by Randall Wood
The pattern continued for the next three years with TJ’s plight making its way onto the national TV screens on a regular basis. Drunk driving, fights on the baseball field and with the paparazzi were attributed to ‘roid-rage’ and more stints in rehab. He never spent long in jail and was always out in time for spring training. Despite the setbacks he still managed to set the all-time record for home runs before quickly retiring. It was thought that with the pressures of baseball behind him TJ might finally manage to beat the drugs and alcohol.
A young actress became pregnant and TJ found himself married. The marriage was rocky from the start, with tabloid coverage and steroid rumors adding to the fire. The police were regulars at the Olson household for various domestic disputes. Charges were always dropped. Until the night of Christmas Eve.
It was a night that America would hear about for the next two years. A call reporting an accident a few blocks from the Olson household turned up the car of TJ Olson. It was wrapped around a tree and his young wife’s body was found behind the wheel. Blood was found on both sides of the shattered windshield, as well as on the concrete leading away. Officers sent to TJ’s home found him unconscious and bleeding on the floor of his bedroom. The press had a field day. An ambulance was summoned and brought Olson to the hospital. He was found to be highly intoxicated. When awakened and questioned he claimed to remember nothing about the accident. He did, however, claim he wasn’t driving the car. The detective didn’t buy the story, suspecting that TJ had moved her body before walking home from the scene. He was arrested in the emergency room.
What followed was the worst example of the American justice system ever seen. TJ spent a majority of his vast fortune on the most famous criminal lawyers in the country. The judge foolishly allowed cameras into the courtroom, and the trial of TJ Olson became daily dirt for the American public. The jury was forced into sequestration by the judge. Every expert that could be bought was paraded across the witness stand to confuse the jury. Money was no object. No theory too outrageous. After eight months, the jury was weary and wanted their own lives back. The prosecution painted a simple picture. Blood evidence in the car. The wife’s hair in the windshield on the passenger’s side. The setting of the driver’s seat and mirrors. Injuries to TJ’s head and hands. A picture of the couple out that night with drinks in hand. The dinner and bar bill from TJ’s credit card. The phone and police records. The blood test from the hospital. It seemed like an easy case.
To the shock of the nation, TJ was acquitted on all counts. The outrage was heard across the nation on every talk show and news magazine. The prosecutors left the state in disgust. The jury members received hate mail and death threats. TJ promptly left California and returned to Florida, where as a native son, he was more welcome. A much poorer man, he began to make appearances at sports memorabilia shows, signing cards and jerseys for his still remaining loyal fans. One show was scheduled for this coming Saturday at the Germain Arena in Ft. Myers, Florida, not far from his home.
Sam had a ticket.
* * *
After a quick night’s sleep at a local hotel, Sam was up and in his rental car on the way to the arena. Passing a variety of urban sprawl, Sam was both shocked and appalled by the growth that had occurred since his last visit just a few years ago with his wife and daughter. Strip malls, shopping complexes, miles of new roads, towering condominium complexes and several new gated communities were now in an area Sam remembered being only empty land. He weaved in and out of several dump trucks as he made his way toward the arena. The age of his fellow drivers was expected—old. Florida was the retirement destination of the east coast and Midwest states. A variety of license plates could be seen every time he paused at a stop light. It was “in season” as the locals called it, just plain winter to everyone else, the time when their city population grew by over 100% due to the snowbirds arriving from the north. The age took a sudden turn toward the late teens and early twenties as he approached Florida Gulf Coast University, less than a mile from the arena. Traffic picked up even more as he was also near a large outlet mall. Traffic could be a problem; he may have to re-think his exit plan.
Sam chose a parking spot out away from the building with an easy access to the one street entrance. The building was designed for all-around use. A hurricane shelter when needed, it had a steeply sloped roof of metal and a solid concrete structure. Hockey and other sports were the main draw, but the occasional show, such as today, would make use of the facility. Sam caught sight of a life-sized cardboard cutout of the man he was here to see as he walked in the entrance. Would have been handy for practice, he thought with a smile. He dug in his pocket for the ticket and was soon waved through by a young lady working the gate. Probably a student from the college Sam thought as he paused at the inner entrance and took in the sight of the show.
The floor was crowded with booths and tables. Some large and covering several square feet, and some small and manned by a father-son team. Banners hung from the upper deck with the names of the various companies sponsoring the show. Names like Topps, Fleer, Upper Deck and Naxcom were everywhere. All names unfamiliar to Sam. He stopped at a booth and bought a copy of a Beckett magazine and a Sports Collector’s Digest. Holding them to help blend in, he wandered from booth to booth. They seemed to be grouped by sport. Baseball was prominent, but he also saw a variety of other sports. He lingered over a large hockey collection, finding his Detroit Redwings. He smiled as he poked a Steve Yzerman bobble-head. A signed jersey hung on the wall behind the booth and Sam was actually tempted.
The PA system squawked and Sam turned to see a man up on the small stage at the far end of the arena. He annoyingly tapped the microphone a few times before addressing the crowd.
