The Eighteenth Green

by Webb Hubbell

  I heard a few more laughs of disbelief, then the clear, skeptical voice of a young woman. “Sure. Right. You flew here yesterday from DC, spent the evening with the Jennings, and never once talked about representing Rachel?”

  “The subject of representation did not come up last night,” I answered. It would come up in just a few minutes, but it did not come up last night.

  Another guy tried, “Les Butterman told me that Ben wants you to represent Rachel. According to Les, that would be a big mistake.”

  I channeled Maggie with my answer. “Sounds as if old Les is still full of shit. Some things never change.” Now I heard murmurs of approval.

  “Okay. This is my last warning: if you haven’t left Ben’s lawn by the time I come back out of the house, I promise you will be sorry.”

  Nobody likes to be threatened, especially a pack of reporters. The same reporter who quoted Les snorted with derision.

  “Whatcha gonna do, call the police? Haven’t you heard of the First Amendment?”

  I fixed a cold stare on the reporter and lowered the volume of my voice. “Contrary to what your buddy Les Butterman may have told you, I did go to law school and actually learned the rights afforded by the First Amendment. It doesn’t give you the right to park a satellite truck on someone’s lawn. But no, I don’t need to call the police. Here’s what I mean: Anyone still parked on this lawn when I come out of the house will never get a single bite of Ben’s barbeque again. That I can promise.”

  Ben was still sitting on the porch. He laughed, nodding his head in agreement.

  A seasoned reporter said, “Let’s go, fellas. No story is worth that.”

  14

  BEN WAS STILL LAUGHING when Paul and I got to the porch. Linda stood inside the door, smiling. She gave me a hug, and I introduced her to Paul. They knew what had happened to Clovis, and we brought them up to date on his condition.

  “What can we do to help?” Linda asked. Her offer provided the perfect segue.

  “Well, Clovis’s fiancée Stella will return to Little Rock tonight, and as soon as they let Clovis out of the hospital, I bet she could use help feeding that big lug. She’s not much of a cook.”

  “That’s easy. I have plenty of leftovers, and I can organize my church circle to bring over meals for as long as they need.”

  I smiled my thanks and asked, “What about you, Ben?”

  He looked puzzled. “What do you mean? The restaurant is closed.”

  “How long do you think it would take the restoration company and your insurance folks to get it open?” I asked.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care.” His voice was tight and gruff. “I closed the restaurant because my people were scared, and my suppliers wouldn’t deliver. End of story.”

  “I understand, but hear me out, okay?” He didn’t say a word.

  “Let’s deal with the easy part first. I have no idea how I can best help Rochelle. I’ll do whatever I can, but a great deal depends on her. She’s the one who has to choose a lawyer if she wants one. As soon as I get back to the District, I’ll do everything in my power to meet with her and offer my services.”

  “Oh, Jack!” Linda grabbed Ben’s hand.

  The scene could have degenerated into crying and backslapping, but I held up my hand.

  “Don’t thank me yet. There’s more.”

  They both looked confused, so I spoke quickly. “I can’t emphasize enough that the decision regarding counsel is hers, not mine or yours. My memory of her is that of a smart and independent young woman. She may not want to have anything to do with an antitrust lawyer with no experience in espionage cases.

  “And I can tell you the government will do everything they can to prevent me from talking to her. I have a plan, but I need your help.”

  Ben took a deep breath. “I’ll do anything.”

  I smiled, “Be careful what you say. What I need from you is at the top of my list.”

  “Name it,” Ben responded.

  “Open your restaurant.”

  Linda looked down quickly, trying to hide a smile. Ben said nothing.

  “Open your restaurant. Ben, I’m looking at a man who survived Vietnam, a man who overcame nearly insurmountable odds to become a successful restaurant owner. But you’ve let the allegations about your daughter defeat you. So far, Rochelle hasn’t even been charged with a crime. If the attacks, the spray paint, and the threats had been about your race or your service in Vietnam, would you have closed the restaurant?”

