Last Shot (24 page)

“I’m not sure of the exact figure, but I’d estimate our group has about five million at stake tonight. Which means, Chip, that a betrayal on your part would not be taken very well at all.”

“That’s not to mention—” Whiting said before Wojenski interrupted him.

“No need to mention anything else, Tom,” he said. “Chip knows what the consequences will be. Don’t you, Chip?”

Chip didn’t answer.

Wojenski stood up. “I think the time has come—”

“I’ve got one more question,” Stevie said, half curious and half stalling.

“Yes?” Wojenski said.

“Why tonight? MSU could easily have lost on Saturday and then your whole plan goes down the drain. Why didn’t you just make Chip throw Saturday’s game?”

Wojenski smiled. “Excellent question, young man. Someday you’ll make a very good reporter.”

“So what’s the answer?” Chip said.

“Too complicated to explain,” Wojenski said. “Gary, if you would?”

Gary passed off the revolver to Whiting and produced a roll of duct tape.

“It isn’t that we don’t think Gary can handle you kids, we just don’t want there to be any temptation,” Wojenski said as Gary walked behind Stevie and began wrapping tape around his chest and the back of the chair, pinning his arms.

Susan Carol started talking very fast. “You
really
don’t want to do this. We told people where we were going. If we don’t show up at the game, they’ll come here and find us. Then you’ll be guilty of kidnapping as well as blackmail.…”

But no one seemed to believe her. It sounded like a lie, even to Stevie. Gary continued methodically taping Stevie’s ankles to the legs of his chair, and Susan Carol was soon similarly trussed. Wojenski held up two washcloths. “Gary has orders to gag you if necessary, so do be quiet. When the time comes, Gary will let you watch the game. When it’s over, you’ll be free to go.” He turned to Chip. “If—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chip said. “You’ve made yourself clear.”

“I’m not sure I have. Tom will be with you every minute. We also have other people watching you. If you do anything to betray us, we’ll be on the phone to Gary within seconds. Any help you try to send would arrive much too late.”

Stevie saw Chip redden and start to say something before thinking better of it.

Wojenski smiled an evil smile. “Actually, I should thank you kids,” he said. “Chip might have had second thoughts if his transcript was the only thing at risk tonight.”

“Ben, we need to get going,” Whiting said, passing the gun back to Gary.

“Yes, of course.” Wojenski turned to Gary. “If anything goes wrong, Gary, you know what to do.”

Gary nodded, sending a chill through Stevie. Even so, as Chip started to go out the door with Whiting in front of him and Wojenski, half-shoving him, right behind, Stevie couldn’t stop from yelling at him. “Win the game, Chip!” he said. “Win the game. Don’t worry about us! You know Kelleher will find us. He’ll be here any minute.”

He could hear Susan Carol chiming in. “Listen to Stevie! Win the game!”

Chip looked like he might have tears in his eyes. Wojenski shoved him through the door and turned back to Stevie. “A useless gesture. Make it your last.”

He hovered in the doorway a moment before leaving. “Remember,” Wojenski said, “you kids are the biggest Duke fans in New Orleans tonight.”

The two kids tried valiantly to convince Gary that someone really would come for them.

“You don’t want to be messed up in this, Gary,” tried Susan Carol. “Cancel your bet now and get out while you can.”

“Why do
you
have to do the dirty work?” offered Stevie. “You’re the one who’s going to get caught holding two kids
at gunpoint when they get here. You’re the one they’re going to nail.”

But Gary was having none of it. “Quit your yapping” was his only comment, beyond waving the washcloth gag in the air when he wanted them to shut up.

Stevie watched the sky grow dark outside the window. Where the hell was Kelleher? Did he not get the e-mail? Did he not believe them?

He looked over at Susan Carol. Her expression seemed calm, but Stevie noticed a small bead of sweat rolling down her temple.

Susan Carol finally broke the silence by saying, “Gary, can’t you at least turn on the TV?”

“Game doesn’t start until eight,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “But we could watch something else?” She gave him her smile.

Stevie wondered if she was up to something. Gary turned the TV to ESPN. “That okay?” he said to Susan Carol.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Susan Carol said.

Dick Vitale and Digger Phelps were arguing. Vitale had apparently picked Duke to win the game and Phelps was telling him that he
always
picked Duke. “What’s not to like?” Vitale was yelling. “Great coach, great school, great kids …”

“But not the best team tonight,” Phelps said. “MSU has the best team.” He then launched into a breakdown of Minnesota State’s offense, all of it coming back to Chip Graber.

“Wow,” said Stevie, his voice filled with mock wonder, “sounds like everything is riding on Graber tonight.”

Susan Carol snorted. “Yeah, I’ll be glued to my chair for this game,” she said.

Stevie laughed. “Hey, maybe we should have tried to get an interview with him, huh? That would have been some story.”

“I’ll say,” said Susan Carol. Then, suppressing a giggle, she tried to sound serious. “You know, covering the Final Four hasn’t really worked out like I thought it would.”

“I know what you mean,” responded Stevie, looking down at the duct tape holding him in his chair, then back at Susan Carol. “Don’t you hate when that happens?”

They both gave in to hysteria at that, laughing so hard that Gary warned them to shut up. But they couldn’t stop—two days’ worth of tension was gushing out of them.

For the next hour they listened to the game being broken down a thousand different ways. At eight o’clock Vitale and Phelps were replaced on ESPN by a cheerleading championship, and Gary flipped the channel to CBS. Jim Nantz and Billy Packer were telling the audience that this was shaping up to be one of the best championship games in years.

