Out of bounds is a gripping novel of Corporate Finance, Drugs, and Politics, told in a backdrop of a highly competitive Golf Tournament. What starts out to be a two-day, 36 hole Match Play club championship between former friends, becomes a high stakes, life and death struggle with far-reaching consequences. The author has created a cast of intriguing, real life characters and themes.

Jim Simpson was an 18-handicap player when he moved to Florida five years ago. His current 6-handicap and spot in the finals of the Club Championship is a testimony to hard work, and the tutelage of his friend and mentor, Ken Reed. Jack Pardo, his opponent, is a self-confident and sometimes arrogant, four handicap golfer. Many believe he is closer to a scratch golfer. Once good friends, Jim and Jack are now bitter rivals. The reader gains insight into the mind games that are part of a match play tournament.

Simpson is a CPA by background, and uses this training to develop a highly profitable Equipment Leasing and Commercial Mortgage business. This expertise is key to Mario’s plan to finance construction of a resort and casino in Mexico, particularly when a $90M drug shipment is mysteriously lost and Mario needs a new financing source. Jim hires Ken Reed and Chris Lewis, a Harvard MBA, to work on Mario’s projects. They find group of investors based in Zurich Switzerland who will lend the money. Sven Johansen heads up the Swiss group assisted by Dagfin Jensen, his Chief Financial Officer. Hector Armas of the FBI works with the DEA to uncover the source of the Swiss money.

Mario Hernandez lives the good life in Miami with a beautiful home, yacht and money. Mario is business partners with Fred Shelton in a string of "Shells Restaurants", but also is partners with Columbian drug figure, Romano Montayo. Romano and Mario have plans to build a string of Casinos and Resorts as a way to hide their massive drug profits. Joe Martinez, Florida D.A., interrupts these plans with the help of DEA agent Steve Wilson and an unknown informer. Bill Martin, successful businessman and long time friend of Joe Martinez, uses all means available to finance Martinez’ campaign for Governor.

Mary Simpson, Jim’s wife and mother of their two children, Peter and Lisa, helps out in the business and is the backbone of the family. They are good friends with Fred and Judy Shelton; Jack Pardo and his fiancée, Jill; Mario and Gigi; and Bill and Ginny Martin. These friendships are put to the test when Mary is taken hostage.

Don’t whiff. This was the most important day of my life, well, at least my sports life, and all I could think of is don’t swing and miss. Don’t embarrass yourself; at least make contact. Let my drive go at least 200 yards.

As I stood over the ball, my mind was racing, my legs were trembling, and my palms were sweaty. I heard every noise from the crowd of 30 friends that came to watch the first 18 holes of the club championship. I noticed every movement out of the corner of my eye. I wanted to scream, "stand still and keep quiet," but I knew I was just nervous.

What would Tiger do? Better yet, what would my friend Ken tell me to do when I was feeling the pressure? I don’t think that Tiger would be very nervous about a 36 hole, club championship. Ken would say; "clear your mind and trust your routine."

Ken had hammered this into me every practice session. "Jim, develop a routine and do it before each shot. Every shot; even on the practice range. Something that you can use to block out everything but the shot in front of you; a routine that allows your muscles to relax and your mind to focus; a routine that allows you to block-out the golf demons."

I stepped away from the ball. I noticed a slight smirk on my opponent’s face, but I paid no heed. I executed the routine that I had been practicing every day for three months; step behind the ball and visualize the shot; clear my mind and address the ball; take one easy practice swing and let it rip. The result was beautiful, to me.

Okay, maybe I didn’t get it all. The drive was a little off the heel of the club, and from the high, left-to-right trajectory, my body was probably way out front when I made contact. But, to me, it was beautiful; 220 yards and in the fairway! Life is good!

I smiled as my thoughts drifted back to that day three years ago when Mary and I moved to Tampa and began our new life. I was only 35 (Mary was much younger, by two months). We had just started a new business. Our two kids, Peter (12) and Lisa (10), were almost teenagers. We were so happy.

Mary and I met at a University of Wisconsin fraternity beer supper. The Madison campus, tucked in between two lakes, is one of the most beautiful college environments in the country, particularly in the summer when the sailboats and rowing crews dot Lake Mendota. In the winter the zero degree temperature, snow and high winds can be harsh. Unfortunately, unless you attend summer school, it’s mostly winter in Madison, Wisconsin.

Dane County, Wisconsin had an 18-year-old drinking age that may have contributed to the University’s rating as a top party school. Playboy Magazine once ranked all the party schools and provided a footnote that said Wisconsin was not included in the ranking because it would have been unfair to include professionals. On a football weekend, the large fraternities consumed as many as 50 or 60 half barrels of beer between Friday afternoon and Saturday night.

Friday afternoon beer suppers, where a fraternity invites a sorority over for a buffet dinner, dancing and a little beer, were a tradition with the Greek crowd. There are more than 30 social Fraternities and 15 sororities, most of them fronting Langdon Street with lake access to Lake Mendota in the back. Obviously some smaller fraternities were left out, which is a major recruiting point by the upper echelon during rush week. Beer suppers are over by 7:30 or 8:00 leaving plenty of time to meet your date.

Mary didn’t come over with the main group of sorority sisters, but came with a girlfriend 15 minutes or so after. I found out later Mary wasn’t even in the sorority, but just came as a favor to her friend, Kathy, who was dating a "brother." I think the idea was to fix her up with his roommate. I saw her as she walked in and had other ideas. She was about 5’-5", blue eyes, auburn hair, and a slim, athletic figure. I was smitten, and when she smiled her face came alive. I thought my heart had stopped.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I believe you promised me this dance." I looked her in the eye and gave her my sheepish smile that said, I know it’s not the best line, but I sure would like to meet you. Sometimes a guy needs to get lucky. Thirty seconds later we were on the dance floor. When there are 50 guys and 30 girls, and the girl is as gorgeous as Mary, a guy needs to make quick decisions.

I’m not a great dancer but Mary made me feel good. She was easy to talk too and the time flew by.

Mary told me later that she agreed to dance with me because she thought I was the guy that Kathy was fixing her up with. I wasn’t buying it. It had to be my good looks and charm. I didn’t let her out of my sight until I walked her home three hours later. We discussed everything from majors (she was arts and science and I was business) to hometowns (She was from Wauwatosa and I from Whitefish Bay, both suburbs of Milwaukee) and family (she had two sisters and a brother; I had one younger brother). She liked to ski and play tennis. I didn’t, but said I did.

By the end of the evening I was hooked. "Mary, I had a great time. Our fraternity is having a party tomorrow night. Would you like to go with me?"

"I’m sorry, Jim, I wish I could but I have already made plans." Interpretation; she has a date.

"How about next weekend, I asked. Are you free Friday or Saturday?"

"Jim, I really am sorry, but I’m going home next weekend. It’s my sister’s birthday." Interpretation; she is blowing me off.

I hesitated, and Mary saw my doubts. "Tell you what, Jim. Would you like to play a little tennis Sunday afternoon?"

My relief must have been easy to see because when I started to tell her I usually do laundry on Sunday, she started laughing. "Okay then, pick me up at 1:00. Good night, Jim, I had a nice time." She leaned forward and brushed her lips lightly on my cheek and went into her dorm. I could have flown home.

Sunday, the scores were 6-1, 6-2 and 6-3. I’m sure I would have gotten four games the next set. "You’re pretty good, Mary. Next time I’ll do better. I gather you have played a lot of tennis?"

"Actually, I just took up the game this summer."

"You’re kidding; tell me you’re kidding. Nobody can be …."

I was interrupted when her smile almost cracked her face and she couldn’t keep the laughter in any longer.

"You got me," I said sheepishly. "How long have you been playing?"

"Oh, maybe10 years. Did I forget to mention that I play number two singles on the varsity team?" she replied with a straight face and a twinkle in her eye. "Our season starts in two weeks and I have been practicing every day for a month."

"You let me have those games, didn’t you?" I chased her around the net until she let me catch her. We laughed a few moments until we realized we were holding each other. Our first kiss was salty, but perfect.

The following week I bought a birthday present for her sister and met her family. Whitefish Bay and Wauwatosa are only 15 miles apart. Other than a few weekends when the tennis team was traveling, we spent the rest of our college lives together and were married the summer we graduated.

I watched Jack stride to the tee and set up for his drive. He looked like a golfer. At 6’-2", 220 pounds, he could nail a golf ball. Club champion for the last two years, plays to a four handicap, but always seems to shoot 70 or 71 if there was money on the game. There was a "Jack" at every club. But to his credit, he was quite a golfer. I had played with him several times in a Saturday foursome, and was always impressed with his game. He seemed to have every shot. The last time we played was several months ago. He shot 73 despite taking two penalty shots (I shot 81). If he had a weakness, it was his supreme confidence in his ability; some club members thought of it as arrogance. No shot was impossible.

