He Lies Nine

[From “The Butt End”] … It was at this moment amidst the melee of high school students waiting outside for the first warning bell to ring that Wellington crossed paths with one of his fellow weekend caddies from the past summer. “Hey, Charlie,” greeted Wellie. “This sucks being stuck here on a day as fine as this, huh.” “Yeah, man,” came the reply. “I'd sure rather be enjoying `caddies day' at the club than snoozing here. I heard from Jed that nobody would bug us if we teed off over there - since it's a Monday - even us guys who stop caddying after the summer.” Wellington spoke in a voice almost groaning with desire to have what Jed said be true. “Really? We could play at Evercrest for free today? Damn! You drive to school, don't you, Charlie? Any chance you'd be taking off early …?” The junior grinned. “I was just thinking. All I've got after one o'clock is a stupid shop class, then a study hall. Forget that! You meet me at one, over in the student parking lot - my car's a red Dodge - and we'll go get your clubs. It will be much more fun having company.” Though shuddering a bit inside, Wellie said he'd go. After all, isn't Dad always telling me to be my own man. I can miss one math class and chorus. I'm good at math. The fifteen-year-old had a sudden thought, however. How could he leave Finley out of this? If they could `get on,' surely no one would care if the Fin joined them. “Charlie, okay if Finley comes, too?” “If he wants, sure. The Fin lives close to you, right, so it won't delay us to get his stuff. All right, see you guys at number uno” … … Only taking a few quick practice swings, the threesome wasted little time in sending their balls down the hill of the first fairway. They swooped up their bags and wished that their irons would not jangle so vigorously as each boy walked at maximum speed away from the clubhouse. Wellington's lungs were hurting for some reason. Could this be a divine punishment? But, no, he began to feel better, knowing that the downslope they'd been treading had now made them invisible to what lay behind. When each of the three managed to hit good short irons up toward the first putting surface, which lay on a knoll to the right of this valley fairway, the fun really began. Charles bet Finley a buck that his second had stopped closer to the pin on that green, currently “blind” to them. The Fin raised him a buck. And so, there were two dollars riding on the result. Both boys asked Wellington to come along on their side of the wager. He declined, saying he'd probably beaten both of them. They egged him on to bet, too, in that case. But, Wellie declined, saying that he'd take their money later, while they still had some left. All three hustled up the hill, no longer driven by fear, instead with joyful anticipation. It turned out that none of their shots had stayed on the putting surface. All three boys had slick chip shots to play back down the sloping green. Before they could attend to rescuing their pars, though, there was the matter of the wager. Charles argued that his ball still was closer to the hole than Fin's, and therefore he'd won their bet. The Fin countered that they'd said “on the green.” “You asshole,” Charlie sputtered, holding out his hand. “Just pay me.” Finley bellowed, “No way! That wasn't the bet!” Wellington, worried that the ruckus being raised might get them thrown off the course yet, barked that he'd give them both a buck if they'd shut up. The two looked at each other, laughed, and collected. Wellie at least earned the consolation of being the only one to `get up and down' on that first hole … … And indeed, Charlie Diamond did get some sweet revenge two holes later at the course's first par-3, a flattish 180-yard affair of standard design, with bunkers front left and right, and a steep rear bank of gnarled grasses. On its tee, the oldest of the three had pulled out a pack of smokes and offered them to his companions. Wellie, who'd never even thought of himself with a cigarette, quickly declined, but Fin was “game,” as Charles suspected he'd be. After lighting the Fin up, his older companion said to him, “You know you got to swing with that in your mouth, right?” “No problem,” shot back Finley, who'd never done such a thing in his life. But, swinging while smoking did present a major difficulty for the uninitiated. As the redhead went about trying to strike his tee shot, both the whirling smoke and that tiny fire at the end of his butt grabbed his eyes away from the ball. This distraction resulted in his barely making contact. The topped “pull” produced by Fin didn't even make it past the initial rough off the tee. His buddies found that hilarious; Finley smacked the teeing ground with his iron. “Okay, wise guy,” he cried out to Charlie. “Let's see how you do.” Their chauffeur for the day replied, “Sure,” before stubbing his smoke out against the face of his iron. Charles then put the cigarette back into his mouth and prepared to address his ball while saying in a low, provocative voice, “No one said it had to be lighted.” His tee ball wound up about twenty feet from the hole, providing him with an easy par and a payment of two dollars back from the Fin. By that time, Finley, too, was laughing about the whole episode. Unfortunately, their day was about to get darker in a hurry. The troubles began as they reached the fifth tee and heard a well-known voice addressing them from over where the ninth teeing ground lay …