Think Twice

Chapter Six

A few hours later, the familiar sight of the Las Vegas Strip came into view as Win’s jet landed at what was now called Harry Reid International Airport. The landing was smooth enough to have been choreographed by the Four Tops. They taxied to a stop. Myron and Win walked off the plane. Two black Mercedes-Maybach GLS SUVs waited on the tarmac. One would take Win and his golf clubs to the Shadow Creek golf course. Win was a scratch golfer, a member of Merion, Pine Valley, Seminole, Winged Foot, and Adiona Island. If you know, you know. Win came from a long line of golfers. His ancestors stepped off the Mayflower with top-of-the-line golf clubs and desirable tee times.

The other SUV would take Myron to Donna Kravat’s residence.

“Where are we staying?” Myron asked.

“The Wynn. Know why?”

“Because it’s a good hotel in the heart of the Strip?”

“Yes, but also the alliteration. Win at the Wynn.”

“Oh boy.”

Myron’s ride to the housing development at Kyle Canyon took half an hour. He hadn’t called first, but Win had sent a local private investigator to make sure that Jord Kravat’s mother, Donna, would be home. According to the investigator, Donna was now at the condo pool in a chaise lounge by the deep end, wearing a bright pink bikini. Myron’s preconceived stupidity told him that anyone with a full-grown adult child had to look a certain age. Yep, sexist of him. Donna Kravat was probably Myron’s age, maybe a few years older, and looked fantastic. No doubt that there had been what Myron’s mother euphemistically called “work done,” but so what? That was common in this era and especially around this pool. Half of Myron’s high school class in Livingston had nose jobs. Some people dye their hair. Some people do whatever. Let it go, people. Do what you want. Myron himself had gotten cosmetic veneers on his teeth a few years ago. Who was he to judge?

That said, the “work” here was well done. Donna Kravat was a wee bit faux curvy, but again, so what?

“Donna Kravat?”

She lowered her sunglasses. “I know you.”

“I don’t think we’ve met. My name is—”

“Myron Bolitar,” she said. “You played ball at Duke.”

It was rare people remembered him from his playing days anymore. “Did someone tell you I was coming?”

“No,” Donna said. “But I was a senior at Wake Forest when you were a freshman at Duke. Rode the bench for the women’s team back in the day.” She gave him a big smile. Yep, she had veneers too. “You were a great player.”

“Thanks.”

Her smile dropped. “When you hurt your knee, I mean, so early in your career...”

“It was a long time ago,” Myron said.

“Still,” she said. Donna Kravat took off her sunglasses and sat up. “So okay I’m super-curious. Why does Myron Bolitar want to see me?”

They were there now. Myron had rehearsed various ways to begin the conversation, but how do you come out of nowhere to ask a mother about her murdered son?

Donna Kravat saw it and nodded. “It’s about Jordan.”

“Yes. If you’d rather go someplace more private—”

“Oh, I’d love to go someplace private,” she said, forcing up a hint of a double entendre to mask something that couldn’t be masked. “But we can talk here. My son never leaves me, you know. Not for a second. His murder is my constant companion. If you try to push it away, it just waits and jumps out when you’re not ready. So Jordan is always right here, right next to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Myron said.

She picked up her phone. Maybe to answer a text. Maybe to give herself a moment. She typed deliberately. Myron stayed silent. Still looking at her phone, Donna Kravat paused, then asked, “Did you know my son?”

“No. This is about a friend of his.”

She nodded. “Bo.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“It’s not exactly a brilliant deduction on my part. He’s the only friend who vanished after Jordan’s murder. Do you know where he is?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I haven’t seen him since he testified against Jord’s killer. Why are you looking for him?”

Myron wondered how to answer that and settled for, “It’s a long story.”

“Is this where I say I’ve got all the time in the world?”

“After I was injured, I became a lawyer and a sports agent.”

“I think I read something about that. You were on the cover of Sports Illustrated after you got hurt. With your knee in a cast or something. They thought you might make a comeback.”

“Didn’t work out. Anyway, this involves one of my clients, so I have to keep it confidential.”

“Attorney-client privilege,” she said.

“Yes. If that’s okay.” Myron tried to keep the conversation going. “Were Bo and your son close?”