  “Hell, no, but we’re talking about my daughter,” he growled.

  “Isn’t she as important, if not more so? The government and the press would have everyone believe she’s a spy, without having to prove a single thing. The only thing they’ve done so far is detain her, yet the whole world believes she’s a traitor.”

  I emphasized the word “traitor” and saw Ben wince.

  “If I have any chance of defending your daughter, I need her parents to plant that first seed of doubt as to her guilt. I need that restaurant open. Paul and his folks will make sure you and your people are protected, but I need you out front greeting people just like you did before this happened.

  “Like most cities, Little Rock has its share of jerks, but lots of good folks will come around to give you their support if you give them the chance. Right now, it looks like you’ve turned tail, running scared.”

  Ben’s face darkened, and I hoped I hadn’t been too harsh.

  Linda reached out for his hand. “You can do it, honey. Remember how much fun we had when we started the business? We put up with the city and health inspectors and suppliers jerking you around, demanding cash when we didn’t have nickel. You managed then, and you can do it now.”

  Ben glared at me, ignoring her.

  “One more thing,” I continued.

  “What else?” Ben asked coldly.

  “I want you to turn off the computer. Quit reading every article and opinion piece about Rochelle. I’ll give that job to an intern in my office, but I want you to quit obsessing over what other people are saying about your daughter.”

  “Did Linda ask you to say that?” He turned his glare on his wife.

  “No, she didn’t have to. Every high-profile client and their family thinks they need to read every single thing written about them. Before long they start believing the press clippings and think ninety percent of America is reading the same stories. Here’s the reality: most people aren’t paying any attention at all. Even in Little Rock, few people get past the headlines. Hell, if the Razorbacks beat Alabama this weekend no one will care if Rochelle is an axe murderer.

  “People’s memories are short. Don’t believe Rochelle is at the center of their lives, because she isn’t. And here’s another reason I need you to open the restaurant and turn off your computer: your boys.”

  Now he looked downright angry, but he didn’t budge. “What does any of this have to do with my boys?”

  “Last night I heard you questioning the boys’ and Tina’s reaction to Rochelle’s arrest. Let me tell you, their concerns are legitimate. Law enforcement is a tough environment. Other agents and their own colleagues will use their sister’s arrest against your sons. I was in government myself, and I’ve seen what people will do to advance their own careers. But that’s only part of my thinking.”

  Linda was silent; Ben had stuck his lower lip out.

  “I know they’re grown men, but they still look up to you and Linda, and they get cues about how to behave from you. Right now they see a father acting scared and ashamed, and they’re following suit. All of you have bought into the idea that Rochelle is guilty. If I have any chance of convincing a jury she’s not who the world thinks she is, I need her own family to believe in her and stand up for her.”

  Ben stared at me in silence. I was beginning to wonder if I had pushed too hard, when he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.

  “Your words are hard, Jack Patterson. You are talking about my family. What do you kn
ow about the example I set? Who are you to question the way I raised my children?”

  I knew that how I responded could make or break not only my chances to help Rochelle, but a lifelong friendship. I felt a line of sweat trickling down my back.

  “Who am I? What do I know about the example you set? To a great extent, I am your son.”

  It was hard to get the last words out of my mouth.

  “You are the father I never had. My real father never made it home from Vietnam, but you did. Whether you intended to or not, you set the example that framed my life. I know my words were hard, and if I didn’t love, respect, and honor you, I would’ve kept my mouth shut. But I owe you and your daughter my best, and if it means telling you something you don’t want to hear, so be it. You never hesitated to feed me the truth, and I’m a better man for it.”

  Linda looked at Ben, and I waited. I thought the silence couldn’t get any louder. Suddenly, Ben turned to Paul.

  “Young man, you’ve been awful quiet. How about a beer?”

  Paul glanced at me, but he was on his own.

  “Um, sure, that sounds nice,” he said, tripping a little over the words.

