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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
5-23-16
He’d been sitting her for a few hours now and his patience was wearing thin; at this point, it was practically nonexistent. Ronnie was road weary. He was tired. He was sick. He was nearly collapsed from exhaustion. How in the name of heaven and Earth could anyone feel this bad?
His stomach churned and tossed but nothing happened; he hadn’t eaten all day and could barely keep anything down at this point. He looked like he was dying and Liz was more worried than he had ever seen her and he was just as worried, but didn’t say anything to make it worse. Whatever he had wasn’t contagious and was limited to him, but that was little consolation.
He took out his phone and launched his ESPN app. The opening headline was one that brought a small smirk to his face.
Lakers Beat Hornets in Sweep, Advance to Second Straight Finals.
The games in NOLA had been closer than he would have liked, but Jabari and Kobe didn’t let him down. Hell, they stepped up their game as Bogut and Randolph desperately tried to contain Anthony Davis. All they managed to do was slow him down, but it was enough; the Lakers had eeked out a six point and then a three point win in both games.
Next year, the Hornets would be harder to beat. Way harder. But that was next year … the offseason hadn’t started yet, not for him anyway. The Lakers were back to the Finals, waiting for the winner of the Miami-Indiana series, which was tied at two apiece.
He scrolled through his phone, looking through some scouting emails, before the doctor came back in. Finally.
The diminutive Dr. Brock was an LA doctor if Ronnie had ever seen one. Ridiculously tan, with a pearly-white smile that could blind a man, and a dark hair that looked far too natural to be natural, Brock was barely 5’3”, but he was an absolute stud of a doctor; at least according to Jeannie Buss, who recommended him.
But Brock wasn’t flashing those pearly whites at Ronnie; his mouth was fixed into a frown. “I wanted to double-check,” he began before stopping himself and saying, “I have the results.”
Ronnie braced himself for bad news. As bad as he felt, as hellish as he looked, as little as he had been able to eat the last few weeks, he figured it wasn’t a good thing. Hearing the doctor lead off with what he did only confirmed his internal suspicions. “All right, let’s hear it.”
Brock opened the folder in his hand and began reading off the paper. “Your bloodwork shows a toxin in your body, foreign in nature Mr. Gold. From what we can determine it seems to be a derivative of something from the Middle East, possibly Syria.” Brock looked back up, closing the folder slowly. “Your organs are trying to fight it off but their losing; your body is losing the battle. Within the next two months you’ll be completely bedridden and in great pain … death will likely occur a month after that.”
Ronnie gripped the edge of the exam bed, white-knuckling it for a brief moment before forcing himself to relax. “Options?” he asked, his voice making it sound like he had just been presented with a free-agent ultimatum and not a death sentence.
Brock’s eyes didn’t leave Ronnie’s face. “We can slow it. Daily injections, prescribed rest …” Ronnie shot him a displeased look. “Mr. Gold, this toxin is a poison. I don’t know how you came into contact with it, but it’s in your system now and the cure is extremely difficult to get. The Syrian government isn’t fond of America or any of its allies and smuggling the cure out of the country is near-impossible.”
Ronnie stood shakily, his mind swimming in worst-case scenarios but he focused on the options he was hearing. “You said near-impossible; how much would it cost?”
Brock grimaced. “Mr. Gold, you can’t trust the reliability of anyone who would come out of Syria. No matter how much money you pay.”
“What can you do for me?”
“There are treatment options but they’re just delays,” Brock said as he set the folder down on the exam bed. “But those delays can save your life; if you rest you’ll slow the progression of the poison … it’ll be very unpleasant and it’ll require great patience, but I can arrange for the cure to be brought here through proper, trustworthy channels.”
Wait? Ronnie almost scoffed at the idea. “This is my life on the line … I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait and hope you can do this in two months time.” Brock opened his mouth to argue but Ronnie held up his hand, stopping him. “I’ll take care of this myself.”
And without another word he left the doctor’s office. He left his car in the parking lot and just took a stroll, the beautiful LA weather his only comfort.
He took out his phone and prepared to call Jeanie Buss. If anyone knew how to handle something like this, it’d be her.
At least, he hoped it would be.
Comment
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
The Grantland NBA Finals Preview
By Vonny Lee and Winslow Fisher on June 4, 2016
Vonny: Already? Winslow, the season just started! Don't tell me it's over. It's not over yet, is it?
Winslow: Not yet, no, but we're nearly there. The light is at the end of the tunnel and one of the NBA's most entertaining postseasons is about to come to an end. The NBA Finals are here. First, let's meet our participants.
V: In the pole position, standing once more undefeated in the playoffs, are the LA Lakers. The Lakers beat the Hornets 4-0 in the conference finals, showing the world that a second-straight title was well within the realm of reason and providing some drama in the last game, where the Lakers undefeated postseason streak came within a few hairs of being broken.
LA is ecstatic to see the Lakers back in the Finals and this could represent the last chance for Kobe Bryant to capture a title; Kobe hinted after the WCF that he may hang it up, which has driven the LA fans (and Kobe fanatics) into overdrive; the streets are covered in Lakers gear and Kobe merchandise.
This Finals is all the sweeter because Kobe gets to face off against the team he beat nearly two-decades ago to capture his first title.
W: That team would the Indiana Pacers. For the second year in a row, a low Eastern Conference playoff seed team would pull off an upset and upend the NBA's best case scenario. That would have been a beautiful Miami-LA series that, once again, the NBA just barely missed out on.
