“And why not start with your rich married girlfriend?”

  “I know. Sounds ridiculous, but that’s a different world than the one we live in.”

  Cal slumped down into his chair and stared at the note. “Murder is still murder, no matter the world.” He tapped the note on his desk. “Looks like I’ve got a lead that I need to check out.”

  CHAPTER 7

  SCOTT PERRY PICKED UP his phone and braced for a battle with a SuperSport executive. He clicked on his mouse and watched the video of a smiling Kelvin Jameson once again while he waited for someone to answer.

  “Darren Coleman’s office,” said a woman in an airy voice.

  “Yes, this is Scotty Perry. I have an appointment with him, on the phone.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Perry. Let me patch you through.”

  Perry continued to watch the video while he waited. He once thought the down-to-earth video was a public relations winner.

  Kelvin Jameson’s son makes a long shot and this his dad hugs him. Jameson picks him up and says, “I think someone drank their SuperSport today.” He starts to tickle his son and then the voice over. “SuperSport — Up your game.”

  It was made as a tongue-in-cheek tribute to 80s commercials. Jameson even wore short shorts and long striped tube socks. And his son was adorable. It was slated to be used on the Internet, not broadcast television, yet it would surely generate mass appeal if not viral video status.

  But Perry was almost certain what he was going to hear.

  “Mr. Perry, sorry to keep you waiting,” Coleman said after he finally picked up.

  “I know you’re a busy man,” Perry said.

  “As are you. So, let’s get down to the nature of this appointment.”

  Perry took a deep breath and prepared himself for Coleman’s case.

  “As you know, we recently completed the editing for the beautiful throw-back commercial that SuperSport has planned to air in select online outlets,” Coleman said as he continued. “However—”

  Perry swallowed hard. Here it is.

  “—at this time, we just don’t feel right about running this ad anywhere. The details from Kelvin Jameson’s death at this time are extremely disturbing.”

  “I understand. I also understand that a contract is a contract. His heirs still need to be compensated, even if you decide not to run the ad.”

  “Yes, about that.”

  Oh, boy, here we go.

  “If you have our contract handy, you’ll notice under section 13.4 that we have a clause to terminate this agreement for moral failing, which to be honest includes everything found at the scene of Kelvin’s death. Now, I’m not trying to be insensitive or anything, as I’m sure his loss was difficult for you. But we feel like this ad would be a public relations nightmare, and our lawyers have assured us that this type of situation is exactly why we have a moral turpitude clause in all of our contracts. We have a certain image we like to project, as does our president, who wants to project a family-friendly image. As I’m sure you’ll understand, this case is exactly the kind of thing we want to avoid.”

  Perry resisted the urge to talk—scream, really. He wanted to tear into Coleman for his moral turpitude clause, especially since the SuperSport president was arrested just six weeks ago for solicitation before the case was dismissed. He deemed it hypocrisy to the extreme—and he relished the opportunity to take them to court over the contract if that’s what this meant. He decided to take a more diplomatic approach.

  “I’m not sure that is the best route to take on this,” Perry said. “If you decide not to use the commercials, fine. I understand your hesitation in shelving the ads. But refusing to pay a man for the work he did because of scurrilous allegations against him? That’s criminal at worst, civilly wrong at best. And don’t think that his family is going to let this slide just because he’s dead. You can bet they’re going to be fighting for every last dollar that he left them.”

  “Or you’ll be fighting for them.”

  Perry sighed. “That’s my job. He hired me to look after his state of affairs, primarily on the monetary side of things. You know that. Of course I’m going to be in his corner. And I knew Kelvin for a long time. This situation reeks of a setup. Why not do the best thing and just pay his estate what is owed him? Court costs for this sort of thing can be a bear.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing. We didn’t hire what we thought was some philanderer. We hired a man who supposedly loved his family and was a family man, and—”

  Perry slammed his fist down on his desk. “Kelvin Jameson was a family man. He loved his family, especially his son. So, you’re willing to drag his name through the mud because you want to save a little cash. You have an opportunity to take the high road here. I suggest you do it.”

  “No, the high road is you realizing that suing us in court is a fool’s errand. If you’re so concerned about his son and his legacy, you would move along.”

  “That’s where you’ve got it all wrong. Moving along would imply that he’s guilty of a crime I know he didn’t commit. Jameson was set up—and his family deserves what’s rightfully theirs.”

  “Or perhaps you just think you deserve your fifteen percent.” Coleman paused. “I’ve heard that you’re losing clients left and right.”

  “Think whatever you want, but you can’t escape the truth. Nothing has been proven about my client—and payment is due. It’s your choice whether you want to run the commercial or not, but it’s not your choice to refuse to pay him for his work.”

  Coleman took a long breath and waited a moment before speaking. “You’re right. It’s not my choice—it’s my right. The moment he violated the moral turpitude clause, it became our right not to pay him. We’ve already lost money on a commercial that we paid to produce but is no longer viable. Thankfully, we don’t have to lose any more.”

  Perry sucked in a long breath through his teeth. If this meeting had been in person, he wondered if he would’ve lunged across the negotiating table and taken a swing at Coleman.

