Deep Rough - A Thriller in Augusta

by Blewitt, Chris; Blewitt, Chris

“We’re done here. Boss said to go back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

  “What about watching the house?”

  “Don’t worry; we have a greater assignment tomorrow morning. Now put that beer away; you’re gonna need all your energy for tomorrow.”

  Chapter 24

  “Dinner was great, guys,” Lori said, leaning back in her chair, clearly stuffed from all the great food.

  “Yeah, thanks. You didn’t have to do this,” Craig replied.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Chet said. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me. It’s almost time for me to get some sleep, so let’s talk about one last thing. First, I think we have all angles covered as far as them tampering with my clubs. Second, if they change the pin positions on Stan’s pin sheet, I’ll let you two know and you guys can help me out like you did today.”

  Lori smiled at Craig. She could not believe that they may help Chet Walker win the Masters. Craig was a bit distracted. All of this sounded great, but he had to let them know at some point who was responsible for this.

  “Now, anything else you can think of, Stan?” Chet asked.

  Stan folded his arms and said, “We talked about it, and I don’t know how they can stop a person from winning a golf tournament. You’re paired with Pat Hitchens, who is a great tour pro and a great guy. I don’t see them paying him off to distract you or cough in your backswing or anything. He’d be banned from the PGA for life.”

  “Good point,” replied Craig. “If you’re sure about Hitchens, what about the guys in front of you? Anything they may be able to do? I remember a couple of years ago when a golfer complained that another golfer in front of him was tearing up the greens with spike marks.”

  “We’d know about that on the first green, and I’d be sure to tell an official,” replied Stan. “I honestly think Hitchens won’t be a problem, and if he is, we’ll let the officials know.” Stan thought for a second before saying, “If they did get to him, they may pay him off to force slow play.”

  “Didn’t think of that,” Chet said.

  Stan noticed that Lori looked confused and explained, “If a group gets too far behind the group in front of them, the rules official walking with that group can put them on the clock. This means that they have a certain amount of time to finish holes and catch up to the group in front of them. If they don’t, they are given a penalty.”

  “There’s not much we can do about that, but I’m not concerned about Hitchens. Let’s drop it,” Chet replied. “What I am concerned about is who’s doing this?”

  Three of them looked around the room in silence. Only Craig kept his head down and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. How could he let on that it was not only his boss but also Lori’s uncle that were both fixing the tournament?

  “Hopefully we’ll figure that out after you win the green jacket,” Stan said.

  Everyone smiled, and Chet raised his glass of water and took a long drink.

  “Good luck tomorrow,” Lori said, raising her glass.

  “Good luck,” Craig said, raising his own glass.

  They finished what was left of their meals and bid their farewells. Craig promised to meet them on the driving range tomorrow before Chet was to tee off. It was nearing eleven o’clock and Chet was due to tee off at two in the afternoon. Craig could already feel the adrenaline running through his veins, and he wasn’t even the one playing.

  <><><><><>

  Red Maitland walked the grounds of Augusta National by himself that night. He never went home after the third round but instead stayed around to help with any preparations needed for Sunday. He and the Tournament Committee worked with the greens keeper and superintendent to set up the course for the following day. After the third round was completed, large mowers cut the fairways in a beautiful pattern that looked like the sun was shining on one half, and the other half was darker green, as if covered in shade.

  Most of the pin positions were already decided before the Masters got underway. The small group of men went out to each green and decided on where to cut the hole each and every morning. They would roll golf balls to different areas of the green to determine where the most challenging, yet fair, place was to cut the four-inch hole. The superintendent would put a tiny speck of white paint on the green to show the grounds crew where the hole would be.

  One could look back on the history of the Masters and see that a majority of the holes were placed in the same location for the final round. Red walked to the first green in darkness and found the white speck of paint in the moonlight where the hole would be cut the following morning. He considered changing every location but figured that would just delay the start of the round as the grounds crew looked for the location.

  He had one more ace up his sleeve for the final round to prevent Chet Walker from winning the tournament. It would be the grandest and most dangerous plan yet.

  SUNDAY

  Final Round

  Hitchens -5

  Walker - 5

  Chapter 25

  The United States Congress voted in 2005 to change daylight savings time to allow for more daylight at the end of the day and less at the beginning. This was the first year that the change took effect, and the sun did not rise until after 6:30 in the morning. Stan awoke on his own from his few hours of sleep, not needing help from the alarm clock positioned on his nightstand. He didn’t hear the pleasant sounds of birds chirping nor see the sun casting shadows through the Venetian blinds on his window.

  He slowly and silently dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and made his way downstairs. Chet needed all the sleep he could get, so Stan tiptoed outside and got in the red SUV. He drove down the long driveway and waved to the two men sitting in their car keeping watch of the house. The only light coming from the inside of the car was the orange glow of a cigarette burning in the fingers of the man in the passenger seat.

  Stan made his way to Starbucks, as he did every day, only a few miles away. He parked his car on the side of the building and opened his door to get out. Before he could put one foot on the ground, he was instantly grabbed by the shoulders and thrown from the car to the pavement. He was kicked once in the ribs and he grunted in agony. He felt two hands clutch him around the waist, and he was forced to his feet. He looked up and saw one man in front of him, and another was still behind him.

