Robert B. Parker’s Damned If You Do

45

Vinnie Morris had agreed to meet Jesse at the Oakwood Lanes, a bowling alley located in Dedham.

They sat at a table near the bar, in the back, overlooking the alleys. It was late afternoon, and the place was half empty. The familiar sound of sixteen-pound spheres of Lucite speeding down highly polished wooden lanes and then slamming into three-pound, six-ounce maplewood tenpins was familiar and welcome. They each nursed a Coors draft.

“You ever bowl anymore,” Jesse said.

“Not since high school.”

“Me either.”

“I’m occasionally tempted, though.”

“But you don’t succumb.”

“No.”

“Me, too. I wonder why.”

“Seems irrelevant.”

“You ever play pool?”

“Not anymore.”

“Me neither,” Jesse said.

“Also seems irrelevant.”

“The games of our youth.”

“Irrelevant,” Vinnie said. “Did you ask me here so that we could mourn the past or was there something specific you had in mind?”

Jesse sighed.

Then he said, “Can you please give me the straight scoop as to what exactly is going on.”

“How about you tell me what you think is going on and I’ll either confirm or deny it.”

Jesse took a sip of his Coors.

“Thomas versus Nelly,” Jesse said. “World War Three?”

“Nowhere near,” Vinnie said.

Jesse looked at him.

“The smart money is on Nelly,” Vinnie said. “Kid’s a player. He’s got Thomas on the ropes. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Before?”

“We live in an insular universe, Jesse. The right hand always knows what the left hand is doing. This so-called turf war is already over. Thomas just doesn’t know it yet.”

“When?”

“When will he know it?”

“Yes.”

“Soon enough.”

“And then?”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

“Gino?”

“Always works in mysterious ways.”

“He’s behind this?”

Vinnie didn’t say anything.

“What do you advise?”

“Buy Google,” Vinnie said.

He briefly placed his hand on Jesse’s shoulder as he left.