Later, as Marc and Jake walked through the hotel’s lobby, Marc saw the same young man that was there a couple evenings before, singing his version of “Hotel California,” again. Must be a crowd favorite, he figured. Marc loitered for a few moments, listening to the song.
Although the incident he and Laura had at the Apex Irrigation Company the night before was still fresh in Marc’s memory, preparing Jake for the last day of the tournament had pushed that incident to the side, for now.
When Marc stepped outside, Jake was waiting for him in one of the rocking chairs that were arranged on the patio in front of the hotel. He was surrounded by a half dozen people. By their dress, Marc surmised they were golf fans who had apparently heard of Jake’s success at the tournament. He stood off to the side for a few moments, listening to what Jake’s new-found admirers were saying.
“Did you ever think you would be this successful at a major tournament?” One asked.
“I try to stay positive,” Jake replied. “But to tell you the truth, just being here, in the position I now find myself, is more than I could have hoped for.”
“Depending on what happens tomorrow, where will you go from here?” another man asked.
“For now, probably back to Canada.”
A few of the men chuckled.
“If you mean where this puts me in my career, there’s no doubt I’ll be thinking about turning pro.”
As another was about to ask a question, Marc interrupted. “Excuse us folks, but Jake and I should be going or we’ll be late for an appointment.” Marc hooked Jake by the arm in an effort to lead him away.
Jake gave Marc a puzzled look, then, realizing he was looking to get on with their evening’s plans, he said, “Sorry folks. My manager says it’s time for me to go. Hope to see you all at the eighteenth hole tomorrow when we finish. Meanwhile, wish me luck.”
After hearing a few “Aw’s,” from the gathered circle, Marc ushered Jake around the corner of the hotel toward downtown Aiken’s business district.
“I apologize for taking you away from your newfound admirers, but we have a few things to discuss. Besides, what you need right now is a relaxing evening and a good night’s sleep. You need to be fresh in the morning.”
“Guess this sudden interest in my golf game is something I’m not used to. Glad you’re here to help me navigate the way,” Jake said.
Just then a car slowly passed and a passenger leaned out the window and yelled, “Way to go, kid. Kick ass tomorrow!”
Jake returned the comment with a fist-pump.
“Looks like you’ve become an overnight sensation. How does that feel?” Marc asked.
“Quite frankly, it’s a little overwhelming.”
Marc pulled out a wide-brimmed hat that he’d previously stuffed into his back pocket, and along with a pair of dark sunglasses, handed them to Jake. “Put these on. Hopefully, they will help make our evening a little more private.”
Jake hesitated, then pulled the hat down to his ears. The pair crossed the road and headed for Laurens Street located in the heart of downtown.
“I’ve read about a nice place for supper. Understand the food’s good and it’s not far from here. Hopefully, it will be reasonably quiet where we can eat and talk about our strategy for tomorrow.”
“Have you talked to Ann Marie? Where do you think they will be going?” Jake asked.
“No idea. But I’m sure your mom has the evening all planned out. Besides, I think it would be best to compartmentalize your feelings.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know my daughter, and I think I know how you feel about Ann Marie, but for the next twenty-four hours, it’s important that you concentrate on your golf game.”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Marc,” Jake said, putting on the dark sunglasses.
“I’m saying that starting now, at this moment, your total focus should be on tomorrow’s tournament. Ann Marie wants only the best for you. But for you to be at your best, you may have to put your feelings aside until the tournament is over. What you do tomorrow will help determine what kind of life you and Ann Marie could have together.”
The pair walked in silence for a while. “I know what you want me to do,” Jake said. “But you have to understand, I’ve never felt about any girl the way I feel about Ann Marie. I knew the first time we met that she was the one, and I think she feels the same about me.”
Marc stopped at the corner. There was a crosswalk with a public mail drop box bolted into the concrete. The “Don’t Walk” sign was staring back at them. He turned towards Jake, “Obviously, your feelings for my daughter are pretty strong, and, believe me, I’m happy about that. But now, it’s crunch time. Time to focus on tomorrow’s match.”
