Chapter 73
SPANO LOOKED FRESHLY showered and wore a shoulder holster under his ice blue jacket. He was telling the refs about the good time he’d had last night at the Nautilus Hotel across the street. There was no sexier town in America than Miami, not even Vegas.
“The mother was a little hotter than her kid. But the kid was more enthusiastic.”
Richter shrugged and said, “Mr. Spano, wasn’t that, like, incest?”
“Nah,” Spano said. “It was her stepmother. What do you think? I’m a pervert?”
Everyone laughed. The kid with the hair said, “But seriously, Mr. Spano. Back to the assignment we have this week. Tennessee by seventeen points at Oakland? Seventeen points is no walk in the park, and we could be under a lot of pressure here.”
Spano said, “I follow your point, Lance, but you know what they say. Pressure is self-inflicted. You guys are pros. I don’t see a problem.”
A homeless teen with meth mouth and wearing a Speedo and a dirty green shirt came over to Cruz and asked for some spare change for his college fund.
Cruz said, “You’re standing in my sun.”
The kid—already a bum—said, “It’s why they call it spare change, dude. You won’t miss it.”
By the time the fresh kid had pushed off, Spano and the refs had finished their meeting and split up, Spano returning to the art deco hotel across the street, the refs inside a cab heading downtown.
It didn’t matter. Cruz had the whole story. The Titans were favored to mow the Raiders down. The refs had to prevent a massacre and protect that seventeen-point spread. If they did, someone was going to make a whole lot of millions.
Cruz tapped buttons on his iPhone, calling Jack.
“Good news, very good news. I recorded the fix. Do you receive me, captain?”
“Loud and clear. We got it all here. Audio and video. Who’s that in the blue jacket?”
“Victor Spano. Out of Chicago. Marzullo family.”
“Unreal,” Jack said. “Good job, Emilio. Come home. We need you here.”