Chapter 2

Actually, what my plan calls for is all that money, and a few of these strange abilities I have. What is it? Well, it's simple. I intend to save the human race from self-destruction.

So, if one has bushels of money, and certain special abilities, how does one go about saving the human race? Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I took up golf - and pimping.

What? No cape? No spandex tights? Nope. Not my style. Besides, I'm not out to fight crime, in the comic book sense of the word. In fact, I expect to commit a crime or two in the process of saving the race. Yes, I have a few abilities that other humans don't have, but if you shoot me, it'll make painful holes in me. If it doesn't kill me, I'll heal a little faster than others, but I'm not sure you couldn't kill me. I'm not strong enough to stop a moving train, nor am I faster than a speeding bullet. I'm not even sure I could perform Batman-like feats of gymnastics.

What I can do, is what I did: I put my mind and this built-in database to work, and came up with a plan. That plan starts with learning golf.

Actually, given those little extras that were built into me, it wasn't so much a matter of learning, as it was a matter of learning how not to be too good at it. When I had that down, I moved on to phase two, which consisted of doing pretty much the same thing that phase I did, but at better courses, where the greens fees ensured that you didn't play unless you had money.

It only took two weeks to catch my first big fish. Golf courses don't like to have people playing alone. We move too fast and the foursomes ahead of us get irritated at having to let us play through. To solve this problem, they make us wait until an incomplete foursome comes along. That was okay with me. In fact that was part of my plan.

This particular day, who should show up, one flunky short of a foursome, but Walter Sonnenburg - CEO of Megadyne Oil. They didn't mind me filling in their foursome, and I didn't mind (read that as: would have given my eyeteeth to be) playing with them.

"What's your handicap?" Sonnenburg asked, shaking my hand when we were introduced.

"5.4," I answered nonchalantly. It was. I had carefully built just the right history to get it in that neighborhood.

Sonnenburg's eybrows went up. "Well, then, this should be pretty interesting. Bullock, there, has a 9.7, and Hopkins has an 8.2. Mine's 6.3"

With his double chin and the gut that hung over the belt of his shorts, I doubted that he had actually shot raw scores to put him at a six handicap, but one doesn't look too closely at the boss' scorecard.

"Nils Gustafson," I said, by way of not saying what was on my mind.

"Sonnenburg," Walt answered, "Walter. I'm CEO of Megadyne."

He said it like I was supposed to be impressed, but I didn't answer. My personal income in the previous year was higher than Megadyne's reported profit, but I just said, "Pleased to meet you."

"Gustafson..." Walt mused, assuming that he was the first to the tee, as he stuck a little wooden peg in the ground. "Seems like I ought to know who you are."

"Don't know why you should," I answered, watching him take a practice swing.

The first hole was fairly short but it had a dogleg to the left, so Walt sliced his tee shot into the rough to the right of the fairway.

I stepped in ahead of Hopkins, teed up, and peered at the flag on top of the pin, just visible over the trees. Without any warmup, I hooked the ball slightly so that it soared over the lower trees in the elbow of the dogleg and dropped on the green as close as I could get it to the pin. Since I used the three wood instead of the driver, it should have stopped within a couple of feet of the hole.

"Pretty gutsy, shooting over the trees like that," Sonnenburg said, taking a fresh look at me.

"That's where the hole is," I shrugged. "I thought the object of the game was to get the ball in the hole. Why screw around with half-measures?"

Hopkins tried the same shot and wound up in the trees. Bullock played it safe and fired a shot straight down the fairway, into the bend of the dogleg. That would give him a straight shot to the green, anyway.

I stayed in my cart as Walt made a decent shot out of the rough, landing on the edge of the green. Hopkins took a drop and then shot onto the green. Bullock hit his too hard and rolled off into the bunker on the far side of the green.

When we got to the green, my ball was nowhere in sight. I pretended to check the bunkers, and let Hopkins be the one to find it in the cup. I thanked him when he handed it to me, marked my scorecard and got out of the way.

Sonnenburg and the others stared in disbelief. "You make a hole-in-one, and it's just another day at the course? Jesus H. Christ! You'd think it happens every day!"

"It does," I shrugged, walking over to sit in the cart while they finished up - Hopkins with a four, Bullock with a four, and Sonnenburg with a five - on a par three.

The ace, and my behavior afterwards, psyched them out, and the game deteriorated from there. I eagled or birdied just about every hole, though I did allow myself one bogey, and the others just fell apart, playing well below what their handicaps said they should be shooting.

At the clubhouse, I didn't show my scorecard to the others, but I'm sure they asked the guy after I turned it in. I didn't have to tell them who won. They knew.

Sonnenburg joined me in the sauna. "Gustafson, you play a mean game of golf. Ever think of going pro?"

"Not really," I shrugged, "I just play to blow off a little steam. Wouldn't want to spend my life out there."

"Well, you could make some money at it, the way you play," Walt continued.

"I make my money another way," I said. "It's a lot easier than walking around a golf course every day, too."

"Mind if I ask what you do?"

"I invest," I told him. "I seem to be pretty good at it. At least my luck's holding out so far. Oh, and I'm the primary stockholder in a couple of companies."

Actually, my formula, one of the ones that my professors didn't know existed, was pretty foolproof. I had it programmed into my computer, and the computer did my trading for me. As of the morning I played golf with Walt, it was working on my second billion for the year that was less than half over. The financial transactions were going through several twists and turns, using foreign banks and dummy corporations, so I wasn't paying a cent in taxes on any of it, except a small trickle of cash that I allowed myself and reported as income to the IRS. I was actually the only stockholder of those companies. My boards of directors were paid to create the required board meeting minutes, and little else.