Jack took little time over his tee shot; one small waggle and he launched a long draw that landed near my drive, and took off. Florida fairways are hard in October. The summer rainy season with almost daily afternoon thundershowers is over. His ball must have rolled at least 60 yards past mine. The advantage of a draw versus a slice, I thought, but in the back of my mind I knew it was more than that. It was no time to get negative.

Jack high-fived his friends as he walked off the tee, and said something that I couldn’t quite pick up. A couple of them laughed and glanced my way so I assumed that I had been the subject of the remark. I figured he liked my new shirt, or something.

That was Jack. As I got into my golf cart, I was alone with my thoughts. Mary wasn’t here today; she was playing Jack’s fiancée, Jill, in the finals of the club tennis championship. I did have a dozen friends in the small crowd; mostly club members that I knew were pulling for me. I appreciated their support.

On a golf course, you are very alone. I envied the pros. They have a caddie that helps them read putts, calculate yardages to the pin, and provide support. Caddies even make sure that there are only 14 clubs in their bag, although Ian Woosman found out the hard way that isn’t always the case. He was assessed a 2-stroke penalty at the British Open for a 15^th club. Woosman had taken two drivers to the practice tee and the extra club was not removed. Does anybody need a caddie?

The pro-caddie relationship will differ with each player, but there is one constant; SUPPORT. Watch the caddies on TV, and notice the last thing they say before the pro hits the next shot. It’s a positive comment, isn’t it; Yep, I agree; an easy nine-iron will do it; and so on. I have yet to hear something like; Good Luck; Watch out for the water on the left, remember last week when you sliced it into the woods, don’t over swing. Don’t look up too soon.

If the caddies don’t say it, why does every 14 handicap "think it" before each shot. Sure, part of it is that the 14-handicapper gets a lot more negative feedback than a professional. "If they hit all the bad shots that I do, their caddies would warn them too." That’s our rationale.

That’s our excuse. Ken would say; it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Think negative thoughts and they will happen. "Clear your mind and trust your routine." Today will be a major test of this philosophy. I wanted so much to be positive and enjoy the day, but so much was happening in my life. It was very difficult to concentrate. This afternoon I had a 4:00 flight to Cabo San Lucas for a critical meeting. I hope Ken was successful in Zurich.

"Hey Jim, I believe you are away," someone shouted, and brought me back to the task at hand. It was Jack, who was standing near his drive, which was at least 50 yards closer to the green. "We can measure or ask for a ruling, but I do think you are away," Jack continued sarcastically. Part of me wanted to reply in kind, but I knew that would be playing into Jack’s hand. The constant needling was his way. In fact, he probably didn’t even realize how irritating it was to most people; this type of humor was so much a part of him. I must stay focused.

"I’ll play," I said, and proceeded to evaluate my options. Luckily this was a short 380-yard hole and my poor drive had not hurt me too much. The white, 150 yard, fairway marker, was approximately 20 yards in front of me. The pin placement was "front-left" leaving me with approximately 160 yards to an open pin. Even with a slight left-to-right wind, the bunkers on the right should not be in play; unless I hit a bad slice. There I go again, thinking bad thoughts.

Although I had reduced my handicap in the past year from 15 to six, I still was not a good long iron player. The Wilson fat shafts had helped, but I still tended to "pick" the ball off the fairway rather than hit down and through the ball. I selected a six iron and went into my routine, part of which is to visualize a successful shot.

Half way into of my back swing, the golf demons took over. Instead of a clear mind, there was a conflict between "slow-slow-slow" and "do I have enough club" and "trap-on-the-right." The result was an abbreviated back swing and a quick downward move to the ball. I came out of the shot early and the result was all too familiar; short and right. I was lucky it was short of the sand trap, about 10 yards short of the green. I still had a chance for par.

Jack had 110 yards to the pin, and selected a wedge, probably a sand wedge. He struck it cleanly, creating a divot that pros would be proud of. The ball landed 10 feet long, took the spin, and curled back towards the pin. For an instant it looked good but the ball missed the pin by inches and ended up five feet below the hole; a very makeable birdie putt. Wow, he is good!

My attitude improved after that shot. I realized that all I could do was play my own game; if Jack was on his game, good for him. He was the better golfer and would probably win. However, this was match play not total score "stroke play." I only needed to win more holes, not beat his total score. Match play is a great equalizer. Higher handicap golfers hit more bad shots, and end up with a seven or eight. In this format this only costs you one hole. In stroke play, a triple bogey might cost you the match.

My chip was from about 40 feet, and relatively easy. With the pin up front, I decided to land a pitching wedge just over the fringe and let it run to the hole. Up and down for my par. This was the strength of my game.

I executed the shot perfectly and for a moment I thought it was going in. The ball landed right where I wanted, released and stopped inches short of the hole. I tapped in for my par 4 and some polite applause from my friends. As I waited for Jack to putt, I wondered; did I hit a good "chip shot" because I was confident, or was I confident because I have hit so many good chips before? Ken says that golf is at least 80% mental. He might be right.

Jack’s had a straight in putt for birdie; I would be surprised if he missed. He didn’t. I was "down one," with 35 to play as we made our way to the second tee. I wished Ken were here.

The tall American gave the hostess their names and asked for a table for four with a view of the marina. He was dressed poorly for a Friday night in the nicest restaurant in Cabo San Lucas, even for an American. Blue jeans, golf shirt and tennis shoes was not acceptable. A sport jacket didn’t change his overall, grungy look. The young lady was dressed well and was quite attractive, but he… shabby was the word.

The hostess was about to inform him that it would be at least a 90 minute wait when the man placed a crisp, $50 bill on her reservations book.

"I think we can have a table within 15-20 minutes; would you care to wait in the bar?"

"Yes; that will be fine." The man turned to the attractive lady. "Come on Chris; let me buy you a drink and I will bring you up to date. We have something to celebrate."

The hostess watched the couple head for the lounge and hoped she had made the right decision. The $50 was nice, but she had an uneasy feeling.

Chris followed him to the lounge. She wasn’t sure this was a good idea. "Ken, let’s be careful. I suggest we keep a clear head and see what Alberto and Pedro have to say. They might have more bad news. There will be plenty of time to celebrate later."

"I’ll have a Double-Scotch and water, bartender, and a glass of Chardonnay for the young lady. We’ll be at the table in the corner." Ken wasn’t listening.

As they waited for the waitress to bring their drinks, Ken pulled a 2-page outline from his briefcase. "Chris, relax; there is nothing to worry about. Take a look at this, Chris. Our friends in Zurich have given us everything we asked for, and more. Mario is going to be ecstatic when he sees this."

Chris looked over Ken’s summary of the meeting while the waitress served the drinks. She couldn’t believe what she was reading. Ken had just returned from a 2-day meeting with Mario’s financial partners in Zurich, people that our firm had brought to the table. The project was two months behind schedule and over budget. We needed more money and more time to repay the original loan. Without the additional funding, the Phase II projects would need to be aborted. There would be hell to pay with Mario and his Miami partners.

"Ken, this can’t be right, can it? Are you telling me that they will give us the $240M to complete the three Phase II projects plus another $200M to start Phase III? Wowl."

"That’s right, and all they are asking is to increase their stake in the deal from 33% to 49%. Mario’s group keeps control. By the way, our 1% commission is a cool $4.4 million; not a bad weekend’s work for a small-town country boy."

Chris ignored Ken’s small-town country boy description; she new better. Ken was raised in Chicago and had a Wharton MBA. Still, she couldn’t believe what Ken was saying. She had been working with the Swiss auditors the entire week and there had been nothing but bad news. After three months of operations the Casino was making money, but it appeared someone was skimming money off the top. The Swiss audit team would recommend tomorrow that all future funding be delayed until they did a complete audit. Dinner tonight with the Casino people was initially intended to be a glum evening, providing an opportunity to devise a strategy for tomorrow’s meeting. Ken’s information changed everything.

"Was Sven aware of the audit results when he made this commitment?" Chris couldn’t help remembering how adamant Sven had been that evening at Petermann’s Kunststuben in Zurich; "no more funding until we see some results."

"Yep. That’s why I’m glad Alberto and Pedro are joining us tonight. They will have a chance to present the offer to Mario before tomorrow’s 2:00 PM Meeting. In fact, speak of the devil, here they are now."

"Alberto, Pedro, Buenas Noches amigos. It’s great to see you again."

"Your Spanish still needs a little work Ken, but as long as you bring the beautiful Senorita with you, we don’t mind. They shook hands and gave Chris a warm hug.

At that moment the hostess appeared and informed them their table was ready. Chris was fond of both Alberto and Pedro, but was still apprehensive as they walked to the table. It struck her that Ken wasn’t as happy as he should have been after coming back with such great news. He had not shaved and it was clear that something was bothering him. She wished she had the opportunity to talk with Ken privately.