Instead, the NBA gets a battle between two very different teams; the Pacers made it this far on the greatest revenge tour ever seen. They took down the Cavs, they took down the Bobcats and, finally after five years of trying, they felled the mighty Miami Heat.
It was a tight series that went to seven games and featured an injured LeBron, hobbling his way up the court in the last quarter at home against the Pacers, down by seven. It was LeBron who had fought and kept the team in it through his defense against Paul George.
But George played possum in the third quarter, using himself as a distraction and driving into LeBron over and over, passing out to Jimmer and Roy, enabling his teammates while wearing down the best player in the game. By the time the fourth rolled around LeBron was visibly hurting and tired.
The Heat had no one to help him. Wade's shots were clanking off the rim, Manu's magic had run dry and the Heat looked beaten. The Pacers, led by George, opened up a 16 point lead midway through the fourth which they maintained till the very end, stomping the Heat and setting up their meeting with the Lakers.
Question: is this destiny? Are these Pacers not only going to exact revenge on their own demons, but also the franchise's demon in the Lakers?
V: The Lakers were the team that beat the Reggie Miller Pacers, coached by Larry Bird, that reached the Finals in 2000. This was the only Pacers team to ever reach the NBA Finals, led by the greatest Pacers player in Reggie Miller, who never suited up for another team despite offers in later years to do so for championship contenders.
The people of Indiana have been waiting nearly a generation for this and to face off against the Lakers? Against the last of the remaining old guard in Kobe? Against the man who arguably won that overtime Game 4 affair with three utterly clutch shots?
I'm freaking out. Talk me off the ledge.
W: It's been a miracle run for the Pacers. After Paul George fell to injury in the latter third of the season, Indiana was in danger of dropping out of the playoffs entirely. They stayed afloat and now the Pacers -- comprised of Paul George (star), Jimmer Fredette (former bust), George Hill (aging small two guard), Dejuan Blair (smaller big man, castoff due to injury), and Roy Hibbert (inconsistent big man with big contract) -- have arrived at the unlikeliest of scenarios.
This is not the starting five of a champion and, yet, the Pacers are here. Their bench is young, sporting the likes of Dante Exum and Tim Hardaway, Jr. Tayshaun Prince is there, the only Pacer on the roster with a championship ring, but that's it as far as veteran talent is concerned.
By any objective measure, the Lakers are the better designed, better built, and better playing team, destiny be damned.
I'm taking them in six, banking on Paul George being good enough to will his team to two wins but not being able to get them over the hump.
V: ... okay, I feel better. The Lakers playoff run this year has been less dominate than last year's but the Lakers are still winning; Jabari is thriving as the lead star of this team and Kobe is content with being the locker room alpha dog and crunch time extraordinaire ... they're winning. They're undefeated, again, in the playoffs.
All that said, destiny and fate are cruel, cruel mistresses in the NBA. The Lakers have been victims before of the unheralded, forgotten opponent who shocked the world: that would be the 2004 Detroit Pistons, who had Tayshaun Prince and no legitimate stars (though the case could be made Rasheed Wallace was that star). No one believed they could get there and win.
I'm feeling that same feeling here ... but this is the championship that vaults Kobe over Jordan. He's going to play with every last ounce of energy in every game.
Lakers in a hard fought seven, and Kobe rides off into the sunset when it's all said and done.Comment
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
6-6-16
“Holy S**T!” J-Dog screamed as he launched out of his chair and Ronnie did the same. Jabari was flying down the court after a steal and the clock was ticking.
The Lakers were down by one with twelve seconds left; Paul George had lit them up for 38 points so far, shrugging off Jabari and Kobe like they were paperweights; no adjustments mattered, but then again neither did defense in this game. 117-116 was the score, Pacers leading, Lakers looking gassed and then this.
“Go! GO!” Ronnie screamed, his whole body hurting from the standing, from the screaming, from being here in the first place; but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to slink away, he wasn’t going to fail in his duties by hiding in his bed and waiting for death. Jeanie had made calls, she was working on getting the cure … all he had to do was stay strong.
Jabari leapt through the air and slammed home a windmill jam.
The building imploded from the decibel levels. The crowd didn’t just roar, the screams didn’t just rattle the glass of the luxury suite, they absolutely shook the very floor Ronnie was standing on.
“AH!!!” The two of them simultaneously yelled, like children who just got the greatest Christmas gift ever.
8.7 seconds were left on the clock, the Lakers with a one point lead, the crowd rocking. The Pacers promptly called a timeout as Jabari made his way to the Lakers bench, mobbed by his teammates as Coach Gentry tried to conduct a huddle; he succeeded about twenty seconds in, but those prior twenty seconds were pure adulation.
Ronnie leaned against the glass, feeling the reverberations, hearing the crowd. The timeout ended and the Pacers inbounded the ball from halfcourt; Jimmer was the inbounder. Ronnie watched as Jimmer inbounded the ball hot to Hill, but Hill lost the handle.
“KOBE!” they yelled as Bryant dove to the ground and was promptly fouled; the Pacers had one to give and gave it. The clock stopped at 6.4 seconds. Staples was threatening to collapse from the noise.
J-Dog and Ronnie looked at each other, hope and fear in their eyes. Maybe it was stupid to get so attached to a sports team, to an entity. Maybe it was dumb to live and die on shots. But it was how they lived. It was how they existed and how they made their life … it was their calling.
