Last Shot (21 page)

The elevator took them to the twenty-second floor in a matter of seconds. When they got off, they
were
greeted by a security guard.

“Mr. Brill?”

“Yes,” Brill said.

“Mr. Feeley’s expecting you. Follow me.”

He led them down the hallway but they could hardly get lost—there appeared to be only one room on the floor. He knocked softly on the door and it was answered almost immediately by a tall hulk of a man who was dressed in a silly-looking flowered shirt and khaki pants.

“Mr. Brill,” the security man said when the door opened, “and friends.”

The hulk pulled the door open and gave Brill a quizzical look.

“I left you a message, Gary,” Brill said as they walked into the wide entryway of the suite. “These are the two winners of the USBWA writing contest. They’re here for the weekend to observe journalists working at the Final Four, and they wanted to sit in on my interview with Mr. Feeley.”

The guy in the flowered shirt didn’t even look at Stevie or Susan Carol. “That will be up to Mr. Feeley,” he said, and led the way through the entryway to a spectacularly large room that had a panoramic view of the waterfront. The room was twice as big as the one Chip Graber had and a lot fancier.

Stuart M. Feeley had been sitting in a big armchair near the window, watching the golf tournament on the largest-screen TV Stevie had ever seen. As soon as he heard people come into the room, he stood up and turned to greet his guests. He had a cigar in one hand and wore a blue golf shirt that said
DUKE BASKETBALL
on it, shorts, and no shoes. If he was upset to see that Brill had company, he didn’t show it.

Before Flower Shirt could say anything, Feeley crossed the room with his hand out. “Bill, good to see you again,” he said. “I see you’ve brought company. Grandkids? Friends? Assistants?”

“None of the above,” Brill said. “Well, friends, yes.” He introduced Stevie and Susan Carol and again explained who they were and why they were here.

“Well, I’m flattered that you would think I had anything
interesting to say,” Feeley said. “You kids want something to drink? Bill?”

Brill asked for a beer and Stevie and Susan Carol each asked for a Coke. Gary, clearly dismayed, went off to find the drinks, and Feeley offered them all chairs near the window, while he picked up a remote and turned off the TV.

“Who’s leading?” Brill asked.

“A guy named Paul Goydos,” Feeley said. “Ever heard of him?”

“Yeah. I read about him in a book about the tour years ago. I didn’t even know he was still playing.”

“Well, he’s two shots ahead of Davis Love and Billy Andrade, with three holes to play.”

Stevie liked Stuart Feeley almost immediately. He was obviously a very wealthy man but didn’t act as if that somehow made him important. If his assistant was put off by Stevie and Susan Carol’s presence,
he
clearly wasn’t bothered by it at all. He asked them each questions about their backgrounds while they waited for the drinks.

“So, Susan Carol’s bringing you around on Coach K and Duke,” he said when Stevie finished his story.

“Well,” Stevie said, “maybe just a little.”

Once they had been served their drinks, Brill started asking questions about how the search for a new president was going—what Feeley was looking for, and if there was any truth to the rumors that Sanford was retiring because of disagreements with Feeley. If that question troubled Feeley, he didn’t show it. “Bill, I’m not going to sit here and tell you
that Tom and I never disagreed,” he said. “We did. But as far as I was concerned, he could be president of Duke for life. He’s a brilliant guy who did great things for the school. This was strictly his decision.”

Stevie couldn’t help but think that he had answered a question that hadn’t been asked. Brill hadn’t asked if he had forced Sanford to retire, only if their relationship was behind his retiring. Brill kept a tape recorder running during the interview, and Susan Carol took notes to make it look as if they were really interested. Susan Carol may have been. By the time Brill started asking about possible candidates—a question Feeley clearly wasn’t going to touch—Stevie was almost bored, a first for the weekend.

And then a couple of minutes later it was over. Everyone was standing up and shaking hands. This was Susan Carol’s cue.

“Mr. Feeley, I don’t want to impose”—Stevie noticed she had the full Southern accent working:
aah doan want ta immmpose
—“but could you give me just another minute or two on an entirely different topic that I’m hoping to write something about?”

“Well,” Feeley said, looking at his watch, “I have a cocktail party to go to before dinner.…”

“It really won’t take very long.”

Feeley smiled. “Sure, absolutely.”

Now it was Stevie’s turn. “Come on, Mr. Brill, let’s wait in the lobby,” he said.

Brill was clearly a bit confused but unbothered by Susan Carol’s sudden boldness. “Susan Carol, don’t be
long, I need to get back to the hotel and write.”

They left Susan Carol alone with Feeley. Stevie and Susan Carol had decided it was better for her to talk to him one-on-one rather than gang up.

“So, what in the world is that about?” Brill said after the security guard had led them back to the elevator.

Stevie rolled his eyes. “She writes for some newsletter at her dad’s church. She wanted to ask him about religion and sports and the role the two of them play in college life.”

Brill smiled at him as the elevator rocketed downward. “Religion make you uncomfortable?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” Stevie said. “I’m just amazed by how much of it there is here. I mean, what’s the connection between God and sports?”

“I think it’s partly insecurity,” Brill said. “Success in sports is so fleeting. And so tenuous. A lot of guys are looking for something to hang on to.”

That made sense to Stevie. They had reached the lobby. Brill looked at his watch.

“If you need to get going, Mr. Brill, I’ll just wait here until she’s done,” he said.