Chris would never get that opportunity.

The sleek, 38’ fiberglass Cigarette Racing boat, equipped with 750 horsepower Twin Chiefs engine, glided smoothly across the calm seas and warm, tropical Atlantic waters. The night was overcast and a storm was due tomorrow, but waves were less than two feet. There was no moon and a thin layer of clouds blanketed the stars. The boat was virtually invisible from prying eyes and orbiting satellites. It was a perfect evening.

Juan was nervous. This would be his last trip. For eight months, he had made this trip without any problems. It was time to quit and go back to being a fisherman and guide. The money helped support his wife and seven small children, but he did not like these people. He clutched the cross of Jesus which he always wore and said a silent prayer.

"How much longer?" his passenger asked. Diego was nervous too. They were carrying over $40M of heroin as cargo. This was wholesale. After it was cut, it would sell for over $200M on the street. This was their largest shipment to date and would make him a very rich man.

"Those lights on your right are Key West. We are in the Gulf and should be at the drop point in 20 minutes." Given the 10 minutes to unload the cargo, and two hours to get back, he would be home with his beloved Maria by dawn.

The plan was always the same. The heroin was packed in watertight canvas bags and attached to buoys that would float just under the water surface. They left the small fishing village around 10:00 PM and made the 80-mile trip in a couple hours, depending upon the weather. Once underway, the man received a phone call giving them the drop point. Juan locked the coordinates into his state-of-the-art Loraine navigational system. Rain, fog, whatever; he would find the drop point.

"Okay, Juan. I’m going to start bringing up the bags. Let me know when we are close. Make sure to check for traffic." We have eight bags this trip. Each bag weighed only twenty pounds, making them easy to handle and reducing their loss if a bag was lost. No bags had ever been lost.

The man checked each bag to make sure the buoys were securely fastened and the transmitters were working and calibrated to the right frequency. Everything looked good. The pick-up boat should have no problem locating the bags.

The boat was slowing. "We are almost there, senor; two minutes or less. There are no other boats in the area."

The radar did not detect the Scuba diver swimming lazily toward the drop point at a depth of 10 feet.

In seven minutes, the eight bags were overboard and submerged just beneath the surface, held together by weighted buoys and tethered by a 250 pound anchor. The man checked the transmitters once more. "Okay Juan, good job. Let’s go home."

But Juan would never make it home or see his Maria again.

The honeymoon was over. The golf course begins to show its teeth. The 2^nd hole is tough; a 430-yard dogleg right to a well-bunkered green. Protected "wetlands" line the right side of the fairway; an automatic one-stroke penalty. Local rules prohibited golfers from entering "wetlands" even if they can see their ball. Two deep fairway bunkers approximately 230 yards from the tee, protect the corner of the dogleg.

There are three options off the tee. Long hitters can drive the bunker leaving a short iron to the green if successful. This was not an option for me. Shorter hitters, and the more conservative longer hitters, can either lay up short of the bunkers or try to hit a power fade around the dogleg.

A perfect lay-up still leaves almost 210 yards to the green. I pulled my driver and decided to be aggressive. The hole sets up well for me. Unlike Jack, my natural ball flight is left to right, which fits the contour of this fairway.

Jack had "honors" as a result of his birdie on one. He was a long hitter and might carry the bunkers with a perfect drive, although the penalty for missing was severe. Today a slight wind was in our face, only about five MPH but still a factor. Jack’s natural low draw would not serve him well on this hole. He would need to start his ball over the "wetlands" and let his draw bring it back to the fairway. His overspin would only help if he flew the bunkers. He was undecided.

As I waited for Jack to make his decision, I wondered whether Ken had been successful in Zurich. We needed the money by Monday or… I didn’t want to think about it but I knew it would be bad. How did I ever get into this position? Greed and stupidity were part of it. I should never have accepted Mario’s offer; but it sounded so good.

It started that evening almost four years ago when Mary and I went to the club to celebrate. We had joined the Country Club three months earlier with the intent to get involved and make new friends. I also hoped it would help my golf game.

Mary had continued to play tennis after college and still played a great game; with a 4.5 ranking she could hold her own with most women (and men). My tennis game had improved but I still couldn’t beat her unless I went all out and she was having a bad day (or she let me win). I saw my future as a golfer. Age and an old knee injury helped make my decision easier.

Our plans to get involved at the club had been on hold as we worked to grow our business. We had met a few people. I played a few times with the Men’s club but did not have a regular game. Mary had only played tennis twice, both times with me. This was the first time we tried the restaurant.

It had been a perfect evening. We sat at the bar for a before dinner cocktail. Mary almost always drinks wine, usually chardonnay. I often start with bourbon before switching to wine with dinner. But tonight was special. We started with Grey Goose vodka martinis, straight up with a twist and an extra olive. I think Mary liked the olives best, and the idea that she was sipping a martini. It seemed special.

Mary looked especially beautiful that night. Black was her color, and she was wearing the pearls that I had given her as a wedding present. Her auburn hair was shoulder length with a slight flip. The small diamond stud earrings glistened when she turned. Childbirth had done no damage to her slim figure; in fact, she was even more beautiful to me now.

The club had a small combo on weekends; a piano and base playing soft dance music. No one was dancing but the music created a nice atmosphere. We took our second drinks to the table. We had switched to our normal drinks; Kendall-Jackson Reserve Chardonnay, and Wild Turkey with a splash of water for me. The Turkey was vintage, 101 proof. I needed to pace myself.

Dinner was excellent; a very tender, medium-rare Filet Mignon for me, and Baked Salmon on a plank for Mary. Our chef had worked at Le Bordeau, one of Tampa’s finest restaurants, and had a special knack for presentation. The plates were painted with spices and herbs. Salads were garnished with twisted carrot slices and cut tomatoes. Even I liked the Asparagus spears covered with a special cheese sauce. The chef offered all the little things that elevated the dinner to fine dining.

Mary and I talked about the little things young, married couples talk about when they are in love; the day we met at fraternity-sorority "beer supper" at the U of Wisconsin; the night I proposed to her on the scoreboard at a Green Bay Packer-Chicago Bears football game; our first house in Appleton, WI, and a dozen other fond memories. Mostly we were glad to be alone together.

We opted for coffee after dinner. Neither of us was much of a dessert eater; the meal had been too good. We were full. It was 10:00 PM and the restaurant was starting to empty. We sat back and listened to the music. Several groups had made their way to the bar and a few couples were dancing. That’s when we met Jack.

He was at a table of eight on the other side of the dining room. I probably had been aware of them earlier but hadn’t really noticed them until now. Two or three faces looked familiar, but I hadn’t met any of them. The group was having fun and getting louder. They also appeared to be looking over at us.

Jack came over and introduced himself. Apparently one fellow recognized me from the Men’s club and one of the women had watched us play tennis. Jack invited us to join them and we agreed. Mary and I were pleased to have the opportunity to meet new people.

Crack! Jack had selected his driver and was going to try and fly the bunker. A risky shot, but certainly doable. It looked perfect in the air. The ball seemed to stall as the wind gusted. It missed clearing the bunker by inches as it caught the lip and fell back into the deep sand. Loud profanity emanated from the tee box. Jack would have a 200-yard shot out of a bunker rather than a short iron into the green. Who says golf is fair?

Since Jack was in trouble I reconsidered my decision to use driver. A 3-wood would be safer and would insure a score of no worse than bogey. Jack would have trouble making four. A 3-wood was the smart play, but I felt confident and went with my driver.

I chose a conservative line away from the bunkers. A straight drive would leave me a longer, but manageable 2^nd shot into the green. A pull or hook would leave me 220 yards and a likely bogey. Not to worry. I caught this one on the screws with a slight fade, exactly how I had visualized the shot in my setup routine. It landed 20 yards short and to the left of the bunker and rolled well inside the 200-yard marker. A 250-yard drive, into the wind; I can’t hit it any better than that.

Jack had a tough decision. He was deep in the bunker and six feet below the lip, about 190 yards to the front of the green. There was trouble all along the fairway on the right. He would need a four or 5-iron to reach the green, but the low trajectory of a long iron might not clear the top of the bunker.

My drive put pressure on him because it looked like I would par the hole. If I had lain up off the tee I was pretty sure that he would have played safe and hit a 7 or 8-iron to make sure he got out. He could then par the hole by getting up and down from 100 yards. This might still be his best play.

Jack gambled and tried to reach the green with a 4-iron; a low risk shot that you would only attempt in match play. He almost pulled it off. The 4-iron barely grazed the top of the bunker and veered off into the wetlands, about 150 yards from the green. He would be hitting his fourth shot after he dropped.

