Michael Balkind - Sudden Death

Buck and Jay remained in the suite. Jay’s cell phone rang. Buck listened as he answered, “Jay Scott… Of course not, that would have made things too easy… In Harlem. Hmmm… Everything helps, Tim… Thanks. Hate to say it, but we need it on this one.”

Jay hung up, turned to Buck and explained. “That was Tim Parker, a detective assigned to the case. He said they tracked the paper to a store near Columbia University, up in Harlem.” Buck nodded. “The good news is they only sold one ream from that dye lot. The bad news is it was a cash sale, so there’s no paper trail.” He rolled his eyes. “Interesting use of words, huh? Well, anyway, equally bad is that the store has no video surveillance system. They questioned the clerk who sold the paper. He vaguely remembers the customer was a young, black female. That’s it.” “That’s not much to go on,” Buck said. “Nope. The epitome of a needle in a haystack.” Jay paused, clasped his hands together in prayer like fashion, raised his forefingers to his lips and said, “Help me, Buck, I’m getting mixed signals. The paper was bought in Harlem by a young black girl. The stolen Porsche was found at a chop shop in Harlem. At this point in the investigation, Eli is at the top of my list of suspects, but there are several problems with that theory. First, and most obvious, Eli is white. Second, he wasn’t part of the ‘jack and chop’ bust. His prints were not found anywhere in the chop shop, while everyone they busted left prints. Everyone involved was black. The prints were also checked against those they have for that street gang, which include just about every member. None matched. Damn, Buck! Nothing fits.” “Take it easy, Jay, you’ll figure it out; you always do,” Buck said trying to console him. “Thanks for listening, anyway.” “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” “Just repeating the facts sometimes helps. It can make me see things from a different perspective.” “Was it any help this time?” “No, not really,” Jay sighed.

Reid and his entourage arrived at the club. He put on his golf shoes and went to ask Jimmy when he could get out on the back nine.

“Right now, Reid. How many are playing?” Jimmy asked, looking at the group of men. “Just me.” “But…,” Jimmy started to ask, pointing at the group. Reid cut him off sighing, “Please, don’t ask, Jimmy.” “Sorry.” “Don’t worry about it.” They went out to the 10th tee and Reid asked Buddy for his five-iron. He stretched and swung the iron to loosen up. He chuckled, thinking, Sure, I’m going to get loose. I’m as tight as gut on a tennis racket. He went to the tee box and teed up a ball. He traded the five-iron for his driver, swung it a few times, then approached the ball, mumbling, “Relax and focus, relax and focus…oh, who am I kidding? This is ridiculous.” He stepped away from the tee. “Sorry guys, I’m having a difficult time.” “You don’t need to apologize to us,” Joel said. “Reid, look around you; you’re safe with us. No one is going to get you while we’re here.”

“You’re right. I mean I wouldn’t want you guys gunning for me. Somebody would have to be crazy to try to get by you. Wait…oh yeah, this guy probably is crazy,” Reid said sarcastically.

“Alright, alright, point taken. Just do your best to relax. We’ve got you covered,” Joel said.

Reid walked back to the tee. After a practice swing, he took his usual cleansing breath and swung, completely missing the ball. He shook his head as he walked away silently, then suddenly yelled, “If you’re out there, you son of a bitch, come and get me already!”

The group quickly tightened up, forming a shield around him. Everyone remained quiet until he settled down and said, “Alright, I think I got that out of my system. Let’s try it again.” He went back to the tee, took a couple of practice swings, then hit a lousy shot.

He shook his head again. “Looks like I’ve got some work to do.” He quickly started toward his ball. The guard detail had to run to catch up.

“Guys, please give me a little room. It feels like you’re on top of me. I need to walk next to Buddy so we can talk.”

After a few holes, the detail figured out how to keep Reid surrounded without bothering him too much. “I think we’re getting the hang of this,” Reid said. “I have to warn you though, during the tournament, my focus will be on golf. If you get in my way, I’ll probably snap at you. My bark is worse than my bite, but once I’m in the zone, I tend to get a little ornery if someone distracts me.” Buddy grinned but let it go. Reid played the first few holes fairly well, although not the way he wanted. Buddy tried to help him strategize, but Reid disagreed with almost everything he said. He took his four-iron instead of the five that Buddy recommended. Then, when he overshot the green, he said, “I should’ve listened to you.” Buddy just shrugged. Reid did this for three holes, undershooting and overshooting the green. Each time he said, “I did it again. Why don’t I just listen to you?” On the next hole, as Buddy was handing Reid his seven iron, Reid asked for his eight. Joel interfered, “Reid, just listen to him this time, will you?” “You’re right. Sorry, Buddy. Go ahead, give me my seven.” “No, hit what you’ve got,” Buddy said. “No, give me my seven-iron!” “ No , use your eight,” Buddy said before starting to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” Reid asked. “For the past five holes, you’ve disagreed with everything I’ve said. This time, I intentionally recommended the wrong club so you would take the right one, and now you decide to listen to me.”

Everyone, including Reid, fell apart laughing. He listened to Buddy from then on and played the last two holes very well, parring both. Reid finished the back nine and decided to continue with the front nine immediately. He asked Stu to go to the snack bar and get hot dogs and sodas for everybody.

Stu caught up with them on the second hole. Nobody was behind them, so they sat and ate lunch right there on the tee box. As he finished, Reid said, “This is a first; I’ve never had a picnic on a tee box. Maybe we’ll start a new trend. What do ya think?” “Doubt it,” Stu mumbled with a mouthful. Done with lunch, Reid continued to play. By the fourth hole, he was in the zone. He birdied four, five and six, missing an eagle on six by inches. On the last three holes he shot par, birdie, par. He turned to the others and said, “Gentlemen, I think we’re going to be okay. If I can play like this for the rest of the week, this tournament is ours. You guys do your job and I’ll do mine. Buddy, if I stop listening to you, just hit me. Lightly of course, but hit me.”

“Do me a favor,” Buddy said. “Don’t disagree with me during the tour nament. I really would like you to win, and I don’t want to hit you. Although, I’ll admit there are times when I’d like to knock you out.” Reid laughed. “I’m sure.” They went back into the locker room to change shoes and clean up. Other pros were sitting around talking. As Reid walked by, he noticed that conversations would stop until he passed. Ordinarily, this would have pleased him. Today, it got on his nerves. He changed his shoes next to two golfers who had stopped talking when he sat. What the hell is this? he thought. Enough already. He quickly stepped up on the bench. Surprised, Joel said, “Now what the hell are you doing? Get down!” Reid disregarded him. “Can I please have everybody’s attention?” The room quieted. Joel and Stu quickly stood up on either side of him. “Look guys, I know you’re all trying to give me room, but this is ridiculous. You make me feel like I have a disease or something. Some of you might be nervous to play with me in the tournament. Some of you probably think I should back out. But if I don’t play, I’m just letting this bastard win. I’m sure you’ll agree, that’s not our style. We’re all winners in this room. We’ve worked damn hard to get here. We can’t let something like this beat us. Can we?” Nobody uttered a word. “Well, can we?” he repeated, louder. A few “no’s” were heard around the room. From the far side of the room, Howard Brock piped up, “He’s right, guys. We need to support Reid right now, not shut him out. If it were any of us, we’d want the support, right? Look, we may play hard against each other. We may not even like each other at times. But in a situation like this, we need to be a team, in a manner of speaking. We are each a member of an elite group, the PGA. We have a duty to support one another. Don’t you agree?”