'Yep. And what do you drink out there?'
'Drink? When I play?'
'Sure. I can probably get you a deal with Powerade or one of the soda companies. How about Poland Spring water? They might be good. And your golf bag. You have to negotiate a deal for your golf bag.'
'I don't understand.'
'You're a billboard, Tad. You're on television. Lots of fans see you. Your hat, your shirt, your golf bag those are all places to post ads.'
Zuckerman said, 'Now hold on a second. He can't just-'
A cell phone began to sound, but it never made it past the first ring. Myron's finger reached the ringer and turned it off with a speed that would have made Wyatt Earp retire. Fast reflexes. They came in handy every once in a while.
Still, the brief sound had drawn the ire of nearby club members. Myron looked around. He was on the receiving end of several dagger-glares, including one from Win.
'Hurry around behind the clubhouse,' Win said pointedly. 'Let no one see you.'
Myron gave a flippant salute and rushed out like a man with a suddenly collapsing bladder. When he reached a safe area near the parking lot, he answered the call.
'Hello.'
'Oh, God . . .' It was Linda Coldren. Her tone struck the marrow of his bone.
'What's wrong?'
'He called again,' she said.
'Do you have it on tape?'
'Yes.'
'I'll be right over '
'No!' she shouted. 'He's watching the house.'
'You saw him?'
'No. But . . . Don't come here. Please.'
'Where are you calling from?'
'The fax line in the basement. Oh God, Myron, you should have heard him.' '
'Did the number come up on the Caller lD?'
'Yes.' '
'Give it to me.'
She did. Myron took out a pen from his wallet and wrote the number down on an old Visa receipt.
'Are you alone?'
` 'Jack is right here with me.'
'Anybody else`? What about Esme Fong?'
'She's upstairs in the living room.'
'Okay,' Myron said. 'I'll need to hear the call.'
'Hold on. Jack is plugging the machine in now. I'll put you on the speaker so you can hear.'
Chapter 7
The tape player was snapped on. Myron heard the phone ringing first. The sound was surprisingly clear.
Then he heard Jack Coldren: 'Hello?'
'Who's the chink bitch?' `
The voice was very deep, very menacing, and definitely machine-altered. Male or female, young or old, it was anyone's guess.
'I don't know what '
'You trying to fuck with me, you dumb son of a bitch? l'll start sending you the fucking brat in little pieces.'
Jack Coldren said, 'Please '
'l told you not to contact anyone.'
'We haven't.'
' 'Then tell me who that chink bitch is who just walked into your house.'
Silence.
'You think we're stupid, Jack?'
'Of course not.'
'So who the fuck is she?'
'Her name is Esme Fong,' Coldren said quickly.
'She works for a clothing company. She's just here to set up an endorsement deal with my wife, that's all.'
'Bullshit. ' '
'It's the truth, I swear.'
'l don't know, Jack .... '
'I wouldn't lie to you.'
'Well, Jack, we'll just see about that. This is gorma cost you.'
'What do you mean?'
'One hundred grand. Call it a penalty price.'
'For what'?'
' 'Never you fucking mind. You want the kid alive? lt's gonna cost you one hundred grand now. That's in '
'Now hold on a second.' Coldren cleared his throat.
Trying to gain some footing, some degree of control.
'Jack?'
'Yes?'
'You interrupt me again and I'm going to stick your kid's dick in a vise.'
Silence.
'You get the money ready, Jack. One hundred grand.
I'll call you back and let you know what to do. Do you understand?'
'Yes.'
'Don't fuck up, Jack. I enjoy hurting people.'
The brief silence was shattered by a sharp, sudden scream, a scream that jangled nerve endings and raised hackles. Myron's hand tightened on the receiver.
The phone disconnected. Then a dial tone. Then nothing.
Linda Coldren took him off the speaker. 'What are we going to do?'
'Call the FBI,' Myron said.
'Are you out of your mind?'
'I think it's your best move.'
Jack Coldren said something in the background. Linda came back on the line. 'Absolutely not. We just want to pay the ransom and get our son back.'
No point in arguing with them. 'Sit tight. I'll call you a back as soon as I can.'
Myron disconnected the call and dialed another number.
Lisa at New York Bell. She'd been a contact of theirs since the days he and Win had worked for the goverment.
'A Caller ID came up with a number in Philadelphia,'
he said. 'Can you find an address for me?'
'No problem,' Lisa said.
He gave her the number. People who watch too much television think this sort of thing takes a long time. Not anymore. Traces are instantaneous now. No 'keep him on a little longer' or any of that stuff. The same is true when it comes to finding the location of a phone number.
Any operator almost anywhere can plug the number into her computer or use one of those reverse directories, and whammo. Heck, you don't even need an operator. Computer programs on CD-ROM and Web sites
