Match Play

by Poppe, D. Michael

  The nightmares return as soon as he falls asleep. The high fever delirium doesn’t help.

  

  It is winter at dusk and he is walking down the railroad tracks. He doesn’t know where he is but the surrounding area looks desolate and frightening. He feels apprehensive, the ominous shadows feed his paranoia, and he’s sure a bum or transient will kill him.

  Snow is piled along the track and he is expecting someone, anyone to jump out and grab him. He hears a train whistle but can’t see a train; he puts his ear to the track to listen for vibrations. He raises his head and suddenly hears a kitten crying.

  He follows the sound of the kitten and finds it. The poor thing is thin and sick and for a moment he feels sorry for it.

  The kitten’s meowing sounds like shrieking for him. Suddenly he feels his rage rise, and he has to stop the cat. He goes to the nearest snowbank and digs a hole a couple of feet deep, throws the kitten in the hole and fills it with snow. He packs it with his foot. He no longer hears the kitten.

  He walks a short ways when he hears a terrifying roar. He turns, panicked. He stands, shaking with fear. A beast explodes from the snowbank where he had put the kitten. It is cat-like but enormous, with wolf-like fangs dripping saliva. The eyes glow like hot coals as it turns its head toward him. It springs from the snowbank onto the tracks and begins to pursue him.

  He screams and runs, sprinting with all his strength; he can hear the paws of the beast on his heels. He runs as hard as he can but the beast is snarling right behind him. He can’t tell if it is the breath of the beast on his legs that is making him hot or the strain of running. He knows he is dead. He is spitting and salivating and needs to wipe his mouth. He reaches up and presses his hand to his lips and when he moves his hand away from his mouth it is covered with blood.

  He screams like the cows he had slaughtered at the plant and sits straight up in bed, grasping for anything and pulls the covers over his head. He shivers and convulses with dry heaves. He falls backwards, hitting his head on the headboard. He’s gasping for air until his heart finally slows and returns to normal.

  He can’t allow himself to fall asleep again.

  The fever has broken. He is feeling weak and sick and the thought of food makes his stomach churn. He goes to the refrigerator and drinks orange juice out of the bottle. The cold liquid soothes him.

  In his state of mind, he is sure the beast is in the room with him.

  He is again soaked through and strips naked and showers with hot water to relieve the chills. He wraps himself in the thick bathrobe provided by the hotel and, exhausted, lays down and despite his fears, falls into a peaceful sleep.

  By morning David is sure it will be a few days before he can resume the match, but he has ample time to recuperate and regain his strength. He calls room service and orders something light to eat. Food will help him feel better.

  He will work on his knives and make further preparations for the third hole.

  Chapter 26

  David’s bout with the flu has kept him sequestered in his villa for five days and now, on the fifth day, he is feeling back to normal. The comfort of the room has helped with his recovery. He is sitting in his private patio enjoying a hearty breakfast from room service.

  Taking the extra days to recover allowed him to keep his arm clean and medicated until the scratches are barely noticeable.

  It is Monday, April 1. He spent most of yesterday cleaning and sharpening his knives. He is always reminded of his friend Samuel Washington during that ritual and wonders where he might be, or if he is still alive. In a sense, they are blood brothers.

  He sets his dishes aside and opens a pad of paper on which he has been working on scrambles for the third hole. After several attempts to create a scramble to captivate Special Agent Lou Schein, he chooses the taunt, “Watch My Game Shine.”

  David ponders the next hurdle: how to locate the woman in her fifties. This is a par 5, after all. He would like to make a birdie or an eagle, but she has to be a 5;4 for a birdie or a 5;5 for a par; a 5;3 would be an eagle and a triumph. However, if he makes a 5;6 he will be devastated. Bogey is a losing score and unacceptable.

  He dresses in expensive golf attire and tucks his hair under a 3" brim hat to protect him from the sun. He plans to play eighteen holes at the PGA Stadium course in La Quinta. He must get back his feel for the game after being off for so long.

