Putting Out

by S Doyle

  29

  Saturday – Moving Day

  “We are kicking off our continuing coverage of the American in beautiful Georgia,” Steve said into the camera, then turned to his co-commentator. “The sun is out. The course looks great. It’s Saturday at a major, Dave.”

  “That’s right. Moving day. When players do what they can to put themselves in contention for tomorrow. You can’t win the Royal Blue today, but you sure can lose it.”

  “Let’s talk about the story unfolding out there on the course right now.”

  “That’s easy, Steve. There’s only one person out there making any serious noise and that’s Reilly Carr. Let me tell you, she’s loud.”

  “Four birdies on the front nine and three on the back so far.”

  “Out in thirty-two was an amazing start for her. Her ball striking has been incredible. She’s making shot after shot.”

  “Let’s go to the action as she makes her way to the tee box at 17.”

  “You are on fire.”

  “I’m on fire,” Reilly repeated as they walked through the separated crowd to the 17th tee. She had no worries of anyone hearing their conversation; the cheering that followed her wherever she went was too loud.

  “I mean, smoking. I mean, you’re so ‘effing accurate today you can drop the ball on top of the flag and make it stay there if you want.”

  Reilly watched Kenny walk in front of her, blazing a more secure trail as eager fans leaned over the rope lines designed to keep them away from the players. Hands stretched out hoping to get tapped, she had to fold in her shoulders to avoid being touched.

  “We’re only three behind Staddler and only two off the pace of the six others bunched at minus six. SinJin is sucking our dust. The crowds are for us.” Kenny paused. “This is the coolest thing ever!”

  Reilly stopped at the tee box and waited for her playing partner to drive first. She removed the baseball cap she’d chosen for the day to wipe her brow. Girls Rule and Boys Drool was done in blue lettering on the pink rim.

  “That cap is a disgrace,” Kenny grumbled as he handed her a bottle of water.

  “Get over it.”

  “Two more pars and we’re talking a sixty-five. Two more birdies and we’re talking a record- tying sixty-three!”

  Reilly scowled. “Will you stop? You’re going to jinx me.”

  “It’s like a clinic in golf. I’ve never seen you like this.”

  She handed him the water back. “Your voice is cracking.”

  “I don’t care. Reilly….you know what this means.”

  It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. She knew what it meant. If she continued to play at this level, if she stayed focused and committed to each shot, every putt, then it was possible.

  The dream. Every golfer’s fantasy.

  Being in the hunt on the back nine on Sunday at the American.

  “Let’s not think ahead,” she told him.

  “Right!” he immediately agreed. “One shot at a time. One shot at a time.”

  Exactly how Reilly played it. One shot down the fairway on seventeen. Another onto the green. A long putt and then a short one for par.

  Last hole on moving day.

  It was now or never. He knew it. Groups of people were running up the rope lines along the eighteenth fairway. Only one person was so popular, so beautiful, so spectacular she made people run.

  Reilly.

  It was time to act. Today and not tomorrow when the tall person would ruin everything. The angel had told him so. The angel had revealed all about the true nature of his precious Reilly and the bad man who followed her everywhere.

  He didn’t want to scare her but he knew he would. He knew anything he did would scare her because she couldn’t understand how much he loved her and wanted to protect her.

  The angel gave him the means.

  He pressed his hands into his pockets slowly, jostled suddenly by the push of people who were crowding around him near the 18th green.

  He’d waited all day and now the moment was finally here.

  “Reilly!”

  “You go, girl!”

  “You can do it!”

  Forcing herself to focus, she looked to the green to determine her next move. She’d hit a decent shot, but had gone back to her three-wood to avoid trouble, so she was looking at over a hundred and ninety yards to the green.

  Kenny didn’t ask, but handed her a five iron.

  “It’s a back hole location,” he said. “You’ve got to keep it below the flag.”

  She nodded and lined up over the ball. It was up and it was good.

  Reilly shook her head to clear out the sudden rush of adrenaline. The noise around the green was deafening as she walked up. She’d hit her shot flush and knew she’d given herself a chance for another birdie and a round of sixty-four.

  Her playing partner had to putt first and the silent paddles were raised to hush the galley. Kenny leaned into her as he watched the other guy miss his putt for par.

  “I know I said a sixty-five would be awesome, but a birdie here would be great, too,” he whispered.

  “You think?”

  “I’m just saying…”

  “If you say anything else I’m going to smack you. I’m trying to concentrate.”

  Reilly started to walk as soon as her playing partner’s ball hit the hole. She sank down on her hunches and held her putter high and in front of her to get a read on the line. Then she remembered that never worked for her.

  Setting it down she leaned forward and studied the break. She felt Kenny come up behind her.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “Maybe a little left?”

  “What happened to ‘I swear to God it’s going to break left?’”

  “That was yesterday,” he told her. “Today you’re on your own.”

  Reilly smiled and shook her head. “That I actually pay you kills me.”

  “Hey, I carried your bags, didn’t I? Let’s go sink this so we can catch the rest of Roy’s round in the clubhouse and see how far we are out of first.”

