Naked Ambition. Dan Roberts

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      CHEN AND ROGET WERE JUST WALKING off the elevator, about to enter the tenth floor estate gallery, when Chen’s cell phone rang. Seeing that it was from his ‘eyes’ in Reading, Chen excused himself, asking Roget to walk ahead to the gallery. “I shouldn’t be long, Huber. I’ll meet you in there.”

      Chen walked to a corner of the hallway and, in a quiet voice, answered his phone with a simple, “Yes?”

      He listened for less than a minute and then quietly said, “Okay. That’s good. But I want to continue the tail on the target 24/7. Do you understand? Round the clock. 24/7.”

      Obviously, there was an affirmative answer, probably something like, “yes, sir.”

      After clicking off his phone, Chen walked toward the estate gallery. After passing through the double door entry, he walked into the first of a series of large gallery rooms where the collections of several persons of wealth, either deceased or ‘downsizing,’ were on display for examination before being auctioned. A quick perusal of the area made Chen aware of several paintings by Monet, a few by Renior and, at least. two Picassos, one filling the larger part of the wall on the far side.

      Roget, who had been speaking with one of the security guards, saw Chen and approached him saying, “Monsieur, if you will follow me I’ll take you to the Matisse.” Noting Chen’s eyes moving slowly—appreciatively—about the room, Roget added, “There may also be a few others that you would be interested in. I think you would be especially pleased with the Chagall we have in the next room.”

      Still thinking of his Reading contact, Chen answered Roget with, “Lead on, Huber. Lead on.”

      THE COACH’S WATCH SAID IT WASN’T yet time to stop practicing. In fact, it was a little earlier than the usual 8:00 quitting time. But that didn’t stop Clarkson from blowing his whistle. After wrapping up his usual pep talk, which tonight was very brief, he dismissed ‘his boys.’ Then the coach asked Jack and Max Fisher to put all the equipment away. “I’ve got to take Nick to the Baker’s place and then get home myself,” he said in an obvious attempt to leave quickly. “Max, you going to be okay staying with Jack? His mother should be here any minute.” Max answered, saying he had no problem.

      It was only a short time later that Clarkson slammed the Lexus’ door fast and hard. In his desperate attempt to escape the heat and humidity of the evening air, he started the engine, reached toward the dash and pushed the air conditioner button to high. As he wiped the perspiration dripping from his forehead, he looked at his face in the rearview mirror. It was red and a bit bloated. He then turned toward Nick who was sitting next to him and said, “Damn this heat. It really gets to me.”

      After putting the car into ‘drive,’ the Lexus made its way out of the Scott Recreation Center parking lot, then headed north on the road that led toward the Baker home. As he drove along, Clarkson couldn’t get his mind off the heat wave that had engulfed the area over the last few days. Looking up at his rearview mirror once again—at the temperature gauge—Clarkson’s head began shaking back and forth, indicating a high level of displeasure. “God, it’s still ninety degrees at eight o’clock. I hate this weather,” he said as he momentarily diverted his eyes toward his passenger. “How about you?”

      “Yup,” was the only reply from Nick.

      Without moving his eyes from the road, Clarkson said, “Nick, I really have appreciated all your help with the camp this week. You’ve got a real talent for teaching. I’ve been watching how you’ve been working with the kids, especially the ones that need the extra help. Like that Klinger kid. What’s his name?”

      “Bill,” said Nick rather bluntly.

      “With some practice I think Bill’s actually got a chance to do well. If he does, he’s got you to thank.”

      “Good,” said Nick in a rather dry, detached voice.

      Clarkson drove on for another few blocks without saying anything. From the corner of his eye he saw that Nick didn’t move. The young athlete’s body was rigid. His face was tense but his fingers were moving. They were restless, an indication that something was going on. Finally, Clarkson spoke up. “You okay, kid?”

      “Yup,” was the single word reply after which there was quiet once again. At least, for a few moments.

      “You worried about something, Nick?”

      “Naw,” Nick said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s nothing.”

      After several more blocks, Clarkson slowed his car and pulled into an empty parking space. Once the car was stopped, the coach turned the whole of his upper body toward Nick. “So, what’s with the silent treatment?”

      Nick felt compelled to answer. “Just thinking.”

      “About?”

      “Nothin’ much,” Nick said, still looking forward. Knowing the coach was probably going to ask him more questions, he added, “Everything’s cool, Coach. Nothing I can’t handle.”

      “Handle? What do you mean by that?”

      Again, silence pervaded the car’s interior.

      “Nick, I don’t know what’s going on, but if you need to talk about something I’m here for you. I’m not just a volleyball coach, you know. I can be a friend, too.”

      “Okay,” was the only response coming from Nick, who was still looking out through the windshield.

      Almost defensively, Clarkson pressed on. “Is it me? Is there something I’ve done? Something I’ve said?”

      “Naw, Coach, nothing like that.”

      Clarkson noticed that Nick’s fingers were still fidgeting. And now his right leg was jumpy—nervously bouncing up and down—yet another sign of anxiety. “So what is it?” asked the coach.

      Nick slowly turned his head toward the driver. “Well…” He intentionally left that word hang for a moment and then added, “…if you really wanna know.”

      “I do,” said Clarkson, with a tone of sincerity.

      The rigidity surrounding Nick’s eyes and mouth suddenly left. His face softened. “It’s my mom. I’m really worried about her.” Haltingly, he explained. “She’s had cancer for several years and now it’s gotten worse. She’s getting treatments but I don’t know what’s going to happen.” Nick’s words and expression were telling of his true emotions regarding his mother’s history with cancer. Her illness had, in fact, affected him significantly over the last couple of years.

      “Yeah, I know how that must be,” Clarkson said in a compassionate tone. “My mother died a few years ago from breast cancer. It was really difficult to see her suffer.”

      “Sorry to hear that,” said Nick in an almost whispered voice as he glanced toward the floor.

      “Thanks,” said Clarkson. “But I said that to let you know that I understand what you must be going through. It’s tough. I know. Especially, if you’re going through it alone.”

      Still looking at the floor, Nick said, “Well, I’m not really СКАЧАТЬ