Pick Your Poison
By Ernest Coleman
Published by Flaherty Frameworks, 2020
Copyright 2020. By Ernest Coleman. All Rights Reserved.
Foreword:
A special thanks to all those who believed in me. You know who you are.
Chapter 1
No brainer
Franchises aren’t meant to turn around in a day. It can take multiple moves and years to get a team to a championship level. For the Savannah Tigers and General Manager Morty Day, this is the expectation. Fans believe that one player can turn around a team. The NFL isn’t like the NBA where one player can dominate the court. It takes fifty-three players to make an NFL roster. Occasionally one player can provide a major boost that can turn the fortunes of an NFL team around however. Morty felt he had built a strong foundation despite their losing efforts. All it takes is time for his plan to come to fruition.
Day doesn't have the luxury of time. Not after last year’s disaster.They were the worst team in the league by far. It’s why they have the first overall pick next week. Another year like last and he’s gone. He may never get another shot at this. Being a General Manager was all Morty ever wanted, and now it was slowly slipping from his grip.
The draft was in a few days. It was now or never for Morty Day.
Jason James has been a no brainer since he first stepped on the field at the age of 9. I’ve never seen anything like him they will say years and years later. By the time James was 16 he was 6’3 and ran a blazing 4.4 forty. It’s why he won the states in track too. It’s why he was a no brainer for the University of South Carolina. James dominated the second he stepped on the field as a true freshman. It’s why he is a no brainer to go number 1 overall next week.
Local boy joins the hometown team the papers will write. Fans have already begun pre ordering his jersey online. 88 has been his number since he was 9. It will be his number for the Tigers as well. You can bet on that.
Day can’t afford to not take James next week they will all say. It’s a no brainer.
Sometimes no brainers aren’t what they seem.
It’s funny how passions turn into lifetime goals. Hobbies turn into full time endeavors. People will always tell you you are crazy. Especially when they realize you are happy chasing those passions.
Houston Grey is not your typical private investigator. Born and raised in South Carolina, it was a miracle when he got out to go to Harvard. It’s why no one understood when he came back. It wasn’t like he was coming back to much at home. His family was never the loving sort. His father and mother were now split. Grey hardly saw either.
This all started as a side project. Private Equity with a little P.I. work on the side. The side hustle became more and more of an itch. Eventually this itch became the only thing he wanted to scratch.
It was easier for Grey than he expected to walk away from New York, the six figure salary, and the beautiful Manhattan apartment to set up shop in downtown Savannah, Georgia. It was liberating.
You really want to take photos of wives banging their lovers for a living, his friends all asked. Although a stereotype of this type of work, it was relatively true. It usually paid well too. Wealthy businessmen always want to know who their wives are banging.
Occasionally you get an assignment that makes it all worth it. A missing loved one, tracking down a long lost lover. There was that case in New York he had worked on that really ignited his fire for this type of work, but that is a story for another time. For Grey, this type of work was fast paced, exciting. It fit his skillset much better than grinding behind a desk all day. The intrigue kept him alive.
So when Houston Grey gets an anonymous client asking to follow next week's number 1 overall pick in the NFL Draft, he is really intrigued.
Chapter 2
Yes man
“You ready son?” Andrew Chetzni, Chet, asks. Chet is known around the league as a shark. A big brooding man, a former linebacker himself, Chet is not someone many want to mess with. Chet still looked like he could play in the NFL, even though he had been out of the league for over fifteen years.
On the outside looking in, for James and his father it was a clear cut choice on who they wanted to represent him as his agent. DFC, General Managers are often reminded. Don’t fuck with Chet. Little did the outsiders know that there were other reasons why James and his father partnered with Chet. There is always more to the story than meets the eye.
“I’ve been ready since day one,” James replies with no hesitation. People are surprised when they meet Jason James. He is a lot more humble than I expected they say when asked. But a player like James doesn’t get where he is today without some underlying swagger. Scouting reports say he plays with an edge, a nasty streak.
Those that really truly know Jason James know that that nasty streak doesn’t always leave itself behind on the field.
“Good.” Chet gives a nod of approval towards James’ father. They both know he is ready for what comes next.
“So tell me about this colossal case you have,” she asks. Grey has always been described by peers as someone who keeps things close to his chest. Reserved. Strong Minded.