As Marc was concentrating on their conversation, he heard an electronic clicking sound. He glanced up to see the walk sign had started counting down the seconds to safely cross, and the two men started off. When Marc’s foot left the curb however, he heard the sound of a car approaching at a high rate of speed. A quick glance showed that a dark-colored sedan was heading directly toward him and Jake. Marc grabbed Jake and pulled him back towards the sidewalk. Jake’s foot caught on the curb, sending him to the sidewalk on all fours. In the background, Marc heard the car’s screaming engine as it seemed to be bearing down on them. Grabbing onto Jake, Marc lunged for the cover of the mailbox. His foot cleared just as he heard the car’s tires scrub against the side of the curb, missing the men by mere inches. He looked up and watched the vehicle as it accelerated away from the intersection.
Marc pushed himself upright. Seeing that Jake appeared uninjured, he looked up and tried to get a description of the vehicle as it sped away. A few quick seconds later, the car disappeared around a pickup truck heading in the same direction. “You okay?” Marc asked, helping Jake to his feet.
“I’m fine, but what the hell was with that jerk?” Jake asked, brushing the dirt off his trousers.
“Whoever it was is obviously in a hurry.” Marc said. What he didn’t say was that the car looked suspiciously like the one that had cut them off less than an hour before, out-of-state license plate and all.
“Seems that your point regarding the myth of Southern hospitality may be well taken,” Jake said.
“Jake, were you able to see the license plate?”
“No. I was too busy thinking about Ann Marie and what we were talking about when I heard the car approaching and was pushed back onto the sidewalk. Thanks for that, by the way.”
The crosswalk sign had reverted to “Don’t Walk,” and Marc pushed the “Walk” button again. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he said.
“No big deal. I’m sure the town is full of strangers here for the tournament. No doubt, many of them are as unsure where to go as we are,” Jake said.
“Maybe,” Marc said, skeptically.
A few minutes later Marc spotted what he was looking for. The restaurant’s weathered sign, “The Billiard Palace,” was visible a hundred feet away. Inside the diner, Marc found the place was already crowded with what appeared to be a cross section of the local population. There were several blue-collar types as well as a few out-of-towners wearing Monarch Golf Tournament hats and golf shirts. Marc spotted a table along the wall at the rear of the large room, adjacent to a couple of pool tables presently manned by who he suspected were a few local hustlers.
“This place is noted for its chicken livers and sautéed mushrooms, but I think I’ll stick with a burger. How about you?” Marc asked.
“Chicken livers?” Jake said curling his upper lip. “You got to be kidding. That makes a burger and fries sound real good.”
A moment later, a waitress approached, “Hey fellas, what can I getcha?”
Her question was punctuated by the sharp collision of a cue ball with a fresh rack, then the announcement by one of the players at the pool table, “I’ve got stripes.”
Marc looked back at Jake, “Care for a beer?”
“No,
diet something. Coke, I guess.”
“Good choice. We’ll each have a burger and fries, one diet coke for my partner here and I’ll have an IPA, whatever you have,” Marc said.
The waitress scribbled on her pad, “Two dead-ass burgers with fries, a diet and an All Day IPA. Anything else?”
“That should do us for now,” Marc replied.
“Coming right up,” she said and turned toward the kitchen. Her departure was marked by the sharp clacking sound of another billiard ball, followed by a cry of “Yeah, baby,” from one of the players.
“Ever played?” Marc gestured towards the pool match.
“A few times, when I first started school in Plattsburgh. A place out on Route 9, Eight Ball Billiards. Never really got the hang of it though, putting English on a ball is what a golfer tries to avoid when he can. Besides, I really needed the time to study for my classes.”
“What got you started playing golf?” Marc asked.
“My dad. He was good. Took me out to the range after school and weekends back when I was about ten or so. Not long after, he brought me to a course and taught me some of the basic rules.”
