Who Let the Dog Out? Read Online Free PDF Page B

it’s a fatherly instinct.
    “Can I talk to you about something, Dad?” Ricky asks. I have to admit, even after these months, I still get a kick out of him calling me Dad.
    But I’m also a little worried about the subject of this upcoming talk. Ricky was in his house months ago when his father was gunned down, and it is certainly not unexpected that he’s had some difficulties recovering from that trauma. Laurie takes him to see a child therapist twice a week, and while he is by all accounts doing very well, he has his ups and downs.
    I don’t really know how to handle these kinds of things, and I’m afraid of screwing up, so I try to defer to Laurie whenever possible. This could be one of those times I’m not going to be able to.
    “You don’t need to ask me that, Rick,” I say. “You can always talk to me about anything, at any time.”
    It turns out that I had completely misjudged the subject matter. “I don’t think I want to play baseball anymore” is what he says, and while I am relieved, I am also totally horrified.
    “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? GIVE UP BASEBALL? WHAT ABOUT ME? WHAT ABOUT MY DREAMS? ARE YOU ONLY THINKING ABOUT YOURSELF?” I don’t actually say any of these things; I’m way too mature for that.
    “How come, Rick?” is what I actually say.
    “It’s not so much fun.”
    My heart is heavy. It’s just not fair; Babe Ruth’s father never had to go through anything like this. “You want to try it a while longer? Maybe you’ll change your mind. You’re really good at it.”
    “Nah. I want to play soccer instead.”
    Soccer? That is the unkindest cut of all. Can my only son be a communist? “ Et tu, Pelé?” I say, unfortunately out loud.
    “Huh?”
    “Nothing. Soccer could be fun, unless you like scoring, or knowing how much time is left in the game, and if you don’t care about having to say words like ‘nil.’ Let’s talk to Mom about it.”
    “So you’re not mad?” he asks.
    “Of course not,” I say, not mentioning that I’m pained, crushed, and horrified.
    When we get home, Laurie is watching the local news, which has been heavily covering the Downey murder. The media apparently considers near beheadings sexy; if Downey had been shot, it would have been a one-day story.
    I don’t talk to Laurie about Ricky’s baseball-soccer decision, because the coverage has given me an idea. And to make it work, I need to go drink some beer.

 
    Raymond Healy was feeling the pressure from his money people. They were technically his partners, but that’s not how he thought of them. Theirs was a partnership of profit, or at least that was how it had been so far. If that profit ceased to exist, then so would the relationship.
    Healy’s other partner, Hendrik Cronje, had learned that lesson the hard way. The last time they had met, in Johannesburg, had been the last time they would ever meet.
    Cronje had attempted to cheat Healy; in fact, he did more than make the attempt. He had absolutely cheated him, providing less merchandise than he was contracted and paid to provide. He either thought Healy would not notice, or would simply accept the situation as a cost of doing business.
    Healy did neither. He handled Cronje the same way he had handled many enemies in his past, by shooting him in the head. And Cronje had reacted in the exact same way the other enemies had reacted, by dying.
    Killing him was impulsive and counterproductive, but Healy had compounded the mistake by making an even bigger one. He had neglected to get rid of the body. It had been a thought-out decision; he reasoned that it would spread the word that Healy was a very dangerous man, so that others would not mess with him in the future.
    He had miscalculated. Those that would have replaced Cronje as a source worried that doing so could eventually mean sharing his fate. Cronje was no more unscrupulous than they were, in fact probably less so, which led them to the inescapable conclusion that doing business with