Drop Shot (1996) by Harlan - Myron 02 Coben

Author:Harlan - Myron 02 Coben [Coben, Harlan - Myron 02]
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-12-26T00:42:00.327000+00:00

Chapter 5

The U. S. T. A. National Tennis Center is neatly snuggled into the bosom of Queens' top attractions: Shea Stadium (home of the New York Mets), Flushing Meadows Park (home of the 1964-65 World's Fair) and La Guardia Airport (home of, uh, delays).

Players used to complain about the La Guardia planes flying overhead, for the very simple reason that it made Stadium Court sound like a launch pad during an Apollo liftoff. Then-mayor David Dinkins, never one to let a terrible injustice go unheeded, immediately sprang into action. Using all his political might, the former mayor of New York City who in a fascinating and almost eerie coincidence was also an enormous tennis fan had La Guardia's offending runway halt operations for the duration of the Open. Tennis millionaires were grateful. In a show of mutual respect and admiration Mayor David Dinkins returned their gratitude by showing up at the matches every day for the two weeks of play, except in yet another eerie coincidence during election years.

Only two courts were used for the night sessions: Stadium Court and the adjacent Grandstand Court. The day sessions, Myron thought, were much more fun. Fifteen or sixteen matches might be going on at the same time. You could cruise around, catch a great five-set match on some obscure court, discover an up-and-coming player, see singles, doubles, and mixed doubles matches all in the glorious sunshine. But at night you basically sat in one seat and watched a match under lights. During the Open's first couple of days this match usually featured a top-seed mercilessly decapitating a qualifier.

Myron parked in the Shea Stadium lot and crossed the walking bridge over the No. 7 train. Someone had set up a booth with a radar gun where spectators could measure the speed of their own serve. Business was brisk. Ticket scalpers were also busy. So were the guys selling knockoff U. S. Open T-shirts. The knockoff T-shirts sold for five dollars, as opposed to the ones inside the gates that went for twenty-five dollars. Not a bad deal on the surface. Of course, after one wash the knock-off T-shirt could only be worn by a Barbie doll. But still.

Pavel Menansi was in one of the players' boxes, the same one Myron and Win had sat in earlier in the day. It was 6:45 p.m. The final day match was over. The first night match, featuring Pavel's latest protn++gn++e, fourteen-year old Janet Koffman, would not begin until 7:15 p.m. People were milling around during the day-to-night cusp. Myron spotted the usher from the day session.

"How ya doing, Mr. Bolitar?" the usher said.

"Fine, Bill. Just wanted to say a quick hello to a friend."

"Sure, no prob, go right ahead."

Myron headed down the steps. Without warning a man wearing a blue blazer and aviator sunglasses stepped in front of him. He was a big guy six-four, two-twenty just about Myron's size. His neatly combed hair sat above a pleasant though unyielding face. He expanded his chest into a paddleball wall, blocking Myron's path.

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