“You’re doing what!?” Van Hauter pounded his fist with a thunderous crash into the desk in exasperation. “This is an utter betrayal. An act of war…. after all I did for you…” he was interrupted by an equally exasperated voice on the other end of the line.

“I don’t want to hear it. I was offering you the keys to the castle, I’ve no idea how you can turn this down. For A-ball!?!” Van Hauter shouted and angrily disconnected the call as his head dropped weakly to the desk in front of him.  Rapidly, silently, he filled with rage. Seconds passed, then minutes.

Van Hauter stood, unconsciously straightened his suit, and tugged at the cuffs of his shirt to ensure they were properly shooting from underneath his designer jacket and composed himself.  Van Hauter had learned years ago during a yoga retreat in Bali that only breathing exercises and call girls had a calming effect on his state of mind. To his credit, Van Hauter recognized that the former would be his best option this evening.  Gazing into the small, gold framed mirror which hung above a small bar, Van Hauter placed his hands over his slightly rotund belly and drew in a large breath. “An act of war,” he said again, solemnly, returning his own gaze. Van Hauter inhaled deeply once more and strode towards the doors leading from his office.

Throwing them aside he bounded into his assistant’s office speaking quickly. “Evie, I need you to call Harry Castle and set up a meeting.”

The eager assistant sat up in her chair and promptly began taking notes. She’d seen this Van Hauter before and knew he’d had another ‘revelation’.

“When would you like to schedule it for, Mr. Van Hauter?” she inquired.

“Doesn’t matter, he owes me. I’m flying to Charlotte tonight so I’ll be there tomorrow, just make sure it happens,” Van Hauter retorted. “Also, call Vance and tell him to gas up the plane…. I need to go to Charlotte.”

“Of course, sir,” best not to ask too many questions when he’s in a mood.

“Next, I need you to track down Conan for me,” Van Hauter said assuredly.

“Ummmm, of course, sir.  Do you have a last name for this Mr. Conan?” One more question than she intended to ask.  This could go either way now…

“Conan McCullough!” Van Hauter responded, exasperated as if there were any others carrying the same name.

“Ah yes, Mr. McCullough. Right away Mr. Van Hauter.”

“Let me know when you find him. I want an address. Just call and tell him I’m on my way to him. He doesn’t need to know why. He owes me too.”

“Of course, sir. Anything else?” Damn, that was another question, she was really pushing her luck.

“While I’m thinking of it, give a call to the Tempe Stadium authority. I’m gonna need an estimate.”

“Ummm, sir, it would be helpful if you could provide me some additional details,” well done, Evie thought to herself. No questions there.

“No matter, just tell them to call me, Evie. I have an idea.” Van Hauter stretched out his hand, a clear indication that he wanted his keys. “Evie, I’m going to be out a few days.  If the media calls, just play dumb,” a typical instruction from an over-controlling boss.

“Naturally, sir,” she knew better than to come back at such a quip when he was on his way out the door.  A departure before 10 pm was always a pleasant surprise.

Van Hauter pushed open the doors of the Long Beach offices and walked briskly to his car.  Starting the engine he reached into the center console and picked up a cigar. Van Hauter gave it a fleeting sniff before producing a steel lighter and punch from his inner pocket and lighting the Dominican beauty.

“Call Novak,” Van Hauter barked into the microphone of his Bluetooth receiver, broadcasting a plume of blue smoke from his lungs.  The phone rang twice and a caller answered.

“Chris, how are you my old friend? It’s been years,” an aging voice came through on the speaker.

“Listen to me now and listen good, Novak.  I’m coming for you….”