  “Do what you wish, but realize there’s only one solution that’s going to make me refrain from filing a lawsuit against you,” Perry finally said.

  “I hope you understand the terms of the contract and don’t want to waste your clients money,” Coleman snapped. “And understand that we will file a countersuit to reclaim our law fees.”

  Perry slammed the phone down and looked out the window. He wanted to punch something.

  Then came a knock on his door.

  “Come in.”

  It was one of his researchers, Emma Bridges. She poked her head in.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “What did you want me to do with this letter? It was faxed to us a few days ago and it’s been sitting in a pile with Jameson’s stuff ever since, along with all his other research stats for his upcoming free agency deal.”

  Perry reached his hand out to take it. He’d seen it before but acted as if it didn’t concern him. He glanced at it and handed it back to her. “When did we get this again?”

  “I don’t now. A few days ago?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  She shook her head. “I guess not.”

  “Just shred it.” He dismissed her with the wave of his hand. He had plenty of things to think about.

  ***

  EMMA BRIDGES LOOKED at the document in disbelief. How could her boss just dismiss it so flippantly? She took a picture of it with her phone.

  Then she slid it into the shredder.

  CHAPTER 8

  NIKOLAY GAVIN EXITED his meeting and glanced at his phone. The message from his assistant immediately garnered his attention. He smiled as he slid his phone back into his pocket and walked down the hallway.

  Once he returned to his office and settled into his chair, he dialed Daniel Hough’s number. He needed to discuss the one player who could turn the season around. The trade deadline was only two days away, but with all the new salary cap space available due to Jameson’s death, Gavin could pursue any player his team desired.

  Gavin could hardly wait for Hough to answer his phone.

  “Mr. Gavin, how are things?”

  “They couldn’t be any better—or they couldn’t possibly be after we sign Kyle Hutton from Orlando.”

  “So, you saw that news on the wire, too?”

  “Of course. What do you think of him?”

  “I’ve already placed a call to his agent. The second I saw that he was requesting a trade, I started working the phones.”

  “So, what do you think? Is it possible?”

  “Not sure at this point, but I think we’re going to need to go two-for-one on this one.”

  “Who were you thinking?”

  “We’ve got a couple of guys on the bench who can help them out. I don’t think Orlando is picky at this point. They just want to unload his salary and maybe make a play in the free agent market next season.”

  “Good. That plays to our advantage. So, do we have anyone in the developmental league we can bring up? We’re obviously going to need to fill at least one roster spot if they go for this trade.”

  “Yeah, we’ve got a couple of young guys who could warm a seat on the bench and maybe hit a shot or two with a couple of minutes of playing time each night.”

  Gavin smiled. “Make it happen.”

  “What if there’s any pushback?”

  “I think we should be able to get the best deal we can possibly get. If they try to play hardball on this deal, just remind them that we caught one of their guys snooping around our facility last week with a dirty urine sample.”

  Hough laughed. “And you think that’ll be enough to make them go for this deal?”

  “Suggest a player-for-player trade first. I don’t think we need to give up two players at this point. Besides, we hold all the leverage now.”

  “The media is going to have a field day with this one—and the Orlando fans are going to go crazy.”

  “Who cares? It’s not like they’ve had anything to cheer about since Shaq left town. What’s another setback to a disenfranchised fan base?”

  “Good point.”

  “It’s one you’ll need to make with them during negotiations if they give you any flack.”

  “I’ll get on it right away.”

  “Serves them right for trying to sabotage Ford.”

  Hough took a deep breath. “You don’t think this will raise any eyebrows, do you?”

  “Why would it? We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Gavin hung up and walked over toward his window overlooking D.C. He could never run for office, but he knew he was going to run the city—one way or another.

  CHAPTER 9

  CAL’S LOVE-HATE RELATIONSHIP with Twitter swelled with every notification that buzzed on his phone. Social media drained his time, but it also provided him with key leads. Random tips from followers often led to some of his most interesting stories. It also kept him from getting beat badly on stories in an environment that subsisted on the latest breaking news.

  However, he wasn’t getting beaten by Will Simon or any other blogger today. He was getting the scoop.

  He opened a note from one of his followers that asked if he’d heard the rumors that Orlando was going to trade Kyle Hutton to the Wizards. Cal hadn’t. He opened a search browser and began looking for the breadcrumbs online that would lead him to the source of such a story.

  Cal slammed his fist on the desk as the first link popped up on his screen. It was a story by Will Simon, posted all of five minutes ago.

  How did he get this already?

  The story detailed how Orlando planned to trade its young star before he would be available for free agency at season’s end. At the current time, Kyle Hutton’s salary restricted the smaller market team from making the moves it needed to become competitive. While Hutton was a human highlight reel and drew fans for his jaw-dropping moves to the basket, he would never win the franchise a title on his own. His salary was about to become burdensome to the team, assuring they’d never become a championship-caliber squad with him on board. If they were ever going to unload him and get anything for him, now was the time.

  Camped out in the media room at the Wizards’ practice facility, Cal noted that the team didn’t care if it retained Hutton, who would become a free agent at season’s end. They wanted to win now. Based on the rumor mill, it was obvious the Wizards felt like Hutton was the missing player that could help them do it.

