Read Online Life's Work by Jonathan Valin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Valin
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down -three weeks, mind you- Parks came in to talk to me. He told me he was broke, and asked if I could arrange an interest-free loan for him. Now, I'd just got done signing a bonus check with his name on it for over one hunded fifty thousand dollars. I said to him, 'How the hell could you be broke, Bill?' You know what he told me? He'd signed the entire bonus over to Kaplan. Not only that, but Kaplan got a healthy bite out of his first year's salary to boot. And that, my friend, is why Bill Parks wants to tear up the deal his agent blackmailed us into and renegotiate now. To get back to even." Petrie laughed with disgust. "The hilarious part is that Kaplan will probably do the negotiating again. And I'm not about to sit around and get raped by that son-of-a-bitch a second time. This time we're going to talk directly to Bill. And if Kaplan tries to pressure us through the media again, we'll pressure back. This is one we're not going to lose. A man's word has got to mean something, even if he is a fucking football hero."
"Kaplan gets that big a bite of Parks's contract?" I said.
"Fifteen percent, right off the top. But even if Kaplan hadn't soaked him for a couple hundred grand, somebody else would have. Somebody is always ready to spend a man like Bill Parks's money."
"Couldn't you do something about that?"
"Like what?" Petrie said. "Talk him out of it? Who are you going to listen to? The guy that tells you to plan ahead because someday the money's going to dry up? Or the guy who tells you that they can't pay you enough? That management is just sitting back and raking in the dough?"
I looked around the room. "Seems like you're doing all right."
"I make a good living," he said. "I don't apologize for that. But so do they. Answer me this, Stoner -how much is enough? How much do you have to pay in order to pay someone what he's worth? Can you put a dollar figure on it?"
"Whatever the market will bear, I guess."
"We offered Parks three hundred thousand dollars a year, plus incentives, for five years. Is that enough? A million and a half dollars for playing a fucking game that he'd play even if nobody paid him a dime? Should I be penalized because he doesn't have sense enough to think for himself? Because he can't run his own life? Or because he has 'personal' problems, and a thief for an agent?"
"I suppose not," I said.
Petrie got off the stool and walked back over to the machines. "Look, I got things to do tonight," he said, as he boosted himself onto a chinning bar. "I gave you the facts. Are you going to stay on the case, or what?"
"I'll stick," I told him. "But I'm still not going to involve myself in a drug case. If I find out that Bill does have a nose problem, I'm going to throw him back to you."
"Fair enough," Petrie said and went on with his dips.
I walked back upstairs and showed myself out.
IX
I had dinner at In The Wood in Clifton and spent a couple of hours listening to Katie Laur sing jazz at Arnold's on Eighth Street. Around nine, I drove down to the Waterhole to find Laurel Jones and try to weasel the name of Parks's girlfriend out of her.
There was a new doorman standing beneath the canopied entryway of the club. Which was probably a break for me. He didn't look any different from the other one, right down to the red suit and the billycock hat. As I walked up to him, I caught a whiff of cheap cologne coming off his mottled face, a smell like rotten bananas in a straw basket. I must have winced a little, because he smiled the way people do when they think they've embarrassed themselves but aren't sure how they've done it.
"You waiting for valet parking?" he said, as if he thought that that was why I'd given him the funny look.
I shook my head.
"'Cause we don't have valet service."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not waiting for it."
He nodded uncertainly.
"Actually," I said, "I'm looking for a friend, a girl named Laurel Jones. Do you know her?"
"They're a lot of girls in there, mister," he
"Kaplan gets that big a bite of Parks's contract?" I said.
"Fifteen percent, right off the top. But even if Kaplan hadn't soaked him for a couple hundred grand, somebody else would have. Somebody is always ready to spend a man like Bill Parks's money."
"Couldn't you do something about that?"
"Like what?" Petrie said. "Talk him out of it? Who are you going to listen to? The guy that tells you to plan ahead because someday the money's going to dry up? Or the guy who tells you that they can't pay you enough? That management is just sitting back and raking in the dough?"
I looked around the room. "Seems like you're doing all right."
"I make a good living," he said. "I don't apologize for that. But so do they. Answer me this, Stoner -how much is enough? How much do you have to pay in order to pay someone what he's worth? Can you put a dollar figure on it?"
"Whatever the market will bear, I guess."
"We offered Parks three hundred thousand dollars a year, plus incentives, for five years. Is that enough? A million and a half dollars for playing a fucking game that he'd play even if nobody paid him a dime? Should I be penalized because he doesn't have sense enough to think for himself? Because he can't run his own life? Or because he has 'personal' problems, and a thief for an agent?"
"I suppose not," I said.
Petrie got off the stool and walked back over to the machines. "Look, I got things to do tonight," he said, as he boosted himself onto a chinning bar. "I gave you the facts. Are you going to stay on the case, or what?"
"I'll stick," I told him. "But I'm still not going to involve myself in a drug case. If I find out that Bill does have a nose problem, I'm going to throw him back to you."
"Fair enough," Petrie said and went on with his dips.
I walked back upstairs and showed myself out.
IX
I had dinner at In The Wood in Clifton and spent a couple of hours listening to Katie Laur sing jazz at Arnold's on Eighth Street. Around nine, I drove down to the Waterhole to find Laurel Jones and try to weasel the name of Parks's girlfriend out of her.
There was a new doorman standing beneath the canopied entryway of the club. Which was probably a break for me. He didn't look any different from the other one, right down to the red suit and the billycock hat. As I walked up to him, I caught a whiff of cheap cologne coming off his mottled face, a smell like rotten bananas in a straw basket. I must have winced a little, because he smiled the way people do when they think they've embarrassed themselves but aren't sure how they've done it.
"You waiting for valet parking?" he said, as if he thought that that was why I'd given him the funny look.
I shook my head.
"'Cause we don't have valet service."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not waiting for it."
He nodded uncertainly.
"Actually," I said, "I'm looking for a friend, a girl named Laurel Jones. Do you know her?"
"They're a lot of girls in there, mister," he
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