"Well, if you're good enough to make a living at investing," Walt laughed, "you've got my broker beat. I've lost my shirt on the last few stocks he got me into."

"Maybe that's your problem, Walt," I told him. "You're listening to the guy who makes money off the money you spend. Sounds like a conflict of interest to me."

"You know," he said, thinking that over, "you may be right. Say, I'm having a little get together next weekend. Want to come over and rub elbows with the heads of some of those companies your investing in?"

"Why don't you give me your card," I told him, as we headed for the showers, "and I'll check my schedule and let you know."

He did, and I gave him one of mine - as CEO and Chairman of the Board for one of the corporations the IRS knew about. I waited until mid-week to accept his invitation.

Meanwhile, I got started on the second part of my plan. I called escort services all over L.A. until I found several that provided extra comfort for their clients, and sampled the merchandise. Then I went to see the proprietor of the establishment whose girls were the most beautiful and refined.

"Ms. Toller," I said, over tea, "I'll come straight to the point. I want to buy your enterprise and all of its assets."

"I see," she answered, reaching unobtrusively for something in the open drawer of her desk. "And what if it's not for sale?"

"Perhaps you should listen to my offer before you reach for the gun, madam." I told her.

Grace Toller was a little hard around the eyes, but from the other lines on her face, it wasn't her real nature. The demeanor of her girls suggested a person with a bigger heart than one normally finds in such a business. She was, herself, a figure of fading elegance, and I imagined that she, too, had once been an employee of such an establishment.

"What is your offer, Mr. Collins?"

I named a figure, then said, "I would also like you to stay on and manage the business in my absence. I will insist on, and pay for, the best medical care for all employees, as well as security, of course. There will also be some changes in the way clients are selected and meetings arranged. I will have to screen our employees to determine which are suitable for these new arrangements. The others will continue as they have been. You, as manager. will be paid a generous salary, as well."

"These new arrangements," she asked guardedly, "what will they be?"

"I will select certain clients who will be served pro bono so to speak. I will personally take responsibility for ensuring that these arrangements do not result in a loss of revenue, of course."

"I see," Grace nodded. "And will the employees be required to gather certain kinds of information during these assignments?"

"On occasion, perhaps," I answered, "but more often, they will be asked to whisper specific 'sweet nothings' in the client's ear."

"Your proposal intrigues me," Grace smiled, "I don't suppose you will let me in on the plan behind this endeavor?"

"In time, perhaps," I told her. "Trust does not come with just a signature. It must be earned - from both directions."

"Are there any other parts of this proposal that I should know about before I decide?"

"Only one, I think," I answered. "I shall require one of the young ladies to marry me. There will be a pre-nuptial agreement, of course, but I'm sure she won't object to the terms."

"You don't strike me as the kind of man who is desperate enough to have to buy a wife, Mr. Collins."

"I've had a number of sweet young ladies hint that they would be open to a proposal of marriage, Ms. Toller," I replied, "but I need, not an emotional attachment, but a business arrangement. I expect my wife to cheat on me occasionally, you see."

"Ah!" Grace smiled unreservedly. "You do have a way with words, Mr. Collins. I find myself unable to resist the lure of this little mystery you have posed. I shall accept your offer, assuming that you can produce the sum you named."

"There are a few things, now that we are agreed in principle, that I must first go over with you," I told her.

"Such as?"

"I expect that you already know this, but in this business, I cannot afford to leave anything unsaid. Your discretion, and that of the other employees is paramount. Should any of us run afoul of the law, I shall see to it that the finest legal assistance is provided, however, I cannot stress enough the importance of silence regarding the names and information obtained from or passed to, clients. If you have any employees who will have a problem with that, you must inform me, and I will see to it that they are not exposed to that portion of the business."

"You're not going to fire them, or have them killed?"

"Of course not! Certain persons within this establishment will not be suitable for the purposes I've described. Those persons will be kept busy maintaining our image by doing exactly what they have always done."

"Very well," Grace answered, satisfied. "I will give you a list of those I believe you can trust. I also swear to you that nothing I learn will be passed on without your express permission."

I think Grace was more than a little surprised when I was able to produce, in cash, the agreed upon price for her escort service. I also showed her how to 'hide' most of it from the prying eyes of the IRS. In the following days, I found that we made a good team. I knew what had to be done with the young men and women who worked for her. Grace knew how to get it done without ruffling feathers or raising alarms among the people.

It took a few days to select the young men and women who would form my 'special squad', and to choose my wife. Her name was Anastasia. Russian, beautiful and intelligent, also well-educated. She had a very slight accent, excellent memory, and was excited about the prospect of being the kind of wife I expected her to be. I also made it clear that any time spent in my bed was 'recreational' and not required. Anastasia apparently didn't mind taking her recreation with me, or she was of the mindset that keeping the boss happy was the best way to her own happiness. I preferred to think it was more the former than the latter, but I couldn't deny the fact that she was a very pragmatic young lady.

Unbeknownst to her, I set Anastasia a few simple tests before finalizing the arrangements, and she passed with flying colors, passing up opportunities to make extra money by going against my wishes with people I hired to place those temptations in her path. By the time we got married in Las Vegas, I figured she could, mostly, be trusted. There was that uncle in the Russian mob of whom I was wary, however, and I took a few precautions.

The pre-nup was very generous. Anastasia would be paid two million dollara per year. Half would be hers to spend or invest, however she saw fit, the other half would go into her trust fund. The money was paid out in monthly increments. If anything happened to end our marriage, she would no longer receive money from me or my estate, but the trust fund would be hers to do with as she pleased. In return, she would play the part of the loyal, if not faithful, wife, and relinquish any claim she might otherwise have had to any of my assets. She was the only one of the people from Grace's establishment who knew my real name, and I made clear to her that revealing it would have dire consequences.