Last Shot

by John Feinstein

  “Praise the Lord,” Trey Woods said, clasping both of Susan Carol’s hands in his massive paws. “I hope we meet again, young lady.”

  “Oh gee, me too,” Susan Carol said, appearing just a bit unnerved.

  Stevie was now firmly convinced the guy was an out-and-out weirdo and decided he would have thought that even if he hadn’t been ordained online. He waved halfheartedly and turned away, hoping Susan Carol would follow. She appeared to be having a little bit of trouble extricating herself from Trey Woods’s grip. “Come on, Susan Carol. Dad’s waiting,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she said after they were away. “He was creepy.”

  Their new key whisked them by security one more time. Once on the elevator, Susan Carol pressed the button for the forty-first floor. Stevie felt his heart starting to race again.

  “You ready?” he said to Susan Carol as the elevator shot upward.

  “Ready,” she said. “But we aren’t there yet. There could be security on the floor.”

  “Or he might not be there right now,” Stevie said.

  “That’s not a problem,” she said, holding up the magic key. “We can come back.”

  They were alone on the elevator all the way up, a pleasant surprise. There was no sign of security when the elevator doors opened on 41, which was an even more pleasant surprise.

  “So far, so good,” Susan Carol said.

  They got off the elevator and glanced around—no one in sight. They followed the sign pointing to rooms 4101 through 4115. Two-thirds of the way down, the hallway veered to the right. Stevie was thinking about what their opening line would be when they got to Graber’s door, when he heard a voice say, “Hold on there, kids, where do you think you’re going?”

  He looked up and saw a security guard, who had been sitting in a chair just around the corner. He stood up to a height that Stevie estimated to be at least six foot eight and blocked them from going any farther. Peering around him, Stevie could see the door to 4101. They were so close.… But, looking at the giant in their path, still so far.

  As usual, Susan Carol was cool as could be.

  “Oh, hey,” she said. “We’re just going to see Chip.”

  The guard narrowed his eyes, looked down at Susan Carol without even the hint of a smile, and said, “There’s no visitors allowed up here. Players and coaches only on this end of the floor. You should have been stopped getting off the elevator. I don’t know where my partner is.” He reached for a walkie-talkie in his pocket.

  “Hang on there, buddy, don’t get all bent out of shape,” Stevie said, suddenly emboldened for reasons he could not have explained if asked. “Chip’s my cousin, he’s in room 4101, and he’s expecting to see me before the team leaves for the game. He’ll be pretty pissed off if he finds out you wouldn’t let us get in to see him.”

  He felt very adult saying “pissed off.” The guard gave him a look, too, but it was different from the one he had given Susan Carol. There was just a hint of doubt in his eyes. Or maybe it was just the angle, since his eyes were so much higher up than Stevie’s. “And who is she?” he said, pointing at Susan Carol.

  Before Stevie could stammer out an answer, Susan Carol said, “I’m his girlfriend.”

  The giant looked at Susan Carol, then looked at Stevie. “You like ’em short, huh, kid?” he said to her.

  Stevie started to say something, but Susan Carol gave him a look that made him think twice. “Okay, you say Chip’s expecting you,” the guard said. “Well, he didn’t say anything to me about it and the coaches said no guests—especially girls.”

  Stevie’s heart sank. They were going to be turned away five yards from Chip Graber’s door.

  “Tell you what, though,” the giant went on, “we’ll go knock on Chip’s door. You know his room number, so I guess it’s possible you’re telling the truth. We’ll just go find out. But I’ll tell you this much: if you’re lying, I’m calling the cops and you’re going to be arrested for trespassing.”

  Stevie didn’t think they could be arrested for trespassing in a hotel, but since they weren’t guests, maybe they could be. At the very least, they were going to be in a heap of trouble. He wondered if perhaps they should run while they still had a chance to escape. He was mulling all this over when he heard Susan Carol say, “And when Chip confirms our story, I’m sure you’ll apologize to us, won’t you?”

  What was she doing? Why in the world would Chip confirm their story?

