“We good, kid?” asks Tony “Toad” Marinucci.
Jimmy nods reluctantly. What he really wants to do is to spit in Toad’s fat greasy pockmarked face that drops straight to his neck.
Toad shakes his head. “No kid, I need to hear you say it.”
Jimmy lowers his eyes and clenches his jaw. It takes every last ounce of willpower to keep from thrusting his knee into the fat bastard’s balls. He takes a deep breath and looks back up at Toad. “We’re good, Toad. Under 34.5 rushing yards. I won’t even come close.”
“Good boy,” Toad says. “You obviously didn’t inherit your smarts from your dumb fuck of an old man.”
Jimmy closes his eyes and imagines his fist exploding Toad’s nose, then looks up to hold Toad’s gaze. Toad blinks while Jimmy’s eyes bore into him. Jimmy speaks. “And remember our deal. As soon as I hit the under, you let my dad go. No delays. He’ll have a ride waiting outside the hotel. It’s only fair, Toad. I’ve made you and your crew some serious coin this season.”
Toad looks over Jimmy, his eyes showing something they’d never shown Jimmy’s dad: respect. “Hit the under and you’re both off the hook,” Toad mutters. “We’ll cut Donny Dipshit loose and you can take the loser to Timbuktu for all I give a fuck.” He looks at Jimmy and shakes his head. “Never shoulda trusted a fuckin’ Delano.”
Jimmy ponders this last comment, then nods back to Toad. He turns toward his car parked in the small lot on the edge of the lakefront park in Conneaut, Ohio that Toad had chosen for their meeting.
“Way outside Buffalo, kid, no risk of anyone recognizing you – not that they would anyway, y’aint exactly Jim Kelly,” Toad had told Jimmy over the phone with a laugh. “And besides, I ain’t drivin’ more’n an hour outside Youngstown for your asshat of a father.”
Jimmy walks back to the near-empty parking lot and looks beyond to Lake Erie. The mid-morning sun glints off water calm, serene and luminous beneath clear blue sky and puffy white clouds that look like giant pillows. I wish I could rest my head on those clouds and go to sleep forever, Jimmy thinks. He’s tempted to keep walking past his car into the lake, disappearing from this nightmare his life has become over the past few months. All because of his dad, Donny “Dipshit” Delano.
***
Donny Delano wasn’t always Donny Dipshit. Growing up in Akron, Ohio, he was one of the best natural athletes ever to come out of Summit County. Tops at every sport he played as a kid, he starred at quarterback in football, point guard in basketball, and as a high jumper in track & field.
At 6’3” and a lean-muscled 210 pounds, blessed with a rocket for an arm, Donny was a natural fit at quarterback. By halfway through his senior year in high school, he had every Big Ten program drooling over him as the top-ranked quarterback in Ohio. Donny didn’t have to think long about his college decision; Ohio State was his top choice and head coach John Cooper pulled out all the stops in recruiting him to Columbus. Donny “Dart” Delano arrived on the Ohio State campus in the summer of 1993 and was greeted like an incoming savior. Popular and handsome to boot, Donny was destined for greatness.
Donny became a two-time All-American at Ohio State while the Buckeyes reigned supreme with three Big Ten championships under Coach Cooper. After a senior season capped off by a Rose Bowl victory over Arizona State, Donny was on top of the world.
But Donny’s only sibling, younger brother Dominic “Dom” Delano, was a different story. A much better student but not nearly as popular or talented an athlete as his older brother, Dom grew up in Donny’s shadow while Donny made headlines every week and became a local celebrity in football-rich Northeast Ohio.
The boys’ uncle Frank was a foot soldier for the Cleveland mob. When Dom began to show interest in Frank’s work, Frank was proud to take him under his wing. Dom was street smart, showing wisdom and practical judgment beyond his years, and Frank, ever the opportunist, saw Dom not just as a loyal mentee but as a valuable asset that could help advance his own career.
Dom was good, and it wasn’t long before the Cleveland boys were bypassing Frank to give Dom the more important jobs even while he was still in his teens.
So while Donny was busy torching Big Ten defenses down in Columbus – and thoroughly enjoying the off-field party life that went along with college football stardom – Dom stayed put in Akron until he was promoted to a full-time member of the Cleveland mob at age twenty-one. With his rare blend of brains and balls, Dom rose quickly through the ranks while earning the respect and admiration of everyone who mattered in that world.
But even during his meteoric rise back in those early days, Dom was still known as Donny Delano’s kid brother. When the Cleveland boys called him “Donny Light” in jest, Dom just smiled and kept his mouth shut while seething inside, wondering if he’d ever escape his older brother’s shadow.
Dom had no idea how quickly things would change.