The game started. Open for a three pointer early, Chip drained the shot. “Bad idea,” Gary said to the TV. Stevie and Susan Carol looked at one another. Part of Stevie wanted Chip to make every shot he took. Another part of him was terrified by what might happen if he did. Hours had
passed. If Kelleher hadn’t read their e-mail before the game, it was all over. He sure wasn’t going to be checking it
during
the game.…

The next ten minutes were hard to watch. Chip wasn’t shooting much. Twice he drove to the basket and had his shot blocked. Then he missed a contested three pointer. Two other times down the court, he turned the ball over on the fast break. He did block one J.J. Redick jumper, flying around a screen to deflect the ball. When TV took a time-out with 7:04 to go, Duke was leading 29–20. “It’s looking better for you guys,” Gary commented.

“Gary, is there any way you could cut the tape on my ankles? My legs are really cramping up,” Susan Carol said. Again, the smile and a little bit of a quivering lower lip.

“No.” Gary cut her off. “Look, give it up already. You think I’m some stupid—” He stopped abruptly. There was a knock on the door. “You two keep quiet,” he hissed. “Who’s there?” he said, taking a few quick steps in the direction of the door. Stevie and Susan Carol looked at each other. Help? Should they yell?

Apparently not. Stevie couldn’t hear the voice on the other side of the door, but whatever the person said made Gary smile.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Gary said. He opened the door a crack.

The next thing Stevie saw was Gary flying backward, the gun sailing out of his hand. A man burst into the room and was on top of him before he could react. The man threw a flurry of punches, making it impossible for Gary to
defend himself. After a few seconds, Stevie could see Gary’s head drop back onto the carpet. The hulk was out cold.

The man stood up and turned to Stevie and Susan Carol, whose mouths hung open in shock. He was tall, maybe about forty, and obviously stronger than he looked.

“Who are you?” Stevie asked.

“I’m Steve Jurgensen,” he said. He strode toward them, pulling out a small pocketknife.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he began to cut them loose from their chairs. “We need to get you to the Dome fast.”

STEVE JURGENSEN
had them both free in under a minute. He spotted the roll of duct tape, then dragged Gary, still unconscious, across the room and taped him, quite securely, to the couch. He added a strip of tape over his mouth, then checked to make certain his breathing was normal.

“We can’t take any chances on him coming to and making a phone call to warn people,” he said. “Can you kids walk all right? Circulation coming back?”

Stevie felt a little bit wobbly, but okay. His back and legs hurt but he knew it would pass. More than anything, he was confused—very confused.

“If you’re really Steve Jurgensen,” Susan Carol said, rolling her shoulders to loosen up, “why are you rescuing us? You’re one of the bad guys.”

“Because you’re only half right,” Jurgensen said. “I am Jurgensen, but I’m not one of the bad guys.”

“But you followed us yesterday,” Stevie said. “We got the license plate on your car.”

“I followed you to try to figure out what Chip was messed up in,” Jurgensen said. “Come on. We
have
to get going.”

They glanced at the TV. The clock was now under five minutes left in the first half and Duke’s lead was 10. If they didn’t get to the Dome soon and let Chip know they were all right, MSU was going to get blown out.

He and Susan Carol followed Jurgensen to his car, and they all jumped in the front seat. Jurgensen peeled out of the parking lot but almost immediately screeched to a halt. Even though the game was under way, traffic downtown was still a mess. Jurgensen glanced at his watch. “With luck we can get there before the second half starts.”

“Since we have some time,” Susan Carol said as Jurgensen hit the brakes again, “maybe you can explain to us what in the world is going on.”

Jurgensen nodded. “I’ll give it my best shot. Actually, it started when you two kids managed to talk your way in to see Chip Saturday morning.”

“How could you possibly know about that?” Stevie said.

“Remember the big guy who stopped you in the hallway?”

“Mike the Giant?”

“Yeah, him. He didn’t exactly buy your story even though Chip backed you. He went to Chip’s dad and told him about two teenagers visiting Chip, one of them claiming
to be Chip’s cousin. Well, Alan obviously knew Chip didn’t have a cousin in New Orleans. He also knew Chip had been acting kind of funny all week. He hadn’t practiced well, which was unlike him. He figured something was going on but didn’t know what. He didn’t want to confront Chip with it, partly because he thought Chip would come to him when the time was right, but also because they both had a lot on their minds with a Final Four game to play that night. So, he called me.”

“Called you?” Susan Carol said. “Why, of all people, would Coach Graber call you?”

Jurgensen pulled around a truck that was double-parked on Canal Street. “For one thing, we’re friends,” he said. “For another, I’m his lawyer.”

Stevie and Susan Carol looked at one another, not quite sure what to believe anymore. Up ahead, they could see police lights. There was an accident that was tying traffic up completely. “You’re friends with the man who beat you out for the coaching job at Davidson?” Stevie said.

This time Jurgensen laughed. “Who did you hear that story from?”

“Dean Wojenski.”

“What does that tell you?”

“That it’s a lie,” Susan Carol said.

According to Steve Jurgensen, he and Alan Graber had been best friends while assistants at Davidson. When Coach Pritchett left, the original plan was for Jurgensen to go after the job while Graber moved up to become the number one assistant. But Jurgensen hated
the hours and, most of all, he hated recruiting.

“I didn’t think I could live the rest of my life dependent on the whims of teenagers,” he said. “So Alan took the job, and I went into law.”