I was 173 yards to a front-right pin, tucked in behind a deep sand trap. I wanted no part of the trap. I selected a 5-iron and aimed for the left side of the green. The ball ended up a little closer to the pin than I intended, leaving me a 15-foot birdie putt. Jack would have to hole his 4^th shot to tie. He wasted no time and sailed his 8-iron into the bunker and conceded the hole. For practice, I went ahead and putted my birdie. Of course it was good. The match was all-square after two holes. Ken would have been proud of me.

I had ‘honors’ and selected 5-wood. The third hole was a severe dogleg left with tall pine trees bordering both sides of the fairway. A tee shot between 180 –220 yards would leave a short iron into a small green. Anything longer or hooked left or short of the dogleg, is dead. The third hole is all about accuracy and very little about length.

In my last practice round I had tried to cut the corner, caught a tree, and had to pitch out. Today I overcompensated and barely caught the right side of the fairway leaving me a 175 yard second shot into the green.

Jack split the middle of the fairway with a 4-iron and rolled just inside the 150-yard marker. "I’m glad I didn’t use a wood. It would have been way too much club." Jack spoke to no one in particular, but his message was clear.

I thought of what Ken would be telling me if he were here. "Play within yourself. Your opponent is the golf course, not Jack." Good advice, but very difficult to remember sometimes.

My 4-iron to a back pin barely made the front of the green. Jack’s 8-iron was pin high, seven feet from the hole. Advantage, Jack. My 50-foot uphill putt came to rest about three feet from the hole. I was tempted to putt out before I had a chance to get nervous, but decided to mark. I expected Jack to make birdie.

As Jack lined up his putt, I thought back again to that first night at the club.

We followed Jack to his table where he introduced us to his friends, "Everybody, I would like you to meet a couple of new members, Jim and Mary Simpson. What’s it been, Jim, two months or so?" I nodded and he went on with the introduction. "This is my friend Jill, you may have seen her on the tennis courts; and to her left are Mario and Gigi Hernandez from Miami; Fred and Judy Shelton who own a few restaurants in the area; and you may know Bill Martin. Bill his wife Ginny happen to own this fine establishment that we are in tonight. Grab a couple chairs and let’s get you a drink.

We squeezed in between Jack and Judy Shelton, ordered a beer and a KJ chardonnay. With 10 people, there were usually at least two or three conversations going on simultaneously. The men were talking football with Mario trying to defend the Miami Dolphins against Jack and Bill who were Tampa Bucs season ticket holders. It was comical.

Jack: "Tampa has the best defense in football, bar none. Defensive line, linebacker, defensive backs; name one weakness."

Mario: "The defense needs to be good, because the offense never scores. The best you can hope for is a zero-zero tie. Besides, Miami’s stats are much better; points allowed, defense against the run, you name it. What did the Eagles call them after they wiped them in the playoffs last year; paper champions"? They remind me of consultants; they keep telling us how good it’s going to be but never deliver. Everyone is a pre-season all pro but you never get past the first round of the playoffs."

Bill: "At least our quarterback doesn’t throw five interceptions."

Mario: "Your best quarterback was color blind. He never threw an interception; he just threw to the wrong jersey and never knew it."

Bill: "Let’s can the Testerverde jokes. He’s with the Jets. Good riddance."

"What do you think Jim," Fred asked? "Are you a Bucs fan?"

I was on the spot and I knew it. Being from Wisconsin, it didn’t take a genius to figure where my heart was. Green Bay Packer fans are as loyal as they come. Not only was there the Packer tradition, Brette Favre was the best quarterback in football and the most fun to watch. He drives you crazy with his interceptions, but no Packer fan would trade him for any other. I decided to side step the question if possible; "Mary and I are new Buc fans and are hoping to see a few games this year. We have thought about using them to entertain clients, but tickets are hard to come by. Does anybody know where we could pick up some decent seats?"

"Call me Monday" Fred offered." I might know where you could get some tickets, or better yet, you could beg Bill for an invitation. I heard he has a luxury box, although I have never been invited, so it might just be a rumor."

"I invited you three times and you always have some lame excuse, like you had plans to go fishing. With all the grouper and bass you claim to have caught, I have never been offered any. I’m still eating Salmon from Publix."

"You let me know when you want to go and I will hand deliver your invitation. That goes for you too Jim; just let me know and I will get you an invite. In fact, I know we have at least four tickets available for the Rams a week from Sunday. What do you say, Fred? Jim? Are you game?"

"You can count me in," I replied. "That sounds great."

"Fred, how about you?"

"I’m not sure we can make it, Bill. I think Ginny’s rose garden club is getting together that day. Besides, are the Rams any good this year? I heard their offense is hurting. It sounds like a pretty boring game. May I bring a book?"

Bill was getting upset, until Jack piped in; "Fred, you are so full of it. You had us going until you asked to bring a book. Everyone knows that all you ever read are menus or wine lists. You haven’t read a book in 20 years."

Fred, who was a little portly, burst out laughing. "Bill. I thought you were going to cry. Tell you what; it’s a great offer, Judy and I would be glad to come on one condition. Let me cater the halftime buffet from one of my Shells restaurants. I will put on a seafood spread that will make your mouth water just looking at it."

"It’s a deal, Fred. It looks like this is as close as I will get to tasting fresh seafood. Just let my secretary know what you need in the way of set-ups. All the beverages are already there."

"How about if I bring the wine? Mary and I just joined this new wine club and it would be fun to select a few whites and light reds to compliment the menu."

Bill wouldn’t hear of it. "You are our guests, and besides, I’ve been to Fred’s restaurant and his seafood is so good that it will taste good after six beers. I can testify to that."

"Jim; You mentioned entertaining clients. What is it you do?" Mario piped in unexpectedly.

I was surprised by the abrupt change of direction in the conversation and was about to reply when Mary interjected; "Jim is in charge of new business development in Florida for a well-known Government Agency," she said with a twinkle in her eye. I had no idea what she was talking about, but by her smile and giggle I knew it was Kendall-Jackson doing the talking. I also knew enough to stay out of it and let her have her fun.

Mario took the bait and asked; "which Agency, Mary and how to you identify business prospects?"

"Mario, It’s supposed to be a secret, but I think we are all friends here so I can tell you. Jim is with the IRS. Has he asked you for your business card Mario?

I almost died and so did Mario. Bill, Fred and Jack just looked at Mary and then me. Nobody knew what to say. I sure didn’t.

Mary wasn’t done, and started to talk about how hard it was to keep friends and the need to always move, when Judy burst out laughing and was immediately joined by Jill and Ginny. Mario realized that he had been had, and erupted in laughter. He laughed so hard his face turned red. He finally said; "Lady, I haven’t been set up like that since, I can’t remember. That was beautiful, and I don’t think I was the only one that fell for it." The rest of us were still smiling and just nodded.

Judy looked at Fred. "You guys were so wrapped up in your macho football talk, that you haven’t said a word to us in 30 minutes. Mary said she knew how to get your attention, but we never dreamed it would be that much fun. I thought you all had swallowed poison the way you reacted. Fred, do we have that much to hide?"

I decided to respond directly to Mario’s question. "Mario, we are in the money business, but what we do is a lot less exciting than what Mary described. We basically raise money for commercial clients; mortgages, equipment leases, project financing, business loans and that type of thing. Nothing fancy, but it’s a way to make a living and a lot safer than being a recruiter for the IRS."

Before anyone could reply, the lights were turned on as a subtle clue that the club was closing.

We thanked everyone for their hospitality and said our goodbyes. Bill suggested I call his secretary Thursday or Friday to get instructions on how to get into the Bucs game next Sunday. Jack suggested stopping at a local club for a nightcap. The others were interested but Mary and I were tired and decided to call it an evening.

The "party" broke up soon after. Fred gave me his business card and asked me to call him Monday about tickets and another matter he wanted to discuss with me.

My mind shifted back to the problem at hand as I watched Jack’s birdie putt stop two inches short; dead center. Nothing bothers a golfer more than leaving a birdie putt short. Jack was no exception. Before I could concede the putt, he walked up and swatted it across the green towards his golf bag.

I was tempted to tell him he was still away and make him putt out, but I decided to let it go and didn’t say anything. No sense it having two poor sports. Instead I calmly lined up my 3-foot par putt, and watched as it hit the side of the hole, did a 360, and dropped in.

"Good all around putt," said Jack without smiling. "I guess that proves that it’s better to be lucky than good."

"Try it again, Sam. I’m sure we are at the right spot. I double-checked the coordinates. The bags have to be right here." The Sport Fishing boat had left Naples just before dawn outfitted with the latest gear. It was grouper and kingfish season and the "Bonefish" was just one of a dozen boats that made this trip daily. Most were charters with four to eight tourists paying $500 per half day. The "Bonefish" just hauled the two of them, and it was not kingfish they were after. Although they had two lines out, baited with live chad, they had a sure catch; at least they thought they had.

Sam replaced the batteries for the 2^nd time and checked the frequency again. Everything looked okay on this end. They just were not picking up the signal.