When it comes to the beautiful blonde that sits across from him over a glass of wine, he can’t help but pour out everything he knows so far. She makes him weak.
“Ok. Well what is your plan? Jason James is pretty high profile from what I gather,” she asks. Her red lips, stained with both a hint of red wine and the lip gloss she applied earlier hide back her seductive smile. Grey melts.
They met freshman year at Harvard. A kegger. Harvard had keggers too. It was over for Houston Grey ever since. They grew close, and then apart, and then close again. This flow only made Grey’s desire grow stronger. We kid ourselves when we think relationships end up as this linear line. Most of the good ones are like a roller coaster. They were no different.
Stacy Reagan was in Savannah for a client meeting. She had a high profile client in the area. Stacy was in public relations. She was in Savannah quite often. It made it easier for the two of them to resume their fling. The first thing she did when she found out she was heading to Savannah for a meeting was to call Houston. Because it was over for her when she first met him too.
“Every box is checked off,” Day tells Tigers owner Richard Lex at their weekly one on one. Morty wasn’t one to display over confidence. This was due to years of being worn down. People had a tendency to doubt Morty. Tell him he wasn’t good enough. It happened early in his playing career. He made the University of Georgia as a walk-on. They told him he wasn’t good enough to ever see the field. He became a starter and captain. They told him he would never play in the NFL. He played three seasons for the Raiders. When an injury forced him to retire, those same doubters said they told him so, as if he hadn’t already proven them so wrong. Now he hears the doubters in his new line of work. Last season's failure only added to their material. His ex-wife was one of those doubters too. She always told him he wasn’t good enough. Her doubts were what really ate at him the most. His head now hangs in a permanent sulk, his eyes fixated on the ground, shielded by his ever growing wrinkles.
“Analytics department signs off. Our scouts love him. Coach loves him. Everyone tells me it's a no brainer.”
“So then what is your hesitation?,” Lex ponders without breaking eye contact. You don’t get to where Lex is today without being able to read people. Day hasn’t said it yet, but his body language gives it all away. Hesitation. Lex hates hesitation. He didn’t hesitate when he bought the Savannah Tigers as an expansion team 6 years ago. He didn’t hesitate when he made those shrewd business moves all those years ago that allowed him to buy an NFL team in the first place. Strike while the iron is hot. Cliche words indeed. However, Lex lived by that motto. If he was the kind of guy who would get a tattoo he would have it inked across his chest.
“Look, Morty. I trust you. I told myself when I bought this team that I would surround myself with smart people. That I would let the football guys make the football decisions. I’m not an overbearing owner. I am not Al Davis. You know that. Having said that, I fully expect Jason James to get his name called by us next week. So whatever hesitations you have. Get over them now.” Lex never doubted himself. He didn’t have the time to let Morty doubt himself too. If Morty wouldn’t get the job done, someone else will.
With that the meeting was over. Day’s decision was over. Jason James because he had no other choice.
For every nice neighborhood in this area, there were five that weren’t so nice. Jaire Holmes grew up like Jason James. In one of the many not so nice neighborhoods. It’s why his escape to fame was even more improbable. For every Jaire Holmes or Jason James there were thousands of kids who got swallowed whole. They were one of a kind. They were legends in the area forever. Everyone wanted to be like Jaire Holmes or Jason James. Someone who could make it out of one of those bad neighborhoods.
Jaire Holmes hated that about himself. It’s why he wanted to make sure his name never made it out of that neighborhood. Fast forward years later and the name Jaire Holmes is unrecognizable.
Master Bags was not.
MB as he was oft called, was not naturally violent. No one ever is. We are what we are surrounded by. Even fame and money don’t truly fix that. He had the reputation of a violent criminal. In truth he was much more than that. Master Bags created that image because that was what sells in the rap industry. The neck tattoos, the guns in his music videos, all created a false image. Master Bags was a complex character. His music was not so complex. It was the new wave of rap music. Atlanta style rap. It was what was becoming mainstream, what sold to the youth. Master Bags wish he could branch out musically. It was probably too late to do that.
Say what you want about Master Bags. Master Bags is loyal. It’s why his group has never changed. To them he is a legend. Their ticket out. A way that their names get left behind in those neighborhoods too. For Master Bags they are convenient. An efficient way of getting a yes. Like his music, he wished he could branch out with his acquaintances too. Expand his horizons. Meet new people. In truth, it was probably too late for that as well.
