Michael Balkind - Sudden Death

Reid called Buck and asked where the press conference was to be held.

“Just come to my office,” Buck said. “Jay’s on his way. He wants to give us an update before we speak with the press.”

Buck and Jay were seated at the conference table in Buck’s opulent office when Reid and Joel arrived. Thick gray-blue smoke hung lazily throughout the room. The air filter was struggling to keep up as curls of smoke rose from cigars sitting side by side in a crystal ashtray.

Joel slowly strolled around the large office. First, he took in the view of the city through the two floor-to-ceiling, windowed walls, and then he moseyed over to the opposite corner, where a gallery of pictures of Buck with various celebrities, athletes and a few past U.S. presidents were hung.

Reid helped himself to a Cohiba from the humidor as he sat at the table. He lit up, and they got down to business. Jay explained that Detective Alto had run checks on everyone on the list. At the moment, no one looked more suspicious than any other. They had already interviewed and cleared about half of them. David Jordan had struck gold with two clients after Reid left him. He wasn’t happy when Reid’s name was brought up, but he certainly had no desire to threaten him. Of the three past girlfriends, two, Alyssa and Sydney, were models, working overseas for the past few months. Mikaela, the third, was dating another wealthy pro athlete and had all but forgotten Reid. Curiosity overcame Reid; he interrupted, asking who the guy was. “Ross Misrok,” Jay answered. “Oh great,” Buck snickered. Reid just laughed. “Private joke?” Jay asked. “May I continue?” “Sorry,” they both said, still chuckling. Jay continued, “Hubie from GolfCo made up for his loss with another golf investment. Believe it or not, he’s a major stockholder in Eagle. He certainly doesn’t want you dead.” He paused and puffed on his cigar.

“Bruce, your old family friend has been in a rehab facility for about a year. Mard, your other partner in GolfCo, declared bankruptcy and killed himself.” “Oh no,” Reid moaned, burying his face in his hands. Jay gave him a moment, then continued. “The hecklers that you had removed from the golf course were just rowdy fans. They’ve been thrown out of other sports venues for similar activity. That leaves Jennifer, Eli, Mike Gatto and any tour pros you think may have a problem with you.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to show you this,” Reid said as he pulled the napkin from his pocket and handed it to Jay. “I found it in my apartment this morning. It was on a hanger in the closet that Jennifer cleared out.”

“Nice note,” Jay said. “Obviously she’s pissed. Guess we better ques tion her immediately.”

“I’m not surprised she wrote it, but she wouldn’t want to kill me. She may be a golddigger, but she’s not a murderer.”

“One never knows,” Jay said in a mysterious tone. Then, more serious ly, he added, “Reid that’s the kind of thing that you can’t tell about a person until it’s too late.” “Do what you have to do,” Reid said, shrugging. “You wouldn’t know where any of the others are, would you? We know Eli lives in Philadelphia, but we can’t find him. As for Mike Gatto, we have absolutely no idea of his whereabouts. He’s like a phantom.” “I have absolutely no idea.” After another pull on his cigar, Jay said, “Okay, I’m done. Now tell me if you’ve thought of any other golfers we should check out.”

Reid had been thinking about this. “Two come to mind, Bill Rogers and Jim Turner. They both think they’re hot shit. Both are wannabe’s. They know they don’t have a real chance, so they’re always irritable. They both tell me often to grow up or shut up. Funny thing is, even if I wasn’t on the tour, they still really wouldn’t stand a chance. There are others, but we all poke fun at each other and break each other’s balls all the time. Certainly nothing serious.”

“Okay,” Jay said. “Before we go to the press conference, I have one more possibility I want to run by you both. What about Carl or someone else at Eagle?”

Reid and Buck both were taken aback. Very concerned, Buck asked in disbelief, “Did I just hear you correctly?”

“Calm down and hear me out. Maybe they sent the note just to rattle Reid. It would have saved Eagle $30 million if he lost the Masters. I know the argument against it; Reid wins and the company sells more. But it is a possibility. I just wanted you both to know before I follow it up.”

“Hold on a second, Jay,” Buck said. “Questioning Carl could really damage the endorsement deal. Their attorneys haven’t even finished writing the contract yet. I don’t want to blow the whole thing over a false accusation.”

“Don’t worry, I thought about that. When I speak with Carl, I’m going to tell him that neither of you know anything about my questioning him. He’s smart enough to understand that I have to follow every possible scenario, probable or not. I’ll make sure he is okay with it. That is, if I clear him.” “Alright,” Buck said, “But please handle him gently.” “Of course…Okay, let’s go. Where’s the press conference?” “Downstairs on the fourth floor,” Buck said. “I temporarily rented a huge empty office so we could hold the conferences right here. But before we go, I need to tell you about a call that I got this morning from Art Fornham, our director at AllSport. When he heard about the threats, he immediately thought about a recent situation on campus. There was an attempted break-in at our indoor target range. It was unsuccessful so he didn’t bother us with it when it happened. They didn’t even get through the steel door before the alarm rang. By the time the cops arrived, the perps were gone. They dusted the area and found prints belonging to some punks from a Harlem street gang. Turns out, we’ve had a couple of guys from the same gang training at AllSport. Both were excellent basketball players, but both were thrown out of camp for drug use. Names were John Morgan and Tony Jacobs.”

Buck flipped open a leather-bound folder that was on the table. Removing a page he said, “Art faxed this over a little while ago. We’ve made it a practice to tape every conversation we have with the athletes at camp. We also keep their schedules and a log of each time they enter or leave the campus, just in case. Due to the questionable character of some of our athletes, it seemed wise to protect them, or AllSport, if they ever get into serious trouble or become suspects in a crime. This is Art’s report describing John Morgan and a transcript of their conversation as he kicked Morgan out of AllSport. I’ll read it to you. ‘John Morgan is twenty-one and has excellent potential in the NBA. His nickname, Burn, is due to his reputation of burning people on and off the court. The Foundation’s recruiters originally found him on the street in Harlem, playing schoolyard ball. He is an amazing basketball player. Nobody can stop him on the court. He came to AllSport with serious baggage, though. Raised in a broken home, he grew up on the streets. Drugs, violence and theft were his life. He was a member of a tough street gang named Slam, whose members have been known to kill. They are more like a hoodlum basketball team then a street gang. Camp recruiters originally had a tough time convincing him to leave the gang and come to AllSport. Once he arrived, he quickly adapted and began enjoying camp life. He was by far the best basketball player on campus, aside from the NBA pros, of course. Morgan spent about eight months at AllSport before he was caught doing crack cocaine on campus. He was brought in by security, and I gave him a serious lecture. As per Reid’s rules, he was given one warning. As you know, the second time anyone is caught with drugs, they are thrown off campus and out of the ICSF’s program altogether, with no chance for re-admittance. Morgan’s posture and attitude during the lecture was laid back and arrogant.