  “Who the hell are you?” Stan demanded.

  The man in front of him threw a right hook that landed in his gut. Stan doubled over in pain, and the two men dragged him across the parking lot towards the back of the building. Stan tried fighting back and swung his right elbow backward, crashing into the stomach of the guy holding him. He felt the hands on his shoulders relax, and Stan made his move. He quickly swung around and punched the man in the face, sending him reeling backwards. The other man came up from behind and kicked him in the back of the legs. Stan almost fell over but kept his ground. He threw another punch at the man in front of him, but this time it missed.

  Stan was pushed from behind and sent farther towards the back of Starbucks. The man in front of him grabbed him by the collar and head-butted him in the forehead. Stan put his hands to his face and felt tears forming in his eyes. He was seeing stars and felt another kick to the back of the leg that sent him crashing to the ground. He looked up and saw the two men standing over him, ready to strike.

  One of the men, a tall, burly man, removed something from the back of his waistband and held it over his head with one hand. In the darkness of the morning, Stan couldn’t make out what it was. As he tried to get up, the man swung the object down with all his strength at Stan’s right leg. The object collided with his shin.

  Stan screamed out in pain and he grabbed his leg, “Help!”

  The man stepped over him and swung again, this time hitting both his shin and his hands that were trying to protect his leg. He screamed again even louder.

  “Shut the fuck up!” the other man yelled.

  Two more times, the man swung what now looked to Sta
n like a billy club a policeman might carry. The pain was excruciating, and Stan was writhing on the ground like a snake, trying to move away from the men. One final blow to the same leg, and Stan stopped moving. The two men looked over their prey and figured their job was done. The man took the club and put it back in his waistband, and they both trotted away towards the front of the building, leaving Stan slumped on the ground.

  Back in their car, Brewster picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

  “It’s done,” he said “He won’t be caddying today.”

  Chapter 26

  As opposed to the previous few weeks and especially the past few nights, Craig had an uninterrupted night of sleep. Given the amount of walking they were doing each day combined with the large amounts of food and ample wine, it was easy to understand how he had slept through the night. He awoke around seven o’clock and flipped on the television to watch the latest SportsCenter on ESPN. Craig just missed the lead story of the day, the third round action at Augusta, and caught up on some early season baseball highlights.

  The Philadelphia Phillies were once again positioned to make a run at the National League East and another NL Penant. Craig watched the ticker at the bottom of the screen and finally caught the score of the game. The Phillies had beaten the Florida Marlins seven to three in the first home game of the season. His hotel phone rang, and he picked it up.

  “Craig?” the caller said.

  “Yes?” Craig replied.

  “It’s me, Chet Walker.”

  Craig shot straight out bed and walked to the window, dragging the hotel phone behind him.

  “Yeah, hi. How did you get my number?”

  “Listen,” Chet said, ignoring his question. “Please come to my place right away. Something’s happened.”

  “Okay,” was all he could manage before he heard the dial tone.

  He looked out the window and saw no movement in the parking lot. It didn’t seem at the moment that anyone was watching his room. He showered and dressed in record time and bolted out the door. On his way over to Chet’s he called Lori, explained the phone call, and picked her up.

  The two of them arrived a short time later and were escorted up to the front door by the two security guards. Chet greeted them at the door in only gym shorts, a t-shirt, and a Texas Longhorns hat. While talking on his phone, he waved them inside. Craig and Lori made their way inside, and Chet said a few words into the phone before hanging up.

  “Stan’s in the hospital,” were the first words out of Chet’s mouth.

  Lori put one hand over her mouth, and Craig just stood there dumbfounded. They were standing against the breakfast bar in the large kitchen, and all three of them were at a loss for words.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Chet said.

  “How? What happened? When?” Craig said.

  “He woke up early and went to Starbucks like he did every morning this week. I guess two guys were waiting for him and beat the crap out of him.”

  “Who?”

  “No idea. Stan just called me from the hospital, and he’s got a badly broken leg. He’s also got some bruising and cuts, but he can’t even walk. He was on the ground in the back of the building for a while before someone noticed his car door open and walked around the side and found him. They called an ambulance and brought him to St. Joseph’s Hospital

  “Oh my gosh,” Lori said. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “I guess, except for the broken leg,” Chet said. He buried his face in his hands and rubbed them up and down. “What the hell am I going to do?”

  “Chet, I’m sorry. I can’t believe this happened,” Craig said.

  “Stan said he wants me to play, but I feel I should be there for him.”

  Lori looked at him and said rather too loud, “No way. You’re not quitting. This is what they want to happen. They want you to forfeit. If they can’t beat you on the course, they’re trying to beat you off the course. You have to play.”

  “But I have no caddy,” Chet said.

  “You can get one at Augusta,” Craig said. “They have great caddies there. I think Palmer—or was it Watson—they never used their regular caddy. They always used a local caddy.”

