It was the ideal bachelor pad that he’d been waiting for. The rooms were not decorated with fancy art on the walls or covered in flowers. The only things on his walls were a framed photograph of Syracuse basketball star Carmelo Anthony celebrating the team’s 2003 NCAA Championship, and a picture of a pub in Ireland with a Guinness sign out front. His living room had a leather recliner and a matching loveseat that were positioned perfectly in front of his forty-two-inch flat screen TV. The speakers from his surround sound were hung from the ceiling in all four corners of the room.
Walking into the kitchen, Craig grabbed a can of Guinness and a pint glass from the cabinet. He slid the first disc into his DVD player and sat down in the recliner. The disc started playing and showed the main conference room with eight empty chairs. Unfortunately for Craig, there was no clock on the screen, so he had no idea what time frame was being shown. He pressed the fast-forward button and opened his beer. Craig poured the beer into the glass, watching the creamy white body turn a rich brown color in less than a minute. He focused back on the TV and twenty minutes later, he was bored to death.
Craig started to pace back and forth in his living room, picking up a small soft basketball and bouncing it off of the walls. “This is going to take forever,” he said out loud. He thought about stopping the disc and then fast-forwarding, but he was afraid he’d miss something. The meeting between Hank and Red had lasted less than an hour.
It was about ten o’clock and Craig was in the middle of practicing his putting stroke on the living room floor when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He saw himself setting up the room for his boss and the guest from Augusta. Craig jumped back in his recliner and hit the play button to stop the fast-forwarding.
He listened to the conversation between himself and Hank, telling him that he wasn’t needed for the meeting. Another ten minutes went by and an older gentleman was escorted into the room by Miss Tiernan. They both shook hands and sat down, and the woman walked out of the room, leaving the two men alone.
“So how’s life at Augusta?” Hank began.
“Ever hear me complain about being a member at the most exclusive country club in the world?” The other man looked to Craig like he was in his mid-sixties. He was a small man with salt and pepper hair. He was wearing a blue turtleneck sweater and black pants. The two men were sitting opposite each other at the long mahogany table.
“Of course not. Speaking of which, when am I going to get invited back to play a round or two? I haven’t played there in three years.”
“Too late, my friend,” the man said. “Course is closed until the tournament starts and then doesn’t open again until the fall.”
“Why is that? Don’t the members get upset that they can’t play all summer?”
“They knew that when they became members. We close the course all summer because that’s when golf courses get beat up by too many rounds. We let the course have the summer to mature and grow. It’s too hot in Augusta in the summer anyway. We re-open in October and enjoy the best weather the south has to offer. I don’t know how you put up with the ugly winters up here.”
Craig walked into the kitchen, keeping his eyes focused on the screen, and got another beer. He had always dreamed of playing Augusta National and thought that he may have to ask Hank for an invitation the next time he went down to play.
“I’m used to it,” Hank answered. “Maybe I’ll retire somewhere down south, but I’m perfectly happy up here. So what was so important that you had to fly all the way to Philadelphia and tell me in person?”
“Hank, you and I may have a vested interest in the upcoming tournament.”
Hank hesitated before responding, “Really?”
“Let’s just say I heard some interesting information regarding a player you manage. A certain Chet Walker?”
“Yeah, he’s our pride and joy,” Hank said. “Best athlete we have and I have to admit, I love watching him play. He’s incredible.”
“Yes, he certainly is,” the man stated. “But I must admit I don’t particularly care for the lad.”
“Huh?” Hank replied.
The older man leaned in closer. “That’s why I’m here,” he said, almost in a whisper. “It’s come to my attention that there’s some sort of bonus for Chet if he wins the Masters this year, payable by Coldridge. Is that true?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Wait a minute, how’d you know about that?” Hank asked.
“I have many ears in many places, Hank. Does he really stand to get a five million dollar bonus from you if he wins the Masters?” Red asked.
Hank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “How the hell we’re gonna pay that is beyond me. I must have forgotten all about that clause in his contract. One of our assistants brought this to my attention after he finished second in the British Open last year. If he wins a major, regardless of which one, he gets the bonus.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? Your client winning a major?” Red asked.
“Normally, yes, but this firm is in the shitter. We’ll never be able to pay that bonus.”
The man leaned even closer to Hank and said softly, “What if he didn’t win?”
Craig inched forward in his recliner and turned the volume up. He watched the screen intensely for the next thirty minutes. His boss had a look on his face that he’d never seen before, one of disbelief. Craig had the same look on his face after the two men exited the conference room. He, too, could not believe what this man from Augusta was proposing. Craig rewound the tape and watched the entire conversation again. He wanted to make sure that he hadn’t imagined what he had just heard.