***
In the spring of 1997 after his senior season at Ohio State, Donny was picked in the first round of the NFL draft by the New York Jets. Having already kicked off a blossoming alcohol and cocaine problem in Columbus (well-concealed by a coaching staff that didn’t need controversy with their star quarterback), Donny took to the New York City nightlife like a fish to water.
By mid-November of his rookie year, Donny was out partying almost every night of the week including (and especially) the Saturday nights before games. Unlike in college, Donny quickly learned that “NFL” meant “Not For Long” for players who didn’t produce on the field. Battling hangovers every day in practice while navigating a full-blown cocaine addiction, Donny was benched after nine games and never made it back onto the field.
After the Jets released him, Donny floated around the NFL for three more years, being signed then released by a few more teams willing to give the former college All-American and Heisman Trophy finalist a chance to realize his immense potential. But his off-field problems persisted. He was out of the league and back home in Akron before his twenty-fifth birthday, his once-promising pro football career over before it started.
Not long after returning home, Donny connected with a local bookie through one of his old high school teammates and soon added sports gambling to his growing repertoire of bad habits. He bet what was left of his Jets signing bonus on the NFC championship and won. He rolled his money into the Super Bowl and won again. He was rich and on top of the world again. And it was the worst thing that ever happened to him. Donny the Dart was hooked on gambling.
Donny spent the next five years battling substance abuse and the legal trouble that followed while gambling every penny he earned from his sporadic employment opportunities. With his youthful looks, charm and good-natured sense of humor still intact, Donny always had a girl on his arm and was even able to connive a few of them out of their own money.
One of these women was Jimmy’s mother, a bipolar, depressive mess struggling with her own pill addiction. Unwilling to take care of Jimmy, she left him with Donny and disappeared two weeks before Jimmy’s third birthday.
Donny had no business raising a three-year-old. He was out every night, unable to hold down a steady job (despite a seemingly endless stream of opportunities from friends and others whose memories of Donny’s football heroics were still fresh) while every dollar he did earn was spent on booze, blow, strippers and bookies.
But as soon as little Jimmy ran into Donny’s living room holding a mini rubber football and jumped on his lap while the kid’s mother hurried off in her latest boyfriend’s pickup truck, Donny was smitten. No matter how big a fuck-up he was and how derailed his life had become, the poor kid revered him like a god.
Donny set out to change.
The booze and drugs were a lot easier to give up than Donny thought. Though he’d abused them for years, he didn’t need them to function. And going cold turkey was not that difficult knowing he had Jimmy to look after. He was able to get a job as an assistant football and track coach back at his old high school where he was still a legend. After settling in and cleaning up his life, he was even able to go out and have a few beers on the weekend without falling back into his old habits.
Quitting gambling wasn’t as easy. Donny couldn’t resist the urge that gnawed at him each week when he read the sports betting lines published for the upcoming weekend games. Though he lost most of the time, every win revived his confidence to “chase the dragon” to even bigger losses. With steady employment, he was able to pay the bills but, with all his disposable income going to bookies, he was living paycheck to paycheck while his debts piled up.
Through his old friend’s connection, Jimmy started borrowing money from the Youngstown mob, led by the notorious Angelo Riccardi who was more than happy to have the famous Donny “Dart” Delano on his client list.
Dom, in the meantime, had become one of the most powerful men in the Cleveland mob – a “capo” running his own crew that was consistently one of the top earners between New York and Chicago.
Donny going to ask Dom for money was inevitable. And Dom, being Dom, had expected and planned for it.
“Sorry, Donny. I love you, bro, but you’re a financial black hole; every dollar that comes near you gets sucked up and disappears forever. You gotta deal with the Youngstown crew on your own and get over the gambling. I’m your brother, not your enabler. Remember what Uncle Frank said? The house always wins. You see those billion dollar casino hotels sproutin’ up in Vegas every day? They weren’t built on their own money, know what I mean?”
Dom felt bad for Donny, and was embarrassed to see how far he’d fallen from his pedestal. But he actually thought Donny taking a few lumps from Angelo Riccardi and the Youngstown mob might do him some good. And Dom had his own family to feed, including his son Vincent who was about a year younger than Jimmy. Dom also despised Riccardi and could never lower himself to request a favor from the asshole. There were limits to how far he’d go, even to help family.
Without telling Donny, and making Jimmy swear not to tell his dad, Dom bought Jimmy’s school supplies and sports equipment every year, and gave him money whenever he needed it. He wanted Jimmy to have the same privileges that his own son Vincent had. The poor kid shouldn’t have to pay for his father’s sins, Dom thought.
At least that’s the way it should’ve been.
***
Jimmy shared his father’s love for football, and had a ball in his hands as soon as he could walk.
