Deadly Game. R. B. Conroy

paused and looked at Alex, “I’m glad you’re making a stand at the bank Alex. We need more people to do that.”

      “Thanks Jake, but I’ve got a big problem.”

      “What’s that?”

      “We just had our monthly board meeting and they seem to be leaning toward keeping the bailout.”

      “Hmmm….that’s not good,” Jake lamented as he hopped in the cart. “Better update your resume.”

      Alex shook his head as he accelerated up a steep hill toward the green. Jake was a seasoned business man, and very savvy in the ways of the business world. He knew that if Alex didn’t keep the money and the bank struggled, he would be the one the bank blamed. With the economy so weak, and with the passage of the massive health care legislation, there would be further strains on the business community. It could be years before the economy returned anywhere close to prior levels. Alex would be in a very precarious situation.

      Alex yanked his putter from the bag and watched his opponents blast from the bunker—both shots landing well short of the pin.

      “Was that bet forty a hole?” Jake shouted.

      “We said twenty,” Joe retorted.

      Doc two putted for a bogey but the feisty Joe canned a thirty footer for a par.

      “We need this one, Jake,” Alex reminded.

      Jake walked around the green gazing at his twenty-footer from every possible angle. The others waited patiently, leaning on their putters, observing the familiar dance. After what seemed an eternity, Jake approached his ball and made two excruciatingly slow practice swings and then finally addressed the ball. After another lengthy pause, with his head shooting back and forth from hole to ball innumerable times, he finally stroked the ball; it slid by and came to a halt some six inches past the hole. He strolled forward and made his tap in for a par.

      “Damn!” Jake extorted as he bent over to remove his ball from the hole. “It’s up to you, Alex. Knock it in.”

      “Looks like a double-breaker to me,” Doc chided Alex as he quickly lined up his ten-footer.

      As Alex lined up the putt, he thought of the changing situation at the bank and the heartfelt pleas from Nicky to cash it all in and move to their beloved lake home. It made him realize just how fleeting life’s circumstances could be. Moving was a million miles from his mind just a few weeks ago. Alex took a deep breath and softly stroked the ball down the hill toward the hole and then threw his arms in the air in disgust.

      “Thought you had it,” Joe mused as he watched the ball dip down in the hole and then pop out. “Too bad, bucko.”

      Although disappointed by the near miss, Alex smiled warmly at his golfing comrades. He paused by his bag and looked carefully at each of them, something he almost never did. They were a motley crew. Doc looked rather distinguished with his small round glasses pushed to the end of his long, aquiline nose. He whistled quietly as he meticulously slid the cover over his shiny putter.

      The pudgy Joe, his arms covered with thick black hair and the obligatory cigar sticking out from between his slightly stained teeth, grunted an insult at his opponents as he jammed the pin in the hole.

      Finally, he glimpsed at his fast approaching friend, Jake. Tall and nattily dressed, his bright white Ben Hogan hat accentuated his forest green outfit. Jake glanced toward his friend and smiled warmly.

      A feeling of melancholy swept over Alex, he knew that he would see these old friends only occasionally if he and Nicky moved to the lake. Their relationships meant a lot to him. He knew that no matter what his score would be this day, that it would be a good day with his friends. “Nice putt, my friend,” he said to Joe.

      “Well…uh thanks Alex,” a surprised Joe replied. “Back at ya, I thought yours was in too.” Alex felt two affectionate pats to his shoulder from the usually combative Joe.

      “All square!” Doc chanted. The carts groaned up the steep hill toward the second tee.

      “Not for long!” Jake challenged.

      Chapter 4

      “Good morning!”

      Startled, Alex wheeled around from a rear file cabinet to find the squatty Barnes O’Brien hovering over the front of the desk. As he had done so many times in the past, the brash man had taken the liberty of entering Alex’s office without announcing himself to Erica.

      “Oh…uh good morning, Barnes, good to see you.” Alex quickly stood, the two men shook hands.

      “Hope I didn’t alarm you. The door was open so I just came in.”

      “Certainly not, Barnes, I was expecting you. And how are things at O’Brien and Son?”

      “We’re makin’ money.” A tight grin broke out on Barnes’s round face. Originally from the Boston area, Barnes O’Brien had moved to Indianapolis some twenty years earlier at the urging of his wife, Dora, an Indiana native. He immediately opened a law firm, hanging his shingle on a fourth story office in the Market Tower Building. A gifted trial lawyer and brilliant before a jury, he soon acquired a reputation as a gritty, and sometimes ruthless, adversary in the courtroom. Aggressive and smart, he eventually acquired offices in several major cities in the Midwest, including Chicago, St. Louis and Detroit. And like most attorneys, he donated generously to the Democratic Party. Rumor had it that he was in line for an Ambassadorship to Ireland. Barnes’s son, Shawn, joined the firm two years ago after graduating from Indiana University School of Law. A dedicated family man, Barnes was thrilled when his only son took a position in his firm. Plus, the addition of Shawn gave him more freedom to pursue his political ambitions.

      “How’s Shawn?” Alex liked Shawn, a congenial and friendly young man—he was nothing like his opportunistic father.

      “That kid of mine really knows his stuff.” Some-what sensitive to the lackluster reputation his son was garnering in legal circles around town, Barnes never missed an opportunity to sing his son’s praises. Alex understood and appreciated his commitment to his son.

      “He seems like a bright young man.”

      “He kicked Bob Brown’s ass the other day—got a huge settlement for our client in that asbestos case.”

      Alex smiled broadly, “Hmmm, that’s good. Brown’s a good lawyer. It’s no easy task to win one from him.”

      Actually, Bob Brown had been a wonderful liability attorney at one time, but after years of hard drinking and a couple of debilitating strokes, he was a sad case—often treating the jury to lengthy nonsensical diatribes in the courtroom, while using his wadded, yellowish hand-kerchief to swipe away streams of drool falling from the corner of mouth. The well-known litigator had become, more or less, a joke around town.

      “The kid’s getting there, sure enough is,” Barnes lifted his chin proudly.

      Alex nodded.

      After savoring his somewhat over zealous comments about his son for a moment, a sober look fell over Barnes face. “That’s enough about the boy. We have much more serious matters on our plate.”

      “Yes, and….”

      Barnes interrupted, “Alex, we’ve beat this TARP issue to death, so there’s no need for us to rehash all of the tedious details. Why don’t we just get to the bottom line?” He paused briefly and looked directly at Alex.

      “Yes…yes I agree Barnes, I….”

      Not wanting Alex to set the agenda, Barnes interrupted again. “This bond market is not going to rebound completely for some years. The traders are still cautious and yields on mortgage-backed bonds are still failing at an alarming rate. And when our commercial paper starts going bad, as we all know it will, we could be in serious trouble. I can….”

      Slightly agitated, Alex took his turn at interrupting.