“Give Jason James a call,” he shouts over the loud rap music. One of these yes men gets up. “Tell him we need to talk.”
Chapter 3
Gator’s in the water
To be honest Grey didn’t really have a plan of action. It is hard to plan for something when you have never experienced anything to this magnitude. Jason James was as high profile in this area as you can get. Grey sold himself that he was a better Private investigator than he really was. In reality, Grey had a lot to learn. He could use the help from a more experienced source. It was actually shocking to him that someone trusted him enough to hire him. There were other more senior investigators from Atlanta that they could hire up and dig into Jason James. Maybe the client has hired others. Maybe they want multiple eyes and perspectives on Jason James, Grey convinced himself.
Promiscuous housewives do give the opportunity to work on your tailing ability. While Grey didn’t trust his skills against someone used to be followed, James was as oblivious as those women who aren’t meeting up with their lovers.
Where is he going he wondered. Although several years older, Grey remembered hearing about Jason James. Legends such as James have a way of doing that. Those that have any ties to the area will hear about them. Jason James was no exception. He went from the cover of the local newspaper to the cover of national magazines. He made the locals of all ages feel special. Grey loved watching him play at South Carolina. Grey himself became a big fan of the Savannah Tigers. The potential for the local kid to play for the hometown team was exciting.
Grey knew where James grew up. The neighborhood they were circling in was not close. Beautiful homes with white fences, long southern porches, and views overlooking the canals. James will be able to afford a place like this soon, but Grey did some digging beforehand. No endorsements or contract money has touched James’s wallet yet. So what is he doing here?
James came to a stop and Grey did the same several hundred feet back. There is something different than the James that Grey is used to watching dominate on T.V. His hoodie is draped over his head, he slumps over as he gets out of his car. The confident James that has made him so successful to this point is no longer there. On T.V. James looked massive. Here he looked small. A shrunken version of himself.
He knocks on the door. Grey observed the house. It was a massive mansion. Multiple sports cars were parked in the driveway. Whoever lived here was extremely wealthy. The unkempt lawn, the lack of fresh paint job, told Grey that the person here might not be too accustomed to the wealth they had. The old money around these parts never let their house fall wayside the way this one has. A few seconds later James is let in by a figure Grey can’t make out from his viewpoint.
22 Stallings Way Grey writes down in his notebook.
No one really knows how the nickname ‘Gator’ came about. Maybe because there are so many reasons why he could be called that. Maybe it has to do with that fact that his name is Al as in Aligator. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he was a backup quarterback for the Florida Gators before getting kicked off the team. Maybe it has to do with him being a figure you want to get away from.
It doesn’t matter how Al Jenkins became known as Gator. No one wants to really find out.
Gator wasn’t a particularly large man. He was around 5’10, medium build, a former wide receiver himself. Although his appearance showed his playing days were long behind him. It was his lack of statue that made Gator even more intimidating. There were numerous stories of Gator taking down much larger men, sometimes multiple at a time. When those who heard the stories meet Gator for the first time their minds scramble. Gator must be some kind of badass to fight at that size. They stay even further apart from him at that point.
It wasn’t that Gator was any better of a fighter than anyone else. It was that he had nothing to lose. That was what made him scary.
Guys like Gator shouldn’t be associated with businessmen like Roger Akuna. In fact, they aren’t technically associated. Akuna has made sure there aren’t any loose ends that could connect him with a guy like Gator. If you ask anyone that knows however, they are very much associated. You don’t mess with Roger Akuna without finding Gator at your doorstep the next day.
Gator has done Akuna dirty work for years. Ever since he was kicked off of Florida’s football team. Akuna is one of these businessmen that has his foot in the door of a lot of different “revenue” streams. Are some of those streams dirty? Maybe. But Akuna is smart, cunning, and careful. Anything that might be considered dirty has Gator’s name all over it.
So consider Gator extremely curious when Akuna called him to meet by the docks one afternoon.
“Gator my boy! How are things?” Gator, a man of few words, replied back in typical fashion, with a grunt and minor head nod. Akuna did not really care about how Gator was doing. Gator was tough and nasty on the outside. Akuna despite being slight and older was equally as scary. He was pure nasty on the inside.