"Ron, let’s do a test. Attach one of the backup transponders I carry to that buoy, and drop it overboard. Make sure it’s set to the same frequency. Let’s see if we pick up the signal underwater."

The "beeping" was loud and clear as they gradually increased the distance from the buoy. At 500 yards, the sound was weak but discernable. Either all 16 of the devices were malfunctioning or they had the wrong pickup coordinates. As a precaution, there were two transmitters attached to each bag, at least that was what was supposed to have been done.

Sam refused to consider the third option.

"Ron let’s do a grid search using the buoy as the center. The water is pretty clear; maybe we can see the bags. Add some weights on the lines so they drag about 10 feet below the surface. Maybe we can snag them. I don’t want to go back empty without trying everything."

For two hours they trolled back and forth, for 500 yards each direction. Nothing. "Let’s pull in the lines and head for home, Ron. We might as well face the music. He won’t be happy. I just hope he doesn’t shoot the messenger."

Then it happened. One of the lines snagged on something bent in half until the tip was below the water line. Ron’s heart jumped and my hopes soared. For just a moment Ron believed he had lucked out. He stopped the boat and grabbed the pole, but the line kept running out. It was clear they had hooked a King or some other game fish.

Ron was fighting the fish and bringing it to the surface. All of a sudden it soared 10 feet above the waves in magnificent splendor. It was a Tarpon, upwards of 90 lbs. What a sight! What a fish!

The pole was rigged with a 25-pound test monofilament with a 2-foot, 80-pound test shock leader. The gear was enough to handle the Tarpon’s weight and strength. It took Ron 30 minutes before he brought it close enough to the boat to net. By then, both Ron and the fish were near exhaustion, but the Tarpon was still struggling. Tarpon were in season, although a $50 permit is required. Most Florida game fish are caught and released, after the posing for the obligatory photo. As Sam watched Ron fight the fish he was struck with the irony.

They weren’t even fishing and landed a prize trophy fish. Half the charter boats would return empty and he knew the boat captains would be envious. Sam also knew they couldn’t keep it. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that he and Ron would take the Tarpon’s place in the Gulf of Mexico if they came home with a 90 lb fish instead of 320 kilos of heroin. Sam cut the line and watched the fish disappear into the warm waters of the Gulf.

I still had honors as we approached the tough Par 3, fourth hole. The match was all square, but I had to get my emotions in check. My concentration had lapsed on that little putt. In the back of my mind I had been thinking about Jack’s little tantrum rather than what I had to do.

I was mad at myself for letting Jack get to me. It had almost cost me the hole, and I can’t afford to give away holes to a player of his ability. I had to be mentally tough or I had no chance. The Par 3, 4^th hole is 185 yards and almost all carry over the pond fronting the green. The pond was home to a pair of 6-foot alligators that all too often had feasted on my tee shot.

This was part of the mental game that Ken was always talking about. If you are confident that you can hit a good shot, you probably will. If you have doubts, you probably won’t.

We had been working on various drills to improve my confidence, the most important being to establish a positive routine. We also worked on visualization, which is a key component in the routine of most Asian golfers.

I visualized a great shot, followed my routine and watched helplessly as my 5-wood hung up in the wind, and came to rest in a watery grave. Ken never said you would hit a perfect shot every time.

As I watched Jack select a 5-iron and prepare for his tee shot, I thought back to the early days of our equipment leasing business.

Sunday morning came too soon. We had celebrated too much the night before, and the celebration only had gotten better when we got home. It was after 1:00 AM when we got home and the kids were already asleep. I was very tired, probably because of the drinks and the fact that 11:00 was my normal bedtime. I was in bed 15 minutes after we got home.

It was Mary’s fault. She had put on that sexy white negligee that I had given her on our 10^th anniversary. It still fit her the same. I watched her as she turned off the nightlight and slipped into bed. Don’t women know that we can see their figure clearly when the light is behind them?

She cuddled against me and asked for a kiss goodnight, but the kiss she gave me didn’t say goodnight. I might be slow after a few drinks, but I’m not dead; although twenty minutes later I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Making love to Mary was better each year. I was more patient and she was more creative. We had fallen asleep in each other’s arms with me still inside her. Later we became two spoons and remained that way until the alarm went off at 7:00 A.M.

We had 45 minutes to feed the kids and get to 8 o’clock church. I jumped up and took the covers with me. The view was enticing, but I was already heading for the shower. "Stop it" she screamed, and immediately pulled the covers over her bare bottom and head.

"Get up and get moving or we will be late for church. Do I need to resort to cold water?" I threatened.

I was in the shower when I heard her moving around and complaining about morning people. I loved the morning. I thought it was the best part of the day, particularly since we had moved to Tampa where it reached 90 by 9:00 AM during the summer. Mary came into the shower and pushed me out. She looked pretty good, but when I reached for her all I got was; "Stop it, you better not get my hair wet or you will be going to church without me." This is one excuse that I could never overcome.

I gave up, dressed quickly, and headed for the kitchen to turn on the coffee. I tried waking the kids, but there wasn’t a chance. All I got was moans. Pete was 12 and Lisa 10. They were both in the "wake me at noon" sleep, and I had no time to argue with them. Besides, they were good kids. Missing church one week wouldn’t kill them.

I devoted my energies to coffee, a bagel and a quick scan of the newspaper. Mary came out at 7:40 with five minutes to spare. She took the cup of coffee I had poured for her, took a bite of my bagel and was ready to go. "The kids aren’t going?" she asked.

"Not a chance" I replied.

"What did you think of our new, best friends?" she asked, as we were driving to church. "You looked like you were having a pretty good time talking football."

"I liked them, I said. Especially Fred. I liked his sense of humor. Everyone was nice, although it might have been the alcohol. How about you; what did you think?"

"I had a lot of fun" Mary said. "It sounds like Jill might be a pretty good tennis player. We are set up to play Tuesday. Judy and Ginny were real nice too. I didn’t get a chance to talk much with Gigi. She was quiet but she sure is a beautiful woman. She and Mario kind of kept to themselves and then he came out of nowhere asking about your business; did you notice?"

"I did. I wasn’t sure what he was after when he asked me what we did. I just felt it was more than an idle question; kind of out of place. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do, that’s why I saved your butt." We both laughed, recalling Mary’s IRS job description.

"I knew there was a reason I married you," I said affectionately.

Monday, I was back to work. Business was good and getting better. Although I still did a lot of work from my office at home, I also leased space in an Executive Office Suites for my assistant, Sally and me. It was ideal for small businesses such as mine that did not want to invest in office equipment or furniture, but needed a work place away from home.

I had a 9:30 meeting with John Cey, regional development manager for BodyBuilders, LLC. John was building and opening three new workout facilities in Tampa. He needed $150,000.

"Jim, are you ready for our meeting?" I glanced at my watch and saw that it was only 9:15.

"Sit down, John. Did you bring the information we discussed Friday?"

He laid a folder on my desk. "I think this is what you need. Why don’t I get us some coffee while you take a look?

John came back with the coffee just as I finished reading his file. "Before we get into the detail, let’s recap what you are requesting. Give me the high points, John."

"Okay, Jim. As you know, we are opening three new Bodybuilder locations in Tampa. The Carrollwod location has been nothing but problems. The County has fought us on everything from highway access to environmental impact. I can’t believe anyone can get that excited about saving a few trees and wetlands. I thought Florida was only worried about saving Manatees and Panthers. We need about $150,000 to open. The bank said no. So did Susan, your competitor on the third floor."

"The fact that your bank said no doesn’t surprise me, John. Banks offer good lending rates, but have a small profit margin. They don’t take risks. Susan works for a direct lender that doesn’t lend to your industry. Lenders have blacklists. Exercise equipment along with pay telephones and computer software are at the top of their list.

"I am going to try and get you an equipment lease, not a bank loan. Leasing companies will do deals that banks won’t and they can get you the money in two weeks. Let’s go through your documents."

An hour later we were done. "Okay John, I will know in two days if you are approved. I think the odds are good, so I suggest you start getting copies of invoices and canceled checks."

How much will it cost?

"The effective interest rate will be in the neighborhood of 12%. Your monthly payment should be just under $5,000 for a 36-month capital lease."

"That’s expensive, but I don’t think we have a better option. It’s a heck of a lot better than taking in an equity partner."

John left a happy man and so was I. My cost of funds from this lender was approximately 9.3%. I built in a 4% commission and would be paid $6,000 commission from the lender when the deal closes. This is how brokers pay the rent.

I checked my Email. There were two items of interest. One person had seen our web site and asked for rates for a $77,000 Internet access system for a hotel. I forwarded this to Sally and asked her to follow-up. The person sounded like a vendor and could be a source of ongoing business.

"How did your meeting go, Jim? Did you get the week off to a good start?"

"I think so, Sally. I’m pretty sure that we can get him approved. How are your deals coming along?