“We give it to Jabari?” J-Dog asked. It was an obvious question.
Ronnie bit his lip. “They’ll expect that.” Down by one, the Pacers would foul immediately; Jabari was not a strong free throw shooter, only 78 percent for the year. Not bad, above average, but for the game he was only shooting 6-of-10 from the line.
But he was the star.
“Let Kobe do it,” Ronnie finally said. If this was Kobe's last ride -- and Bryant had made it clear to Ronnie, privately, that he was going to consider retirement seriously this offseason, no matter what -- then he should go out as he came in: being there when it matter most.
The referee whistled and the game was back on. Ronnie’s eyeballs looked down onto the court as the crowd cheered: Let’s Go LAKERS! Let’s go LAKERS!
Randolph was inbounding; the big man had the height to see over defenders and the touch to get the ball to them. Blair was covering him as Hibbert locked down Bogut. George flew to cover Jabari, Hill was on Kobe and Jimmer was on Tony.
Randolph faked it to a cutting Parker and then nearly threw it in to Kobe, but then he lofted the ball high in the air as the entire arena held its breath: it was caught and slammed home by Bogut, who had gotten free.
And he got the foul.
Another eruption, this time twice as loud as before. Bogut was hugged by Kobe and then bear hugged by Jabari, who nearly lifted the bigger man off the ground. Bogut went to the line and calmly sunk the free throw.
The Pacers were out of timeouts and the Lakers full court pressed them. George managed to get the ball and dart past Parker, but he met Kobe; George dished to a cutting Hill who made it the arc and launched one, but it was blocked by Randolph, who flew from the paint to knock back the shot.
The final buzzer sounded. The Lakers had won, 121-117.
Ronnie collapsed into his chair with a huge sigh of relief. Too close but thrilling. Unbelievably thrilling.
His phone vibrated on the table next to him and he picked it up, expecting to see a congratulatory text from a dozen different people: Jeanie, Riley, or maybe even Liz.
At the thought of Liz Ronnie felt a pang of guilt. She was absolutely beside herself that he wasn’t going on bedrest and that he wasn’t listening to the doctor. She wanted no part of basketball until he decided to take time off. He had promised her that, after the Finals, he would do just that but she didn’t want him to wait.
They had fought. They weren’t sleeping in the same room right now … since they lived in a small mansion, that wasn’t exactly a problem as far accommodations went. Ronnie had given her the room and had set up in a guest room near his office, one which he had promised himself to turn into a workout room but never got around to doing.
It was lonely without her … the house was cold, but he had a job to do; he began this and he had watched his first team implode when he let his personal issues get in the way of his job. He cost that team something, what he’d never know, but he cost them something and it was on him.
He wasn’t going to do that again.
He unlocked his screen and saw that the text was from a number he didn’t know.
Heard you were looking for something. I’ve run the numbers and have a solution. Meet me tomorrow morning here.
There was a link included and Ronnie clicked on it; it was an out of the way restaurant, somewhere outside the eyes of the media. As Ronnie looked at the number, a sense of familiarity came over him. He’d seen this number before … except it wasn’t a phone number then.
It was a financial figure.
Ngami! It had to have been him. This was the same figure he’d shown Ronnie in Liz’s hospital room; the same exact figure as this phone number.
“Earth to Gold?” J-Dog’s voice cut through the thoughts and refocused Ronnie on the present. Ronnie looked up to see his friend staring at him in confusion. “Hey, you okay?”
For the first time in weeks, Ronnie felt like he was. Ngami must have heard about his situation through his contacts, which likely included a few of the same contacts Jeanie had. “Yeah,” Ronnie said with a smirk, “I am.”
****
6-7-16
His black SUV pulled up and Ronnie got out, flanked by two of his private army. He only brought two of them; he doubted Ngami would try anything but he wasn’t going into a strange place without backup. “Wait here,” he ordered them as he entered the restaurant, which looked abandoned.
The hairs on his neck bristled as he came through the door, the room he was in well-lit but devoid of anyone else. Anyone else but a man facing away from him, looking at the back kitchen door. “Ngami!” Ronnie said with relief.
Ngami’s arm raised up and waved him over. Ronnie let out a breath and approached the table, but his nose caught a scent in the air … something off. A scent he couldn’t quite place. He arrived at the table and Ngami turned to look at him.
Ronnie’s stomach lurched. Face puffed up with bruises, Ngami’s left eye swollen shut, and his shirt color stained with blood, the man was beaten. Brutalized. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
Gunfire came from outside, the distinctive sound of pistols going up against automatic weapons. Ronnie watched as his backup was mowed down. He turned and began running for the kitchen door, but it burst open.
“Our meeting is overdue.” The black man, dressed in a plain grey suit, cracked his knuckles, a grin on his face. “How’s your wife? Still sporting souvenirs from the last time I saw her?” He smiled.
Ronnie clenched his fists. “Bastard!” he screamed as he lunged for the man. It was Gerard.
And Gerard swung hard and fast, decking Ronnie with one vicious right hook. Ronnie’s momentum got sent back on him and he collided with a nearby table. Gerard picked him up by the back of his shirt and delivered a hard shot to the ribs, which sent him right back onto the table.
Pain wracked Ronnie’s body as he writhed on the table, his heart pounding and his eyes seeing spots. “We have a meeting to attend,” Gerard said as Ronnie’s vision began to darken. “And don’t worry … I’ll leave you some souvenirs too.”