  He sets the GPS and in thirty minutes is parking at the course. He finds his way to the clubhouse and signs in as Bruce Devin. He tells the attendant that he is a par player and he prefers to play with other low handicappers. He goes to the driving range to wait, and while hitting balls, searches for the third hole.

  The prospects are not favorable. He sees LPGA players playing practice rounds, but they are all too young. Press people are joining the players and some look appropriate for a par 5.

  David feels Joan’s presence; he knows she’s here.

  When his name is called, he quickly returns to the starter kiosk and tees off with three gentlemen older than him. He is worried that he’s in for a slow round with bogey golfers, but they all play quite well and he enjoys his round. The course is as spectacular as he expected. The round concludes by four-thirty. and after his clubs are cleaned, he thanks them all and leaves. He shot a 76, four over par, which is spoiling his mood.

  He’s more tired than expected, so he drives directly back to the villa and orders room service to eat on the patio.

  He has six days remaining to play the third hole.

  

  David awakens early Tuesday morning, drowsy with the knowledge that he had nightmares, but they are vague memories and don’t leave him unsettled. He considers this a good omen. He starts his day with another room service breakfast and asks for a newspaper; he can enjoy his privacy in the patio and leisurely plan his day.

  He checks the three baby food jars immersed in mayonnaise jars and feels confident they are safe.

  David brushes his hair and decides to tie it back and leave the hat. He opens the safe and retrieves the silk pouch, pulls the strings and allows the ring to fall into his hand. He slides the platinum wedding band onto his left hand as a diversion for what he has planned for the day.

  He has chosen a well-rated salon to spend the day relaxing and re-centering himself after a week of flu. He gets a haircut and full-service salon experience which includes massage, a gentleman’s facial, manicure and pedicure, and a full body wax. He purchases a gift for his wife…matching lipstick and nail polish. The masseuse has given him a small amount of emollient for the scratches to keep them from scarring and he feels confident they will all but disappear.

  David feels transformed as he sips his wine and dines at the fine restaurant in the hotel. He sees middle-aged women in the restaurant bar, but David isn’t ready to play.

  The match will resume tomorrow. Will he find the third hole in the press tent?

  Mission Hills Country Club, Press Tent, Wednesday, April 3

  The Third Hole

  Chapter 27

  The woman slides out of her car and, making sure she has her press badge, she locks the vehicle and scans the area for the press tent. She has a confident, long-legged stride and receives admiring glances as people seem to clear the way as she passes. She is well-dressed in designer clothes, not ostentatious, but tasteful for her surroundings. Her shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair glistens in the sun, and she brushes a strand from her face as a breeze flutters. Her well-manicured hands are unadorned with jewelry, but she wears a delicate diamond and sapphire bracelet and the sapphires mirror her dark blue eyes. She is tall in her Manolo Blahnik heels, her legs well-toned and shapely.

  She shows her press badge at the tent. She sees several people she knows and greets them warmly. She looks around for a vacant table with a phone and places her purse and briefcase there to stake out her territory. She leaves her things, asking an acquaintance at the next table to watch them.

  She begins a solitary wa
ltz around the tent, using her practiced sensual stroll, saying hello to the writers she knows. She approaches the rear of the tent and spots a woman in her early fifties. Woman’s intuition kicks in. Joan knows she is looking at the third hole.

  She stops to introduce herself. “Hi! I’m Joan Steadman. I write for Certain Swing Magazine in Chicago. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I’m Shirley Scott. I write for a small publication in Florida and freelance when I can. I’m doing a biographical piece on Nancy Lopez along with my column for the magazine.”

  “Do you mind if I sit down?” Joan can feel the mutual attraction.

  They have an enjoyable short getting-to-know-you conversation, then as it appears the chat will become a long conversation. Joan begs forgiveness to return to her own table and spend some time deciding who she will cover for the tournament.