Sally brought me up to date on each of the 14 deals we had going, 15 including Bodybuilders. Business was looking real good.

The sound of Jack’s five iron jarred me from my reflections. It was the crisp sound of a well-struck ball, and it did not surprise me to see it fly directly at the green and stop 12 feet short of the flag.

There was no drop area so I decided to hit a second shot from the tee. This time I struck my 5-wood cleanly and ended up on the fringe, 35 feet from the hole. I would need to sink this putt and hope Jack 3 putted from 12 feet. Although part of me wanted to concede the hole, I thought it was better sportsmanship to play it out and allow Jack to try for birdie. I narrowly missed my bogey putt and tapped in for a 5. Jack sank his putt for 2. In stroke play, losing three strokes on one hole is disastrous. In medal play it’s no different than losing by a stroke.

I was down one again, with 32 to play.

Sam headed for the public telephone next to the bait house while Ron dry-docked the boat. This was not a conversation that was appropriate for a cell phone. He dialed the private number and waited. On the fourth ring the boss answered: "Hello."

"It wasn’t there. We searched the area for three hours; nothing."

There was silence for at least 30 seconds. Sam kept silent; there was nothing more to say. He could only imagine the rage building in his boss. They had already been paid 50% in advance for the shipment. Nobody wants to give back $16M.

"Stay by this phone until I get back to you." Click. Dial tone. Sam hung up and wiped his brow. Florida was hot in May, even at 10:00 AM, but that was not why he was sweating.

While Sam was sweating, there were high-fives and smiles in the Tampa offices of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. Not only did they possess six canvas bags of uncut heroin with a wholesale value of more than $32 million, they were moving up the food chain to the big boys.

The phone tap on the public telephone had paid dividends.

Sally left and I checked my voice messages. Fred had called regarding lunch on Wednesday. I returned his call and waited while his secretary tracked him down. I was pleased he had followed up on Saturday’s conversation. He seemed like a nice guy.

"Jim, thanks for getting back to me so fast. I appreciate that."

"My pleasure, Fred. Besides, Mary wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t. We had such a great time Saturday. Did you all stay out much later after we left? I heard you were stopping for a nightcap."

"We stopped for one drink and went home. We were tired and I’m getting too old for the late nights. Judy would have stayed and danced, but I feel it too much the next morning. Mario said they left the Beantown Pub around 2 AM and stopped for breakfast. It was after 3:30 when they got back to Jack’s house."

"Listen, I have a staff meeting in a few minutes so I need to cut this short. Can you come over to my Shells Restaurant on Henderson Road Wednesday for lunch? There are a couple things I’m looking at doing and would like to get your input."

"Great! I’ll be there at 12:30." I had no idea what he was thinking, but I had a hunch it was the start of something good.

The 5^th hole was a challenging Par 4; 365 yards, dogleg right. A fairway bunker and two 50-foot pine trees protected the dogleg. The green was framed by a deep sand trap in front and water to the right. The hole was well designed. I have seen more double bogeys on this hole than birdies.

It was 240 yards to carry the bunker and approximately 255 to carry the pine trees. That was more than enough protection for me, but Jack was going to try and fly the trees and reach the green. It was only a 290-yard carry to the green. There was a slight breeze from right to left and slightly in our face.

Jack’s problem is that the hole did not fit his eye or his swing. Jack liked to hit a long draw. This shot called for a power fade to help take the bunkers and water out of play. However, sometimes length off the tee changes everything.

I didn’t know a golf ball could be hit that hard. The sound was different. We watched as Jack’s drive easily cleared the pine trees on the right and headed towards the green. It had a slight fade and briefly flirted with the water, but the wind kept it on line. The ball landed softly three yards short of the front sand trap and only 25 yards short of the pin.

I applauded and said "nice shot Jack", but he didn’t hear or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge me. He was too busy complaining to his friends in the gallery about the wind and bragging that last week he had driven the green.

I selected 3-wood and hit it perfectly, left of the fairway bunker, 145 yards to the center-cut hole location. That’s all I can do.

I was 15 minutes late for my lunch appointment with Fred. I had been on schedule until 11:30 when I received a call from a hotel owner that had seen our advertisement, and wanted to know if we could help him. Obviously, the answer was yes. I quoted him some estimated rates and he sounded interested. The true test would be if he sent us the information we needed to prepare a term sheet. 70% of the calls were "shoppers."

"Shells" had a nice lunch crowd and looked to be about 2/3 full, mostly a business crowd with a few tables that looked like tourists. People were still coming in for lunch. Shells had a reputation as a nice, family restaurant that served good seafood. Mary and I had dinner in the Shells on Clearwater Beach last month, and the food was excellent.

Fred was at the front door greeting customers and greeted me with a warm smile and handshake. A few people looked over to see if I was a celebrity. It always makes a person feel important when the owner knows you. Mary and I stopped at "Cheers" in Boston last summer, but nobody knew our name.

"Jim, can you hold off on lunch a few minutes? I would like to show you the place and what we are trying to do."

"Sure Fred, lead on."

I soon found myself in the kitchen trying to stay out of the way. One person had overall responsibility for the order, while others worked in their little sections; one person did nothing but salads; one did pasta; another monitored the fried foods; It was like an assembly line with the chef coordinating the product and ensuring the overall quality and presentation.

Fred pointed me to the grill and the ovens; "that’s what I need to replace. These appliances are almost 10 years old and are starting to act up. The new ones are faster and more accurate. One of these days my place will be packed, and they will go down. I will be left with nothing but the microwave. I also want to knock out that wall and put in a small grille for backup and extra capacity for special events."

"How much are we talking about, Fred? For everything?"

"$200,000 should cover it, including $25,000 for a few other items. Can you do it?"

"If your cash flow can handle the new lease payments, I don’t see why not. Tell your vendors to start work and to invoice us directly."

"Excellent. I’m hungry Jim; let’s see if our table is ready. I don’t think we will have a problem getting good service." Rank does have privileges.

"Have you tried the sea bass, Jim? We get this fresh daily from Tampa Bay, and it compares to the sea bass you pay $30 - $40 for in the Caribbean." I took his suggestion. Fred ordered the salmon salad claiming he was trying to drop a few pounds. I was in the mood for a glass of wine, but settled on iced tea. Business first.

While we waited for our orders, I prompted Fred to give me an overview of his business. "Fred, other than knowing Shells is a small chain, I know little else. Can you give me a 5-minute overview?"

"Sure, Jim. I started this restaurant five years ago and am 100% owner. I’m a 50% partner in the other six restaurants; one in South Tampa, two in Clearwater, and three in the Fort Lauderdale area. I hope to open 10-15 new locations between here and Miami in the next five years. Each location grosses about $2 -$3 million with a 30% to 40% NOI (Net Operating Income). We have been lucky so far."

"I’ll say. Is NOI after the mortgage payment? Who owns the other 50%?"

"You met my partner Saturday night; Mario! And that’s the beauty of it; we have no mortgages and no debt. I provide the expertise and management; Mario provides the money. We split profits right down the middle. Mario is a great partner. We get together around once or twice a month, sometimes on his yacht, and talk business. Then we fish." And speaking of fish, here comes our food."

The presentation was excellent. Fred’s seafood entrees were served on octagon-shaped platters with an engrained fish design. My sea bass was prepared "en papillote", stuffed with fresh mushrooms, parsley, red peppers and shallots, and complimented with creamy new potatoes.

As I tasted the sea bass, I couldn’t help thinking what a great setup Fred had. I was also trying to work out the numbers. Conservatively, 30% NOI on $2M is $600,000 per restaurant; times seven is $4.2 million pre tax income. Even if each restaurant carried a mortgage payment of $200,000, Fred would still be doing great.

Mario’s return on investment was a little tougher to calculate. "How much does it take to build one of these, Fred; about $2 million?"

"This one cost about $2.3M including the land. Four locations are right on the water where land costs were high; and everything cost more in the Ft Lauderdale area. Mario has about $20M cash in the seven restaurants. I tell you Jim, without Mario I would have this here restaurant and maybe one other. It was my lucky day when I met Mario."

"It sounds like you have a good thing going with Mario. There are a lot of small businesses that can’t grow because they can’t raise the money."

"Let’s take a ride, Jim. I want to show you a restaurant I’m thinking of buying. I’d like your opinion. Do you have an hour? We should be back here by 3:00 at the latest."

I had 145 yards to a center pin and chose 8-iron. I caught it a little heavy and came up 20 feet short. It was the right club; I just didn’t hit it solid, but I’m not going to complain about being 20 feet away. Ken always told me to be happy with my average shots and not beat myself up over them. Ken would say; "You’re putting Jim, it could be a lot worse."

Jack’s had a golden opportunity for birdie; actually two opportunities. From 25 yards, either a good chip or a good putt would do it. His chip was on line, but came up 10 feet short. Not bad, but not good from that distance. I 2-putted for par and it was up to Jack to make the putt. He missed on the high side for a disappointing par. I was still only one down.