An undersized quarterback (at 5’10” he was about five inches shorter that Donny), Jimmy didn’t have his dad’s magic arm or uncanny field vision, but there was one thing Jimmy excelled at: he could run. Always the fastest, shiftiest kid on the field, he would have been a major Division 1 recruit at running back or even defensive back. But he was Donny Delano’s kid, so of course he was placed at quarterback since his very first junior football league practice at eight years old. Quarterback was also the only position Jimmy ever wanted to play; it was Donny’s position and, for all Donny’s flaws, Jimmy idolized his dad.
When the college recruiters began to notice Jimmy after his final high school football season, he turned down bigger school (even a few Big Ten) offers to play tailback, or even move over to defense as a cornerback, to play quarterback at University of Buffalo – a smaller Division 1 program in the MAC conference.
Jimmy served as a backup his freshman year at Buffalo, then won the starting quarterback job midway through his sophomore year and never looked back. Relying on his elite speed and running ability, Jimmy led his team to a winning record his sophomore season, and even a bowl game after his junior season, which Buffalo finished with an 8-3 record.
But as Jimmy’s football career flourished, Donny’s gambling habit got worse. By the summer before Jimmy’s senior year at Buffalo, Donny’s debt to Angelo Riccardi had grown to well over a million dollars. The Youngstown mob owned him.
And despite Donny’s desperate (but ultimately futile) protests, Riccardi had an idea as to how Donny could pay him back: with Jimmy’s legs.
Jimmy was named a pre-season All-MAC quarterback and was being touted as one of the best “dual-threat” quarterbacks in the country. And the Youngstown boys were not the only ones to notice Jimmy. The Las Vegas odds-makers began to place “player prop” bets on Jimmy each week for his total passing yards and rushing yards for each game. After the first three games of his senior season, Jimmy was leading the MAC conference in rushing – no small feat since the MAC had some damn good tailbacks.
Donny initially refused to involve Jimmy in his debt problems, but Riccardi gave him no choice: “Donny, either you pay us back however you have to with interest – I ain’t runnin’ a fuckin’ charity here – or both you and the kid take one in the skull, capisce?”
Donny didn’t like it but, yeah, he understood. This wasn’t his first rodeo but it damn sure would be his last. He had one condition for Riccardi, and he didn’t waver: Jimmy couldn’t be asked to throw any games, just tank a few prop bets until Donny’s debt was paid off. “It’s common sense, Ange. If Jimmy loses games by playin’ like shit, he gets benched and there’s no more bets. Don’t kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.”
Riccardi couldn’t argue with Donny’s logic, so he reluctantly agreed.
Jimmy, of course, would do anything to help Donny, especially if he could still play each game to win. So for the rest of the season, he and Donny agreed on a prop bet to fix for each game – by hitting the “under” on passing yards, rushing yards or touchdowns scored – while his overall play didn’t suffer.
Even with Jimmy’s fixed prop bets, Buffalo went 7-1 in the MAC and earned a berth in the conference championship against University of Toledo, to be played at Ford Field in Detroit on the first Saturday in December.
Youngstown was making good money off Jimmy every week but wanted more. Angelo Riccardi called Donny the weekend before the championship game. “We’re goin’ heavy on your kid this game, Donny, real heavy. We can’t fuck it up and need to meet with him – in person – to make sure he’s on board. Gimme his number and Toadie’ll set it up. Don’t worry, we ain’t gonna hurt our little cash cow. We just need to meet and speak to him directly so he knows how important this one is.”
Toad’s meeting with Jimmy in Conneaut was set for the Thursday morning before the MAC championship game. By Wednesday afternoon, the player prop bets for the game were set by Vegas. Toledo had the top rushing defense in the conference, so Youngstown’s play was easy: Jimmy Delano under 34.5 rushing yards.
***
Angelo Riccardi, Tony the Toad and three of the top hitters from the Youngstown crew sit with a very nervous Donny Delano in a luxury suite of the Westin Book Cadillac Hotel in downtown Detroit, just a few blocks from Ford Field. At five minutes before the 8:00 p.m. kickoff, Toad turns on the 84” theater-size TV to watch the MAC championship game and their prized asset, Jimmy “The Buffalo Bullet” Delano, go to work for them.
Sparing no expense, Riccardi has the suite catered with enough food for a small army and (of course) a full bar. The working girls will arrive by halftime. The Youngstown boys are happy. Donny is their insurance policy who they’ll keep under lock and key until the game is over.
With the Toledo defense keyed on stopping the run, Buffalo opens up its passing game. Jimmy is able to pick the defense apart with screens, short and mid-range passes, and even a few long balls. By halftime, Buffalo is up 21-10 behind what’s shaping up to be the best passing game of Jimmy’s career, with nearly 200 yards and two touchdowns through the air. On the few designed quarterback run plays, Jimmy barely gains positive yardage. But with the way he’s throwing the ball, nobody cares.