“They were a couple, if that’s what you’re asking. They met through me, actually. I owned a bar.”

“This would be Man United?”

“Good name, right?”

“Very.”

“I spent a semester in England my junior year at Wake Forest. Became a big fan of Manchester United. That’s how I thought up the name. Did you do that at Duke?”

“A semester abroad?”

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t. Basketball.”

“Right, of course. Like I said, I was more a bench warmer. Anyway, my son told me he was gay when he was fifteen, though it was hardly a surprise. I wanted to be supportive of his choices, and I thought I could make a profit with the club. But I was wrong on both counts.”

“How so?”

“We started great. I mean, Man United was a big hit. And it was fun. Really. And I tried to keep it clean. Sure, some of the dancers engaged in private deals. Made side money. That’s going to happen.”

“You mean prostitution?”

“Right, whatever. But then the mob came in. They came in hard. They wanted a cut of everything. They started pressing the guys to do more. We tried to stand up to them but...”

“And Joey Turant was one of those mobsters?”

“He and his family, yes.” She shook her head and looked off. “Jordan didn’t get how dangerous the Turants were. I told him to back off. But that wasn’t his personality.”

“I’m sorry.”

She nodded, took that in, gave herself a second. “Do you want to know where I think Bo is?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I think he’s buried somewhere out in the desert. I think they killed him too.”

Myron considered that. Donna studied his face.

“You don’t agree,” she said.

“I don’t know.”

“But?”

“But I think Bo’s alive.”

“Why?”

Myron said nothing.

“The attorney-client privilege again?”

“Do you know Bo’s real name?” Myron asked.

Now it was Donna Kravat who stayed quiet.

“Donna?”

“You seem like a good guy,” she said. “But I don’t really know you. I don’t know why you’re here.”

“I told you.”

“You found something out about Bo, and now you’re looking for him. Like I said before, I think he’s buried in the desert somewhere. But if he’s not, if he’s on the run, maybe a guy like you is part of the reason why.”

“It’s not. I want to help.”

Her face closed down. She put the sunglasses back on and lay back. Myron had to find a way to get her to speak to him again.

“You’re a basketball fan,” he said.

She didn’t reply.

“So you remember Greg Downing, right?”

That got her attention. She lowered the sunglasses and looked over the rims at him. “Of course. I even saw you two go head-to-head in college. I was sorry to hear he died so young. I was a fan.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“Greg Downing? No.”

“Did your son ever mention him?”

“No, never.” She sat all the way back up now. “How would Jordan have been connected to Greg Downing?”

“Bo may have been friends with Greg.”

“What? When?”

She met Myron’s eye. Myron just nodded.

“I don’t understand. You think Bo and Greg Downing...”

“I don’t know. It’s why I’m here. I need to find Bo. Please, Donna. What was Bo’s real name?”

“No, sorry, that’s not how that works,” she said. “You come here unannounced. You ask about my murdered son. What aren’t you telling me?”

“There’s nothing to tell right now,” Myron said. “If I learn anything, I promise to tell you. Please.”

She stood now and slipped into a cover-up. She put her hands on her hips and let loose a big sigh. “He claimed his real name was Brian Connors.”

“Claimed?”

“He wouldn’t give me a Social Security number or anything. It was all off the books. So I don’t know if it’s real or not.”

“Did he say where he was from?”

“Somewhere in Oklahoma.”

“Do you know if he has any family?”

“He was close to his mother. Her name is Grace.”

“Father? Siblings?”

“The parents were divorced a long time. The father’s dead. There may be a brother, I’m not sure. Bo was very secretive about his past. I don’t know why.” She moved closer to him. “How long are you in town?”

“Probably just overnight.”

“Do you want to have dinner with me?”

Myron hesitated. She held his eye and boy, it seemed like a come-on, but he really wasn’t sure. He raised his left hand feebly, pointed to his ring, and cringingly said, “I’m married.”

“Me too.”

And then, because Myron was smooth, he said, “Oh.”

“But you know what they say: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“Yeah,” Myron said. Then: “That’s not really my style.”

“Then how about as two former ACC athletes? I think there’s more we should discuss. But I can’t right now. Where are you staying?”

“The Wynn.”

“I’ll meet you at Mizumi. Tonight. Eight o’clock.”