Juan and his passenger were halfway home when the anchor line was untied and the eight bags of heroin began to float away. An hour later the heroin was plucked from the water and loaded into a 26’ powerboat running without lights. The "tip" had been accurate. The location and the beacon frequency were right on target. Phase one of their plan had succeeded.

The boat was long gone when Sam and Ron arrived three hours later.

Juan was thinking of Maria when both his dreams and boat exploded sending both to the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico.

Diego was 200 yards away when floating comfortably in the water. He had liked Juan, but he had also liked many of the other men that he had killed. It was never personal; just business. Juan could not be trusted to keep silent if he were caught, and besides, Juan’s disappearance would make him the prime suspect for the Drug Cartel that would surely be looking for their stolen drugs. These were not people that you wanted to fool with. Luckily, Diego had made plans to disappear.

He swam lazily towards the small island and waited for his friends to pick him up. He thought about his new life in the United States with the $2M he would earn from this job. He was tired of the drug trade and looked forward to a quiet life.

The Scuba swimmer came to the surface and spotted the pickup boat less than 100 yards away. He swam easily towards the boat congratulating himself on the accuracy of his calculations.

Jesus smiled when he saw the two bags of heroin the swimmer was towing. Good job amigo. Let’s go pick up Diego and call it a night."

The church service was short and informal. Ken would have liked it. I was asked to give a 5-minute eulogy telling the group about Ken. The minister suggested that I talk about my relationship with Ken at work, or on the golf course. He had a good sense of humor but reminded us that this was a church service, not a roast.

I split my time with Mary, or maybe we each talked for five minutes. She did a much better job than I did.

"Sure, Ken was about work and golf. Jim tells me he was almost a scratch golfer and could talk international financing with the best of them. The people he worked with liked and respected him. He was a man’s man."

"But, Ken was more than that. I knew him better than they did. Ken was a gourmet chef that spent two years in Paris learning his trade. With Ken, cooking was an art. Shopping for vegetables & meat was a science. He taught me to snap peas and stand a pork chop on end to hold the juices inside. He showed me how to marinate an average piece of meat to make it tender and delicious. We talked about the art of presentation and the tricks restaurants used to make the food more appealing. He was my friend, and I will miss his tenderness."

After the service, at least five women sought Mary out to congratulate her on her eulogy. Only one person said, "Jim, nice job."

Mario came over to the office just before lunch, and suggested we go to Fred’s new Shells in New Port Richey. Fred would be there and we could mix a little business and pleasure. I hoped to talk with Mario alone, but if necessary, I didn’t mind talking in front of Fred. With Ken gone, Fred was my new best friend.

Fred recommended the blackened grouper, and it was excellent. "Fred it was so good that even Ken would have liked it," Mario quipped. We all laughed at the obvious reference to Mary’s speech.

"He was a pretty good cook," I said. Did you know how many recipes he had in his head? Lots. Mary would ask him how to make a sauce or something and he would just start listing the ingredients. I checked him a couple against a cookbook just to see if he was conning us. They checked out."

"Yeah, Ken must have had a photographic memory," Mario added.

"I hope it didn’t get him in trouble." I still would like to know what happened. He was at the top of the world when he came back from Zurich, and hours later he is dead."

"Speaking of Zurich, Jim, what is this idea you have about resolving the impasse. Don’t worry about Fred, I tell him pretty much everything anyway."

"From what I can see, Mario, both you and the Zurich group want to buy out the other. I was originally intending that we try to accommodate each other and try to save the partnership, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore. Do you agree?"

"No it won’t work, Jim. We’ve burned a few bridges. I can tell you that my partners are pissed." It was interesting that Mario avoided using Romano’s name in front of Fred.

"Did your friend come through for you, Mario? Do you have the money to buy them out?"

"Yes, I’ll have the money Saturday."

"Okay, the next problem is that unless both sides are in agreement, the other side can tie the projects up in court for years. Everyone’s a loser, Agreed?" They both nodded.

"Here is my idea. Mario, you told me to bet $140 on Jack Saturday, at 5 to 7 odds. If Jack wins, you get $100. Do you still feel that Jack will win? Don’t answer that. Let’s assume that Zurich will bet you even up that I will beat Jack. Would you take the bet?"

"Even up? You know I would. We’re friends Jim, but money has no friends. How much?"

"The whole project? Winner takes all."

After a few moments, Fred interjected, "are you saying the loser gets nothing for their share?"

"Good point, Fred. I exaggerated a little. The winner only wins the right to exercise their option to buy out the other party, at the price in my valuation. I get paid an equal sum either way so I do not have a financial stake in who wins or loses. I just want to win, for Ken."

"Has Sven agreed?" Mario asked.

"I will ask him tonight. I wanted to ask you first."

"Okay, I will do it, but I need the money by Monday as you know."

"Agreed. I am having the legal papers drawn up as we speak. Their buyout will be conditional upon your receiving payment Saturday. Both of you will need to have wire transfer authorizations put in escrow, to be executed in the event that I win. And Mario, we are friends, but I still intend to win."

"Jim, for your sake, and Ken’s memory, I wish you would. But I spoke to Jack earlier and he says he is playing every day and hitting the ball good. Did you know he shot a 70 yesterday?"

"No I didn’t Mario. There are some things I would have preferred not to know," I said as we got up to leave.

"Okay, Fred thanks for the hospitality and great food. You have a gold mine here. By the way, I saw you talking with Gary Gagne last night. Did you bet on Jack?"

"No, I bet $100 on you Jim. I want Mario’s $140."

It was almost 3:00 when Mario dropped me off. I had called the office and Chris said the legal documents were ready. I told Mario I would get them to him first thing in the morning, if Zurich agreed to our little wager.

Chris was there going over the documents with my attorney, Mike Addison, and the lead attorney from the DEA. The DEA attorneys had done the work, but Mario and Sven had to think they came from my own council. I also wanted to be sure that I’m protected.

"How do they look?" I asked.

"Jim, these guys do great work. It does what you want. The winner of the golf match has the right to exercise the buyout provision in Paragraph 14 of your Zurich loan agreement. The money must be transferred by Monday morning or the contract is voided. Both parties are required to escrow their wire transfer instructions for execution immediately after the winner of the match is determined."

"What’s my exposure? None, I hope."

"I don’t see any downside for you. You get a nice commission either way. If Jack and Mario win, it will just take a little longer. You would get less up front, but you also get a nice chunk of money from future broker commissions."

"Mike, let’s change my payout to a flat $25M, win or lose. I want to be completely out of this mess after Saturday."

"Okay, consider it done."

"We are also changing the wording in a number of places to make it read less like a government contract" Mike added. "It would be a warning to an experienced attorney. We can have the revised contracts ready by first thing tomorrow morning."

"Are you available Friday and Saturday if needed. Their attorneys will probably want to talk with you."

"I’m yours, Jim. The DEA is paying me enough to make it worth my while. There is no charge to you."

"A free attorney, now that’s an oxymoron," I joked.

"Can you get me a couple free tickets for the match?"

"Very funny, Mike."

"I like this restaurant, Mary," Sven said as we walked into the Bonefish Grill. "It reminds me of a restaurant in Geneva."

"Why does Jim call it the Bonehead Grill?" Dag asked.

We laughed, and Mary told the story about the first time we had brought Ken here, and let Ken order the wine. Ever since he calls it the Bonehead Grille because he learned not to let someone else order the wine if you are picking up the tab."

"I used to complain to Ken about it all the time, and he kept saying it was only a $45 bottle. I swear it was $60 or $70 because the tab was close to $200 for the three of us. Anyway, it’s a good memory and one reason we chose this place. Besides, the food is great, and I am buying. I’m also ordering the wine."

The dinner was delicious. The trout, salmon, sea bass and grouper; all were excellent and the sauces were phenomenal. Sven wasn’t a drinker, so the three of us shared a bottle of Kendall-Jackson Chardonnay. I limited myself to one glass.

After dinner, I asked Sven if we could spend a few minutes talking business. He agreed, so I plowed right in.

"After Sunday’s meeting, I was hoping to figure out a way to convince the two of you that we should keep working together. I don’t see that happening, do you?

"No I don’t Jim. One of us has to take over. By the way, Dag and I went over your valuation and think it is fair. I will pay that amount to Mario, even the $50M."

"Thanks, Sven. The next challenge is to find a way to determine who will buy out the other party, because if we don’t, this project will be tied up in the courts for five years and everyone will lose. Agreed?"

Sven and Dag nodded, and I continued. "I have an idea. You are aware that I am playing a two-day tournament for the club championship. That’s why I couldn’t get into Cabo until Saturday night."

"I’m aware of your tournament, Jim. Dag tells me you are a slight underdog."