  “Nice? Don’t tell me Jack’s poisoned you so you’d choose a glass of wine over a cold beer.”

  “No, sir, a beer sounds great.” Paul jumped up with a relieved smile.

  “Then come with me. I’ve got a fridge on the back porch and the most comfortable porch swing ever. You and I have to figure out how I can run a restaurant with your men standing guard.” He winked at Linda, ignoring me.

  Linda took my arm and said, “Come on in the kitchen, Jack. I think we could all use a little something to eat. You can chop the onions and peppers for cheese dip.”

  For much of America it’s called “queso,” but in Arkansas it’s still cheese dip. It beats “queso” every time.

  15

  LINDA MOTIONED ME to a stool by the kitchen counter. She handed me a glass of wine, a large knife, and the peppers and onions. Before long she was cooking the vegetables in butter in the top of a double boiler. She threw in a handful of spices and a little flour, and then added the cheese to melt. Sam’s mom had always added a little beer to the mix.

  “Those were tough words, Jack. Difficult to hear.”

  “I know. I almost lost a friend.”

  “No, you could never lose Ben. But you almost lost me,” she smiled.

  I offered to help, but Linda gave me a look, so I pulled out my phone to check my email and messages. It didn’t take long to realize my phone had been on mute since I’d been on the plane. No wonder I hadn’t heard from Maggie. Worse, I had three text messages from Carol to call her, and saw she’d been calling too. When would I learn?

  Now wasn’t the time to call Carol, so I asked Linda if she would mind if I called Maggie to check on Stella’s arrival. She gave me another look.

  Maggie answered on the second ring.

  “Found your phone?”

  “Had it with me the whole time, just on mute,” I confessed.

  After she quit laughing she said, “We’re just about to land. We’ll go straight to the hospital. I’m sure Stella will want to stay the night with Clovis. The hospital says they plan to release him tomorrow unless something shows up overnight.”

  “I thought I might see you in Little Rock. Is Walter with you?”

  “No, he has board meetings all week. I have a room at the Armitage.”

  “One of Clovis’s people will pick you up at the airport.”

  “That won’t be necessary. We’ll Uber.”

  “No, Maggie, you will not use Uber. Someone tried to kill Clovis yesterday. I’m not about to let either you or Stella go running around footloose until we figure out who’s behind this and why. The same goes for Linda and Ben, even me. I don’t want to hear any arguments from anyone.” It felt good to let off a little steam.

  I heard a rustling and then silence before Maggie whispered, “So Clovis wasn’t just beat up by some thugs out to harass Ben?”

  I realized Stella was in the next seat. “I’ll tell you everything when I see you tonight. Paul will text you your driver’s name and contact information.”

  She reminded me to unmute my phone and keep it with me at all times, an order I immediately disobeyed. I had a hard and fast rule—no phone calls when I was meeting with clients. The cell phone would remain muted until I left Ben and Linda’s.

  Linda had heard my exchange with Maggie, but said nothing. I followed her out to the back porch where Ben and Paul looked comfortable—already on their second beer. Linda placed a bowl of hot cheese dip and tortilla chips on a table we could all reach. I let Paul enjoy his beer and some cheese dip before reminding him that Maggie and Stella would need protection when they arrived.

  “I want the two of them guarded 24/7 until we get to the bottom of all this, or until Clovis is ready for the job himself.”

  Paul grinned. “First thing he said when I got to the hospital was to work up a plan to protect Stella. Don’t worry—I’ve already arranged for Jordan to meet them. Linda, the cheese dip is terrific! Thank you.”

  Paul walked out to his car to make his calls, and the three of us chattered as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, licking gooey melted goodness off our fingers. I asked them to meet me at Micki’s tomorrow morning. Her conference room would be a good place to bring everyone up to speed and to download from Ben and Linda all the information I’d need in order to get access to Rachel.

  I stood and Linda took my empty wine glass. Ben rose from his chair and smiled.

