by Tim Green
He liked playing with Martin, though. He had to get some enjoyment out of the man since he so deeply resented having sold him a ten percent interest in his team. But, at the time, he'd needed cash desperately. Without Martin Wilburn's fifteen-million-dollar infusion, he stood then to lose his entire real estate empire as well as his team in the bargain. Now, though, with the recent upturn in the market, Chase was well beyond needing anyone's money, or anyone's help. Still, Martin was there, and he wasn't going away. Evan couldn't blame him for that. There were few investments surer or more lucrative than an NFL franchise. The Memphis offer illustrated that quite clearly.
"Let's stop talking about Memphis, Martin," Evan said over the whine of the jet engines. "Let's talk about our team. Let's talk about Luther Zorn. I told you I wanted him signed to a contract extension before the end of this season. Hows that progressing?"
Chase let Martin handle the players' contracts in part because Martin could say things to players that Chase could only think. From the other side of a closed door, anyone hearing Martins interactions with a player during a contract negotiation would know he was an egregious bigot. What they would never dream, though, was that Martin himself was black.
"He hasn't been able to give me the name of an agent, and he won't talk about it himself," Wilburn said smoothly, absently straightening the diamond ring on his left pinkie.
Chase narrowed one eye at his partner and took a sip of scotch before responding, "You're sure it's not because you're dragging your feet, Martin?"
"I simply don't think we should be staking our team's future on a philanderer," Wilburn said judiciously. Among other things, Wilburn tended to be a bit of a prig.
While Chase was examining his partners expression, he failed to notice the almost imperceptible narrowing of his lawyer, Pat Rivet's, eyes behind his round gold-rimmed glasses. Otherwise, Rivet's face remained impassive as he looked on.
"What does Luther Zorn's private life have to do with leading this team to the Super Bowl?" Chase said contemptuously. "I'm talking about football here, Martin. Did you see that play tonight? Zorn is a demon. He's everywhere on that field. I want him locked in with this team for the next seven years and I don't care how much it costs. Just get it done or I'll do it myself."
Chapter 6
On their flight to West Palm, Chris Pelo presented Madison with a thorough report on exactly who Luther Zorn was. Madison read with some interest about Zorn's life.
"He's very handsome," Madison remarked freely to Pelo.
Pretending not to have noticed, Pelo leaned over to look at the full-color head shot that he'd included in the file.
"I guess so," he said, embarrassed that Madison would speak so directly. After all, she was a married woman. He himself was a devout Catholic and had some very old-fashioned ideas about sex.
"How did you get all this?" Madison asked, handing him the file.
Pelo shrugged. "On the Internet, I use it for everything. The way things are now, there's almost no information about anyone or anything you can't get through a computer if you just know how to access it."
"And you know how, obviously," Madison said.
"When I was an investigator, I found that knowing how to access information through different computer networks enabled me to process cases almost three times as fast as the people who were limited to file folders and phone calls."
"So how did you end up going from that, to this?" Madison said, looking curiously at her associate.
"Different, huh?" Pelo said with a boyish grin. "I started with the police force when I was nineteen. I liked my work there, but I knew I was going to need more than the pay and the pension of a cop if I was going to ever be able to pay off all the college loans I'd need for the kids. We've got five. I learned early on that, short of dumb luck, an education is the only thing that gets you ahead." He shrugged. "I guess I'm just like everyone else. I want my kids to have things a little better than me."
Madison nodded her head with understanding, even though she had grown up quite comfortably and never wondered for more than a minute about the ability to send any children she might have to college.
"So," Pelo continued, "I went to school during the days and worked the night beat as a cop. It took a while and it wasn't easy, but I got my undergraduate degree, and when I did, I was so used to the routine that I just kept going to get my law degree. By that time I was with CID, the Criminal Intelligence Division, and doing well. I was an investigator. I never thought I'd end up doing what I'm doing. But I met Marty during a big money-laundering investigation. We retained him for his expertise. He found out I was a lawyer and the two of us got along really well. I was up for retirement with a full pension at the time, and it was really Marty--well, you know how Marty was. When I first got to the firm, it was a real accomplishment. I was the first Latino to be hired, and anyway, I started out in the tax group and that was when Marty got me into this. Kind of crazy, really, I know. I know computers and the tax code-- not exactly your typical sports agent.
"But like I said the other day, it's too late for me to start over now. I'm overqualified to start as a beginning associate ... I suppose I could hang a shingle and do tax returns, but I've got two in college now and I'm still paying off on the first two, and I've got one more on deck. Not that he didn't mean anything but good, but you know Marty. He assured me we'd have this agency thing going forever. I'm sure we would have >>
too . . .
Chris Pelo's words hung in the stale dry air of the airplane cabin. Madison looked sadly at the back of the seat in front of her and Pelo excused himself to use the lavatory and give her time to reflect on the memory of their mutual friend, Marty Cahn.
When he returned, Chris sensed something different about Madison, as if her chin were more set and determined.