“That would help,” Brill said. “I have to write some Internet stuff before dinner. You kids can get back to the hotel okay?”

Stevie nodded. He watched Brill walk through the doors. It was almost five-thirty. Time to call his dad again even though he figured they would be going back to the hotel as soon as Susan Carol was finished with Feeley.

“You know, Reverend Anderson isn’t thrilled with you
kids being gone all day like this,” his dad said.

“I know, I know, we’ve just been real busy,” Stevie said. “Would you call him and tell him Susan Carol’s finishing her story and we should be back soon?”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” his dad said. “But no more gallivanting tonight. We should spend some time together.”

“Absolutely, Dad.”

Depending on how things were going upstairs, he thought, their gallivanting might soon be over.

IT WAS ALMOST SIX O’CLOCK
by the time Susan Carol came back to the lobby. Stevie was extremely glad Brill hadn’t waited around for her. A couple of times he had thought about calling the room to make sure everything was okay, but decided against it. The story she was telling would take a while. And Stuart Feeley would have a lot of questions.

For the first time all weekend, he thought she looked tired as she crossed the lobby from the elevator to where he was sitting reading the sports section of the New Orleans
Times-Picayune
.

“Everything okay?” he asked, standing up to greet her.

“I think so,” she said. “Let’s get back to the Hyatt before my dad has a heart attack. I’ll tell you about it on the way.”

Before she started her story, he told her he’d had his dad
call hers. That seemed to make her feel a little better.

“So, the good news is, I convinced him to talk to Jurgensen,” she said as a clap of thunder overhead reminded them that it was about to rain again.

“Is there bad news?”

“Sort of,” she said. “He doesn’t want us there. He thinks Jurgensen deserves the chance to explain in private.”

“Explain? What’s to explain?”

She held a hand up. “You’re preaching to the choir, Stevie. He was very skeptical when I first started to tell him the story. I gave him Chip’s cell phone number and told him he could call him to confirm. I think he finally believed me, but he thought Jurgensen would be more likely to fess up if he talked to him alone. He did say he wouldn’t allow Jurgensen to stay on the board if this is true. His offer will be to not go to the FBI in return for his resignation as soon as the Final Four is over.”

“When’s he going to do this?”

“I don’t know. They have this big deal dinner tonight for all their donors and trustees. He said it wouldn’t be tonight. Probably tomorrow morning. He’ll call us after he and Jurgensen talk. I think the one thing that may have convinced him is that he knew that Jurgensen had driven here for the weekend because he had business in Birmingham and decided driving was easier than flying.”

“Or so he said.”

“Right. We need to call Chip as soon as we get back. Their practice should be over about now.”

They agreed to try to convince their dads that the four
of them should have dinner together. “I just think we should stick close,” she said.

Stevie wasn’t sure if that was absolutely necessary. But, he decided, it was fine with him.

Chip sounded relieved when Stevie reached him and told him about their meeting with Feeley. He was back in his room by then and said he was planning to go to sleep as soon as he’d had dinner.

Going to bed sounded pretty good to Stevie. He told Chip about their concern that Feeley had insisted on meeting privately with Jurgensen. “It’s okay,” Chip said. “He sounds like a pretty up-front guy. I can understand him wanting to confront Jurgensen alone.”

“Well, we gave him your cell phone number just in case he wants to confirm any facts or details,” Stevie said. “Susan Carol thinks he’ll meet with Jurgensen in the morning. We should hear from him after that.”

“We’re going over to the arena for our last walk-through at about eleven o’clock,” Chip said. “I’ll be back in the room after that, trying to rest. Call me whenever you hear something.”

“Should we come to the arena if we get word while you’re over there?”

“I don’t think so. You’ll never get in; the walk-throughs are closed to everyone. And that NCAA guy really let my dad have it after the press conference. My dad was pretty ticked. He wanted to know what the hell I was doing running around with a couple of teenagers.”

“What’d you tell him?”

Chip laughed. “I told him the truth—sort of. That you guys won the basketball writing contest and I had told you I would give you some time on Sunday before the press conferences.”

“He buy it?”

“Maybe. I don’t think he wants to get into any long arguments with me until this is over.”

Stevie was nodding his head, forgetting that Chip couldn’t see him on the other end of the phone. “We’ll call you as soon as we know something,” he said.

“Sounds good. Get some sleep.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Stevie was about to hang up when he heard Chip say, “Hey, Stevie?”

“What?”

“Thanks.”

He hung up and walked back to the main lobby area to meet Susan Carol, who had come down five minutes ahead of the fathers so he could fill her in. Bill Thomas and Reverend Anderson showed up just as Stevie was finishing, and they walked two blocks to a Morton’s steak house where Stevie’s dad had been able to make a reservation. Dinner was quiet. Stevie’s mind kept wandering to what was going to happen next. He found himself creating the meeting between Feeley and Jurgensen in his head. Susan Carol wasn’t saying very much either.

“You kids are both pretty quiet,” Bill Thomas said, finally.

“Just tired, Mr. Thomas,” Susan Carol said. “We got up
early this morning and spent the day running around, getting quotes from people and then writing our stories.”

“Being a reporter is hard work,” Stevie said.

Reverend Anderson smiled. “But you are having fun, aren’t you? Is it all as exciting as you hoped?”

Susan Carol and Stevie looked at each other.

“Beyond our wildest dreams,” said Stevie.