Lamb fished his phone out of his jacket pocket, hit the memo app his assistant, Victor, had loaded for him, and began to speak. He always felt better when he was talking out loud.
COOPER LAMB / VOICE MEMO #0124-735
Victor, I regret to inform you this is the end of the world.
Maybe not your world. But my world, for sure. I am currently sitting in my car trying to process it all. Trying to figure out what I’m going to tell my kids. Damn…whatamI going to tell my kids?
Don’t transcribe that last part, Victor. Yes, I know you’re not personally transcribing these words, that the computer program you designed is doing all of this automatically. But humor me. I can’t stand the idea of talking to a machine.
So let’s review the facts at hand while I await the arrival of my lovely and brilliant offspring, whom I adore completely.
Fact number one: Eagles starting quarterback and national treasure Archie Hughes was shot to death last night. The entire city is in a state of shock and mourning. We woke up to a different world today, Victor.
Fact number two: The NFC championship game has been postponed for some unknown amount of time. Which means nobody will know what to do with themselves until it’s rescheduled.
Fact number three: I was not in possession of tickets to the game, but maybe this is an opportunity. Victor, can you see if there are tickets available? Possibly something in a box? Maybe some fans won’t be able to make it, they’ll be so heartbroken over the loss of the amazing Mr. Hughes. A guy can dream, right?
Fact number four: On Saturday I placed a fairly sizable bet—on the Eagles, of course—with my army buddy Red Doyle down in Atlantic City. I was already sick to my stomach knowing I’d have to wait twenty-four hours to see how it turned out, and, more important, if I’d be ducking my landlord for the next two months or not. Now I get to enjoy a full week of anguish and torment. Victor, next time I mention making a bet, talk me out of it.
Fact number five: Speaking of disappointed, at this very moment my kids are running out of their mother’s house and…oh, it doesn’t look good. Seems as if the awful news has reached my children’s impressionable ears. To be continued.
Chapter2
THE REARpassenger doors of Cooper Lamb’s car were wrenched open and his children climbed into the back of his vehicle with the force of a small hurricane.
“Dad!” his son exclaimed. “Did you hear what happened to Archie Hughes?”
His daughter was already annoyed. “Of courseDad heard. But what I want to know is, who would do something like this the night before the game?”
“Are you going to find Archie’s killer?”
“Are they going to cancel the Super Bowl?”
“Do you already know who killed Archie, Dad?”
Lamb clutched the steering wheel tight to avoid being sucked under and drowning in all that raw emotion.
His wonderful, amazing, and, at times, exasperating children—Ariel, ten, and Cooper Jr., eight—lived with their mother in a three-bedroom townhome in trendy Queen Village. Funny how you blink and things become “trendy.” This used to be a solid immigrant neighborhood; Lamb’s own ancestors had toiled at the factory that received sugarcane from the Caribbean and processed it to satisfy America’s never-ending sweet tooth. For years Lamb’s great-grandfather wouldn’t evenlookat sugar, let alone eat dessert. Happily, that particular family trait went to the grave with the old man. Lamb was starving, and he was sure his kids were too.
“How about a quick before-school breakfast at the Down Home Diner? I could practically inhale a stack of buckwheat pancakes right now.”
“Dad!”Ariel cried. “Are you even listening to us?”
“Just don’t let me drink from the maple syrup container again. Last time I did that, I was up all night.”
“Dad!”
“I was up all night peeing. Very,veryslowly…”
“Ewww!” Cooper Jr. said.
“Jesus, Dad.”
Lame dad humor? Guilty as charged. But had Cooper also managed to change the conversation and stanch the flow of tears from his children’s weary eyeballs? Yes, Your Honor. No further questions.
“I will explain all that I know over breakfast at Reading Terminal Market. I don’t care to discuss homicide while driving through Center City. It makes me…twitchy. Until then, strap in and start contemplating the menu. I know you two have it memorized by now.”
“Father,” Ariel said solemnly. “You’re trying to distract us with food, but we’re serious. We want to know what’s going on.”