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Tonight there were patrons, though-two of them, huddling in a back booth facing one another. The bartender, the only other man on the premises, had never seen them before. And they apparently didn’t want to attract any attention. Why else would they choose the most out-of-sight booth in the darkest corner of the bar? They weren’t looking for fellowship, and they weren’t trying to pick up tail. They wanted to be left alone. So, like any good bartender, he gave them what they wanted.
One of the men was much taller than the other; he seemed to be in command of the discussion. When the two customers finally waved the bartender over to refill their Scotches-neat-he overheard enough to gather that the tall man was making the other fellow some sort of proposition. But exactly what was being proposed he couldn’t say. And he didn’t ask, either. Because whatever it was, it was clear they didn’t want anyone else to know about it.
The bartender returned to his station and pretended to be toweling off glasses. It was only about ten minutes later, when he made a necessary visit to the men’s room, that he heard more. Turned out the men’s room was the perfect place to eavesdrop on that booth; the sound came in through the air vent just above the sink. He still didn’t hear enough to know what they were talking about. But he heard enough to pique his curiosity.
“What if we get caught?” the shorter of the men said. His voice had a tendency to squeak when he was nervous. And at the moment, he sounded very nervous.
“Who’s go
“I don’t know if I have the stomach for this. I’ve never had anything to do with-violence.”
“Don’t be squeamish,” the other man said. His voice was reassuring in a way that made the bartender’s skin crawl. “I promise you-I’ve thought of everything. There will be no mistakes.”
“Suppose I say yes-what’s in it for me?”
The bartender heard the tall man taking something out of his pocket, followed by a fast rippling noise. Money, he reckoned. Lots of it.
“This is just a down payment,” the tall man said. “Think of it as earnest money.”
The bartender heard another noise, a shuffling sound-as if the bills were being transferred from one hand to another.
“Then you’ll do it?” the tall man asked, with a bit of a twinkle.
There was no merriment in the other man’s voice when he replied. “I don’t have any choice.”
3
Tuesday
Tuesday morning Co
“Glad to see you changed your attire,” Fitz muttered, as he and Co
Co
“Personally, I like it,” John said, suppressing a smile. “Although I miss the Panama hat.”
Co
“I thought it covered up your bald spot.”
“I do not have a bald spot.”
John looked at him nonchalantly. “Thi
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine, fine. Have it your way.”
Co
Fitz couldn’t have looked less interested. “Relax, Co
“But seriously.”
“It might be time to start wearing a cap.”
Co
John smiled beatifically. “If it makes you feel more secure to believe that, then fine.”
Co
“I am not jealous of anything about you, so
Co
“I’m not! You think this hasn’t happened before? You think you’re the first smart aleck who ever made it into the PGA? Think again. The Augusta National tossed out Jack Whitaker for referring to the fans as ‘a mob.’ They ba
“Excuse me,” Co
“Even though they follow the official golf rankings, participation at the Masters is by invitation only.” Fitz huffed. “You should respect the privilege you’ve been given.”
Co
“You’d be making more money if you improved your attitude,” Fitz shot back.
“No, I’d be making more money if I could get this stupid dimpled ball to go in that tiny hole.” He started to swing.
“Wait!” Fitz shouted.
Co
Fitz crouched down and retrieved Co
Co
“Magfli 6? I thought you were playing a Pro Z1 Titleist. Titleists are the best golf balls in the world. Each one is precision-tested and balanced for premium performance. I bought you a whole box of them.”
“Yeah…” Co
“To Be
“Well… I lost a bet and I, uh, didn’t have the cash on hand…”
“You’re joking.”
“See, I bet that Tom Kite would three-putt the eighteenth, but wouldn’t you know it, the old shanker ended up pulling it off in two. So…”
Fitz’s face reddened with fury. “So now you don’t have any balls?”
“Of course I have balls. Well, a ball, anyway. You’re holding it.”
Fitz glanced at the palm of his hand. “A Magfli 6? That’s a duffer ball. Where’d you buy this thing?”
“Didn’t. Found it in a sand trap yesterday.”
Fitz slapped his hand against his forehead. “Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.”
Co
“Damn this stupid game, anyway,” John groused, as they marched toward the fifteenth tee. “Who’s idea was it to start playing golf?”
“As I recall, it was the only way we could get out of trig with Mr. Imes.”
John laughed. “Right, right. Good ol’ Imes-stein.”
“Just think,” Co
The two men exchanged a long look, then spoke with one voice. “Or not.”
After the laughter faded, Co