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DOWN RIVER“How much did you lose?” It was a guess, but a good one. He froze, and Iknew. “Dad had to cover you again, didn’t he? How much this time?”He slumped again, suddenly frightened and young. He’d gotten into a holeonce his last year of high school. He’d hooked up with a bookmaker in Charlotteand gone heavy on a round of NFL playoff games. The engine ticked as itcooled. “A little over thirty thousand,” he said.“A little over?”“Okay. Fifty thousand.”“Jesus, Jamie.”He sunk lower, all animosity gone.“Football again?”“I thought the Panthers were going to break out. I kept doubling down. Itwasn’t supposed to happen like that.”“And Dad covered it.”“It was three years ago, Adam.” He help up a hand. “I haven’t gambledsince.”“But Danny has?”Jamie nodded.“You still want to go a few rounds?” I asked.“No.”“Then don’t fuck with me, Jamie. You’re not the only one that had a badnight.”I started the truck, pulled back onto the road. “I want the name of hisbookie,” I said.Jamie’s voice was small. “There’s more than one.”“I want them all.”“I’ll find them. They’re written down somewhere.”We drove in silence for a mile, until a convenience store appeared ahead ofus. “Can you pull in here?” Jamie asked. I stopped at the store. “Give me aminute.”Jamie went inside. He came back out with a six-pack.129