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CHASE MASTERS
Adam
It’s a perfect mildly warm day at the Stonewall Country Club. Light breeze, clear skies, all in all, a textbook day to tackle eighteen holes on the golf course. I sit under the tree line in an older golf cart that has been converted into a beverage cart, stocked with cold drinks and snacks, watching my next target. Chase Masters. The name itself screams country club ho.
Chase stands at the thirteenth hole with a cigar sticking out of the side of his mouth, trying to make a putt. He’s already over par because he’s had a few drinks to calm his nerves as he gives his best pitch to wary investors. They look like smaller business owners who are looking to make the next step into a political lane. The two men stand side by side, whispering to each other as they observe Chase finishing his putt. Chase stands and raises his arms wide with a large smile donning his face. “It’s that easy.” He chuckles. It’s a sleight-of-hand investment to someone that Mitchell DuPont “helps” with that small investment.
Chase throws a good pitch and says all the right things.
“A contribution to our campaign and the resources that will come from it will be beneficial to you. You’ll be a part of not only aligning yourself with a promising future president, but you can also associate with our clean water initiative in third-world countries with the promise to build wells in areas where clean water isn’t available. That will be a good add-on to your marketing.” Chase winks at them.
These people, like Reese, don’t know what they are really putting their money toward. Mitchell DuPont is not the humanitarian they believe him to be. There’re no wells to be built for the people, so they don’t have to travel for water. Instead, what DuPont plans to do is to wipe out the small villages to buy the land outright at a cheap price to build a fucking sweatshop. Then he, in turn, will hire people from the neighboring villages by promising them stable jobs.
I pull the beverage cart up beside Chase.
“Afternoon.” I wave and interrupt their conversation. “Anyone up for a cold beverage?”
“Oh, perfect timing.” One man raises his hand as the other immediately grabs for his wallet in his pants. Relief for a drink or relief from Chase talking?
“It’s hotter than a hooker’s crotch!” Chase exclaims, eliciting horrible visuals. The two men cringe at his response. The alcohol is clearly doing its job.
I give my best fake smile and nod. This man is a cocky fucker. “Wouldn’t know, I’m gay,” I shrug and I see his face pull a more genuine and wilier smile. I have hooked his interest. Yes, focus on me, Chase.
Chase laughs hard and pulls out his wallet, grabbing a crisp hundred-dollar bill. “Here! Three Michelob Lights, keep the change. I like you.” He squints at my name tag. “Ted.”
“Thank you, sir.” I give him a wink and pocket his money. Grabbing three cold brews from the cooler and handing them the beers, I let my finger linger against Chase’s hand, reluctantly pulling away to let this cat stalk his prey. Only he’s already dead and doesn’t know it yet. I take a seat in the cart to get ready to take off.
“Hey, Ted!” Chase yells out.
“Yes, sir.” I cock my head to the side. Sir. That did it.
“Do these pants make my butt look big?” he teases, turning his body around to give me a glimpse of his backside. His five foot eight stature and medium build. I can see the outline of his phone in his pocket, which tells me this… he’s pulling the front of his pants taut so his pants look tighter in the ass. He’s a disgusting individual who’s trying to look cool. This is a man who screams he peaked in high school.
“I’d say not tight enough.” I wink at him while suppressing vomit. No one, I repeat, no one wants what he is giving.
The two guys awkwardly chuckle and shake their heads. They glance at each other before tapping their clubs on the turf. They look up course to see the next group move from the tee off, leaving the box ready for their group to proceed. Maybe, just maybe, they are here just for the free golf game and drinks and not everything else Chase has told them.
“Clubhouse bar is having a special. All-you-can-eat crab legs tonight. You all should stop by,” I inform them. Let’s give them a reason to stay longer with our tipsy friend.
The business owners nod and give each other a high five. “Hell yes! We will be there!” one says.
“I am going to eat my weight in that,” the other one exclaims.
“I’ll stay and pay for you both. I can’t eat seafood,” Chase points to himself. “Allergic.”
“Well, they have a nice cold club sandwich. It’s stacked,” I insinuate while licking my lips at Chase.
His eyes narrow, but I can see the faint blush that spreads across his face.
“We will see you there, Ted?” Chase asks. A hopeful tone.
“You sure will. I’ll be serving this evening.”
“Great, we will see you there.”
I drive off and head toward the country club. It’s easy to sneak in the back as the busboy leaves the back door wide open. He’s puffing a joint in the corner to prepare for the evening assholes who come in ready to pick apart anything they can about the menu.
I head to the locker rooms and stand in front of his locker. Taking one more look around before picking the lock. Internally smirking that the wealthy country club has shit locks for their multimillion-dollar clients. The door opens and I dig through his stuff. Inside, I find a second phone and there is a fingerprint touch screen to unlock it. Looking around, I find a cleaning cart. Inside the cart, I find something clear and plastic. Cheap clear gloves that barely hold together are the best that I could find. I grab a water spray bottle to mist over the screen. I stretch the glove out as much as I can before it tears. Holding it over the touch screen and praying this works.
