William Bernhardt - Final Round

“In theory.”

Ed leaned across the table and whispered. “I snuck in underground. Through the sewer system tunnels. Came up through a manhole just off the eighteenth fairway. Late at night.”

“I didn’t know there were tunnels under the course.”

“Only part of it. Apparently the Augusta National makes some heavy demands on the water system. Keeping all those greens green, you know.”

“And how did you find out about that?”

Ed waved him away. “Oh, man, I know everything.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yeah.” He shifted to his reciting voice. “Conner C. Cross, from Watonga, Oklahoma. Six foot one, two hundred and five pounds. Third year in the PGA. Best power drive on the tour. Worst putting game on the tour.”

Conner gave him a withering look. “I guess you do know everything.”

“Everything about golf, anyway. I eat and breathe golf.”

“Really. What’s your handicap?”

“Oh, I don’t play the game. I… merely worship it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean. I’m into it, big time. It’s my favorite thing. I follow all the players, all the tournaments. Heck, I’ve even got your trading card.”

“Really? I’m sure that’s in great demand!” Conner said with heavy irony.

“It’s… um… well… you know. It’s… hotter than a Freddy Granger.” Ed looked away. “But I always thought John was the greatest, you know? That’s why I started the fan club. He was just so cool, so suave and sophisticated. Like, just the opposite of you.”

“I can see where that would be in his favor.”

“No-I didn’t mean-I mean-”

“Calm down, Ed. Take a breath.”

“I just meant that he was so classy. Had a style all his own. You’ve got a style, too.”

“That would be one way of putting it.”

Ed’s eyes darted around the room. “I can’t believe I’m actually at the Masters! This is so awesome! I started going crazy the second I stepped onto the course.” His chest deflated. “But then I heard what happened to John. Man, what a bummer. I went to so much trouble to meet him. All that planning, all that money and time. And then-this.”

Conner peered into the kid’s eyes. “It’s tough.”

“I was so close!” Out of nowhere, Ed’s fists rose up and pounded down on the table. “I saw him, you know. Tuesday night. But he was heading somewhere in a hurry and I didn’t want to bother him. I thought-no, Ed, wait. You’ve got all week.” He slumped down in his chair. “Except I didn’t have all week. That was my last chance. And I blew it.”

“Are you saying you saw John alive Tuesday night?”

“Right. Around nine-thirty.”

Nine-thirty! That would be after he left the cabin, after Jodie last saw him alive. “Do you have any idea where he was going?”

“Sure. It was obvious. I saw him pass through the door.”

Conner’s eyebrows knitted together. “The door? What door?”

Ed’s eyes widened. “Didn’t you know? He was going to see Andrew Spenser.”

Once again, Conner was not entirely surprised when he received his summons to appear in the chairman’s office. He’d been expecting it since he saw Derwood stomp off earlier that morning, and it probably would’ve come sooner, had the tournament officials not had some rather more pressing business. When the call came, he didn’t resist. It was just as well-he’d finished his last martini. And this time, he had questions he wanted to pose to Mr. Spenser.

Conner knew the way to Tenniel’s office now, so he took the lead, letting the Augusta National Nazis trail nervously in his wake. He walked briskly down the dimly lit corridor till he reached Tenniel’s office, then flung the double doors open and stepped inside.

Derwood was there, as he expected, hovering in the background like a vulture waiting for his daily dose of carrion. Tenniel sat behind his desk, impassive as ever.

Spenser stepped forward from the recesses of the office. It appeared that, once again, he was going to take the leading role in Conner’s Trip to the Woodshed, Part Two.

“First of all,” Spenser said, “let me express our deepest sympathies to you. We know what a loss you’ve suffered. Believe me when I say you have our most sincere condolences.” Spenser held out his arms, as if he actually thought for a moment he was going to embrace Conner. Conner did a quick sidestep to avoid that possibility. “We know you and John were close, and we understand that you must be suffering the most profound grief.”

Conner remained unmoved. “Why do I feel you’re coming to a but ?”

Spenser’s stoic resolve wavered, if only for an instant. “We know these are troubling times, and if we can assist you in any way, please do not hesitate to tell us.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Conner said impatiently. “If that was all you had to say, you could’ve sent a Hallmark. What’s the real purpose of this meeting?”

Spenser cleared his throat. “We realize that this tragedy may affect your… powers of judgment, and that a certain lack of rationality may be inevitable…”

“Lack of rationality?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard that we intend to continue with this tournament. That decision being made, it is crucial that we maintain our standards…”

“Spenser, just cut to the chase.”

Spenser drew himself up. “We have wondered if it wouldn’t be best if you dropped out of the tournament. No one could fault you for that. No one would suspect that there was any… controversy. People will simply assume that you are overcome with grief due to the loss of your friend.”

Conner felt his teeth locking together. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want to use John’s death as an excuse to get me the hell out of Dodge.”

“I was only considering your welfare. Surely you’re not in any condition to play a major golf tournament. Proceeding with this could only lead to… severe embarrassment.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen the scores from the par three, Mr. Cross. Your performance was hardly… Masters caliber, and we can’t realistically expect it to improve after all you’ve been through today. I think the wisest course would be for you to excuse yourself from the competition.”

Conner had so many emotions racing through him he couldn’t identify them all. A few hours ago, before he talked to Jodie, he was certain he would drop out of the tournament, exactly as Spenser wished. But now, after hearing Spenser use John’s death as a tawdry excuse to get what he wanted, he’d sooner die first. Besides, he made Jodie a promise. “No.”

Artemus Tenniel leaned forward, his hands clasped on his desk. “You don’t have to answer now. Give it some thought. Sleep on it.”

“I’m not dropping out.”

“Don’t force us to become antagonistic,” Spenser said. “I’m sure it’s clear to you by now that… we don’t want you here. You’re just… not the Masters type.”

“The Masters type? What is that?”

“We have remarked previously on your unacceptable behavior.”

“Now wait just a minute. I did as you asked. I dressed in your silly Sears clothes.”

From the back corner, Derwood made a loud throat-clearing noise. He jerked his head toward Conner’s.

Spenser took the cue. “There’s still the matter of your, um, hair style.”

“I read the PGA rules and the Augusta National regulations. None of them prohibit a shaved head.”

“It’s hardly orthodox.”

“Says who? Lots of the pros are bald.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“You can’t toss me out. I didn’t break a rule.”

“The haircut is simply one example. Your attitude is what we find offensive.”