Джон Гришэм - Sooley

Murray was still shaking his head. “What would happen to the charter company? I mean, surely they would get in trouble.”

“Probably, but we were counting on a small fine. Again, we were hoping Miss Ida could deal with Immigration. Since the amount of the fine is unknown, it was the one figure we weren’t sure of.”

“So how much was the entire operation?”

“Half a mil. As I said, virtually no one can afford it. We’re talking about refugees and their families, folks who have nothing.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“It is. It takes some cash to grease the skids in Uganda. There are other expenses and my time is valuable. I have to make the trip to guarantee everything works well.”

“Might I ask if your company has pulled off any of these extractions?”

“Two, but I can’t go into details. Let’s just say they involved wealthy Syrian families here who wanted their people out of the camps.”

“So, this is not your primary line of work.”

“Oh no. We deal mainly with hostages and kidnappings. We rescue people and get them out. Unfortunately, kidnapping is big business in the developing world and we have some expertise.”

Murray shoved his salad away and said, “It sounds as if this extricating business requires a fair amount of criminal activity.”

Gaston smiled and took a sip of ice tea. “Depends on how you define it. If you want a laugh, go online and search ‘fake passports.’ You’ll see a hundred sites brazenly advertising the preparation and sale of fake passports. That’s a crime. We buy them all the time, so, yes, in one sense we’re breaking the law. But there’s little harm and almost no enforcement. And, I’m sure that somewhere in Uganda there’s a law on the books that prohibits the bribing of customs officials. Or maybe there’s not. At any rate, it’s a way of life in the Third World. It’s simply how business is done. Sooley understood this and was willing to take his chances. His hands wouldn’t get dirty. He would pay our fee and we would take care of the rest.”

Murray marveled at the extent of Sooley’s planning, and without a word to his roommate. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about this.”

“It was happening pretty fast. He made contact with me about two weeks before the draft, when it looked like he would indeed go in the first round. The money was almost within his grasp. He would have told you eventually because he needed Miss Ida.”

“I guess so. He was a smart guy.”

“Very smart, and very determined. We were excited about helping Sooley because, obviously, he had the money. Or at least the prospect of it.”

“That’s what he dreamed about. Getting his mother and brothers over here.”

“I’m sorry we can’t help, Murray. Those poor folks will spend years in that camp, won’t they?”

“Probably so. And Sooley can’t help them.”

“I assume his mother has heard the news.”

“Yes. Some aid workers in the camp told her.”

“That poor woman.”

“She’ll never know how close she came.”

“Mind if I ask what happened in the Bahamas?”

Murray shrugged and said, “He had a bad night. Got some pills from a girl. Sooley wasn’t a user, not even close. He didn’t smoke pot until the season was over, and then he didn’t like it. He’d have a few beers, nothing more. It’s so sad. He was a great guy.”

“He was. I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks. And thanks for your time.”

Gaston paid for lunch. They shook hands and promised to keep in touch.

Murray took as much time as possible driving back to Durham. He was in an even worse funk and the thought of spending another night with his parents in a gloomy household was not appealing. Over dinner, he described his trip to Charlottesville and the lunch with Gary Gaston. They were amazed at Sooley’s plans to extricate his family, big plans that had not been shared with them.

July Fourth came and went with no hint of a celebration around the Walker home. Jordan was there for a few days but not even she could lift their spirits. On July 6, Murray drove to Charlotte where the first round of the international showcase was being held. Ecko would be there with his latest installment of young South Sudanese talent. Central’s new head coach, Jason Grinnell, would be there, along with Lonnie Britt, no doubt watching Ecko’s players more closely and hoping to discover another star.

He found them at the Spectrum Center, home of the Hornets, and they invited him to the coaches’ suite to hang out with their friends. There was a lot of talk about Central’s miracle run to the Final Four, and Murray enjoyed the attention.

That night, over a long dinner with the three coaches, they tried hard to talk about anything but Sooley. It didn’t work. All four men were deeply wounded and still stunned by the loss. Each took turns telling stories of how friends and strangers had reached out to them and offered to help. Sooley had thrilled the basketball world and touched many people, many of whom were still eager for some connection to the kid and his remarkable story. Jason Grinnell said that the Central program had received over $50,000 in small gifts from fans everywhere. Ecko’s program had also received many small gifts to support players in South Sudan.

He said, “Sooley still has millions of followers on social media. I check it all the time and some of the comments almost make me cry.”

Jason said, “I tried to look too, but it’s overwhelming.”

Ecko said, “Here’s an idea, Murray. You should try to capitalize on Sooley’s popularity. Why don’t you consider starting a foundation in his name with the proceeds going to something like humanitarian relief for our people?”

Lonnie added, “Great idea. I’ll bet you could raise a fortune.”

Jason said, “And how about a few bucks for dear old Central?”

Murray said, “How do you start a foundation?”

Ecko said, “It’s easy. Everybody’s got a foundation. The one I work for has some lawyers who’ll guide you through it. All you need is a mission statement, a cool website, and somebody to run it. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Post the link on Sooley’s social media and I’ll bet you’ll get an amazing response.”

“Don’t you need IRS approval?” Lonnie asked.

“Sure, but you can get started as that is pending,” Ecko replied. “I’ve heard the lawyers talk about it. I’ll bet your mother knows the ropes. Her Legal Aid is a nonprofit, right?”

“Oh yeah. You never hear them talk about profits. What’s the mission?”

Lonnie said, “It could be three-fold. First, humanitarian relief for refugees. Second, to support youth basketball in South Sudan. Third, to raise money for scholarships in Sooley’s name at Central.”

Ecko said, “The three of us can serve on your board, along with anyone else you want. We’ll see how much money comes in and decide how to give it away.”

Jason smiled and whistled and said, “This could be huge.”

For the first time in memory, Murray arose early the next morning and hustled back to Durham. He bought sandwiches and took them to Ida’s office for a working lunch. Typically, she was skeptical of any idea or scheme that tried to profit off Sooley’s name. He objected to the word “profit,” and she apologized saying she had used the word carelessly. Of course, there were no thoughts about making money. She had not seen him so engaged and excited since he and Sooley had returned from the draft in New York. She suggested that they discuss it with Ernie over dinner and sleep on it. That was all the approval Murray needed.

Borrowing from the funds that Sooley had borrowed from Arnie, a loan that so far had not been mentioned by the agent, Murray spent $4,000 on a website design, $2,500 on legal advice, and $2,000 on a nineteen-year-old kid who ran his own company specializing in online marketing. He opened a bank account, rented a post office box, and read with discomfort the proposed bylaws and IRS regs sent over by the lawyer.