One False Move (Myron Bolitar Mysteries) - Hardcover

Coben, Harlan

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0385323697 ISBN 13: 9780385323697

Publisher: Delacorte Press, 1998

Synopsis

Myron Bolitar is a hotheaded sports agent with a fierce wit, a taste for Yoo-Hoo, and a penchant for falling into jobs he doesn't want--think of him as Jerry Maguire as a reluctant private eye.  In this remarkable novel by Edgar Award-winning author Harlan Coben, Myron is asked to keep an eye on the star of the new women's basketball league who's been receiving threats on her life.  Myron takes on the seemingly innocuous task, figuring he'll pick up the star as a new client.  But soon her beauty and her quiet strength have him falling for her terrible story--the mother who disappeared twenty years before and the father who was recently discovered murdered--as he moves headlong into a case that prevails against his own better judgment, maybe to win her heart, maybe to save his own.  The answer is at the end of a narrow trail of lies, lust, and murder, where one false move can cost both of them their lives.

Combining riveting suspense, quick wit, and relentless energy, Coben proves he's at the top of his game with this endlessly entertaining and totally inescapable novel.

About this title

About the Author

Harlan Coben is the author of four previous Myron Bolitar novels, including Back Spin, the Edgar Award and Shamus Award-winning Fade Away, Drop Shot, and Deal Breaker, which won an Anthony Award and received an Edgar Award nomination for Best Original Paperback.  He lives in New Jersey with his wife, daughter, and son.  His e-mail address is bolitar@aol.com.

From the Inside Flap

Myron Bolitar is a hotheaded sports agent with a fierce wit, a taste for Yoo-Hoo, and a penchant for falling into jobs he doesn't want--think of him as Jerry Maguire as a reluctant private eye. In this remarkable novel by Edgar Award-winning author Harlan Coben, Myron is asked to keep an eye on the star of the new women's basketball league who's been receiving threats on her life. Myron takes on the seemingly innocuous task, figuring he'll pick up the star as a new client. But soon her beauty and her quiet strength have him falling for her terrible story--the mother who disappeared twenty years before and the father who was recently discovered murdered--as he moves headlong into a case that prevails against his own better judgment, maybe to win her heart, maybe to save his own. The answer is at the end of a narrow trail of lies, lust, and murder, where one false move can cost both of them their lives.

Combining riveting suspense, quick wit, and relentless energy, Coben proves he's at the top of his game with this endlessly entertaining and totally inescapable novel.

Reviews

Fast-talking sports agent Myron Bolitar won't win any awards for baseball (since his Little League brushback) or basketball (thanks to his bum knee), but his paperback detective work has already won him an Anthony, a Shamus, and an Edgar. His hardcover debut dangles an appealing potential client in front of him--Brenda Slaughter, basketball star of the New York Dolphins--but there's a catch: Before he can sign her, he has to protect her from the threats she's been getting, and maybe even track down her missing parents (Dad's been gone a week, Mom 20 years). What could anybody have against Brenda--unless it's the mobsters who want to press her into defecting to a rival women's league, or the wealthy and well-connected Arthur Bradford, the gubernatorial candidate determined to keep the truth about his wife's ancient suicide under wraps, or all the New Jersey cops who are either on Bradford's payroll or would like to be? Undaunted, Myron and his Spenser-inspired entourage--his bisexual assistant Esperanza Diaz, his financial-planning associate Windsor Horne Lockwood III (who, despite his blond complexion, probably shaves in front of a photo of Spenser's buddy Hawk), and his ex-wrestler temp Big Cyndi, who doesn't like to be called just Cyndi--take on every soul in New Jersey with a gun, a bank account, and a bad attitude, and uncover a satisfyingly complex tangle of skullduggery. Could Myron, who pushes his wisecracking charm hard, be any more tough and adorable? It'll be a pleasure waiting for the next installment to find out. (Author tour) -- Copyright ©1998, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.