"That’s correct. The going odds are 7 to 5. Jack is probably or four strokes better if we played straight up golf, but Match play is an equalizer. I also will have an emotional edge if the match is close; Ken was my mentor."

"This sounds interesting. What do you have in mind?"

"I want you to bet on me, Sven. If I win the match, you win the right to buy out Mario. If I lose, Mario has the right to buy you out. Mario has already agreed to back Jack. The only condition Mario requested is that procedure be in place to wire transfer the money Saturday afternoon so that he doesn’t lose his $40M deposit That’s it. Winner takes all."

"Do you really think you can win?" Dag asked.

"I do. I promised Ken." I held my breath as I waited for Sven’s response. He leaned back in his chair and considered my offer.

"I agree; winner takes all" Sven answered, "and let’s hope you win. I assume you have some legal documents you need us to review. Email them to my office this evening."

I called Mike on his cell and gave him the email address and the address for Dag’s portable computer.

"Excellent, you won’t regret it. My attorney, Mike Addison, will be available this evening and tomorrow if you have any questions. I’m going to play golf."

I called Chris as soon as we got home. "Chris, it’s a go. Sven agreed to back me Saturday. Mike just emailed the contracts to his Zurich office. Call me on my cell if you need me. I have a 9:00 tee time."

"I had a good time, Jim. How about you? You must be pleased that Sven agreed to back you."

"I had a good time too, Mary, I’m glad you were there. Yes, I am happy about Sven. It went better than I expected."

Almost too easy, I thought.

Jack and Jim walked across the narrow bridge to the 18^th tee. One more hole and it will be over. Neither player wanted to go to a sudden death playoff.

"Let’s end it right here, Jim, one way or another."

"Ouch" I screamed as I felt something rip at my shoulder. An instant later I heard the crack of the gun followed by three more "bangs." I couldn’t believe it; someone was shooting at me.

"Get down! Get down!" Chris shouted as she ran towards us with her gun drawn. Jack and I both hit the ground. We didn’t need any encouragement."

Are you two all right? Jim? Jack?" We nodded, but made no attempt to get up.

"It came from the woods," someone shouted. They were on the radios and within seconds Jim heard sirens and saw police cars driving across the fairway. "Get a helicopter in here," shouted Chris. "I’ll stay with the target."

Thirty minutes later, despite the helicopter, six police cars and three golf carts, they gave up the search. The gunman had gotten away. "We found bullet casings and footprints, but it looked like he had a car or bike waiting. Nobody seems to have seen anything, but we are still working at it."

"Come on, both of you, I’ll give you a ride to the clubhouse."

Jack looked at me and we both shook our head. "If you don’t mind, Chris, we still have a hole to play" Jack said. "After what Jim went through with Mary, this is no big deal."

"I agree, let’s play."

"Is this a macho thing?" Chris asked, shaking her head in disbelief. "Okay, fellows, it’s up to you. I’ll stick with you just in case, but I’m sure the guy is long gone. Have at it! I gather that blood on your shoulder won’t hurt your swing."

With all the excitement, I hadn’t even noticed the tear in my shirt and the blood on my shoulder. It wasn’t much worse than a scratch, but a stark reminder of how close the bullet had come.

"It’s nothing but a flesh wound, Chris. The bullet went right through. I can make it to my horse."

"What are you talking about, Jim?" Chris asked. "Are you sure you are all right."

"I always wanted to say that, since I was a kid watching Roy Rodgers and The Lone Ranger. This was my one big chance."

"By the way, Jack, do I get a stroke because I’m injured?"

"Only if I get one for this," Jack replied as he lifted his shirt revealing a gash on his left rib cage. The wound looked worse than mine.

"Are you sure you can play with that?" I asked.

"We’ll see," Jack replied. "I always said I could out drive you with one arm. Now we will find out."

Chris realized that something had transpired between these two adversaries. Somehow, with all that had happened, enemies had become friends; Golfers are a different breed of people, she thought.

"You two are both crazy, but I wish you luck."

The match was even and I had the honors. Under the circumstances, it was the perfect finishing hole. A 555 par 5, that was reachable only for the long hitters such as Jack. However, there was a high risk-reward if you tried to reach the island green in two shots. There was water on three sides and trouble behind the green.

There was no chance that I could reach the green in two, even without the injury to my arm. I took several practice swings to make sure that the wound would not affect my swing. It didn’t, my drive was hit perfectly down the center of the fairway.

Jack took a few easy swings and said he would be okay. He surprised me by hitting a great drive down the middle approximately 50 yards past my ball. Depending upon the lie, he might have an opportunity to go for the green. Jack was just the type of gambler to try something like this and pull it off.

As we walked back across the bridge together, I walked up beside Jack. "Whatever happens, Jack, I want you to know that I appreciate your support on the back nine. I don’t think I could have held it together without you."

"Thanks, Jim; I appreciate your saying that. Maybe when this is all over and things settle down, we can have a beer or two and talk about some of the things that have happened. I know Ken would like that."

"It’s a deal, Jack, count on it."

I was a 290 yards to the pin and decided to hit 5-wood; my favorite club today. I hit it well and left myself about 80 yards to the center of the green. Jack was 240 yards to the pin and only 230 to clear the creek, well within his range. However, it was a front pin location and it would be very difficult to get a shot close to the hole. The pin was only 10 yards over the creek that cut in front of the green. Jack considered going for it, but at the last second he pulled out a 4-iron and laid up. He left himself about 60 yards to the pin, just inside my ball.

Johnny Miller claims it is an advantage to hit first. Frankly I would prefer that Jack would hit first so I could see how the wind affected his ball and to determine what I had to do with my shot. However, I didn’t have that luxury. I took my pitching wedge and decided to play safe rather than challenge the pin. I got a good break when the wind held up my ball and left me with a 12-15 foot birdie putt. Sometimes you hit a good ball and get nothing out of it, and other times like this you hit the ball a little bit off center and catch a break.

Jack had 60 yards to the pin, a perfect distance for his lob wedge. His shot was high and right at the pin, landing six feet past the hole, before spinning back. It narrowly missed hitting the pin before stopping six feet below the hole. He would have an easy up hill putt for birdie.

I looked at my putt from every conceivable angle. Putts normally break towards the water, but there was water on three sides of the hole. Jack’s putt looked relatively easy. I had to assume he would make it. I could not afford to leave my putt short and struck it firmly. It would have been 4-5 feet past the hole if it hadn’t hit the center of the cup and dropped for a birdie. I gave a Tiger Woods’ fist pump and a sigh of relief. It was now up to Jack.

Jack’s putt was almost straight up the hill with a slight left to right break. It was only six feet and I knew he would make it and we would be headed for sudden death. He started the putt on the left edge and it never moved. Neither Jack nor I could believe it. I had won the club championship.

Roland Garros

Another Thriller by Jim Plautz

Coming Soon!

The five minute wait in the tunnel seemed to last forever. Both women had dressed in separate areas of the locker room and barely acknowledged each other as they waited. It was more than pre-match nerves. It wasn’t gamesmanship. These two young women did not like each other. The icy relationship was apparent to the television cameras and was picked up on by the commentators. Bud Collins suggested the match be rescheduled for Siberia.

Lisa Simpson walked out of the tunnel onto Philippe Chartrier court smiling and waving to the adoring crowd. Ball boys carried her tennis bag and a beautiful bouquet of roses. The crowd stood and cheered.

Moments later the French crowd greeted Ambre with a chorus of boos and jeers. Only last week she had been the darling of France. Now she was seen as a villain and the associate of the Agbu, the terrorist who had nearly succeeded in blowing up Roland Garros. There was no smile on Ambre’s face. She was all business.

The winner would be French Ladies Open Champion.

Lisa’s older brother, Pete, would play Carlos tomorrow, for the French Open Men’s Championship.

The first bomb went off moments later and Paris’ oldest bridge, often called the walking bridge, crumbled into the muddy waters of the Seine River, taking 14 pedestrians to their death. The second bomb exploded moments later at the d’Orsay art gallery and museum. Priceless art works from Monet, Manet and other French Impressionists disappeared in smoke. The third bomb exploded at Police headquarters in downtown Paris. 15 people were killed immediately and three were wounded.

The crowd heard none of this, their attention focused on a small plane flying towards Roland Garros stadium. They strained to read the banner proclaiming "Basque Independence". The crowd gasped as two F-4 fighter jets swooped down on the plane and four military helicopters closed in from the North. The instructions to the pilots were clear; "Blow him up unless he turns in 10 seconds." The plane slowly turned away, followed by the military escort. The crowd was still standing when the huge explosion shook the stadium. The blast came from the park just outside Roland Garros.

Agbu, leader of the ETA, the military arm of the Basque Independence movement, took advantage of the chaos to circumvent security and enter Roland Garros. Agbu was beyond making political statements. Agbu sought revenge against the Simpson family.