appearance.
Myron said, “He’s fun.”
Herman moved to the corner of the room. He took a slow practice swing with the club. “I wouldn’t mess with him, Myron. Frank is really angry. Me, I’ve always liked you. From the early days. But I’m not sure I can help you on this one.”
The “early days” had begun Myron’s sophomore year at Duke. It was not something he liked to remember. His father had been gambling. And losing. On the day before a game against Georgia State, Myron returned to his dorm to find his father and two of Herman Ache’s hoods. The two hoods told Myron that if Georgia State did not cover the twelve-point spread, his father would lose a finger. His father was crying, the first time Myron had ever seen his father cry. Myron made three turnovers in the last forty seconds to make sure Duke won by only ten.
Father and son never talked about it.
“Why is this kid, this Chaz Landreaux, so important to you, Myron?”
“I think he’s worth saving.”
“Saving from what?”
“He’s just a kid, Herman. Frank is putting the screws to him. I want it to stop.”
Herman smiled, changed clubs, took a few more swings. Then he picked up his putter. “Still a crusader, eh, Myron?”
“Hardly. I’m just trying to help the kid.”
“And yourself.”
“Fine. And myself.”
Myron realized that Herman Ache was wearing golf cleats. Jesus. To most people golf is an idiotic excuse for a sport. For others it’s a life-consuming obsession. There is no in between.
“I don’t think,” Herman said, reading the break in his carpet, “I can stop Frank. He’s very determined.”
“You run the show,” Myron said. “Everyone knows that.”
“But Frank is my brother. I don’t step on his toes unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t think that’s the case here.”
“What did Frank do to him?”
“Pardon?”
“How did he scare the kid?”
“Oh,” Herman said. Another club changed. This time he exchanged the putter for a wood. “He kidnapped his sister. Twin sister, I think.”
Myron felt his stomach dive anew. They’d been right. Not much satisfaction in that. “Is she okay?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” Herman said, as if that were a truly foolish question. “They won’t hurt her. Long as Landreaux continues to cooperate.”
“When are they going to let her go?”
“Two more days. Something about making sure the contract is official and Landreaux doesn’t have second thoughts.”
“What do you want, Herman? What’s it going to cost to get Frank off?”
He put on a golf glove and took a very deliberate swing, watching his hands. “I’m an old man, Myron. A
Win sat forward, moving for the first time. “Your club is too far open on your swing, Mr. Ache. Try turning your wrists a little more. Shift your grip to the right a little.”
The sudden change in subject caught everyone by surprise. Herman looked at Win. “I’m sorry. I never caught the name.”
“Windsor Home Lockwood III.”
“Ah, so you are the immortal Win. Not exactly what I expected.” He tested the new grip. “Feels odd.”
“Give it a few weeks,” Win said. “Do you play often?”
“As often as I can. It’s more than just a game to me. It’s…”
“Sacred,” Win finished for him.
His eyes livened. “Exactly. You play, Mr. Lockwood?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing like it, is there?”
“Nothing,” Win agreed. “Where do you play?”
“Not easy for my kind to find good courses. I joined a club in Westchester. St. Anthony’s. You know it?”
“No.”
“It’s not much of a course. Eighteen holes, of course. Very rocky. You have to be half mountain goat.”
Golf stories. Myron loved them. Didn’t everyone?
“I don’t understand something,” Myron said, playing along. “With all your, uh, influence, why don’t you play anywhere you want?”
Herman and Win looked at him as though he were a naked infidel praying in the Vatican. “Excuse him,” Win said. “Myron does not understand golf. He thinks a nine iron is a vitamin supplement.”
Herman laughed. The hoods joined suit. Myron didn’t get it.
“I understand fine,” Myron said. “Golf is a bunch of silly-dressed men using massive tracts of real estate to play with a ball and stick.”
Myron laughed. No one joined suit. Golfers are not known for their sense of humor.
Herman put the club back in the bag. “A man does not force or buy or bully his way onto a golf course,” he explained. “I have too much respect for the game, for the traditions, to do anything so crass. It would be like putting a gun against a priest’s head to get the front pew.”
“Sacrilege,” Win said.
“Exactly. No
“He has to be invited,” Win added.
“Right. And you don’t merely play a great course. You pay homage to it. I’d love to be invited to one of the world’s great courses. It would be my dream. But it is not meant to be.”
“How about being invited to two of them?” Win asked.
“Two-” Herman stopped. His eyes widened for a millisecond, then quickly dimmed as though afraid he was being teased. “What do you mean?”
Win pointed to a picture on the left wall. “Merion Golf Club,” he said. Then he pointed to a picture on the far wall. “And Pine Valley.”
“What about them?”
“I assume you’ve heard of them?”
“Heard of them?” Herman repeated. “They’re the top two courses on the East Coast, two of the best in the world. Name a hole. Go ahead, any hole, either course.”
“Sixth hole at Merion.”
Herman’s face glowed like a little kid’s on Christmas morning. “One of the most underrated holes anywhere. It sets up with a semiblind tee-shot to a fairway that favors a soft fade. Start your tee-shot at middle bunker, then cut back to the center, keeping clear of the boundary, which comes in on the right. Long-to-middle iron to the modestly elevated green, careful of the bunkers on the left and right.”
Win smiled. “Very impressive.”
Snore.
“Don’t tell me, Mr. Lockwood, that you’ve played Merion and Pine Valley.” Something well past awe resonated in Herman’s voice.
“I’m a member of both.”
Herman inhaled sharply. Myron half-expected him to cross himself. “A member,” he began incredulously, “of both?”
“I’m a three handicap at Merion,” Win continued. “A five handicap at Pine Valley. And I’d like you to be my guest at both for a weekend. We’ll try to get in seventy-two holes a day, thirty-six at each course. We’ll start at five A.M. Unless that’s too early.”
Herman shook his head. Myron thought his eyes looked teary. “Not too early,” he managed.
“Next weekend okay for you?” Win asked.