Brenda Slaughter may be the greatest female basketball player ever, and sports agent Myron Bolitar takes Brenda under his wing. Bolitar's ability to hone his basketball skills as a young man was made possible by Brenda's father, Horace, who acted as the white Bolitar's guardian angel on the very hostile inner-city playgrounds. Bolitar and Brenda forge a business relationship, and the first order of business is finding Horace. The trail Horace left is troubling because it contains hints of a 20-year-old scandal that left the wife of current gubernatorial candidate Arthur Bradford dead. The fifth Bolitar mystery--and the first in hardcover--continues the series' realistic portrayal of the contemporary sports world while dishing up a bit of murder and mayhem. Bolitar is a solid protagonist who is plenty tough but also smart enough to accept his shortcomings. If you haven't been including the Bolitar paperbacks in your mystery collection, this is a good place to start. Wes Lukowsky

Series sports agent Myron Bolitar handles everything with panache: his relationships, his clients, and this search for two missing people. When a sports store mogul asks him to "watch over" basketball star Brenda Slaughter, Myron winds up looking for her father, who disappeared a week ago, and her mother, who deserted the family some 20 years earlier. Myron not only discovers mob interest in female basketball but also a connected suspicious death in a high-profile political family. Standard plotting, then, but authentic conversation, colorful characters, and exciting New York and New Jersey surrounds more than compensate. Strongly recommended.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

AUGUST 30

Myron hunched his shoulders and slurred his words. "I am not a baby-sitter," he said. "I am a sports agent."

Norm Zuckerman looked pained. "Was that supposed to be Bela Lugosi?"

"The Elephant Man," Myron said.

"Damn, that was awful. And who said anything about being a baby-sitter? Did I say the word baby-sitter or baby-sitting or for that matter any form of the verb to baby-sit or noun or even the word baby or the word sit or sat or--"

Myron held up a hand. "I get the point, Norm."

They sat under a basket at Madison Square Garden in those cloth-and-wood directors' chairs that have stars' names on the back. Their chairs were set high so that the net from the basket almost tickled Myron's hair. A model shoot was going on at half-court. Lots of those umbrella lights and tall, bony women-cum-children and tripods and people huffing and fluffing about. Myron waited for someone to mistake him for a model. And waited.

"A young woman may be in danger," Norm said. "I need your help."

Norm Zuckerman was approaching seventy and as CEO of Zoom, a megasize sports manufacturing conglomerate, he had more money than Trump. He looked, however, like a beatnik trapped in a bad acid trip. Retro, Norm had explained earlier, was cresting, and he was catching the wave by wearing a psychedelic poncho, fatigue pants, love beads, and an earring with a dangling peace sign. Groovy, man. His black-to-gray beard was unruly enough to nest beetle larvae, his hair newly curled like something out of a bad production of Godspell.

Che Guevara lives and gets a perm.

"You don't need me," Myron said. "You need a bodyguard."

Norm waved a dismissing hand. "Too obvious."

"What?"

"She'd never go for it. Look, Myron, what do you know about Brenda Slaughter?"

"Not much," Myron said.

He looked surprised. "What do you mean, not much?"

"What word are you having trouble with, Norm?"

"For crying out loud, you were a basketball player."

"So?"

"So Brenda Slaughter may be the greatest female player of all time. A pioneer in her sport--not to mention the pinup girl, pardon the political insensitivity, for my new league."

"That much I know."

"Well, know this: I'm worried about her. If something happens to Brenda Slaughter, the whole WPBA--and my substantial investment--could go right down the toilet."

"Well, as long as it's for humanitarian reasons."

"Fine, I'm a greedy capitalist pig. But you, my friend, are a sports agent. There is not a greedier, sleazier, slimier, more capitalist entity in existence."

Myron nodded. "Suck up to me," he said. "That'll work."

"You're not letting me finish. Yes, you're a sports agent. But a damn fine one. The best, really. You and the Spanish shiksa do incredible work for your clients. Get the most for them. More than they should get really. By the time you finish with me, I feel violated. Hand to God, you're that good. You come into my office, you rip off my clothes and have your way with me."

Myron made a face. "Please."

"But I know your secret background with the feds."

Some secret. Myron was still hoping to bump into someone above the equator who didn't know about it.

"Just listen to me for a second, Myron, okay? Hear me out. Brenda is a lovely girl, a wonderful basketball player--and a pain in my left tuchis. I don't blame her. If I grew up with a father like that, I'd be a pain in the left tuchis too."

"So her father is the problem?"

Norm made a yes-and-no gesture. "Probably."

"So get a restraining order," Myron said.

"Already done."

"Then what's the problem? Hire a private eye. If he steps within a hundred yards of her, call the cops."

"It's not that easy." Norm looked out over the court. The workers involved in the shoot darted about like trapped particles under sudden heat. Myron sipped his coffee. Gourmet coffee. A year ago he never drank coffee. Then he started stopping into one of the new coffee bars that kept cropping up like bad movies on cable. Now Myron could not go through a morning without his gourmet coffee fix.

There is a fine line between a coffee house and a crack house.

"We don't know where he is," Norm said.

