murdered. No one has seen him since."

"Damn." Spark stared at Myron and slowly deflated. "I should have known."

Myron said nothing.

"There's no team coming to Vegas, is there?"

"No," Myron said. "There's not."

Spark shook his head. "Dick move."

Hard to argue.

Spark put his hands on his knees and pushed himself into a standing position. The man took up a lot of space. "Is your friend going to give me a ride back? I missed Liam's game for this. I'm his AAU coach too."

"I don't mean your brother any harm."

Tears welled up in the big man's eyes. "I'd like to leave now."

"I really need to talk to him."

"You could have just called and asked. You didn't have to drag my ass across the country and give me all this hope."

"I'm sorry about that. I really am."

"I could have told you on the phone. I haven't seen him in years. I don't know where he is."

"No idea at all?"

"I have to go now. Can you get me back home or do I need to book a flight?"

"Win will fly you back. No problem. When was the last time you heard from your brother?"

"Like I said, we hadn't been close in a long time. You want to know the truth? I think he's dead."

"How about your mother?"

"What about my mother?"

"Where is she? Can I talk to her?"

Spark came over at the mention of his mother. He loomed over Myron, his eyes on fire. "My mother doesn't know anything. You stay away from her. You understand?"

Myron made his voice firm. "Take a step back, Spark."

"I'm telling you to leave her alone."

"How about Greg Downing?"

That confused him. "What about him?"

"Do you know where he is?"

"He's dead. But you know that. I'm leaving now."

Myron kept the eye contact. He let Spark break it. Spark headed for the door. When he reached it, Myron called out, "Spark?"

He turned back.

"I'm sorry. Really. But I also think you're lying to me."