  The Kraft Nabisco Championship is a big tournament for the LPGA and anyone who is qualified will surely be here. Joan calls the magazine’s office in Chicago and informs the editor of her plans; she is approved to proceed. It is close to noon as she drifts back to Shirley Scott’s table.

  “Hello again!” She smiles her friendly smile. “What are you planning for lunch?”

  “I thought I’d get something at a concession tent if they’re open. I eat too much junk food but I seem to get away with it.” Shirley smiles rather provocatively, Joan thinks.

  “Why don’t we go have some real lunch? I know a good restaurant about a mile from here. The player interviews don’t start until later this afternoon. We could have a nice lunch, a drink, and continue our conversation.”

  “Sure, why not? I’ve already filed my piece.” Shirley’s gaze dips to Joan’s décolletage and Joan gives her a subtle wink.

  “I’ll get my things and meet you at the exit,” says Joan.

  The press has a segregated area for parking and when they reach the end of one row of cars, Joan points. “It’s that green Navigator with the Illinois plates.”

  They have an enjoyable lunch and too much alcohol and by the time they finish, the conversation has turned personal. They talk of marriages and relationships and Shirley is frank about being gay. Joan casually touches Shirley’s wrist, the attraction obvious.

  Shirley almost coos when she compliments Joan. “Oh honey, your hands and nails are so beautifully done and your makeup looks like it was applied by a professional makeup artist. Even your lipstick matches your nail polish. I’ve never been that put together, not even when I was your age!”

  “I’m reluctant to end our time together,” Joan says, “but we’d better get back. I don’t want to miss the interviews.”

  Joan pays the check and they return to the course and the press tent.

  The chairs have been rearranged to provide audience seating; the women find two empty chairs together. The interviews are tedious, but they make their notes and ask their questions and hold hands through most of the proceedings.

  At the conclusion of the interview session, they mill around for a while trying to make some new contacts and flatter the players. Soon the desire for contact and intimacy overwhelms Shirley, and she grabs Joan by her wrist. “Why don’t we get some dinner together?”

  “I’d like that.” She doesn’t pull her arm away.

  In the parking lot, Shirley suggests they take both cars. Joan insists on one so they don’t get separated. She promises to bring Shirley back to her car after dinner.

  The attraction is electric as they drive to a French restaurant in the area. They walk hand in hand and ask for a secluded table. Once drinks are ordered, Shirley leaves the table to find the restroom and Joan drops three sedatives each in Shirley’s wine and water. As Shirley returns, Joan announces she must wash her hands and when she sits back at the table, she is pleased that Shirley has half finished her glass of wine.

  They each order seafood salads and share a bottle of wine. The conversation stays lively and personal as Shirley starts to show the effects of the sedatives. They share a crème brule and because Joan is sure Shirley will soon lose her equilibrium, she suggests they leave. In the car, Shirley puts her hand on Joan’s face and leans over and kisses her while caressing her cheek.

  “Your skin is flawless. How do you keep it that way? I have an idea, why don’t we go to my hotel and have a nightcap?” Shirley smiles.

  Joan kisses her back. “Where to?”

  “Follow Dinah Shore and take Mesquite Drive east; my hotel is just past Gene Autry Trail.”

  They touch each other and make small talk, intimate at times, until they reach the hotel. Joan pulls in and parks as far from the entrance as she thinks Shirley can walk.

  “Better not leave anything valuable in the car; this isn’t a fancy hotel with security,” Joan advises. She slides out of the car and walks to the passenger side to help Shirley. They embrace and kiss. Joan props Shirley up against the side of the car. “I should get my briefcase out of the back; I’ll just be a moment.”

  Shirley notices the briefcase. “Wow! That’s a Burberry and a gorgeous one at that! What do you carry in that?”

  Trying to appear casual, Joan answers that she prefers to keep her laptop in the briefcase, along with all her other magazine-related materials.