Chapter 4
The dew on the grass still had the chilly look of an early morning frost. The sun peeked out over the tall evergreens and gave the golfers some much needed warmth. Both Hank and Archie wore long-sleeved shirts and long pants, and Hank had on ear warmers as they both hit balls on the driving range. They had gotten to Del Val on Saturday morning as early as they could, but they were warned in the pro shop that there was a frost delay and that no golfers could tee off for at least an hour. Hank and Archie decided to get in some practice while most of the other members stayed inside the clubhouse to warm up.
Hank looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot as he began to speak. “How’s the kid in DC coming along?”
Archie finished staring at his golf ball soaring down the middle of the driving range before answering, “Still waiting.”
Hank teed a ball up and smashed it into the net on the right with his driver. “Damn! Ever since I bought this driver, I can’t stop slicing the ball.”
“It’s not the driver,” Archie responded.
“Very funny. I think I’m gonna buy that new Callaway club in the pro shop.”
“Why don’t you take another lesson from Dick?”
“He didn’t help me last year; why would another lesson make a difference? Besides, I hate giving that prick another hundred dollars.” Hank sliced another ball into the net. “Damn!”
“You realize it’s been six weeks since we met that kid in DC? It’s getting ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, you know these things take time. I’ve been thinking about that kid of yours. What’s his name? Rodriguez?”
“You have? Why?” Archie said, narrowing his eyes in Hank’s direction.
“Well, I’d like to talk to you about something.” He teed up another ball, but this time he hooked it left. “You know both of our companies are kind of struggling right now. To be honest, I think Rodriguez may be too much for your company to handle.”
“What?” Archie turned to look at him.
“Don’t you think if you ever got that kid, you’d be in over your head? Advertising, marketing, I mean Double A is no IMG.” Hank was referring to International Marketing Group, the largest sports marketing group in the world.
“Where’s this coming from? Where do you get off?” Archie was angry.
“I’m not putting
you down, Archie. My company is no IMG either, but I think this kid could help both of our companies.”
“You expect me to help you out? Hey, I know we’re best friends and all, but I have to do what’s right for me. There’s no way in hell that you’d give me half of your next big project. You’d be laughing all the way to the bank.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Hank lied.
“Bullshit. When have you ever helped out my company by sacrificing yours?”
“You never needed my help in the past. You’ve always been successful. You know my company has been hurting since my dad left, let alone that infringement lawsuit two years ago. And besides, I’m thinking we can make sure that both of us benefit.”
“How?”
Hank teed up another ball, finally hit one straight, and let those words sink in before speaking. He put his driver back in his bag and took his golf glove off his hand to dry out. Although the temperature was in the upper forties, both men were starting to sweat. “Did you see what Walker shot at Bay Hill yesterday?”
“No, get to your point.”
“Sixty-six Thursday, sixty-three yesterday. The guy is unbelievable.” He paused while Archie looked at him oddly, begging him to continue. “I’d like to propose a little wager.”
“What, on today’s match? You know what we usually play for. Are you thinking of doubling it?”
“No, not that. A wager to help our companies out.”
Archie went back to the golf balls by his feet. “You’re kidding me, right? Hank, you’d bet on when you would die if you could.”
“True. What do you say to this little bet. If I win, I get to have half of the contracts that come in from Rodriguez. If you win, you get Coldridge.”
Archie stopped in mid-swing and looked at Hank. “What?”
“You heard me. I get half of your contracts to help my struggling company and if you win, we combine companies and you get a sixty percent stake in the new company. It’s a win-win for you. You’re going to outsource a part of your contracts anyway.”
“Not half. What do I need with your company anyway?”
“Are you kidding? Our companies and athletes are okay by themselves, but combine the two and that would give us a huge name in the business and bring in a ton of recruits. Not to mention the fact that you wouldn’t have to outsource anything.”
Archie thought for a minute and decided that it really wasn’t that bad of a deal for him. Another twenty-five or thirty athletes in his stable sounded pretty good to him. He’d save money and time by not outsourcing all of the work that would be coming to him. He also felt a little bad that Hank was struggling so much and a twinge of guilt that he almost had Rodriguez and Hank didn’t.
“What’s the bet?” Archie asked.
“Here’s the fun part.” Hank said while smiling. “We bet on the Masters.”
“Huh?”
“Yep. We each pick three players. Whoever’s player wins, wins the bet.”
“What if neither player wins?”
“Then the bet is off. See, things could just as easily continue the way they are now.”
Archie thought about this some more as he removed the head cover from his driver and teed up a ball. A few men were coming out of the clubhouse and heading towards the driving range. Bill, the starter, walked out of the pro shop and towards the first tee.
“Let’s go; we’re first off the tee,” Archie said.
They both put their clubs back and picked up their bags.
“Well?” Hank asked.
“Time to golf. Five hundred a hole, right?”
“Yeah. What about the bet?”
“I’ll let you know after I kick your ass today.”
The two men set their bags down on the cart path and walked onto the first tee. Hank teed off first and hit a wicked slice into the woods. “Damn!”
