One False Move: A Myron Bolitar Novel

Free One False Move: A Myron Bolitar Novel by Harlan Coben

Book: One False Move: A Myron Bolitar Novel by Harlan Coben Read Free Book Online
Authors: Harlan Coben
her.”
    “And you think someone wants to do that?”
    “Are you kidding? Everybody wants to do that. Nike, Converse, Reebok, whoever. It’s the nature of the beast. If the sneaker were on the other foot, so to speak, I would want the same thing. It’s called capitalism. It’s Economics one-oh-one. But this is different, Myron. Have you heard of the PWBL?”
    “No.”
    “You aren’t supposed to. Yet. It stands for the Professional Women’s Basketball League.”
    Myron sat up a bit. “A second women’s basketball league?”
    Norm nodded. “They want to start up next year.”
    On the court Brenda got the ball and drove hard baseline. A player jumped up to block the shot. Brenda pump-faked, glided under the basket, and made a reverse layup. Improvised ballet.
    “Let me guess,” Myron said. “This other league. It’s being set up by TruPro.”
    “How did you know that?”
    Myron shrugged. Things were beginning to click.
    “Look, Myron, it’s like I said before: Women’s basketball is a tough sell. I’m promoting it a ton of different ways—to sports nuts, women eighteen to thirty-five, families who want something more genteel, fans who want more access to athletes—but at the end of the day there is one problem that this league will never overcome.”
    “What’s that?”
    Again Norm motioned to the court below them. “They’re not as good as the men. I’m not being a chauvinist here. It’s a fact. The men are better. The best player on this team could never compete against the worst player in the NBA. And when people watch professional sports, they want to watch the best. I’m not saying that the problem destroys us. I think we can build a nice fan base. But we have to be realistic.”
    Myron massaged his face with his hands. He felt a headache coming on. TruPro wanted to start a women’s basketball league. It made sense. Sports agencies were moving in that direction, aiming to corner markets. IMG, one of the world’s biggest agencies, ran entire golf events. If you can own an event or run a league, you can make money a dozen different ways—not to mention how many clients you’d pick up. If a young golfer, for example, wanted to qualify for the big moneymaking IMG events, wouldn’t he naturally want to have IMG as his sports rep?
    “Myron?”
    “Yes, Norm.”
    “Do you know this TruPro well?”
    Myron nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
    “I got hemorrhoids older than this kid they’re making league commissioner. You should see him. He comes up to me and shakes my hand and gives me this icy smile. Then he tells me they’re going to wipe me out. Just like that. Hello, I’m going to wipe you off the face of the earth.” Norm looked at Myron. “Are they, you know, connected?” He bent his nose with his index fingers in case Myron did not get the drift.
    “Oh, yeah,” Myron said again. Then he added, “Very.”
    “Great. Just great.”
    “So what do you want to do, Norm?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t run and hide—I had enough of that in my life—but if I’m putting these girls in danger—”
    “Forget they’re women.”
    “What?”
    “Pretend it’s a men’s league.”
    “What, you think this is about sex? I wouldn’t want men in danger either, okay?”
    “Okay,” Myron said. “Has TruPro said anything else to you?”
    “No.”
    “No threats, nothing?”
    “Just this kid and his wipeout stuff. But don’t you think they’re probably the ones making the threats?”
    It made sense, Myron guessed. Old gangsters had indeed moved into more legitimate enterprises—why limit yourself to prostitution and drugs and loan sharking when there were so many other ways to turn a buck?—but even with the best of intentions, it never worked out. Guys like the Aches couldn’t help themselves really. They’d start out legit, but once things got the slightest bit tough, once they lost out on a contract or a sale or something, they reverted back to their old ways. Couldn’t help it.

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