Ronnie weakly tried to stand up, to fight back, but Gerard took him by the hair and slammed his head against the table.
Everything went black.
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
6-8-16
What had she done?
The question plagued her as she sat upon the couch in their home and she sat there with tears in her eyes and horrible images in her mind. He was missing. He was missing and she didn’t know what to do … the leader of the private security force they hired had told her last night.
The bodies of my men and their vehicle were found in the middle of the desert … the GPS tracker was stripped, the car wrecked. This wasn’t an accident. Your husband wasn’t with them.
He wasn’t with them. He was missing and it was her fault. If she had just let him deal with his illness by working … but she drove him away. Slept in a separate room from him. She’d been off almost as much as he had this last month … things were just wrong all over for them.
And now he was gone.
“Liz?”
She looked over her shoulder and half-expected to find him there. It sounded like him but it wasn’t Ronnie. It was Rick. The boy had grown up and now he was close to a man. Taller and lanker than his brother, he still had that Gold look to him. He dropped his bags at the door and she rushed to him, enclosing him in an embrace.
He rubbed her back as she hugged him tight. “It’ll be all right.”
She forced herself to nod her head. Forced herself to agree with him, to think positive. “I’m scared.” She wasn’t just scared, she was terrified. He had gone missing when he was being protected by a private army.
Someone took out that army. Someone wanted him bad enough to do that.
And only one person she could think of would want him bad enough for that. She hoped to God she was wrong.
****
The clock in the room ticked loudly, over and over, with every passing second. And with every passing second Ronnie’s head throbbed with the sound. He had a massive headache and, frankly, could have easily been suffering from a concussion. He wasn’t sure. Where’s Vitti when you need him? he thought to himself.
He almost laughed but the pain in his ribs made itself known, loud and clear. He folded his left arm over his side and leaned back in the leather chair. The room he was in was decorated in high class business stuff … leather chairs, mounted animals, a complete bar … it was loaded.
He had woken up in an equally nice room, lying in a bed that was as soft as clouds. He had been offered drugs by the guards to deal with the pain, but he refused; he had no idea if the stuff was laced and trusting these people after what happened wasn’t gonna fly.
The large oak doors opened to the room opened and older man, tall and black with silver in his air and a purposeful gait, entered. He took a look at Ronnie and frowned. “You have my apologies for your treatment. It wasn’t what I authorized … but it’s done.” He went the bar and poured himself a brandy. He held up an empty glass.
Ronnie eyed it and, despite his better judgment, nodded. “Same as you,” he told him. If it was poison at least they’d both die. Besides, he was in such pain from the beating and the illness the only thing that sounded appealing at the moment was booze. Any booze.
After a minute the older man brought him his glass and sat down across from Ronnie in another leather chair. He took a second to situate himself before slowly sipping from the glass. Ronnie did the same, finding the burning sensation infinitely preferable to anything else he’d felt today. “I’m Neal,” the older man said. “And the reason you’re ill is because of me.”
Ronnie stared at him. “The toxin --”
“Was poison, laced on the glass stuck under your car door handle. You remember that, don’t you?” Neal’s eyes had a little shine in them, almost like pride.
Ronnie set his glass down and shook his head. “What is with you people? What do you want?”
“To the point; good.” The older man finished his brandy and leaned forward. “I have the cure for your illness. I’ll give it to you if you agree to a few terms.”
The cure! Ronnie sized up Neal and determined almost immediately, even in his weakened state, that he could take the older man. But there was no way the cure was on him at this very moment. “Terms?” Ronnie asked aloud, more for his own benefit than Neal’s. He understood the language and the tone that was being used. It was a tone and language he used all too often. “You want to make a deal.”
A small nod of acknowledgment came from the older man. “I want you, Mr. Gold. I want the control you have of the Lakers … they’re big money makers, largely thanks to your machinations. You will agree to run the team as I determine and, in exchange, you will be healed.”
Once he gets his claws in you, he’ll never let go, Ronnie remembered Michael saying. At the time he was speaking about Vinnie, the slime that he was. This Neal was making a similar proposal … a proposal that would see Ronnie be subservient to someone else’s wishes.
“You have a wife, Mr. Gold. You have your entire life ahead of you in the most beautiful locale in the world,” Neal pressed. “Don’t try and be a hero. No one else on that team would do the same for you.”
“You’re asking me to compromise my morals and my ethics and my honor,” Ronnie spat at him, the anger surprisingly easy to express. Shakily he pointed at Neal, his eyes smoldering. “You people beat my wife nearly to death … you did this to me …” He bit his lip as another sin came to his mind. “And then there’s Desmond. What happened to Desmond?”
Neal leaned back in his chair, as though he was relaxing himself in front of a warm fire. He was collected. Calm. Unruffled by anything Ronnie had said so far. “Desmond was an unfortunate casualty of Gerard’s past actions.”
Ronnie felt an intense sadness hit him, right in the gut. I’m sorry friend. He had failed Desmond. He knew that the most likely scenario was that he had died but now that it was reality … he stared at Neal for a long moment before nodding. “So, you want me to do as you order. To be owned by you.”
