“Reid tossed it to me as I walked into the room. I didn’t bother saying anything; it was already too late.”
As Reid heard his mistake, he smacked himself in the head and said, “Damn! How could I be so stupid.”
“Forget about it, Reid. It was probably wiped clean anyway. Chances are we would have found nothing.” Downtrodden, Reid just said, “Sorry.” Jay nodded and looked at the ball. “This was probably shot at close range with the ball clamped in a vise or something like it. Otherwise, I think the ball would have ricocheted.” He looked closely at the hole and said, “We’ve got to talk to the local police immediately. The state police and the feds will probably want in on this, too. I want them all over that golf course during the tournament.”
Jay sat down and thought for a while before continuing. “Turner’s Porsche was found. It made its way to a chop shop in Harlem. Lucky for us, NYPD was already in the process of busting them. It was a huge “jack and chop” ring. The car was brought in two days ago and was still intact when the bust went down yesterday. There were plenty of prints in the shop but the car was wiped clean. I’m convinced Turner and Rogers have nothing to do with the threats. Turner’s an ass, but he wouldn’t have confronted Reid the other day if he were mixed up in this. He’s not clever or brave enough to have his car stolen as a cover-up. Same for Rogers; he’s a wimp. The minute we mentioned doing time, he fell apart. He admitted he hated Reid but would never jeopardize his PGA earnings by threatening or killing him. I put a little pressure on him and he broke down like a baby. It’s not him, I’m sure of it.” Jay picked up a glass of orange juice from the room service tray. “Are you going to drink this, Reid?” “No, go ahead.” Jay took a sip, then continued. “Morgan and Jacobs, the basketball players who were thrown out of AllSport, are in California. We’ve talked to some of the members of Slam, their gang. They’re pretty protective of each other and very abrasive. They wouldn’t give up much information, except that Morgan and Jacobs are living in L.A. Seems the gang has a West Coast counterpart. Each gang dominates their home turf in street basketball, and there seems to be a lot of money at stake, enough that they trade players across the country, depending on the needs of either team. Believe it or not, there are bookies that take bets on these games every day. A big piece of the take goes to the players. If they were smart enough to save and invest, they’d be set for life. Most of the guys we spoke with were high on something. The bulk of their money is probably spent on drugs. Anyway, since Morgan and Jacobs are in Los Angeles, I took them off the list. We’re going to try to keep an eye on as many of the local members of the gang as possible. There also was mention of some family members of Morgan’s whom we are trying to locate, specifically his brother, who belongs to another gang. Word on the street has it that Morgan’s brother was hoping to share in his brother’s riches when he made the NBA.
“We found Gatto, the last of the GolfCo partners. He’s living in Maui and is part owner of a golf course there. He’s making a ton of money and living in paradise. That leaves Jennifer and Eli. I still don’t have a good read on Jennifer. She was very convincing when I questioned her. Reid, I think you were right, she may be a golddigger, and while she might make idle threats, she wouldn’t threaten your life.” Reid nodded. After another gulp of juice, Jay resumed his analysis. “I like Eli more and more for this. We still can’t find him, but we know he’s wanted in Philadelphia for grand theft auto. Philly law enforcement has been looking for him for six months. It’s starting to add up. He obviously feels shafted for being fired before getting his big bonus. The stolen Porsche is icing on the cake. I put out an APB on him and we’re circulating his picture throughout the area.” He stopped a moment to let them absorb the information, then concluded, “Gentlemen, this case is not as tight as I would like, but at least our list is shrinking.”
Fidgety, Reid said, “Jay, I need to get out of here. I’ll go crazy if you keep me cooped up any longer. I want to go play nine holes to loosen up and calm down. Give me as much protection as you think I need; just let me out.”
“I’m sorry, Reid. I promise you’ll get out soon, but give me a little more time. I called a friend of mine, Michael Pastore, who owns VIP Security Service. He’s sending up his four best men. They should be here any minute and they’ll go with you, Joel and Stu. I want you surrounded wherever you go. We’re going to have problems protecting you on the golf course. We obviously can’t surround you while you’re hitting the ball. We’ll be able to cover your back and sides. We’ll stay as tight as possible. It won’t be easy for you, but there’s not a heck of a lot of choice.”
“I’ll deal with it. I just hope they get here soon. What are you going to say to the press?” Reid asked.