  The giant and Susan Carol were both walking toward the door. There was no escape now. He squared his shoulders and caught up to them just as the giant was ringing the doorbell. Stevie couldn’t ever remember seeing a hotel room that had a doorbell—not that he had seen that many. For a moment there was no answer. The giant had seemed pretty certain that Graber was in the room, but maybe he was wrong. Then Stevie heard footsteps coming in the direction of the door. He was suddenly aware that he was drenched in sweat. He glanced at Susan Carol. If she was nervous or scared, it didn’t show. The door opened and Chip Graber, dressed in a white T-shirt that said MINNESOTA STATE, BIG TEN CHAMPIONS, a pair of purple sweatpants, and socks, stood staring at the three of them with what seemed to Stevie to be a very annoyed look.

  “What’s up?” he said to the guard, glancing first at Susan Carol, then at Stevie.

  “These kids claim they’re expected,” the giant said. He pointed at Stevie. “This your cousin?”

  Graber started to open his mouth but before he could say anything, Stevie jumped in. “Sorry we’re late, Chip. Professor Whiting was giving us trouble just like you said he would.”

  The bored, annoyed look on Graber’s face disappeared. He looked at Stevie, his eyes now a question mark. “Whiting?” he said. “Whiting gave you trouble?”

  “Sure did,” Stevie said. “Just like yesterday. Well, you know what a pain he can be.…”

  Graber was clearly confused. A couple of seconds passed before he said anything. Each second felt like an hour to Stevie.

  “Mike, I’m sorry,” Graber finally said. “I shoulda told you my cousin was coming up. My bad, man.”

  Mike the Giant’s face softened a little bit. “Chip, I thought you guys weren’t supposed to have anybody …”

  “Yeah, I know, Mike, but come on, it’s my cousin. I haven’t seen him since Christmas. It’s all right, he’s a good kid.” He playfully pushed Stevie’s shoulder. “He’s a pain sometimes, but I told him he could come up for a few minutes.”

  Mike nodded. “Okay then. But don’t let them stay too long. The schedule says you guys have a walk-through in the ballroom at noon.”

  “I know, Mike. Thanks.”

  Clearly baffled and disappointed, Mike turned to walk away. “No need to apologize,” Stevie said. Before Mike could respond, Susan Carol shoved him hard from behind, pushing him into the room. Chip Graber had opened the door all the way, and Stevie almost fell on his face.

  “What is it with boys?” she said. “You always have to have the last word.”

  “You were the one who brought up apologizing,” he said, getting the last word.

  Chip Graber closed the door and looked them up and down again. “Okay, you guys had better have a damn good explanation for what just happened.”

  They followed him into a large living room with a panoramic view of downtown New Orleans, all the way up to the Superdome and beyond. The TV was turned on and—surprise—there was Vitale, waving his arms. Stevie wondered if he ever slept.

  Graber clicked off the TV, sat down on one of the couches, and pointed to the two armchairs. Susan Carol sat in one, Stevie the other. Stevie was suddenly very thirsty and was shocked to notice he was still holding a can of soda. It had been a long, weird morning.…

  “Okay, I’m going to give you guys about two minutes to tell me what the hell this is about and then I’m going to call Mike back in here and tell him you’re frauds,” he said. “So talk fast.”

  “The first thing you need to know is that we want to help you
,” Susan Carol said. “The second thing you need to know is we appreciate you backing us up out there. The third thing you need to know is if you do call Mike back in here, you’ll have to explain to him why you said Stevie was your cousin.”

  If that thought bothered Graber at all, it didn’t show.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Start by telling me who you are. Then tell me how the hell you got up here.”

  “My name is Stevie Thomas and this is Susan Carol Anderson.”

  “Keep going.”

  “We won’t bore you with how we got up here,” Susan Carol said, picking up the story. “We’re in New Orleans because we won the U.S. Basketball Writers Association writing contest for kids.”

  “Reporters?” he said. “Kid reporters? Wait, you came up here to get a scoop? On the day of the game? You’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding, right?”