“Did you play golf in high school?”
“I made the Junior Varsity team in the seventh grade and played right through my senior year. Except for a couple of years playing ice hockey, golf was my only sport.”
The waitress returned with their drinks. “Burgers should be out shortly, fellas.” She then moved off to answer a call from another table.
“Do you see your dad much?” Marc asked.
Jake took a sip of his soda. “Once in a while. He lives in Lawrence Park, a suburb of Toronto. He has a live-in girlfriend and she has a daughter. He calls about once a week and we talk. Unfortunately, I don’t see him often enough. He’s always busy with work, and besides, his house is full of strange women.”
Marc smiled at the thought. “I know the feeling. You think you’re outnumbered, even though you aren’t.”
Jake smiled. “Yeah, something like that.”
The two sat quietly for a moment, enjoying their drinks and watching the men playing pool.
“Heard anything about the weather tomorrow?” Jake asked.
“I understand it should be pretty much the same as today. Possibility of showers late in the afternoon. I’ll have the foul weather gear handy, just in case,” Marc replied.
“So, I guess it will be another day of ‘One shot at a time,’ right?” Jake asked.
“Yes, possibly with a few adjustments.”
“What do you mean?”
“Depends on where we stand as the tournament proceeds. If we get near the top of the leaderboard, we might want to play more conservatively. You know, take fewer chances. However, in the unlikely situation that we find ourselves falling down the leaderboard, then, I might advise we gamble and try to climb back up. I’m not expecting the latter, but we have to be prepared.”
As Jake was about to say something, the waitress arrived with their meals. “Here you are, fellas,” she said, placing the food on their table. “Anything else I can getcha?”
Marc glanced at Jake.
“Uh, do you have any malt vinegar?” Jake asked.
“Malt vinegar? Sure, I guess,” she said raising her eyebrows. “Be right back,” she said and left in the direction of the bar.
“I forgot how Canadians like vinegar with their fries,” Marc said. “Reminds me of a case I worked on, not long ago up in Montreal.”
A minute later, the waitress passed by and dropped a cruet of vinegar in front of Jake. “Here you are, enjoy!” she said, giving Jake an uncertain look before moving on to another table.
Jake sprinkled the vinegar over his fries, held one up and shoved it in his mouth, “Um, not bad, maybe just a touch more salt.”
Marc smiled, enjoying Jake’s momentary diversion from Ann Marie and the intensity of the discussion about the golf tournament. As he was about to comment on the quality of his food, there was another clacking sound coming from the area of the pool table.
“That’s from the boys at H Canyon,” the young player yelled, apparently proud of his prowess with a pool cue.
A group of people, obviously friends of the two men stalking around the table, were egging the players on with taunts and cheers, “Give’em hell, Brad,” one of them called out.
Marc looked over at the group. They were a mix of men and women, some middle aged, most were younger. He thought one of the women glanced in his direction, then just as quickly, she seemed to have returned her attention to the pool game.
“No way, all the way with K,” the opponent shouted good-naturedly.
“We’ll all find out soon enough when the Czar gets in town!”
Jake swallowed and looked over at Marc, “H canyon, K, Czar? Wonder what that’s all about?” he asked.
Marc shrugged his shoulders, “Beats me. Sounds like they probably work together, I suppose.”
One of the men in the group looked in the direction where Marc and Jake were sitting. He had apparently caught Marc glancing over at them. “Hey guys, I think we better cool it.” The pool players glanced at each other, then continued the match, but without the bravado.
As the waitress passed by, Marc asked, “Miss, can you tell me what these guys are talking about when they mention H and K or whatever?”
She hesitated. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, we’re just in town for the golf tournament,” Marc responded.
“Don’t pay those guys any mind. They just got off a twelve-hour shift out at the Site. They come here about once a week to play a little pool, eat burgers and let off some pent-up steam.”
“The Site?” Marc asked.