“Hello, sports fans. Welcome to the Germain Arena. I know you’re all awaiting the arrival of our featured guest. He should be along in a few minutes. Before he arrives, I would like to announce a charity drawing that will take place today. This is not in the flyer we put out, this is a new addition. For a small twenty-dollar donation, you can be entered to win a round of golf tomorrow morning at the new Renaissance Golf Club here in Fort Myers with our special guest, Mr. TJ Olson! All proceeds will go to the Fort Myers United Way. I would also like to point out that the Renaissance Golf Club has graciously offered to match all donations dollar for dollar! You may enter your name here at the front of the stage. Good luck to you all.”
Sam quickly calculated his chances of winning, even though it was not a viable option. Be one hell of a headline though, he thought. The Renaissance—that might be just the opening he needed. He strolled the aisles of the show for another half an hour before departing. He didn’t need to see TJ’s smiling face up on the stage.
Back in the car he weighed his options as he let the air conditioning remove the heat from the interior. He needed more information. Putting the car in gear, he left the arena and drove in the direction of the outlet mall. As he suspected, there were several other stores and restaurants nearby. He pulled into a gas station and topped off the tank. As he entered the store to pay, he wandered until he found a newspaper rack. Picking up a copy of the local paper, he also grabbed a few real estate magazines that were always on display. The cashier was a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, with an intelligent look to him. He calmly took Sam’s bottle of Gatorade and stacks of papers and rang them up.
“Anything else, sir?” he asked.
“Do you know where the Renaissance Golf Club is, by chance?” Sam inquired.
“Yeah, actually I do. Just take this road here past the mall and out to 75. Take 75 north to Daniels Parkway and get off going west. It’s on the right I think.” He pointed as he spoke.
“75 north to Daniels, west on Daniels. I got it. Thanks.” Sam nodded.
“No problem.”
Sam exited the store repeating the instructions. Good kid, he thought, must get asked for directions a hundred times a day, lucky for me.
Sam fought traffic for a few bloc
ks to the freeway entrance. As he merged with the 80 mph traffic he found himself boxed in by dump trucks, cement trucks, heating and air, lawn care and every other kind of truck. The construction boom was in full swing in southwest Florida. Sam wisely stayed in his lane as he was unsure how far it was to Daniels Road. He didn’t have to wait long. It was the same exit as the airport, more good luck. He made the exit and soon fought more traffic as he moved west on Daniels, but he saw the sign too late to make the turn. Fighting his way across three lanes he made it to the turn lane and, finding a gap in traffic, pulled a U-turn and backtracked until he saw it again. The entrance was behind a Denny’s. Odd, Sam thought as he pulled in. The gated entrance stopped his forward progress and he rolled down the window as the guard approached.
“Good morning,” the guard offered. “Who are you visiting today, sir?”
“No one in particular. I was hoping to look at some real estate?” Sam answered.
“I’m afraid we require that you be accompanied by a realtor, sir. We just get too many sightseers, and it slows down the construction traffic. Still lots of homes available though.” The guard handed him a small booklet with the layout of the development. “There’s a list of realtors in the back.”
Sam thumbed the brochure quickly before smiling back at the guard. “Thanks, I’ll be back.”
“Good day to you.”
The guard quickly returned to his air-conditioned kiosk and shut the door. Sam took in the heavy gate, its hydraulics system, the high wall, and the keypad entry station, before slipping the rental car in gear and pulling through the turn around.
He pulled into the Denny’s parking lot out of view of the gate. Taking all the fruit of his morning travels with him, he entered the restaurant and found a table in sight of the gate. He ordered a light breakfast and went over the materials. Before his food arrived, he had the beginnings of a plan.
—TWENTY-FIVE—
The state of Missouri holds 30,303 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 20,303 are repeat offenders.
Two hours later Sam stood in the lobby of a realtor’s office. He had returned the original rental car to the lender and upgraded to a Cadillac from a different company. He had also returned to the hotel and changed into his most expensive set of clothes. He was now wearing a pricey golf shirt and shorts, $200 loafers, and his Rolex watch. He capped it off with a pair of Revo sunglasses he had bought for the original trip to Florida. Satisfied he looked the part, he called a few realtors until he found one willing to see him today. He now stood in the office with a gourmet cup of coffee in his hands.
Despite the fact that it was a weekend, the office was buzzing. There was a killing to be made in the current market and competition was high. The receptionist fielded phone calls via a headset while sorting and filing documents with her free hands. Sam admired her proficiency while he waited. It wasn’t long.
An attractive middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway with an armful of documents and a couple of cell phones. She stuck out a free hand in his direction.
“Mr. Gudobba? Did I pronounce that right? I’m Kristy Barrett, we spoke on the phone.”
Sam shook the offered hand. “Yes and yes, about the Renaissance development.”
The woman smiled. Sam couldn’t blame her. The brochure had listed the cheapest condo in the eight-hundred thousand dollar range. Homes were in the millions. The membership fee to the golf club was eighty-five thousand alone. He smiled as she took in the Rolex and the shoes. She could smell the commission already.
“What type of home are you looking for?” she asked.