  Chet thought for only a second before saying, “Craig, how do I know I can trust one of their caddies? They could pay them off, too. Give me bad reads, bad yardage, forget to keep enough balls. They could put an extra driver in my bag and I’d be penalized on the first hole! I can’t worry about that all day.”

  “True,” Craig said.

  The three of them were quiet as they considered the obstacle in front of them. Chet went over to the refrigerator and got out three bottles of water and handed one to each of them.

  Lori was the first one to break the silence. “What if Craig caddied for you?”

  Craig looked at her like she had two heads. “Lori, I know you want to help, but I’m no caddy. Stan was one of the best caddies on tour, and there’s no way I can replace him. I’d be terrible.”

  Chet ignored Craig and said, “That’s not a bad idea, Lori.”

  “Wait, wait a minute. Are you serious?”

  “Have you ever caddied before, Craig?” Chet asked.

  “Years ago, during summers of high school, but that was different. These were old men playing for five bucks a side. This is the Masters!”

  “Craig, what choice do I have? I can’t call a friend or my brother and fly them in on time. I can’t trust one of Augusta’s caddies. All of the other caddies whose players missed the cut flew home on Friday.”

  “Yes, this will work great!” Lori said, suddenly excited.

  “I don’t know,” Craig said.

  “I’m stuck here, Craig. Granted, I don’t know you from Adam, but I could really use you. Right now, you two are the only people I trust.”

  “And I’m not lugging that bag around for five hours,” Lori said.

  Craig didn’t know how he could say no. He looked over at Chet and Lori, who were anxiously awaiting his answer. Caddying at Augusta National would be the greatest thrill of his life. But what if he screwed up? What if his life was in danger? There was only one answer. “Let’s do it.”

  “Yeah!” Lori said, clapping her hands.

  Chet smiled and reached across to shake Craig’s hand. “Let’s go, we have lots of work to do before the tournament starts. Let me call Stan and tell him. He’ll be glad he’s already in the hospital when I tell him this news. He’s going to have a heart attack.”

  <><><><><>

  Stumps and Brewster arrived at the hotel and walked into Hank’s room. He was sitting on his bed watching nothing in particular on TV, just flipping channels. He was already dressed in his spectator’s outfit and was nursing a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee.

  “Where have you two been?” he asked.

  “Breakfast,” Stumps replied.

  “So what’s the word?” Hank asked.

  “We took care of him just like you asked,” Brewster replied. “Not sure why you didn’t let us kill him. You already had us knock off one loose end.”

  “Hey, the less people die here, the better. And keep your fucking voice down! You think I want this to come out? Maitland would have my head if he knew Banner was dead.”

  “I’m just saying,” Brewster continued, “it would’ve made sense.”

  “Is he going to be able to caddy?” Hank asked.

  “Hell no,” Stumps replied.

  “Then the job is done,” Hank said. “You’ll get your money when we get back to Philly. Now you guys are back on the course today, got it?”

  “You want us to walk around that Godforsaken place again?” Brewster asked. “It’s hot, boring, and what are we going to do if we see anything? Who is going to caddy for him now, anyway?”

  Hank smiled and said, “With any luck, he picks up some caddy from Augusta. If he does, Red will take care of that end. But if he brings in someone from the outside, hopefully we know in time and you two can take care
of him.”

  “I’m not going to jail for this, Hank,” Stumps said.

  “And I’m not either. Everything is fine.”

  “We’ve been talking, and I think you should double what you’re paying us.”

  “Oh, you think so? You’ve been talking, huh? Where’d you two get any brains?” Hank took a sip of coffee and walked over to the men standing by the door.

  “I’m just saying,” Brewster said, avoiding eye contact with Hank, “with all that we’ve done, we deserve a little bit more money.”

  Suddenly, Hank threw the hot coffee at Brewster and it splashed off his shirt and down his stomach.

  “Ahh! What the fuck?!” Brewster yelled.

  “Get the hell out of here. I’ll see you on the course.”

  Brewster brushed the drips of coffee off his shirt and pulled it out in front of him to block the coffee that was burning his chest. They left the room and drove off back to their hotel. Hank went back to the coffee pot, refilled his cup, and dialed a number on his cell phone.

  “All taken care of, Red,” he said.

  Chapter 27

  They say that anything can happen at a major, especially the Masters. Something did happen a few years previously to one of the greats of the game. The year was 1996, and Greg Norman had a six-stroke lead entering the final round. After a third round 63, tying the lowest round in championship history, Norman was paired with two-time Masters winner Nick Faldo, and everyone, including Faldo, figured Norman had an easy victory in his grasp. It wasn’t the challenging course, the speed and undulation of the greens, nor the weather that upended Norman. He lost due to the pressure involved with winning a major tournament.

  Norman mishit his irons, drove wildly, putted poorly, and ended up shooting a 78, finishing five strokes behind Faldo’s brilliant 67. On the relatively easy par-three twelfth and sixteenth holes, Norman had a short iron in his hands and dunked them both in the water. Everyone thought that Norman had choked that day and still criticized him for being a choker.