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Chapter 1

“Just behave”

“Me?” Myron said “I’ht”

Myron Bolitar was being led through the corridor of the darkened Meadowlands Arena by Calvin Johnson, the New Jersey Dragons new general ainst the tile and echoed through empty Harry M Stevens food stands, Carvel Ice Cream carts, pretzel vendors, souvenir booths The ss—that sort of rubbery, cheically delicious aroma—wafted from the walls The stillness of the place consu more hollow and lifeless than an empty sports arena

Calvin Johnson stopped in front of a door leading to a luxury box “This o with the flow, okay?”

“Okay”

Calvin reached for the knob and took a deep breath “Clip Arnstein, the owner of the Dragons, is in there waiting for us”

“And yet I’,” Myron said

Calvin Johnson shook his head “Just don’t be an ass”

Myron pointed to his chest “I wore a tie and everything”

Calvin Johnson opened the door The luxury box faceddown the basketball floor over the hockey ice The Devils had played the night before Tonight was the Dragons’ turn The box was cozy Twenty-four cushioned seats Two television ht was a wood-paneled counter for the food—usually fried chicken, hot dogs, potato knishes, sausage and pepper sandwiches, that sort of stuff To the left was a brass cart with a nicely stocked bar and e The box also had its own bathrooh rollers would not have to urinate with the great unwashed

Clip Arnstein faced the He wore a dark blue suit with a red tie He was bald with patches of gray over both ears He was burly, his chest still a barrel after seventy-soe hands had brown spots and fat blue veins like garden hoses No one spoke No one lared hard at Myron for several seconds, exa him from head to toe

“Like the tie?” Myron asked

Calvin Johnson shot hilance

The old man made no movement toward them “How old are you now, Myron?”

Interesting opening question “Thirty-two”

“You playing any ball?”

“Some,” Myron said

“You keep in good shape?”

“Want me to flex?”

“No, that won’t be necessary”

No one offered Myron a seat and no one took one Of course the only chairs in here were the spectator seats, but it still felt weird to stand in a business setting where you’re supposed to sit Standing suddenly became difficult Myron felt antsy He didn’t knohat to do with his hands He took out a pen and held it, but that didn’t feel right Too Bob Dole He stuck his hands in his pockets and stood at a weird angle, like the casual guy in the Sears circular

“Myron, we have an interesting proposition for you,” Clip Arnstein said

“Proposition?” Always the probing interrogatory

“Yes I was the one who drafted you, you know”

“I know”

“Ten, eleven years ago When I ith the Celtics”

“I know”

“First round”

“I know all this, Mr Arnstein”