“To work for me. This is a partnership, Mr. Gold. I don’t run things like Vinnie and the Family … they are throwbacks to an age that has long since gone.” Neal set his glass down and steepled his fingers. “You will be extremely well compensated. I’ve already proven I can get by any security force you can hire … I’ve already inflicted harm on you of a kind that has given you no leverage whatsoever. If I can do these things against you, imagine what I can do for you.”
“So your angle is that I can suffer competing against you or I can flourish working under you?” Ronnie scoffed.
Neal’s face darkened. “You can work with me or you can die. That’s the choice before you.”
The air in the room grew thick as the two stared down each other. “I can appreciate that,” he finally said, acknowledging that, yes, his situation was pretty grim. Neal was right, he did have all the leverage. But if Ronnie was going to sacrifice his honor, he was going to make it a damned worthy sacrifice. “I want to live, obviously … but I want something from you.”
Neal narrowed his eyes. “Oh?”
“I want Gerard put away. For good. You or someone else sprung him out … I want him sent to the worst prison imaginable and left there to rot. You do that and you get me.”
Neal closed his eyes for a moment. “You and Gerard have the same problem; you think revenge will make everything better.”
“He beat my wife and killed my friend,” Ronnie said darkly. “It’s not revenge. It’s justice, pure and simple.”
Neal took a measured breath before taking out his phone. He did something with it and the large oak doors opened again as one of his men entered. “Escort Mr. Gold back to his room … and inform Gerard I need to speak with him.”
The guard nodded and Ronnie stood up, following the man out. Neal stayed behind. Ronnie had given him something to think about, which was just fine.
It would buy Ronnie time, which was exactly what he needed.
He was going to end this.
Comment
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
6-8-16
The night had arrived and Ronnie had been informed that Neal would take his counter-offer under consideration. They’d talk again in the morning. The man had provided Ronnie with a TV so he could watch the second Lakers game, but none of that mattered to him right now. With his time now his own -- as much as it could be in a very nice room which he was imprisoned in -- Ronnie began the process of doing something which he knew would be messy.
His dinner remained untouched, despite how nice it was; steak, with a side of mashed potatoes, a generous helping of green beans and a buttered roll. A tall, cool glass of tea was sitting next to his plate, the drops of condensation slowly making its way to the bottom of the glass, where it was collecting on the tray it sat on.
Ronnie had specifically requested steak for dinner. Steak required silverware and, predictably, they had brought it to him. He had been given a rather dull knife, on purpose likely, but it didn’t matter; for his purposes it would be enough.
Once the guard had finished setting up the TV, Ronnie had turned it on and amped up the volume to a very loud level. He had spent the entire pre-game show looking between the knife and the TV. He knew what he had to do, but by the time the first half ended he still hadn’t worked up the courage.
This is what has to be done, he reasoned with himself. Every minute he wasted was another minute his plot could be discovered … the second half started, the TV blaring the sounds of Staples and Ronnie took the knife into his hand. He headed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, locking it, knowing that it was only a temporary measure.
This was going to happen. This was going to work.
He held out his left wrist and with his right hand pressed the knife against it. He took a few steadying breaths. “One …”
“And we welcome you back to LA for the second half of Game 2 of the NBA Finals. The Lakers lead the Pacers 54-52 after a thrilling first half of play that’s seen an unlikely hero step up for LA: Tony Parker. Parker has 12 points, six assists, and three rebounds in an impressive first half of play …”
Ronnie closed his eyes. Press down, make the first cut deep, and then drop it; pull out the transmitter. Press the button. Simple. He repeated the instructions he had been given in his mind. His private army came equipped with all kinds of gear and one thing they had was a transmitter beacon … something they could implant into a person and that person could then use to transmit their location.
Ronnie hadn’t been a big fan of the idea and, frankly, had rejected it for himself and his wife for months before finally being convinced. He decided to test it out on himself first before asking Liz if she wanted one. She didn’t know about it and his men were under orders not to tell her … if she did know, she’d worry and he was done causing her to worry.
Well, at least I thought I was, he thought to himself ruefully. “Two,” he said as he opened his eyes and looked down at his wrist.
“… and the second-half has begun, the Lakers inbounding the ball to Jabari. Jabari is taking it up court and, so far, has been limited in his contributions tonight. He’s got only six points and two boards on 3-of-9 shooting. It seems Paul George is getting the better of the matchup. Jabari passes the ball to Kobe, who rises up and knocks down the triple! Right in the face of George Hill! There’s no fear from the Mamba tonight …”
No Fear. “Three.” He pressed down and cut across his wrist, barely muffling a scream as his blood oozed out of his wound. He did it just as he was shown and dropped the knife to the tiled floor, the silverware clattering loudly as Ronnie held his wrist out over the sink, blood dripping down it.
With his right hand he dug into his own flesh for the transmitter. It was small, but distinctive and Ronnie had palmed one repeatedly to get a feel for it should he ever need to do this. Within ten seconds he had found it. He washed it off under the sink’s water and pressed the button at the top of it.
It was on now. He dropped the transmitter onto the countertop and wrapped his right hand around his cut wrist, putting pressure on it. He had to stop the bleeding but that was the easiest part of all this.
“The Lakers are absolutely on fire from deep! Another triple, this time from Jabari who’s scored the last six Lakers’ points and has the team out to an eleven point lead! Timeout Pacers as the Lakers lead 64-53 at Staples here on ABC, home of the NBA Finals!”
****
“Where have you been?” Neal’s voice was filled with little concern and more frustration.
