by Tim Green
He forced himself into the deeper water and began to swim. The other reason for this morning routine was his physique-- there was almost no fat on his body. His daily swim had ensured that for the past twenty-three years despite retiring from competition. He believed his physical fitness was in part responsible for his success. It made him virile. Women wanted him. Men feared him. As he pulled at the water with long, even strokes, Chase lost himself in his plans for the day. It was during this time of day that he also gained his edge.
His climb to the top had been a struggle. He'd always been smart, but he'd grown up in a trailer park in West Palm Beach. Overcoming the handicap of poverty had been a monumental chore. Athletics had enabled him to improve his life. Being an All-America, and then an Olympian had opened every door. Thereafter, he used his brains and his cunning to get literally everything he'd wanted. And he'd come far. He switched to a backstroke and smiled.
Suddenly, something ensnared his ankle, and his entire body lurched out of the water, instinctively, like some great tortured aquatic mammal. This only made him sink that much faster when he hit the water in a vertical position, the downward pulling at his ankle now dragging him toward the bottom, some twenty feet below. Chase fought against the pull out of sheer panic, swimming hard for the surface, desperate to pull some air into his lungs, as the grip around his ankle tightened.
His thrashing was a waste of precious energy As he reached down to loosen whatever had caught his ankle, his panic was heightened when he saw the dark form of another human. He clawed at the two hands clamped tightly around his foot. One thought forced its way to the surface of his boiling terror: no one would dare kill him. This was to get him off balance. Someone wanted something from him, and they were trying to scare him. Enraged, he fought for the surface.
Then he became confused. He was running out of air. With renewed fear, he began tearing at the mask of the frogman. Before he could get a grip on anything, the diver kicked his powerful finned legs, propelling them both into deeper water. Bubbles spewed madly from the divers mouth, like the exhaust from a burning engine.
With one last mind-rending struggle, Chase kicked madly. Then, against his will, his airway opened and seawater slammed violently into his lungs and stomach. The burning pain made him vomit and choke, and Evan Chase convulsed helplessly as he started to sink. In the shock of drowning, his once capable limbs could only twitch ineffectively. The frogman finally released his grip on Chases ankle and hung suspended in the water above the convulsing man as he sank, an eerie apparition dispassionately observing a painful death.
After watching her husband leave for his swim, Vivian Chase lay back down to wait. An hour later she pulled on her robe and opened the French doors that led to the balcony. She stepped outside into the early morning sunshine. The sky s red glow had changed to a brilliant yellow, promising a hot day. Already the stone floor was warm to her feet. She could see only part of the beach through the palm trees, but she had a clear view of the steps that led from the ocean to the courtyard and the pool. Her eyes wandered briefly to the house that surrounded her like a fortress. She, like her husband, had come a long way. And, like him, she had a high opinion of herself and her cunning.
She was raised in a small town in upstate New brk and the two things she remembered most were the cold and the squalor. The day after high school graduation, she bleached her brown hair blond, and left for Florida. She hadn't been back since. She started out as a waitress in Daytona, then gradually worked her way south, moving from waiting tables to dancing in a large strip club in Fort Lauderdale. She'd never gone in for the drugs or the sleaze of the stripping scene. Instead, she saved her money and worked conscientiously on improving her manners, her wardrobe, and her style. The other girls had poked fun at her ways. They called her "The Queen."
Onstage, her long silky blond hair and her tight tan body and slender limbs were guaranteed to fill her G-string with tens and twenties. Soon she had enough money to buy a classic white Mercedes convertible that she used to troll the exclusive nightclubs of Miami and Palm Beach on the nights she wasn't working. Vivian dated selectively She wanted it all, but she didn't feel compelled to get it all at once. She believed that good things came with time.
After carefully considering her options, she focused her attentions on a young man who was neither overly attractive nor overly dynamic nor overly rich. Like a lioness, she had chosen one of the weakest of the herd as her prey. He was, however, very well connected, a vice president in his father's investment company, and a legacy member of the Palm Beach Meridian Club, the stuffiest and most discriminating social club in all of South Florida. It was there, as a wife, that Vivian set her real snares.
It was quite a plan, really, especially for a girl of modest beginnings. Her first husband's sole purpose was to legitimize her, and he did so completely. Once she was one of "them," she immediately went to work, poolside. Within a month she had three other men pursuing her aggressively, and scores of others flattering her constantly with compliments and stares, which she demurely acknowledged.
She was astounded at the shamelessness with which these men threw themselves at her. Two were married. But the richest, and most powerful of the three had been the one bachelor, Evan Chase. His desire, she knew, had been heightened by the knowledge that he was competing with others for the same prize. That was seven years ago. She had been twenty-three at the time. Surveying the expanse of the mansion, the towers, the balustrades, the balconies, and the columns, she supposed that crooked bunch of strippers had been right all along. She was a queen.
When Vivians gaze drifted back toward the steps, she gasped. Luther had ascended the stairs and was starting down the walk toward the pool.
Vivian glanced around, then waved her arms wildly. She wanted to cry out, but the noise would draw the attention of anyone in the house or on the grounds.