At halftime, Jimmy has just four rushing yards. The Youngstown game plan is working like a charm.
It’s more of the same through the second half. About halfway through the fourth quarter, Buffalo is up 35-17 and Jimmy’s total rushing yards stand at seven on the game. He even manages to lose three yards on a quarterback sack where he (suspiciously) cannot escape the pocket to extend the play.
At the two-minute warning, Toledo has the ball on a third and eight at its own 31-yard line. The way its defense is playing, Buffalo is likely to get the ball back with less than two minutes on the clock. That’s exactly what happens. After gaining two yards on third down, Toledo fails to convert on a fourth and five, then turns the ball over to Buffalo at the Toledo 33-yard line.
The game is in the bag for Buffalo and Jimmy’s rushing total stands pat at seven.
Back at the Westin, the party kicks into high gear and the Youngstown boys are floating on cloud nine. Jimmy Delano has come through for them once again. Even Angelo Riccardi is relaxed and enjoying the party, which now includes five strippers each cozied up to a member of his crew.
The kid is good, Riccardi thinks. If it weren’t for his loser of an old man, I might even recruit him into my crew.
Toad and the rest of the gang are so loose (and drunk) that they even let Donny knock back a few beers. During the TV timeout right after Buffalo gets the ball back with 1:23 left on the game clock, up 35-17, Donny has to piss.
“Go ahead but make it quick,” Toad mumbles while a stripper straddles his lap and presses her silicone-enhanced tits in his face. “We want your ass back here to celebrate with us when the game ends.”
The Youngstown boys are in such high spirits that they don’t even bother to tail Donny to the bedroom on the other side of the suite. That’s a mistake.
***
Now in the spacious bedroom, Donny opens the curtained French patio doors and steps out onto the balcony. He looks down over the iron balcony rail to the hotel parking lot and sees the large flatbed truck parked directly below.
The high jump mat placed on the flatbed five stories below looks a lot smaller than the ones he remembers from his high school track days. But there’s no time for fear or hesitation right now. In one fluid motion, Donny climbs the balcony rail and launches his body with just enough leg push to position his fall for the direct middle of the mat. He lands perfectly on his back just the way he was coached many years ago.
The black Chevy Suburban is parked exactly where it’s supposed to be at the back of the hotel parking lot. Donny sprints to it and yanks open the passenger-side front door, then breaks into a wide grin at the most welcome sight of the day.
“Stop moseyin’ and get the fuck in here, Donny!” shouts his brother Dom from the driver seat, reaching out and pulling Donny into the car by a handful of U Buffalo football sweatshirt. Dom presses the gas pedal hard to the floor and the Suburban tears off so quickly that Donny nearly falls back onto the pavement as the car speeds away.
“Everything in play?” Donny asks.
Dom nods his head, eyes fixed on the road. “My guys are ready to go as soon as we green-light ’em. I got Martelli in Hartford, DiRienzo in Tampa, Fonseca back in Cleveland, and the Polack in Pittsburgh. So yeah bro, we’re good.”
“You sure we can trust these guys, Dom?” Donny asks nervously.
“They’re my guys, Donny.” Dom says curtly. ’Nuff said.
***
With 1:23 left on the game clock, and Buffalo up 35-17 with the ball on the Toledo 33-yard line for a first and ten, Jimmy does something completely unexpected. He calls a timeout.
“What the hell’d you do that for?” yells Chad Pettigrew, the Buffalo offensive coordinator, as Jimmy jogs over to the Buffalo sideline.
“Sorry coach, gotta piss, can’t hold it in,” Jimmy says with feigned embarrassment.
The sideline referee joins the two along with Todd Vandewerken, Jimmy’s backup, who walks over at the same time.
The ref looks puzzled. “What’s going on here, coach? Aren’t you gonna just run the clock out? I mean it’s your call, but—”.
Coach Pettigrew cuts the ref off. “Nature calls,” he says with a chuckle and nods over to Jimmy, who’s expertly performing his best “gotta piss” shuffle to the visitor sideline tent followed by Todd.
“Okay, but hurry it up, we all wanna get outta here!” the ref says impatiently before jogging back onto the field to inform the rest of the officiating crew.
With Todd covering the entrance flap to the tent, Jimmy picks up the burner phone hidden beneath a Gatorade cooler on a small table in the corner. He sends a quick text message to a phone number that he knows by heart.
As Jimmy leaves the tent, he flashes Todd a quick smile and hands him the burner phone. “The fix is in, dude.”
Todd returns the smile along with a knowing fist-bump.
Two miles away from Ford Field, as they reach the outskirts out of downtown Detroit in Dom’s Chevy Suburban, Dom and Donny both read the text message that just pinged Dom’s phone. The text contains just two letters: GL. Dom and Donny look at each other and smile. GL … Green Light.