“Yeah, SRS, the Savannah River Site. They’re referring to H canyon and K area. The K area stores plutonium produced at the H Canyon which is a radiologically-shielded chemical separations facility. There’s a constant feud between departments as to who is the more efficient.”
“So who’s this Czar they’re mentioning?”
“Probably the U.S. Secretary of Energy. Word is, he’s supposed to visit the Site this week. Something about a big announcement. Could be another new mission, who knows?”
“Hey, Linda. Can we get a couple more beers when you’re done socializing?” Someone yelled from the other side of the pool table.
The waitress glanced back at Marc. “Sorry, guys, got to go.” She turned back toward the pool players. “Hold your horses, be right there!”
“Plutonium?” Jake said as he pushed another vinegar-soaked French fry in his mouth.
Marc took a sip of beer. “Yeah, according to the local newspaper, there’s apparently been renewed interest in the Savannah River Site because of this new project coming there. Apparently the Site’s been tasked with producing something called ‘Pits.’ According to a guy I was talking with at the golf club, ‘Pits’ act as a trigger for a nuclear bomb.”
“Seems kind of scary to think that those guys drinking beer and playing pool could be making nuclear bombs,” Jake said, glancing toward the crowd gathered around the pool table.
‘“I’m sure they’re qualified. It’s just when you see people relaxing outside of their realm of expertise, they often say and do things that don’t seem professional. I think it’s called, ‘blowing off steam.’ It’s not unusual.”
“I suppose,” Jake said.
Marc detected a hint of doubt in Jake’s voice.
“One thing I’m am sure of, this is one helluva burger,” Marc said.
Jake swallowed. “It’s okay, I guess.”
“What? You don’t like it?”
“The burger? Yeah, it’s okay, I mean, it’s good, really good. It’s just, I dunno...”
“You’re thinking about Ann Marie, aren’t you?”
Jake sipped his drink, “That obvious, huh?”
“Let’s just say that in the short time we’ve known each other, I have learned a little of what bothers you and
what doesn’t. Not being with Ann Marie bothers you.”
“Yeah, guess you’re right.” Jake replied, his eyes lowered toward his plate.
“Look, what you’re feeling is perfectly natural. The problem is, there are times when you’re going to have to live without her if you’re going to succeed at golf, or practically anything else.”
“What do you mean, learn to live without her?” Jake asked.
“Like when you’re playing a golf tournament, or sitting behind a desk making decisions, Ann Marie can’t always be right there by your side. I’m sure she will be with you in spirit, just not physically.”
“Yeah, I know that. It’s just that, well, you know.”
“I know you love my daughter, and that’s a good thing. And I’m really happy that she’s found someone that I can like as well. It’s just that there are times you and Ann Marie will function well, if not better, when you’re not physically tied to each other.”
“Like on the golf course,” Jake said.
“Like tomorrow, on the golf course, yes. I’m not saying that you have to forget about her. I know you can’t do that, neither can I. But, for you to perform at your best, you’ll have to put your feelings aside for about five hours and concentrate on what’s in front of you. Namely, playing the best golf of your life.”
Except for the occasional clacking of pool balls and the drone of conversation throughout the establishment, the two ate in silence. Jake appeared solemn. Marc had the feeling Jake was digesting what they had discussed, along with the burger and French fries.
The return of the waitress broke their reverie. “What do you say, fellas, want to hear about our desserts?”
The two exchanged glances. Jake shook his head.
“Just the check, please,” Marc said.
“Suit yourself, but they tell me the banana cream pie is to die for.”
“Sounds tempting, but we’ve got another big day ahead of us tomorrow. Need to get some rest.”
The waitress tore the check from her pad and dropped it on the table. “Good luck with that. Y’all come back and see us again soon, y’hear?”
“Will do,” Marc said as he scooped up the bill. Sliding out of the booth, he looked over at the group of pool players. The girl he had seen before was no longer there.
Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery Page 9