"I want you to tell me everything you know about Luther Zorn from your dealings with him, Chris. I want to know as much as I can. I don't think we have much time to convince him to let us represent him. If the Marauders want to redo his contract before the end of the season, he needs someone working on this yesterday"
Despite seeing his picture and despite everything Chris told her about Luther Zorn, she was still taken aback when he walked into the restaurant that night. They were early. Luther was late. Without trying, he drew considerable attention as he descended a small set of stairs and strode smoothly across the room to their table overlooking the ocean. As well as being six foot four with an athletic frame wrapped in thick cables of muscle, Luther was the only non-Caucasian in the entire restaurant. But by the way he carried himself and by the jewelry he wore, he obviously belonged.
On his wrist was a gold presidential diamond-studded Rolex. In the open front of his olive silk shirt a single heavy gold Gucci chain rested against his unblemished skin. The color of the shirt brought out the green in his hazel eyes, and Madison couldn't help but stare at him as he unclasped his hands and extended one toward her. She took it. It was large and smooth and gentle, the hand of an artist rather than the paw of a bone-crunching linebacker.
"I'm Luther," he said confidently and quite unnecessarily. "It's nice to meet you, Madison. Hello, Chris."
When she released his grip, he reclasped his hands and rubbed them together gently before he sat down at the table.
Madison was taken aback by his confident manner and his refreshing politeness. There was no hint whatsoever that this same man had grown up in the garbage-strewn streets of a big city.
"Thank you," she said. It was her goal to impress Luther Zorn with her composure and her nerve. Chris, she knew, had already laid that foundation by briefing him on her accomplishments. Now it was up to her to convince Luther that her impressive resume somehow made her the right person to negotiate a multimillion-dollar contract with people who did so on a daily basis.
They made small talk and ordered dinner. Luther chose a rich California merlot, and gallantly instructed the waiter to allow her to do the tasting. Madison did so with the
aplomb of a countess, but underneath it all, she felt as though she was playing in a very intense, very complicated game with an opponent who had the advantage of having made up the rules. Luther watched her closely.
Madison drew together the folds of her blouse where it opened below the base of her neck before speaking.
"Congratulations on your win last week," she said, raising her glass. "Here's to continued success in your season."
"Thank you," Luther said quietly, then asked a series of pointed and intelligent questions about her background and her involvement with the NFL He knew her husband was Cody Grey, and when she brought him up he admitted his fascination with her involvement in Codys murder trial. Madison was hardly nonplussed by this line of questioning. That trial and its outcome had put her in the spotlight of the national media. The fact that Codys ex-wife had a hand in framing him for the murder of an IRS agent made the trial a scandal of grand proportions. People were always curious about it.
Without waiting to be asked, Madison changed the subject, and began explaining why she should be his agent. She conceded that she hadn't been directly involved in such a contract negotiation, but went on to explain with confidence that negotiations were something she conducted on a daily basis where the stakes were always very high. To a man like Luther Zorn, loyalty would be more important than experience. With his background in mind, Madison felt that if she could convince Luther she would stick by him, that, more than anything, would win him as a client.
Madison recounted Cody's history, and how he had been abandoned in the final days of his career by everyone within the organization for which he played. The Outlaws didn't cut her husband because of the scandalous trial, but because of a ruined knee he had played on long after he should have stopped, a knee that now caused him to limp. She reminded Luther of several other well-known players in the league who had gone through difficult times in the latter part of their careers, being bought, sold, traded, and cut by teams who no longer felt their large salaries were commensurate with their skills on the field.
"I'm not as much an agent, Luther, as I am a lawyer," Madison told him. "Part of that, to me, means undying loyalty to my clients."
"I'm glad to hear you say all this, Madison," Luther said with a knowing smile, "because it confirms everything I've heard about you. When Chris called me a couple of days ago and mentioned you, I checked you out. I already knew about Cody and what you did for him. It was all over the news. But I checked deeper. I made some calls. You've got a big-time reputation. Some people say you're the F. Lee Bailey of the nineties . . . only with great legs," he added in a complimentary tone that in no way sounded lewd or inappropriate.
"The fact is," Zorn continued, "I want you to negotiate this contract for me. I want someone doing this who isn't motivated by greed or ambition. I'm also more than comfortable with Chris overseeing my financial affairs and my taxes. But as much as anything, I want to work with someone who knows what it feels like to be an outsider, and that's what you'll be when you deal with this team.
"Just like I'm an outsider here," Zorn said with a broad sweep of his hand around the dining room. "You'll be an outsider in my world, in football. Being an outsider makes you sharper than everyone else. It's always that way You're more aware than other people, because you live in a constant state of awareness. That's how I live. The only difference for me is that it's an all-the-time thing. You'll only have to feel it while you're doing this deal. And you're right about loyalty. I expect it, and I know you'll give it to me. That's the deal. You stick by me no matter what. I don't want one of those deals where you represent me while it's good for you, then when I need you most, when I start to get old and worn out, you move on to someone else and stop returning my calls on the same day. I want your word on that."
