"Secrets" A Novel of Golf and Politics

'GOLF WITH THE PRESIDENT'

This routine continued until the 17th hole. It was hot and muggy and the Agents in the black suits were having a heat attack. The President took another call and the Agents told Robbie and me to distance ourselves from him. We found a spot to the left and a little ahead of the tee box under a large oak tree that shaded us from the hot late June sun. Finally, the President was ready to hit. Looking distracted and possibly agitated from the previous call, the President came 'over the top' and hit his drive on the heel of his club and the ball careened like a rifle shot directly at us. I yelled, 'Duck!' but Robbie didn't react quickly enough. The ball struck Robbie directly behind his right ear. A sickening thud! Robbie fell to the ground like his legs had been cut out from under him. He laid there unconscious, with blood trickling from the back of his head!

The President was horrified! The Agents came to Robbie's aid immediately. Robbie was not moving. I felt nauseated, with a thickness in my stomach. Every time Robbie was on the brink of success, something happened. If he didn't have bad luck, he wouldn't have any luck at all. 'Get him help!' yelled the President. 'Now, I said! Call my chopper. Get it to this spot right now!' the Commander-in-Chief demanded.

'TEAM MORRIS'

It took over an hour or so for the tournament committee to figure out the results of the Calcutta. It was a big day for 'Team Morris.' Robbie won a trophy and a $300 gift certificate. Harvey won 70 percent of the $120,000 pot. $84,000!

Robbie and I were sitting near the putting green in the cool shade as a typical beautiful red New Mexico sunset signaled that the day was about to end. Harvey walked out of the clubhouse carrying a large brown paper bag. In it was the $84,000.

'Let's go home team,' Harvey said, as he motioned to Robbie to go get the car. After Robbie left, Harvey opened the bag.

'Ya earned yerself fifteen grand, Darden. Help yerself. Now ya knows what A'h do for a livin'. Where could ya make fifteen grand that easy, huh? Ain't Farmington a great place? Where in the world can ya get drunk, get laid, make tons of money at golf and get shot at all in one place? Man, A'h love it!'

I pocketed my share and watched Harvey head for the parking lot. 'Team Morris.' What a team. One player was a good a guy as you would ever meet. He knew the rules, played by them and won. The other, I suspected, was a bad guy who made his own rules and won any way he could. What a father - son contrast.

Events were soon to unfold that would dramatically demonstrate Harvey's 'dark side' of the mountain.