  Terrance Goodwin, one of the Wizards’ assistant coaches, grabbed Cal from behind, locking his arms in place. He quickly released Cal and laughed, giving Cal a fist bump.

  “You’re unusually cheery today,” Cal said, his brow furrowed.

  “Cal, I got all my cryin’ out yesterday. I don’t think there’s a teardrop left in me. I loved Kelvin like a brother, but I know he wouldn’t want me to go around moping all the time. That guy loved life so much—it’s something we shared.”

  “He was a character,” Cal said.

  “And a good father, too. I just went home and hugged my kids a little tighter tonight. You should do the same.”

  Cal nodded. “I don’t think I could ever take those moments for granted.”

  “I didn’t when I served in the war, that’s for sure.”

  Cal had almost forgotten Goodwin’s stint as a U.S. Army Ranger. While Goodwin starred at North Carolina during college, he never quite caught up with the speed of the NBA’s game. He was drafted in the second round after his senior year but languished on several NBA team’s benches for six seasons before entering the military. He returned confident and focused—not on playing but on coaching. It was widely believed by executives around the NBA that Goodwin would earn a head coaching slot in the near future.

  Goodwin checked his watch. “Gotta run, Cal. Keep it real.”

  Cal reflected on Goodwin’s disposition for a moment before returning to mull the story he was tasked with writing. After a few phone calls to several sources, Cal began piecing together a more in-depth piece surrounding the story that the Wizards were interested in Kyle Hutton. He’d written two paragraphs before Marcus Hale called him.

  “Cal Murphy.”

  “Did you see Will Simon’s latest story?” Hale said.

  “Yes,” Cal answered. “There’s not much to it at this point.”

  “He beat you again.”

  Cal sighed. “Look, this isn’t a competition between us. I’m trying to give our readers an accurate report, one without innuendos and secret sources. I want people on record saying the Wizards want Hutton. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “No, not as long as we get the story first,” Hale growled.

  “I can promise you I’m trying—but I’m also trying to be accurate.”

  “Just get the story. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it,” Cal growled.

  Cal ended the call and stared at his computer screen. This wasn’t how he liked to pursue a story. All the pressure from his editor—not to mention his own pride as a journalist—gnawed at him. He felt disadvantaged, almost as if Simon was paying someone for all his tips. His rival had a source on the inside and it was making his life complicated.

  “Awww, little Cal Murphy got beat again,” came the snarky voice from the doorway to the media room.

  Cal didn’t want to look up. He knew who it was. Yet, he caved within five seconds.

  “Beat by what?” Cal asked. “A blogger writing about rumors? That’s hardly getting beat. Any moron with access to the web can post rumors.”

  Simon sauntered over to the cubicle where Cal sat. “If you think that’s nothing more than a rumor, I dare you to write that. Otherwise, kiss the ring and bow before D.C.’s God of Breaking News.”

  “I’d rather slit my throat,” Cal quipped.

  “I can get you a knife,” Simon shot back.

  Cal glanced at Simon and sneered. “I bet you can.”

  Simon sighed. “Look, I know it’s tough getting beat on a story like this that’s supposedly your beat, but it’s okay. You’re getting beat by me.”

  “You’ve yet to scoop a real piece of information,” Cal snarled.

  “Don’t be so bitter, Cal. It’s so unbecoming of such a decorated journalist.” Simon threw up air quotes as he said the words “decorated journalist.”

  Cal let out a long breath through his teeth and decided to ignore Simon’s meddling statements. It’s not that he didn’t want to correct the record—it’s that he didn’t know how.

  Simon couldn’t help himself. “Don’t hate on the rumors either, Cal,” he said as he laughed. “I heard a rumor that says I’m going to take your job soon.”

  Cal looked up again and glared at Simon. “You wish.”

  “Oh, I know,” Simon said as he rubbed the back of his head. “There’s no wishing involved here. You’re going to be in the unemployment line faster than I can say, ‘Kyle Hutton.’ ”

  “We’ll see about that.” Cal looked back down at his screen and continued typing.

  ***

  AFTER AN UNEVENTFUL PRACTICE, Cal hammered out a story for The Times’ Wizards blog surrounding the swirling rumors of a Kyle Hutton trade. While the Orlando fans voiced their displeasure online at the possibility, the trade seemed imminent.

  Cal’s story detailed how Hutton might make the difference in helping the Wizards finally get to the elusive Eastern Conference finals. He also mentioned how the deal seemed beneficial for both teams to achieve their immediate needs but was short sighted.

  Not that anybody cares about the long term around here.

  The NBA and its rabid fans only cared about what teams had done lately. They didn’t seem to care about building teams for championship runs—they simply wanted to hoist a championship trophy. If it was only a one-time event, so be it. And Cal wrote that it appeared the Wizards’ front office was indeed conducting business this way. Kyle Hutton wouldn’t play more than forty games in a Wizards’ uniform, but nobody cared as long as the league’s title trophy found a spot in the team’s headquarters after the playoffs.

 

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