  “Jack, did I ever tell you that you were stubborn and hard-headed? That it would get you in trouble one day?”

  “Just about every month,” I said, smiling.

  “Well, it’s a good thing you were too damn stubborn to pay much attention.”

  “Is there anything we can do for you before tomorrow?” Linda asked.

  I thought about it for a minute. “Well, there is one thing.”

  “Name it.” Ben didn’t hesitate, but his face reflected his former tension.

  “My friend Walter, the man who loaned me his plane, is out of your barbeque sauce. If you have any bottles left, I’d love to surprise him with a couple.”

  Linda laughed out loud, and Ben answered, “You’ll have a case tomorrow.”

  16

  PAUL AND I JUMPED INTO HIS CAR, and he introduced me to our new driver, Sally Halton. I found myself a bit surprised.

  “So, Sally, are you a better driver than Jordan?” I asked, trying to cover my confusion.

  “I can drive circles around him.” She glanced in the rearview mirror, not missing a beat.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  We arrived at the Armitage, and Paul excused himself to meet with the hotel’s head of security. It had been a stressful day, and I headed straight to the bar. The bar at the Armitage evokes a gentler time, with dark paneling, comfortable leather chairs, and soothing music. I could almost think of it as a haven, except for having been shot there once.

  The room was quiet on this late Sunday afternoon. I sat down at a corner table and ordered a martini. Truth was, it was time to call Carol, and I felt the need for a little false courage. I took a large sip and punched in her number, but once again heard only her voicemail.

  I hated playing phone tag, but knew Sunday was a busy time on the Eastern Shore. I wondered why this was so hard. Why couldn’t we get back to the way we were? An unexpected peck on the cheek interrupted both my frustration and reverie.

  “Why am I not surprised to find you in the bar with your phone still on mute?” Maggie scolded.

  “I thought you were with Clovis and Stella.” I tried not to sound defensive, and Maggie gave me a break.

  “Stella was a nervous wreck the whole flight, but she took charge as soon as she walked into the hospital room. It took her about a second to shoo away the nurse playing gin rummy with Clovis. Her next move was to ask if I would mind waiting outsid
e the door for a few minutes. I don’t think she realized how thin the walls are at that hospital.

  “I heard her say. ‘Don’t you say a word, Clovis Jones. I don’t want to know what excuse you have for not calling. I have only one thing to say to you.’”

  “Oh, jeez. Don’t tell me…”

  “Don’t interrupt! She said, ‘Clovis Jones, I love you. Don’t you ever scare me like this again.’”

  “Stella opened the door ten minutes later, tucking in her shirt, and said, ‘Maggie, come on in.’ My presence was awkward to say the least, so after a few minutes I said you and I would see them tomorrow and left. Now, where are you taking me for dinner?”

  I ordered her a glass of wine and told her about my conversations with Ben and Linda. We were about to leave for dinner when I noticed a short, bearded man wearing a skullcap walking toward our table.

  “Mr. Patterson, Mrs. Matthews. Do you mind if I intrude for a few moments?” he asked.

  “Please do—you must be Rabbi Strauss?” I rose and took his outstretched hand.

  He nodded, and we both sat down.

  “Maggie, let me introduce you to Rabbi Levi Strauss. Ben told me his son-in-law met with Rabbi Strauss frequently when he was in Little Rock.”

  “That and my yarmulke must have given me away,” he smiled, extending his fingertips to Maggie.

  He ordered a glass of wine and asked us to call him Levi, joking about being related to the blue jeans. I figured he’d used that one about a million times.

  We engaged in a few minutes of light chitchat—I noticed he didn’t include Maggie. So did she.

  He quickly came to the point. “Mr. Patterson, I was close to Rebbe Goodman. I looked forward to his visits and sought him out every time I traveled to Washington. His death was a devastating loss to Jews everywhere. He had such a mind.”

  His reference to Rachel’s husband as Rebbe was telling. It meant that Ira Goodman was a scholar, a leader, and a spiritual advisor.