  Reilly stood up and found the path she wanted the ball to take. She made her decision, stilled her hands and hit it. The ball rolled toward the hole, circled the lip, but then hung there and didn’t drop.

  In unison the crowd groaned. So much so, she had to smile. It was one putt and she had a tap- in for par. Not bad, all things considered.

  Reilly tapped the ball and it dropped in. The crowd applauded and she waved her appreciation. She walked across the green to shake hands with her partner and his caddy, then turned back to see Kenny picking up the bag.

  Then it happened. Like something out of a movie where everything slows down. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but only air escaped her throat. Her legs wouldn’t move. Her body froze.

  He came running out of the crowd, jumping over the useless rope line that was supposed to keep him out. Her eyes blinked against the glare of the sun hitting metal. She watched him come up behind Kenny and then his hand was moving forward and down and she was shouting.

  Shouting for him to stop.

  People in the crowd screamed and the chaos of people scattering reverberated along the ground. Reilly raced to Kenny who was on his knees, his hand reaching behind his back for something she couldn’t see.

  A man, balding and short but thick through the middle stood behind him. He wrung his hands and tears fells from his cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry. I had to do it.”

  “Freeze! Put your hands in the air where I can see them.”

  Reilly looked up and saw Mark standing with a gun in his hands and his feet spread apart as he aimed it at the back of the man who had attacked Kenny. Frightened, the man raised shaking hands into the air.

  “I had to do it.”

  “Turn around slowly.”

  Reilly crouched over Kenny who was now lying on his side writhing in agony as the knife sticking out of his back continued to elude his grasp. She met t
he man’s nervous gaze and thought he didn’t look like a killer.

  “I had to do it,” he whispered fretfully. “The angel told me I had to do it. Don’t be scared. The bad man can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “Stop talking and turn around! Now!”

  The bald man stepped away from Reilly and turned around. But as he did he reached for his pocket.

  “I have to give her…”

  The sound of a bullet ricocheting through the air stunned Reilly. Again she huddled over Kenny and listened as the crowd screamed with renewed fervor.

  “What’s happening?” he asked her through gritted teeth. “What the hell is happening?”

  “Shh,” she quieted him. Leaning over his side, she could see the grotesque knife hilt sticking out of his shoulder blade.

  The bald man stumbled forward to the stands and dropped face-first into the grass. Security personnel rushed to the scene and Mark placed his gun in front of him and held up his badge. Sunlight glanced off gold as he shouted to everyone around him he was FBI.

  Reilly watched the surrounding activity through a fog of shock. She tried to replay the events but she could only see blood pooling out from under the man’s body and hear Kenny groaning.

  Shouts of 911 meant an ambulance would come. Television cameras spun around her but she didn’t have the mental wherewithal to tell them to go away.

  “Kenny,” she croaked. “Hang on. Help is coming.”

  “It hurts.”

  Reilly leaned over him to check to see if something had changed but the knife was still there. Unmoving.

  “I don’t want to take it out. I could hurt you worse.”

  “Unlikely. Listen to me.” He reached up and grabbed the collar of her shirt. “Don’t forget to sign the card. You have to sign it.”

  “What?”

  “Your scorecard. You have to sign it and it has to be right or you’ll be…” His voice trailed off as a wave of pain rolled over him. “Disqualified.”

  “Kenny, I’m not thinking about a damn golf tournament right now.”

  “I am! Shit. I’m not going to be stabbed for nothing. I’m not leaving until you sign the card.”

  Reilly stood up and searched around for someone who could help her. Mark was still talking with the security detail, the bald man dead at their feet. Finally, a familiar voice called out to her. She saw Luke pushing through two large security guards who were trying to hold him back, but he muscled his way beyond them. Mark reached out and grabbed the guard letting him know he didn’t have to pursue.

  He knelt down on the other side of Kenny, his eyes pinned on Reilly. “You okay?”

  “He’s got a knife in his back and Mark shot the man and I can’t think…”

  “Luke,” Kenny barked, unable to turn to face him. “The score card is in my pocket. Make her check it and sign it now.”

  “Is he serious?” Luke asked.

  “Death before disqualification,” Reilly told him humorlessly. “Kenny’s putting it to the test right now.”

  Luke leaned back and saw the knife stuck in his friend’s back as well as the thin trickle of blood running over the C in Carr. He gulped and found the card sticking out of his back pocket.

  He pulled it out and reviewed it. “Last hole?”

  “Four,” Kenny groaned.

  Luke extracted a pencil out of his pocket he’d been using to keep Reilly’s score as he walked the course with her and filled in the missing number. After a quick check he turned the card over to Reilly and told her to sign.

  “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled, but signed the card even as the paramedics pulled up with a stretcher.

  “Move away, please,” the younger man directed her and Luke. Together they stood and backed away so the crew could do their job.

  His vitals were fine, but the two paramedics agreed to leave the knife in for a doctor to remove. Working in tandem they lifted him onto the stretcher, keeping him on his side.

  Reilly grimaced as Kenny moaned again, but then he regained his breath.

  “This is really going to mess up the green. Anyone coming in is going to have a hell of a time making a birdie.”