"Excuse me?"

"Her father," Norm said. "He's vanished. Brenda is always looking over her shoulder. She's terrified."

"And you think the father is a danger to her?"

"This guy is the Great Santini on steroids. He used to play ball himself. Pac Ten, I think. His name is--"

"Horace Slaughter," Myron said.

"You know him?"

Myron nodded very slowly. "Yeah," he said. "I know him."

Norm studied his face. "You're too young to have played with him."

Myron said nothing. Norm did not catch the hint. He rarely did.

"So how do you know Horace Slaughter?"

"Don't worry about it," Myron said. "Tell me why you think Brenda Slaughter is in danger."

"She's been getting threats."

"What kind of threats?"

"Death."

"Could you be a little more specific?"

The photo shoot frenzy continued to whirl. Models sporting the latest in Zoom wear and oodles of attitude cycled through poses and pouts and postures and pursed lips. Come on and vogue. Someone called out for Ted, where the hell is Ted, that prima donna, why isn't Ted dressed yet, I swear, Ted will be the death of me yet.

"She gets phone calls," Norm said. "A car follows her. That kind of thing."

"And you want me to do what exactly?"

"Watch her."

Myron shook his head. "Even if I said yes--which I'm not--you said she won't go for a bodyguard."

Norm smiled and patted Myron's knee. "Here's the part where I lure you in. Like a fish on a hook."

"Original analogy."

"Brenda Slaughter is currently unagented."

Myron said nothing.

"Cat got your tongue, handsome?"

"I thought she signed a major endorsement deal with Zoom."

"She was on the verge when her old man disappeared. He was her manager. But she got rid of him. Now she's alone. She trusts my judgment, to a point. This girl is no fool, let me tell you. So here's my plan: Brenda will be here in a couple of minutes. I recommend you to her. She says hello. You say hello. Then you hit her with the famed Bolitar charm."

Myron arched one eyebrow. "Set on full blast?"

"Heavens, no. I don't want the poor girl disrobing."

"I took an oath to only use my powers for good."

"This is good, Myron, believe me."

Myron remained unconvinced. "Even if I agreed to go along with this cockamamy scheme, what about nights? You expect me to watch her twenty-four hours a day?"

"Of course not. Win will help you there."

"Win has better things to do."

"Tell that goy boy-toy it's for me," Norm said. "He loves me."

A flustered photographer in the great Eurotrash tradition hurried over to their perch. He had a goatee and spiky blond hair like Sandy Duncan on an off day. Bathing did not appear to be a priority here. He sighed repeatedly, making sure all in the vicinity knew that he was both important and being put out. "Where is Brenda?" he whined.

"Right here."

Myron swiveled toward a voice like warm honey on Sunday pancakes. With her long, purposeful stride--not the shy-girl walk of the too-tall or the nasty strut of a model--Brenda Slaughter swept into the room like a radar-tracked weather system. She was very tall, over six feet for sure, with skin the color of Myron's Starbucks Mocha Java with a hefty splash of skim milk. She wore faded jeans that hugged deliciously but without obscenity and a ski sweater that made you think of cuddling inside a snow-covered log cabin.

Myron managed not to say wow out loud.

Brenda Slaughter was not so much beautiful as electric. The air around her crackled. She was far too big and broad-shouldered to be a model. Myron knew some professional models. They were always throwing themselves at him--snicker--and were ridiculously thin, built like strings with helium balloons on top. Brenda was no size six. You felt strength with this woman, substance, power, a force if you will, and yet it was all completely feminine, whatever that meant, and incredibly attractive.

Norm leaned over and whispered, "See why she's our poster girl?"

Myron nodded.

Norm jumped down from the chair. "Brenda, darling, come over here. I want you to meet someone."

The big brown eyes found Myron's, and there was a hesitation. She smiled a little and strode toward them. Myron rose, ever the gentleman. Brenda headed straight for him and stuck out her hand. Myron shook it. Her grip was strong. Now that they were both standing, Myron could see he had an inch or two on her. That made her six-two, maybe six-three.

"Well, well," Brenda said. "Myron Bolitar."

Norm gestured as if he were pushing them closer together. "You two know each other?"

"Oh, I'm sure Mr. Bolitar doesn't remember me," Brenda said. "It was a long time ago."

It took Myron only a few seconds. His brain immediately realized that had he met Brenda Slaughter before, he would ha...

Edition details

• Publisher: Delacorte Press
• Publication date: 1998
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0385323697
• ISBN 13: 9780385323697
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 336