This was Cheryl’s giant. And this was no accidental meeting. In all likelihood, this was also the man whom Jill had caught spying on them the night before. Ted had never been stalked before and was surprised to find that his initial reaction was amusement rather than anxiety or fear. He decided that the best way to play this game was to wait. Eventually, the hulk would deliver his message or otherwise announce his purpose.

Though well-dressed in a blue blazer, button-down shirt, and grey flannel slacks, he was not attractive. The guy had a head like a basketball if anyone had ever wanted to carve such a thing out of granite. Tiny ears and mouth, hairless except for a pair of handleless push brooms that were stuck over each beady eye, and as grim looking as the Gowanus Canal. Where one would usually expect to find a neck, there was merely a tattooed indentation. The rest of him was in proportion: a trunk like a double-door refrigerator and upper arms like bowling balls. Ted doubted that the man could go bowling; those fingers would never fit in the holes. On the other hand, with hands that big, why would he need to use the holes?

Ted smiled and tried for eye contact, having once read that such a tactic connotes trust and openness, leading to positive communication. The guy might not have read the same article.

They watched in silence as the Cardinals went down hitless. Ted could not read the guy at all. It was like sitting next to a black hole. Ted was, therefore, surprised when the man leaned into him as everyone was standing during the stretch.

The guy spoke softly in a high-pitched whisper. Steroids. “I want you to do something for me.”

Ted was sure he had heard correctly. He stalled. “Sorry. What was that?”

“You heard me. You’re Eddie Molloy.”

“Ted Molloy. We have a mutual acquaintance, I believe.”

“You’re working on a thing for Cheryl,” the giant said. “You should hurry up and make it right.”

The man shifted his stance, and Ted, looking up at him, was momentarily blinded by the floodlights above, which reminded him of his first sighting of this gargantuan thug through the window at Gallagher’s. “Isn’t this where you’re supposed to tell me you want me to find your Velma?”

The guy’s eyes almost crossed as he tried to make sense of that. “Who’s Velma? I don’t get it.” It hadn’t worked. He looked confused and might not have liked feeling that way.