Keller had watched the ball land, and moved back into the woods, making sure he was out of sight when the unfortunate golfer got there. But it took him forever to get there, the idiot, because he looked all over the place and couldnt find the damn thing.
Hey, Eddie, you want help there?
The offer came from Wheeler. Yes , Keller thought. Yes, please, come over here and give him a hand. But Eddie said no, hed find it in a minute, and then he did, and jogged back to his cart for a club, and came back and managed to find the ball again.
Half a dozen strides, Keller thought, and hed have him. The driver whod led off, whose ball hadnt carried very far, had already taken his second shot. Wheeler was up ahead, planning his own shot, tossing bits of grass in the air. Nobody was looking at Eddie, who was pretty well screened from their view by the trees and bushes. Half a dozen strides and hed have him, and he wouldnt need the gun, his hands would do the job, and it would be over.
Because did it really make any difference which of these golfers he killed? Wasnt one as good as the other?
Thats just your mind talking , he told himself sternly. Its crazy, and the good news is you dont need to listen to it.
41
This time Wheeler had the honors, and Keller braced himself, willing the man to hit a slice. Once again the woods were on the players right, and once again Wheeler failed to cooperate. He missed the fairway, but not by much, his ball rolling until it came to a stop in the light rough on the far side, away from Keller.
The next man up, whose name Keller hadnt caught, hooked his tee shot, and wound up a little deeper in the left rough than Wheeler. And then Eddie hit a perfect slice into the woods on the right, the ball coming to rest mere steps from Kellers place of concealment.
It was almost as if the guy wanted Keller to kill him. Almost as if that was what Keller was supposed to do.
Keller backed off, trying not to make any noise. In the movies, someone in his position always wound up stepping on a twig, and all ears perked up at the sound. Keller stepped on a lot of twigs, it was impossible to do otherwise, but no one noticed a thing.
Eddie found his ball with no trouble this time, and had the sense to play a safe shot back onto the fairway. Keller got out the course map and tried to figure out what to do next.
The ninth hole was a par three, and the trick was to get on the green without going in the water hazard. That was no place for Keller to lurk, not without scuba gear. He could see from the map that the tenth hole was similarly devoid of suitable cover, so he made his way directly to number eleven, and got there in time to watch another colorfully dressed group of aging businessmen find various ways to misplay the hole.
He waited, and the next team off the tee was another foursome. What would he do, he wondered, if Wheeler and his pals decided to skip the back nine?
And they might. For all he knew they were in the clubhouse right now, bandying friendly insults back and forth, reliving nine holes of golf youd think theyd be delighted to forget. Knocking back a couple of rounds of drinks at the bar, chatting with other club members, and networking just enough to keep their club memberships tax deductible.
How long, he wondered, before he could conclude that hed missed his chance? And if he had, what would he do next?
He reviewed the possible courses of action open to him, and couldnt find any he liked. He reached a point where he was plotting long-range schemes that would keep him in Oregon for a couple of weeks. Then he glanced over at the tee and hed never been so happy to see
a pair of purple pants and a vivid yellow shirt.
Eddie went first, having evidently found some way to win the preceding hole. He sent his tee shot straight down the middle of the fairway, and so did the next man, whom the others seemed to be calling Rich. And so, maddeningly, did Wheeler, whose drive never came anywhere near Kellers stand.
When he had the chance, he moved on to the next hole.
Deep rough edged both sides of the twelfth fairway. Keller had to guess, and guessed wrong. Poor golfers hit more slices than hooks, he reasoned, so he chose the woods to the golfers right, and Rich and Eddie did hit slices, Eddies ball just reaching the woods. Wheeler, maddeningly, hooked his drive well into the woods on the opposite side. He was all alone there, searching for his ball among the trees, but Keller was stranded on the other side of the fairway.
On thirteen, the rough on both sides was fairly deep, but there was no tree cover available. The only trees involved were about a hundred and twenty yards out from the tee, a stand of mixed hardwoods stretching for twenty or thirty yards across the fairway. From the tee, you had two choices; you could try to clear the trees on the fly, or you could play it safe and skirt the hazard on the right.
Keller watched from the trees. Rich and Eddie both took the safe route, laying up alongside the trees on the right. Wheeler sent his ball straight down the middle of the fairway, and it looked for a moment as though it was going to sail right over the trees. But it fell short, hit a tree, and dropped like a stone into the middle of the hazard.