How much money am I worth? Sam decided to make her day. “I’m looking for two actually, one for myself and one for my parents. They’re getting up there and well, I’d like to have them closer.”
“How nice.” The grin got bigger and she scanned his left hand. No ring she saw. Was this her lucky day?
“Would you like to go over the information?” she asked.
“I’d rather just see them first, if that’s all right,” Sam replied.
“No problem at all. Right this way.”
As he was led out the door and across the parking lot, Sam made a big show of aiming the remote at the Cadillac and thumbing the lock button. The chirp of the horn ensured that she didn’t miss it. More help for his cover.
They got into her Jeep Cherokee, the backseat full of maps, brochures and files for which she apologized profusely. Sam let it go with a smile and was soon watching her navigate the horrendous traffic in the direction of Daniels Parkway. She gave a running description of the property, but Sam had read most of it from the literature. He half listened as she dodged cars and yellow lights until he heard a questioning tone.
“Where are you from, Mr. Gudobba?”
“Michigan,” he replied. “Grand Rapids.”
“We have a lot of people here from that part of the country.”
“I’m sure,” he answered and left it at that. He had learned not to claim another part of the country as home. You never knew where the person you were talking to was from, and it was easy to be caught in a lie. Best to always pick a place you knew well. Grand Rapids was just north of Kalamazoo and Sam knew the town well.
He scanned the guard shack as they pulled up. As expected, the realtor pulled into the lane with the keypad. Sam adjusted himself forward in the seat as she rolled the window down and had an unobstructed view as she carefully punched in the access code with a manicured fingernail. He quickly repeated the code in his head three times, committing it to memory. That was one item off the list. As they pulled through, he spotted the security guard from that morning talking to a lawn care crew in a pickup truck. He wasn’t even looking his way. Sam returned his gaze out the front windshield as they pulled through and into the complex. He now compared the layout of the streets before him to the bird’s-eye view offered in the brochure. He noted that several homes were still in the construction phase, from cement slabs to the finishing touches. He tried to get a count, but there were too many.
“Would you like to see the clubhouse first? It’s lovely,” she asked.
“No, my time is rather limited. Let’s see some homes first.”
“All right, do you prefer lakefront or golf course view?”
“Golf course.”
* * *
An hour later and Sam was ready to leave. He gazed out the second-story windows of a three million dollar home and had his pick of three tees and two greens. All within rifle range. From the other two homes already viewed, he had seen similar views. All would serve his purpose well. He had obtained item two even more easily than the first. The realtor had fumbled with the small lockbox hanging from the door handle until Sam had offered to help. She dictated the code as Sam punched it in and obtained the door key. The code had been the same as the gate key code and had worked on every house so far. So much for the illusion of security, Sam thought. He was pleased to see that all the homes contained fireplaces. Something he didn’t quite understand, as the temperature in Florida never got low enough to need one. But he was a northerner, what did he know?
The realtor had excused herself and was in the kitchen talking on the cell phone again, so Sam took the opportunity to snap a few pictures of the view with his digital camera. He had already taken several shots. For “Mom and Dad,” he had explained. He wandered to the garage door and stepped out into the three-car space. He quickly glanced around and was rewarded with a garage door opener taped to the wall. He palmed it and shoved it in the pocket of his shorts. He quickly returned to the house just as the realtor was finishing up.
“Well, what do you think of this one?” she asked. “It’s my favorite one in the development.”
“It’s very nice. I’m not sure I need this much space, but it’s very nice.”
“Is it just you?” she asked, taking advantage of the opportunity.
“Just me.”
He got a big smile in return.
�
�Would you mind if we cut this short?” he asked. “I’m afraid I have a meeting to make.”
“Not at all. I insist we at least drive by the clubhouse on the way out. It would be a shame to not see it.”
“All right.” Sam let her win.
Sam nodded politely as she drove past the massive structure, pointing out its amenities. His thoughts were already elsewhere.
* * *
Sam had found himself cursing his brother-in-law as he drove through the traffic getting to the storage unit Paul had chosen in Cape Coral. Sam had been forced to drive over a half hour through traffic to get to it. After consulting a map at a stop light, he found two alternate routes by which to return. It required a toll at the bridge, but he could deal with that. The traffic was the worst problem. He was starting to wonder about his exit strategy. His original intent was to simply drive out of town and catch a flight in another city. The traffic and lack of exits from the city made him uncomfortable with that. He now sat in the storage unit, which was thankfully air conditioned, and contemplated his map. From the development he had easy access to I-75, which ran north to Tampa and south to Naples. From Naples it turned due east and became ‘Alligator Alley,’ which cut straight across the Everglades to Miami. The problem with that was there were very few exits that didn’t dead end. That meant he was subject to a roadblock should someone get a description. To the north, he had a choice of I-75 or 41, both of which ended in Tampa before providing alternatives. To the east were several small two-lane back roads. None of which provided a major airport until he hit Orlando or the east coast. Staying low in the area was not an option. It went against his training. From sniper to submariner, you never stayed in the area where you had just fired a shot. He was also due for more chemotherapy. Something he was not looking forward to doing. He would have to spend some more time on this later. Right now he had work to do.
