Author’s Notes: This will serve as the Open Thread tonight.  The last two posts in this series will post two hours apart later tonight.

I do apologize for letting this go for so long without it coming to an end (Boy, if I had a nickel for every time I said that to a girl…).  Anyhoo, to catch you up, you can click on the following links for the balls-deep experience (Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13) or read the synopsis below:

Our story so far:  Balls was drinking at the McCarran airport lounge pondering his previous assignment when, out of the blue, Tom Brady stepped up and introduced himself. He had a problem he needed help with and Balls was bored, so he agreed to assist. Turns out Mr. Brady had a NFL Commissioner problem. Balls took care of it and a certain Ms. Moynahan tout de suite.  A week later, Balls’ boss spoke with him in Vancouver about a problem with that very same Mr. Goodell. A golf match against Mr. Goodell was arranged so that Balls could investigate further. Despite some blatant cheating with the help of Goodell’s weaselly caddy, PK, Balls managed to beat Goodell again. His pursuit of Goodell led Balls to Wembley Stadium in London where he “watched” an American football “game” while a cabal of NFL owners met to discuss a proposal from Goodell.  As the plan was laid out, the greedy owners could barely contain their glee although there was one dissenter.  He was dealt with promptly by PK.  Just as he was trying to get the details of the evil plot sent to HQ, Balls was knocked out by PK and taken prisoner. As prisoner, Balls was forced to work logistics for Goodell in order to make the plan work.  He was given no pizza. A glimmer of hope appeared as a mysterious picture was slid under the door one night.  As zero hour approached, Balls continued working on the plan and was desperately trying to figure out a way to foil it…

PART THREE – ENEMY ACTION

Chapter Fourteen

As the clock struck midnight, Balls was rustled from his short nap by the sound of the door opening.  The operation was starting and the door opened to reveal PK with a gun pointed at him.  Goodell stood behind him.

“Mr. Balls, it seems our time together is finally coming to an end.  As you have realized during your stay here, I have thought of everything, so if you try anything, you will be shot, killed, and the operation will go on without you.  If you, however, assist in the success, I may reconsider killing you after this is over.  Understood?”

“Yes, let’s get on with it.”

The drive to Credit Suisse was uneventful as it was a weeknight and few people were out. At precisely 12:45, Goodell’s red Rolls Royce rolled into the parking lot.  The getaway cars were there and the drivers/bagmen/ex-players were inside.  Upon seeing Goodell exit, they all got out of their respective cars and fell in line behind Balls and PK walking up the steps.  The front door, as expected, was unlocked and the alarm was not active.

The entourage made its way to the vault.  The door was open and one could hear soft voices inside.  Goodell entered first.  As Balls entered the vault, he could see some tables had been set up inside.  The room was laid out in an L shape.

As Goodell turned the corner, he uttered an audible gasp and stood frozen on his tracks.

“Wha…what are YOU two doing here?  Where is Blatter?!?”

“This guy!”, exclaimed Donald Trump, the American President-Elect, “this guy knows how to do business!  It’s about time you chucklefucks showed up!”

Goodell was speechless.  “How the … who the…”  He turned and glared at Balls.  Suddenly, his eyes tracked farther back behind Balls.

“Actually, Roger, it was me.”

Mr. Brady walked past the other players, knocked out PK with a crowbar, walked past Balls, and sat next to Mr. Trump.

“This worked out perfectly, didn’t it, Donald?”

“Tommy, you’re good people!  This is why good things happen to you.  The best!”

Goodell finally got his composure back, “What happened to Blatter?”

Mr. Brady replied, “Roger, you dickless, spineless, worthless bag of shit, have a seat and I’ll tell you a story.  Guys, can you give us a minute?”

The ex-players grabbed PK’s unconscious body and carried it outside the vault.

“Mr. Balls, do you care to join us?”

Balls suddenly felt very much at ease.  The tables had turned and Goodell was, seemingly, no longer a threat.  Still, this particular group could not be trusted. At this point, Balls was ready for anything.

Mr. Brady continued, “Dickless, you do not know how long I’ve waited for this.”

“Tom, I sent you the check.  I thought we were square!”, Goodell entreated.

Brady slammed the crowbar down on the table.  Loudly. He continued, “You really are fucking dense if you think this is all just about that time you cheated me at cards.  Listen, asshole, while Mr. Balls was most helpful in getting your cheating ass to pay me, this is bigger than that.  It didn’t fucking help your cause that you appealed my suspension and won.  So, I got a few friends of mine some first class tickets to Switzerland and we’d all like a word with you.

Mr. Brady addressed Goodell again, “As I was telling these guys over lunch yesterday, if the rest of the league had listened to the Steelers, you might actually have lived to see tomorrow! Mr. Balls, I will now go have a drink with Mr. Trump and Mr. Putin outside.  If I may kindly ask you to stay here and witness what these boys are going to do, we would love it if you joined us when this is done.”

Balls try to stifle a smile but failed.  He replied, “Sure.”

TO BE CONTINUED….