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

Corruption too was a terrible addiction, but where were the support groups?
    In this case TruPro would quickly realize that it needed to get Brenda away from its competition. So it started applying pressure. It put the screws to her manager—her father—and then moved on to Brenda herself. It was a classic scare tactic. But that scenario was not without problems. The phone call that mentioned Brenda’s mother, for example—how did that fit in?
    The coach blew the whistle ending practice. She gathered her players around, reminded them that they needed to be back in two hours for the second session, thanked them for their hustle, dismissed them with a clap.
    Myron waited for Brenda to shower and get dressed. It didn’t take her long. She came out in a long red T-shirt and black jeans, her hair still wet.
    “Did Mabel know anything?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Has she heard from Dad?”
    Myron nodded. “She says he’s on the run. Two mencame to her house looking for him. They roughed her up a bit.”
    “My God, is she okay?”
    “Yes.”
    She shook her head. “What’s he on the run from?”
    “Mabel doesn’t know.”
    Brenda looked at him, waited a beat. “What else?” she said.
    Myron cleared his throat. “Nothing that can’t wait.”
    She kept looking at him. Myron turned and headed for his car. Brenda followed.
    “So where we going?” she asked.
    “I thought we’d stop by St. Barnabas and talk to your father’s supervisor.”
    She caught up to him. “You think he knows something?”
    “Highly doubtful. But this is what I do. I go poking around and hope something stirs.”
    They reached the car. Myron unlocked the doors, and they both got in.
    “I should be paying you for your time,” she said.
    “I’m not a private investigator, Brenda. I don’t work by the hour.”
    “Still. I should be paying you.”
    “Part of client recruitment,” Myron said.
    “You want to represent me?”
    “Yes.”
    “You haven’t made much of a sales pitch or applied any pressure.”
    “If I had,” he said, “would it have worked?”
    “No.”
    Myron nodded and started up the car.
    “Okay,” she said. “We’ve got a few minutes. Tell me why I should choose you and not one of the big boys. Personal service?”
    “Depends on your definition of personal services. If you mean someone always following you around with lips firmly planted on your buttocks, then no, the big boys are better at puckering. They have the staff for it.”
    “So what does Myron Bolitar offer? A little tongue with those lips?”
    He smiled. “A total package designed to maximize your assets while allowing room for integrity and a personal life.”
    She nodded. “What a crock.”
    “Yeah, but it sounds good. In truth, MB SportsReps is a three-prong system. Prong one is earning money. I’m in charge of negotiating all contracts. I will continually seek out new endorsement deals for you and whenever possible get a bidding war going for your services. You’ll make decent money playing for the WPBA, but you’ll make a hell of a lot more on endorsements. You got a lot of pluses in that department.”
    “Such as?”
    “Three things off the top of my head. One, you’re the best female player in the country. Two, you’re studying to be a doctor—a pediatrician, no less—so we can play up the whole role model thing. And three, you’re not hard on the eyes.”
    “You forgot one.”
    “What?”
    “Four, that perennial white man favorite: well spoken.You ever notice that no one ever describes a white athlete as well spoken?”
    “As a matter of fact, I have. It’s why I left it off the list. But the truth is, it helps. I’m not going to get into a debate on Ebonics and the like, but if you are what is commonly referred to as well spoken, it adds revenue. Simple as that.”
    She nodded. “Go on.”
    “In your case we need to design a strategy. Clearly you would have tremendous appeal to clothing and sneaker companies. But food