“A number of men, but it’s none of your business.”
He said, “I like the way you play your game, Knight. I commend your work.”
I didn’t know whether to thank him or not. Some men wanted thank you’s, others didn’t. I wasn’t sure what his position on the topic was. Whatever, I thought, and asked, “What about Cutter? Are you his bookie?”
“Yes.” It was a flat answer, which I translated as honest.
“How much does he play, a little or a lot?”
“A lot.”
“And how much dough?”
“Over a million a year.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but then again, Cutter was getting paid quite the sum of money to play professional football. “That’s more than a lot.”
“It is. Cutter has a problem. Just like most of the guys I do business with.”
“Does he owe you money?”
“Everyone owes me money.”
“How much money does he owe you?”
“Nothing to send a guy by the name of Bar after him to collect.”
“Who’s Bar?”
“My muscle,” he said, drinking his beer. “That’s all you need to know about him.”