***
Nick “The Noose” Martelli is grinding out his second set of ten reps at 315 pounds on his basement gym bench-press when he hears the familiar sound of his text message alert. He immediately racks the bar, picks up his phone and reads the screen. He nods to himself and types one short word to the text message group pre-set on his phone: go.
About 600 miles west of the Connecticut mansion where a ripped Nick Martelli bangs out his last rep on the bench, Tina Fonseca sits at her favorite table at Fratello’s restaurant in Avon Lake, Ohio, an upscale Cleveland suburb, glaring at her husband Joe “Juice” Fonseca.
Tina isn’t happy. “I mean Jesus Christ, Joey, why don’t you just marry your fuckin’ cell phone? Do you really have to answer every text after we just sat down for dinner?”
“Not a bad idea, babe, this phone probably puts out more’n you do these days,” Joe mutters while he stands up to follow through on the text message he just received from Dom Delano. He taps out his own group text as a well-thrown piece of garlic bread bounces off the back of his head. Fuckin’ broad’s got a cannon for an arm, Joe muses, she could probably start for the Browns. Joe laughs to himself while he thumbs the send button.
While Tina Fonseca angrily sips her first spoonful of pasta fagioli, Tommy “The Polack” Kronkowski rolls off his latest whore in the downtown loft apartment his Pittsburgh crew keeps for their frequent trysts – affectionately known as “The Pigpen” – to read the text message that just landed on his cell phone. “Bingo!” he smiles as his hot date snorts a line of coke off his bare stomach through a ripped condom wrapper rolled tightly into a makeshift straw.
At about the same time down south in Tampa, Sam “The Hammer” DiRienzo knocks back his sixth shot of Jack Daniels at his favorite Ybor City watering hole while one of his flunkies pleads with him for a bigger piece of the action from his crew’s latest drug score. “Shut the fuck up and do a shot!” Sam shouts as he pushes a full shot glass across the table to Danny “Grease” Trevino, exasperated by the loser’s nonstop bitching. Grease’s whining is interrupted by the familiar chime on Sam’s phone. Perfect timing, Sam thinks as he reads Dom’s text message then types out his own.
In less than two minutes during Buffalo’s surprising last-minute timeout, while it enjoys a comfortable 18-point lead with possession of the ball in Toledo territory, a total of 256 identical bets are placed at 256 different retail sportsbooks around the country. These “in-game” bets with just 1:23 left in the fourth quarter, each for less than $100, are for Jimmy “The Buffalo Bullet” Delano to run for over 34.5 yards in the MAC conference championship game. With Delano’s rushing yards at just seven on the game, the average odds for this highly dubious bet stand at 850 to 1.
As far as Las Vegas knows, there’s a better chance of a tropical tsunami hitting Detroit before the end of the game than of Jimmy Delano hitting his rushing yards over prop.
***
Jimmy breaks the huddle, then walks up to the line of scrimmage and places his hands under center while his offense lines up in “victory formation” to close out the game with an insurmountable 18-point lead. The clock ticks down to under a minute remaining while Jimmy takes the first and ten snap and drops to a knee.
Rinse and repeat for the next two downs.
After third down, with just thirteen seconds on the clock and one final play left to finish the game, the Buffalo players begin to trade fist bumps and high fives as they walk back to the huddle. Jimmy congratulates the huddled offense while the ball is placed on the Toledo 33-yard line. “Great job guys, let’s wrap it up. Victory on one.” Jimmy claps his hands to break the huddle. He heads to the line for the final play of the game while the game clock ticks down to just ten seconds. Jimmy looks over and nods to his starting wideout, Tre Dixon, whose eyes are fixed on Jimmy.
Jimmy takes the last snap of the game, then steps back as the offensive and defensive linemen reach across the line to shake hands after a hard-fought battle. No player on the field notices when Jimmy takes three quick drop steps back from the line rather than kneeling to end the game. Except for Tre Dixon, that is, whose eyes are glued to the Toledo strong safety while Dixon jogs slowly toward the end zone.
About three yards upfield, Dixon looks over his shoulder to see Jimmy sprinting toward him at full speed. Jimmy has never run so fast in his life. He clears the line and turns upfield toward Dixon, who accelerates at the 30-yard line, surveying the Toledo defense as Jimmy quickly closes the distance between them. The Toledo defensive linemen and linebackers are clustered back at the line of scrimmage while the strong side cornerback and nickelback turn their heads in confusion at runaway Jimmy.
The Toledo strong safety is jogging slowly toward the line of scrimmage, already snapping off his helmet chin strap, when he first notices Jimmy racing around the end toward the end zone. By pure instinct, he runs toward the sideline to cut Jimmy off. But the Buffalo Bullet is too fast. Realizing he has no shot at catching Jimmy, he slows down while Tre Dixon cuts off his path with a smile on his face. “Don’t even bother, bro!”