“I was talking with an old friend,” Gerard said as he rubbed his knuckles. Even with the brass ones on, pounding Ngami’s face still left his own knuckles hurting. He was either out of shape or getting old, but even the pain wasn’t enough to make it any less pleasurable. That smug analytical good-for-nothing was finally getting the payment he truly deserved.
Neal, standing behind the bar, poured himself a drink. He didn’t even bother offering Gerard one, which was unsurprising. “I’ve spoken with Gold,” he announced tersely as he stared into his half-full glass of Scotch.
“I’m assuming he was uncooperative.” Gerard smiled. He had hoped Gold would be a pain. It would make convincing Neal to let Gerard have a crack at him much easier. “I can speak with him, get him to … reconsider … our offer.”
Neal’s face darkened. “He’s actually quite reasonable.” His eyes narrowed into a glare as he looked back up at Gerard. “Considering how much pain he’s in and how hard you hit his head, I was impressed with his composure. He’s a true businessman.”
Gerard’s smile faded. He could hear the implied criticism. “He and I are nothing alike, as you can see. But I’m glad you’ve found a soul-mate,” he offered sarcastically.
Neal’s fingers tapped on the bar top. “He’ll agree to our terms. On one condition.”
Gerard looked disappointed. It seemed as if Gold was much like his wife; weak and easy to beat into submission. He was glad he took the time to express his frustration with him when he did, even if Neal chewed him out. “And his condition?”
“Putting you into the worst hell-hole prison imaginable and leaving you to rot,” Neal said without hesitation; he said it with conviction.
Gerard stared at him, briefly uncomprehending before recovering his composure. “You’re not serious.”
Neal took a deep sip of Scotch and looked every bit as serious as he sounded. “As I said earlier, he’s reasonable … you’re family, Gerard. Lost. Angry.” He shook his head. “And I’ve taken pity on you … I’ve forgiven you for failures that anyone else would have been killed for.” He dropped his glass onto the bar. “Yet, here you stand, every bit as headstrong and full of conceit as you were when I first took you in. Maybe I’ve doubled-down on something I shouldn’t have.”
Gerard clenched his fists, the words playing through his mind at a breakneck speed. “You’re going to sell me out?” He closed the gap between them quickly and slammed both his hands onto the bar. “What happened to family? What happened to it being important?”
Neal’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t flinch. He just glared at Gerard. “I’m considering all options. You’ll know in the morning, just like Gold.”
Gerard reached out and grabbed his uncle by the collar, hoisting him into the air, before a bright light flashed from the window, from outside. They both turned their attention to the window and Gerard’s ear picked up a sound he knew; the sound of chopper blades.
He dropped his uncle and began heading for the door.
“This is the LAPD. You have been surrounded … come out now, disarmed, or we will come in by force. You have one minute to respond.”
“Gerard!” Neal called out.
Gerard opened the door, watching as the guards began to arm themselves. He reached into his jacket, hand resting on the butt of his gun, before turning around. “Yes?”
Neal slowly made his way from behind the bar and began walking towards him. “We’ll need to leave, take Gold, and relocate to a safehouse.”
Gerard took out his gun and deftly aimed it at Neal’s head. “No.”
Neal stared at him, his eyes unwavering. “You idiot, we don’t have time for this!” Fear and desperation were creeping into his voice.
Gerard smiled a toothy grin. “You may have forgiven me, but I haven’t forgiven you.” He disabled the safety and cocked the weapon. “And I never will.”
He fired. One shot.
Neal crumpled to the floor, a bullet hole dead center in his forehead.
Gerard took a deep breath. He loved the smell of gunsmoke.
Neal had gotten his due. Gold was next.
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
6-8-16
The police were here. Ronnie smiled for the first time in what felt like forever as he backed away from the windows and prepared himself for the rescue. He had come out of the bathroom to tear up some of the bedsheets to make a temporary gauze to wrap his wound; it wasn’t pretty looking and it was a complete waste of a really nice satin sheet, but it was what he had on hand.
The door hadn’t been opened to his room yet, which meant that the guards were busy running or preparing to fight. He doubted they were going to surrender. His thoughts were confirmed when he heard gunfire coming from outside, more of the same automatic weapons he had heard mow down his men.
It was only a matter of time before someone would come for him and he’d be in the safest place he could be; the bathroom.
But as he was making his way back there the door to his room burst open.
Ronnie froze. “Gerard,” he muttered. The man had a gun pointed directly at him.
Gerard’s face was oddly relaxed despite the sounds of gunfire from outside and the police that would inevitably make their way inside. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Gold.” He took one step into the room, the bed between the two of them. “Goodbye.” He took aim.
“Coward,” Ronnie yelled out, not sure what his strategy should be but sure that being silent was the worst possible one. His heart thudding in his ears, his wrist soaking the makeshift-gauze, he stood as tall and confidently as he could. “You’re going to just shoot me? What, afraid to fight a man?” Ronnie forced a smirk. “I guess you just like beating up helpless women.”
Gerard’s eyes made their way to the TV and then back to Ronnie. “I’m going to beat you until the next commercial break. And then I’m going to shoot you.” He set the gun on the TV stand and lunged across the bed, his entire body slamming into Ronnie and bringing them both to the floor.
Ronnie yelled in agony as Gerard’s body weighed atop him, pressing against his injured ribs. He covered his face with his arms and Gerard didn’t fight through it; instead, he pounded Ronnie’s chest, his fists slamming into his sternum over and over.
