“One of the drawbacks to a public course, my friend,” Don said. “One of the drawbacks. And there are a few. Lots of people here don’t bother to fix a ball mark, replace a divot, nothing. You got to watch your ball like a hawk, or someone will pick it up. Balls just vanish into thin air.”
“Into pockets,” Victor corrected. “No fucking respect for the game.”
They went past the clubhouse to the tenth tee. Bobby was one down on total strokes, and he had lost the front side. He was a thousand dollars down, and could only take the lead by winning the back by at least two strokes, taking that side and the cumulative too. He would have to win at least three holes and not lose any.
“How you feeling, kiddo?” Victor asked on the tenth tee.
“I’m feeling all right,” Bobby said. “Thanks for your concern.”
“Not just a little bit nervous? A little angry? I’d be pissed off if two old futzers had just taken a thousand bucks out of my pocket.”
“You haven’t gotten it yet.”
“No, but we will. Come over here.” Victor motioned toward his bag. “You get nervous, need something to do, help yourself.” He unzipped a pouch in the bag. “The cigars are right here. Right here, do you see?” There was the black cigar case, and next to it, Bobby could see the walnut grip of a revolver. “You see?”
“What’s that?”
“Cigars. What, you think we’re going to shoot you if you win? No. I want you to see where the cigars are. Help yourself. Maybe that’s just a lighter, you know? A gag. You got nothing to be worried about.”
Don walked over. “You’re worried? It’s a brand-new nine. You’re down a stroke. So what? This is a Nassau. You still win a grand if you beat us by at least two strokes on this side. What are you worried about?”
“You do have enough to cover the bet if you lose, don’t you?” Victor asked.
“Of course I do,” Bobby lied. “I wouldn’t take a bet I couldn’t make good on.”
“That’s good. Because this is a gentleman’s game. I would hate to think that we were playing with someone who’s only pretending to be a gentleman.”
“Yeah,” Don added. “We like you. You seem like a nice boy. I would hate to find out different.”
“No. I’m good for the money,” Bobby said.
“That’s great. That’s what we want to hear, right, Vic? Let’s play some golf.”
There was nothing to do but go ahead and play, and play well. But he had been threatened, and if he played his full game, he knew he would be threatened again, or worse. To successfully sandbag someone, you had to keep the illusion going. But he had an adrenaline spike too, and on the tenth tee he unleashed a drive that went past Victor’s and Don’s on the fly. He stuck a five iron within five feet and carded an eagle to take a one-up lead on the back, and a one-stroke lead in the cumulative when Don and Victor both parred the hole.
“See there? Everything is all right with you now. Right? You’re in the lead in the first hole on the back. Being behind didn’t last very long, did it?”
Bobby birdied the short par-four eleventh and the par-three twelfth, as did Don. Still, one up going to the par-five thirteenth.
“Maybe the thirteenth isn’t going to be so lucky for him, Victor. What do you think?”
“I don’t think luck’s got a lot to do with it.”
“He is playing pretty well. Eagle, birdie, birdie. Like Tiger Woods, except right now I don’t see a flaw in his game. You think he’s sandbagging us, Victor?”
“No. I think he’s smarter than that.”
“He’s a pretty smart boy.”
“Go on, hit away. Don’t mind our gabbing.”
There was only one more par five after this one. One more great opportunity to put the match out of reach and make his thousand bucks. He didn’t like the sandbagging remark, though. He kept thinking about that gun in Victor’s bag.
Bobby held back a little on the drive, but kept it far enough out for the green to be easily reachable in two. Both Don and Victor hit good drives, within twenty yards of Bobby’s.
“You know, Victor,” Don said as they put their drivers into their bags, “I can’t play this hole without thinking of that guy you caught rolling his ball over in the rough.”
“You think he still limps?” Victor asked.
They both laughed. “I think he still does, and I think he’s grateful that he only limps.”
“You’re not getting in my head,” Bobby said.
“Wouldn’t have even considered it,” Don said.
Bobby hit a four iron, low and long. It landed just in front of the green and hopped on, rolled at the flag, then past it and into the tall grass at the back of the green. Don and Victor both reached in three. Don was in easy birdie range. Bobby had a long chip that traveled down for about thirty feet, then broke to the right a good two feet. His ball stopped two inches from the hole. He tapped in the par and Don followed with his birdie putt. They were back to even.
“See,” Don said, “I told you. Luck. And his is running out. Thirteenth hole got him.”