“I’m actually going to use them to bluff Eli into thinking we’re after someone else. If we can make him feel comfortable, he might get sloppy and make a mistake. All we need is one mistake and he’s ours. I called a press conference for 2 p.m.” “I don’t have to be there, do I?” “No, Buck and I will handle it.” There was a knock at the door. Reid got up to get it but Joel cut him off. “Sit down, I’ll get it.” Reid shrugged and turned away. “Who’s there?” Joel asked through the door. “It’s Buck, and four big guys with guns. I think they’re on our side, though,” he joked. Joel took out his gun, opened the door with the chain attached and peeked out to see Buck with four men. “Gentlemen, I need to see I.D.’s.” They passed their cards through the opening. “Now I need to have you each stand where I can see your face. One at a time, please.” Each man took his turn near the door while Joel matched each one with the appropriate photo. Kevin, Eric, Steve and Pat. He removed the chain and said, “Come on in, sorry for the delay.” “If you hadn’t checked, I’d be worried,” Steve said. “Glad you understand.” Steve walked over to Jay and Joel. “It’s an honor to meet you both; Mr. Scott, Mr. Rebah.” He shook their hands. “We consider this a dream assignment. You guys set the standard for the industry, and we’re honored to be part of your team.” He looked at Reid. “Mr. Clark, for your peace of mind, we have each worked on several presidential security details. We’ve been through the best formal training in the industry. More important, we have dealt with situations similar to yours and have taken down almost every perp we’ve been after.” “Almost?” Reid asked. “Reid, we’ll talk about it later,” Jay said. “These guys are good. Their company is one of the best in the industry, and they are the best the company has. You’re in good hands.” “Thanks, Jay,” Steve said. “Gentlemen, here’s the deal.” Jay handed out Eli’s picture. “We think this is our man; he used to be Reid’s caddie. We just received our third threat this morning.” Jay held up the ball and note. “It was delivered on the room service cart. He’s playing with us now and I am not amused. Feds, troopers and local cops will be situated everywhere on and around the golf course. I want this guy, gentleman. I want him before this tournament ends.” Stu walked in just as Jay finished. “What’d you find?” Jay asked. “Nothing. Nobody saw anything or anyone suspicious. The tray was put on a cart that sits in the room-service prep area until it’s brought up. Someone had to get to it while it was in the prep area. I’ve got the crew dusting but there is so much traffic in there, I don’t think we’ll get anything. Did anybody dust the cart and tray?” “Yes. Nothing there,” Joel said. “Hey, I hate to be a nuisance, but can we go now?” Reid asked. “Yeah, go ahead. Were done here,” Jay said. “And Joel…” Joel cut him off, “I know, I know, like glue. Don’t worry; we’re all over him, Jay.” Reid left with his security detail and Buddy. He had to get used to being completely surrounded by bodyguards. It was difficult for him. It was his nature to be in front, leading the way.
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.
Chapter 30
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?”
One by one, the players started slowly clapping. Gradually, they all joined in, culminating in a thunderous applause. As the noise slowly died down, Reid continued, “Thank you, Howard. Thank you all. I am going to play in this tournament and, in spite of this bastar
d, I’m going to do my best to beat you all. I may be a little more irritable than usual, impossible as I know that may sound. But I will try to represent the PGA as professionally as possible. For those of you who have been on the receiving end of my wrath, please accept my apologies. If any of them are not in here right now, please convey my apologies to them. If they want to approach me, I will certainly tell them myself. Once again, thank you for your support this week, and may the best man win.”
The room once again erupted in applause and cheers. Many of the play ers walked up and shook hands with Reid or patted him on the back, wishing him luck, obviously more so with the lunatic than with the tournament. The competitive edge that always looms throughout a PGA gathering was temporarily laid to rest. It was an uncommon moment in the PGA. Reid walked over to Howard and shook his hand. “Thanks for the help.” “Hey, things are tough enough on tour. We don’t need to give each other a hard time. By the way, you are doing the right thing, and I would be happy to play with you this week,” Howard replied. “You’re one of a kind, Howard.” “Will you be at the dinner tonight?” Howard was referring to the sponsor’s pre-tournament buffet. “Rumor has it, Donny Peret is supposed to perform.” Concert tickets for acoustic rock musician, Donny Peret’s shows were near impossible to obtain. His music was loved by three generations.
“I’m not sure. It’s up to Jay Scott.” Reid glanced at Joel. “There may not be enough room for my security team, and Jay’s not about to let me go without them. I’ll either see you tonight or tomorrow. Either way, thanks again, and good luck on the golf course.” “Thanks, Reid.” “See ya later, man.”