“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.”