Free Crazy Blood by T. Jefferson Parker

with Mike Cook, his closest friend and longtime Mammoth Mountain course setter, though not a Racing Committee member.
    â€œNice,” said Jacobie Bradford, setting his bylaws on the immense planed and shellacked table. “But back to business, Mr. Carson—we really don’t think that Gargantua banners at the start and finish lines for the Gargantua Mammoth Cup courses, and a smattering of verticals around town, would be unsightly at all.”
    â€œYou said forty-six vertical banners, which is every streetlamp in town,” said Adam. “And I didn’t say ‘unsightly’; I said ‘piggish.’”
    Jacobie chuckled. “Right. But Mammoth Lakes is spread out over—”
    â€œI know how big my town is.”
    â€œExactly. So with only forty-six eight-by-three verticals to hang, it’s not like people will feel overwhelmed by them. The banners have full color Mammoth-specific nature scenes—skiing and boarding, cycling and hiking, all that. Not one pig! Each will have our Gargantua logo—of course—tastefully positioned.”
    â€œAn ape’s face,” Diane Dimeo noted.
    â€œBut you should see what the design team has come up with.” Jacobie said. He was thirtysomething, his head shinily shaven, and he sported a trim Vandyke.
    Adam wondered what this generation of men had done with their hair. Traded it for smart phones? He raised his binoculars and watched a snowboarder wipe out way down on Ricochet. One second the boarder was carving downhill and the next he was a tumbleweed of snow.
    â€œGrandpa? Sir?” asked Brandon. “I have to say I think we’re getting a lot of buck from Gargantua. And I want them to get plenty of bang back.”
    Adam lowered the field glasses and considered several responses, but the moment passed.
    â€œI think Mr. Carson is right to be skeptical,” said Diane. Adam looked at her. She was slight, dressed all in black, with thin sheets of shiny white hair and dark brown eyes. He considered himself a good guesser of age, but couldn’t get better than thirty to forty-five on Diane.
    â€œBecause Vault Sports wants to hang verticals banners, too?” asked Jacobie.
    â€œYes, we do. And because Vault doesn’t want Mammoth Lakes to look like just another one of your many identical, metastatic coffee shops.”
    â€œMetastatic? As in cancerous? Really, Diane ? I’m sorry we succeed so well. And employ twenty-six thousand people nationwide. Offer decent pay, good benefits, and donate millions of dollars a year to charity. God, am I so very sorry.”
    Diane set her soft drink on an end table and gave Adam a frank stare. “I still think forty-six vertical banners that advertise one company is overkill. We’re sponsors here, not invaders. Mr. Carson, I ask you to allot the forty-six lamppost displays more equally among the three of us.”
    â€œBut our patronage isn’t equal,” said Jacobie. “And it’s not up to Mr. Carson anyway. It’s up to his friends on the town council.”
    â€œThey do whatever he tells them to,” said Brandon.
    Adam held his grandson-in-law with a look that silenced the room. Brandon smiled in discomfort. “Claude?”
    â€œOf course it is the decision of the city,” said the Frenchman. “We at Chamonix believe in winter sports. They are our life. Chamonix also believes in Mammoth Mountain. We will continue to sponsor young athletes here. We will continue to offer our best products at competitive prices in select Mammoth stores. We always advertise on the Mammoth TV channel. Chamonix is not made of money, but of passion.”
    â€œI suggest twenty-six banners for Gargantua and ten each for Vault and Chamonix,” said Adam.
    â€œThat’s completely disproportionate, sir,” said Jacobie. He threw open his arms, raised his shoulders, and scrunched his head down.
    â€œShare the mountain,” said