Without looking back, Jimmy continues his dead sprint to the end zone as the game clock ticks down toward zero. He passes the 20-yard line, then the 15, and then the 10 as every other person in the stadium – players, coaches and fans alike – stare at him in amazement. Jimmy slows down just before reaching the 5-yard line, glancing back to make sure no Toledo player is on his tail. He pulls up and stops abruptly at the 2-yard line, then looks up to the scoreboard and watches the last three seconds tick off the clock. The final whistle blows to end the game.
The line referee jogs up to Jimmy with a bewildered look. “What the hell was that, Delano?” he asks, not even realizing his whistle is still hanging from his mouth.
Jimmy just shrugs his shoulders and tosses the ball to the ref. “I didn’t wanna run up the score on ‘em – respect, y’know?”
The ref stares at him, speechless.
After his unexpected fourth down run from victory formation, the final score stands at 35-17 in Buffalo’s favor with Jimmy Delano’s final stat line fixed at a career-best 321 passing yards and four touchdowns. And, of course, 38 rushing yards. The Buffalo Bullet hit the over.
As the Buffalo fans pour out from the stands to rush the field, Jimmy turns toward the field exit and visiting team tunnel, and does what he does best. He runs … fast.
***
Back at the Westin, while the rest of his crew celebrates with a round of shots, Tony the Toad’s eyes are glued to the TV screen in front of him. Toad cannot believe what he’s seeing as he slowly whispers, “Are. You. Fucking. Kidding Me!”
Toad looks wildly around the room for Donny. His stomach drops when reality strikes him like a gut punch: Donny never returned from the bathroom.
To make sure what he just saw on TV was real, Toad checks the Toledo-Buffalo box score on his ESPN sports app and scrolls down to where he can check the individual player stats. Sure enough, Jimmy Delano is listed for 38 rushing yards on the game. Jesus H. Christ, Toad thinks in amazement. That devious little shit just hit the over!
“Hey Toadie, get your fat ass over here and do a shot with your boys!” Angelo Riccardi shouts at Toad from across the room. Riccardi’s wide grin disappears when he sees the look on Toad’s face. He walks over to Toad while the rest of the crew looks on curiously. “Jesus, Toad, what’s the matter? You look like your mother just croaked, or Krispy Kreme closed early.”
Toad just looks at Riccardi with a dead stare and points back to the TV, where a post-game ESPN reporter marvels over Jimmy’s fourth down run to end the game. “Go see for yourself, Ange,” Toad mumbles, looking away from Riccardi’s piercing eyes. The TV screen cuts to the replay of Jimmy’s mind-boggling 31-yard run.
Riccardi walks to the TV and stares gape-mouthed at what just happened on Ford Field the last play of the game. Seconds later, Riccardi’s thunderous scream blasts through the entire fifth floor of the Westin.
The strippers, scared and confused by Riccardi’s sudden outburst, trust their well-honed intuition to not stick around for whatever’s going on right now (especially after having been paid in advance). They hurry toward the suite’s front door while grabbing their clothes, pausing just long enough to grab an unopened bottle of Hennessy and eight-ball of coke from the untended bar.
Down the hall, one of the Youngstown boys waves Toad and the rest of the crew into the bedroom. “Guys, ya gotta come in here and see this shit!”
After staring in amazement at the open patio doors leading out to the balcony, they enter the attached bathroom to read what’s written in toothpaste on the bathroom mirror:
NICE BET YOU FUCKING LOSERS
WHO’S THE DIPSHIT NOW?
Riccardi breaks the silent stupor that’s spread across the Youngstown crew, all scared to utter a peep before the boss speaks. He delivers his verdict in a calm, cool, collected voice. “Next time I see Donny Delano and his piece of shit kid, they better be in fuckin’ body bags.”
The boys get his point.
***
Navigating his way off the field through the deluge of fans surging in from the stands, and knocking a few unfortunates off their feet in the process, Jimmy sprints through the tunnel to the visiting locker room, removing his helmet and shoulder pads on the way. Once in the locker room, he changes into his street clothes in less than thirty seconds.
Jimmy races out the rear door of the locker room to the Ford Field team parking lot and spots the royal blue Dodge van parked with its motor running just a few feet from the door. He pulls open the rear double doors and dives into the back of the van as it peels away toward the parking lot exit. A security guard nods his head at the driver-side window, flashing a thumbs-up sign as the van speeds off the lot.
“Easiest grand that guy ever made,” Vin Delano laughs as he glances at his cousin Jimmy through the rearview mirror. “Nice game, cuz. I was able to watch it on my phone.” Vin raises his phone proudly.