  They clasp hands and walk to the hotel entrance. Once at the entrance, Joan pulls away and by appearing distracted by the fireplace, she puts distance between her and Shirley. She doesn’t want to attract attention. She sees the elevator and walks toward it with Shirley following. Once in the elevator, she dismisses Shirley’s advances, certain there is a surveillance camera. It is necessary to appear casual, as if they are not together.

  Shirley pushes the third floor button, and when the elevator door opens, Joan asks her room number. They arrive at Room 325 and Shirley stumbles. Joan grabs her by the arm a little too firmly.

  “Ow! You don’t have to man-handle me,” Shirley complains.

  Joan slackens her grip while Shirley searches for her key and finding it, hands it to Joan.

  Their bags tossed on the couch, the briefcase is placed on the desk and Shirley tells Joan she’ll be right back, she wants to change her clothes. She offers wine, there’s an open bottle in the refrigerator. Joan pours two glasses, adding more sedative to Shirley’s glass.

  Joan removes her heels and blazer, hanging it on the back of a chair, and steps to the bedroom door and knocks. No answer. She opens the door; Shirley is passed out on the bed.

  Joan returns to the living room and undresses. She carefully hangs her silk blouse over a chair and lays her skirt on the back of the couch. She removes her bra and panties, releasing her male genitals.

  David Steadman opens his briefcase, places the knife sheath on the desk and removes plastic coveralls. He steps into them and shivers as they touch his newly waxed nude body. He tucks his hair into a shower cap, puts on latex gloves and takes his knives to the bathroom.

  David puts his arms under Shirley to pick her up off the bed, his face close to hers. She opens her eyes. At first she smiles, seeing Joan’s face. Then her eyes move to the shower cap, then to the plastic coveralls, then panic sets in.

  “Joan! What…what are you doing? Why are you dressed like that? Let me go!” When Shirley starts to scream, David frees one hand and covers her mouth. He drops her back on the bed and throws himself on top of her, smothering her face so she can’t scream. She struggles to roll him off, but he wraps his legs around hers and finally succeeds in holding her down.

  The drugs and the struggle have exhausted her, allowing David to get his hands around her throat. She defiantly stares into his eyes as he chokes her until she passes out.

  He jumps off the bed. He will need to act quickly. He frantically strips her clothing and then carries her into the bathroom. He places her in the tub, head by the drain. David reaches for his first knife and kneels by the tub, waiting for her to regain consciousness. She stirs, the shock of the cold enamel reviving her. He waits, like a snake ready to strike, and when
she opens her eyes and focuses on his face, he cuts her throat.

  The blood squirts from her carotids and pools around the drain.

  David stands over the third hole and watches her die.

  He sees the makeup remover on the sink counter and uses it on a tissue to wipe Joan’s lipstick from Shirley’s mouth, repeating the action on the fingers where she touched Joan’s face. He flushes any trace of Joan down the toilet.

  He grabs her purse from the front room and finds her driver’s license. She’s fifty-seven years old! He is going to make a double bogey; David will lose the hole. It is a par 5, but it will be 5;7. He curses and shakes his head and starts to pace.

  He stops and stands motionless and forces himself to imagine the sounds and smells of the ocean. When he feels the calm wash over him, he is ready to play. He reassures himself that he will recover on the fourth hole or one soon after.

  He returns to the bathroom with a glass and begins to gather blood in the ice bucket. It is the largest vessel available, it is metal, and he believes it will work. When it is half full he opens the drain and lets the remaining blood seep from the tub.

  Shirley’s hair is matted with blood just as the others before. He reaches for his knife and severs her head between the C3 and C4 vertebrae, which will leave enough neck to hold the head in the ice bucket. He sets the head in the bucket and carefully balances it.

  David carries the head and bucket to the front room and places them on a side table facing the area where he will leave the torso. He returns to the bathroom, pulls back the shower curtain and turns on the hot water to warm the body so the blood will drain.

  Back in the front room, he opens a new box of golf balls and marks one in blood with a 4. He selects a pitching wedge from her golf bag and leans it against the wall by the balcony door.