by Robert Gonko
off.”
“Tell me more,” Sam said.
Nick spent an hour telling Sam about all the projects going on in that segment of Curtis Enterprises. The scope was breathtaking. They were even trying to break into space exploration. That alone was enough to intrigue Sam, a lifelong space enthusiast.
“Sure beats the heck out of the oil business,” Sam said. “That holds absolutely no interest for me. Who would own the new company?”
“At first it would be you, me and Mama,” he replied. “In a few years we would take the company public. That will open up whole new avenues for us. We would always keep control, though, to make sure that we're really pushing the limits and not just trying to boost share value. I want to make new things and for those things to make the world a better place.”
“It sounds exciting,” Tracie said.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Mind if I think about it? It's a big step.”
“Take your time,” Nick said. “You shouldn't rush into anything.
Sam thanked him and invited him to stay for a few days. The truth was that he was stalling for time. He wasn't going to do anything until Steve found out exactly what was going on.
TWELVE
Steve Bennett checked into the Ramada Houston Intercontinental near the airport at a little before ten that evening. The private investigator was tired and frustrated. He'd spent the hours since his arrival working with the Houston police trying to find Stu Peart only to come up empty. One of his specialties was supposed to be missing persons. Some specialist he was turning out to be.
He found his room on the first floor, slipped the keycard into the slot, and opened the door. As he fumbled for the lights, a hand grabbed his arm and jerked him inside. Steve swung his bag wildly and felt a thump as it connected with something. The grip on his arm loosened.
He jerked his arm free and drew his gun as he backed into a wall, kicking into the darkness. His foot connected with flesh and he heard a grunt. Steve aimed the gun at the floor and fired a shot.
“Shit!” the attacker shouted, sounding terrified. The door opened and Steve saw a figure run into the lit hallway.
Steve ran into the hall himself, raised his gun, and shouted at the running figure. “I will shoot you!” he shouted. “Stop!”
The attacker did so. Steve could see that the man was wearing some kind of headgear. “Keep your hands where I can see them!” Steve commanded as he slowly approached.
Curious hotel guests started peeking out their doors. “Somebody call the police,” Steve said as he reached the attacker. “You, turn around slowly.”
It was Stu Peart. He was wearing a headpiece that positioned a small scope in front of his right eye. Steve recognized it as a night vision monocular, frequently used by police SWAT teams and the military.
“If it isn't my old buddy, Fuck You,” Steve said. “You want to do it the easy way this time?”
Peart nodded slowly.
“He fingered Bill and Jerry again,” Steve reported an hour later. Sam listened intently as his friend recounted his little adventure. “Houston PD's going to be talking to both of them, this time at the station house. Hope I get to see them hauled in.”
The call had woken him from the first sound sleep he'd had in days. He was wide awake and had the phone on speaker so Tracie could hear as well. “Thank the Lord you're alright, Steve,” Tracie said.
“I don't think it was a hit,” Steve replied. “He was carrying a gun, but didn't draw it. Peart claimed that they were just trying to scare me off. If that's true, it was a pathetic attempt. You know I don't scare easily.”
“Do I ever,” Sam said. “What do you think Bill and Jerry will do next?”
“Beats me,” Steve said. “But I've been thinking about this whole thing and I'm not one hundred percent convinced that they're really behind it. Peart could be lying.”
“Why do you say that?” Tracie asked.
“If those two were going to hire muscle to pull shit like this, they'd hire people who know what they're doing. I've caught Peart twice now and it was fairly easy both times. There's something else going on here.”
“What do you want to do next?” Sam asked.
“Dig into Peart's background, Curtis Enterprises, the family, everything. Maybe if I tick off the right people, the real perp will show himself.”
Sam knew there was no talking Steve out of it. “Be careful,” he said.
“God bless you,” Tracie added.
“Thanks,” Steve said. “I'll be in touch.”
He hung up. “I don't like this,” Sam said.
“Neither do I,” Tracie said. “But what can we do besides pray for him?”
“I don't know,” Sam admitted. “I just don't know.”