Jimmy sits up and leans back against the rear wall of the van. He closes his eyes and catches his breath. The cold bare metal pressing against his back is uncomfortable but Jimmy doesn’t care. He’s exhausted.
“Best game you ever played?” Vin asks.
“I don’t know about that but it’s definitely the last one I’ll ever play,” Jimmy answers with a touch of sadness in this voice.
“Well, hate to break it to you, cuz, but it woulda been the last one anyway. The NFL was never in the cards for you. But don’t worry, this play’ll make it all worth it.”
Jimmy nods wearily, then looks over to the back of Vin’s head, covered by backwards Bills cap. “So is this really gonna work?” he asks.
Vin reflects quietly for a moment but is interrupted by his phone’s text message alert before he can answer. He looks down at his phone, then punches his fist triumphantly into the air. “Yes!” he shouts. “Pop and uncle Donny are in the car on their way to Willow Run! We should be there in about twenty minutes.”
Jimmy leans his head back, closes his eyes and smiles. Willow Run is a private airport about thirty miles west of downtown Detroit where Jimmy and Donny are to meet up and board a cargo plane to Mexico City. From there, they’ll drive down through Central America to Costa Rica, where they’ll stay for as long as they need to. But taking nothing for granted, Jimmy asks, “What about the money, Vin – what’s the deal?”
Vin nods his head and explains. “We had to put a lotta guys into play for this one, Jimmy. They ain’t cheap and they gotta eat, know what I mean? And unlike us, the casinos need their paperwork and gotta withhold for Uncle Sam. Me and pop really put our balls on the line for this one. Even with a family discount, we gotta take a nice cut here.”
“Don’t forget about Todd and Tre, they did their part and really pulled through for us tonight.”
“Don’t worry, cuz. Santa’ll take good care of your boys this Christmas. Everyone gets their piece when they help out our crew.”
“And why’d the bets have to be placed at casinos? Why not just place ’em with bookies?”
“Jesus, you really are a dumbass for a college boy,” Vin answers. “Because the fuckin’ bookies don’t take in-game player prop bets with a minute left, that’s why! And a lotta sportsbooks don’t either. We had to scour the fuckin’ country to find the ones that did. Took some time, cuz, not easy.”
“Okay, I get it. Just tell me the bottom line.”
Vin reaches into the van console and pulls out a folded sheet of paper that he tosses back to Jimmy. “Pop did the math and made a few copies so we can all see for ourselves. Just look at the bottom of the page – that’s the net take for you and Donny to split up however you want. It may take a couple weeks to clear and collect it all, but in the meantime pop’s gonna float you guys an advance to cover you for at least a month or two down there. It’ll probably last a fuckin’ decade in a place like Costa Rica if you keep it away from Donny. But this time pop knows your dad is good for it. He’ll pay himself back right off the top when the money comes in.”
Jimmy picks the folded paper up from the floor of the van, opens it, then looks down at a number circled at the bottom of the page. His eyes bulge out. He glances up, blinks twice, then looks down again. He drops the paper and raises his head toward the roof of the van, eyes closed.
$6.85 million. Holy shit. We’re rich.
***
When Vin Delano’s van pulls onto the far runway of Willow Run Airport, Dom and Donny stand between Dom’s parked Chevy Suburban and a cargo plane. They’re speaking with a guy who appears to be the pilot.
Jimmy kicks open the van’s rear doors and steps out onto the airport runway. Dom and Donny run over to greet him with big smiles. After trading hugs and backslaps while Vin walks over from the driver-side door, the four of them stand silent for a few seconds, basking in the glory of what they’d just pulled off.
Dom, always the more serious and practical of the Delano brothers, breaks the silence with a dose of reality. “Okay, I hate to be a buzzkill and see you guys go so soon, but we gotta get you on that plane asap. We’ll have more time to celebrate in a month or two when me and Vin come down to San Jose.”
Dom waves the pilot over and continues. “Larry here’ll fly you down to Mexico City to arrive early tomorrow morning. The airport down there’ll be pretty much deserted. You’ll have a car waiting for you with an address in Costa Rica. Then you’re on your own. The house we got you is clean and fully-loaded, right on the beach. It’s a nice setup, trust me. You’ll have a couple girls down there to cook, clean and do any other chores you need.” Dom winks at his brother and nephew while Vin laughs.
Donny smiles and nods while Jimmy pipes up with a question. “When can we come back?”
Dom’s smile fades. “Look kid, you two mooks just hoodwinked and ripped off the Youngstown mob. That shit won’t be forgotten soon. But I’ve known Angelo Riccardi for a long time, and he cares about one thing.” Dom raises his hand and rubs the pad of this thumb over the tips of his fingers in the universal “money sign” gesture. “I’ll work out a deal with Riccardi that gets you back safely if that’s what you want. You got my word, but it’ll cost a few bucks.”
