“I don’t know how this happened.” He shakes his head, a dejected look on his face, as he walks, staring down at the white marble floor. “Everything was going so well. He’s been with me since he was in high school. I’m the one who found him at that little hole-in-the-wall gymnasium in Alabama, not Kevin fucking Tomlinson. I knew he’d be a star…”
We step into a conference room that has a huge flat screen television, an overhead projector, speakers, and all the state-of-the-art technology we use for big presentations. The room boasts a massive mahogany table with DMG emblazoned into the wood and a row of never-ending chairs that could seat an army.
I shut the door behind us and take a seat at the head of the table. “Mick, what is going on? Spit it out.”
He sits next to me and folds his hands on his lap, afraid to make eye contact for a few seconds. With a loud sigh, he glances up at me, and his hazel eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. “I need you to fly to Chicago to talk to Dante Fisher. He called about an hour ago to tell me that he decided to go with Kevin Tomlinson and those jerk-offs over at ASG. After all the strings I’ve pulled for him, this is how he repays me? Hell, I’ve even had him at my house for Christmas dinner. That kid is like family to me.”
Mickey has a habit of taking people in and treating them like he’s their father, especially his clients. I know that firsthand. He’s acquired the name Mick the Dick because of the tenacity he uses to fight for his clients.
My stomach knots at the thought of going back to Chicago. Mickey knows how much I avoid going there because of my past. But we cannot lose Dante Fisher, the highest-paid player in the NBA. Mickey scored him a contract so big, Mickey could live off the commission for the next few decades and never have to lift a finger.
He rolls his chair closer to me and clamps his hand down on mine, pinning it to the table. “Dante likes you. You were a baller. He relates to you more than me. You’re not just a suit to him. Maybe you can help change his mind. He hasn’t signed the papers with ASG yet.”
Most people would assume Mickey was insinuating that I should have sex with our client, except he would never suggest such a thing. Maybe if it were another agent, but he would never do that to me. Over the years, we’ve developed a strong foundation. Our relationship is more like father and daughter than owner and senior agent.
“When do you need me to leave?”
He pulls back the left sleeve of his jacket and inspects his watch. “Two hours from now. Veronica already booked your flight. I was hoping to catch you while you were still at the airport.”
“I’m not taking Chuck with me. That’s my only stipulation.”
He nods. “That bad, huh?”
I laugh. “The worst. Just find him a desk and give him the crossword puzzle from The Philadelphia Inquirer. All he does is chase anything in a skirt and make stupid comments.”
He cracks a tiny smile, but the sadness in his eyes is still present. Despite his nickname, he actually cares about his clients and will do anything to help them. Underneath the tough-guy exterior he presents to the world, Mickey is a good man and honest to a fault. I learned everything I know from him, and it has served me well.
I’ve never seen him this upset. Well…except for maybe after Alex Parker’s father passed away from cancer. They had been best friends since childhood, which led to Mickey eventually signing his son. DMG closed its doors for a week after John’s funeral this past summer, the only time Mickey ever shut down and turned off his phone. Unlike Alex, John was a good man and probably one of the most inspirational coaches I’d ever met. Knowing him through Mickey was a real pleasure, and his death was hard on all of us.
Nothing has been the same with Mickey since. It’s as if he lost his edge, relying on me more than he used to, in turn making my life much more complicated. I have zero personal life outside the spo
rts world. Even my morning news comes from ESPN and Bleacher Report. Years ago, Mickey would’ve gone to Chicago himself and made a complete spectacle to keep a client. Now, I’m the closer for DMG.
Most of Mickey’s clients have no idea how much I do for them, including Alex, the world’s biggest pain in my ass. I haven’t even met him, a fact that seems strange, considering everything Mickey and John have done for me over the years.
The only time I’ve seen a fire lit under Mickey’s ass in the past six months was when he had to negotiate a deal for Alex. Except I was the one who closed that deal, not Mickey. One of my clients plays hockey for the Flyers, and it didn’t take much to get him on board with the idea and to help me convince their management.
I lean across the table and tap a few buttons on the conference phone. Veronica, Mickey’s assistant, answers on the first ring, and I interrupt her standard greeting, “V, it’s Coach. I need a car to take me to the airport, and if someone can grab me a hoagie from the deli down the street for the ride over, that would be great. I’m starving.”
“No problem. I’ll have your car pulled around with food waiting in twenty.” She hangs up without another word, probably scrambling to call in an order and have the garage attendant Mickey has on his payroll pick up my sandwich on his way here.
Mickey stands, and I follow suit.
“Thanks. I can always count on you, Charlie.”
“I’ll make sure Dante remembers who made him the star player he is today.”
He opens the door and holds it for me. “You never let me down.”
I hide my nerves with a forced grin. I’m not sure how I’m going to convince Dante to stay with us. I owe everything I have to Mickey. Failure is not an option. From one baller to another, maybe I can reach Dante in a different way.
I moved to Pennsylvania from Chicago after I graduated high school with a full basketball scholarship to Villanova University, only to luck out and score a job while I was in college, which is the reason I stayed. It’s not like I had anything to go back to in Chicago, not when I was raised in the foster care system.
My first three years at Villanova, I was on the fast track to a professional basketball career with the WNBA until I tore my ACL, destroying any chance I had of going pro. That was also how I became a sports agent. Mickey discovered me while he was attending a home game to see another player on the team. We hit it off the first time we met and became close over time. After my injury, he offered to pay my tuition if I agreed to work for him, with the caveat that I first graduate from college.
I was a poor kid with no family and no money. And I had zero options. A job offer from Mickey Donoghue was like winning the lottery. Most people would kill to work for him. For the last four years, he’s taken me under his wing, given me a job, and helped me become the ruthless agent I am today.
With Mickey at my side, I walk out of the conference room and down the hall to my office.