Deadman's Bluff - James Swain [91]
Valentine and the woman were holding hands and sharing meaningful glances. Another car pulled up to the curb; a valet jumped out. Valentine tipped the valet while the cowboy put his clubs into the trunk. The cow boy got into the back, the blonde into the passenger seat, and Valentine slipped behind the wheel. The car pulled away from the curb.
Little Hands decided to follow them.
Soon he was on a narrow road heading toward Celebrity’s golf course. His window was open, and the wind rustled the paper bag on the passenger seat. The mouth of the bag was open, and he glanced at the money and imagined all it would buy down in Mexico. He didn’t need to kill Valentine. His life was set.
He continued to follow Valentine’s car anyway.
Valentine had always been a fan of the Marx Brothers, his favorite film being A Night at the Opera. In the film, Chico Marx plays an unusual piano solo. Beginning on the lower keys, he performs a lightning-fast run until his fingers run off the piano and continue to play furiously in midair.
Whenever Rufus Steele tried to persuade suckers to bet against him, Valentine was reminded of that magical piano solo. Like Chico Marx, Rufus always went well past the end, his language as outlandish as music produced in thin air.
“Come on, boys, what do you say? Money talks, nobody walks. It’s time to put up or shut up.” Rufus smiled at the group of suckers who’d come to Celebrity’s golf course to watch him play the Greek. “This is one you can’t lose, what my daddy called a mortal cinch. No tricks, no deception, just a friendly game of golf. My opponent was a runner-up in the National Amateur Championship and is a scratch golfer. Isn’t that so, Greek?”
The Greek and Marcy Baldwin sat stoically in a golf cart. Lying in Marcy’s lap was Medusa, who’d emitted a horrified shriek upon seeing Rufus.
“That’s right,” the Greek replied.
“What’s your handicap?” a sucker asked Rufus suspiciously. He was a squirrel-like guy with a sprout of hair on his chin that resembled a dirty paintbrush.
“Besides my shining personality?” Rufus said. “It’s a ten. If you don’t believe me, call the pro at Caesars’ golf shop. I’ve been playing his course for twenty years.”
“Did you check that out?” the sucker asked the Greek.
“Yes,” the Greek said. “His handicap is ten.”
“What is Rufus trying to pull?” Gloria whispered in Valentine’s ear. “He’s going to lose if he’s not careful.”
Valentine felt the same way. He and Gloria stood by the practice tees, a small but dedicated rooting section. Golf was a game where you beat yourself, not your opponent. He couldn’t see Rufus overcoming ten strokes no matter how well he played.
“Explain the rules again,” the sucker said.
“Be happy to,” Rufus said. “The Greek and I are going to play eighteen holes of golf. Because many of you expect me to pull a fast one, I’ve given the Greek an edge. He gets to hit three drives on every hole, then pick the best ball to play with.”
“How many drives do you get?” the sucker asked.
“Just one,” Rufus replied.
“What kind of odds are you offering?”
“Even money. The Greek is betting me half a million dollars. I’d be happy to take your action or anyone else’s, if you’re so inclined.”
The suckers went into a huddle. Gloria nudged Valentine with her elbow, and he reluctantly went over to where Rufus stood. “How you feeling?” Valentine asked.
“Never better,” the old cowboy replied.
“You don’t think this is a mistake?”
“Only suckers make mistakes,” Rufus said.
The suckers ponied up another thirty grand, which Valentine agreed to hold for safekeeping. Rufus went to where their caddies stood by the bags. The Greek joined him and said, “I’ve got one stipulation before we start.”
“What’s that?” Rufus asked.
“I want our caddies