Final Round

“Damn it, you spoiled everything!” his assailant cursed. “I wanted one quick clean shot-like the first time. The mark of a professional.”

The man sprawled on the bed was aware of the other man’s movement. He felt the sharp dip, the signal that the other man had climbed onto the mattress and was slowly making his way to him. His head was swimming and red flashes fired before his eyes. He was barely conscious, and knew he wouldn’t be that for much longer.

“All right then,” the taller man said, snarling, as he hovered just overhead. “You wanted to make it messy? Fine-we’ll make it messy.”

He heard a scraping noise, and in the dim light of the flashlight-where was that thing now anyway?-he saw the other man extract a thin knife from its sheath.

“Time’s up,” the killer said, as he drew inexorably closer. “Now watch this last stroke. It’s one of my best.”

32

Back at the clubhouse, Co

It would be different if this had happened to the Co

But somehow, somewhere in the midst of the excitement and horror, in the loss of his closest friends and the woodshedding of his caddie, he had lost that detachment. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he had allowed himself to dream of wi

He had been so close, damn it! So close. For all he knew, he might never play this well again. And it hadn’t been enough. He’d given the game everything he had-and come up short.

He couldn’t fault the other players. They had been tremendously supportive. Even Ace had offered a few kind words. Co

But who was he kidding? It wasn’t the same as wi

He lifted the margarita to his lips. Could he down this in a single shot, he wondered?

“Co

Co

What was she here for? he wondered. To offer her condolences?

“What’s up?” he said, trying not to sound as blotto as he was. “Come here to lick my wounds? ‘Cause if you have, I could make a few alternative suggestions…”

O’Brien looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m not here alone.”

Co

“Not exactly,” O’Brien said. She whipped her cuffs out from behind her jacket. “You’re under arrest.”

This had a more profound sobering effect than a dozen cups of coffee. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, tugging at his shoulder. “Get up.”

“But-but-“ He allowed himself to be hoisted. “I told you I didn’t do it.”

“And for some stupid reason, I believed you. I guess I let my professional judgment get clouded. It won’t happen again.”

“But I’m telling you, I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t kill my own best friend.”

“I didn’t think so before, but-“ She stared at him for a tense moment, and Co

“Another one?” Co

“Right. C’mon, Co

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t me. What about Freddy? Have you found him yet? He’s the one you need to talk to.”

“That would be extremely difficult,” O’Brien said, as she snapped the cuffs over Co

Four. The Killing Stroke

Dwight D. Eisenhower loved the Augusta National. Because of his friendship with cofounder Cliff Roberts, he was not only a member but a frequent visitor. After he became president, Eisenhower’s visits were so common that Roberts had a residence built for Ike on the club grounds. Because Eisenhower liked to fish, Roberts had already built him a pond nearby and stocked it with black bass and bluegill. Eisenhower spent the happiest days of his life at the Augusta National, where he could fish in the morning, then find ready partners to play golf all afternoon and contract bridge all night.

Eisenhower’s visits to Augusta were not, of course, without controversy. In 1957, when Eisenhower ordered the federal troops into Little Rock to protect the black students integrating Central High School, he reportedly made the call from Augusta. In reaction to this move, obviously controversial in the deep South, the Augusta Chronicle blasted him for “ru