  Susan Carol leaned forward. “Chip, it was a complete accident, but we overheard your conversation with Professor Whiting yesterday, and we want to try to help you.”

  “What conversation?” he said abruptly.

  Stevie jumped in. “You had just arrived for practice. You and Whiting walked into the loading dock area to talk. We were there. We heard everything he said to you.”

  Chip Graber’s face drained of all color. There was a long pause before he said anything. “Look, whatever you think you heard, you got it wrong,” he said finally. “Professor Whiting, he and I, we were just joking around. That was all it was.”

  Susan Carol’s voice was very soft now. “Chip, that didn’t sound like a joke. It sounded like he was threatening you and your father. You need help. Heck, we need help. We couldn’t hear that conversation and do nothing. So we came to you.…”

  Chip stood up, and Stevie thought he was going to take them back to Mike. “Start at the beginning,” he said. “How much do you know?”

  10: CHIP’S STORY

  SUSAN CAROL AND STEVIE walked Chip through their story. Graber listened to the whole thing without commenting, except when Susan Carol told him how she had talked her way past the guard at the arena so she could hear Whiting’s voice in order to identify him.

  “That was good thinking,” he said.

  “It was Steve’s idea,” she said quickly.

  He then insisted that they explain how they had found him, and they went through that story, too. “Watch out for Mike Lombardo, he’s kind of a letch,” he said.

  “The one who scared me was Trey Woods,” Susan Carol said.

  “He’s harmless, I think,” Graber said. “Nuts, but harmless.” He leaned back on the couch. “You went through a lot to get up here.”

  He stared out the window for a minute. Stevie turned to see what he was staring at, but it was just the view. They waited. “Look,” he finally continued, “I appreciate what you did and your concern. But there’s really nothing you can do. There’s probably nothing I can do, either.”

  “So you’re just going to throw the championship game?” Susan Carol said.

  “I didn’t say that!” His eyes flashed angrily at the implication.

  “Then let us help,” Stevie said. “We’re kids, but we’re smart.” He pointed at Susan Carol. “Especially her.”

  Graber smiled. “I don’t doubt it. But I think we’re overmatched here. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure who we’re up against.”

  “Tell us what you know,” Susan Carol said. “We told you our story, now you tell us yours—you owe us that much.”

  He went back to staring out the window. Stevie was pretty sure he was trying to decide how much to trust them. He remembered something Dick Jerardi had said: “Sometimes the best question is the one you don’t ask. Sometimes you just let the silence ask your question. Let it hang in the air until the other guy says something to fill up the space. They almost always do.”

  Finally, after what felt like forever, Graber stood up and walked over to the bar. He sat down on a bar stool, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward. “Okay, listen,” he said. “If I tell you what I know, you have to promise that we are completely off the record, that you’ll tell no one—including your fathers.”

  “We haven’t told our fathers anything so far,” Susan Carol said. “And we couldn’t write anything now even if we wanted to. But you have our word. We won’t say or write anything until and unless you tell us we can.”

  “Steve?” Graber said.

  “What?” Stevie hesitated, remembering Jerardi’s admonition to get people to talk on the record. But there was a lot more at stake here than a newspaper story. “Sure,” he said finally. “Off the record is fine.”

  Chip got up, went around the bar, and took a Coke from the refrigerator. “You guys want one?” he asked. They both shook their heads.

  “All right then,” he said. “Here it is from the top.

  “It started on Monday. We flew home from the regionals on Sunday night and we partied pretty late. First time in school history making the Final Four, it was a big deal. There must have been ten thousand people waiting for us at the gym when we pulled up.”

  “Heavenly Coffee Field House?” Stevie said.

  Graber smiled. “Yeah, how sick is that? But we get free coffee all the time, so it’s not so bad.”

  Susan Carol gave Stevie a look that clearly meant he should shut up and let Graber tell the story before he changed his mind. She was probably right.

  “Anyway, I went to bed late, maybe around four, and I had no intention of getting up before noon.”