He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
THIRTEEN
Sam took his wedge, lined up his shot, and chipped the ball onto the green. At first he thought he'd pulled it off. The ball was rolling right down the line towards the pin. He clenched his fist in anticipation but, at the last second, the ball broke to the right and kept going. It wound up about ten feet from the cup. It was a good thing Tracie wasn't there; she would have chastised him for his comments.
Nick Curtis sympathized. “I thought for sure you had that,” he said, stepping onto the green with his putter in hand. Nick was proving to be a much better golfer than Sam. He'd reached the green in two strokes and was well positioned for birdie, his ball only four feet from the cup. Sam's chip had been his fourth shot; he would be lucky to escape with a bogey.
Sam exchanged his wedge for his own putter and joined his half-brother on the 7th green of the River Oaks Country Club. As a guest of the Atkins family he'd been given a complimentary guest membership and was being courted to join the club permanently. To his surprise, he was actually thinking about it.
Sam's ball rolled into the cup on the first try. Nick made his Birdie a moment later and they walked back to their cart. “You been playing golf long?” Nick asked.
“About six years,” Sam said. “My pastor got me interested in it. I know I'm not all that good, but I have fun and my son's started playing with me. You?”
“I took it up in college,” Nick said. “A buddy of mine persuaded me to try it and I was hooked. My sons play with me. They're both a lot better than I am.”
“Nick, I've got to ask you about Stu Peart,” Sam said as they drove to the eighth tee. “What do you know about him?”
“He's been with us for five or six years,” Nick said. “We've never had trouble with him.”
Sam told Nick about Peart's capture the night before but kept Steve's suspicions about the man to himself. He wasn't sure why, but he had a strong sense that the fewer people who know exactly what Steve was up to, the better. “Was he anyone's driver in particular?” Sam asked.
“Dad's, mainly,” Nick said. “Stu took good care of him and Dad returned the favor with bonuses and even a bit of money in the will. I don't know, maybe he thought it wasn't enough.”
“Maybe,” Sam said. “Do you know if he had any kind of grudge against Bill or Jerry?”
Nick seemed surprised by the question. “Not that I know of,” he said.
A foursome was getting ready to tee off so they had some time to wait. Sam recognized Mayor Eric Hawkins and his wife, Laurie. He didn't know the couple they were playing with. The mayor saw him and brought his group over to say hello. Sam didn't like politicians, but he did his best to be gracious.
The couple they were playing with was much younger. Craig Blackburn was the mayor's deputy chief of staff. His girlfriend, Amanda Clark, was a reporter for The Port Mason Register. That gave Sam some pause but he reminded himself that she was probably off duty. He introduced Nick.
Mayor Hawkins insisted on letting Sam and Nick play through. Nick went first and hit a long drive right down the middle of the fairway. Sam was a little intimidated as he s
et up his own tee shot. To his amazement, his ball only pulled a little to the right and landed just short of Nick's.
“Nice shot,” Hawkins said. “How about we mix things up?”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“Let's make it two threesomes. You can play with Laurie and me while Mr. Curtis joins Craig and Amanda.”
“I have a better idea,” Amanda said. “Craig and I will play with Mr. Harman.”
“Fishing for an interview, Amanda?” Hawkins asked with a smile.
“Always,” Amanda replied.
“Honey, you're on vacation,” Craig pointed out.
“Just a friendly conversation,” Amanda said. “I need to show Mr. Harman that not all reporters are like John Pullman.”
“Miss Clark--” Sam began.
“Amanda, please.”
“Amanda,” Sam said. “To say that the last few days have been stressful would be a gross understatement. I came here to relax, have a little fun, and get to know my brother a little better. If none of you mind, I think Nick and I should be getting on with our round.”
The reporter seemed disappointed but she nodded in understanding. “I tell you what,” Sam continued. “I'll give you my cell number. Call me tomorrow and I'll talk to you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harman,” she said. He gave her his number, made his apologies to the mayor, and got in the cart with Nick.
“You might have missed an opportunity back there,” Nick said.
“I can't stand politicians,” Sam said. “And except for Steve's dad, I'm not too crazy about journalists.”
“But you might need them both