"What are you doing?" she hissed under her breath. She ground her teeth, enraged at Luthers presence.
Luther looked up at her. She waved him off frantically. The fool!
"Go!" she mouthed silently, over and over, waving him back with her hands.
Luther appeared momentarily puzzled. Then he, too, looked quickly about before crouching down and jogging awkwardly away until he reached the stone steps that led to the beach. An instant later, he was gone.
Chapter 10
Madison never liked to begin negotiations without confirming the numbers and the opening position with her client, but it appeared that the present situation couldn't be helped. Chris Pelo had alerted Luther a week ago that they would be arriving Wednesday evening. The player agreed to meet them at the Royal Palm Beach Hotel, but never showed. Repeated calls to his home proved fruitless, and Madison went to bed angry with her client's behavior. Zorn's irresponsibility only further reminded her of why she didn't want to be an agent.
In the morning, Madison met Chris Pelo in the hotel restaurant for a late breakfast.
"Any word from Luther?" she asked as she sat down.
Pelo shook his head. "I tried first thing when I got up, and I tried his pager. I don't know what happened, but I'm sure that by now he's at the facility for practice.
"I wouldn't be upset about it," Chris added. "This is the way Luther is. He likes to have people just do their own job and he does his. That's what he was always saying to Marty anyway ..."
"Well, you would think that he'd have more than a passing interest in the dynamics of a twenty-five-million-dollar deal, wouldn't you?" Madison replied, taking a sip of coffee. "But enough. I've had to baby-sit before. I guess I'll be doing it again. Really, if we get anything close to the deal I think we can get, you'll be able to run the agency without me, and they won't be able to say one thing about it at the firm. This contract alone could cover operating expenses for five years and still turn a profit."
Pelo brushed the hair off his forehead and offered a weak smile. "I was thinking we make a pretty good team the way things are . . . You hooked Luther
just like that! I crunched the numbers, now you cut the deal."
Madison smiled graciously. "Thanks, but I've got two trials coming up that . . . well, whatever. Anyway, we were lucky with Luther. I don't imagine it usually happens this easily. Let's be thankful and move on. I know you don't mean to, but do me a favor, Chris: don't pressure me on this. You're starting to remind me of a trial lawyer," she said with a wink.
"Okay." Pelo shrugged, raising his hands in surrender.
When Cody walked through the door at nine o'clock that evening, Madison greeted him with a candlelit dinner in the dining room. The strain from a late afternoon coach's meeting, a long day of teaching, and football practice had left him feeling sapped. For her part, Madison had spent the day deposing of a female stripper who provided testimony that her associate, a fellow stripper, regularly sold sexual services to patrons of the dance club where they worked. One of those patrons, a state senator, was Madison's client. He was being charged with first-degree rape. It was a tawdry case, but Madison believed her client was guilty of nothing more than illicit and illegal sex, not the violent crime of rape. Despite the emotionally grueling day, Madison made it home in time to do homework with Jo-Jo and put together a veal cacciatore dinner for Cody, his favorite.
Cody kissed her on the lips before slumping down in his chair. Madison poured him a glass of pinot noir and Bess served dinner. Cody could still eat like a professional athlete. The problem was that without the same regimen of running and lifting that had kept him fit during his years as a player, his intake of food was starting to show itself ever so slightly around the waist. Madison didn't mind, though.
She hadn't married Cody for his looks or his physique, although there were plenty of women who would have. She'd married Cody for his quiet inner strength, a strength un-marred by meanness or selfishness. It had been a tumultuous time when they first met. He had been devastated by his shattered marriage, his dying career, and the false accusation of a brutal murder. She had been in the middle of a vicious custody battle with her ex-husband. Their relationship had been a surreal calm in the eye of a dark tempest.
"What do you think?" Madison said to him after taking a taste of her own creation.
"I think we're going to get our butts kicked by Northside Friday night if my damn linebackers can't get their blitzes right," Cody said through a mouthful of food.
"No," Madison said gently. "I meant the dinner. What do you think?"
"It's good," he said, but left his words hanging.
"But what?" Madison inquired, curiously tilting her head.
"Well," Cody admitted, "you left something out. I didn't want to say anything, but something's wrong with it."
"I didn't leave anything out," Madison said, suddenly as angry as she was disappointed.
"feah," Cody said with a definite nod, "you did. It's different."
Madison thought, then said, "Well, I doubled the recipe for the sauce so you and Jo-Jo could have it while I'm gone later this week . . . maybe I didnt double the tomato paste."
"Yeah, that sounds like it," Cody said, shoveling in another mouthful of veal.
"But its still good," Madison said.
Cody's face twisted painfully and he screwed up his mouth.
"Not really," he said. "But that's okay. I'm eating it."
"That's awfully big of you," she said sharply "I mean, to suffer along through this crappy meal is really stoic. All that training and mental toughness from your playing days have really stayed with you."
"Hey," he said, sensing her anger, "I'm being honest with you. What do you want?"
"I want you to be a little sensitive. That's what I want."
"Look," Cody said, "you had a hard day. I had a hard day, too. Let's just forget it. I'm trying to be sensitive. I'm eating it, aren't I?"
