Because did it really make any difference which of these golfers he killed? Wasn’t one as good as the other?
That’s just your mind talking, he told himself sternly. It’s crazy, and the good news is you don’t need to listen to it.
41
The eighth hole, another par four, was the reverse of the seventh, with its fairway running along the other side of the wooded stretch. Keller took a shortcut through the woods while the three duffers headed for the green, and he’d found a good spot for himself by the time they turned up on the eighth tee.
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 hadn’t 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 Keller’s 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 you’d think they’d 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 he’d missed his chance? And if he had, what would he do next?
He reviewed the possible courses of action open to him, and couldn’t 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 he’d 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 Keller’s 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, Eddie’s 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.
Perfect.
Keller waited, positioning himself where he couldn’t be seen, holding his breath, as if the sound of air going in and out of his lungs might be audible over the engines of the carts. He balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, felt the comforting pressure of the revolver in the small of his back, and watched helplessly as Wheeler drove straight up to where his ball had landed, with both of his companions, Rich and Eddie, putt-putting along on either side of him. All three carts parked together, and all three men climbed down and joined in the search for Wheeler’s ball.
Well, why not take out all three of them? Make it a real front-page story, “Three Business Leaders Gunned Down at Rose Hill.” And how hard could it be? He could walk right up to them without arousing anybody’s suspicions, and if he ran out of bullets before he’d finished the job, well, a five iron would do to wrap things up.
But all he did was stand there while Wheeler found his ball and took three more strokes to get it through the patch of woods.
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. It was one damn thing after another, and Keller figured the seventeenth hole was his last chance. The eighteenth hole had sand traps for hazards, and no trees in a position to help him out. So either he got lucky on seventeen or his only shot was to follow Wheeler into the locker room and drown him in the shower.
Or he could just forget the whole thing.
And was that such a bad idea? It wasn’t as though he had to punch Wheeler’s ticket in order to get his reward. There was no client on this job, no advance to be refunded if he failed, no final payment to be collected for a job well done. This was for him and Dot, this was a matter of revenge, this was evening the score.
But did the score need to be evened?