  Luke leaned over the stretcher with a wry smile on his face.

  “Glad to see you have your priorities straight. They’re going to take you to St. Joseph’s. It’s the closest.”

  “Here’s the card.” Reilly handed it to Luke. “Turn it in and then check with Mark to see who that bastard was. I’m going with Kenny in the ambulance.”

  “I’ll meet you there. You want me to call Pop?”

  Reilly glanced at the cameras that were all still filming.

  “He already knows.”

  30

  Luke rushed up to the third floor of the hospital to find Reilly sitting alone in a waiting room with a neglected cup of coffee in her hands. He was worried and more than a little irritated at how long it had taken him to get to the hospital.

  The security people had stood around for hours looking for ways to blame anyone but them. The local police, who showed up to process the scene, seemed to think Luke had more answers than the actual footage of the event.

  Birdie, to put it quite literally, was having a bird. Play was postponed for the remainder of the day and Saturday’s round would finish early Sunday morning.

  Luke caught up with Mark who had spent his time being debriefed by the local detective. Before Luke could get him alone to talk about where the breakdown in protection had occurred, Mark was already looking to leave. He’d been called back to the Atlanta office to file a report since he’d fired his weapon resulting in a fatality. Luke got the impression since he wasn’t working a true case, he was going to have some explaining to do. That was Leonard’s problem as far as Luke was concerned. If he’d gotten a hold of the bastard before he stabbed Kenny it wouldn’t have been issue.

  Luke had gotten a good look at the stalker before they removed the body: small, bald, and paunchy. He wasn’t threatening at all except for the knife.

  Inside the clubhouse there had been mass confusion mixed with morbid curiosity and Luke seemed to be at the center of it all as the last representative of the Carr family. Pierce had taken Odie back to the house in Savannah to keep them both out of the storm. Then there had been a tearful Erica, who had tackled him in an attempt to get information on Kenny’s condition. Luke had told her she was going to have to wait with everyone else until he knew something.

  Finally, he extracted himself from the mess only to find an encampment of reporters and cameramen waiting for him outside the emergency room. He’d bullied his way through a gauntlet of microphones, questions and cameras until he found himself press-safe within the confines of the hospital.

  “How is he?”

  Reilly glanced up and he could see the shock of the day had yet to fade. Her lips were pale and he’d wished he’d brought a blanket or at least worn a coat he could give her. Instead, he sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer against his body.

  “They removed the knife,” she said dully, resting her head against his shoulder. “It didn’t hit anything major. Just cut through some muscle they had a name for. They’re stitching him up now so I haven’t been in to see him. The nurse said they’re going to want to keep him overnight for evaluation to see if there’s any infection. Otherwise they think he’ll be ready to go home in a day.”

  “That’s good. He’s okay.”

  “He’s okay. I’m a mess. This was my fault. I didn’t take it seriously enough. We should have called the police. He was after me, and Kenny got in his way.”

  Luke considered how much to tell her. He’d watched footage of the event over and over again while waiting to speak to Mark. The man who had attacked Kenny was identified as Neville Walters, a recent outpatient from a mental health facility in Omaha, Nebraska. He was killed by the bullet Agent Leonard shot into his heart.

  The one thing clear from the two minutes of footage — he was not trying t
o hurt Reilly. His target had been Kenny.

  He thought about what he would want to hear if he were in her shoes and figured it would be the truth.

  “He wasn’t after you. He was after Kenny.”

  Reilly pulled away and looked at Luke with shock.

  “A cameraman caught the whole thing on tape. Kenny was the target. After he stabbed him, he said something to you. After Kenny fell to his knees, he leaned over and talked to you. What did he say?”

  He could see Reilly reaching back for the memory.

  “Something about an angel. The angel told him he had to do it.”

  Luke nodded. “He was being treated for a mental condition. He hadn’t been back to see his doctor since after you made your announcement. The detective working the case contacted his physician. He’d never shown any aggressive behavior prior to this but had exhibited signs of becoming fixated on various celebrities and people in the media. It’s doubtful he would have hurt you, but he must have decided Kenny was the one thing preventing him from getting to you.”

  Reilly shrugged limply. “It’s still my fault.”

  “I’m not going to justify that with an answer. You’ve had a rough day, so I’ll let the pity thing slide. They’re going to let you in to see him shortly and if you say anything like that in front of him, he’s going to kick your ass.”

  Reilly leaned her head back on his shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

  “You can’t blame yourself,” Luke said. “You know it. The guy was a nut. He followed you around and now he’s dead. Kenny’s going to be okay and that’s all that matters. It’s over.”

  He felt her head bob on his shoulder a couple of times as if accepting the clear-cut facts.

  “And you’re going to play tomorrow,” Luke finished.

  She pulled away from him. “I can’t play! Are you heartless? My brother is in the hospital and you want me to play?”

  “Your brother is recovering. He’ll want you to play more than anyone and yes, you need to do this. You’ve come too far. It’s more than a tournament, a major or a first-time event. It’s not even about you competing with the men or beating the men. It’s bigger. People are looking to you for all sorts of things. Strength and courage. You can’t let some twerp with a switchblade stop you.”