"Of course," Madison responded without hesitation.
"Good," said Zorn, "then it's a deal. Chris, you send me the agreement."
"No problem," Chris said amicably.
Madison wasn't certain she was understanding him correctly. What he was saying was so sudden and so final that she had no idea how to react. She looked to Chris. Could it really be this easy?
"So," Madison said, trying not to balk, "you want us to represent you?"
Zorn gave her a puzzled and amused look.
"Yes" he nodded, and then added pleasantly, "that's what I said."
Madison couldn't help taking a deep breath and allowing a smile to creep into the corners of her mouth. She looked at Chris Pelo. He was beaming.
Chapter 7
To maximize their time in Florida, Madison and Chris arranged an impromptu meeting with Evan Chase the morning after their dinner with Luther Zorn. The Marauders' facility was part and parcel of West Palm Beach Municipal Stadium. Team offices were on the second floor, above the locker and meeting rooms where the players prepared for their upcoming games. The team facility was actually part of the stadium. The grass practice field adjacent to the offices was separated from the locker room by a wide parking lot. As they pulled into that lot, Madison and Chris could see the players out on the field going through some drills. Madison shaded her eyes and tried to pick Luther Zorn from the crowd in the field.
Upstairs, they were shown through Evan Chase's office and into a paneled boardroom. On their way through the owner's office, Madison couldn't help but notice all the medals and trophies adorning the walls, reminders of Evan Chase's athletic achievement. She thought about Cody, and how he kept two boxes of this same kind of memorabilia in a storage closet off the garage. The only way Madison even knew he had it was because her son had recently discovered the stuff and gleefully confiscated four or five of the gaudiest trophies to line his bedrooms dresser top. That, Madison thought, was the appropriate place for such things, on a young boys dresser, not in a grown mans office. It said something about the man she was about to meet.
A secretary politely brought some coffee and then disappeared, promising the owners imminent arrival.
"So, what do you think?" Pelo said when they were all alone. A long wisp of his dark black hair had fallen onto his forehead.
Madison could see that he was nervous. This had been Martys territory.
"Were just breaking the ice," she told him.
Chris was nodding when the door opened and Evan Chase entered. Beside him was Martin Wilburn, dressed sharply in an Italian suit. Chase, on the other hand, wore a simple polo shirt and khakis with black Gucci loafers and no socks. What Chase lacked in attire, he more than made up for with his presence. The owners back was straight and despite his homely countenance, he held his head high. His physique, his tan, and his wavy blond hair made Chase look ten years younger than Madison knew he was. He had an unnecessarily firm grip that Madison did her best to return. Then they all sat down.
Chase disposed of Chris Pelo by staring silently at him until he dropped his eyes and began to fidget with his tie. Then he shifted his imperious gaze to Madison. She met his eyes and held them in her own gaze as she spoke.
"Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Mr. Chase," she said. Madison's dark blue business suit and severe hair style couldn't hide her good looks.
"Not at all," he replied, flashing a perfect set of white teeth. "I've been after Martin to get this contract extension under way for a month. The only thing we've been waiting for was Luther to choose an agent. We'd like to see if we can't resolve this before his current contract expires at the end of this season."
"We'll try to work toward that goal," Madison said with a doubtful smile.
"I've got to say that I'm surprised at Luther's choice," Chase said, eyeing her hungrily. "You've never been involved with a contract like this before, have you?"
"No," Madison said calmly, still holding the owner's incessant stare, "but I've been in my share of boardrooms and I've negotiated for things of much greater magnitude than money."
"I wonder," Chase said with a sly smirk, "are you as proficient in the bedroom as you are in the boardroom?
"
Despite herself, Madison blinked.
"I'm good at everything I do," she said evenly, recovering quickly and showing no emotion whatsoever, "and like anyone who's truly good at something, I don't have to talk about it."
Her lance hit its mark. Chase's grin momentarily drooped. From out of the corner of her vision, Madison could see the smug look her comment had elicited from Martin Wilburn.
"How much time will you need before we can begin to discuss the terms?" Wilburn asked, reining in his delight and tastefully shifting the conversation.
"I can meet with you by the middle of next week," Madison said. She'd move everything off for two weeks except for a suppression hearing in the Fears murder trial and the deposition of a key witness in her rape case.
"Thursday?" Wilburn said, looking up from his rich leather planner with one eyebrow raised above his gold-rimmed spectacles. He had the demeanor of a schoolteacher, but Madison thought she detected something vulpine and cunning beneath the surface.
"Anytime in the afternoon," Madison said.
"Fine," Wilburn replied, "I'll see you here at one."
? ? ?
Skupper had once been the captain of his own dive boat. The moniker came from his mate, a simpleton who died one morning when he fell off the bow of Skupper s boat as it left the Intracoastal. The boats propeller clove the mates head in two. That was years ago. Skupper, drunk at the time, lost his captains license over the whole thing and had been landlocked ever since.