Ronnie kneed Gerard repeatedly before making contact with the man’s groin. Gerard’s effort subsided for a moment and Ronnie used that moment to strike. He took both his index fingers and jammed them towards Gerard’s eyes. His left finger missed, meeting the man’s forehead and cracking loudly. The right one connected and Gerard screamed, pulling away and his hands shot to his right eye.
Ronnie’s right finger was covered in blood while his left throbbed, but it was nothing compared to his ribs and sternum. Ronnie managed to get himself up, unsteady on his feet, and leaned heavily against the wall as Gerard was crawling on the floor, wailing in pain and anger.
Ronnie’s vision was beginning to blur as his heart was racing a mile a minute, pounding in his ears. But the advantage was his for the moment. He pushed himself off the wall and fell onto the bed, using his right hand to pull himself across it as his body told him to stop. To rest. To give up.
“GOLD!” Gerard screamed. He stood and grabbed Ronnie by the hair. He flipped him over and began delivering one right hook after another, over and over, pounding Ronnie’s face like a piece of raw meat.
With every successive hit the pain dulled and so did Ronnie’s mind; his thoughts were no longer words but rather just feelings. Needs. He needed to get out of this. Weakly he tried to block the shots to his face with his arms but Gerard brushed them away like twigs.
Ronnie’s vision was nothing but blurred images at this point, Gerard the only thing still somewhat in focus, the man’s rage on full display. Everything around them had gone silent. All Ronnie could hear was the sound of his shallow breathing, labored and growing weaker.
Gerard’s face was covered in sweat as he reared his fist back for another punch. But his eyes grew wide and his rage dissipated as his fist unclenched. He pressed it against his chest and soon fell backwards, away from Ronnie’s sight.
As the room began to dim and his breathing grew infrequent, Ronnie heard the sound of a buzzer.
The game had ended.
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
6-11-16
His monitor beeped at the same steady rate it had been for the last two days as she looked on. He was still sleeping but at least she recognized him now. When she had first seen him two days ago, his face had been a swollen mess.
She had cried at the sight as Rick stood by her, trying to ease her tears.
“At least he’s alive,” he had told her. That much was true. Ronnie was alive thanks to the intervention of the LAPD. The story was scarcely believable and the news had been making it the lead story for days.
She had never been so thankful for a basketball game than today. With the Lakers and Pacers series resuming, this time in Indiana, the media was focusing on that more and them less. But it was all over the news and it was everywhere she looked it seemed … and she wasn’t sure what she would say to him when he woke up.
Would she scream at him? He deserved it. She had no idea he had something implanted into him for an emergency situation. He had kept that a secret and order their security force to do the same. She wasn’t sure why he had done any of that but she felt as though he didn’t trust her … or maybe he didn’t think she needed to know.
He had a lot to explain and she had a lot to say. The last month had been a disaster for them and it had been hard … very hard. And, despite everything that had happened, it was probably going to get harder for them. What she had to say wasn’t easy and she wasn’t sure if he would even want to hear it.
The disconnect between them was that great.
He stirred and his eyes opened. His face was still bruised black and blue, stitches above his eyes and on his lips, but he somehow managed a small grin. “Liz,” he said hoarsely.
She tried her best not to cry but she found herself shedding tears anyway. She reached over and grabbed his water bottle, carefully putting the straw in his mouth. He sipped at it a little before she withdrew it. “Hi,” she managed, her voice a mixture of relief and worry.
His eyes lit up at her. “Hi,” he said with a bit more strength. He moved his arms and made a face. “Sore.” He took a moment to feel his face and shook his head. “What happened?”
She took a breath. “The police surrounded the place. There was a firefight for a few minutes before those that weren’t already shot surrendered. They got into the house and found you being … being hurt.” She tried not to remember the exact words the officer in charge had used. It wasn’t pleasant.
“Gerard?”
“Dead,” she said with relief. If any human being deserved death, it was that one. “They shot him; he wouldn’t stop hitting you.”
Ronnie stared at her for a long moment before nodding slightly. “I remember the hitting.” He rubbed his jaw and grimaced. “He messed me up.”
She bit her lip. How was she going to say this?
He picked up on her hesitation and reached out, taking her hand. “Hey.”
She hung her head, tears threatening to overwhelm her. “You lied to me,” she began. She didn’t want to sound hurt. To sound wounded. But that’s what she felt, more than anything else. She looked up to see him looking almost as distressed as she felt. “You did something behind my back, Ronnie. I thought you were going to die.”
He didn’t look away from her, even though he easily could have. He was hurt. He was in the hospital and he didn’t have to answer her questions now. But to his credit he didn’t look away. “I was wrong to do that,” he admitted slowly. “My reasoning … it was stupid. I didn’t want to worry you and that’s exactly what I did.”
“Damn right,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’ll never happen again.” She squeezed his hand, hard, and locked her eyes onto his. “Promise me that. Promise me that right now.”
He smiled at her. “I promise, Liz.” She opened her mouth to speak but he held up his hand. “I want to talk to you about something else … it’s important.”
“Okay,” she said with confusion. She had something equally important to say.
But the smile didn’t leave his face. “We’ve been through a lot the last two years, Liz. We’ve been through too much … way too much. And it’s my fault.” He pressed his free hand into his chest very gently. “I got us in these messes. I put you at risk. I put others at risk and … it seemed worth it then. But it’s not worth it to me anymore.”
Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
He nodded. “I’m retiring. I’ve done enough professionally …” He squeezed her hand. “There are more important things to spend my life pursuing.”
She smiled broadly and wished she could hug him, but with how injured he was there wasn’t much she could do. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him lovingly on the forehead, mindful of the pressure she put into it. She leaned into his ear and whispered him her important news.
He yelled like he had just won another championship.
****
6-23-16
“Retirement, after everything you’ve through …” Jeanie Buss shook her head. “It’s a shame, Ronnie. I understand that you need time and I’m more than willing to give you that time. Take next season off, take the next two season’s off if you need to. But don’t leave the game behind.” Sitting across from, the beautiful vista of downtown LA behind her, Jeanie Buss seemed to be making a plea for not only herself, but all of LA.
It was a plea Ronnie considered genuine but one he couldn’t afford to listen to. “I know, after everything, it seems like I need time … and I do,” he admitted. “But it’s not about just time away from the game, Jeanie. It’s about time with my wife.” He smiled. “My pregnant wife.”
Saying it only made him feel more confident that this was the right choice. Jeanie’s face showed she understood. “We won again. Another sweep, the last two games overtime thrillers,” she continued. “Next year will be the toughest yet … a three-peat, something only a handful of teams have ever accomplished. The list is small, Ronnie.”
She held out glory before him. Another championship and he could count himself in the company of few men, executives and players alike. It was a damned tempting offer, something he considered already. “One more year, hmm?” he asked with a laugh. “My legacy is pretty set, don’t you think?”
She offered him a small smile. “It is with this team.”
He couldn’t help but smile back. She stood and he did the same. “I want to thank you, for everything. For … for understanding.” He extended his hand.
She pushed it aside and instead gave him a hug. “The Lakers will always be family for you,” she said into his ear. She kissed him on the cheek and headed for the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to find another GM.” She looked around his office. “Don’t take too long to clean out,” she joked.
He smiled broadly at her. “Yes, ma’am.” She departed and Ronnie took a deep breath. He spun around his office slowly, remembering all the decisions he had made here. All the things he had done. The games he had attended at Staples, the late-night draft debates.
All of that happened. His dream had been lived and he had succeeded.
But like all success, his came at a price. A price he couldn’t afford to pay now with a child on the way. His time -- and his life -- was better spent away from basketball and all the pitfalls therein. He had a new challenge ahead of him.
He placed his hands on his hips and looked out into vibrant lights of downtown LA. Night was coming. He sat down on his couch, turned off the lights, and watched downtown LA slowly begin to outshine the sun.
Tomorrow something new awaited. Not basketball, but a life with the woman he loved and a child born of that that love.
He wasn’t building a basketball team any more. He was building his family.
The End.
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic."Twelve at-bats is a pretty decent sample size." - Eric ByrnesComment
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
Much appreciated. Really couldn't have done it without the people who followed and liked/commented/PMed me about the story. It's those people that deserve a lot of the credit -- it's insane, but this has been going on for 1.5 years now! To see it come to an end is bittersweet but at the same time I'm proud of what's been accomplished here.
I want to take the time to thank those people who followed/liked/commented/PMed and kept letting me know that the story mattered. Feedback=love and I felt the love here.
Over the weekend I'll be announcing my next project, one I'm very excited about, but until then I'm opening up the floor for whatever anyone wants to say/ask/comment on.Comment
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
Post the link to your new project in here! I know I rarely check the dynasty forums and I'm sure others don't either so those who are subscribed will be more likely to see it."Twelve at-bats is a pretty decent sample size." - Eric ByrnesComment
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
Congrats man. This is, was and forever will be the Gold Standard for dynasty/franchise story writing. Very inspiring and so well written. If we could only stickie this on every dynasty sports story forum then we will all be so much better off. Well Done. Looking forward to the new story!
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
Wow, what a great ending to an incredible story. I'm excited to see what you can come up with as you always manage to top yourself in a way that defies logic. I remember reading through Fate and Fortune and thinking to myself, "there's no way anything on these forums would ever top this." But now, having this dynasty from beginning to end, is just incredible, and I think it tops anything else on these forums. Every action, every decision, you could feel it weighing on Ronnie's mind and you could see the net results. I was worried that you were going to kill of Ronnie at the end, but I'm glad to see he'll get to ride off into the LA sunset a happily retired man and spend time with his family.
Also, I think it's both hilarious and ironic that the most unrealistic thing about this dynasty isn't having anything to do with the story, it's the Lakers winning 2 titles in the next 3 years. lol.Comment
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Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
Much thanks for the high praise and the enthusiasm for this, and my next project.Congrats man. This is, was and forever will be the Gold Standard for dynasty/franchise story writing. Very inspiring and so well written. If we could only stickie this on every dynasty sports story forum then we will all be so much better off. Well Done. Looking forward to the new story!
^Ah man, yeah. The Lakers had a horrible year in 13-14 in the story (as to be expected) but rebounded well with cap-space and a great draft in story, which led to the playoff runs and the titles.
The IRL Lakers did not rebound well at all this past offseason. When Jeremy Lin, Nick Young, and Carlos Boozer are your "big" offseason moves (not counting Randle, whom I feel won't have a an impact for the first third of the season as he gets his feet underneath him), it makes taking your team seriously hard.
Thanks for the praise; I hope my next project will meet your expectations.Comment
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