  “No classes?” Stevie said before he could stop himself, causing Susan Carol to shoot him a look that said he was a complete moron.

  “I only have Tuesday-Thursday classes. I knew I wasn’t going to have enough credits to graduate on time anyway, so I took an underload this semester so I could concentrate on playing ball.”

  “Any of the other seniors going to graduate?”

  This time it was Susan Carol talking, which surprised Stevie.

  Graber smiled. “Put it this way: I’m closer than the other three guys.”

  “So you’re the student-athlete in the group,” Susan Carol said.

  He laughed. “Yeah, that’s me. We got a kick out of that guy in the press conference. Clearly, he hasn’t been around too many basketball teams.”

  Stevie now thought he understood. Susan Carol had noticed that the questions were loosening him up.

  “So I went to sleep. Turned off my cell. No one has the number at my house.…”

  “You live with your parents?” Stevie said, surprised.

  “No, no. I share a house with two other guys. Non–basketball players. It’s about a mile from campus. Five-minute drive.”

  “You have a car?” Susan Carol said.

  He laughed. “Every college basketball player has a car,” he said. “Mine’s a little different because my coach bought it for me, but it’s legal—because he’s my dad.”

  “So no one has your number,” Stevie said, thinking they needed to get the story moving a little faster.

  “Right. I mean, my parents have it, my girlfriend has it, a few other people. Guys on the team. That’s it. At nine a.m. the phone rings. I can’t imagine who it is because just about everyone who has the number was up as late as I was. I pick it up and it’s Professor Whiting. He says he needs to come over and see me right away, that something has come up.

  “I say, ‘Can’t it wait until this afternoon?’ He says it can’t, that it is very important to my dad. I say, ‘Okay then, give me half an hour to take a shower and get something to eat.’ He says he’ll bring bagels.”

  Stevie thought Graber was adding a lot of details they didn’t need, but he knew they had to let him tell this his way. At least he was talking.

  “So he comes over with bagels. I make coffee, we sit down. He says to me that there’s a problem that, unfortunately, has to be dealt with and it is out of his hands and he’s really, really sorry to be the one to have to tell me about this. I’m scared. I t
hought my dad was sick or something. But then I’m thinking if my dad was sick, why would Whiting be the one telling me? He’s around the team a lot but he’s not close to my dad or anything. I mean, he doesn’t know anything about basketball. He’s my ethics professor.”

  “Funny thing,” Stevie said.

  Graber looked at him quizzically for a second, then nodded his head. “Yeah, how about that,” he said.

  “So I ask him what the heck he’s talking about and he finally says to me, ‘Chip, there’s a problem with your transcript.’ I’m baffled. Look, I’ve never been much of a student. I’ve known all along that I want to play pro ball, and, unlike a lot of other guys, people tell me I’m not fooling myself.”

  “I remember reading that you would have been a lottery pick if you’d put your name in the draft last year,” Susan Carol said.

  He nodded. “Exactly. Probably one of the top ten picks. But I wanted to play one more year for my dad, and I knew we had a chance to be real good. Not many teams in the country have four senior starters. So I came back. I did have some academic problems last spring, but they all got resolved.”

  “What kind of problems?” Susan Carol asked.

  He shook his head. “I flunked a class,” he said.

  “One class is a big deal?” Stevie was surprised.

  “No, not by itself,” he said. “But I’ve been on academic probation a couple of times. Silly stuff. Always happens in season because I get behind, especially in March when we’re away from campus so much. At the end of my sophomore year, I was a couple classes shy of the NCAA minimums. I had to go to summer school so I could play my junior year—which I did. But that meant I was on probation. When I flunked that class in the spring, it put me back on probation.”

  “Which meant what?”

  “It meant I couldn’t flunk a class fall semester or I couldn’t play.”

  “And did you?”

  “No. But this is where it gets complicated. Whiting said that ‘someone’ had a transcript of mine that showed I flunked two classes last spring. I said that was impossible. That’s when he showed me the transcript. Someone must have gone into the computer system at school and changed my grade in Econ 300 from a C+ to an F.”