Dom glances at Vin and continues. “But Tony the Toad’s a different story. You guys humiliated the shit outta that fat SOB in front of his crew, and he won’t forget it. Money’s one thing, but ego and pride are a different breed and not so easily bought off. So we’ll deal with Toad however we have to. Leave that to us.” Dom looks at Vin who nods back quietly.
Dom looks from Donny to Jimmy, then shrugs. “Me personally, I wouldn’t leave Costa Rica to come back to this frozen shithole, but to each his own. It’s your call.” Dom walks back to the Suburban and pulls a small brown leather satchel from the trunk, then walks back to the men and hands the satchel to Donny. “There’s enough pesos in there to last you two clowns awhile down in Central America. It ain’t exactly Beverly Hills. Once the rest a’ the loot comes in, you’re set forever and won’t need Uncle Dom over here.”
Donny glances down at the satchel with a relieved grin. “Jesus, Dom, I really need this. You don’t know how much I —”
Dom raises his hand to Donny, then glances over at Jimmy. “You tell him, kid?”
Jimmy lowers his head without answering.
Donny looks at them bewildered. “WTF guys? Somethin’ you forgot to tell me?”
Dom turns to Donny. “We bailed your ass out this time, Donny, but it ain’t happenin’ again.” He pauses, then points his finger back at himself. “I – we – can never go through this bullshit again. While you two bozos are sittin’ on a beach sippin’ pina coladas, me and Vin and the rest of our crew’ll be dealin’ with Youngstown. And trust me it won’t be easy.”
Dom shakes his head and smirks at Jimmy. “So what I told Jimmy, who apparently forgot to mention it to you, is that your money will be put in a trust with me and Jimmy as trustees. You’ll have as much lifetime income as you need but not all at once. It’s for your protection. And it ain’t negotiable.”
Donny begins to protest but Jimmy places a hand on his shoulder.
“Dad, it’s for the best. You got a problem that almost, and still might, get us both killed. Dom and Vin will be cleaning up after us for awhile and Dom’s exactly right – none of us can ever go through this shit again. It’s not fair.”
“Just be glad you’re alive, Donny,” Dom chimes in. “Believe it or not, there are things in life other than money.”
“Yep,” Donny says. “And money can buy every one of those things.”
The four men laugh, then Donny turns serious. “No really, I do get it. And I appreciate all you did for me. I love you guys and I’m gonna make sure this is the last time.”
The Delano men swap goodbye hugs, then the pilot escorts Donny and Jimmy to the cargo plane and lowers the ladder to the ground. Before they climb up to the cabin, Jimmy turns to Donny with a smile. “That was one hell of a bet, wasn’t it, dad?”
“Sure as shit was, kid – bet of a lifetime!”
“Just promise me that’s it. You’re out now and quitting when you’re ahead.”
Donny purses his lips and furrows his brow, then nods down to the satchel in his hand. “Yeah, I’m out for sure. But the Cavs are at home tomorrow night against the Pistons, and they’ll definitely cover the spread. It’s a lock. How ’bout a few extra pesos for the road? Whattaya say, kid?”
“Are you fuckin’ serious with–”
Donny raises his hand with a smile. “Relax Jimmy, I’m kidding. Maybe we can buy you a sense of humor down there in Mexico.”
Jimmy shakes his head and gives Donny a playful shove.
Donny raises his foot to the first rung of the ladder leading up to the cabin door, then turns and waves back to Dom and Vin, now huddled together and speaking intently next to Dom’s Suburban. He smiles back to Jimmy and begins his climb.
Jimmy nods and pops a thumbs-up sign.
While Donny climbs the ladder, Jimmy pulls his cell phone from his pocket and punches in a number that he’ll block and erase forever after this one last call.
After a single ring, Tony “Toad” Marinucci answers on the other end. “You got some serious fuckin’ cojones, kid, and we’re gonna rip ‘em off and feed ‘em to you!”
Jimmy smiles. “Well I guess it’s like you said, Toadie. Never trust a fuckin’ Delano.” He ends the call before Toad can reply.
The plane engines roar to life while Donny stands at the cabin door. He takes one last look out into the cold dark night, then smiles and steps into the plane.
Where maybe it’ll be a little warmer than out here.
Nate Mancuso is a Florida-based attorney, fiction writer, and lover/advocate of free speech and civil liberties. Before becoming a kinda-sorta-semi-somewhat productive member of the human race, Nate spent a disturbingly disproportionate amount of time and mental energy reading MAD Magazine, quoting 1980s slapstick comedies, and imagining possible origin stories for Zed, Maynard and The Gimp from Pulp Fiction.