"Cody, you'd eat ten pounds of dog food if I put it in front of you, so don't think you're doing me any big favors. There's nothing you won't eat."
"Hey, Madison, lighten up, okay?" Cody said with a scowl. "You cooked a bad meal. You asked me how it was and I told you the truth. Y)u're the one who's always talking about the importance of being honest. Now I'm honest, and you're mad. I like to eat. I like to eat. Big deal. I work hard. You don't want to cook? Order in Chinese. How's that?"
"That's good. That's just what you'll get," she said.
"Fine," Cody said.
"Fine," she said back.
They sat in silence, Cody eating, Madison staring at her fork, which she turned slowly, end over end, with one hand.
Then he said, "What do you mean, while I'm gone later this week'? Where are you going later in the week?"
Madison laid the fork down. "I'm going to Palm Beach to negotiate Luther Zorn's contract. I told you."
Cody shrugged. "Oh yeah. I forgot. You know, the game with Northside and everything."
'Yfeah," Madison said, biting her tongue to keep from throwing out some sarcastic comparison between his high school football game and her murder trial, rape case, and multimillion-dollar contract negotiation.
"I hope you're not going to make a habit of running off," he said. "You know, with this agency business."
"Well," she replied, "you're the one who wanted me to help Chris, so now I'm helping him. That's part of it."
"I thought you were just going to get these guys signed up," Cody said through another mouthful of food, "then Chris could take over."
"Well," she said, "Luther Zorn wanted me to handle things personally. That was part of the agreement."
Cody looked at her thoughtfully, but kept chewing. He didn't know himself well enough to know whether he was jealous by nature or still feeling the effects of an unfaithful wife in his first marriage. Either way, he knew better than to badger Madison about her fidelity.
"Okay," Cody said, getting up and walking around the table so he could kiss her cheek, "I'm sorry about dinner."
The gesture wasn't lost on Madison. The two of them could disagree, argue, or even fight, but in the end, Cody always seemed to be able to build a bridge between them and make it come out okay. Most men Madison had known or observed were just the opposite--once the battle lines were drawn, the only thing that they could send over to the other side was missiles. Cody was different, and at that moment, despite the rising tide of differences in their lives, Madison believed that they would be together, forever.
At the stadium, Madison and Chris stopped to briefly watch the team practice before going in to find Wilburn. Everything seemed to be in order. The players ran through their drills. Balls flew through the air with the frequency of a circus act. It wasn't too hard now for Madison to pick out Luther Zorn. After just one meeting, she had a sense for his frame and the way he moved. He was large, bigger than any of the other linebackers in the group that ran in and out of a maze of cones. But, while being the biggest, at the same time he was the most fluid. He moved with the ease and grace of a panther. She did notice that when he stopped anywhere for more than a minute he would begin to clasp and rub his hands gently.
"There he is," Chris said, as if they were on safari, sighting some elusive quarry.
"There he is," she replied, still unable to completely purge the annoyance from her voice. "Come on."
Inside the facility, there was an undercurrent of energy that Madison picked up on right away.
"We're here to see Martin Wilburn," she told the receptionist.
The wild-eyed look the girl gave her and the nervous way in which she announced their arrival confirmed that something was amiss. While they waited, Madison was acutely aware of the hurried steps, the urgent whispers, and the searching glances of everyone who passed by the lobby. It was as if the entire office was waiting for someone or something.
Finally, a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman appeared and identified herself as Martin Wilburn's secretary.
"I'm sorry," she told them with a pleasant smile, "but Mr. Wilburn will be unable to see you today."
This was the last thing Madison exp
ected, but she didn't want to show it.
"Ellen, you'll need to tell Mr. Wilburn that I have rearranged my schedule because of this meeting, and that this appointment was confirmed as recently as yesterday, and that I intend to see him if I have to wait until he gets in his car to go home. I would hate to have to involve Mr. Chase in this, but under the circumstances I'll have to, if he won't at least give me a personal explanation."
Confronted with those words, the secretary politely excused herself.
"What the hell?" Chris Pelo said quietly when they were alone again. He was more glad than ever that Madison was with him. Left to himself, Chris would have already been halfway to the highway Madison, on the other hand, looked like she was about to cross-examine a witness.
"We'll see," she said quietly. "It may not have anything to do with us, but it better be something pretty damn big for him to send us back to Texas."
Through the large window in the lobby, Madison and Chris saw the sudden appearance of a dark blue, official-looking Crown Vic as it pulled into the lot below. In seconds, two men, clearly police officers, appeared on the carpeted stairs and walked purposefully into the reception area.
"Mr. Wilburn's office, please," the first one said. Both were well built, in their mid-thirties with dark suits and crew cuts. Both wore sunglasses.
The receptionist picked up her phone, but the officer cut her off by flipping his wallet open and showing his badge.
"Just show us the way, ma'am," he said. "We'll announce ourselves."
The receptionist pointed uncertainly in the direction of Wilburn's office and murmured some directions. Without missing a beat, Madison fell in behind the two policemen and, after a quick glance around, Chris followed as well.
