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he?” Tabby indicating with his thumb the second man. “In fact, who’re you? You didn’t gimme a name las’ night.”
    â€œYou din’t ask. I’m Pat. This is Tom. First name’s all we need at this point.”
    â€œSo, who’s Tom?”
    Currie, for that’s who it was, answered. “I’m the money-man for this meeting. You told Pat last night you wanted him to bring me along tonight. We keep our promises.”
    Tabby didn’t answer. He looked at his beer and found the glass empty. He got up, went to the bar and got another. He pointedly did not buy one for the other two. When he had resumed his seat, he still said nothing and kept his eyes on his beer.
    â€œSo. Did you do any thinking about what we talked about last evening?” Pat leaned forward, keeping his voice low.
    â€œNope. Why should I? If your offer is worth ten big ones to me, must be worth a helluva lot more to you. ’S my job on the line. I could get chucked out of baseball for life, jus’ like Pete Rose.”
    Tom answered again. “Tabby, there’s nothing to say ten thousand is our final offer. We have to start negotiating first. But even before that, we need to know whether you are even interested in working this thing out.”
    â€œGimme a phone number. I’ll call you. Don’t call me.” He laughed a sardonic chuckle and pushed a paper napkin at Pat.
    Pat turned to Tom. “Yours,” replied the latter. Pat scribbled some numbers on the napkin and slid it across the table. O’Hara picked it up without looking at it, shoved it in his Dodgers’ warm-up jacket pocket, stood up and walked out of the bar without looking back, or from side to side, either, for that matter. The two men remaining in the booth looked at each other. Pat shrugged, but didn’t say anything. They also left.
    * * *
    The news of Mike Malone’s baseball coup hit the sports world like an atom bomb. Front pages all over the U.S. and Canada, as well as those in Japan and the Caribbean areas carried the story. TV newscasts and sports reports in all those countries carried clips from the press conference among their lead stories. Which made the biggest impression was impossible to tell: the establishment of a Major League franchise in Las Vegas, placed in the American League and becoming the fifth team in the Western Division, or the announcement of Molly’s appointment as Field Manager. Both parts of the story were treated with equal incredulity. The appointment of former Major Leaguer Larry Henderson as General Manager of the new Las Vegas Gold hardly drew a mention, even though he would be only the second African-American G.M. in Major League Baseball.
    Malone, in making the announcement, repeated his claim the Gold would not begin in the same way as most expansion teams had done in the past. “We are going to be in the market for top players—free agents—as well as drafts to trade up for recognized stars. There is money available for salaries, and we will pay those salaries. We’ll be competitive in our first season, which will begin in two years’ time.”
    â€œThis is an expensive proposition, Mr. Malone,” began one reporter. “How many partners are involved to make up this ‘we’ you are talking about?”
    â€œThere are three,” chuckled Malone, “me, myself and I. There’s nobody else. I’m the sole owner of the franchise, and yes, I have the funds available.”
    Another reporter jumped in: “Enough money to buy the land, buy the Las Vegas 51s, build the stadium and pay high competitive salaries?”
    â€œCorrect. Believe me, I am going into the baseball business in the same way as I have begun my other business enterprises. My eyes are wide open, my accountants have crunched the numbers, and there will be no money problems at all.”
    â€œI heard a rumor,” began a third questioner,