<><><><><>
Hank strolled into the office early the next morning to start planning for the Masters. He had a lot to do and very little time to accomplish the important task that lay ahead. He didn’t want to be bothered in his office, so he went up to the conference room with his laptop and cell phone. His important guest, Red Maitland, arrived shortly thereafter and was escorted to the conference room by Shawn, the security guard.
“Got in two rounds at Pine Valley while I was up here,” Red began.
“You shittin me?!” hank exclaimed. “I’ve been trying to get on that course for years.”
“It’s all about who you know, Hank.”
After making themselves some coffee, they both started to come up with ideas for fixing the Masters. It wasn’t going to be easy, and they shot down more ideas than they kept. Red got up from his chair and walked around the room.
“We also need to talk about profiting from this little escapade we’re putting together.”
“How do you mean?” Hank asked.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got some guys that will pay a lot of money for this to happen so that they can wager on the other golfers.” Red stared out the window in deep thought. “I wish this were a basketball game; those are easy to fix. You just pay off a couple players to miss some free throws at the end of the game. I remember one game we fixed in the eighties. We had the coach— Wait, what’s his caddy’s name?”
“Stan Drummond, why?” asked Hank.
“Because an idea just came to me,” Red said. He continued pacing the room and started to tell Hank his plan when he stopped in mid-sentence. He looked up in the corner of the room then back at Hank. “What the hell is that?” he asked, pointing at the ceiling.
“That’s our cameras. We have meetings with athletes in here, and we like to record them. Why?”
“Why? What the fuck do you mean, why? Is it on?”
“It’s always on. But don’t worry; only a handful of people have access to them.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass if only my dead mother had access to them. Do you know what the hell we’re talking about in here? Stop recording this and go get the damn tape from last week!”
Hank hopped up from his chair and went down to the security room.
<><><><><>
It had been a few days since that chilly Saturday morning in March when Hank lost a mere two thousand dollars on the golf course. Archie had savored every last minute of his conquest that day. He had been in such a good mood after the round that he had even agreed to the Masters wager that Hank proposed. Archie didn’t have as much to lose, as Hank had pointed out. Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, helping Hank out with his struggling company was an added benefit.
They gathered in the men’s card room at Del Val and started drawing up the documents for the bet. Of course they would never show anyone, but just in case someone decided to back out, there had to be substantial proof that the wager even existed. If none of the six players chosen ended up winning, the bet was completely null and void.
“Who gets to pick first?” Hank asked.
“Shit, you proposed the bet to me; I get to pick first.”
Hank wanted him to pick first, because he knew who he was going to pick. “Then I get to pick the next two.”
“Huh? No, no. I pick, you pick, I pick, you pick. Just like that. You’re always trying to one up me,” Archie stated.
“Fine, stop being a baby; you get to pick first.” Hank knew he wasn’t going to win that argument.
Archie leaned back in his chair, tapping a pencil against his lips. “Hmm. Let’s see. There is one golfer out there. I just can’t remember his name. Is it Chris something?”
“Just take him; stop screwin’ around,” Hank said.
“With the first pick, Archie Armour selects Chet Walker.” Archie smiled as he wrote his name on the homemade contract they had drawn up.
“There’s a surprise.” Hank had thought very long and hard these past two weeks, hoping Archie would agree to this bet. He already knew which golfers he was going to select. “I’ll take Pat Hitchens.” Hitchens was second on the money list
behind Walker.
“Not bad, not bad. I want Ian McCall.” Archie wrote down his name.
“Ireland’s finest, good pick. Too bad he’s never won in the US before. My pick? I’ll take Matt Furley.”
“Washed up. He hasn’t won in like five years.”
“Yeah, but he always plays well at Augusta and has one green jacket already,” Hank said.
“With my last selection, I will take…” Archie closed his eyes for a good ten seconds. “Gin Pak Ho.”
Hank looked at him like he had two heads.
“I know, I know, it’s a gamble. But that’s what we’re doing here, right?”
Hank knew that Archie’s only hope was with Walker and there was probably a forty percent chance he’d win. His last selection didn’t matter much, so he took a young Australian named Nathan Britt. The stakes were set, and this was exactly what Hank needed to recoup some dignity as well as get his company back on its feet. Even if he lost the bet, he would be joining forces with Archie, and they would form one of the top three sports management firms on the east coast. It was a win-win for both of them.
Going to the Masters was nothing new to Hank and Archie. They had been there each of the last eight years. Hank’s father had been on the waiting list for tickets since the early 1980s, and their name was finally called. Too bad it was six years after his father’s death. The first few years, they each brought their current girlfriends, but that didn’t work to well. The women hated golf and didn’t appreciate the history and grandeur of the tournament. It was in their third year that they decided to go by themselves.
They had the Presidential Package, which meant that they would arrive Wednesday for the Par 3 tournament and then have tickets for all four rounds of the championship. They were looking forward to this trip like no other.
Deep Rough - A Thriller in Augusta Page 3