As he got out of the shower, room service knocked on his door. He threw a robe on and let in the waiter, tipped him and showed him back out. Famished, he lifted the cover and looked at the plate. “Oh shit,” he groaned. “Not another one.” Sitting on the plate, instead of his breakfast, was a golf ball with a hole through it. Tied to the ball, through the hole, was another blue note. It read:
The ball didn’t feel the bullet.
YOU WILL. Do not win this week.
Reid collapsed into the chair behind him and yelled, “Joel, Stu, get in here.” They came running. “What’s the matter?” Joel asked. Reid tossed him the ball with the note still attached. After a quick look he asked, “Where did you find this?” “The room service guy. It was under the cover on the plate,” Reid answered, a little shaky. “I’m on him,” Stu said. He turned and bumped into Buddy, who was entering the room as Stu ran out the door. “What happened now?” Buddy asked. “I got another threat,” Reid said with a sigh. “Oh shit,” Buddy said. Joel studied the ball and note. He grabbed his two-way and radioed Jay. “Go ahead,” came Jay’s voice through the speaker. “We got another threat. This one’s creative. A golf ball with a bullet hole through it, and a note tied to it through the hole. Same paper, same font. It says the ball didn’t feel the bullet. You will. Do not win this week.” “Where did it come from?” Jay asked. “Room service. Stu took off after the waiter,” Joel said. “I’m on my way. Don’t let Reid leave the room.” Reid protested, “I can’t stay here! I need to practice.” Jay heard Reid and responded, “Reid, just wait for me to get there. I’ll be quick.” “Fine,” Reid said in disgust. Jay added, “Like glue, Joel!” The rest was understood. “We’ll both be right here in the suite. Hurry up!” Joel put the radio back in his belt clip. “My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest,” Reid said as he stood up. “I need fresh air; I’m going out on the balcony.” “No, you’re not. Sit down and take some deep breaths. Stay away from the window,” Joel said. “This sucks. I can’t stand it anymore.” “Look, you’ve been great so far. You’ve handled it like a champ. Don’t fall apart now. We’re closing in. We’ll get him soon.” “Who are you kidding? You don’t even know who you’re looking for yet. Yeah, you’ll get him, alright. After he puts a bullet in me,” Reid said sourly.
“I understand how you feel, but we’ll get him before he gets you, I promise. Just stay put till Jay gets here.”
After a minute of silence, Reid said, “I’m sorry, I know you guys are doing everything possible. It’s just really making me uptight.” “No need to apologize, I understand,” Joel said. Jay arrived and asked, “Where’s Stu?” “He hasn’t come back since we spoke on the radio,” Joel said. “Where’s the note?” Jay asked. Joel handed him the ball and note. Jay asked the obvious question. “Why are we handling this? It should have been sent to the lab without our prints.”
“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.