No Contest

Fellows was flabbergasted, but he kept his cool and implored Fred Magnum to not say no, not yet. “I’ll meet with you again. Soon. I may have what it takes to change your mind.”

“More money?” Magnum said disdainfully.

“More money, sure, but maybe something even more convincing. I can’t tell you what it is until the deal is final…”

Without the pain juice flowing into his blood, Fred Magnum’s head felt cleared up. He trusted his instincts. His instincts told him loud and clear that the fruitcake from Fence was bluffing big-time.

When Fellows Fence was gone, Fred ordered up a carton of orange juice from the nurse, then tossed her out and placed a call to Battle Creek, Michigan.

“Hi, Mac. It’s Fred Magnum.”

“Magnum! How are you doing, kid? Man, you have got the greatest name ever! Look great on a cereal box.”

“Thanks. Sorry I had to cut you short. I had a visitor! Said he was a cousin of yours.”

Steph Mincer entered her boss’s office to drop off some paperwork. Sherm MacGregor was on the phone. “Sure thing, Fred,” he said in his friendliest voice, but he gave Steph a look that promised death, and he pointed at the door. She left fast.

Steph waited a little while. It was five o’clock, and she had stopped being a dedicated, stay-late kind of employee when her boss turned into a loudmouthed asshole. But she really ought to get these papers in front of Sherm today. What the hell? She entered his office again.

This time, he was smiling, and it was genuine. “Excellent. Man, you know it.” He took the papers, signed them without looking and handed them back. Steph almost felt disappointed.

Sherm MacGregor was on an emotional roller coaster of a phone call, but all the big dips were behind him.

He had handpicked this kid Fred Magnum to win the outback marathon. The kid was on record as being a fervent supporter of Extreme Nuggets. He spouted the Extreme Nuggets sales pitch for the newspapers when he won the Pensacola Obstacle Marathon last year. He was an active member of the online Extreme Nuggets Web Site Community. Not too bright, but dedicated to Extreme Nuggets for God knew what reason—and Mac had yet to pay him dime one. The perfect spokesperson for Mac’s cereal.

Magnum had delivered the unpleasant news that Fence was trying to horn in on his territory. Launching their own extreme cereal. They sent one of their bigwigs all the way to Australia to sign the marathon champion to be on their cereal boxes when the product launched in a month.

In a month? You don’t conjure up a major product launch in one month.

Fred Magnum wasn’t having anything to do with Fence. He had come out and declared undying loyalty to Extreme Nuggets. Mac spewed sympathetic bullshit by the barrelful. “You know I’m a true believer in the extreme athlete, Fred. That’s why I created Extreme Nuggets. You people are my kindred spirits. So who did Fence send to badger you, anyway? Was it Adam? Big guy with a buzz cut?”

Fred said something about supple hands.

“You mean Fellows?” Mac laughed aloud. “That’s perfect. That’s rich.” It was perfect. It was rich. Fellows was exactly the wrong person to use to approach the extreme crowd.

Magnum said something about a pansy. “Right! Just goes to show you what Fence Flour thinks about the extreme athletes if they send Fellows to make their deal. How much did they offer you, anyway? Nice! Sure, I’ll match it. No problem. I know you wouldn’t go with Fence for any price, but if they think you’re worth that much then I sure as hell think so, too.”

Mac had the feeling Fred Magnum was crying. Fred Magnum was way, way too dedicated to the cause. Mac propped the boy up a few more notches with some “all in this together” platitudes. The kid ate it up.

“I always thought of MacBisCo as like, you know, like Harley-Davidson,” Magnum explained. “One of them companies that is really dedicated to the people buying its stuff. You know what I’m trying to say?”

“God, yes. That’s just right,” Mac effused. “You hit the nail on the head. I love it. The Harley-Davidson of cereal companies! I wonder if them motorcycle boys would let us use their trademark?”

“You mean, like in TV ads?”

“Shit, yeah! It’s brilliant! It’s exactly the right message! Ever thought of getting into big-time marketing when you retire from professional sports?”

“It’s my dream, Mac,” Magnum whined through tears of joy.

Chapter 30

The bellhop was a man in a pointy hat and a long, flowing white beard. The facial hair was fake. The linen robe was a dingy ivory color. The bellhop reached for Chiun’s trunks.

“I got them, thanks,” Remo said, stopping the bellhop before he even touched the trunks. Fingerprints on lacquer was a crime punishable by death—if it was Chiun’s lacquer.

The bellhop had to be satisfied with flourishing the door for them, then he bowed low, sweeping off his hat regally.

“Thanks,” Remo said, and added as an afterthought, “Ho ho ho.”