“I have a little job for you.” The dock was the perfect place to have this type of conversation. It was hidden from suspeciting views. And loud from the water’s ripple and the workers hustle.
“I need you to follow Jason James around for a bit. See what that boy is up to.” The spark in Akuna’s eye flashed, his sinister smile sent shivers down Gator’s back. Gator wasn’t afraid of anyone. At least until he met Roger Akuna.
No one would ever call Gator classically smart. But he had street sense. He knew getting involved with Jason James was not a little task. Akuna had another angle here. This was going to be much bigger than anything Gator could realize.
Chapter 4
No holes in his game
Jason James has never been scared. Don’t play afraid his dad would tell him growing up. James has had no reason to ever be afraid. On the field he was dominant the second he started playing, even when he went against older, stronger kids. He played against children his own age all of one practice. He was eight years old when he first put on his pads. His father stayed to watch after dropping him off at practice. Jason caught a pass and ran over three consecutive defenders. The coach pulled him and his father over to the side after the play. The next day he was playing with the older age group. His father was never more proud.
It was marvelous how quickly he became a local legend. Highlight reel plays became an ordinary occurrence for Jason James rather early in his football career. His eighth grade championship game sold out an entire stadium. Camera crews were there, local reports swarmed the sidelines. All for a fourteen year old. He wasn’t afraid when the bright lights came on then. He wasn’t afraid when the stage grew even bigger. As a true freshman at South Carolina, eighteen years old, James was the star that led the upset over first rank Alabama on prime time T.V. Overnight he went from local sensation to national sensation. The state of South Carolina was never more proud.
Off the field he had no reason to be afraid either. He had stayed out of trouble his whole life. There had been moments where it was tempting to be a hooligan. Attention at an early age brings on those temptations. Girls, popularity, even money was offered to him once he really started to show he was a star. James avoided all that. Distractions, he viewed them. There were plenty of players who rose to fame too early. They let the distractions off the field get to them. Ruin their careers. No one remembers those players. They only remember what could have been. He loved reading his scouting reports on how he was clean on and off the field. The cleanest prospect in years one scouting analyst said the other day on ESPN. No holes at all.
It was ironic that Jason James would end up in a hole. Forgotten about on the side of the road. Jason James ended up with one distraction in his entire life. That distraction led to his ultimate demise.
It was only three days until the NFL Draft. Only four days until Jason James was found face first in a ditch.
It wasn’t hard to figure out who belonged to 22 Stallings Way. A quick google searched showed that it sold for a few million back in 2018 to Jaire Holmes aka Master Bags. That explained the need for all the flash in the driveway with those souped up sports cars. Grey wasn’t one to listen to rap. Country music was more of his style. Kenny Chesney and the likes. But he wasn’t out of the loop either. Grey swore he wouldn’t become a dinosaur in his late twenties. Dinosaurs were increasing as the ever rapid change of technology and music was happening. He knew friends that were twenty eight going on fifty. The least he could do was keep up with some of the current trends. Master Bags was a big deal, especially around these parts as a local sensation. Grey pressed play on one of his top songs on Spotify- “lots of bags.” It was crap he thought. It only took him a few minutes of listening before he turned it off. Switching back to Kenny Chesney’s new album. Much better. In some senses it made sense to be a dinosaur.
Anonymous clients were not all that uncommon. People prefer their privacy. Grey liked it that way too. He didn’t care who was who. It was about getting the job done.
When you factor in the subject however, it was enough to give him some pause. Jason James was by far the most notable subject he has had to follow. Now on top of this you throw in Master Bags. Master Bags has a notorious rep around these parts. Some of Grey’s buddies on the force have told stories about having to show up at his house. What is Jason James doing with a guy like that he thought. As far as he knew Jason James had never had any issues. Remarkable in this day and age he thought. Not even a misworded tweet Grey observed. From his early research Jason James was as clean as they come.
Knock, knock. Grey had a small space in an office building in downtown Savannah. It wasn’t the fancy corner office he had coming for him if he continued down his path in Private Equity. A beautiful office overlooking the big city was in his near future. After Harvard he took a modest six figure salary with Seneca Capital. Senior analysts took a major jump up to several hundred thousand dollars. Grey was good at his job even without ever enjoying a second of it. He was well on his way to becoming a senior analyst. The office he was in now was a far cry from the New York palace.
. What the hell is going on he thought.